Shifti - User contributions [en]

Talk:The Strength in the Shark

2009-08-19T01:46:25Z

Michael Bard:

Although it's finished, this story feels a bit "rushed" to me. Does anyone have a suggestion on how I could pace it better? [[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd Brunnel]] 12:52, 18 August 2009 (UTC)

: Hmm... it might be a bit more fundamental. Stories I write usually have a conflict or problem set up at the beginning which is resolved at the end. If the problem is not resolved, the story doesn't feel "complete". In this case, you have the fox sitting at the bar, a shark comes up, apologizes, and leaves. The only initial problem is MAYBE a bit of fear of the shark, and that doesn't even occur until about a third of the way through due to the brevity. Maybe have a new beginning with the POV character grumbling in his mind about the shark that mistook him, about how he hates that, he's angry, but what are you going to say to a shark? Then said shark comes in, apologies, tension/conflict set up at the beginning is resolved. [[User:Michael Bard|Michael Bard]] 21:15, 18 August 2009 (EDT)

Talk:The Strength in the Shark

2009-08-19T01:15:49Z

Michael Bard:

Although it's finished, this story feels a bit "rushed" to me. Does anyone have a suggestion on how I could pace it better? [[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd Brunnel]] 12:52, 18 August 2009 (UTC)

: Hmm... it might be a bit more fundamental. Stories I write usually have a conflict or problem set up at the beginning which is resolved at the end. If the problem is not resolved, the story doesn't feel "complete". In this case, you have the raccoon sitting at the bar, a shark comes up, apologizes, and leaves. The only initial problem is MAYBE a bit of fear of the shark, and that doesn't even occur until about a third of the way through due to the brevity. Maybe have a new beginning with the POV character grumbling in his mind about the shark that mistook him, about how he hates that, he's angry, but what are you going to say to a shark? Then said shark comes in, apologies, tension/conflict set up at the beginning is resolved. [[User:Michael Bard|Michael Bard]] 21:15, 18 August 2009 (EDT)

User talk:WolfyDrake95/Price in Blood

2009-08-13T09:35:42Z

Michael Bard: /* On self deprication. */

==Storyline Discussion==
{{Green|ShadowWolf knows a lot more about PaW than I do, but as far as I remember, the major conflicts were when Canada was sweeping down into the leftovers of the USA. But because you're from Singapore, you could start a story section over on that side of the world.

Here's some times for conflict:

2008-09: the start of the collapse, and first infections.

2011: the New Confederacy is formed. They could be the assasinators, as they are a very Anarchistic group.

2015: Most fighting stops. NAR stabilizes. New confederacy mostly gone. A splinter cell could cause some trouble.

2020: this is when Allan's hometown is bombed. After this, there is almost no figting in the greater NAR area. Some outlying areas could still have trouble with the Confederacy.

Thats the best I can do for now. If the character is going to be sticking around, I would recommend creating a character timeline page as well. It helps define the character's traits and description so that it stays constant across stories.

PAW needs some more authors, so I look forward to whatever you may come up with. Though by about 2020, most persecution in the north American region seems to have stopped, an earlier assassination plot could be a good setup for a character.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 14:03, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

:Hmm...I think PaW works, because my mind's already working out the kinks of the story. Well, I'll tell you what I'm planning now. '''SPOILER WARNING!!!'''

:'''Price in Blood'''—At the very end of some conflict (2015?), there is a skirmish between TFORs and an anti-TFOR splinter cell. This is when the main character's parents are killed, and the leader of the splinter cell finds him, takes him in, and slowly nurtures a hatred for TFORs, fuelled by his parents' deaths. Or, alternatively, his parents could have been the victims of the Brown incident (see Lloyd's [[Case Briefing: Leon v. Stewart]], but I haven't asked him yet), and died thereof. Same thing happens with the cell.

:Then the main character is trained, and within years (2019?) he is sent on his first mission for the cell: to go assassinate an outspoken pro-TFOR activist who's promoting TFOR equality and all that. The first time, a sniper attack is attempted; it fails, and the main character resorts to a direct knifing, etc. But then the main character catches the Torch, and collapses at the crucial moment of the assassination.

:The activist doesn't press charges on accounts of his age, but instead sends the main character to a friend's house (Allan himself, perhaps? That'd be a nice crossover) to recuperate, where it is revealed that the M.C. has caught the TFOR. As the M.C. deals with TFOR, the activist's friend starts to tell him about the TFOR community, and the M.C realizes that TFORs aren't all bad. Suddenly doubting his upbringing, he begins to investigate his parents' deaths, eventually finding a human survivor of that skirmish years ago. Then the M.C. finds out that actually it was the splinter cell who killed his parents; he goes back there to kill that leader, and succeeds.

:Admittedly I haven't thought of the very, very ending: perhaps the police arrest him? That would be an interesting ending, despite being sad.

:This story, being in the idea stage, is very loose. If you've got any good ideas, feel free to tell me! If ShadowWolf is reading this, then his advice would be crucial too! And if Allan is to be featured, I'll need a bunch of details about him, and probably you'll have to vet and monitor the dialog. The last time I featured someone else's character (awesome writer Jetfire's AT), I think I wrote her in terribly. My fault, of course. I still have trouble believing that I was forgiven for screwing up the Paradise universe. But I digress.
:If I've got your permission to use Allan, I'll probably be bugging you a lot. Or, we could use that nifty EtherPad to pull the partial collab. Tell me what you think!
:PS, forgive me for putting a reference to Allan in this story. I couldn't resist it. I have some problems. :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 14:30, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|The main idea sounds good. Around 2020 is when Allan's town is Bombed, but after that there's two years open for anything. 2022ish is when the Rangers contact Allan again, but I haven't started that story very far, so it could be that they both join.

If it were Allan, they could have a talk about losing a parent/parents, and other such discussions. Crossovers are what make a story universe so great, so I don't mind. Indeed, Lloyd has already used Allan in a [[The_Fool_in_the_Fox|story.]]

On the TFOR, It may have to be that he had the Torch previously, which created tension in the anti-TFOR community, but he didn't come down with TFOR right away. Then leading up to the assassination, he would be craving weird foods, and during the assassination TFOR could kick in, causing the systemic lock-up and changes.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 14:43, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

:As late as 2040 there are still people in the region that was once "The New Confederacy" that still perform anti-teefer terrorist acts. From what I can tell of your idea it would need to be no later than 2025 because around 2025 the "resistance" in that region has become wildly decentralized and so fractured that it has been known to attack other branches. -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 14:53, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

::Actually I was thinking along the lines of pre-2020, so that the main character could go live with Allan without Allan being preoccupied by bombings and death. So, skirmish in 2010s, training from 2011 through 2015, then assassination in 2016. More or less. I can already imagine fight scenes and gunfire and flying knives and two-meter leaps. All in my head, of course, and this messes up my lessons in school. By the way, where exactly does Allan live? And when is Lloyd's story set? I might be able to pull Jonas Balfour into this. :)
::And ShadowWolf's right about my story. I need it to be some kind of anti-TFOR splinter cell (I like the words "splinter cell": they're cool) that attacks pro-TFOR activists. I'll start on it right away, but this week I have to prep for my school's National Day Parade, so I'm kinda busy. I'll find time; I wake up at 5:30 sometimes just to check Shifti for updates before going to school. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 15:03, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|If it was set before 2020, which is when I set Rebuilding, I would have to go back and retcon a lot of exposition into it to make mention of MC, so to be perfectly honest, I think late 2020-2021 would be the best setting for MC and Allan to meet. That gives two years, and story material for both you and me.

Before 2020, Allan lived in California, near LA. Around 2020, he moved to just above Amarillo, Texas. 2021, when he's in college, if he gets into University of Texas, He'll be living in Austin Texas.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 15:20, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

:Got it. Shifting the timeline ahead, assassination now occurs in 2021. Oh, and can anyone help me think up a name and TFOR type for the pro-TFOR activist? I'm terrible at name-choosing and power-picking. Some help, please. I've written the intro, but right now I have to sleep. It's midnight over here. :) --[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 16:07, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|It seems to me that there is a high density of certain types of anthros in these settings. Generally of felines, lupines, and canines. I'm going to try and remedy that in my next story, because there are a lot of different species on earth, and the virus can even use ones not of this earth. So just as a challenge, you might try something out of the ordinary.

On the powers, only 30% of all teefers receive powers, so he may not have a "super" power, but he could have a biological capability. Such as hardened skin or extreme reflexes. An Armadillo TFOR might work, as it could lead to the bullet failing to penetrate far enough to be lethal. Just remember that the species should affect how the story progresses, instead of just being a block of descriptive text.

As for names, I'm terrible at names. You could try flipping through a phonebook, and picking out random first and last names to throw together.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 16:44, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

:Hmm...now that I think of it, maybe this activist shouldn't be a TFOR at all. Instead, I'm thinking having him as a normal human would be far better for the storyline. As for the main character, I'm naming him Taylor Miles, after the Halo 3: ODST [http://www.halo.wikia.com/wiki/Taylor_Miles character of the same name]. He's probably going to wind up some kinda wolf (grey or arctic), but you might have guessed that I liked wolves from my name, so this isn't a surprise. And he's going to have some limited object manipulation capabilities, which he can use to accelerate or manipulate bullets or throwing knives, for example. That sorta thing. I'll upload when I'm done with the first couple of chapters. :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 12:50, 5 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|A human activist would have a much higher chance of causing an upset in Taylor. If he expects to be shooting at what he believes are "animals," or whatever the propaganda is, then he may have issues with shooting a human being. I have noticed that you like wolves, yes.

On the issue of power characters, I'll link you to my talk page on [[Talk:Rebuilding|rebuilding]]. Both Lloyd and ShadowWolf had something to say about power characters, so it's worth a read. The main notes are to come up with definite limits on his powers, and definite consequences.

On a side note, because Allan is human, but also a TFOR, it could lead to interesting conversation things with Taylor. I enjoy discussions of "what makes a human" so I would love to come up with dialog with you.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 14:18, 5 August 2009 (UTC)

:Yes, exactly. It's supposed to be like that; the target is supposed to be human, but supporting TFORs. Here's an excerpt of what I've written so far:

::“This is your assignment. Find this man, and kill him. Silence him. I believe that you, of all the others, are up to this task. We already have the necessary information regarding him, but it shall be no easy task, since he is so successful that the TFORs have begun offering him protection.”

::“Wait,” Taylor cut in, unheeding of the protocols of respect. “This man is human. An innocent. He has done no wrong and neither is he one of ''them''—”

::“Don’t you see?” Myers slammed his hands on the table, emotion evidently forcing him out of his seat. “This man is corrupting the minds of the people! Human or not, he must be silenced. He is the voice of those beasts, and he has to be silenced, lest the people turn and support them instead of our noble cause!”

::Myers dropped back into his seat, seeming to regain control of his emotions. But looking at the man, Taylor saw a fire burning in his eyes as he continued, “You should know this, of all people. Anyone supporting the TFORs is a threat, and these TFORs are the greatest danger to our society. Or have you forgotten how they ''killed'' your parents, and how we had to take you in, shield you from the beasts and their claws and their teeth?”

::Now it was Taylor’s turn to rise, hands balled into fists. His words were dark, cold, but seething anger underlined them. “I ''never'' forgot, and I ''never'' will.”

:Yeah, so that's the reason why Taylor eventually agrees to it. But it's exactly this reason that plants a little doubt in Taylor's mind...it hints to him that humans can live alongside TFORs perfectly fine, something that his upbringing told him was impossible. As for the things about power characters, yeah, I've read that. Of course I'll work in some limitations, but I'll deal with that when I get there. Right now I'm working the intro. As for dialog...yeah, we could use this "EtherPad" that RM talked about. Seems pretty useful. :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 15:34, 5 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|Sounds like a plan.}}--[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 16:08, 5 August 2009 (UTC)

:Awesome! I'll drop you a message on your talk page or here or something when I get to that part. In the meantime I'll be working on the intro and assassination, as well as investigating the strange EtherPad. Off to sleep now! :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 16:11, 5 August 2009 (UTC)

::'''ADDITION'''Hey, CR, where do you live? As in, timezone. I'm not going to look you up or anything; I just need to sync times so that if we need to meet for a real-time collab we won't screw up the timings. That sorta thing. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 07:08, 6 August 2009 (UTC)

I should probably mention that TFOR is the acronymn for Transformative Failure of Ontogenetic Regulation. ''Teefer'' is the term used for those who were affected by TFOR. --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd]] 19:02, 5 August 2009 (UTC)

:Ah, yes. My mistake. Thanks for pitching in! By the way, when does Jonas catch the Torch? Because I like to put little cameos of characters I like, and Jonas is one of them. Even if the cameos are something as small as stepping on his tail. And when does [[The Fool in the Fox]] take place? It'd be useful if I knew when Jonas and Allan met. By the way, if you object to a cameo, it's fine with me. :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 07:04, 6 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|Fool in the Fox takes place sometime around 2032. Other than that you'll have to wait for Lloyd. I live in GMT-6, but will be out of town for a few days, so I don't know if I'll have internets. Wow, it looks like we are on exactly opposite time zones. When I'm waking up, you're finishing your day.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 12:24, 6 August 2009 (UTC)

:Yup, that's about right. But don't worry, I get up at four-thirty in the morning often enough (usually to do homework; I procrastinate). So there's no problem in meeting online, I guess. As for you going out of town, that's fine with me. I probably won't be getting to that part soon. And thanks for the info on Jonas, though I suppose I'll have to wait for Lloyd to reveal more...it's like some kind of conspiracy! :)
:—[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 12:49, 6 August 2009 (UTC)

:Jonas catches the Torch when he's 16, comes to Polyton when he's 17, and Fool takes place when he's 18 and it also happens in the summer of 2031. I have no objections to you using Jonas in your story by the way, that's one of the ideas behind a shared setting after all. --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd]] 13:24, 6 August 2009 (UTC)

::Sigh...I'm sorry, but I don't think I can cameo Jonas, because of the timeline. You see, my story needs the civil unrest of the 2020s. Jonas is eighteen in year 2031, meaning he would be eight and un-TFORed in 2021. So, unfortunately, I can't place him in there, because it would result in a timeline clash. Sorry. Perhaps in a sequel... —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 14:37, 6 August 2009 (UTC)

Oh, and could somebody enlighten me as to the kind of symptoms Blowtorch Fever causes? I'm only sure of the high fever and the cravings; the PaW page only listed those. Are there any others? Thanks. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 12:29, 9 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|And I'm back in town. I haven't had a chance to read it yet. I'll do that tonight. On Blowtorch, It only causes cravings if TFORS is also contracted, otherwise it's just a very deadly fever.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 01:58, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:'Kay. Thanks a lot! —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 02:00, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|Here is a clock for Texas,}} [http://www.timeanddate.com/worldclock/fullscreen.html?n=24 timeanddate.com]. --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 04:19, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:And [http://www.timeanddate.com/worldclock/fullscreen.html?n=236 here] is mine! So that we can sync up to a time where we can meet online for the dialog. Maybe next weekend, around eleven pm (Singapore time). Meanwhile I'll work on a list of what I need the conversation to cover. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 15:34, 10 August 2009 (UTC)
==Comments and Critique==
Hey guys, Wolfy here. Right now you've probably seen that I just uploaded the first segment of my story. If there's anything you think is bad, say so now! Thanks! Oh, and good comments are welcome too. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 08:52, 9 August 2009 (UTC)

:You've shown great improvements from your first foray into writing. I've thoroughly enjoyed what you have here right now and will be waiting for more. -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 11:48, 9 August 2009 (UTC)

::Wow, thanks for the praise! I kind of worried that I didn't manage to convey Taylor's character as a ruthless assassin very well, but really, thanks! I'm writing the actual assassination part now. Your praise is now compelling me to write more...Thanks once more! :D —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 12:22, 9 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|I just started reading it, and it's looking pretty good so far. Though you might want to start using pronouns at some point...}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 03:02, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|I have now finished the story in it's current posted form, and must say it is a very good start. A couple of notes:

*You mention that the phone is an iPhone, and I'm not sure if Apple would have survived the collapse, much the same way that Microsoft didn't. We might want to come up with a new mobile device that everyone uses, Otherwise it's hard to tell that the story takes place in the future. Blind Pig had this present future problem pretty bad.
*You don't seem to have any paragraphs. Everything is on a new line, and it makes it a bit difficult to read on a wide-screen monitor.
*The steak house should have a proper name, Such as "The County Line," "Rudy's," or "The Salt Lick." Which are all, coincidentally, real BBQ joints in Austin.
*Your Texas accents aren't too bad. At the very least, they don't portray Texans as idiots.
**"Doubt this killer’ll dare to show his face ‘round these parts when the Rangers are here." might be changed to "..parts with the Rangers in town."
*You drop a lot of Halo cameos in your stories. You might want to tone it down a bit, but that's more of a personal choice.
**In this case, the 99D-S2AM sniper rifle is very loud, and very evident as to where the bullet has come from due to the tracer in every round. You might look up some real world sniper rifles that are more anti-personnel and quiet.
*on the Encryption code: This isn't necessary, but for an added level of realism, you could research [[Wikipedia:Public Key|Public Key]] cryptography, and change it from Delta to a public key that they would use.
*On the robber: There are a lot of drunk, homeless, and/or bad people in east Austin, so you might set the Hotel there.

And that's all I could find right now. Keep up the good work.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 04:02, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:Thanks for the praise! As for your comments...
:*About the iPhone, it's mainly because I can't think of anything else. If one of the creators of PaW would step up and offer a nifty new brand, I wouldn't mind changing.
:*Paragraphing: I noticed that too, so maybe I'll switch to double-spacing between paragraphs. I use short paragraphs because it emphasizes suspense (I think).
:*Naming the steak house: Got it.
:*Texas accents: I worried that it would be offensive as I hate steorotypes. My bad.
:*Halo cameos: Right. Maybe I'll change it to a AWC (Arctic Warfare Covert). And, if you didn't notice, they're a lot more Halo references, like the Seventh Pillar Hotel is a ref. to the Seventh Column Bungie fangroup (Column is something like Pillar), and how the numbers of all the times add up to [http://www.halo.wikia.com/Seven seven]. And I intend to dump in more Assassin's Creed references, because I love that game. In case you didn't read Taylor's character page on PaW Character Timelines, Taylor bought a [http://assassinscreed.wikia.com/Hidden_Blade hidden blade] and repaired it for use. I know too many game references are bad but god I love those games!
:*Encryption: That's pretty minor, but maybe I'll follow your suggestion. I used "Omega" just to make it sound cool, as well as being a reference to my still unfinished [[User:WolfyDrake95/Last Man Standing|Last Man Standing]].
:*The robber: Okay.

:And thus, I reply. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 04:20, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

::An iphone, as is my understanding, does not require the presence of an Apple network in order to be used as a phone, so it is fully possible that it were still in use/production. If you want an alternate brand though, I believe the PAW Collab mentions something about Linux being the new microsoft so you may be able to come up with something there. --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd]] 11:53, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|The iPhone does require an AT&T plan, as well as access to the app store. Apple also has a history of locking down their devices, so that they cannot be used to their fullest unless they are illegaly jailbroken. Now if someone more into the open source/Linux community had taken over Apple, the new iPhone could be a linux based device, as well as more open to modification. Such as an encrypted communications application.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 13:11, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:As it stands this story is set so close to the end of the collapse that there will have been little in the way of technological innovation in regards to "consumer electronics". I can see the jailbreaking applications for the iPhone having become common - hell, I could see someone having broken into Apple's campus and stolen all of their source as having happened. If the source was stolen, then making it available to the public could have happened as well.

:I say that I can see this kind of thing happening and similar because I will not dictate things like that as having occurred. At this point the setting is still growing and details like that will likely be allowed as "canon". As the setting grows more details will get filled in it will become harder for people to add major new facets to the setting. -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 14:34, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

::Actually, I was thinking of using the iPhone because of its large application database, as well as its functionability (I read in NewsWeek that US snipers use it to calculate bullet drop). The one Taylor has is an upgraded version that the HRM developed for their field operatives. The HRM wasn't affected much by the Collapse, because it's quite a large movement and has a lot of powerful people within to support it. The cell featured in the story is only the Texas cell; many other cells are seeded within the New Confederacy. I can imagine someone in Apple being a member of the HRM and supplying them with the tech as well as the programs and applications specially designed for the Movement. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 15:04, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|As a hardware platform, the iPhone is very good. I can see that it could have grown into a much more robust device without Apple limiting it. Really, it's just kind of weird to see it called an iPhone in a future setting. I don't know if it should be called something else, but you might need to differentiate it from the iPhone of today.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 15:11, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:Hmm...I'll think about a new name. iPhone 2.0? uPhone? So many possibilities...—[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 15:34, 10 August 2009 (UTC)
== On self deprication. ==

{{Green|I'm noticing a trend with us young writers. We seem to think everything we write is, for lack of a better term, complete sh*t. I echo your author's note almost exactly on [[Talk:Rebuilding]]. To quote:

::"Anyways, I don't want to accidentally wreck your carefully crafted world with my bad fanfiction."

I don't know if this is a good or bad thing. It may mean we are more open to criticism, but it also means that we may be more prone to giving up on a story before giving it a chance.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 02:05, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:I think I know why. It's because when we (at least just me) read good stories (like Michael Bard's w00t I'm a fan!) we feel that we can't get up to that standard. When we read other stories in the universe we feel that we can't maintain that level of awesomeness. And so, we're terrified that we'll screw up the story universe. As for whether it's a good thing or bad...I think good because small bits of praise make me so happy that I get motivated a lot, but bad because if I don't get any praise or comments I get very demoralized. Queer. :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 02:18, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

::Drake, I thank you for your complements (ears burning and all). But, your comment here frightens me more than anything. I've been afraid for a long time that us "old guard" are scaring off new comers. We're not as inexperienced as you guys because we've been at it longer. The first story I finished that I still have is dated 1983. So, I've been writing for AT LEAST 26 years. So yes, I have gained some skill... :) All of us started out like you new people -- please PLEASE don't be scared off. It just takes time. And, in a bit of morale boosting, let me compare writing learning to painting. It took me 30 years go gain the painting skill I have. There was no internet, no support network. Now I can help new miniature painters reach 90% of my skill in less than a year. Same thing applies for writing -- just ask and everybody I know of will be glad to help. In a short time you too can be up at our level, and then together we can encourage each other to improve more and more. Finally, don't worry about screwing up a universe. The WORST that can happen is that somebody declares your story "non-canon" (hell, I got that done to me in Winds of Change). Big deal. Just write something else then. [[User:Michael Bard|Michael Bard]] 05:40, 12 August 2009 (EDT)

:::Um...''wow''. *grins like little kid* I'm your biggest fan, write something quick! :)
:::Okay, I've calmed down now. Well, thanks for your advice! About getting scared off...Actually, a couple of months ago I was thinking of asking your opinion of a story, but then I read the [[Talk:Unequal Share|talk page]] of [[Unequal Share]] and I got pretty freaked out so I didn't dare to ask. Point taken, especially about screwing up other peoples' story universe. Unfortunately, I take my stories ''very'', '''''very''''' seriously, and I can never write short ones for some reason (they end up a little long), so I can't exactly just write something else. No offense, though. I still get your point.
:::I talked to you, I'm so happy! (I get happy easily)—[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 10:46, 12 August 2009 (UTC)
::::EEEP! I can't remember writing that, and I can't believe I did. It is definitely atypical. Not sure what set me off there. Normally I'm not like that. Really. At least I made you happy! :) [[User:Michael Bard|Michael Bard}} 5:35, 13 August 2009 (EDT)

{{Green|True enough. On a side note, I still haven't read it yet because I'm RPing on one of District 9's Facebook pages. For the uninformed: [[Wikipedia:District_9|District 9]]. The Facebook page is}} [http://www.facebook.com/board.php?uid=57580949635#/MNUSpreadsLies here].

{{Green|The universe the movie is set in is very interesting, and the fact that the RP is entirely user driven, with no professional posters, even more so. I think I may attempt a short in the universe, but that will probably not show up on shifti.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 02:31, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:You Facebook? I never really understood the lure of that thing...I'm not much for social networking. I'll probably try to work out my account soon enough. Strange thing, this Facebook. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 02:56, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|It helps to connect to friends that aren't near you, and set up group things, and, as I'm now finding out, it's pretty good for rping as well. This is a [http://www.explosm.net/comics/1137/ facebook]. I don't really want to link to my facebook from shifti, mainly because I don't really want my ident to be publicly known yet.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 03:02, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:Yeah, I understand. I'm so free with my identity because I feel very trapped, and I only find understanding online in people like you. But if you want to add me (on MSN, not Facebook, I don't use the latter), you're welcome to do so (drake_halounity[at]hotmail[dot]com)...I'm lonely 'cos nobody I know in real life is actually interested in this sorta thing as well. Just don't send me viruses...—[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 15:34, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|I masked your email to prevent spamming, and added you to my contacts list. I'll email/message you at a later time. You might also hop onto the #Transformations irc network. It's full of like minded individuals.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 16:27, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:Ah...I see both you and Lloyd did it before me. I was about to delete the address by today. Thanks anyway, especially for adding. As for IRC...I dunno how to use it. From what I've gathered, I need to have some program. I'll see if I can download it and get online, but for now I'm busy working on this story. That and my exams. Once again, thanks you two! :D —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 06:58, 11 August 2009 (UTC)

::IRC is just an online group chat. You join a server, and you join a channel, and you talk to others. Lots of programs are available. The one I use is mIRC [http://www.mirc.com/]. The two main servers from Shifti's POV are irc.lapinia.org and irc.anthrochat.net. Lapinia is where Shadowwolf lurks -- usually in the #transformations channel. The other "big" writing channel on lapinia is #MKGuild for writers in the Metamor Keep universe. On anthrochat, got to #TheZoo. Rabbit/Phil Geusz lurks there. I'm on all the channels, Jon Sleeper is on #transformations and #TheZoo, etc. Between those two channels you can find almost anybody from around here. [[User:Michael Bard|Michael Bard]] 05:45, 12 August 2009 (EDT)

:::Wow...I never really used the IRC before; all those Internet safety people always condemn it when they do speeches in school. Maybe I'll check it out one of these days, but first I'll do some investigation first. Still, thanks for the info. :)—[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 10:46, 12 August 2009 (UTC)

User talk:WolfyDrake95/Price in Blood

2009-08-12T09:47:13Z

Michael Bard: /* On self deprication. */

==Storyline Discussion==
{{Green|ShadowWolf knows a lot more about PaW than I do, but as far as I remember, the major conflicts were when Canada was sweeping down into the leftovers of the USA. But because you're from Singapore, you could start a story section over on that side of the world.

Here's some times for conflict:

2008-09: the start of the collapse, and first infections.

2011: the New Confederacy is formed. They could be the assasinators, as they are a very Anarchistic group.

2015: Most fighting stops. NAR stabilizes. New confederacy mostly gone. A splinter cell could cause some trouble.

2020: this is when Allan's hometown is bombed. After this, there is almost no figting in the greater NAR area. Some outlying areas could still have trouble with the Confederacy.

Thats the best I can do for now. If the character is going to be sticking around, I would recommend creating a character timeline page as well. It helps define the character's traits and description so that it stays constant across stories.

PAW needs some more authors, so I look forward to whatever you may come up with. Though by about 2020, most persecution in the north American region seems to have stopped, an earlier assassination plot could be a good setup for a character.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 14:03, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

:Hmm...I think PaW works, because my mind's already working out the kinks of the story. Well, I'll tell you what I'm planning now. '''SPOILER WARNING!!!'''

:'''Price in Blood'''—At the very end of some conflict (2015?), there is a skirmish between TFORs and an anti-TFOR splinter cell. This is when the main character's parents are killed, and the leader of the splinter cell finds him, takes him in, and slowly nurtures a hatred for TFORs, fuelled by his parents' deaths. Or, alternatively, his parents could have been the victims of the Brown incident (see Lloyd's [[Case Briefing: Leon v. Stewart]], but I haven't asked him yet), and died thereof. Same thing happens with the cell.

:Then the main character is trained, and within years (2019?) he is sent on his first mission for the cell: to go assassinate an outspoken pro-TFOR activist who's promoting TFOR equality and all that. The first time, a sniper attack is attempted; it fails, and the main character resorts to a direct knifing, etc. But then the main character catches the Torch, and collapses at the crucial moment of the assassination.

:The activist doesn't press charges on accounts of his age, but instead sends the main character to a friend's house (Allan himself, perhaps? That'd be a nice crossover) to recuperate, where it is revealed that the M.C. has caught the TFOR. As the M.C. deals with TFOR, the activist's friend starts to tell him about the TFOR community, and the M.C realizes that TFORs aren't all bad. Suddenly doubting his upbringing, he begins to investigate his parents' deaths, eventually finding a human survivor of that skirmish years ago. Then the M.C. finds out that actually it was the splinter cell who killed his parents; he goes back there to kill that leader, and succeeds.

:Admittedly I haven't thought of the very, very ending: perhaps the police arrest him? That would be an interesting ending, despite being sad.

:This story, being in the idea stage, is very loose. If you've got any good ideas, feel free to tell me! If ShadowWolf is reading this, then his advice would be crucial too! And if Allan is to be featured, I'll need a bunch of details about him, and probably you'll have to vet and monitor the dialog. The last time I featured someone else's character (awesome writer Jetfire's AT), I think I wrote her in terribly. My fault, of course. I still have trouble believing that I was forgiven for screwing up the Paradise universe. But I digress.
:If I've got your permission to use Allan, I'll probably be bugging you a lot. Or, we could use that nifty EtherPad to pull the partial collab. Tell me what you think!
:PS, forgive me for putting a reference to Allan in this story. I couldn't resist it. I have some problems. :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 14:30, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|The main idea sounds good. Around 2020 is when Allan's town is Bombed, but after that there's two years open for anything. 2022ish is when the Rangers contact Allan again, but I haven't started that story very far, so it could be that they both join.

If it were Allan, they could have a talk about losing a parent/parents, and other such discussions. Crossovers are what make a story universe so great, so I don't mind. Indeed, Lloyd has already used Allan in a [[The_Fool_in_the_Fox|story.]]

On the TFOR, It may have to be that he had the Torch previously, which created tension in the anti-TFOR community, but he didn't come down with TFOR right away. Then leading up to the assassination, he would be craving weird foods, and during the assassination TFOR could kick in, causing the systemic lock-up and changes.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 14:43, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

:As late as 2040 there are still people in the region that was once "The New Confederacy" that still perform anti-teefer terrorist acts. From what I can tell of your idea it would need to be no later than 2025 because around 2025 the "resistance" in that region has become wildly decentralized and so fractured that it has been known to attack other branches. -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 14:53, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

::Actually I was thinking along the lines of pre-2020, so that the main character could go live with Allan without Allan being preoccupied by bombings and death. So, skirmish in 2010s, training from 2011 through 2015, then assassination in 2016. More or less. I can already imagine fight scenes and gunfire and flying knives and two-meter leaps. All in my head, of course, and this messes up my lessons in school. By the way, where exactly does Allan live? And when is Lloyd's story set? I might be able to pull Jonas Balfour into this. :)
::And ShadowWolf's right about my story. I need it to be some kind of anti-TFOR splinter cell (I like the words "splinter cell": they're cool) that attacks pro-TFOR activists. I'll start on it right away, but this week I have to prep for my school's National Day Parade, so I'm kinda busy. I'll find time; I wake up at 5:30 sometimes just to check Shifti for updates before going to school. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 15:03, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|If it was set before 2020, which is when I set Rebuilding, I would have to go back and retcon a lot of exposition into it to make mention of MC, so to be perfectly honest, I think late 2020-2021 would be the best setting for MC and Allan to meet. That gives two years, and story material for both you and me.

Before 2020, Allan lived in California, near LA. Around 2020, he moved to just above Amarillo, Texas. 2021, when he's in college, if he gets into University of Texas, He'll be living in Austin Texas.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 15:20, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

:Got it. Shifting the timeline ahead, assassination now occurs in 2021. Oh, and can anyone help me think up a name and TFOR type for the pro-TFOR activist? I'm terrible at name-choosing and power-picking. Some help, please. I've written the intro, but right now I have to sleep. It's midnight over here. :) --[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 16:07, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|It seems to me that there is a high density of certain types of anthros in these settings. Generally of felines, lupines, and canines. I'm going to try and remedy that in my next story, because there are a lot of different species on earth, and the virus can even use ones not of this earth. So just as a challenge, you might try something out of the ordinary.

On the powers, only 30% of all teefers receive powers, so he may not have a "super" power, but he could have a biological capability. Such as hardened skin or extreme reflexes. An Armadillo TFOR might work, as it could lead to the bullet failing to penetrate far enough to be lethal. Just remember that the species should affect how the story progresses, instead of just being a block of descriptive text.

As for names, I'm terrible at names. You could try flipping through a phonebook, and picking out random first and last names to throw together.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 16:44, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

:Hmm...now that I think of it, maybe this activist shouldn't be a TFOR at all. Instead, I'm thinking having him as a normal human would be far better for the storyline. As for the main character, I'm naming him Taylor Miles, after the Halo 3: ODST [http://www.halo.wikia.com/wiki/Taylor_Miles character of the same name]. He's probably going to wind up some kinda wolf (grey or arctic), but you might have guessed that I liked wolves from my name, so this isn't a surprise. And he's going to have some limited object manipulation capabilities, which he can use to accelerate or manipulate bullets or throwing knives, for example. That sorta thing. I'll upload when I'm done with the first couple of chapters. :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 12:50, 5 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|A human activist would have a much higher chance of causing an upset in Taylor. If he expects to be shooting at what he believes are "animals," or whatever the propaganda is, then he may have issues with shooting a human being. I have noticed that you like wolves, yes.

On the issue of power characters, I'll link you to my talk page on [[Talk:Rebuilding|rebuilding]]. Both Lloyd and ShadowWolf had something to say about power characters, so it's worth a read. The main notes are to come up with definite limits on his powers, and definite consequences.

On a side note, because Allan is human, but also a TFOR, it could lead to interesting conversation things with Taylor. I enjoy discussions of "what makes a human" so I would love to come up with dialog with you.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 14:18, 5 August 2009 (UTC)

:Yes, exactly. It's supposed to be like that; the target is supposed to be human, but supporting TFORs. Here's an excerpt of what I've written so far:

::“This is your assignment. Find this man, and kill him. Silence him. I believe that you, of all the others, are up to this task. We already have the necessary information regarding him, but it shall be no easy task, since he is so successful that the TFORs have begun offering him protection.”

::“Wait,” Taylor cut in, unheeding of the protocols of respect. “This man is human. An innocent. He has done no wrong and neither is he one of ''them''—”

::“Don’t you see?” Myers slammed his hands on the table, emotion evidently forcing him out of his seat. “This man is corrupting the minds of the people! Human or not, he must be silenced. He is the voice of those beasts, and he has to be silenced, lest the people turn and support them instead of our noble cause!”

::Myers dropped back into his seat, seeming to regain control of his emotions. But looking at the man, Taylor saw a fire burning in his eyes as he continued, “You should know this, of all people. Anyone supporting the TFORs is a threat, and these TFORs are the greatest danger to our society. Or have you forgotten how they ''killed'' your parents, and how we had to take you in, shield you from the beasts and their claws and their teeth?”

::Now it was Taylor’s turn to rise, hands balled into fists. His words were dark, cold, but seething anger underlined them. “I ''never'' forgot, and I ''never'' will.”

:Yeah, so that's the reason why Taylor eventually agrees to it. But it's exactly this reason that plants a little doubt in Taylor's mind...it hints to him that humans can live alongside TFORs perfectly fine, something that his upbringing told him was impossible. As for the things about power characters, yeah, I've read that. Of course I'll work in some limitations, but I'll deal with that when I get there. Right now I'm working the intro. As for dialog...yeah, we could use this "EtherPad" that RM talked about. Seems pretty useful. :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 15:34, 5 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|Sounds like a plan.}}--[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 16:08, 5 August 2009 (UTC)

:Awesome! I'll drop you a message on your talk page or here or something when I get to that part. In the meantime I'll be working on the intro and assassination, as well as investigating the strange EtherPad. Off to sleep now! :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 16:11, 5 August 2009 (UTC)

::'''ADDITION'''Hey, CR, where do you live? As in, timezone. I'm not going to look you up or anything; I just need to sync times so that if we need to meet for a real-time collab we won't screw up the timings. That sorta thing. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 07:08, 6 August 2009 (UTC)

I should probably mention that TFOR is the acronymn for Transformative Failure of Ontogenetic Regulation. ''Teefer'' is the term used for those who were affected by TFOR. --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd]] 19:02, 5 August 2009 (UTC)

:Ah, yes. My mistake. Thanks for pitching in! By the way, when does Jonas catch the Torch? Because I like to put little cameos of characters I like, and Jonas is one of them. Even if the cameos are something as small as stepping on his tail. And when does [[The Fool in the Fox]] take place? It'd be useful if I knew when Jonas and Allan met. By the way, if you object to a cameo, it's fine with me. :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 07:04, 6 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|Fool in the Fox takes place sometime around 2032. Other than that you'll have to wait for Lloyd. I live in GMT-6, but will be out of town for a few days, so I don't know if I'll have internets. Wow, it looks like we are on exactly opposite time zones. When I'm waking up, you're finishing your day.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 12:24, 6 August 2009 (UTC)

:Yup, that's about right. But don't worry, I get up at four-thirty in the morning often enough (usually to do homework; I procrastinate). So there's no problem in meeting online, I guess. As for you going out of town, that's fine with me. I probably won't be getting to that part soon. And thanks for the info on Jonas, though I suppose I'll have to wait for Lloyd to reveal more...it's like some kind of conspiracy! :)
:—[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 12:49, 6 August 2009 (UTC)

:Jonas catches the Torch when he's 16, comes to Polyton when he's 17, and Fool takes place when he's 18 and it also happens in the summer of 2031. I have no objections to you using Jonas in your story by the way, that's one of the ideas behind a shared setting after all. --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd]] 13:24, 6 August 2009 (UTC)

::Sigh...I'm sorry, but I don't think I can cameo Jonas, because of the timeline. You see, my story needs the civil unrest of the 2020s. Jonas is eighteen in year 2031, meaning he would be eight and un-TFORed in 2021. So, unfortunately, I can't place him in there, because it would result in a timeline clash. Sorry. Perhaps in a sequel... —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 14:37, 6 August 2009 (UTC)

Oh, and could somebody enlighten me as to the kind of symptoms Blowtorch Fever causes? I'm only sure of the high fever and the cravings; the PaW page only listed those. Are there any others? Thanks. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 12:29, 9 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|And I'm back in town. I haven't had a chance to read it yet. I'll do that tonight. On Blowtorch, It only causes cravings if TFORS is also contracted, otherwise it's just a very deadly fever.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 01:58, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:'Kay. Thanks a lot! —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 02:00, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|Here is a clock for Texas,}} [http://www.timeanddate.com/worldclock/fullscreen.html?n=24 timeanddate.com]. --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 04:19, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:And [http://www.timeanddate.com/worldclock/fullscreen.html?n=236 here] is mine! So that we can sync up to a time where we can meet online for the dialog. Maybe next weekend, around eleven pm (Singapore time). Meanwhile I'll work on a list of what I need the conversation to cover. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 15:34, 10 August 2009 (UTC)
==Comments and Critique==
Hey guys, Wolfy here. Right now you've probably seen that I just uploaded the first segment of my story. If there's anything you think is bad, say so now! Thanks! Oh, and good comments are welcome too. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 08:52, 9 August 2009 (UTC)

:You've shown great improvements from your first foray into writing. I've thoroughly enjoyed what you have here right now and will be waiting for more. -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 11:48, 9 August 2009 (UTC)

::Wow, thanks for the praise! I kind of worried that I didn't manage to convey Taylor's character as a ruthless assassin very well, but really, thanks! I'm writing the actual assassination part now. Your praise is now compelling me to write more...Thanks once more! :D —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 12:22, 9 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|I just started reading it, and it's looking pretty good so far. Though you might want to start using pronouns at some point...}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 03:02, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|I have now finished the story in it's current posted form, and must say it is a very good start. A couple of notes:

*You mention that the phone is an iPhone, and I'm not sure if Apple would have survived the collapse, much the same way that Microsoft didn't. We might want to come up with a new mobile device that everyone uses, Otherwise it's hard to tell that the story takes place in the future. Blind Pig had this present future problem pretty bad.
*You don't seem to have any paragraphs. Everything is on a new line, and it makes it a bit difficult to read on a wide-screen monitor.
*The steak house should have a proper name, Such as "The County Line," "Rudy's," or "The Salt Lick." Which are all, coincidentally, real BBQ joints in Austin.
*Your Texas accents aren't too bad. At the very least, they don't portray Texans as idiots.
**"Doubt this killer’ll dare to show his face ‘round these parts when the Rangers are here." might be changed to "..parts with the Rangers in town."
*You drop a lot of Halo cameos in your stories. You might want to tone it down a bit, but that's more of a personal choice.
**In this case, the 99D-S2AM sniper rifle is very loud, and very evident as to where the bullet has come from due to the tracer in every round. You might look up some real world sniper rifles that are more anti-personnel and quiet.
*on the Encryption code: This isn't necessary, but for an added level of realism, you could research [[Wikipedia:Public Key|Public Key]] cryptography, and change it from Delta to a public key that they would use.
*On the robber: There are a lot of drunk, homeless, and/or bad people in east Austin, so you might set the Hotel there.

And that's all I could find right now. Keep up the good work.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 04:02, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:Thanks for the praise! As for your comments...
:*About the iPhone, it's mainly because I can't think of anything else. If one of the creators of PaW would step up and offer a nifty new brand, I wouldn't mind changing.
:*Paragraphing: I noticed that too, so maybe I'll switch to double-spacing between paragraphs. I use short paragraphs because it emphasizes suspense (I think).
:*Naming the steak house: Got it.
:*Texas accents: I worried that it would be offensive as I hate steorotypes. My bad.
:*Halo cameos: Right. Maybe I'll change it to a AWC (Arctic Warfare Covert). And, if you didn't notice, they're a lot more Halo references, like the Seventh Pillar Hotel is a ref. to the Seventh Column Bungie fangroup (Column is something like Pillar), and how the numbers of all the times add up to [http://www.halo.wikia.com/Seven seven]. And I intend to dump in more Assassin's Creed references, because I love that game. In case you didn't read Taylor's character page on PaW Character Timelines, Taylor bought a [http://assassinscreed.wikia.com/Hidden_Blade hidden blade] and repaired it for use. I know too many game references are bad but god I love those games!
:*Encryption: That's pretty minor, but maybe I'll follow your suggestion. I used "Omega" just to make it sound cool, as well as being a reference to my still unfinished [[User:WolfyDrake95/Last Man Standing|Last Man Standing]].
:*The robber: Okay.

:And thus, I reply. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 04:20, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

::An iphone, as is my understanding, does not require the presence of an Apple network in order to be used as a phone, so it is fully possible that it were still in use/production. If you want an alternate brand though, I believe the PAW Collab mentions something about Linux being the new microsoft so you may be able to come up with something there. --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd]] 11:53, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|The iPhone does require an AT&T plan, as well as access to the app store. Apple also has a history of locking down their devices, so that they cannot be used to their fullest unless they are illegaly jailbroken. Now if someone more into the open source/Linux community had taken over Apple, the new iPhone could be a linux based device, as well as more open to modification. Such as an encrypted communications application.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 13:11, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:As it stands this story is set so close to the end of the collapse that there will have been little in the way of technological innovation in regards to "consumer electronics". I can see the jailbreaking applications for the iPhone having become common - hell, I could see someone having broken into Apple's campus and stolen all of their source as having happened. If the source was stolen, then making it available to the public could have happened as well.

:I say that I can see this kind of thing happening and similar because I will not dictate things like that as having occurred. At this point the setting is still growing and details like that will likely be allowed as "canon". As the setting grows more details will get filled in it will become harder for people to add major new facets to the setting. -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 14:34, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

::Actually, I was thinking of using the iPhone because of its large application database, as well as its functionability (I read in NewsWeek that US snipers use it to calculate bullet drop). The one Taylor has is an upgraded version that the HRM developed for their field operatives. The HRM wasn't affected much by the Collapse, because it's quite a large movement and has a lot of powerful people within to support it. The cell featured in the story is only the Texas cell; many other cells are seeded within the New Confederacy. I can imagine someone in Apple being a member of the HRM and supplying them with the tech as well as the programs and applications specially designed for the Movement. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 15:04, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|As a hardware platform, the iPhone is very good. I can see that it could have grown into a much more robust device without Apple limiting it. Really, it's just kind of weird to see it called an iPhone in a future setting. I don't know if it should be called something else, but you might need to differentiate it from the iPhone of today.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 15:11, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:Hmm...I'll think about a new name. iPhone 2.0? uPhone? So many possibilities...—[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 15:34, 10 August 2009 (UTC)
== On self deprication. ==

{{Green|I'm noticing a trend with us young writers. We seem to think everything we write is, for lack of a better term, complete sh*t. I echo your author's note almost exactly on [[Talk:Rebuilding]]. To quote:

::"Anyways, I don't want to accidentally wreck your carefully crafted world with my bad fanfiction."

I don't know if this is a good or bad thing. It may mean we are more open to criticism, but it also means that we may be more prone to giving up on a story before giving it a chance.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 02:05, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:I think I know why. It's because when we (at least just me) read good stories (like Michael Bard's w00t I'm a fan!) we feel that we can't get up to that standard. When we read other stories in the universe we feel that we can't maintain that level of awesomeness. And so, we're terrified that we'll screw up the story universe. As for whether it's a good thing or bad...I think good because small bits of praise make me so happy that I get motivated a lot, but bad because if I don't get any praise or comments I get very demoralized. Queer. :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 02:18, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

::Drake, I thank you for your complements (ears burning and all). But, your comment here frightens me more than anything. I've been afraid for a long time that us "old guard" are scaring off new comers. We're not as inexperienced as you guys because we've been at it longer. The first story I finished that I still have is dated 1983. So, I've been writing for AT LEAST 26 years. So yes, I have gained some skill... :) All of us started out like you new people -- please PLEASE don't be scared off. It just takes time. And, in a bit of morale boosting, let me compare writing learning to painting. It took me 30 years go gain the painting skill I have. There was no internet, no support network. Now I can help new miniature painters reach 90% of my skill in less than a year. Same thing applies for writing -- just ask and everybody I know of will be glad to help. In a short time you too can be up at our level, and then together we can encourage each other to improve more and more. Finally, don't worry about screwing up a universe. The WORST that can happen is that somebody declares your story "non-canon" (hell, I got that done to me in Winds of Change). Big deal. Just write something else then. [[User:Michael Bard|Michael Bard]] 05:40, 12 August 2009 (EDT)

{{Green|True enough. On a side note, I still haven't read it yet because I'm RPing on one of District 9's Facebook pages. For the uninformed: [[Wikipedia:District_9|District 9]]. The Facebook page is}} [http://www.facebook.com/board.php?uid=57580949635#/MNUSpreadsLies here].

{{Green|The universe the movie is set in is very interesting, and the fact that the RP is entirely user driven, with no professional posters, even more so. I think I may attempt a short in the universe, but that will probably not show up on shifti.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 02:31, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:You Facebook? I never really understood the lure of that thing...I'm not much for social networking. I'll probably try to work out my account soon enough. Strange thing, this Facebook. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 02:56, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|It helps to connect to friends that aren't near you, and set up group things, and, as I'm now finding out, it's pretty good for rping as well. This is a [http://www.explosm.net/comics/1137/ facebook]. I don't really want to link to my facebook from shifti, mainly because I don't really want my ident to be publicly known yet.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 03:02, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:Yeah, I understand. I'm so free with my identity because I feel very trapped, and I only find understanding online in people like you. But if you want to add me (on MSN, not Facebook, I don't use the latter), you're welcome to do so (drake_halounity[at]hotmail[dot]com)...I'm lonely 'cos nobody I know in real life is actually interested in this sorta thing as well. Just don't send me viruses...—[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 15:34, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|I masked your email to prevent spamming, and added you to my contacts list. I'll email/message you at a later time. You might also hop onto the #Transformations irc network. It's full of like minded individuals.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 16:27, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:Ah...I see both you and Lloyd did it before me. I was about to delete the address by today. Thanks anyway, especially for adding. As for IRC...I dunno how to use it. From what I've gathered, I need to have some program. I'll see if I can download it and get online, but for now I'm busy working on this story. That and my exams. Once again, thanks you two! :D —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 06:58, 11 August 2009 (UTC)

::IRC is just an online group chat. You join a server, and you join a channel, and you talk to others. Lots of programs are available. The one I use is mIRC [http://www.mirc.com/]. The two main servers from Shifti's POV are irc.lapinia.org and irc.anthrochat.net. Lapinia is where Shadowwolf lurks -- usually in the #transformations channel. The other "big" writing channel on lapinia is #MKGuild for writers in the Metamor Keep universe. On anthrochat, got to #TheZoo. Rabbit/Phil Geusz lurks there. I'm on all the channels, Jon Sleeper is on #transformations and #TheZoo, etc. Between those two channels you can find almost anybody from around here. [[User:Michael Bard|Michael Bard]] 05:45, 12 August 2009 (EDT)

User talk:WolfyDrake95/Price in Blood

2009-08-12T09:41:50Z

Michael Bard: /* On self deprication. */

==Storyline Discussion==
{{Green|ShadowWolf knows a lot more about PaW than I do, but as far as I remember, the major conflicts were when Canada was sweeping down into the leftovers of the USA. But because you're from Singapore, you could start a story section over on that side of the world.

Here's some times for conflict:

2008-09: the start of the collapse, and first infections.

2011: the New Confederacy is formed. They could be the assasinators, as they are a very Anarchistic group.

2015: Most fighting stops. NAR stabilizes. New confederacy mostly gone. A splinter cell could cause some trouble.

2020: this is when Allan's hometown is bombed. After this, there is almost no figting in the greater NAR area. Some outlying areas could still have trouble with the Confederacy.

Thats the best I can do for now. If the character is going to be sticking around, I would recommend creating a character timeline page as well. It helps define the character's traits and description so that it stays constant across stories.

PAW needs some more authors, so I look forward to whatever you may come up with. Though by about 2020, most persecution in the north American region seems to have stopped, an earlier assassination plot could be a good setup for a character.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 14:03, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

:Hmm...I think PaW works, because my mind's already working out the kinks of the story. Well, I'll tell you what I'm planning now. '''SPOILER WARNING!!!'''

:'''Price in Blood'''—At the very end of some conflict (2015?), there is a skirmish between TFORs and an anti-TFOR splinter cell. This is when the main character's parents are killed, and the leader of the splinter cell finds him, takes him in, and slowly nurtures a hatred for TFORs, fuelled by his parents' deaths. Or, alternatively, his parents could have been the victims of the Brown incident (see Lloyd's [[Case Briefing: Leon v. Stewart]], but I haven't asked him yet), and died thereof. Same thing happens with the cell.

:Then the main character is trained, and within years (2019?) he is sent on his first mission for the cell: to go assassinate an outspoken pro-TFOR activist who's promoting TFOR equality and all that. The first time, a sniper attack is attempted; it fails, and the main character resorts to a direct knifing, etc. But then the main character catches the Torch, and collapses at the crucial moment of the assassination.

:The activist doesn't press charges on accounts of his age, but instead sends the main character to a friend's house (Allan himself, perhaps? That'd be a nice crossover) to recuperate, where it is revealed that the M.C. has caught the TFOR. As the M.C. deals with TFOR, the activist's friend starts to tell him about the TFOR community, and the M.C realizes that TFORs aren't all bad. Suddenly doubting his upbringing, he begins to investigate his parents' deaths, eventually finding a human survivor of that skirmish years ago. Then the M.C. finds out that actually it was the splinter cell who killed his parents; he goes back there to kill that leader, and succeeds.

:Admittedly I haven't thought of the very, very ending: perhaps the police arrest him? That would be an interesting ending, despite being sad.

:This story, being in the idea stage, is very loose. If you've got any good ideas, feel free to tell me! If ShadowWolf is reading this, then his advice would be crucial too! And if Allan is to be featured, I'll need a bunch of details about him, and probably you'll have to vet and monitor the dialog. The last time I featured someone else's character (awesome writer Jetfire's AT), I think I wrote her in terribly. My fault, of course. I still have trouble believing that I was forgiven for screwing up the Paradise universe. But I digress.
:If I've got your permission to use Allan, I'll probably be bugging you a lot. Or, we could use that nifty EtherPad to pull the partial collab. Tell me what you think!
:PS, forgive me for putting a reference to Allan in this story. I couldn't resist it. I have some problems. :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 14:30, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|The main idea sounds good. Around 2020 is when Allan's town is Bombed, but after that there's two years open for anything. 2022ish is when the Rangers contact Allan again, but I haven't started that story very far, so it could be that they both join.

If it were Allan, they could have a talk about losing a parent/parents, and other such discussions. Crossovers are what make a story universe so great, so I don't mind. Indeed, Lloyd has already used Allan in a [[The_Fool_in_the_Fox|story.]]

On the TFOR, It may have to be that he had the Torch previously, which created tension in the anti-TFOR community, but he didn't come down with TFOR right away. Then leading up to the assassination, he would be craving weird foods, and during the assassination TFOR could kick in, causing the systemic lock-up and changes.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 14:43, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

:As late as 2040 there are still people in the region that was once "The New Confederacy" that still perform anti-teefer terrorist acts. From what I can tell of your idea it would need to be no later than 2025 because around 2025 the "resistance" in that region has become wildly decentralized and so fractured that it has been known to attack other branches. -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 14:53, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

::Actually I was thinking along the lines of pre-2020, so that the main character could go live with Allan without Allan being preoccupied by bombings and death. So, skirmish in 2010s, training from 2011 through 2015, then assassination in 2016. More or less. I can already imagine fight scenes and gunfire and flying knives and two-meter leaps. All in my head, of course, and this messes up my lessons in school. By the way, where exactly does Allan live? And when is Lloyd's story set? I might be able to pull Jonas Balfour into this. :)
::And ShadowWolf's right about my story. I need it to be some kind of anti-TFOR splinter cell (I like the words "splinter cell": they're cool) that attacks pro-TFOR activists. I'll start on it right away, but this week I have to prep for my school's National Day Parade, so I'm kinda busy. I'll find time; I wake up at 5:30 sometimes just to check Shifti for updates before going to school. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 15:03, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|If it was set before 2020, which is when I set Rebuilding, I would have to go back and retcon a lot of exposition into it to make mention of MC, so to be perfectly honest, I think late 2020-2021 would be the best setting for MC and Allan to meet. That gives two years, and story material for both you and me.

Before 2020, Allan lived in California, near LA. Around 2020, he moved to just above Amarillo, Texas. 2021, when he's in college, if he gets into University of Texas, He'll be living in Austin Texas.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 15:20, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

:Got it. Shifting the timeline ahead, assassination now occurs in 2021. Oh, and can anyone help me think up a name and TFOR type for the pro-TFOR activist? I'm terrible at name-choosing and power-picking. Some help, please. I've written the intro, but right now I have to sleep. It's midnight over here. :) --[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 16:07, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|It seems to me that there is a high density of certain types of anthros in these settings. Generally of felines, lupines, and canines. I'm going to try and remedy that in my next story, because there are a lot of different species on earth, and the virus can even use ones not of this earth. So just as a challenge, you might try something out of the ordinary.

On the powers, only 30% of all teefers receive powers, so he may not have a "super" power, but he could have a biological capability. Such as hardened skin or extreme reflexes. An Armadillo TFOR might work, as it could lead to the bullet failing to penetrate far enough to be lethal. Just remember that the species should affect how the story progresses, instead of just being a block of descriptive text.

As for names, I'm terrible at names. You could try flipping through a phonebook, and picking out random first and last names to throw together.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 16:44, 4 August 2009 (UTC)

:Hmm...now that I think of it, maybe this activist shouldn't be a TFOR at all. Instead, I'm thinking having him as a normal human would be far better for the storyline. As for the main character, I'm naming him Taylor Miles, after the Halo 3: ODST [http://www.halo.wikia.com/wiki/Taylor_Miles character of the same name]. He's probably going to wind up some kinda wolf (grey or arctic), but you might have guessed that I liked wolves from my name, so this isn't a surprise. And he's going to have some limited object manipulation capabilities, which he can use to accelerate or manipulate bullets or throwing knives, for example. That sorta thing. I'll upload when I'm done with the first couple of chapters. :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 12:50, 5 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|A human activist would have a much higher chance of causing an upset in Taylor. If he expects to be shooting at what he believes are "animals," or whatever the propaganda is, then he may have issues with shooting a human being. I have noticed that you like wolves, yes.

On the issue of power characters, I'll link you to my talk page on [[Talk:Rebuilding|rebuilding]]. Both Lloyd and ShadowWolf had something to say about power characters, so it's worth a read. The main notes are to come up with definite limits on his powers, and definite consequences.

On a side note, because Allan is human, but also a TFOR, it could lead to interesting conversation things with Taylor. I enjoy discussions of "what makes a human" so I would love to come up with dialog with you.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 14:18, 5 August 2009 (UTC)

:Yes, exactly. It's supposed to be like that; the target is supposed to be human, but supporting TFORs. Here's an excerpt of what I've written so far:

::“This is your assignment. Find this man, and kill him. Silence him. I believe that you, of all the others, are up to this task. We already have the necessary information regarding him, but it shall be no easy task, since he is so successful that the TFORs have begun offering him protection.”

::“Wait,” Taylor cut in, unheeding of the protocols of respect. “This man is human. An innocent. He has done no wrong and neither is he one of ''them''—”

::“Don’t you see?” Myers slammed his hands on the table, emotion evidently forcing him out of his seat. “This man is corrupting the minds of the people! Human or not, he must be silenced. He is the voice of those beasts, and he has to be silenced, lest the people turn and support them instead of our noble cause!”

::Myers dropped back into his seat, seeming to regain control of his emotions. But looking at the man, Taylor saw a fire burning in his eyes as he continued, “You should know this, of all people. Anyone supporting the TFORs is a threat, and these TFORs are the greatest danger to our society. Or have you forgotten how they ''killed'' your parents, and how we had to take you in, shield you from the beasts and their claws and their teeth?”

::Now it was Taylor’s turn to rise, hands balled into fists. His words were dark, cold, but seething anger underlined them. “I ''never'' forgot, and I ''never'' will.”

:Yeah, so that's the reason why Taylor eventually agrees to it. But it's exactly this reason that plants a little doubt in Taylor's mind...it hints to him that humans can live alongside TFORs perfectly fine, something that his upbringing told him was impossible. As for the things about power characters, yeah, I've read that. Of course I'll work in some limitations, but I'll deal with that when I get there. Right now I'm working the intro. As for dialog...yeah, we could use this "EtherPad" that RM talked about. Seems pretty useful. :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 15:34, 5 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|Sounds like a plan.}}--[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 16:08, 5 August 2009 (UTC)

:Awesome! I'll drop you a message on your talk page or here or something when I get to that part. In the meantime I'll be working on the intro and assassination, as well as investigating the strange EtherPad. Off to sleep now! :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 16:11, 5 August 2009 (UTC)

::'''ADDITION'''Hey, CR, where do you live? As in, timezone. I'm not going to look you up or anything; I just need to sync times so that if we need to meet for a real-time collab we won't screw up the timings. That sorta thing. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 07:08, 6 August 2009 (UTC)

I should probably mention that TFOR is the acronymn for Transformative Failure of Ontogenetic Regulation. ''Teefer'' is the term used for those who were affected by TFOR. --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd]] 19:02, 5 August 2009 (UTC)

:Ah, yes. My mistake. Thanks for pitching in! By the way, when does Jonas catch the Torch? Because I like to put little cameos of characters I like, and Jonas is one of them. Even if the cameos are something as small as stepping on his tail. And when does [[The Fool in the Fox]] take place? It'd be useful if I knew when Jonas and Allan met. By the way, if you object to a cameo, it's fine with me. :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 07:04, 6 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|Fool in the Fox takes place sometime around 2032. Other than that you'll have to wait for Lloyd. I live in GMT-6, but will be out of town for a few days, so I don't know if I'll have internets. Wow, it looks like we are on exactly opposite time zones. When I'm waking up, you're finishing your day.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 12:24, 6 August 2009 (UTC)

:Yup, that's about right. But don't worry, I get up at four-thirty in the morning often enough (usually to do homework; I procrastinate). So there's no problem in meeting online, I guess. As for you going out of town, that's fine with me. I probably won't be getting to that part soon. And thanks for the info on Jonas, though I suppose I'll have to wait for Lloyd to reveal more...it's like some kind of conspiracy! :)
:—[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 12:49, 6 August 2009 (UTC)

:Jonas catches the Torch when he's 16, comes to Polyton when he's 17, and Fool takes place when he's 18 and it also happens in the summer of 2031. I have no objections to you using Jonas in your story by the way, that's one of the ideas behind a shared setting after all. --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd]] 13:24, 6 August 2009 (UTC)

::Sigh...I'm sorry, but I don't think I can cameo Jonas, because of the timeline. You see, my story needs the civil unrest of the 2020s. Jonas is eighteen in year 2031, meaning he would be eight and un-TFORed in 2021. So, unfortunately, I can't place him in there, because it would result in a timeline clash. Sorry. Perhaps in a sequel... —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 14:37, 6 August 2009 (UTC)

Oh, and could somebody enlighten me as to the kind of symptoms Blowtorch Fever causes? I'm only sure of the high fever and the cravings; the PaW page only listed those. Are there any others? Thanks. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 12:29, 9 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|And I'm back in town. I haven't had a chance to read it yet. I'll do that tonight. On Blowtorch, It only causes cravings if TFORS is also contracted, otherwise it's just a very deadly fever.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 01:58, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:'Kay. Thanks a lot! —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 02:00, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|Here is a clock for Texas,}} [http://www.timeanddate.com/worldclock/fullscreen.html?n=24 timeanddate.com]. --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 04:19, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:And [http://www.timeanddate.com/worldclock/fullscreen.html?n=236 here] is mine! So that we can sync up to a time where we can meet online for the dialog. Maybe next weekend, around eleven pm (Singapore time). Meanwhile I'll work on a list of what I need the conversation to cover. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 15:34, 10 August 2009 (UTC)
==Comments and Critique==
Hey guys, Wolfy here. Right now you've probably seen that I just uploaded the first segment of my story. If there's anything you think is bad, say so now! Thanks! Oh, and good comments are welcome too. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 08:52, 9 August 2009 (UTC)

:You've shown great improvements from your first foray into writing. I've thoroughly enjoyed what you have here right now and will be waiting for more. -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 11:48, 9 August 2009 (UTC)

::Wow, thanks for the praise! I kind of worried that I didn't manage to convey Taylor's character as a ruthless assassin very well, but really, thanks! I'm writing the actual assassination part now. Your praise is now compelling me to write more...Thanks once more! :D —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 12:22, 9 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|I just started reading it, and it's looking pretty good so far. Though you might want to start using pronouns at some point...}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 03:02, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|I have now finished the story in it's current posted form, and must say it is a very good start. A couple of notes:

*You mention that the phone is an iPhone, and I'm not sure if Apple would have survived the collapse, much the same way that Microsoft didn't. We might want to come up with a new mobile device that everyone uses, Otherwise it's hard to tell that the story takes place in the future. Blind Pig had this present future problem pretty bad.
*You don't seem to have any paragraphs. Everything is on a new line, and it makes it a bit difficult to read on a wide-screen monitor.
*The steak house should have a proper name, Such as "The County Line," "Rudy's," or "The Salt Lick." Which are all, coincidentally, real BBQ joints in Austin.
*Your Texas accents aren't too bad. At the very least, they don't portray Texans as idiots.
**"Doubt this killer’ll dare to show his face ‘round these parts when the Rangers are here." might be changed to "..parts with the Rangers in town."
*You drop a lot of Halo cameos in your stories. You might want to tone it down a bit, but that's more of a personal choice.
**In this case, the 99D-S2AM sniper rifle is very loud, and very evident as to where the bullet has come from due to the tracer in every round. You might look up some real world sniper rifles that are more anti-personnel and quiet.
*on the Encryption code: This isn't necessary, but for an added level of realism, you could research [[Wikipedia:Public Key|Public Key]] cryptography, and change it from Delta to a public key that they would use.
*On the robber: There are a lot of drunk, homeless, and/or bad people in east Austin, so you might set the Hotel there.

And that's all I could find right now. Keep up the good work.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 04:02, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:Thanks for the praise! As for your comments...
:*About the iPhone, it's mainly because I can't think of anything else. If one of the creators of PaW would step up and offer a nifty new brand, I wouldn't mind changing.
:*Paragraphing: I noticed that too, so maybe I'll switch to double-spacing between paragraphs. I use short paragraphs because it emphasizes suspense (I think).
:*Naming the steak house: Got it.
:*Texas accents: I worried that it would be offensive as I hate steorotypes. My bad.
:*Halo cameos: Right. Maybe I'll change it to a AWC (Arctic Warfare Covert). And, if you didn't notice, they're a lot more Halo references, like the Seventh Pillar Hotel is a ref. to the Seventh Column Bungie fangroup (Column is something like Pillar), and how the numbers of all the times add up to [http://www.halo.wikia.com/Seven seven]. And I intend to dump in more Assassin's Creed references, because I love that game. In case you didn't read Taylor's character page on PaW Character Timelines, Taylor bought a [http://assassinscreed.wikia.com/Hidden_Blade hidden blade] and repaired it for use. I know too many game references are bad but god I love those games!
:*Encryption: That's pretty minor, but maybe I'll follow your suggestion. I used "Omega" just to make it sound cool, as well as being a reference to my still unfinished [[User:WolfyDrake95/Last Man Standing|Last Man Standing]].
:*The robber: Okay.

:And thus, I reply. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 04:20, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

::An iphone, as is my understanding, does not require the presence of an Apple network in order to be used as a phone, so it is fully possible that it were still in use/production. If you want an alternate brand though, I believe the PAW Collab mentions something about Linux being the new microsoft so you may be able to come up with something there. --[[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd]] 11:53, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|The iPhone does require an AT&T plan, as well as access to the app store. Apple also has a history of locking down their devices, so that they cannot be used to their fullest unless they are illegaly jailbroken. Now if someone more into the open source/Linux community had taken over Apple, the new iPhone could be a linux based device, as well as more open to modification. Such as an encrypted communications application.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 13:11, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:As it stands this story is set so close to the end of the collapse that there will have been little in the way of technological innovation in regards to "consumer electronics". I can see the jailbreaking applications for the iPhone having become common - hell, I could see someone having broken into Apple's campus and stolen all of their source as having happened. If the source was stolen, then making it available to the public could have happened as well.

:I say that I can see this kind of thing happening and similar because I will not dictate things like that as having occurred. At this point the setting is still growing and details like that will likely be allowed as "canon". As the setting grows more details will get filled in it will become harder for people to add major new facets to the setting. -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 14:34, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

::Actually, I was thinking of using the iPhone because of its large application database, as well as its functionability (I read in NewsWeek that US snipers use it to calculate bullet drop). The one Taylor has is an upgraded version that the HRM developed for their field operatives. The HRM wasn't affected much by the Collapse, because it's quite a large movement and has a lot of powerful people within to support it. The cell featured in the story is only the Texas cell; many other cells are seeded within the New Confederacy. I can imagine someone in Apple being a member of the HRM and supplying them with the tech as well as the programs and applications specially designed for the Movement. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 15:04, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|As a hardware platform, the iPhone is very good. I can see that it could have grown into a much more robust device without Apple limiting it. Really, it's just kind of weird to see it called an iPhone in a future setting. I don't know if it should be called something else, but you might need to differentiate it from the iPhone of today.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 15:11, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:Hmm...I'll think about a new name. iPhone 2.0? uPhone? So many possibilities...—[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 15:34, 10 August 2009 (UTC)
== On self deprication. ==

{{Green|I'm noticing a trend with us young writers. We seem to think everything we write is, for lack of a better term, complete sh*t. I echo your author's note almost exactly on [[Talk:Rebuilding]]. To quote:

::"Anyways, I don't want to accidentally wreck your carefully crafted world with my bad fanfiction."

I don't know if this is a good or bad thing. It may mean we are more open to criticism, but it also means that we may be more prone to giving up on a story before giving it a chance.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 02:05, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:I think I know why. It's because when we (at least just me) read good stories (like Michael Bard's w00t I'm a fan!) we feel that we can't get up to that standard. When we read other stories in the universe we feel that we can't maintain that level of awesomeness. And so, we're terrified that we'll screw up the story universe. As for whether it's a good thing or bad...I think good because small bits of praise make me so happy that I get motivated a lot, but bad because if I don't get any praise or comments I get very demoralized. Queer. :) —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 02:18, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

::Drake, I thank you for your complements (ears burning and all). But, your comment here frightens me more than anything. I've been afraid for a long time that us "old guard" are scaring off new comers. We're not as inexperienced as you guys because we've been at it longer. The first story I finished that I still have is dated 1983. So, I've been writing for AT LEAST 26 years. So yes, I have gained some skill... :) All of us started out like you new people -- please PLEASE don't be scared off. It just takes time. And, in a bit of morale boosting, let me compare writing learning to painting. It took me 30 years go gain the painting skill I have. There was no internet, no support network. Now I can help new miniature painters reach 90% of my skill in less than a year. Same thing applies for writing -- just ask and everybody I know of will be glad to help. In a short time you too can be up at our level, and then together we can encourage each other to improve more and more. Finally, don't worry about screwing up a universe. The WORST that can happen is that somebody declares your story "non-canon" (hell, I got that done to me in Winds of Change). Big deal. Just write something else then. [[User:Michael Bard|Michael Bard]] 05:40, 12 August 2009 (EDT)

{{Green|True enough. On a side note, I still haven't read it yet because I'm RPing on one of District 9's Facebook pages. For the uninformed: [[Wikipedia:District_9|District 9]]. The Facebook page is}} [http://www.facebook.com/board.php?uid=57580949635#/MNUSpreadsLies here].

{{Green|The universe the movie is set in is very interesting, and the fact that the RP is entirely user driven, with no professional posters, even more so. I think I may attempt a short in the universe, but that will probably not show up on shifti.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 02:31, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:You Facebook? I never really understood the lure of that thing...I'm not much for social networking. I'll probably try to work out my account soon enough. Strange thing, this Facebook. —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 02:56, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|It helps to connect to friends that aren't near you, and set up group things, and, as I'm now finding out, it's pretty good for rping as well. This is a [http://www.explosm.net/comics/1137/ facebook]. I don't really want to link to my facebook from shifti, mainly because I don't really want my ident to be publicly known yet.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 03:02, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:Yeah, I understand. I'm so free with my identity because I feel very trapped, and I only find understanding online in people like you. But if you want to add me (on MSN, not Facebook, I don't use the latter), you're welcome to do so (drake_halounity[at]hotmail[dot]com)...I'm lonely 'cos nobody I know in real life is actually interested in this sorta thing as well. Just don't send me viruses...—[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 15:34, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

{{Green|I masked your email to prevent spamming, and added you to my contacts list. I'll email/message you at a later time. You might also hop onto the #Transformations irc network. It's full of like minded individuals.}} --[[User:Concerned Reader|Concerned Reader]] 16:27, 10 August 2009 (UTC)

:Ah...I see both you and Lloyd did it before me. I was about to delete the address by today. Thanks anyway, especially for adding. As for IRC...I dunno how to use it. From what I've gathered, I need to have some program. I'll see if I can download it and get online, but for now I'm busy working on this story. That and my exams. Once again, thanks you two! :D —[[User:WolfyDrake95|Drake]] 06:58, 11 August 2009 (UTC)

User:Michael Bard/Mythic Journeys - Part 2

2009-08-02T00:34:39Z

Michael Bard: Fixed italics error

[[Category:Michael Bard]] [[Category:Equine]][[Category:Animal]][[Category:Anthropomorphic]]
[[Category:Aquatic]][[Category:Avian]][[Category:Cervine]]
[[Category:Fantasy]][[Category:Wolf]][[Category:Mental change]][[Category:Mythical]][[Category:Science fiction]][[Category:Transgender]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Mythic Journeys Part 2}}
[[Category:Story]]
{{title|name=Mythic Journeys|author=Michael Bard}}

==Chapter 39: The Barbarian==

The first thing I remembered feeling as the javelin impacted me was shock and annoyance. Absolute astonishment that something like this could happen. Where the hell had this idiot come from? How dare he cause me to break my word. That instant was overwhelmed by pain. Fortunately the javelin hadn't pierced anything critical, all of my organs were in my horse chest, my human chest only had muscle and my esophagus, and the javelin missed that. The pain lasted only an instant before it was overwhelmed by Ixion's legacy. Blind, overwhelming, all powerful, rage.

With an incoherent scream I leapt into the water, my hooves splashing and stumbling on the rounded stones. Phillipa, looking up at my scream, watched as I bounded into the pool towards the monster who'd murdered the Trojans. That monster just laughed as the water sucked him under. The water was a lot deeper than it looked.

I don't know whether it was my madness, or a memory of what had happened during my madness, that made me not care what happened to me. I dove under after him. Instead of holding my breath I blew out all my air in a roar of bubbles, and then sucked in water to ensure I could pursue him into the blackest depths. It tore into my throat in exquisite pain, but like before it didn't kill me. It seemed to be enough to sustain me. Sinking to the bottom I exhaled again and a few bubbles of air burbled out of my mouth and nose before I sucked in more water.

He turned and tried to flee, but that was when his origin betrayed himself. Like me he couldn't drown, but he'd also never learned to swim. I'd done this before in this body, I'd flown through the air as Pegasus, I'd swam as a human before I got dragged into that world. And I was above him and sinking fast in a cloud of blood oozing out around the javelin that was still in my chest.

Grasping the wooden shaft I ripped it out, splinters tearing off inside me, the head catching on the skin of my back and then tearing its way through. Blood gushed out but I was beyond caring. I must have looked like one of the Furies to him, surrounded in blood, living when I should be dying, bringing the judgment of the gods to him.

Suddenly the water pulled him, started yanking him away, but the same current grabbed me and the suction of his body yanked me closer. I hadn't thrown the javelin. Old old memories of spear fishing burbled up in my brain. I had to thrust, and before I could thrust I had to reach him. Silt and mud swirled around us. I coughed as I sucked it down my windpipe. That didn't stop me, I was aware of only him. Clouds of blood and mud surrounded us, hid him, but somehow I knew where he was. For an instant I saw him through the clouded water, and I knew he was in reach. Shifting my grip to the back of the javelin, I thrust it into him, angling it so that as the force twisted my body, it also twisted the javelin towards him.

As I felt its bronze tip pierce his skin, I yanked him back towards me like a hooked fish. The water swirled and roared, twisting around us in a bubble filled torrent. He screamed in pain and a burst of bubbles, and the bubbles were ripped away. The bronze tore out in a gush of blood but he was close enough that I grabbed and hugged him against me.

At that moment I could have broke his neck, snapped his spine, tore him in two. But, somehow, I forced that urge down. I needed to know what had happened. I needed to know what he'd done. I didn't need to know who was behind this. The medium that had hid him made it obvious. He needed to answer for what he'd done, and then Phillipa could gut him.

Even as I held him he fought me. The water swirled around us, spinning us like a top. I was sick, nauseous, but I didn't let go. The water slammed us against the bottom in a new cloud of mud and blood and stones, but I didn't let go. Tiny currents picked up individual rocks and slammed them against me, one after the other, but I didn't let go. I just held him as we twisted around and around, spinning horizontally, spinning vertically. His face, wracked with pain and silent screams, became my world. Things from outside tore at my flesh, battered at my back. Grit shoved itself into my eyes and down my throat. But I refused to let him go.

Gradually the torrent slowed, the spinning slowed, and we settled to the bottom in a cloud of silt and algae and mud and blood. When my hooves thudded on the bottom, through a rain of fine pebbles, I forced myself to take one step after another, place one hoof in front of the other. Gradually I walked out of the deep in the center of the pool. I was tired, exhausted. My muscles were sore. The wounds that covered me were more numerous than the tattoos the Scythians had placed onto me. I was divine, immortal, I couldn't die. But that didn't mean that I couldn't get hurt. Healing took energy, energy it took from my body. Each step became an act of will. The darkness lightened as I approached the surface with my prisoner, the heavier suspended particles settled out. I stumbled, drifted down to my knees, but then forced myself up and continued on. I could see the purple-red light of dawn flickering through the ripple broken surface. My head broke through and other centaurs jumped into the pool and helped me the rest of the way out as I exhaled the water in my lungs. Philyanax was there with them, and she pushed me from behind as I staggered up the last few steps before collapsing onto my side, still in half of metre of water. Arms tried to take my prisoner out of my grip, and at first I wouldn't let go but as I recognized centaurs and faces, Doryalos, Bianar, Ularios the Elder, Hodites, my grip slowly slackened.

"Don't... don't kill... him." I managed to force out. "Bind the... the bastards wounds!"

"And what about the woman?" Amlaneas spit out.

That was then I saw that Phillipa was tied painfully tight, and held securely. "Not her..." More water and blood gushed out of my mouth and my body was wracked with coughs. "Not her fault..."

And that was when I lost consciousness.

----

I woke up laying near the stream before a roaring fire in one side, and Philyanax pressing herself against me on the other. I wasn't cold, I was, in fact, unbearably hot. Other centaurs were around me. I felt sore all over, and still a little sick in the chest. I gagged and spit bloody splinters. Immediately Philyanax leapt to her hooves.

''Don't do that again!'' she screamed. She definitely wasn't pleased.

I reached up to scratch her on the chin and she gently lipped my fingers.

"Are you all right Stephan?" Doryalos asked. He must have been one of the ones standing watch over me.

"I think so." My voice was more a croak. Somebody handed me a skin and I gulped down some water and handed it back. "I don't want to go through that again."

"What happened?"

I heard the other centaurs crowding around and shuffling nervously at that question. In a slightly overloud voice so that everybody could hear, I told them. I didn't blame them for what had happened -- who knew an assassin was hiding at the bottom of a pool in a stream?

"Doryalos," I asked, "how long has it been?"

"Over a day."

I leapt to my hooves. "Have we been attacked? Have you maintained patrols--?"

"No and yes. Everything's under control."

"Has anybody found anything?"

"Nothing. No Acheans, no Trojans."

"Did you--?"

"We burned the Trojans."

"Take me to the prisoner."

"You need to res--"

"Now!"

''You need to rest'', Philyanax nickered.

"NOW GOD DAMNIT! WHERE IS HE?!"

"This way Stephan."

I followed as Doryalos led. The others crowded around me in a circle.

"I don't need an escort!"

Doryalos replied. "They think you do."

''And I agree!'' snorted Philyanax.

"Fine!"

There were some snickers from my bodyguard.

"Doryalos, send somebody to fetch Phillipa. I think she'll want to hear what this bastard has to say."

"That won't be hard, we've had to keep her from killing him."

"Feisty, isn't she?"

"Definitely."

At that point the guards in front of me made room and I saw about 20 centaurs standing in a circle facing inwards. Phillipa was outside the circle, being watched by Nedymnos. Doryalos barked a command and a few moved aside to let him and I through.

The assassin, if that's what he was, didn't look good. His chest wound had been bandaged, but he looked pale and I could smell that his wound was infected. The prisoner's entire body was bruised and beaten. The centaurs hadn't been nice to him and I couldn't really blame them. His hands were tight behind his back, and presumably tied. His legs were tied so tight that I could see that his feet were pale and empty of blood.

"Stephan, let me talk to him."

"No." My tone was cold and harsh. Doryalos knew when to drop a conversation and he remained silent as I walked forward. I was alone except for Philyanax who walked beside me.

As I approached him I realized that all the centaurs guarding him were about three metres away, all were armoured, and all held a javelin ready to kill him.

As I stopped in front of him, his head lolled to the side. Then his eyes focused on me and his head straightened proudly. He tried to spit at my hooves, but his mouth was too dry.

"Somebody bring some water."

"NO!" Phillipa burst out. "Kill him! It's all he deserves!"

"Phillipa, we're civilized here. We'll listen to what he has to say. Then you can decide whether he lives or dies."

"DON'T WASTE MY TIME! HE MURDERED MY FAMILY! HE..!" Phillipa continued in the same vein but I ignored her.

A centaur handed me some water and I dribbled a little bit into his mouth. I let him swallow a bit and then pulled the skin away and handed it back. Grabbing his chin I moved his head until his eyes were looking into mine. "Who are you?"

He just spit in my face, this time able too. Phillipa was still screaming, and I heard hooves thudding on the ground angrily.

"I would suggest you show a little civility because I'm the only one keeping them," I motioned around, "from ripping you into very small pieces. Your name?"

"Nausimedan, you soulless bastard!"

Nausimedan... why did that sound familiar. I looked at him and he glared at me as I searched through my memories. Then I had it. "Son of Nauplios and grandson of Posedion?"

"My grandfather will kill you yet you motherless beast!"

"I have a mother, and I am much less a best than you," I responded calmly, though I could feel Ixion's blood rising in me. "Why did you attack me? Did Posedion send you?"

"I did it myself!"

"I guess your grandfather's still too terrified of me." When I said that Phillipa finally stopped screaming for blood. In fact everybody around the two of us was silent listening.

"Are you proud of deserting your comrades? Of killing innocents in cold blood?"

"I thought they were Acheans! Once they saw me I had no choice!"

"You know that I destroyed your friends? They're dead or in flight. All because you deserted them."

"YOU WERE MORE IMPORTANT!"

"So you tried to kill me like an assassin in the night?"

"YOU DESERVE ONLY DEATH!"

I turned away and a pair of centaurs leapt forward to grab him as he threw himself at me biting and spitting. As I walked away I slapped him in the face with my tail, finally stopping when it was just out of his reach. "This," I said to everybody, "is a barbarian." I stopped in front of Phillipa. She stared at me in awe. Doryalos was beside me again and I turned to him. "Your dagger please?"

With the only sound being the screaming of Nausimedon, he handed it to me, holding it by the blade.

I switched grips and held the hilt out to Phillipa. "You are the one most wronged. What do you want done to him?"

Her hand whipped out and yanked the dagger from my hand, its blade drawing a line of blood down my palm. Screaming, she ripped herself free of the centaur holding her and ran at Nausimedon.

I turned in time to watch her gut him again and again and again.

==Chapter 40: Loyalties==

I turned away from Phillipa to Doryalos. "I want you to take the centaurs and follow Phillipa to Troy. Her safety is your responsibility. She can show you the way. Join Hect--"

"What about you Stephan?"

Philyanax looked at me and I knew she wanted to know the answer too.

I sighed. "Now you both know who's out to get me. I want you gone. I want you all gone. Poseidon is my problem, and my vengeance. There's no need for any of yo--"

''NO''! Philyanax screamed.

"Stephan, I refuse."

I looked down at Doryalos and took a step forward until my human chest was pressed against his. He kept looking right back, refusing to budge.

"They'll all refuse! Don't you realize that?" he stated.

"Doryalos. You have my instructions."

"Then I quit! Pick somebody else because I'm not leaving you."

Nor I!

"Don't you two realize whom I'm out to kill?!"

"I didn't know you wanted to kill him until now, but that doesn't change things. Out of curiosity, why?"

"It's none of your business!" I took a step forward and Doryalos braced his entire strength against me. I ended up pushing him back because I was stronger, his hooves digging into the dirt in resistance.

"You made me your direct assistant. That makes it my business."

"Fine!" I threw up my arms. "He killed my family, or at least the one that adopted me. He caused me to rape my sister and watch her die in childbirth. He's now tried to kill me twice!"

"He's a god--"

"I KNOW WHAT HE IS! It doesn't matter, I have to do what I have to do. Just like you have to care for the herd."

"I AM caring for the herd Stephan. I'm staying with you. YOU are its heart!"

I backed down and turned around, watching Phillipa thrust her dagger in again and again, even though Nausimedon was long dead. "I'm the one Poseidon wronged, not you. Not anybody else."

"It doesn't matter. We won't leave you."

It seemed that Philyanax was pleased to let Doryalos speak for her, though she did snort her agreement.

"You're all idiots!" I pointed at Phillipa. "Look at her! The ONLY reason her parents are dead is because they happened to be in the way. If she hadn't met me they'd still be alive!"

"Stephan, why'd you depose Gryneos?"

"What does it matter?" I asked.

Philyanax just snorted.

Guess they had to have an answer. "Fine! Because I needed you to get me close to Poseidon! Happy?!" Had I been that callous?

"You used us?"

"God dammit yes! You don't owe me anything!"

Phillipa must have finally finished with her rage, or she had just heard me. Now she was standing beside me too, listening.

Doryalos' voice was calm. "So why'd you force us to change? Weren't we good enough for you?"

"You were barbarians! I couldn't leave you the way you were! JUST GO!"

Others started crowding around to listen and Doryalos spoke for their benefit. "You came to use because we were a tool for you to fulfill your vendetta against Poseidon. And then, because you couldn't believe what we had become, you forced us to change. Is that right?"

Anguish filled my voice. "ISN'T THAT ENOUGH?! JUST GET OUT OF HERE BEFORE POSEIDON TRIES SOMETHING ELSE!"

"Stephan, you gave us hope for the first time ever. You taught us what it meant to be honourable, to be respected. Because of you we're not going to be remembered with just hatred and disgust!"

I spun around to face him. "Don't you understand?! It's useless. This isn't real! None of it is! It's all dreams! And even if it was real, I KNOW! Other than Chiron centaurs were beasts, monsters. NEVER anything more!"

"And what if we want to be?"

"WHEN POSEIDON KILLS YOU IT WON'T MATTER!"

Doryalos turned away from me and looked at the centaurs which had gathered. "You've all heard. Stephan came to us to use us for his vendetta. He forced us to change because he couldn't leave us the way he found us. Now he wants us to leave him because Poseidon might kill us trying to get at him."

"All of you! Go! GO AWAY BEFORE IT'S TOO LATE! Please..."

Amlaneas spoke up from within the crowd. "Given that we don't have any mares, the way I see it we're all dead anyway. We might as well help somebody who's helped us."

Why were they throwing their lives away?! "Don't you understand what you're giving up? Poseidon created horses, he helped create you. He could make mares for you, for all of you!"

"THEN WHY HASN'T HE?!" Old Hodites yelled. "We've prayed to him, sacrificed to him. HE'S REFUSED TO HELP US!"

The ancient Thaunos spoke and everybody quieted to listen. "Stephan, after the Lapiths drove us away we prayed and sacrificed to all the Olympians. We didn't have anything to lose. We even sacrificed the youngest of us, and little Rhoetnos went of his own free will."

Dear God...

"I say SCREW THEM!"

The others shouted their agreement. "SCREW THEM!"

I screamed to be heard above the chant: "BUT YOU CAN LIVE A LONG AND HAPPY LIFE IN PEACE!"

Their voices fell into a sudden silence and they all looked at me. Phillipa ran her hand down my horse spine, lifted it back to where my human body met my horse body, and ran it down again and again.

"You told us once about the choice Achilles made." It was Amycos, the youngest centaur still alive. "You told us that he had a choice between long life, or glory."

I'd told them lots of tales during our trip here. "If you stay with me, you'll find only death! Go to Illium, follow Doryalos, find YOUR glory!"

"Stephan," Doryalos clasped me on the shoulders, "YOU are our glory."

"I'M ONLY GOING TO KILL YOU!! ALL OF YOU! DON'T YOU UNDERSTAND?!"

"We will know our glory," Thaunos said. "The Gods will. Do the humans really matter?"

Amycos shouted out. "I'm following Stephan!"

"And I! And I!"

Pushing Doryalos' hands away, I looked over them. I swallowed. "If anybody wishes to leave, do so. You'll go with my blessings."

There was only silence.

"If you don't leave now, then you won't be able to leave. I'll have to count on you. On all of you. You may die horribly, helpless to stop it, forgotten, cursed throughout history, all if you stay with me."

It definitely wasn't Doryalos who started it this time. "Stephan. Stephan. Stephan! Stephan! STEPHAN! STEPHAN!"

I just shook my head and let it rise, and then start to fade before holding up my hand for silence. "Fine then. I appreciate the company."

They cheered.

I turned to face Doryalos. "Who's on patrol?"

"Ularius and the Younger Orios."

"Go to each of them. Tell them what I told you and let them choose. Be honest, don't force them. Can I trust you to do this?"

"Can we trust you not to sneak away in the night?"

I looked around. "You'd just chase after me anyway. I--" Wrapping my arms I hugged him, pulling him tight against me. "Thank you. THANKS ALL OF YOU!"

"Stephan! Stephan! Stephan!"

I slowly let go and turned to face the herd. "Enough celebration. If you're sticking with me, then you've got to work. So get to work!"

They greeted that with good natured boos and grumbling.

"Well, go!"

The group started breaking up as Doryalos galloped off.

"Nedymnas! Get your unit together."

He stopped and turned to face me. "Stephan?"

"I want a proper pyre built for Nausimidan."

"WHAT?!" Phillipa screamed.

I turned to her. "He--"

"HE DESERVES TO ROT!"

I grabbed her and held her arms tight against her sides. "Phillipa, what's done is done. Would you sentence him to an eternity in Hades because of a few mistakes?"

"YES!"

"Phillipa, just--"

"NO! I want him to rot! I want him to feel a fraction of the pain I feel!"

"Phillipa, shut up!"

She stared at me in shock.

"If we curse him, then what's to stop Poseidon from going after the others, from going after you? Do you want to spend all eternity as a shade in Hades? Do you?!"

She stared at me.

"I'm going to give Poseidon a message. This is between him and me, not anybody else. Whether he put his grandson up to it or not, I'm going to offer him a deal."

"But--"

"We all have to fight for the living. The dead are dead."

"No..."

"Phillipa, the dead are dead, what is done is done. Sorrow for them, but let them go. Don't compound the sins done with a sin of your own."

"I..."

I held her and rocked her back and forth as she threw herself against me and sobbed out her grief. Philyanax rested her head on Phillipa's shoulder and stood beside me as I held her.

A while later Nedymnos stopped near me. "Stephan?"

I looked up.

"It's ready. The pyre I mean."

Looking down, I slowly pulled Phillipa's arms away from me. "It's time to let him go. You should light the pyre. You don't need to say any words, you don't need to forgive him. Just let him go in peace."

She sniffed. "I... I'll try."

I lightly grasped her right hand, slowly walked around, and led her behind Nedymnos as he led us to the pyre. It wasn't as big or as grand as the others had been, but then it was for only one person. Phillipa hadn't left much of him, but the centaurs had gathered up what they could. Nedymnos handed me a lit torch which I handed to Phillipa.

She looked at it, looked at me, looked at the fire, and then whipped it into the kindling. Slowly at first, and then with a roar, the pyre burst into flame.

"Nedymnos?" He turned and trotted over. "Get your centaurs, I need to go to the beach. Get me Nausimedon's javelin, will you? It's probably floating in the pool by now."

I sighed.

"No," I scratched Philyanax between her ears, "I'm not going to leave you. You can all come with me and make sure."

I slowly made my way off towards the coast, listening to the thumping of hooves behind me. Phillipa and Philyanax walked on either side of me. The beach wasn't far, and it was sandier than on the north coast. My hooves skidded in the sand and gravel of the steep slope down to the beach but I kept from falling though I had to lean against Philyanax. I finally stopped, my forehooves just in the water. A wave pulsed up, burbled along the beach, and grasped at my hind hooves.

I waited, as did the others, the only sound the wind, the gulls, and the hush of the waves. The sea was quiet, calm. I didn't trust it.

"I'VE GOT IT!" I heard from behind me. It was Hokados. Turning, I saw that he was holding the javelin. He skidded to a stop beside me, splashing us all, and then handed the javelin to me. I took it and turned back to face out into the waves.

"POSEIDON!"

The sea remained unchanged.

"I BURNED NAUSIMEDON! I GAVE HIM THE COIN!"

Still nothing.

"THIS IS BETWEEN YOU AND ME, NOBODY ELSE!"

A gull cried out in the silence that greeted my words.

"I WON'T GO AFTER YOUR CHILDREN IF YOU DON'T GO AFTER MY FRIENDS!"

A fish leapt out of the water and then back in a few hundred metres away, the plop loud over the waves.

"TAKE HIS JAVELIN! REMEMBER HIM!"

Throwing back my arm, I whipped the javelin out over the water and into the distance.

The only answer was the javelins faint splash.

==Chapter 41: Where were we?==

As I'd feared, Ularius, the Younger Orios, and their centaurs also refused to leave. Fools. I had us break camp and let Phillipa guide us towards Illium, and towards a stream and camp nearer the city. She gave Amlaneas instructions before he took his centaurs to scout ahead, and then led the rest of us along the coast. There was no sign of any Acheans, but we did run across two other destroyed settlements.

We came to the camp Phillipa had in mind in late afternoon. It wasn't that far from the previous one, but then we'd also left late in the day. From the new camp we could easily make it to fair Illium with a day's travel. The stream this time was small, rocky, and shallow. There was no pool. I refused to let Phillipa bathe on her own, she refused to bathe without me, and the herd wouldn't even let me approach it until they'd tramped up and down it poking into the rocky bottom with their javelins. By the time they were finished night had fallen. Given our proximity to the city, and presumably to the Achean ships and men, I ordered a cold camp. In other words no fires, just dried rations.

The last thing I wanted was for lights to bring the main Achean army down on us.

I went to bed early that night, still exhausted from my fight and my wounds. Philyanax lay down beside me, and Doryalos made sure I was continuously guarded by two centaurs. I was too tired to complain. I was even too tired to complain when Phillipa shook me awake at the crack of dawn.

Fortunately I'd always been a heavy sleeper, a fact that had caused near endless ridicule and pranks from the Scythians I'd been raised with. It took me a bit to remember where I was, to focus my eyes, and to realize that it was Phillipa who'd awoken me. She was carrying a sack which seemed to hold a small chest of some kind.

Yawning, I asked, "Do you know what time it is?"

Phillipa was quick to respond. "Yes. I need to bathe, and so do you."

"What?!"

"Don't think I'd forgotten. You can't be presented to King Priam looking like you look now!"

"Oh right, we talked about this alread--"

"And you had given in to the inevitable. Now come on."

She waited, tapping her foot impatiently, as I clambered up onto my hooves and stretched. She was looking so smug and sure of herself, and there was this annoying itch... So I collapsed back onto the ground, leaned my human half forward, and then rolled onto my back so that my four hooves were up in the air. I started rubbing my back just before my tail back and forth on the ground, my hooves kicking in the air.

"What are you doing?" she asked.

I still couldn't quite reach it... stupid thing. I stretched, arched my back, kicked my hind legs backward... "Got it!"

Phillipa put her hands on her hips. "Do you have any idea what you look like?"

"Would you rather I did this before or after you gave me my bath."

She just glared at me.

Slowly and leisurely I rolled back onto my side, and then onto my horse's chest, and then scrambled up onto my hooves.

"About time..."

Bracing my hooves, I wiggled and shook my horse body like a wet dog to get rid of the bits of grass and dirt. The centaurs and Philyanax knew enough to get out of the way, Phillipa didn't.

"You--!"

"You're taking a bath too."

"Hmph!"

Turning, she stalked off and I followed her. My two guards followed me as did Philyanax. Two other centaurs hurried over and joined my entourage.

Still trotting to keep up with her, I turned and looked at two of them. "Don't you have anything better to do?"

"No," said the newcomer, Bianor.

"But I don't need this many--"

"Yes you do," all four said in chorus.

I just rolled my eyes whilst Philyanax nickered her agreement.

It didn't take long for us to arrive at the stream and, as she'd done once before, Phillipa put down her sack and then pulled off her dress and tossed it towards me. Of course the dress was a different one consisting of plain unadorned linen, and this time one of my guards caught it. The sack did indeed contain that small chest she'd had before, and I watched as she opened it and pulled out a pair of stiff brushes and what I guessed was a kind of soap. It was in a fired clay bottle. She must have washed herself earlier as the streaks of colour were gone from her breasts.

"You might as well all look, you've all seen it. And Stephan, don't you go away because I won't be long."

As she splashed into the water I whispered to those around me, "She's to look at and not touch."

I waited more or less patiently, shifting my weight from my left hooves to my right hooves, as she washed. The soap didn't create many suds, and she used most of it on her long hair, rinsing it by ducking her head under water and then shaking her head back and forth whipping her hair around to get rid of most of the water in a shower of drops. The longest part of the process was her running the smaller brush through her hair in long strokes, each stroke spraying water out behind her.

When she was finished she turned to look at me. "Stephan, it's your turn. Don't make me come out and get you." She was standing knee deep in the water.

I sighed and Philyanax nipped me at the joint between my human half and my horse half. Taking the hint I slowly walked forward. The stream bottom looked the worse for wear. Rocks were scattered, and it was easy to see which ones had been turned over in the attack last night. At least the mud had settled out, except where Phillipa had disturbed it. I carefully walked into the water, placing each hoof carefully on the rounded rocks until I was standing in the middle which came up to my foreknees.

"You're going to have to crouch down so I can get your hair wet. It would probably be easier if you lay down and ducked your entire upper body under."

"I don't have much choice, do I?"

"No."

I lay down. And then, holding my breath, I ducked my human half into the cold water, although I couldn't get low enough to get my spine along my horse body wet. Just as I was about to lean back up, she pressed down on my human shoulders and starting splashing water along my horse back.

Yes, I knew I couldn't drown in the water. Once I'd breathed it when I was insane. Once I'd breathed it while I was enraged. But now I really didn't want to. It's a primal fear. I let out a bit of air.

She rubbed some of that soap along my back and it stung. It hurt more than some of my wounds had when I'd gotten them. And still she held me down.

Part of me wanted to flail around with my arms, to get some attention or to push myself up. I also didn't want to hurt her. So I pressed my right hand, she was on my right side, into the gravel, and started flailing in the air with my left. She didn't seem to notice. I could feel my tail whipping back and forth in the water. I let out more air, more than I'd wanted. I puffed my cheeks out and in, moving a bit of air in and out of my lungs. She let go for a second, but before I could lean upward, she pressed me down again as she slathered more soap on my horse back. Air blurbed out my mouth. Unable to take anymore, I shoved myself upward and gasped for air.

"I'm not done yet!"

"What are you trying to do, drown me?!"

"I thought you could--"

"I can but I don't like it!"

"Oops."

What did I do to deserve this?

"I guess you can stay like this until I'm done with your horse body. When was the last time you washed it anyway?"

"Err..." Washed it? I couldn't remember if I ever had. Scythian women used a paste, but the men. The centaurs never had... Well, I'd gone swimming when I was insane... "Err..."

"Well get used to it. You'll have to do this regularly. There's a bathing pool in the palace, or so I've heard. You, being the centaur King, will probably be invited to use it. Don't know what we'll do about the tiles and your hooves..."

My human back started getting sore from the awkward position, particularly at the point where my human and horse body met. Involuntarily I flicked my skin around my human waist to try and relieve the strain.

"Don't do that!"

"This isn't the most comfortable of positions you know!"

"You're as bad as my husband!"

"Did you drown--" Then I realized that she'd suddenly fallen silent. "The Acheans killed him, didn't they?"

"Yes."

She was silent for a while and I tried to keep still. Finally with her arms she splashed water all over my back. "You can sit up a bit now."

With a groan I heaved my human half up until it was at about 45 degrees. I was able to hold that position with my arms on the bottom of the stream. A much more comfortable arrangement.

"Close your eyes, this'll sting otherwise."

I closed my eyes and thought about things as she soaped my mane and hair and beard, and then rubbed at my skin with strong fingers.

For years my hatred for Poseidon had kept me going. I'd used people. I'd had no qualms about using the centaurs. And now? The hate was still there. A red hot furnace beside my heart in my horse chest. It wasn't going away. But it was being joined by increasing doubts. Was I doing the right thing? Apollo had said something about my hate being too much. It was too late now. The herd had become dependent on me, they'd given themselves to fight for Troy at Illium. I had to stay with them. And Poseidon was there. The myths said he was on the side of the Greeks. He had to be there. Damn him! Damn all the gods! They'd dragged me here in the first place, and then played with me for who knew how long. They'd--

Phillipa pressed down on my back, hard, and at the sudden pressure my elbows bent and I was shoved under the water. I barely had time to grab a lungful of air. Damn women, I didn't have to--

Her fingers kneading my scalp felt nice. I could feel grit being worked out a bit at a time, oozing out from amongst the roots of my hair. Slowly she worked her way down my mane, kneading at the knots of muscle along my human back. I moaned into the water and relaxed, sinking slightly deeper. Oh god but that felt good! A few bubbles dribbled up around my nose and I moaned again. Oh god, oh god! If I hadn't been laying on my legs I probably would have stretched them out and curved my back like a house cat. Oh god but her hands felt good! Finally she reached the point where my human half melded into my horse half and her wonderful fingers worked the muscles there. Oh god, oh god, oh god! In blissful relaxation I let my face sink down onto the rocks, pillowed by the water. That had felt so good. So very very good. I fell asleep.

----

Strong hands grabbed me by my shoulders and yanked my human half upward just as I was inhaling. Water and air mixed inside my chest, and then I blew out a spray of water, and then I burst out coughing.

"Are you all right?!" Bionor shouted.

I inhaled again, the air gurgling down inside me, and then coughed up more spits of water. A few more breaths and I calmed down, though my lungs still gurgled. Turning, I saw Phillipa glaring at me.

"Drown you, eh?"

I realized then that I must have just inhaled the water naturally because I was so relaxed. I coughed again, and her expression changed to one of concern.

"Are you all right? I didn't mean-- You were so relaxed that I continued-- I didn't--"

"Phillipa, don't worry about it. The next massage you give me though, give to me on land."

Bionor burst in: "Stephan, are you sure you're all right?"

"I think so. I wish you'd let me sleep though."

"Sorry!"

"Oh don't worry about it. And Phillipa, thank you."

"I'm not done yet."

I looked at her.

She was holding the larger brush menacingly. "Stand up, but try not to splash yourself."

I looked at her, and then gave in to the inevitable. With Bionor's help I struggled up and onto my hooves, and then stood there, dripping and--

"Don't you dare shake yourself!"

I stopped.

"I need your hair wet as I brush it. And your fur, hide, whatever."

I looked at her.

"Just don't!"

She brushed me. She started with my hair and slowly working her way down. Everytime I tried to say anything, she hit a tangle and I gasped with pain. I don't think it was intentional. I hope it wasn't. From my hair she worked her way down my mane, and it wasn't any better. When it was done she worked at my beard, brushing it into a semblance of order, cutting and hacking off the edge with a dagger from Bionor, and then braiding it like a Persian king's. And when that was done, she wasn't. She turned her attention to my horse body, starting at my front waist and front legs, and then working her way back. Almost continually I winced and hissed as she worked out the tangles. My hide quivered where she brushed it, trying to get away, but there was no escape. She left my tail for last, and she brushed it first in short strokes to get at the tangles, and then in long strokes. It was after noon before she was done.

"Now out of the water, slowly. You don't want to get any dust on you."

It'd been so long I wasn't too worried, but given the way she was holding that brush, and seeing the long strands of hair she'd pulled out of its bristles still drifting downstream, I decided to obey. Carefully I walked out as she frowned at every movement, and finally I stood solely on land, water rolling off my hocks and hooves.

"Not bad..."

"It took you long enough. Though the massage was worth it."

"If you roll on the ground you won't get another one!"

"Yes Phillipa."

"If you want, you can turn slowly sideways along the stream, and then you can turn your head and take a look at yourself."

I looked at the brush and then nodded. It was odd, but I'd never actually looked at myself before. Sure, I'd brushed hair out of my face, looked over my horse back to see if anybody was behind me. But I'd never looked at just myself. Slowly I turned, and then I looked. It was hard to see, the stream was not a quiet pool, but a continuous slow moving brook. As my eyes got used to the reflection and I saw what I really was.

In the reflection I first saw a horse, gray in colour. It was scarred, tattooed, tired, old, wise. But beneath the glowing hide muscles stood out, strong, bold, confident. They were young muscles, eager even though they'd seen everything. The horse's tail was a blinding white, glowing with strength and purity. The hair on his hind legs blended into a midnight black and swept out, obscuring but not hiding the worn and lined ivory hooves. The hooves were large, heavy; their surface was cracked and pitted. But they had strength. The horse's body stretched upward, solid with muscle. And then there was a jarring discontinuity. Both forelegs were entirely black, even the muscle which melded into the body. The hair was flecked with gray, but it didn't give the impression of age, but of wisdom and quiet strength. From the knee to the hoof the colour changed from flecked black to a milky white. The hooves were a dark brown-gray, bare of hair and with a cracked and pitted surface like the hind hooves. From the horse's body grew a human torso, outlined in muscle and tattoos and scars. The flesh was dark, very dark but not black, and crisscrossed with pale scars. Down the back was a fall of thick white hair. The strands of hair were long and straight, and poured over and onto the horse back, falling down either side. On top of the human head the hair was sparse, but there was no baldness. The face looked old, haunted, the surface was wrinkled like leather. But buried in the eyes was a twinkle of hope and a well of strength. The beard was long and tightly braided in chains that fell down the creature's chest, between his breasts, and almost half way to his waist.

Of course I didn't see all this in the reflection, the water was too rough, but I knew that this was what I looked like. I had looked at my legs, at my body, and I just knew what my face looked like.

"Now you're ready to meet King Priam."

==Chapter 42: To Fair Illium==

Phillipa wouldn't let me walk at any significant speed back to the camp. She didn't want my legs to get dirty. Even worse, she managed to talk the other centaurs into taking one of the hide tents the Acheans had and spreading it on the ground to keep the dirt off me. She even fed me by hand as she didn't want me dripping any grease on my new beard!

I found it was easier to just nod and say yes then to argue with her.

I slept that night on the tent with guards around me, and watchers on duty on the outskirts. Nobody had seen any Acheans but I wasn't going to take any chances and neither were the other centaurs. The price of failure was just too high.

The next day dawned gray, a thick mist drifted along the ground. Absolutely perfect! It didn't take long to form up the centaurs, and Amycos had polished my armour to a mirror shine and helped me into it. Phillipa objected, but I told her in no uncertain terms that wearing it was far more impressive then arriving wearing nothing, and if we were attacked by Acheans, it would keep me alive.

She didn't have much to say to that.

To try and minimize the chances of detection, I kept the three scout units close, barely beyond sight distance in the chilly fog. We knew the Acheans were going to be in front of us. A case could be made for sending the scouts further out on the flank, but in the fog they couldn't see anything anyway.

The herd moved at a slow canter. Slow enough that we could maintain it all day, but fast enough that Phillipa couldn't keep up easily. She tried, but eventually I heaved her up onto Doryalos' back. My armour prevented me from carrying her. As we traveled all the sounds were muffled, the clatter of our hooves on the stony ground, the clanking of my armour. Conversation was muted, it was like everybody was afraid to say anything.

The fog was starting to thin when there was a thudding of hooves from ahead and I motioned my unit and now permanent bodyguard to stop. The mist rolled like the bow wave of a ship, and a shadow appeared which quickly formed into Rhoeklas, one of the messengers attached to Younger Orios' scout unit.

"Not Acheans..." he gasped out. "Something Orios thought... you'd like to... see. A great mound... stones piled... a grave..."

"What's so special about it? There's probably lots around here."

"It's been... disturbed. Some bones could... could be seen. Not human... centaur!"

I turned to Phillipa on Doryalos' back. "Do you know anything about this?"

"There's a story I heard about it," she answered. It's not a centaur though. My grandfather said that he saw a centaur and a horse traveling together. The horse was old, and she died just before the centaur reached Illium. He built a great mound for the horse. He never told anybody why, other than that she was an old friend that he'd once wronged."

I turned to Rhoeklas. "Take us there."

"Follow me!"

Phillipa burst in: "Not too fast! Stephan can't get dusty."

I glared at her, but Rhoeklas listened led us at a fast canter instead of a gallop. It didn't take long until we were there. Younger Orios had left, and I sent Rhoeklas to catch up with him. He galloped off, the mists eating his form. Then I turned to look at the mound.

It was old, covered in dirt and overgrown with grass and small trees. The eastern corner had recently been ripped apart by somebody. Something about this place haunted me, it was like somebody was stirring ice cold fingers in the base of my skull. Motioning the others to stay behind I took a step forward.

Of course they didn't listen and Doryalos and Philyanax remained beside me. They still stopped at the physical edge of where the mound had been though. Phillipa opened her mouth to comment, but something made her close it.

I carefully stepped over and around the larger pieces of stone the desecrator's had left when they'd dug into the mound. When my forehooves were almost touching the bones of what had been buried there I stopped. The mist swirled around the rubble, swept around my legs. Its movement didn't seem natural.

Around me the others nervously stepped from hoof to hoof, the sounds muffled in the mist. But I wasn't afraid. The mound attracted me, it did not terrify me.

What I actually sensed was love and respect and sorrow. Great sorrow and pain and understanding. Sister... something whispered to me, but it wasn't sound. I knew the others didn't hear it. It was impossible though. Philya had become a tree. There was no way her bones could be here. And yet, it felt right... Carefully I leaned down, the clanking of my armour eaten by the roiling mist. I rubbed my finger along one bone and it recognized me. But the sense was faint, barely perceptible. For a timeless moment I stood there trying to recognize what I sensed. It was familiar but so faint I couldn't place it. Finally I leaned back up and carefully stepped backward away from the mound. When I was clear I turned to Doryalos. "I want this sealed up. Get the stones placed back where they once were. Don't worry about the soil, time will take care of that."

"What is it?" Phillipa asked.

"Something that has had its rest disturbed. It knows me, but I don't know what it is."

She just looked confused. But then I was confused by it too.

It didn't take long for my bodyguard to cover the bones again, and soon we were back on our way. We moved at a fast canter for a bit to make up for lost time, and then slowed back down to our earlier pace. Slowly the mist faded, soon only existing as patches in depressions. The sky was gray, filled with clouds. Rain was coming.

The sky grew darker as we continued traveling. We passed the burned ruins of a village. According to Phillipa it had been named Erigones. She hadn't even known it'd had been destroyed. Probably the same warband that we'd routed a week ago had burned and sacked it on their way east.

There was a clatter of hooves in front of us and I motioned everybody to stop as Rhoeklas galloped over a rise. "Stephan!"

"What is it?"

He gasped for breath and looked at me. "Illium! Over the... the rise... you can see... the whole plain!"

"And the Acheans?"

"You can see... their camp on... on the coast!"

"Show me."

"Younger Orios is waiting... at the top of the rise." Amycos pointed towards the rise in front of us. "He... he didn't want to... proceed without your orders."

"Amycos! Go and find Amlaneas and tell him to get himself and his centaurs back here. Bionardia! Go and find Ularius and tell him the same. We're going to need everybody soon." In a clatter of hooves the two messengers galloped off.

Phillipa turned to me. "You think the Acheans are going to stop you?"

"I don't know, but I'm afraid they'll try." I accelerated to a fast canter and my bodyguard and unit followed beside and behind me.

Phillipa called out, "From what I've heard, they don't hurt refugees making for Illium!"

"We're not refugees, we're soldiers. They'll want to stop us before we can join the others in the city."

"Let me go ahead then! They'll let me through--"

"They might, or they might not. I need you with us because you're our ticket into King Priam's good graces. You can vouch for us."

The rise steepened and I could hear the others panting to keep up. Doryalos loudest of all.

"But--"

"Doryalos, Phillipa here is the most IMPORTANT individual in the entire herd right now. More IMPORTANT than you, more IMPORTANT than me. She's to get to the gates of Illium alive and conscious. You got that?"

"I under... understand. I'll keep... an eye on... her!"

I could see the silhouette of the Younger Orios just below the crest. He turned and trotted down to meet us whilst the rest of his unit kept looking over the ridge off into the distance. I stopped, and so did the rest, a hundred metres or so below the top.

Younger Orios stopped in front of me. "You can see the whole plain from here. The city, and what I think is the Achean camp. There's nobody on the field, nobody fighting. Not that any of us can see anyway."

I looked up at the ridge. "Doryalos, you keep everybody down here. I'm going up with Younger Orios to look. He'll be with me, and his men. I want as few as possible up there to try and keep the Acheans from seeing us. You got that?"

"If you go over that ridge, all of us are going to come galloping after you. You got that?"

I turned to face them all. "Doryalos, Isoples, Bianar, all of you. I'm not going to leave you. I said I wouldn't. I gave my word that I wouldn't. But I need to see where the Acheans are. Trust me."

Doryalos spoke for everybody. "We trust you. Don't disappoint us."

Philyanax stretched her head forward and nickered to me, I am not staying behind.

Reaching up I scratched her between her ears. "I didn't think you would. I've given up even trying to ask. Just don't get in front of me."

I turned my head to Doryalos, still scratching Philyanax. "If I need you I'll shout. As the only reason I'll need you is if we're screwed, you'd better come fast and prepared."

"Oh, we'll be ready," Bianar stated.

"Thank you."

With that I lowered my hands to my sides, drew Apollo's bow and strung it. Then, led by Younger Orios and paced by Philyanax, I slowly walked up to the crest of the hill.

As I reached the top the rain slowed to a light drizzle, and a whisper of sun shone through the clouds.

Below me I could see the plain where so many had, and so many would, die. Far to the east I could see the great camp of the Acheans and the thousand black ships that had brought them.

And, across the plain near the coast of the wine dark sea, Illium.

==Chapter 43: The Last Obstacle==

I looked down at the plain and city about which so much had been written and sung as the scent of salt blew into my nostrils from the sea.

The plain was covered in long grass, yellowed and dry with the changing of seasons. Sections were torn up from the passage of chariots and bodies of men. Here and there were the stumps where there'd once been stands of trees. I guess they'd all been cut down to supply the Acheans over five years of siege and conflict.

The Greek camp was on a promontory of land to the north and east of fair Illium. A mighty space it was, the shore lined with beached open-topped vessels in front of which were thousands of tents and dim fires. The ship's hulls were painted in bright colours and designs. The term 'black ship' derived from the fact that their bottoms were tarred to prevent rot. The tents in the Achean camp were also of brightly dyed linen. There was no apparent plan to the splashes of colour. Red tents were beside green tents were beside yellow tents. Colour seemed to be a personal preference. Even from a kilometer away I could hear the faint sounds of thousands of men. There definitely weren't a thousand ships, but there were hundreds. Possibly the rest were off raiding islands and places further up and down the coast.

And then there was the city of fair Illium itself. It was not the tiny fortified besieged community whose ruins were designated Troy VIIa, it was the mighty glory of Troy VIh. The city was constructed on the edge of a steep slope that leveled out as it reached the sea. The lower portions of the wall were constructed of steeply angled brick topped by a tall section of straight wall, plastered and painted a bright red. These were topped with angled crenations in a Hittite design. Massive square towers loomed above the wall at regular intervals. Inside the walls were twenty or so massive squarish buildings. There were pillars, balconies, windows that were gay with pots of flowers, and all covered with rooftop gardens. Inside everything was painted bright colours and patterns like the Cretan palaces. The tops of the towers contained archers with glistening bronze helmets, and people stood on the building roofs looking out at the Achean camp. Gulls swooped and cried around the wall towers before swooping away above the gray-black sea dotted with crests of brilliant white.

Fair Illium lay waiting.

And that was when it all went wrong. I'd half expected it with the death of the Trojan prisoners and the delays because of Nausimedan. The survivors of our destruction of the Achean raiding band had lots of time to return to the main camp and tell them what had happened. Before I even realized it I'd drawn an arrow and fired it as unarmoured Acheans leapt out of dug holes covered in painted linen and branches. A horn blew from nearby, and hundreds of chariots in five distinct groups burst out of the Achean camp towards the rise I was standing behind.

That had been what the Trojans in the city had been watching and wondering about.

It wasn't the fault of the scouts, they'd probably never even sent anybody after us. Allow a day for the stragglers to regroup, another day for them to circle back to their camp, and a day to prepare. They knew where we were coming from and would have had just enough time. If Nausimedon hadn't delayed us we'd have made fair Illium before this happened, but it was the Acheans that had had the time. If the Trojan refugees hadn't been slaughtered by Nausimedon, they would have reached the city and they might have sent somebody out to help us.

As my first arrow sped into the eye of the nearest javelin armed skirmisher and he fell backward to the ground screaming, I'd already fired a second. I had a choice, I could fall back and organize the rest. But that would give the Acheans the high ground on the ridge. And that meant that I really had no choice at all.

"ATTACK!!" I screamed out, bounding up and over the ridge and down amongst the unarmoured Acheans.

My second arrow sank into the naked chest of another Achean and he went tumbling to the ground gurgling blood. I tried for a third, but that was when the rain and mist caused the bowstring to snap, whipping across my knuckles and drawing blood. Not wanting to lose Apollo's bow, I clasped it in my left hand as I swung my shield around off my shoulder so that my hand was in the center grip. I could barely stretch my fingers around the hide strap but it would have to do. By then I was on the ridge, and could see clearly in the light drizzle that only twenty or so Acheans were near enough to be a threat. Others were elsewhere along the ridge forming into skirmishing groups. It seemed that the Acheans hadn't known exactly where we were coming from. Drawing one of the javelins I'd taken from Ctesippus, I threw it. It went straight and true into the naked chest of an Achean that was almost upon me. He screamed and fell backwards, rolling down the hill.

I threw a second javelin at another Achean waving his bronze sword to rally the others into an organized body. Again it sped true, and it pierced through his open mouth and out through his neck. He fell to the ground, blood oozing out and staining the grass.

Then I had time only to draw my sword as I leapt into the nearest group. I swung the blade back and fourth, thrust my shield into Achean faces resulting in the crunch of cracking bone. Of course they weren't idle. Javelins thunked off the shield, and clanged off my armour. Two Acheans died to my sword, one being ripped open from right shoulder to left thigh and falling to the ground in a gory burst, the second with a thrust and twist of my father's sword into his chest. He slid off and fell to the ground screaming as he tried to hold his blood in. Two more died to my kicking forehooves, one having his skull shattered, the other his shoulder. Blood splashed my greaves and dulled the polished bronze of my panoply. The socks on my forelegs became a dark crimson, and blood oozed down the cracks of my forehooves. Philyanax was beside me, screaming out her rage. She ripped out the throat of one Achean, and trampled a second.

That was when they broke, turning and fleeing down the hillside. They threw away their swords, the few that had shields threw them aside to run faster. Leaping after them I slashed out with my father's sword and killed three more. Another I killed as my forehooves pounded into his back. He'd tripped and fallen.

The battle was glorious! Humans fled from me in all directions, the intoxicating scent of their terror thick in the air. A light rain began to fall, but it couldn't quench my fire. Behind me I heard hoofbeats, the others had crested the rise. No! If I galloped down the hill the others would follow. We'd be strung out, easy kills for the mass of chariotry racing across the plain. I forced myself to stop and watched Philyanax pull herself to a halt a hundred metres in front of me and then trot back up to stand beside me, foam flecking her mouth.

Other centaurs began galloping past me. Idiots! "HOLD DAMN YOU! HOLD!!" Doryalos and the Younger Orios added their shouts to my own, and sooner than I'd feared the stragglers slowed and trotted back up beside us.

"What the hell happened?!" Doryalos asked once the centaurs on my side of the ridge had all halted.

"It was an ambush, they knew we were coming. They dug holes and hid in them, covered themselves with disguised covers of brush and hide."

"How'd they know?!" Younger Orios burst out.

"The survivors from the infantry we broke. They would have made it back to their camp. There they told the nobles that we were a numberless horde of bloodthirsty beasts. The Acheans just had to wait as they knew roughly where we were coming from."

"You should have sent scouts--" Doryalos began.

"In the fog they'd just have gotten lost. I kept them close since I knew I'd need them if this happened. I couldn't plan in advance because I needed to see the terrain."

I heard feet running from behind and turned to see Phillipa hurrying to join the conference.

"Let her through!" Two centaurs moved and she slammed into my side trying to come to a stop. "Phillipa, as I recall there is one gate along the eastern wall, the Scaean Gate?"

"Yes..."

"Doryalos, you take her and take the two fastest centaurs from each unit. You'll all have to share carrying her."

"But--" Phillipa began.

"You have to get her to the city alive, she's our passage in. Right now the Trojans have no way of knowing who's side we're on. At the very least they need to hold the gate open for the rest of us, at the most they'll sally out to help us. You have to get her there!"

"I remember what you told me. I'll get her there."

"Go and get started then. Gather behind the ridge and go north along it as long as possible before circling around. Then gallop for the city as fast as you can. The rest of us will be keeping the Acheans busy." More centaurs were crossing the ridge. "Doryalos, go and grab them now, Phillipa go with him. Don't argue! This is too damn IMPORTANT. Send the rest down to me, the leaders first. We don't have a heck of a lot of time." As I was saying all that, I put Apollo's bow back in its case.

"Good luck Stephan," Doryalos said, and then he was off, dragging Phillipa along behind him. At least she hadn't complained about my getting dirty. Of course she was a smart girl and probably recognized that I didn't have a lot of choice.

"Unit leaders to me, now!" I waited until Younger Orios, Ularius, Amlaneas, Melamnos, Peukadia, Orios, Hodites, Nedymnos and Rhoetus, were all around me. "Younger Orios, take your centaurs and go back and join Thaunos and the wounded." He tried to speak but I didn't let him. "No arguing! Take them with you back to our last camp and hide in the woods. I'll come back and fetch you when it's safe. If you haven't seen any of us after five days, assume we're all dead and do what you think best. Now go!"

"But Stephan, we'll miss--"

"Go damn you! Or I'll put somebody else in charge who will! I need somebody back there, somebody to remember what happened. I don't have time to argue!" With that I swatted him on his flank with the flat of my sword and he leapt away, and then made his way up and over the hill, followed by his centaurs.

I looked around at everybody else as they looked at me. "Okay, with the weather we can't depend on bowfire. When we're ready to move grab what shields you can from around us. Use them with the points down to give your legs room to move." The Acheans used them that way for just that purpose, the up pointed crescent peltastoi shield didn't come into use until the classical period. "I'm going to lead, along with the rest of my bodyguard. Nothing against the rest of you but we're the best trained and best armoured. Everybody else proceed in a crescent behind us. Ularius, Orios, Melamnos, Peukadia on the right, the others on the left. We're going to go along the top of the ridge and then charge each of the skirmisher groups in turn. When they break don't pursue them! We'll rally wherever I am." God but I wished I'd grabbed the horn from the infantry unit we'd broke before Nausimedon. "If you can't spot me, rally at the point we contacted them. Everybody clear on that?"

They all nodded.

I re-emphasized the point before continuing. "Don't pursue down the hill!

"Most combat is going to be with javelins. Throw one and then draw swords and knives for contact. If you don't have a sword, use your hooves. If you can, take shots with your bows but don't depend on them. If you have cases don't pull the bows out -- we'll need them against the chariots later. If you don't have a case then use them early. Don't worry about keeping them, we'll either be successful and get more, or be dead. Be careful when charging on the hill, the grass is slippery and the Acheans may have dug holes to trip us. Keep an eye out for them if you can. We'll move towards the skirmishers at a fast canter and only gallop at the last moment to prevent accidents on the slope, so don't let yourselves get out of hand.

"After we've pushed each skirmishing body off the ridge, we're going to make a run south and try and go around the chariots to the south."

"Won't that take us further away from the city?" Amlaneas asked.

"That's the plan. The first objective is to get Doryalos and the gallopers to the gate so we can get in. Once they're there we'll turn around and move back up this ridge. The ground isn't the best for the chariots so we should be able to stay out of the range. We'll circle around east of them, and then make for the gate.

"Questions?"

"Why don't we attack the chariots? Charge them like we did the others?" Nedymnos asked.

"There're too many of them. This plan is going to change without warning. If I turn and charge, then everybody turn and charge. If I turn and flee, then everybody turns and flees. I won't know when I'll do either until I do it. You'll all have to keep an eye on me. Don't depend on your unit leaders."

I looked along the ridge and saw that the nearest skirmisher unit was formed up and moving towards us. The chariots were half way to the ridge.

"We've got to get going know. Use javelins, do what I do. Let us in armour go first to break their formation. Don't pursue after I stop! If they drop shields and you don't have one grab it! Pick up javelins when you can as we'll need them. Form up!"

They started moving into their units behind me and I turned and began trotting to the top of the ridge. Soon I was there and the others behind me. I watched the nearest skirmisher unit turn and began moving up hill. They started to straggle out as they climbed.

Lifting my sword I screamed out, "ADVANCE!" and began a fast canter down the slope towards the nearest skirmishers, centaurs following behind. The Acheans stopped and began forming up, the rain glistening on their naked skin.

I raised my sword up, and lowered it to point downwards as I leapt into a gallop, Philyanax beside me. "CHARGE!"

==Chapter 44: Clearing the Hill==

The first group of skirmishers scattered at our approach. I couldn't blame them, there were maybe thirty of them and almost a hundred of us. They threw their javelins once, and then turned and fled. I managed to deflect one that would have hit Philyanax with my shield, but Thaumelas wasn't so lucky. He tried to turn and that meant that the hungry bronze dug into his foreword hip and his lower chest.

I reared up, and wheeled around until I was beside him. Protanax guarded my back. As I yanked out the javelin I screamed out, "RALLY!" Throwing the weapon aside I healed Thaumelas. Dead Acheans littered the ground, and I heard the other unit leaders screaming out the call to rally all around. As I helped Thaumelas to his hooves, they were all around me in some order.

Looking around I spotted one of the younger centaurs. "Epheklas! Go and find Thaumos and the wounded. Grab every waterskin you can carry and bring them back. We're going to need them."

Thunder grumbled in the heavens.

"But Stephan--!"

"No buts! There'll be more than enough slaughter when you get back. Look over the ridge until you spot us, and then come down and join me when we rally. And be careful, this slope is going to just get worse. Now go!"

He turned and clattered up and over the ridge, his hooves skidding on the increasingly wet grass.

"If there are wounded I'll heal them if I have time, and if I can. If not they're going to have to be left behind. And that goes for me too! If we make the city we'll try to either ransom them back, or recover their bodies and give them a proper funeral pyre."

Bianar spoke up. "We can't do that! Not for you!"

"You'll do it for me and anybody else! It's the only way for some of us to make it to fair Illium this day! Everybody got that?!"

There were various muttered acknowledgements.

"Now, to the ridge! We've got another unit to rout!"

They cheered, and followed me as I trotted to the top and along the crest. The next body wasn't far, and it was significantly larger than the two we'd broken so far. I think some of those we'd chased off had joined them. They were forming up, some in front shoving extra javelins into the ground as a barrier.

"Different plan this time!" I just hoped the Acheans couldn't understand the equine accented Greek I was using. "Nedymnos, Orios, take your units, go up to just in front of the barrier, throw your javelins and then flee. Don't gallop! You won't be able to stop in time. The rest of you are with me. We'll circle around their right flank and charge when the others turn away." I raised my sword. "ADVANCE!"

That was when the sky opened up in a deluge of rain. The slope became more and more slippery, and we couldn't see more than a hundred metres. I just hoped this didn't last long. I was still moving onto the Achean flank when Nedymnos and Orios led their centaurs in the assault. I could see them sliding on the slope.

I lowered my sword. "CHARGE!"

Not moving faster than a canter, the footing was becoming too treacherous, I kept glancing up slope. Nedymnos' and Orios' units turned, and when they turned, I saw three brought down by thrown javelins. Styphelas lost his footing and slammed screaming into one of the planted javelins.

Then we impacted the flank. I led my unit into the midst of the Acheans, whilst the lighter armed centaurs swept slightly downslope from them and charged into the Achean rear as they broke. None of us took any javelins, they'd been distracted by the rain and the frontal skirmish and evade. They were so distracted that the unit didn't break until we had hacked and kicked and slew almost halfway down their line. The front of my armour was drenched in blood and gore, my legs covered in mud and blood up to my knees. Philyanax and the others weren't any better.

Turning, I began struggling up to the dead. "RALLY!" I didn't reach Styphelas in time, and Orimeos had a javelin through his human chest. "TO ME!" He asked me to put him out of his pain and I sliced his head off in a single stroke. Isoplas I was able to heal though he was weak from loss of blood.

I helped him up and told him to go and join the wounded. He didn't have the strength to fight. For once somebody didn't argue. Around me I could hear the other leaders calling out.

"TO THE TOP OF THE RIDGE!" I screamed. The rain was so heavy that I could hardly hear myself, and I couldn't see anything more than ten metres away. We'd have to wait for the rain to slow before we could continue, and fortunately it would disrupt the chariots as much as it was screwing us. I just hoped that Doryalos took advantage of the downpour to get to fair Illium.

Staggering up the slope through the rain, skidding and sliding on the grass and mud, I fought my way to the top. I could see others beside me, hear others calling. Philyanax lost her balance and slid down. I had to force myself not to go down and help her. If there were Acheans she'd have to take her chances. Fortunately there weren't.

Just as I made it to the top, the rain slowed and then stopped as suddenly as the downpour had started. On the east side of the ridge I saw Epheklas cantering towards me, his body covered in skins of water. On the west side the other centaurs were stretched out in clumps over almost 200 metres.

"TO ME! TO ME!" I screamed, waving my sword above my head. They started turning as Epheklas struggled up the hill beside me.

"Is it too--?"

"We've just started. Far too many still on the slope."

Drawing my knife I cut the leather hide holding a skin on his back and took long gulps of water from it. When I was finished I looked down. The chariots had slowed, the plain was covered in pools of water and it was obvious that some were caught in the sudden mud. Achean skirmishers were running down the slope and massing at the bottom. We were maybe a kilometer and a half from the city, and I could see bodies of mass infantry marching out from the Achean camp in good order. It looked like they were going to engage us at the bottom of the slope. I couldn't blame them, the slope was a disaster just waiting to happen.

That was when the sun passed out from behind the clouds, glinting off the pools of water that littered the plain.

I pulled out Apollo's bow and restrung it with a spare string. "It seems that we finally have some archery weather. If your bow was in the rain, replace the string. Anybody who has spares pass them out. We're going to proceed down the slope to the southwest, ending to the south of the Achean infantry line. If we retreat, we'll come back up the slope, their chariots won't be able to follow us and we can stay ahead of their foot in the short term. NOBODY IS TO ASSAULT THE CHARIOTS! Gallop up, let loose bowfire, and fall back! Unit leaders, get the waterskins from Epheklas and share them around. Nobody is to carry more than one!"

Hodites called up, he was just below the ridge. "I don't think we should go down the slope right now!"

"Agreed! We'll rest here for a bit, walk along the top slowly. Rest, relax, because when we get down on the plain there'll be no time for either!"

Turning, I held the waterskin overtop of Philyanax' open jaw and let the water dribble down until she closed her mouth. She was panting, her hide was covered with sweat. But then so was everybody else including me. I tied the skin shut and secured it to my shoulder strap.

Drawing my father's sword, I raised it above my head. "Advance south!" I moved off at a slow walk and the others formed behind me in a rough crescent pointing backward, half on the east side of the ridge, half on the west. The air got hot and muggy, I began panting for breath and slowed, everybody else, panting, did the same. Shimmers of vapours rose from the grass and the rapidly shrinking pools on the plain. The air was filled with the scent of blood and mud. I sheathed my sword.

"Water break! Be quick, we're going to walk downslope!" Sheathing my sword I took a few gulps of warm water, and then offered some to Philyanax.

''No. You need''!

"Philyanax, we all need! Drink or I'll force it down your throat!"

She looked at me, relented, and opened her mouth as I let more water dribble between her jaws. When she closed her mouth I tied the skin shut. I thought about berating her and having her drink more, but then I should have drank more too. And the waterskin was barely a quarter full. The others were probably worse off.

I looked around, only a couple were still drinking. Drawing my sword I called out, "PREPARE TO ADVANCE! ARCHERS BE READY! BE WARY OF MORE AMBUSHES ON THE SLOPE!" I didn't think there'd be any more, but it never hurt to be cautious. Then I began a slow walk down the slope.

The slope wasn't steep, and the grass was already almost dry in the hot sun. But the ground was still wet, and slippery. As much as possible I tried to keep to the outcrops of bare rock, but it wasn't entire possible. There was one accident, Amlanas stepped on a weak spot and the ground slipped away beneath him. He slid almost twenty metres downslope on his side. Other than a few scratches, his only wound was his snapped left hind leg from when he first fell. I was able to heal that. Afterward I had to stop and chew down some dried meat before I could go on. I couldn't see the far north of the ridge to see if they'd made it.

I had a thought "Doryal--" then I remembered where he was. "Ularius, Amlaneas! Who has the best sight?"

Ularius trotted over to me. "Peukedymnos I think."

"Send him up to the top of the ridge and have him keep an eye out for Doryalos and the others. When they make their break for the city he's to make his way downslope as best he can and let me know. Better yet, if he can find a horn on the ground somewhere from the Acheans, he's to blow it. Think he can do that?"

"He will." Ularius turned and trotted over and talked to Peukedymnos, a chestnut centaur with four white stockings and a tail that had somehow been hacked down t a stub. Peukedymnos started working his way up the slope.

Turning away I drew my sword. "ADVANCE!" And then I resumed a slow walk down the slope with the others following.

The slope grew shallower, and the footing better. I accelerated to a trot and there were no more accidents. On the plain the chariots turned and began moving in our direction, the foot marching in column behind them. A group of skirmishers that had been crouching further south on the slope got up and began moving around to get above us. Damn them!

"HALT! ABOUT FACE!" I raised my sword. "ADVANCE!"

"What the hell is going on?!" Rhoetus called.

"We've got skirmishers on the slope to deal with first. ARCHERS READY!"

I drew Apollo's bow from my shoulder, and turned my advance to the south. The Acheans were still above us, but there were less than a hundred and there was no longer time to get above them.

"FIRE AT WILL!"

I drew an arrow and let it fly, and almost 90 other arrows joined mine in flight. After that the fire became irregular due to different reload speeds, as we alternately trotted and walked upslope approaching the Acheans. I got off a second, a third, a fourth shot. It looked like half the Acheans were down. Unstringing Apollo's bow I placed it back in its holder leaving the flap open whilst centaurs around me continued firing. Then I drew my father's sword. "BODYGUARD TO ME! PREPARE TO CHARGE!"

My bodyguard gathered around me and I accelerated to a canter. The others continued bowfire. I lowered my sword, "CHARGE!" and leapt into a gallop.

All around me hooves thundered, and the bowfire slackened as the others closed with the enemy. The Acheans turned and fled before combat, and that was when others erupted from holes on our right. Fuck! I couldn't give them time to form!

"ULARIUS, ORIOS, MELAMNOS, PEUKADIA WITH ME ON THE RIGHT! EVERYBODY ELSE ADVANCE FRONT!"

I turned, and the rest turned with me. Lowering my sword I shouted out, "CHARGE" and galloped towards the nearest clump of Acheans. The only advantage we had was that they were in small groups because they'd been hiding in the pits. With thundering hooves all around I thundered into the first group. One died to a sword stroke, two more were trampled underfoot. A thrown javelin glanced off my shield, it's hunger left unsated, another drew his sword and slashed at the armour on my side, but the divinely forged bronzed deflected the blow and Philyanax tore his arm off with her teeth.

All around other centaurs burst into the small clumps, still disorganized. It was a slaughter.

And so, it turned out, was the assault against the original group. As the Achean ambush broke and fled, I heard screams off to my left and turned to see a disaster.

The primary problem in ancient warfare is communications. I had my voice, and that was it. I had turned to the ambush as it was the greater threat. Obeying my earlier instructions everybody, except Nedymnos, had turned to follow me. In other words, Nedymnos and his eighteen had charged into the disordered mass of thirty or forty surviving Acheans which had been the original target. The humans had stood to receive the charge, and now had surrounded Nedymnos and his centaurs. Nedymnos had lost the momentum of his charge and the surviving twenty or so Acheans were slaughtering them.

I raised my blood dripping bronze sword. "TO THE RIGHT! CHARGE!" Turning, I leapt into a gallop towards the embattled centaurs. Around me others tried to follow, but they were exhausted, or still engaged. I was panting for breath, the pads under my armour were soaked in sweat. Beside me Philyanax struggled to keep up, her head hanging low.

I slammed into the rear of the Acheans like a thunderbolt. They'd been so intent on the slaughter that they hadn't heard me coming. Probably a good thing as Isoples was the only centaur with me. He threw a javelin as we approached, the glistening bronze piercing the naked flesh. Then the three of us were upon the Acheans. The first stroke of my father's sword pierced into the naked side of one, passing between two ribs and sliding ont just before the spine in a spray of blood. Isoples had another javelin in his hand and shoved it through the back of another Achean, the hungry bronze glistening redly as it sprung out of its victim's chest. Philyanax reared up screaming, kicking with both forehooves and crushing the skull of another human, her hooves punching through the boar tusk helmet and skull in a spray of bone and brain. With that the Acheans broke, and other centaurs went thundering after them.

Nedymnos was dead. Something had clubbed in his skull leaving behind a gooey mess of bone and brain and blood. Four other centaurs were also dead, legs shattered, javelins sticking out of their human and horse bodies. None of the other fourteen were unscathed. Most had minor scratches, but two I had to heal. I sent them to join Thaunos and the other wounded.

Yanking the waterskin off my shoulder belt I drained it and thew it away. "RALLY! RALLY TO ME!" I screamed out and turned around. Most heard me and turned back. One had somehow fallen into one of the pits and I knew he was dead too. On top of the rise I could see Peukedymnos standing which meant that Doryalos hadn't made his gallop yet. Turning back I looked at who was still living and spotted Pale Styphelos and put him in command of what was left of Nedymnos' unit. At the bottom of the hill the Acheans were forming up, the columns of infantry were expanding into large groups of ordered spear backed by archers. I looked at the sea of chariots in front. Most were covered in plain oxhide, their colour a patchy white and brown or black. A few were dyed colours. One was dyed blood red and its warrior was armoured in glittering bronze and carrying a spear more massive than any I'd ever seen. I remembered the lliad:

<poem>''Last, from its case he drew his father's spear,''
''Long, pond'rous, tough; not one of all the Greeks,''
''None, save Achilles' self, could poise that spear;''
''The far-fam'd Pelian ash, which to his sire,''
''On Pelion's summit fell'd, to be the bane''
''Of mighty chiefs, the Centaur Chiron gave.''*</poem>

Achilles.

==Chapter 45: The Final Conference==

I looked down in dismay as the centaurs gathered around me. The infantry could be avoided. The trick was to keep them focused on us, and not on Doryalos and his group which meant that we couldn’t get too far away. The chariots were a different matter. Although we were faster, we were not that much faster. I hated to do it, but the best thing I could think of was to shoot and evade the chariots again and again. It would be hard on the chariot horses, but anything else would be much harder on us. I'd already lost too many centaurs.

"Leaders, to me!"

The centaurs parted to allow the unit leaders through.

I spoke loudly so that everybody could hear, but made sure that each of the unit leaders were paying close attention. "Now comes the hard part. The infantry we can avoid. Don't get closer than twice bowshot range unless I specifically give the order. That'll make them ineffective."

"Which leaves the chariots," Peukadia said.

"Which leaves the chariots. We're going to have to move up, fire one or two rounds of arrows, and then withdraw. There're too many of them to circle, and it's possible they could try to box us against the infantry. A lot of you know my opinion about killing the chariot horses, but now we don't have much of a choice. I want to slowly drift south. When Peukedymnos signals that Doryalos has begun his gallop for the gate, we'll swing around the infantry, but not get close enough to fire. If they send skirmishers forward, we'll take a shot or two at them. At that point we'll start moving northward towards fair Illium."

Rhoetus burst in: "This kind of fighting isn't right! It's not honourable!"

I sighed. "Rhoetus, this is as honourable as any other fighting. I don't like this either, too much can go wrong. But if we go after the chariots they'll wipe us out. Remember, they outnumber us at least ten to one."

"But Stephan, you led us here to die with honour and to be remembered. What's wrong with dying against the chariots now?"

"Rhoetus, you're right. And yes, I've thought about it. But, consider this. If we go after the chariots we'll destroy a bunch, and then we'll all die. Nobody will know we're not barbarians. Our sacrifice will be meaningless. If we survive to fight for Troy, then the Trojans will know what we now are, and they'll tell the Acheans. Because others will know of us as civilized beings, those who survive this madness will know of us as civilized beings, and that is how we'll be remembered."

Rhoetus bowed his head in shame. "I'm sorry. I should have trusted you."

"Rhoetus! In these conferences everybody is free to speak what they wish. I'm not perfect. The ambush on the slope never occurred to me. Any ideas you, any of you, have, tell me! However," I snapped the next words out, "once we're engaged, you have to obey me." My voice went back to normal. "No more questions?"

The leaders nodded.

"So, does anybody else have any thoughts?"

Various negatives were muttered.

I turned and looked at the massed Acheans. "If a small group of chariots separates from the mass, I may assault it. I can't guarantee that it'll happen, and you'll have to follow me immediately if it does."

Hodites asked, "Should we initiate an assault if we see an opportunity?"

"Ummm... No." He frowned. "Not because I don't trust you, it's because of the risks. My bodyguard is best suited for an assault. We have the best weapons, the best armour, and we're the most skilled. If one of you leads a charge, even if it's an ideal opportunity, then you'll get mauled by the heavier armed warriors."

He nodded.

"However, if you see an opportunity to close to javelin range on an isolated group, I will leave it to your discretion. Just be absolutely sure you can get back out and onto this slope if you go in. Anything else?"

Silence.

"One last thing. Do you see the red chariot?" I pointed. "Do NOT engage a unit led by that one for any reason. If they block your only way to escape, then, and only then, do it, but do not under any conditions try to attack the warrior in the red chariot. If you do, he'll kill you."

Rhoetus burst out. "You can take him!"

"No Rhoetus, I can't. That is Achilles, the best of the best of both sides in this war. The gods protect him. His skin is invulnerable, or so legend goes. His horses are divine, gifts from Zeus. Fighting him is certain death, and there's no shame in fleeing from certain death."

I waited and only heard silence, and the shuffling of hooves.

"It's almost noon, if this takes too long we'll have the sun in our eyes. Be aware of that. This hill is our retreat, the chariots can't come up after us, and we can stay ahead of the infantry in the short term. Go to your centaurs, rest a moment, drink a bit of water. We're going straight down the slope and there won't be time for anything but fighting and galloping once we get there."

The leaders turned and made their way back to their units. Philyanax lovingly began nibbling on my mane. Beside me, his captured armour clanking, Isoples turned to me and spoke in a low voice, "We're not going to make it, are we?"

"Oh we'll make it. Some of us. Against anybody but Achilles I'd be certain almost all of us would make it. With him out there it's going to cost us." I turned to him. "If Achilles takes me down, leave me. If I engage him, take advantage of the distraction and lead everybody towards fair Illium. Don't let me be forgotten."

"But Stephan--"

"If I fight him, I won't survive."

"But--"

"Enough! We have a battle to fight." I drew my sword and raised it. "ADVANCE!" Then I began trotting down the slope which was now almost completely dry. If I was going to die today, Poseidon unhurt, then that was my destiny. For now I had something more IMPORTANT than my vengeance.

The air was hot, still, muggy. I heard the thudding of hundreds of hooves all around me, and the faint roar of thousands of men on the plain below. I could smell blood, and sweat. But, Ixion's blood rose inside me. This was glorious, wonderful. This would be sung through the ages!

Just as we reached the plain I heard a gurgled blast of a horn faintly from behind. It was followed by a longer clearer burst. Stopping, I looked up and saw Peukedymnos on the ridge waving his hands. He blew the horn again, its sound echoing across the plain, before turning to canter down to join us.

Doryalos had finally begun his gallop.

==Chapter 46 - Racing Achilles==

As we'd made our way down to the plain, the chariots had been advancing towards us, keeping pace with the advancing infantry. Either they hadn't thought of boxing us in like Alexander had at Jaxartes against the Saka, or they were planning to do it once we were engaged. Looking around I could see skirmishers in front of the infantry line, and more coming down from the slope from further north. There were chariot runners alongside the chariots, and I could see the Myrmidons with their polished bronze helmets advancing behind Achilles.

Turning towards the south end of the Achean line, I accelerated to a canter and heard the others all around me do likewise. "ARCHERS PREPARE!" I drew Apollo's bow and strung it.

The chariots accelerated. "HOLD YOUR SPEED!" The few centaurs who'd gotten ahead of me slowed and fell back into the mass.

We closed, us eighty or so centaurs, and what looked to be close to three hundred chariots. I turned further to my left, further to the south, until I was moving perpendicular to the front of the chariot body. The centaurs spread out behind me in a rough line.

"ARCHERS READY!" Still at a canter I drew an arrow and turned my waist so that I was shooting as close to sideways as I could get. All around me others did the same.

"FIRE!" I loosed my arrow, drew another one in a fluid motion, and let it go. The chariots were maybe a hundred metres away. I winced as chariot horses screamed and went down, one chariot lost its driver and careened into a second.

That was when I heard a loud voice from the Achean line shout out "CHARGE!" The surviving chariot horses leapt into a gallop.

"FALL BACK! FALL BACK!" Saying that I turned sharply to my right and accelerated to a gallop.

All around me hooves pounded, ground was torn up. I could smell the sweat of centaurs, the richness of the earth after the rain. In the distance I could hear the crack of whips, the screams of horses, the thunder of bronze-rimmed wheels on the soil. The Myrmidons, like the Spartans one day would, advanced in silence. And that was the most terrifying of all. The chariot runners fell behind the chariots as they ran, the skirmishers and Myrmidons fell behind too.

For once I wished we were actual cavalry. Trained horse archers can control their horses with their legs, whilst firing almost backwards. Centaurs weren't capable of doing that.

I started panting for breath and realized that others all around were doing the same, had done so for some time. The chariot horses were fresh but we'd been skirmishing most of the morning. They were catching up much faster than I'd thought possible.

Then we were on the slope. I leapt over an outcropping of rock, slipped on a patch of gravel, but kept going. Sweat dripped off my sides under my armour. I could hear Philyanax gasping for breath, spittle coming from her nose with each exhale. She was falling behind and I slowed to allow her to keep up. There were shouts from behind and I snuck a quick glance backwards. The chariots had stopped, maybe twenty were behind the main group damaged or missing crew or horses. The warriors leapt off the lead chariots and joined the mass of Myrmidons and chariot runners in a loose formation. All of them started up the hill after us.

I slowed to a canter to get some distance and give myself, and the others, at least a short rest. Philyanax's head was almost dragging the ground as she fought to keep up. The centaurs around me weren't much better.

"ARCHERS PREPARE!"

As we didn't have time to play around anymore, I turned to my left and started heading north along the ridge.

"ARCHERS READY!" I quickly ran my hands over the arrows in my quiver before drawing one. I had roughly twenty left. The others were probably lower, they'd been firing all morning on the slope.

I slowed to a trot. The Acheans were advancing up the hill at a walk, letting the exhausted chariot runners move in front of them as a screen.

"FIRE!" I fired one arrow, another, and another. I kept firing as fast as I could, not worrying about accuracy. Dark shafts of questing death arced through the air and into the unarmoured chariot runners. With screams and curses they began to fall. One took a shaft in the eye, another in the upper thigh of his leg. The fire began to slacken, ammunition and exhaustion were taking their toll.

The Acheans has stopped. The chariot runners fell back behind the infantry which stopped and held up their shields as a wall. Even 150 metres away I could hear the thunks of arrows into the oxhide. A few arrows arced towards us -- some of the skirmishers must have bows. One thunked into my shield, two slammed into Eurpidius' side, he stumbled, tripped, and slammed into the ground. From the angle of his neck he broke it in the fall. At least the main ranks of infantry were still far away, and that meant that we still had archer superiority.

"CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE!"

Slowing to a walk I turned slightly upslope. The Acheans waited a moment, and then lowered their shields and let the skirmishers through their line. Once again they began advancing.

I quickly counted my arrows -- eight left. I had a higher rate of fire, so I guessed the others had maybe eight to ten left.

That was when Peukedymnos reached us. The others let him through as we all continued at a walk northwards. Turning my waist, I looked at him.

"Doryalos made his break for it. I'd guess they're half way to fair Illium."

I couldn't help but grin. "It seems we're on our way too. Go to each unit commander, share out your arrows. Let them tell you which are their best archers and give them the lion's share. Go! We're running short on time!"

He turned and fled, leaving a whiff of sweat behind. At least he didn't smell as bad as the rest of us.

"EVERYBODY! SHARE YOUR ARROWS. GIVE THE MOST TO THE BEST ARCHERS NEAR YOU! WE'RE GOING TO DO ONE MORE PASS!" Glancing around I watched my orders obeyed.

Then I turned and watched the Acheans. They'd fallen into columns to better pursue us, and were slowly catching up. I could see Achean skirmishers spreading out in front of us along the slope. I looked beside me, Philyanax was barely able to keep up. I looked around, the others weren't much better.

The Acheans had to be delayed, and there was only one way I could think of to do that.

Gods, but I wished Nedymnos was still alive. "LEADERS TO ME!" I watched as all of the unit leaders turned away from their centaurs and trotted over beside me as we all continued walking north along the ridge. Pale Styphelas looked painfully young. "Hodites, I'm placing you in command of everybody except my bodyguard."

Hodites response was immediate. "What?!"

"Shut up and listen! All of you! We're running out of time. If this continues, we're not going to make it. None of us!"

I think it was Rhoetus who responded. "But--"

"The Acheans are fresh, and eager for vengeance. If we were fresh, fully armed, I'd just break through the skirmishers in front of us. But we aren't. I doubt we can maintain a pace any faster than this for a significant period, and I'm worried about us maintaining this pace."

Hodites nodded. "I've been worried about that too and--"

"You all know as well as I that there's only one way out of this for any of us."

"I won't!" Orios shouted, "None of us--"

"YES YOU WILL! We're going to make one last bow assault, and that'll last as long as the arrows last. Then I and my bodyguard will advance to engage. Hodites, you will take the rest and run for fair Illium. Hodites and Orios will assault any skirmishers in your way, the rest will follow through the hole."

Peukadia shouted out, "We won't leave you!"

"BY GOD YOU WILL! BY GOD YOU ALL WILL! The only hope we have is if Doryalos gets to fair Illium and they come out to help us. I should be able to survive long enough to be saved." I could tell from their eyes that none of them believed that. I didn't believe that. "IT'S THE ONLY POSEIDON DAMNED HOPE I HAVE! That any of us have!"

There was a moment of silence, and then Melamnos quietly stated, "You said you wouldn't leave us--"

"I don't want to. I'm not leaving to deny you risks, I'm leaving because it's the only way any of you will survive to remember me. To make the Trojans remember me, to remember all of us!"

Peukedymnos spoke up. He'd come back to see the other leaders about his arrows. "I'll go up and after Thaumos. As long as I can I'll watch from the top of the ridge. I'll tell everybody what happens."

I looked at the others. They weren't going to go, stubborn idiots. And yet, could I blame them? Isn't glorious death in battle what I promised them?"

Closing my eyes for a second I gave in to the inevitable. "You're all wrong, but if you're all fixed on dying with me, I might as well make use of you. Peukedymnos, give out all your arrows. Don't go straight back to Thaumos, circle around to the south. Make sure you're not being followed. If you see the Trojans coming out of their city blow that horn of yours."

"I will."

I turned to the others. "Since you're all fixed on dying today, go to your men and prepare. We'll turn back south, go for one last arrow exchange until we run out."

Younger Orios asked, "What if they get more archers into their lines?"

Snorting, I remembered a statement that had supposedly been made by the Spartans at Thermopolae. "Then we'll fight them in the shade!"

That was greeted with laughter. At that instant I forgot about Poseidon, forgot about my vengeance. I knew then that I would willingly die for them, for all or any of them. Unfortunately none of that was an option. I sighed, and then continued. "After the arrows run out, we'll hit the north edge of their line. I and my bodyguard will lead, the rest follow. Throw javelins, but keep at least one for the close in fighting. Don't go near Achilles or the Myrmidons, they'll massacre you." I stopped and looked around at them.

One by one they each bowed their heads, closed their eyes, and held them there for a moment. Then they turned and trotted back to their units.

I stopped and turned. The other centaurs slowed, but their leaders quietly told them to reform behind me. The front line of Achean skirmishers was maybe 300 metres away. They slowed, letting the Myrmidons close behind them, but didn't top their advance.

Apollo's bow was still in my hand. "ARCHERS PREPARE!"

We stood there, drawing arrows, picking targets. The only sound was the distant shouts of the humans, the desperate breathing of the centaurs, and Peukedymnos hooves thudding on the ground as he cantered further up the slope.

"ARCHERS READY!" I drew an arrow. I should have taken some from Peukedymnos, but I hadn't thought of it. Too late now.

I began moving at a walk, again perpendicular to the Achean line. They'd stopped. They must have seen us ready bows and were beginning to fall back.

"TWO SHOTS ONLY! FIRE!"

A rain of arrows leapt up and into the Acheans. Five or ten in the closest group fell, and their ordered withdraw changed into a rout. Another skirmisher unit joined them in fleeing down the hill. All the others remained steady.

I turned slightly downslope. There would be a momentary disorder as the skirmishers passed through the lines. "ARCHERS READY!" I drew another arrow, I was down to five in the quiver. "WAIT... FIRE!"

I fired one arrow, another, and another. Three left. Acheans fell, the skirmishers fled through the ranks, shields were raised.

"CEASE FIRE! CEASE FIRE!"

We only had one more shot. It would have been nice to get to the far end of the Achean line, the southern end, as that was their right side and their shields were on their left arms. They would have been less able to use them. But it was not to be.

"LEFT FACE!" I spun around 90 degrees to my left, and accelerated into a canter down the hill.

"ARCHERS PREPARE!" I drew an arrow. Two left in the quiver.

Large blocks of infantry are very strong in the front, but their maneuverability leaves a lot to be desired. They tried to turn as a body but couldn't, a few on the end turned to face us. "FIRE!"

I fired one arrow, two, three, and then that was it. Around me fire slackened. The Achean line was disordered. Achilles was near the center, struggling through the men around him.

I slung Apollo's bow back into its case and drew my sword, raising it above my head.

My heart was pumping fast, Ixion's soul sang through me. All around me I could sense expectation, eagerness.

I lowered my father's sword, and, drawing on my last reserves, leapt into a gallop. "CHARGE!"

==Chapter 47: Final Gift==

Hitting the flank of the Achean line was almost like hitting a wall. When we'd fought the raiders we'd hit them from behind, our attack totally unexpected. Here at least some knew we were coming. Even before we hit the line, our fatigue showed itself as we strung out. Everybody was fighting to keep up, but not everybody could. As it was I kept my pace to one that Philyanax could manage. A last shower of javelins arced above me, thrown by the centaurs behind. The Acheans answered with a pitiful few. I could even hear the Acheans further down the line asking what was going on.

And then we hit them.

I don't know what happened to the first person I moved past. I caught his spear on my shield and pushed the point aside and then just galloped over him. I may have killed him with my hooves, or a centaur behind may have. Still I was slowed a bit. The second Achean I ran into had dropped his spear and swung at me with his sword. With both my own strength, and my momentum, the swing of my father's sword sliced through his neck, leaving his head attached only at the spine. Blood and flesh sprayed out and he fell. I know I stepped on him because I stumbled and almost fell, my right forehoof digging into his flesh, squeezing his guts out around it.

A glance around showed that the centaurs were enveloping the end of the line on both its flank and rear. Most were in the middle, and they pressed their bodies against mine, thrusting their javelins beside me into the Acheans that pressed against us. Their momentum helped me thrust aside an Achean in the third rank. He deflected my sword, but leaned to the side enough that my body thrust past him and pushed him in front of Philyanax who ripped out his throat.

By now I was moving at just a walk. Behind me I could hear screams, but I couldn't turn to see what was happening? Could I save them? Could they be healed? There was no way that I could reach them. And, even if I did, they wouldn't have the energy to fight, and there was no way they could withdraw.

I heard a scream from beside me, glanced, and saw Isoples with a javelin sticking out of his eye stumbling forward overtop of the Achean that killed him. I continued forward, as Bianar leapt over his falling corpse, his hind hooves smashing through Isoples' human chest. I only tore my glance away when another Achean sword slammed against one of the bronze plates protecting my human front. If it had been mortal forged, it would have passed through and into my chest. But it was from Hephastus, and it resisted the blow, but stopped my motion. So I reared, and with scarred hooves kicked him with one each in his chest and head. His chest blossomed in a spray of crimson, and his skull cracked on one side around my other hoof, spraying gore and brain outward. Falling down I trampled his body to make sure.

The killing went on. I kicked and reared. With one stroke I slashed at an Achean, slicing, or rather forcing the dulling blade of my father, through his chest or shoulder. Or I would slam him sideways for either Philyanax or Bianar, one was on either side of me, to finish off. Once I stumbled and held my shield above me, holding off a rain of blows. I had to shove it outward to get enough room to stagger back up onto my hooves. Bianar went down, a sword sliced along the side of his horse half and he stumbled into me, before collapsing downward. His last act was to turn his head and look at me. Philyanax was a whirlwind of death. She had shallow cuts all over, but between her teeth, kicking front and rear hooves, the Acheans couldn't kill her.

More Acheans pressed inward, struggling over the mounds of dead, both centaur and human. I kept pushing forward, with only Philyanax beside me. I had to keep going. If I stopped the Acheans would be able to press their attack against my rear, and there I had no defense. I hoped there were still centaurs following, but I could no longer tell.

My ears grew numb at the sound of swords thunking into and through flesh, at the screams of agony and pain. A javelin flew through the air on my right and I shoved forward so that it passed over my horse half, its hungry bronze cheated.

Until it slammed into the side of Philyanax.

She reared, she screamed, her voice filled with nothing but the sound of pain. And then she fell onto her side, her legs pointing towards me.

I'd had Anarcharax stolen from me. I'd abandoned Modyexa and Souliux. Raparthax had died. No more!

I turned, reared up on my fore legs and kicked out backwards, feeling my hooves crunch into the chest of someone. I landed, and took a single step towards her body. Through the humans I could see her, she was still breathing. I only had to reach her, only had to touch her for a second. Pulling my shield tight against my chest I leaned into the weight of Acheans before me and pushed. With my sword I thrust out again and again. There was no longer room to swing it. Short strikes, out, back, out back. All around me there were nothing but Acheans. The only sound in my ears was Philyanax's screams.

NO MORE!!

I shoved my shield forward, twisted it slightly, swung it around. Its edge slammed through naked chests, sliced through bare throats. I turned around and around, kicking with one hind hoof and then the other to keep them from my back. Blades sliced into my flesh on either side of my tail. Each was a hot stab, and then a burning pain as my body healed. Often I stumbled, almost falling before my muscles could reknit themselves. As I turned I could see centaurs in the distance, falling further and further behind. Being pushed away as they tried to reach me, falling one by one. Behind them I could see the banners of the main mass of the Acheans closing. I turned around further, kicking and screaming like an animal, slicing out with my sword, slamming my shield into arms and faces. Acheans were clambering over Philyanax and I thrust forward, pushing them off with my shield. She was so close, she was calling me. But if I leaned down to touch her I would never get up. There were too many Acheans around me. More swords sliced into my rear, one cut through a hind leg and I fell, but it healed, slower this time. I had limits. My breath pounded in and out of my lungs, up and down my throat. Sweat blurred my vision and I blinked to clear it. Another step forward, another. Slowly turning, kicking, slicing. The hilt of my father's sword became slippery in my grasp, my hands cramped. Each step was like walking on land in one of those old hard helmet diving suits and two hundred pounds of weight. One fore hoof touched something soft. It was Philyanax. She was alive, she was--

Again I thrust my shield out, again Acheans fell back. And this time they stayed back. I crouched, no fell, onto my knees. I dropped the sword. I reached out to touch her--

And her soul slipped from her body and into me. But she didn't stay with me, with Modyexa and Sauliux. In a last act she gave the energy of her being to me, spread herself through my limbs, healed my wounds.

And then she was gone.

"NOOOOO!"

My cry was that of a soul in hell. Somehow I found my father's sword where it'd fallen on the ground. I stood up, stepped over the corpse so that my forelegs were on one side, my hindlegs the other. The Acheans would not have her. They would not have her! They would not desecrate her. They would not roast her and stuff her into their stomachs. Not while I still drew breath.

I looked up, looked around. The Acheans had fallen back. Why? In the distance behind me I could hear the thunder of combat. Silently others formed a circle around me. These Acehans were not like the others. All were armoured in bronze, none were naked. All carried red crescent shields. All moved in silence. The battle became faint and unreal.

In front of me I heard footsteps and looked towards them as somebody was let through the circle of armoured forms which closed behind.

It was a man. He was fair of hair, armoured in bronze, carrying a red crescent shield. In one hand he held a spear. Massive, old. It had eaten of blood again and again and it craved more.

My mouth open as I panted for breath. Even with Philyanax's sacrifice I could barely stand. The ground was slick and wet. I heard the faint calls of my name behind from the others from where they were trying to reach me. I could smell my sweat, my blood. Philyanax's blood.

"So," Achilles said, "a barbarian who may be worthy of me."

I looked at him. Young, fresh, full of energy and brazen self-confidence. I could see the divine in him. I doubted he could see it in me through the blood and gore that drenched me. "You won't... have her!"

"It sounds like a horse." The Myrmidons laughed at their leader's joke.

It took almost everything I had to switch my mind back to thinking in human Greek. Then, enunciating carefully, I stated, "You will not... have her!"

Achilles took a step forward, holding the spear Chiron had given him loosely in one hand. Still panting, I slipped my father's sword back into its sheath and yanked a javelin from the racks on my back. I'd never had a chance to use them yet today. After that I waited, not saying a word, still gasping for breath. Occasionally I would shake my head to get my sweat soaked hair out of my eyes.

Before I saw his hand move, he'd thrown the spear and it came hissing through the air towards me, its soul thirsting. I barely angled my shield in its path. With a sound like a defeated demon scratching its nails on a closed steel door, it slid along the hide covered oak. It tore through the skin and dug into the thick wood, but it didn't penetrate.

With a thud it fell to the ground.

I didn't wait, with a groan I threw my javelin, one that had never been used, one of the gifts from Apollo and Athena. It hissed through the air, its bronze seeking flesh. Achilles saw it and dove out of the way so that it sailed overhead, thudding into the ground far behind. Making a continuous roll, he leapt back up onto his feet, his shield in front of him held high so that only his eyes and helmet extended above it.

I drew a second javelin and leaned back ready to throw it.

Achilles began to circle, I didn't see any movement but heard a snick of bronze on bronze as he drew his sword.

I wanted to protect Philyanax's body, oh god but I wanted to! But if I stayed over it, I'd have no chance against Achilles. Finally starting to catch my breath I leaned back on my hind hooves, and then threw the javelin and leapt forward. The cast went wide, but it distracted Achilles enough for me to land on the far side of Philyanax's body. As I'd leapt I'd grabbed a third javelin and had it ready to throw as Achilles took a step towards me, and then stopped.

Somewhere in the distance I heard a horn. Was it Peukedymnos? Were the Trojans coming? Or were the masses of Achean infantry moving in? I had no way of knowing.

Achilles move like a cat, almost bouncing on his feet even beneath the weight of his bronze protection. His shield slowly bobbed up and down, his head behind it. On the left the glittering point of his sword stuck out. Slowly I rotated watching him watching me.

Suddenly I threw, this time not aiming for him, but for his shield. I hoped that the javelin would become lodged in it and force him to discard it. Somehow he recognized this and spun around, the javelin hissing into his shield at an angle and twanging off, its sharp bronze tearing along and through the layers of red-dyed skin. But it wasn't enough to penetrate.

Achilles leapt forward then, his shield high, his sword low for a thrust.

I reared, stepped back, getting just enough time to draw my sword. With my right leg I kicked at him, but hit his shield. He slashed in underneath me and I pushed off his shield. Both of us staggered back, and I thudded back onto all fours.

I saw a light in his eyes. A flash of fear as he knew that I was good enough to possibly beat him. A glory at killing an enemy. An uncertainty at facing something he'd never fought before. A glee at doing what he did best. His breathing was slow, easy, he wasn't in the least bit tired.

I was barely managing to stand. My breathing was loud and harsh.

Suddenly he moved forward, his sword lashed out. I whipped my shield down. His sword twisted, beat its way past my shield. My sword pushed up thunking against his blade. His sword twisted upwards, scraped against my bronze armour. I stepped forward, my head leaning to the side. His sword whipped back, scraping along the side of my shield. My sword swung up over his arched shield. His shield moved upward pressing away my arm. I reared up, my right forehoof kicking. His shield pushed my sword further up.

For a second our eyes locked.

My forehoof slammed into his breastplate as his sword slithered between two of the plates of my armour and thrust itself deep into my crotch.

==Chapter 48: Tutor and Son==

I just stood there as the pain burst through me. An explosion bursting from my crotch. An explosion of sharp redness and dull waves of intensity that rose and fell. My father's sword fell from my hand and thudded onto the ground. I followed it as my knees weakened and I fell onto my lower legs, and then onto my horse chest. As the sword impacted the ground, my weight pushed the hilt upward, and the blade deeper into me. My body was trying to heal, but the sword was in the way. Virgin flesh would grow, and then part on the sharp and hungry bronze which was slowly consuming me.

I looked up as Achilles looked down at me. I was still panting for breath. I could feel a pool of blood seeping out from underneath my armour and into the thirsty earth. Behind Achilles there was a form, pale, female, a shape of mist standing naked. Her hand was gently restraining Achilles' arm.

I knew who it had to be. "Thetis..., why?" I gasped out. She was Achilles' divine mother, but why was she helping Achilles kill me? There was no way I could have hurt him. Didn't she know that?

Achilles turned and recognized her and frowned. She whispered something and then sank away into the earth like water.

"She said that unless I leave my sword in you, you'll kill me."

"Anybody... anybody can... in the... the chaos." I kept creating more blood, but I couldn't create it as fast as it was seeping out. And the sword was digging, sapping at what strength I had left.

"You fought well. If you were fresh you might have beat me."

My vision was wavering but I forced myself to look up at him. I spoke, each word an act of will. "You have... have a... destiny. I can't... kill you."

Through mists of pain I thought I could hear voices from behind. Calls, screams, the blowing of horns. It was like a dream. Was all this a dream? Was Chiron still alive?

Achilles took a step forward. "It's a shame that armour of yours can't be worn by any of us."

I swallowed, wisps of saliva dribbling down my parched throat. I could feel my stomach churning from the continuous pain. The pool of blood was growing. Chiron... I only wished that I'd known Chiron... To see Achilles in his youth, to see the great teacher, my son... Achilles... "Tell me... tell me of Chiron. Before I die. Tell me..."

Achilles face was a blur, but I could understand his voice. "Why?"

That was when I realized the curse I had unknowingly been under. I could not die. I could not be killed. But I could face an eternity of pain. Chiron had faced that, and had given his immortality to Prometheus. Who could I give mine to? If the Acheans burned me, would I recover? With my hands I fumbled at the sword, but I no longer had the strength to grasp it.

Achilles' face wavered into focus directly in front of me. I could feel his warm hand holding my chin. "I asked you why!"

Had I asked him? About? Oh god the pain. Pulses, bright red, pounding. Waves. I'd asked him something. My son, my son! How could I forget?

I could only speak in a whisper and Achilles had to lean down to hear. "He was... was my son. He was... taken, stolen... never knew him. Before I... before I die... please... tell me..."

In disgust he let go of my chin and stepped backward. "Your son?! Impossible! His father was there with me. He... Great Zeus! What have I done?"

All I could feel was pain. All I could see was pain. All I could taste was pain. All I could hear was pain. All I could smell was pain. The pain rose, a scraping tearing as something was ripped out of me. Bronze that had begun life was torn away and it transformed back to inanimate metal.

I felt the pain change, metamorph. It became no longer pain, but just a horrible, horrible fatigue. I heard a voice, distant, wavering in and out. "Friend of ancient ties, heal. Come when you're better and I'll tell you."

What was that? Heal? Why? It was something that came from outside me. I should know the voice, but I couldn't think. The were other voices, movements, the clanking of armour. I couldn't hear the battle, or was it that I couldn't recognize it? I felt strong hands grasping me, pulling me up onto my hooves. A familiar voice called my name. Chariot wheels rattled around me. Unknown voices. They started carrying me away. There was something... something... it couldn't be forgotten. Bronze, metal, sword. Yes sword. Weakly I tried to grab whoever was beside me. My head turned, a tunnel of focus began to grow in the center of my vision. It was Doryalos looking at me. Or was he a ghost. But there were no ghosts here. They were souls, spirits… No, no, there was something. Sword, yes sword.

"Sword, don't leave... father's... ground..."

My hand slipped down his arm, I couldn't hold it up. Where was Achilles? Had he left? Why? Why?

Somebody else's hands appeared in my tunnel of clarity. Something was thrust between my lips. Then something warm, wet. It poured in and I swallowed. It was wonderful. It brought strength. It was a sweet, sweet nectar.

It was wine.

I tried pulling my head away, but hands wouldn't let me. More wine poured down. Was it Achilles? But he'd left. Why? Why?

I heard Doryalos' voice fading in and out. "It's from Hector. Drink. You need it. None of the centaurs will touch it."

The liquid was poured into my mouth and I had to swallow. Strength burned through me, immense pleasure and delusions of power and strength. But how could I have power and strength if I couldn't move? My brain burned, ideas flowed, thoughts jumped out of a sea of delusion and then dove back in and vanished. Why had Achilles let me live?

With the suddenness of a fish leaping out of the water before vanishing back into the depths, a silver glistening fragment of the Illiad drifted through my mind:

<poem>''By ancient ties of friendship are we bound;''
''For godlike OEneus in his house receiv'd''
''For twenty days the brave Bellerophon;''
''They many a gift of friendship interchang'd;''
''A belt, with crimson glowing, OEneus gave;''
''Bellerophon a double cup of gold,''
''Which in my house I left when here I came.''
''Of Tydeus no remembrance I retain;''
''For yet a child he left me, when he fell''
''With his Achaians at the gate of Thebes.''
''So I in Argos am thy friendly host;''
''Thou mine in Lycia, when I thither come:''
''Then shun we, e'en amid the thickest fight,*''</poem>

I grasped at it. I knew it was IMPORTANT, but how? Friendship? Who? Was it a delusion? With my father's help I'd memorized more and more of the Illiad starting before I was even in school, and I'd never regretted it. But why that bit?

And then, like the fish, it fell back into the depths of my mind and vanished. Gone.

But I remembered more bits. Glaucus and Diomedes had fought on opposite sides. They'd encountered each other in combat and had discovered each other's parentage. And discovered that each of their grandfathers was once the guest-friend of the other's. Achilles must have realized that because he was the adopted son of Chiron as Chiron had raised him, and I was Chiron's father, that I was his adoptive grandfather.

And that was why he'd let me live.

I knew! I knew why! My brain faded, shut down. I knew why and now I could rest...

==Chapter 49: Inside fair Illium==

The next thing I knew I was lying on a pile of a straw in a fine stone room. There were windows looking out into a flickering light, and an urn of water and platter of fruits and dried meats beside me.

I heaved myself to my hooves.

I was sore, stiff. More wounds covered my body, and sections of my hide looked to be cut off and recently healed. I could see no sign of my armour, of my father's sword, or of Apollo's bow.

Blinking my eyes I tried to recall what had happened. Where was I?. I remembered the battle, the last stand, the fight with Achilles, his withdrawl, voices, a face -- dear God, Philyanax! I remembered whispering something about my father's sword, but nothing about her. Nothing!

How could I have forgotten?!

The flickering light outside the window drew my attention. What was it? Was fair Illium burning? Impossible! Achilles was still alive. But...

Still unsteady, I staggered to my hooves and then carefully made my way over to the window, ignoring my rumbling stomach, my parched throat, my pounding headache. Somehow I made it, and grasped the sides of the window to keep from falling over.

The window looked out over the walls of a city. The walls of fair Illium it looked like. And beyond those walls, on the plains of Troy, there was a massive pyre. I could smell the burning meat. How many had I killed? How many centaurs were dead? What had happened to Philyanax?!

The plaster cracked under the grip of my fingers.

It all flashed through my head. The javelin, my ducking, the bronze that hungered for me killing her instead. I should have taken it! My armour would likely have stopped it! I should have reached her in time.

The fire blurred as tears filled my eyes.

She'd given all of herself to me. Even gave up her essence to aid me.

I didn't deserve it!

"You should still be resting."

I spun around, and the room spun vertically as well as horizontally. I almost fell. There was a person standing beside me, human, female. She was dressed in a dark green dress decorated in red zigzags along the bottom and letting her breasts hang free. Her read hair was braided and hanging down her back. I knew her. I blinked to try and get the tears from my eyes. The face blurred, spun, and then cleared.

It was Phillipa.

I screamed at her: "What happened to Philyanax?!" My voice was hoarse, harsh. It echoed with pain.

"Who?"

"The mare! Philyanax. Oh Zeus, she gave of herself..." I fell onto my horse belly on the stone floor and held my head in my hands sobbing uncontrollably.

"She's on the pyre--"

"As food? I'll kill... kill them! I'll kill every... every last one!!"

"No! She's on the Pyre with the rest of the dead. The one's she killed, you killed. All the dead of the battle two days ago."

Thank god, thank god. She'd gotten the least of what she deserved.

She crouched down on her knees and embraced me, her arms, her closeness, her being offering me the same comfort I'd offered her. I leaned into her, my head on her shoulder as she gently rocked me back and forth.

Why did everybody have to follow me? All I ever gave anybody was death and abandonment. The family that adopted me, Modyes, Philya, Anarcharax, Modyexa, Souliux, Raparthax, Philyanax, Nedymnos, Cyllaros, Ularios the Elder, Melaneas... The list went on and on.

So many had given so much to me. Why? Why couldn't they just go away! They'd all still be alive!

Sobs wracked my body, but Phillipa was always there. I don't know how long I let her hold me. No, not let, I needed her to hold me. She didn't say much, just held me and shared her presence. The fire outside the window burned down almost to ashes before I was finally able to gather myself and bury my sorrow.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"Given that you did it for me, I had a debt to you."

"No you didn't!"

She pushed herself away from me and back up onto her feet. "What is it with you? You want the whole world on your shoulders! You're not Ajax! Did it ever occur to you that maybe, just maybe, you aren't the only person in the world who cared?!"

Looking up at her I choked back a retort, forced back tears. "I don't deserve it." I waved my arms around. "I don't deserve any of this!"

"Stephan, if you weren't a centaur I'd take a stick and beat some sense into you! Listen to yourself!"

"I'm not--"

"Shut up and listen for a change! Do you know why you're here? Do you know what happened? Do you even care?!"

I stared at her.

"Doryalos, the others, almost all they dream of is being as honourable, as self-sacrificing, as noble as you! Doryalos could see the whole battle as he ran for the gates. He galloped the entire way. So did all the others. They all refused to fall behind because they knew that you needed them. They could see what you were doing and they refused to fail you! When Doryalos reached the gate he didn't just knock or wait, he nearly kicked it down because he knew you needed him. When they finally opened it to let me in, I shoved it open far enough for the others. Doryalos shoved his way through the guards, through the crowds. He galloped up onto the wall, the others followed."

I couldn't stop staring at her.

"He and the others galloped along the wall. I was still on his back -- he'd have had to slow to switch me off and he refused to do that. Because he KNEW you needed him. When he finally found Priam he abased himself before him, he and all the others. They offered their own lives if the Trojans would go out and save you. They offered an eternity of servitude and slavery! King Priam didn't even talk to me. Instead he walked up to Doryalos and held the sides of Doryalos' head in his hands and looked at him. I could see that Doryalos' eyes were filled with tears and his face with desperation.

"King Priam stood up and stated that such loyalty and devotion deserved to be honoured. He called out the soldiers, the chariots, and with Prince Hector and Prince Paris at his side he led the soldiers of fair Illium out onto the field. He rode a chestnut horse, and his army followed behind him. I followed on another horse, and Doryalos and the others walked with me.

"The Acheans saw us coming and fell back, and the centaurs that were with you pursued them even though they could barely stand. Doryalos galloped to join them and together they chased after the Acheans. They only stopped when the circle of Myrmidons parted to let them reach you.

"I forced my horse to a gallop and pushed in far enough to see Achilles speaking to you as you collapsed. He turned to Doryalos and said that you were his kin, and that he'd done great harm in attacking you. In recompense he swore the Acheans to peace for seven days to allow time for them to bury their dead, and your dead. Time to honour the centaurs and you. Yes, you!"

I couldn't speak.

"I couldn't believe you were still alive when I saw you, and when Doryalos tried to help you up you screamed and kicked, refusing to leave the dead horse. Achilles stated that while you fought you'd never left her, you'd always kept yourself between him and the mare. I remember seeing that sword being yanked out of you followed by a burst of crimson that dripped onto the ground as you somehow staggered up. Doryalos and the others managed to help you back to fair Illium as the Acheans withdrew from the field.

"King Priam sent servants to bathe you, to tend your wounds after the centaurs had removed your armour. They had to almost cut it off, blood had glued it to your hide. King Priam's best surgeon held the knife and carefully cut the surface of the skin where he needed to, and together they removed the plates one by one. Then they bathed you, cleaned your wounds. All the time you were delirious, thinking yourself a failure, calling for Philyanax, others. I helped them tend you because I owed you as much as anybody else."

She looked at me, fire in her eyes.

"Do you know where the centaurs are now? Do you even care?! They're out on the plain watching the dead burn, and all the Acheans and Trojans are behind them HONOURING them. Do you have any IDEA what you did?! There were less than a hundred of you, but I heard that there were almost a thousand dead Acheans. A thousand!

"And you can't understand, you REFUSE to understand, why they worship you! NOBODY ELSE COULD HAVE DONE WHAT YOU DID!"

She slapped me and then turned and fled, slamming the open door behind her.

==Chapter 50: Heroic Acceptance==

For a long while in the darkness I looked at the shadows where the door was. Why couldn't they understand?

Then a voice in my mind whispered: Why can't you understand?

For most of my life I'd studied the great myths of the Greek world. My father had done it before me and he'd instilled the same love and respect he had for them into me. He would often go out on digs and take me with him. My mother had died giving birth to me. He dominated my life. In a sense he still did.

Was he still dominating my life, even here?

The ethos of the mythic greek hero was honour and glory. Kindness to your friends. Hospitality. Marriage and family duty. Victory. Pride in being human.

What had I done? I'd told the centaurs that we would fight with honour and for glory. I'd done so, even against horrific odds. I'd always been kind to others except when they were trying to kill me, and even then I killed them as quickly and as cleanly as I could. I'd offered Phillipa and the others the best hospitality I could offer. I was not married, but a case could be made for the centaurs being my family. Had I fulfilled my duty to them? I'd redeemed them from barbarism, I'd made them heroes. I'd done everything possible to keep them alive within the requirement of making their lives mean something. Pride in being human? Well that was more pride in being centaur. Did I like being a centaur?

That was an interesting question. I'd always been taught to be honest, and had always been honest with myself and others. Was I comfortable in this body? Definitely. Did I consider it my body? How did I view myself? I'd spent two decades as human, a much longer time as Neried, as horse, as Medusa, as Pegasus. I'd spent only a decade or so as a sane centaur. Who knew how long I'd been mad. Definitely years, almost certainly decades.

Was my mental image of myself a centaur? Should I be thinking: I am centaur, hear me neigh?

I didn't know.

But, to the rest of the herd I'd never hidden my horse attributes, never denied my beastial side. I'd restrained it, controlled it, but never denied it. I'd never compared any of the centaurs to humans in such a way as to lessen the centaur. Was that pride in being a centaur?

All my human life I'd disagreed with the 20th century cultural concept of 'the everymen'. In an ideal world within 20th century culture there would be no heroes. Heroes always had to be flawed, or be lucky, or be minimized. Even in movie adaptations of heroic myths they'd been changed. They had to debate if they were doing the right thing. They could never be certain of themselves. They could never be heroic. Certainly there were exceptions, and yet it was a movement that had been gaining strength.

Here there were heroes. Living, breathing heroes. Heroes who would live on in the human psyche for millennia. It was what I'd told the centaurs I would make them achieve. Not help, make. Until the dead started piling up around me, I'd never questioned what I was doing. Not to myself, and not to them. And even when I questioned it was only to help them, to keep them alive. To do my duty towards them, towards my family.

So, by the classical definition, I was a hero. No! That was a 20th century excuse to push off my heroism, to make me a normal individual. I was a hero, I had to accept it. But I had to accept it without falling prey to hubris.

But why did the centaurs worship me so? I had divine powers, that was certainly a factor. They'd known me both as a pure beast, and as a pure thinking being. I'd been, and was, the two extremes of their souls. And, from what I'd gathered, only when I was with them did they ever win battles.

Was I the centaur hero, their Heracles?

It made too much sense. But was it the truth?

There was a knock on the door. Probably a Phillipa come back to drag me to bed. How could she be so exasperating? Well, I wouldn't give her the satisfaction this time! Trying to keep silent I staggered up and onto my hooves. I was steadier, but the world still wobbled. I wished I had a cane. A cane for a centaur...

The knock again, louder this time.

I slowly walked over to the pile of straw and let my self collapse onto it. It was much better than the floor. "Come in!" I croaked out. And then, remembering classical greek I said it again in the non-centaur variant of the language. The door opened and the flickering light revealed that I'd collapsed on the straw facing the wall. The opposite direction I'd awoken in.

Bare feet padded across the floor and I smelled the wondrous scent of hot cooked food. Meat, vegetables, some kind of bread, wine...

I swallowed the drool as the figure stopped beside me and I turned to look. It was not Phillipa, it was another human girl, maybe eight. On her head she had a clay urn of wine, in one hand a clay oil lamp, and in her other a big plate of hot food.

Without the urn wobbling in the least, she curtseyed before me. "Lord."

Lord? Who... Oh right. "Yes?" My voice came out as a croak.

"King Priam sent me to serve you. If you want to eat, I can feed you. Or I can bring it back later.

I swallowed more drool. "No, no, the food is fine now."

"As my lord wishes." Swiftly she put down the light a good distance from the straw, then the plate of food, and finally the urn of wine.

One sip of wine couldn't hurt... NO! It always started that way. "If you can bring the water from beside me, I'll start on the food."

"As my lord wishes."

My body wouldn't let me be polite. Grabbing the knife and the spoon, though scoop might be a better word, I dug in and choked down the vegetables and the meat. Even though it was a big plate I was over half way through before I heard the girl's voice beside me.

"My lord, the water?"

I swallowed what was in my mouth. "Thank you. Um, what's your name?"

"I am Xanthia, daughter of Pandarus. My father sent me here as a bride for Paris."

I'd been reaching out for the urn she was holding in both hands and stopped. "Oh."

She sniffed. "Yes."

I remembered that Pandarus had been the King of Zelia. He'd probably hoped to use his daughter to continue his alliance with the Trojan kings. And then Paris got and accepted Aphrodite's bribe and now he was with Helen.

"It's not your fault. Zeus refused to choose between Aphrodite, Athena, and Hera and he picked Paris as the victim to make the choice. Can any mortal refuse a bribe offered by an Olympian goddess?"

"No..."

"Have you ever talked to Ascanius, the son of Aeneas?"

She looked at me, confusion in her face. "No..."

"You should. Leave me, I'll be fine. And thank you for bringing me the water."

"My Lord is too honourable."

In a wry voice that sounded much better now that I'd eaten, "Are you going to argue with me?"

"No my Lord!"

"Then go! And remember what I said."

"As my Lord wishes." She turned and leaned over to pick up the lamp.

"And leave the lamp."

"Yes my Lord." She turned and gracefully walked from the room, closing the door behind her.

I hope she'd listened to me. With Aeneas and Ascanius she might survive the hell of the next five years. Although I wondered if sending her on Aeneas' journey to Italy was a better option?

Shaking my head I took the cup that was tied to one of the urn handles, untied it, dipped it into the water, and drank it. The entire cup. I had to do it three more times before I was satisfied. The water was warm, but so very very good.

I ate the rest of the meal at a slower pace, finished off most of the urn of water, and then blew out the lamp and went to sleep. I was still tired, and my mind was full of too many questions.

That night I dreamed I was galloping across the plains, alone, far away from fair Illium and this war.

==Chapter 51: Wanderings and Nature==

I woke up the next day feeling much better, though still not back to my usual self. I also had to answer the call of nature. Getting up off the straw, I stretched my back and clomped over to the door. I opened it and looked out.

The hallway was brightly lit by light chimneys along it. Its walls were brightly painted with horses and other plains animals. The floor was tiled in clean white stone.

"Hello?"

I heard the sound of somebody stumbling to their feet and pushing the door out of the way. Turning my head, I watched as Xanthia peeked out.

"My Lord! I'm so sorry! I didn't know--!"

"Don't worry about it. Where's the washroom?"

"The--?"

I nibbled on my lip. "It's kind of urgent."

"This way my Lord!"

As I trotted after her I grumbled to myself about those who lived indoors. Outdoors it was so much easier. Just go behind a tree and let go. Either way. But you couldn't do that indoors. I just hoped the other centaurs realized that. Following Xanthia down the hallway, I paced behind her as she turned left, and stopped when she stopped in front of another door. We'd passed a few human servants or slaves, but they'd ignored us.

"In here Lord."

I pushed the door open. Then I remembered that maybe I should have knocked, but it was too late. Fortunately it didn't matter. The room was tiled in cut stone, and the walls were plastered and painted a dark blue. Most of the ceiling was another light chimney. The chamber was small, and most of it contained a Cretan style toilet. Stepping up, I let loose. It took a while. There was a wooden lever and I pulled it, and water sluiced in and drained out and given the Cretan design, it was probably from a roof cistern system. I wondered what happened if the tanks drained. Probably slaves or servants refilled it.

I had to back out and did so slowly. It was odd how much Cretan influence there seemed to be in fair Illium. Certainly not as much as the ruins suggested, but Cretan architecture had always fit, to my mind anyway, with the mythology.

Of course, given that I was in a cave beneath the sea near Thera, it was possible that this was all being taken and shaped from my memories. Or it could all be an illusion, or a dream. It didn't really matter. It seemed real and I'd decided long ago to treat it that way.

I pushed the door shut behind me and let the simple wooden latch catch. Xanthia was waiting. "King Priam is eager to see you. He's in the King's chamber. If you would follow me...?"

"Lead on."

We walked along more corridors, each painted a different colour, though all were decorated with animals. Primarily with horses. There didn't seem to be any dolphins such as had been common in the palaces on Crete. The halls seemed strangely empty, we only passed a few servants. As we walked, my hooves echoed off the walls and overwhelmed the faint slapping of Xanthia's bare feet. We passed outside into a large stone courtyard surrounded in red painted pillars, and then passed up some wide marble stairs into a small antechamber. To guards in Hittite armour and carrying spears stood at attention, their faces in deep shadow.

Before I could say anything, Xanthia spoke: "King Stephan of the centaurs. King Priam asked to see him."

King Stephan? Of the centaurs? I guess it made sense.

The guards bowed and then one opened the small door. "Enter in peace."

"Thank you." I waited for a second but Xanthia didn't move so I stepped around her and ducked my head as I passed under the doorway. The room was dimmer than the courtyard or the hallway, most of the light shining through an entranceway on the opposite side. In the shadows I could tell that the walls were painted but I couldn't identify see well enough to identify the shapes. There were clay oil lamps, but none were lit.

"Hello?"

A male voice called out sternly: "Who is it?"

"Stephan."

I heard whispers, and then an older voice, "Just come out on the balcony!"

I ducked my head under the lintel and stepped out into the sunlight. I was indeed on a balcony the looked out over the walls and over the great plain. In the distance the Aegean Sea glistened in the late afternoon sunlight and there was a faint cool breeze blowing its scent across the balcony; below on the plain there were crowds of humans cheering, their sound faint in the distance.

"King Stephan," the older voice spoke out, "feeling better?"

I turned and saw an old man, his beard speckled in gray, sitting on a padded stone seat looking out across the walls, although his head had turned to face me. He was robed in a light purple chiton which was a classical greek robe consisting of a single piece of clothing that was essentially a shirt with a skirt that pass down to the ankles with a belt around the waist. The edges of the sleeves and skirt were decorated in two zigzag lines. One red, the next one in green. His head was bare, and he was starting to go bald. Sitting beside on a second seat was an older woman, wearing a Cretan style dress gaily decorated with horses and with her breasts proudly displayed. Presumably that was King Priam's wife, Hecabe. More guards in Hittite armour were on either side of them.

Turning to face the man, I asked: "King Priam?"

"Yes."

I bowed at the waist. "I'm honoured to finally meet you."

==Chapter 52: Truths==

"I'd offer you a seat but you don't seemed to need one," King Priam stated.

"Thank you for the offer." Why was I here? Hecabe was pointedly ignoring us, instead concentrating on braiding a pattern into leather strips.

King Priam took a sip from a fine glass cup that was sitting on a polished wood table, and then put it down again. I could smell the wine and forced myself to ignore it. He looked at me for a while as the cheers from the plains drifted up and around us.

"What is going on?" I motioned towards the crowds below the walls.

"Funeral games for those who died in your battle. Hector and Achilles are seeing who's best with a javelin."

I remembered the funeral games Achilles had, will have, for Patrocolus, and the funeral games he would allow for Hector. "Umm... Are my cent-- people causing you any problems?"

"Doralos has kept them in order."

"Do you mean DorYAlos?"

He looked at me. "Hecabe, please go to your chambers. Don't wait for me, I'll be a while."

She stood up, gave a slight bow, and turned and left, her bell skirt flowing around her. One of the four Hittite armoured guards followed behind. For a second I was angry, but then I remembered the status of women in the late bronze age. Or lack thereof. Priam was just performing socially acceptable behaviour. He'd actually gone beyond the expected by letting her watch the games.

King Priam leaned forward. "Stephan, why are you here?"

"Why? Didn't Doryalos tell you?"

"I wish to hear it from you." I flinched from the intensity of his eyes.

"We came here to help you in your war against the invading Acheans."

"Why?"

"Umm... What did Doryalos tell you?"

"I want to hear you tell me."

Why was I so nervous? "Well, I, we, needed something. We'd been driven from Thessaly. There were no mares left alive. When I found them they were just wandering aimlessly in a drunken stupor, waiting to die. I refused to let them, us, do that. I gave them the hope, the dream of glory. The dream of being remembered as something other than beastial monsters."

He leaned back in his seat and sighed. "Another glory monger."

"What were we supposed to do? Just fade away into history and die?! There are NO MARES! We could either die in ignominy, or have our deaths mean something!"

What was I doing? This was Priam, King of fair Illium! The guards took a step towards me but Priam motioned them back.

"Still glory, but understandable. Why Troy? Why help me?"

"Because we did!"

He raised his eyebrows.

Why'd I say that? Slow down, work out my thoughts. "We did because a prophecy I asked for as a solution to our problem of dying in ignominy said that we could only break from our past by fighting on the side of Troy. We did that, did that all the way here, because it's our only hope." Not a bad recovery.

Clasping his hands he leaned forward on his elbows, his eyes never leaving my face. "You know..." he whispered.

What?

He turned to the guards on one side of him. "I release you all from your duty. Go to the barracks, relax." He turned to the guards on his other side. "You too. All of you. Go."

"But sire--" one began.

"He's not going to kill me. If the Acheans wanted me dead, there are far easier ways for them to manage it. Go."

They bowed and left. I just looked at King Priam, confused. What was going on? What did I know?

He waited until their footsteps faded away. "King Stephan, why are you here?"

I half raised a right forehoof to take a step back, but then put it down again. "I told you--"

"No, you told me why the centaurs are here. Why are YOU here?"

I swallowed. It wasn't a big secret, and if he threw me out, then so be it. "I'm here to kill Poseidon."

He leaned back and took another sip. I forced my need for the wine down. "It is an odd thing to want to kill the unkillable."

"A prophecy from Delphi stated that I had to come here and fight him."

He nodded.

"I won't do it inside the city. I'll make sure to do it on the plains, far away from your army."

"Why do you want to kill him?"

For a second I didn't know, the rage was gone. The need had been a driving force in my life and now it was gone. But, there was a kernel of something there. In surprise I realized what it was: a kernel of justice, and not hatred. "He killed my family. He made me kill those I'd grown up with. He made me perform incest with my sister. He has gone beyond the rights of even a god."

"Does not a god have unlimited rights?"

"No."

He paused and took another sip. I must have revealed something on my face because he asked, "Would you like some?"

I managed to keep my voice steady. "No thank you. Centaurs seem to have a weakness for wine. It's like an elixir that brings the beast to the fore. I prefer not to risk it."

He put the glass down. "The others say the same thing."

"Others?"

"The centaurs, the twenty-three that remain."

I winced and my knees weakened, but I managed to remain upright on my hooves. Only twenty-three... And most of those would have been with Doryalos...

"I've been told that they often say, 'Would Stephan do that?', or 'Is that what Stephan would do?' Only the wisest of men get that kind of adulation."

I focused my attention solely on him.

"I know that fair Illium is going to fall to the Acheans. And you do too, don't you?"

All I could do was nod.

"When the Acheans invaded I was told it would happen. I was told that we'd all be killed, the city destroyed, my dynasty ended."

"Aeneas will escape," I whispered. "He will found a new city which, in a thousand years, will conquer all the Acheans and hold them in servitude for a thousand years." Until the western Roman Empire collapsed and the Greek world survived free for another thousand.

"He is not of my family."

I bowed my head. "I know."

Suddenly he stood up. "Come with me. There is somebody I need you to meet."

Without waiting for an answer he turned and walked off the balcony into the King's Chamber. He stopped in front of one wall, reached up, and pulled down one of the clay lamps. There was a faint sound of moving stone, of rope stretched almost beyond endurance, as a section of the wall opened. He hurried through and I ducked to follow. Inside he picked up a plain clay lamp and lit it with flint and steel, and when it was burning he pulled a wooden lever and the door groaned shut. The air was still, musty, and I had to lean forward to keep from hitting my head. Turning, Priam walked off down the narrow passageway and I squeezed along behind him.

The way was long and winding. I had to force my body around odd bends, and walk slowly down stairs watching my hooves to keep from stumbling and falling. Dust speckled my coat from where I'd scraped against the stone. And all this time Priam said nothing. Eventually the passage ended and he stopped.

He turned to me. "Don't say anything. Beyond this is my daughter--"

Suddenly I knew. "Cassandra. And you believe her."

Priam stopped. Looked me up and down. "I don't know how you know that, but both are true. I was right to bring you."

He turned back to a bare section of wall and leaned into it. With a groan he pushed, and stone scraped against stone as the wall began to move. Before I could help, he' rotated it enough to leave a gap big enough for me to pass through. Panting for breath he walked through and I slowly followed after.

Behind was a small room. It had no windows, and a heavy wooden door. The only light was from a flickering oil lamp on a shelf. The walls were unpainted and undecorated, and the only furniture was a plain straw bed, and an urn of water like there was in my room. I wrinkled my nose at the scent of unwashed human, and the overpowering scent of piss and stools. It seems that a smaller pile of straw was used as a washroom.

By the time I realized somebody was in the room, she'd ran to her father's arms and he was holding her.

I remained silent and waited.

"I'm here again Cassandra."

"You have to believe me. YOU HAVE TO BELIEVE!" she screamed out. "FLEE! FLEE before you all die! DIE!"

"Shhh... I know, and I will flee."

Why would Priam want to flee? This was fair Illium! The Greeks would never break it. What was I saying, they did, they will break it. The horse. I shook my head. What she was saying seemed so far fetched, but I knew it was true. It happened thousands of years ago and it was true!

It was like a fog lifting from my mind. I knew that Cassandra told the truth. And yet, I could feel doubt creeping in... No!

By the time my head was clear again I looked and saw that Priam was helping Cassandra up. Once she might have been beautiful, but now she was filthy, her hair a tangled mess, her body covered in dirt and sores. What must it be like to live when you knew everybody was going to die, you warned them again and again, and they never believed you? What kind of hell had Apollo condemned her to when she had refused to make love to him?

"Daughter, " he said, "This is Stephan, the centaur King. He's here to help."

She turned to look at me, her wide eyes peering into my soul. From the floor movement attracted my attention and I watched as a snake, it must have been over five metres long, slithered up her naked filthy body, until its head was suspended besides Cassandra's, its eyes looking at the side of her head. Hypnotically it slipped its tongue in and out of her ear.

A memory of Cassandra's history flashed into me. She'd been whispered the future by snakes hissing in her ear. This must be one of those snakes. Or, given its size, the original snake.

"You will die," she said. "You will die so that others may live."

I won't die. How could I die? No think, she's telling the truth!

"Soon you will die, die at the hands of Calchas!"

Her eyes drew me, and the only sound for a moment was the hissing of the snake into her ear.

"You must die to save your race. In death all will be revealed! In death! IN DEATH!"

King Priam slowly backed away from her. I could see fear in his eyes, but Cassandra was oblivious. The snake slithered down from her body, falling from her like rain, and she looked into my soul. "You don't believe me..."

I couldn't die! Poseidon would die and then... But no, she was telling the truth. It was Apollo's curse at work. I had to force it aside. Cassandra always told the truth. Always! "I--" I couldn't force anything else out as I fought to remember her words through the cloud of Apollo's power.

"Nobody believes me. Nobody! NOBODY!" She screamed, tore out a clump of her hair, ran onto her straw bed and then rocked back and fourth on her knees. Over and over again she whispered, "Nobody nobody nobody..."

I jumped as King Priam touched my hand. His voice was a whisper. "I think we should leave. She'll be like this for hours."

Quietly I let him lead me back into the secret passage. I remained silent as he squeezed past me to close the entrance, and squeezed past me again. And in silence I followed him.

Two things went through my mind again and again:

Cassandra's voice stating 'Soon you will die.'

The Pythia's voice chanting 'In death the answers will be freed.'

==Chapter 53: Reunion==

We proceeded a short way before he stopped and turned to face me. I had no choice but to stop.

"Stephan, no one must know what happened here."

Odd that he only used my name. "King Priam, how did you learn that she told the truth?"

"Little things she said, things that always ended up in truth. Observations, conclusions."

"Then why don't you try and change it?"

He sighed. "Every story I've heard proved that the prophecies always come true. The more you try and halt it, the worse the ending becomes. Oedipus did horrific things because they tried to get rid of him. If they'd raised him they could have given him a religious marriage to his mother. A marriage in name alone. They could have had him ritually kill his father after he was dead. You know what happened to them. When I was young I exposed Paris, but that didn't help. My ending is bad enough, I dare not make it worse."

"I've heard the story. Now I wish I hadn't asked for my own prophecy."

"No one must know. Fair Illium believes it can survive, it must continue to believe that until the last moment. It's all I can give them."

"I'll tell nobody."

"Thank you. Now, we should get back. You should at least visit the games that are in your honour."

"But they're so wrong!"

He turned and started walking and I trotted after him, the clatter of my hoofs echoing up and down the corridor. "They do it to make war less horrible. To celebrate that they've cheated death a little longer. And to honour those who fell so that they will be honoured in turn."

We passed the rest of the way in silence. After that I couldn't really think of anything to say. What must it be like to know that everything you love, everything you've created, is doomed to be horribly destroyed. And to know that you can do nothing to stop it. That was when I realized why he'd taken me to her, taken me into his confidence.

He knew that I lived the same life he lived. He knew that no matter what I did, everything I cared about would die. One way or the other. I'd chosen to have their deaths mean something. He'd chosen to let his people live the last years of their lives in hope as best they could.

Had he known what would happen when he sent his two sons on the embassy to Sparta?

I didn't know, and I didn't want to know.

These thoughts were still swirling in my brain when I walked out into the afternoon sunlight and heard the hidden door close behind me. Then King Priam called out, "Xanthia!"

There was a patter of bare feet on stone and then she stopped in front of him and curtseyed. "Yes Sire?"

"Show King Stephan out to the games. Take him to his people."

"As my king wishes." She turned to me, "Will you follow me sire?"

Odd how her address changed. Maybe it was a sign of the respect she had for King Priam, and because of his respect for me, she respected me. I forced a smile. "Lead on."

I followed her back out into the pillared courtyard, and down further steps into a narrow winding street. Opposite was one of the peerless walls of fair Illium. She turned left and I followed, having to trot as she started jogging. My hoofbeats echoed through the narrow street and windows opened and Trojans looked down into the shadows at my passing. They were gaunt, thin, and yet their eyes were filled with hope.

Had the siege been continuous? It couldn't have been -- there was no way the city could have stored supplies for ten years. Could it have?

Then she stopped, and I stopped behind her. Before us was one of the great gates, its wooden doors open. A few guards were there and she whispered something which I couldn't hear. He bowed, and then motioned us through with his spear. She turned and I followed her through a short passageway, past another open gate and onto the fields of Troy.

Stopping she turned to me, pointing. "Your people are there. Food and drink is available throughout the competitions. I'll have your room ready for your return." She curtseyed, turned, and walked back through the gate.

For a moment I thought about following her, but then decided that my people needed me, and maybe I needed them. I remembered hearing of all the times that Alexander III of Macedon, later named the Great, had been rumoured killed, and how he'd had to march in front of the doubters to prove that he was still alive. How could I do any different from the greatest tactician in history?

I cantered down the dusty road onto the plain. It wasn't long until people saw me and a crowd formed, led by the centaurs who galloped up and surrounded me in a happy mob. They let Doryalos through and I stopped as he bowed deeply before me. All the others did likewise. Even the Trojans and the Acheans lowered their heads in respect. All except a few anyway, one of whom was black haired and bearded. He wore finer clothes than any other, and I somehow knew that he was Agamemnon.

Clasping Doryalos around the shoulders I hugged him against me and he hugged me back. We held each other for a second, and then let go simultaneously as the others cheered. Looking at his face I realized that it was lined, scarred, and far far older than it had been the last time I'd seen him. Looking around I saw that the few who were left, only twenty three, were all scarred and old. One had a slight limp.

That was when I realized, in horror, that the ONLY survivors were those who'd been with Doryalos, or those who'd been with Thaunos. And Peukedymnos.

Dear God... I closed my eyes and tried to keep control.

"Stephan...?"

It was Doryalos.

"Nobody could have done better. I never expected to see you alive again after your duel. The Gods must love you to have saved you."

I looked around at them, at their expectant eyes. My old human self wanted to yell at them, to scream at them, to tell them that I'd failed. That I'd only lived because I had divine powers. That they should never have listened to me.

But I remembered what Phillipa had said. The secret King Priam kept.

This was an age of heroes, and I was one. And heroes did not refute something they'd done.

"I tried, I really tried..."

"I know. We all know. But you survived, and we survived."

I couldn't speak. All the death and still they followed me.

"But come!" Doryalos yelled. "Today is a day to celebrate life, and to remember the dead! As we wish to be remembered!"

"Yes..."

"As we will be remembered thanks to you!"

The surviving centaurs started their chant. You would think that it would be weaker than when there had been so many voices, but now it was stronger. The Acheans and Trojans joined in.

"Stephan! Stephan! Stephan!"

I couldn't enjoy it though. I could feel death coming. It would be soon.

I knew it would come today.

==Chapter 54: The Contest==

I let the centaurs lead me over to the center of the festivities, to where Ajax, Hector, and other leaders were standing. Agamemnon wasn't anywhere to be seen. Achilles was wearing a dusty tunic and was drinking wine from a gold tripod.

He must have seen me as he dropped the tripod to the ground, the wine spilling out. "Stephan!"

I licked my lips at the ambrosial scent, but managed to keep my voice calm. "Achilles. You look well. But then I never touched you."

"You came closer than most."

An old man spoke up, his hair gray, his head nearly bald. "Achilles just won the chariot race." I think it was Old King Nestor.

Another man snapped back, his voice wry and amused. "Again." His beard and hair were a rich brown and from the scar on his thigh I guessed that he was Odysseus.

I couldn't help but smile. They were like school boys. "I'd offer to race you, but I don't have a chariot."

They all laughed. Their laughter was rich, but I could hear a hint of sadness in that of Odysseus.

He burst in. "Your men tell me that you have some skill with a bow."

I thought about letting it go, but I could feel the weight of Doryalos and the others. How could I let them down? "I've heard that you can shoot an arrow between twelve axes without it touching a single one."

"I've been said to do that."

"Too bad my bow is not here, and your bow awaiting your return home."

Odysseus' eyes widened at that, and the others laughed. Except Old King Nestor. He looked at me with a new respect.

It was Ajax, oddly enough, who spoke next. "It seems we need to have a contest then. I'll fetch a bow, one neither has seen or used before. We'll set up the twelve axes and see who's the best."

There was a twinkle in Odysseus' eyes at this. "At fair test. Are you agreeable King Stephan?"

"I'm agreeable."

"Well then!" shouted Achilles. "Let's make some room and prepare."

Ajax called out, "I'll be back!" and then he turned and jogged away.

I watched him go and saw that a crowd was forming. It seemed that word was traveling fast. Most of the humans had never seen me other than near death. I could feel their knowledge that Odysseus would win. Around me I could feel the sure knowledge from the centaurs that I would win.

Some Myrmidons ran up, pushing their way through the crowd, carrying double headed axes.

"Let Old King Nestor set up the axes, and let him judge!" Achilles yelled.

"Here! Here!" the crowd shouted.

I stood there and looked at wily Odysseus, and he looked at me. There was a moment of recognition. Neither of us wanted to be here. Odysseus had faked insanity to try and stay home. Both of us feared what this contest turn into. The moment passed.

There was the sound of hammers as the axes were hammered into the dirt. The first one was high, the second one behind it low, leaving a five centimeter gap vertically between the top and bottom of the blades. The third was high, the fourth low. And so it continued. Old King Nestor oversaw the placement, and checked the alignment. One axe was pulled out and a different one put in its place.

There was a voice from the back of the crowd and both Trojans and Acheans parted to let Ajax through. He was carrying a single bow and two quivers, each with twenty arrows. Somehow Odysseus and I had ended up standing side by side by the time he stopped in front of us. To each of us he handed a quiver, and then he strung the bow and passed it first to me, and then to Odysseus. After the inspection we hung the quivers over our backs.

The bow was painted a deep green to preserve the wood. Varnish didn't exist yet. It was plain, of okay quality but not the best. But the bow was straight and true, and it would serve.

"I will let King Stephan have the first shot," Odysseus said.

"Thank you."

He handed me the bow and I walked over to in front of the row of axes. The blades were low, so low that I couldn't stand. So I carefully lowered myself onto my horse chest and still had to lean my human body back a bit to get low enough.

Then, in one smooth motion, I drew the bow and let loose. The arrow vanished through all twelve axes.

"A true shot!" Old King Nestor called.

The centaurs roared their approval, as did a handful of the Trojans.

I struggled to my hooves and handed the bow to Odysseus. "Your shot."

I watched Odysseus take the bow and kneel, drawing an arrow from his quiver. What had possessed me to think of this? It was at least partially a memory from the Odyssey, when Odysseus returned home and before he slew all the suitors he strung his bow and fired one arrow through twelve axes just like we were doing. But I was afraid.

Would I die today in a renewed battle?

Old King Nestor called out, "A true shot!" and the Acheans and most of the Trojans cheered.

Odysseus stood up and handed me the bow. "Your shot." I could tell that he wasn't happy either.

"I went back to the same place, lay down on my horse chest, drew and fired.

"A true shot!" Old King Nestor shouted out.

This time only the centaurs cheered.

Odysseus' second shot was true. As was both our third, fourth, fifth, and sixth shots.

As I took the bow from Odysseus for my seventh shot, he whispered to me, "This has to end somehow without a winner."

I nodded, and crouched down. "I will have my tenth shot hit the twelfth axe, you do the same."

He nodded grimly.

My seventh and eighth shots were true, and so were Odysseus'

Doryalos trotted over and whispered to me, "I don't like this."

"If one of us loses, take the others and run for the city. Give time for cooler heads to prevail. But Odysseus and I have a plan which I hope works."

"I hope so."

My and Odysseus' ninth shots were true also.

I whispered to Doryalos. "After my next shot, keep the centaurs calm. Don't let them start anything. Pass the word."

I took the bow and crouched down for my tenth shot, not having time to hear Doryalos' response. This shot would be harder. There was actually a fair distance between the axes and to hit the last one would be hard. That was the real contest and Odysseus understood it as well as I. That was partly why I'd picked it, a challenge for him that wouldn't cause problems. This time I aimed carefully, and in a smooth motion fired.

With a tink the bronze head hit the twelfth axe.

"The twelfth axe!" Old King Nestor called out.

All the humans cheered, the centaurs remained silent.

Old King Nestor carefully straightened the twelfth axe.

Sweating I stood up and handed the bow to wily Odysseus. He knew what was at stake as well as I did.

He carefully aimed, this time much more carefully than before.

He pulled and loosed and with a tink he too hit the bronze axe.

I let out the breath I didn't know I was holding.

"The twelfth axe!" Old King Nestor called out. "Before the gods, I declare the contest a tie!"

There was a moment of silence at this odd pronouncement, but both sides knew and respected the wisdom and fairness of Old King Nestor.

Both sides broke out in cheers.

Odysseus and I looked at each other and sighed in relief.

----

There were other games, javelin throws, more chariot races, and single combat. I stayed out of them, stating that I was still weak from my wounds. A lie, but I didn't want to risk the truce. After emptying a skin of water -- they'd been put out for us centaurs -- I made my way over to a cliff near the city overlooking the ocean. I needed to cool off, and I needed to get away.

Soon my fate would come for me.

Of course all the centaurs came with me. As I walked each one took his turn to talk to me and thank me. Did they know I was going to die? I wished that I could say good bye, but all that would mean is that they'd all die trying to protect me.

Is this what Priam lived with?

Part of me wanted to gallop away, to be alone. To be free of the pressures and wishes of the centaurs around me. I refused to go. They'd just follow and they, at least, deserved to be with me at the end. So, I waited, watching the crashing of the waves below and looking out into the distance. Individuals would trot over, look at me as though to reassure themselves that I was alive. Or they'd stop and ask how I was. Or they'd just thank me.

The centaurs suddenly clustered defensively around me and I turned and watched Old King Nestor walking towards me. I told everybody to let him through, and they grudgingly gave room. He walked up alone, his white hair blowing in the breeze from the sea. Doryalos looked at him, but didn't make a move to stop him.

He stood beside me for a while, looking me over. Suddenly he spoke: "Do you think you would have won?"

"I don't know. Eventually a sudden gust of wind, or the gods, would have made one of us lose."

"Odysseus believes he would have won. He also told me that you suggested that you both hit the twelfth axe."

I looked at him for a while before answering, ignoring Doryalos' startled look at me. Finally I said simply, "I did."

"Too many men would have tried to win," Old King Nestor responded. "I'm glad you're not one of them." He made a deep bow before me, and then turned and walked back towards the crowd.

Silently I watched him go until Doryalos spoke to me. "I know you could have won."

I turned to him. "And what would that have achieved? You heard the crowd. If I'd won we'd all have lost. I have confidence in my skill. I don't need to prove it."

"But you could have won!"

I sighed. "Doryalos, I've taught you about honour and glory. They're easy to understand. But like I told Old King Nestor, there's always chance in any contest. Odysseus and I knew that we were both tempting the gods. After one arrow we each knew that the other was effectively his equal. After that it was all showmanship. If you have confidence in your own skill, you don't need to prove it."

He was silent for a while. A seagull cried over the waves. Finally he spoke in a much wiser voice: "Once again you put the needs of us over your own."

"That too."

More time passed and the sun began to set. The only sound was the cheers, and the rush of the water against the rocks. Then the faint rumble of wheels grew from behind and again the herd crowded around me. I turned with Doryalos and watched a single chariot approach. The sides were a deep red, and its only passenger was a blond-haired man in a white tunic, his hair waving in the wind.

Doryalos recognized him long after I had and soon all the others knew and they pressed themselves tighter around me. If was Doryalos who spoke their concern: "I think we should get back. He might try to kill you after you escaped him."

"No, he won't. We're kin through adoption. He won't fight me, and I won't fight him. You worry too much. Let him through. Everybody, let him through."

I stood and waited for Achilles to arrive and tell me about my son.

==Chapter 55: The Death of Chiron==

Achilles' chariot rattled to a stop a short distance away and I watched as his two horses, Balios and Xanthos, bowed their heads to me. They were divine, gifts from Zeus to Achilles. And they spoke to me: ''We offer honour to our sire.''

"Thank you."

By then Achilles had leapt down and was making his way towards me. He was still wearing what he'd worn when Odysseus and I had our contest, though now it was slightly dirtier and slightly dustier. He was like a small boy come home from the playground.

"Who were you talking to King Stephan?" he asked.

Balios and Xanthos ended their bow, shook their manes, and then started nibbling on the sparse patches of grass.

"Your horses. They showed their respect to me."

"You can understand them?"

"It's a gift. I can understand all horses. Long long ago I was the mother of them all."

Achilles frowned. "Chiron told me that Poseidon created the first horse from the sea."

"That's true as far as it goes."

"But--"

"Achilles, I'm sorry. I'm old, possibly too old. And yes, I was that mare."

He looked at me, confused. Finally he spoke. "I honour and thank you for the gift you bred for mankind. Though, I admit that I don't understand how it could have been."

I could sense the centaurs listening just as intently as Achilles. I'd told them legends, myths that I remembered. But I'd never told them of my past.

"Achilles, I've changed many times. Ages ago I was human, then Poseidon stole me from my life and made me his. Eventually he made me into a horse, his gift to Kekrops."

Achilles looked at me for a while. "There are many who, if they said that, I wouldn't believe. But Chiron told me the whole tale, and you are indeed his father. You told me this story when I was a child, and then it was filled with wonder and joy. It pains me to see you so full of sorrow."

I'd told him? When had I told him? I'd never met him before the battle. "I'm sorry Achilles, it wasn't me who told you that. I would have remembered." Unless I did it whilst I was insane. Could that be it?

"King Stephan, you told me that when I met you at fair Illium you'd be confused. You told me to tell you to trust to your fate. You told me that I would meet you again, and how. Until I saw you on the ground, dying, I'd forgotten about it."

It must have been when I was mad. There was no other answer. Yet the madness didn't seem right. And I remembered a phrase from the Delphic prophecy: ''The second time your first will be''

That didn't make sense!

Even since I'd received that prophecy I'd thought about it. Tried different words, tried subtly different meanings for each word. It had never made any sense. And yet, if what Achilles was saying was true, then maybe the impossible was about to happen.

Impossible. I refused to believe it.

I looked down at Achilles. He'd been watching me, watching the turmoil in my face. "Please tell me about my son. How did he die? I was there when he was wounded, but then I fled. My mind wasn't my own."

"You were there. You were with him till the end, you and Heracles. I'd left him then and it was Heracles who came and told me the end of the story. By accident he'd wounded Chiron with a poisoned arrow. There was no antidote. Chiron was cursed with an eternity of pain because he could not die. Heracles stayed with him. He told me it was because Chiron's fate was his own fault. Like so much other evil that Heracles did, it was an accident. Or maybe a fit of madness.

"Heracles told me that he helped Chiron wander through Greece. He and you that is."

Me? What had I done in my madness?! "I don't remember any of this. Please continue, I want, I need, to know." My face and heart filled with longing to hear of my son's final days. I was afraid that if Achilles didn't continue I'd attack him. Fortunately he did.

"For two years they wandered through Greece, Chiron leading the way. They climbed mountains, walked through valleys, dove into streams and lakes. Every herb that Chiron knew of, every cure that Apollo had taught him, Heracles and you helped him try. None of them worked. All the time Chiron grew weaker, thinner. He ate less, he couldn't keep any food down. He turned feverish. He didn't know where he was, or what he was doing. That was when the three of you found a hidden valley deep atop a mountain. One end was a massive cliff, streams of water pouring down it from melting snow.

"Chained to that cliff was a man. An immense man, a Titan. He was young, muscular. It seemed that he could break his chains with ease, yet whenever he tried he failed. Each day an eagle would come, an eagle larger than any Heracles had ever seen. All day that eagle would tear with its beak into the chest of the Titan, ripping through flesh, becoming drenched in blood and gore. Near sunset it would reach its goal and, with its beak, rip out the liver of the Titan and gulp it down. Then the eagle would fly away.

"Each night the titan would heal, and each dawn the eagle would come again."

"Heracles tried to fight the eagle but you restrained him. You told him that only Chiron could save the Titan. Only Chiron had what sacrifice would be needed.

"For three days you watched as Chiron screamed and struggled in the grip of his fever. Chiron had left a drink and told you that it was only to be given to him when all else failed. On the third day you forced it down his throat whilst Heracles held him down. That night his body burned, his flesh scalded whatever touched him. Yet you wouldn't let go. With dawn the fever faded, and the light of reason shone from Chiron's eyes for the last time.

"That was when you told him what he had to do. The Titan was Prometheus, the Bringer of Fire. Only the sacrifice of the immortality of an immortal would cause Zeus to free him. Chiron could save both Prometheus and himself. Prometheus would live, and Chiron would finally die.

"Chiron agreed."

Achilles held me in his arms as I sobbed out my pain and horror. I'd known the myth, and yet it hadn't seemed real. Now it did. Chiron was my son. I'd abandoned him, and only in my madness had I known him. I'd been there when he'd died, helped him end his torment, and I couldn't remember. I COULDN'T REMEMBER! Damn you Poseidon for making me kill everybody I knew and making me birth Chiron into a hellish death. Damn you Apollo for taking him from me! Damn all of you immortals!

"King Stephan!"

It was a voice I'd never heard before, and yet there was a hint of familiarity about it. Jerking my head up, blinking back tears, I looked as an Achean warrior calmly walked south along the cliff towards us. His hair and skin were glistening wet and he was carrying only a figure-eight oxhide shield, a javelin, and a sheathed sword.

Blinking my eyes to clear the tears I saw that Achilles looked as confused as I was.

The centaurs crowded around me and Achilles, with Doryalos interposing his body between me and the stranger.

"Doryalos, move aside." He didn't. "Move aside now!" Grudgingly he did.

The man stopped about fifty metres away. A chill terror swept through me for I knew that my death was here.

"King Stephan! For what you've done I, Calchas, challenge you! Face me now!"

Calchas? Why was that familiar? Cassandra's voice echoed through my mind: ''Die at the hands of Calchas!'' And that was followed by a section of the Illiad:

<poem>''To slay beside them; but from Ocean's depths''
''Uprose th' Earth-shaker, Circler of the Earth,''
''To Calchas' likeness and deep voice conform'd,''*</poem>

In the Illiad Calchas was the chief of seers that accompanied the Greeks. Poseidon, also known to the Acheans as the Earth-shaker, assumed Calchas' shape to inspire the Greeks to fight to save their ships from Hector's assault.

How had I missed this? It must have been Apollo's curse on Cassandra that made me discard what she'd said. But now I knew.

Now I knew that Poseidon had come for me.

==Chapter 56: Poseidon==

"Calchas?!" Achilles boomed out, "What in the name of Zeus are you doing here? You're not a warrior!"

"I'm waiting 'King' Stephan!" Poseidon, disguised as Calchas, spit out.

Putting my hand on Achilles' shoulder I said loudly so that everybody would hear. "That is not Calchas. It seems that Poseidon has chosen that form in which to face me."

Doryalos burst out, "I won't let him hurt you! None of us will!"

I turned to Doryalos and addressed him, and the others. "Doryalos, that is Poseidon, brother of Zeus. If you interfere then you will die. All of you will die! You'll achieve nothing to help me, and I'll be powerless to stop him. This is not your fight!"

Thaunos said quietly: "You know Stephan that none of us will leave you. You can't make us leave you."

"Listen to yourselves!" I screamed. "In the battle you could do something, and I thank you for your efforts then, and thank you for your offer now. BUT YOU CAN'T HELP! None of you can!"

"Stephan!" Doyalos shouted. "We'll not leave you! You should know that by now!"

"YOU'LL LEAVE ME BECAUSE I'M TELLING YOU TOO, BECAUSE THIS TIME YOU CAN'T DO ANYTHING! Please, PLEASE don't put your deaths on my conscience!" I swept my gaze over them. "Please..."

The centaurs didn't move.

"Will you at least just watch and not interfere?"

Silence.

God damn them!

"Stephan, I won't let you hide behind them!" Calchas called out.

Here my destiny was upon me, and all I felt was frustration. I turned to Achilles. "Do you have a sword I can use?"

He leapt into his chariot and pulled out a sword, still in its scabbard. "I'd be honoured if you'd use mine." Then he tossed it to me and I caught it, even though Doryalos tried to catch it first.

Drawing the sword and dropping the scabbard, I glared at him. "Doryalos, you can watch. You're right, you've earned that, you've all earned that. But...!"

I swept my gaze over all the centaurs in front of me.

"I will knock you out with the flat of this blade one by one if I have to. DON'T INTERFERE!"

I looked down at Doryalos and he looked up at me.

"Please," I asked.

Finally Doryalos turned away. "As you wish, my king." There was little respect in those words, just an acceptance of what would happen.

Slowly I pushed my way through the crowd. Each one that was in my path looked like he would stand immobile, but at the last minute he slowly and grudgingly moved out of the way.

The sun had set by now, and the light from a near full moon was glimmering over the field. Nobody on the plain seemed aware of what was about to happen. Was that by accident, or by design? I didn't know.

Finally I was out of the crowd of centaurs and facing Poseidon across the grass. Somehow Achilles had managed to stand beside me.

I turned to look at him. "Achilles, like I told the others, this is my fight, my destiny. You have your own. Please don't interfere."

"King Stephan, such interference would be wrong. You've made your choice, and I respect that choice. How could it be otherwise?" He reached up and clasped my arm. "May Zeus protect you."

"Thank you." Turning away, I called out, "Poseidon, I'm ready! You don't need to disguise yourself, everybody knows who you are!"

Before Poseidon could respond, Achilles burst out, "Is it honour, Poseidon, to fight an undefended man when you bear a shield?"

Poseidon laughed. "Far be it for me to fight in an unfair manner." He tossed his shield to the ground and another one, an identical one appeared in his hand. "And since Stephan can't help his form, I'll make that fair too." And then his body flowed like water and grew. Hair burst over him, soft brown hair, patterned like that of a deer. His legs changed, shrunk, until they were the forelegs of a cervine. And his body flowed backward growing larger and larger, until it stopped.

Before me was a centaur like only one I'd ever seen. His entire body was hairy, not just his horse half. Around what would have been his human half except for the hair, and over his head, was draped a hide covered in owlfeathers.

Beside me Achilles gasped out, "Stephan?"

I was speechless. I remembered an instant of sanity in the midst of my madness, remembered seeing Heracles with two other centaurs. One was Chiron, the other was the one who stood in front of me now.

"Afraid of me?" Poseidon asked.

I was beyond speech. As it had so long ago, rage filled me. If this was another form of Poseidon, than he'd been with Chiron. He'd shared MY son's life. If Poseidon had been there than it seemed that he'd caused Heracles to accidentally hit my son with his poisoned arrow.

Poseidon had killed my son.

My vision focused into a tunnel with Poseidon at its end. I would kill him. No matter what it took, I would kill him.

"I'm waiting King Stephan."

Screaming, I galloped towards him, trampling the shield Poseidon had offered. I held the sword in two hands, one on the hilt, one on the pommel, the better to strike with. Just as I reached Poseidon I swung downward with all my strength, the blade almost chopping his shield in half. He dropped it and danced back.

"Now it is completely fair," he stated.

Only part of me heard him. Some of my skill fought its way through my madness and I held the sword in both hands in front of me, its blade in front of my face. It was a short weapon, a common sword of that time. To my strength it was light as a feather. Poseidon held his in a similar manner in both hands.

Possibly I should have waited, but I was too consumed in rage. Ixion's blood had consumed me and now it wouldn't let go. I struck at Poseidon once, from my right to my left, and he held his sword and parried the blow upward. My strength stopped the light blade and I struck from the opposite direction, and again the blow bounced off the angle of Poseidon's sword. I struck faster and faster, the hungry bronze becoming a gleaming blur. Poseidon deflected every strike with a minimum of motion. I started gasping for breath, my lungs heaving to suck in oxygen so that my body could perform all that I asked of it.

Poseidon wasn't even sweating.

Rather than deflecting my next blow, Poseidon caught my blade on the edge of his. The bronze screamed as, with all my strength, I pressed down. His bronze dug into my bronze. Each blade strained to pierce the other.

And then it happened.

With the shriek of tortured souls, both our blades snapped at the point they met. And, before I could react, Poseidon shoved the half metre stub of his blade into the middle of my chest, and then forced it downward and out the bottom of my crotch in a fountain of blood and gore.

I dropped the sword Achilles had given me, and staggered backward.

Poseidon lunged forward and sank his blade again deep into my body, so deep that his hand was thrust into my gaping wound. With his hand on its hilt he slowly started to wiggle it around, back and forth, left and right.

Screaming I collapsed onto my horse chest and he fell on top of me, his face against mine, his sword still deep in my horse chest, its tip moving.

I could feel my body trying to heal, but it couldn't. As when Achilles had left his sword in my body, the same one he leant me, my healing fought but failed. Then I'd begun to bond with the metal, make it part of me. But now, as Poseidon kept moving it around, my body couldn't affect the metal.

And, oh god, the pain. The pain was blinding, it was sparkling pulses of red and purple. A drenching rain of hot lava that swept through my entire body, and then turned back on itself. Each time I exhaled blood gurgled out of my mouth, each time I inhaled I felt more and more liquid fill my lungs. His blade found its way to my heart and the organ struggled to keep beating, and then stopped.

And I couldn't die.

The only thing I could sense was pain. Endless torment. Torment with no end. Is this what Chiron had gone through?

A voice, a coolness, penetrated my brain. "I can end this Stephan."

I grasped at the hope, held the voice to me. An end to the pain. That was all that mattered. But then I recognized the voice. Poseidon.

"No..." I whispered, and more blood dribbled down my chin.

The same voice, the same coolness in my brain so that I could think. "Stephan, you have to end this. When I was here before I ended it!"

The coolness vanished, consumed by unending burning pain. My heart healed, it beat once, and then the blade twisted into it again and it jumped, and stopped. Blood clogged my veins, electric pulses of agony swept up and down my spine. The pain swept all before it until there was only pain. It was the entirety of my existence. All I felt was pain. An eternity of pain. Pain that never ended--

And then the cool hope of the voice, "Please Stephan, let me end this! We have to finish the cycle."

It took a moment for me to figure out what was going on. Anything, anything to end the pain. No, not to Poseidon. But the pain... "Save... save them..."

"The centaurs?" the same cool voice asked?

I held to it like a drowning man to his rescuer. "Save them... save them... and then... then you can end... end this..."

"I will," the wonderful coolness stated. "You must give me your immortality. Like Chiron."

Chiron... He'd killed Chiron... I couldn't...

And then the pain was back. A never ending sea of agony. It filled my world, it tore at my mind...

And then the coolness. "Please Stephan. For all of us. For yourself. Give it to me. Let me save them!"

The coolness, oh the wonderful coolness! "Yes! Any... anything!"

And I gave him my life, my soul, my divinity.

It poured out of me, and a part of me went along with it. I felt Poseidon's mind. I felt my mind. Poseidon was me! And beyond him, beyond a wall he was holding, a totality of knowledge. I glimpsed just the surface of it, but it was a cold bitter surface. Beyond the surface was the knowledge of everything that had ever happened, that would ever happen. Holding the knowledge a cold desperation that was trapped and could never escape. And knew absolutely that it could never escaped.

It was worse than the pain that had consumed me and I fled. I ripped myself from my dying body and my soul fled away in blind terror. Far, far away. As far away as I could get.

----

<poem>''Round noble Stephan's pyre the people pressed:''
''When all were gathered round, and closely thronged''
''First on the burning mass, as far as spread''
''The range of fire, they poured the ruddy wine,''
''And quenched the flames: his centaurs then his friends''
''Weeping, the hot tears flowing down their cheeks,''
''Collected from the pile the whitened bones;''
''Then in a grave they laid it, and with care''
''With stone in ponderous masses covered over;''
''And raised a mound, helped by all on every side,''
''Greeks and Trojans and Centaurs round''
''The mound erected, back they turned; and all''
''Assembled duly, shared the solemn feast''

''And so passed Stephan, King of the Centaurs''</poem>

==Chapter 57: Spirit==

All around me I could see darkness, broken only by sparks of light. Most were dim, a few shone brightly. Almost all were sealed somehow, protected inside some kind of force field. But there were other free souls, spirits. I saw one in the distance and it saw me. Instantly it turned and was inside me, and I was inside it.

Memories from it spilled into my mind, just as it sucked memories out of my mind. It was a fight, a desperate struggle to keep our mind and steal the others. I was stronger, I could sense the mares who had joined me, who were now part of me, helping.

I ate memories like a ripe fruit. A warmth filled me as experiences replaced the endless stillness that I existed in. I remembered being born in an arcology. Growing up with my parents and falling in love with my AI teacher. I remembered crying in my mother's arms when I found out that my teacher was just an AI, and a low level one at that. I remembered drifting in orbit in a nanite exposure suit and working with others on the upper station of the first beanstalk, an elevator that stretched from the earth up to orbit. The first of many. I cried as Harry died due a malfunction in his nanites that caused his blood to boil into space before anybody could help him. I screamed in pain as a cable snapped and whipped through the vacuum, cutting Mary in half, and chopping my right leg off at the thigh. It'd taken a month back on earth to regenerate a new one.

And I remembered the growing horror as the AIs and Augments grew far far beyond humanity, far far beyond what I was into incomprehensibility.

After construction on the beanstalk was complete, I took a year off. I joined a group that was becoming terrified of what the extreme edge of humanity was becoming. I had gills implanted, and swam into the deeps to escape to a world that would protect me from the change I knew was coming.

And I remembered drowning as Naiads surrounded me.

Was I dead? And if I was, was this Illysium? But it wasn't. But, all around me were the dead. The souls, the spirits. Souls trapped in this dark place. The sparks I couldn't reach must be souls, spirits inside bodies. Like I used to be. But why? Why was this all going on?

And that was when a swarm of five spirits sped into and around me. They fought as a unit, each pulling in a different direction, one letting go and helping another as I tried to fight back. I managed to grab one and in a single action the mares and I sucked all of its memories into me. Then the other four fled. The one I'd drained fled too, dimmer than it had been.

More memories flooded into me. Once I'd been a psychologist, specializing in those who refuted the world of the arcologies. There had been two types. The first type, and most common, were the descendents of either those who couldn't take a fully technologically dependent world and fled outside. Most of those died, but a few who had gotten genemods were able to survive, and even thrive. The second type were those from the poorer countries, or those who, when the arcologies had first been built, had been abandoned by society. Sometimes they were less intelligent, less worthy of a place in society. But most were simply the lower classes, the ones that everybody wanted to just ignore and get away from. A surprising number of those had survived, somehow managing to breathe the toxic air for the short duration of their lives, somehow living long enough to breed before the poisons killed them.

Throughout my life I helped thousands return to civilization. I'd given them tests, discussed their status with AIs, sent those who needed it into hospitals where nanoviruses would rebuild their damaged genetics and increase their intelligence and physical stats to their optimum values. A few, most often the intelligent ones, would kill themselves rather than be helped. I'd never understood that.

When I was not working, I immersed myself in one of millions of gestalt consciousnesses that were developing out of the bonded system of enhanced minds and AIs. I played games in more and more complex simulated realities. At first they were conventional, but as we advanced as a whole they became more and more unusual. Non-euclidean geomorphic playgrounds, universes where physical laws were different, universes where physical laws changed, either gradually or suddenly. To all of us the universe was a toy that we were growing to understand. The physical structure of reality was beginning to make sense. There were hints of boundless vistas of knowledge and energy and dimensions within the four we perceived. Unfortunately, none of us could stay within any gestalt permanently. It was a strain, a great effort that left one exhausted and asleep for days or even weeks. After a session only fragments of the dreams remains, and echoes of knowledge from experts in other specializations. Within a gestalt I was content to be a follower. A useful follower, but not a leader. I wanted to go on the journey, but I was afraid to lead it.

As I result I needed to stay close to the cutting edge, but not on it. I'd wait three or four weeks until a new biomechanical enhancement was understood and accepted before receiving it. I'd always been cautious about the technology, but not about the doctors.

The clinic I choose that last time was controlled by a group dominated by the meme of humanity. A fanatic anti-enhancement group. They took out my brain and kept it in a suspension capsule. I'd learned from other spirits that this group had taken me to this world to save me from what humanity was becoming. They'd died and eventually my support system had failed and I'd died.

For a while I avoided other spirits. When I saw them coming I fled. But, I learned that fleeing was only a temporary solution. There was no heat, no cold, no taste, no touch, no smell. Just the same nothingness with sparks of life that I tried to avoid. There seemed to be no way of communication other than by memory theft. I found a few dim dim spirits which I investigated but realized that they were spirits with nothing. They had no memories, no experiences. They were in a pure pre-born stasis waiting and prepared for rebirth but unable to achieve it. Their minds were waiting, unable to change without sensations. Here they could never get any, as they had no will or mind to even conceive of stealing memories from others.

Some unknown amount of time later I came upon a bright pulsing spirit. I started to run away, but then I realized that it wasn't moving. It was doing nothing. Carefully, slowly, I moved towards it. It still did nothing. There was only one way to communicate, and that was by absorption. Swearing that I would make contact only for a fraction of an instant to see what was going on, I interfaced.

And his memories poured into me.

Shocked, I realized there was nothing else. Memories without consciousness. Dreams that had been formed and been played over and over and over again.

In those memories I had originally been an AI. Developed from statistical studies of tursiops truncates, my original function had been to be a bottlenose dolphin. Eventually a copy of myself was placed into an artificial dolphin and I lived with the wild ones. Every so often I would transmit a neural map of my memories and experiences. After a normal lifespan, I withdraw and was moved from the body and placed into the network that linked the arcologies. My old body was dissolved for the raw atoms, and eventually rebuilt into other technological materials. I was given the freedom of the world net, and entered into the growing gestalts between AIs and enhanced humanities.

My mind changed, becoming a combination of dolphin and human, with the wisdom of the higher end AIs as kindly parents. I was copied to Ceres and worked on the space/time warping experiments. I was part of the scientific gestalt when the big breakthrough was made. Limitless power. Instantaneous travel. I was copied back to Earth to share the knowledge with the gestalts that swarmed earthnet. Such sharing required a realtime connection, but I now held the knowledge to allow the connection speed to be instantaneous anywhere in the universe.

My mind changed, grew. We all changed and grew, growing, merging. Clusters of neural groups forming greater gestalt consciousnesses that pushed our knowledge further and further towards totality. It was a time of eternal joy, eternal change, and limitless accelerating growth.

And yet, not everybody wished to participate.

I volunteered to investigate and left my gestalt and existed on my own. The uninet placed me into a new artifical dolphin body, indistinguishable from a real one on an atomic level, but bound to higher dimensions in such a way that neither food nor oxygen was needed. Still linked to the uninet I swam down where the others were fleeing. I sensed beings, energy constructs that shouldn't be able to exist within the properties of local space time. And yet they did.

Somehow they ripped my trans-dimensional self out of the body, and threw it into this place of nothingness. I could not find the uninet. I could not send messages. I could not move or change. There was nothingness. But there were others. I tried a merging with one, and sucked its memories into me. They became part of me and I realized that I had destroyed something that had once been human. From then on I fled from contact, but the world became less and less real. I started creating my own world, my own dreams. They became my existence. But in time even they grew stale for they never changed. Everything in them became known.

Finally, unable to continue, I erased myself.

That single instant of memory shook me to my soul. From its memories I knew how it was done. I knew how I could destroy my entity, my soul, leaving only abandoned memories behind me.

Yet, the idea, the concept, filled me with horror. With wrongness.

Time passed, I think. Everything was always the same, unchanging. Was I moving or still? Were the sparks I fled from real? Were my memories real? Were sensations real? I felt my sanity drifting away, following the path of the AI.

That was when I realized I had a choice. I could either continue to steal memories, destroy thinking beings in a kind of psychic vampirism, or I could slowly go mad in my own delusions until I destroyed myself.

There had to be another way. There had to be!

And, maybe, there was.

When I'd been Pegasus I'd willed myself from Pegasus into one of the forming entities in my womb. Based on my experiences it was obvious that at some point a spirit, a soul, had to form. Was it the existence of a soul within a physical body within the conventional four dimensions of human existence that kept me out?

Searching I found a spirit I couldn't reach and watched it, hanging nearby. It never changed, until its shell broke and it became trapped. Its physical body had died.

I tried another, and another. Finally I found one that seemed bigger. It seemed to grow. For an instant it drew me, and then, before my eyes, a second spirit appeared inside the first. Separate yet together.

It seemed that there was only an instant of opportunity. I moved from contained spirit to contained spirit, searching, waiting for the instant. Often there was never a creation, often I was an instant late, rarely another spirit beat me and made the transition. I began to wonder if I was doing the right thing -- if I took over an empty body, would I destroy the potentiality that would eventually grow there? I didn't know. Analysis using the new memories available showed that there was a discrete point when consciousness burst into existence. Psychological studies in the late 21st century had confirmed that a consciousness, a soul, appeared at a given instant. At the instant of spontaneous generation, all consciousnesses were identical. They only changed with experience and sensation, even those sensations of being in the womb.

But still I was uncertain. If I took a body would I be destroying a life?

Then, the instant was upon me. I had a moment of doubt, but thrust it aside. Another spirit was speeding towards the creation, and I knew that if I didn't take it, the other would. In either case the spontaneous consciousness that would occur would be stillborn, replaced. Either by the other, or by myself.

I let myself be pulled in.

==Chapter 58: Skinwalker==

I was born an outcast, but then my entire family were outcasts. Our ancestors made their choice and now we were amongst the blessed, no matter how much the Dineh would deny that fact. As was usual I was born one of a pair of twins, and our hogon was alone in the woods. As our parents were mostly gone, early on we learned to fend for ourselves.

We shared the hogon with our friends, those wonderful beings outcast by the others. Snakes shared their food with us, owls and hawks brought their kills. We ate the meat raw and grew up thin and bony, but that was only temporary.

Every so often we'd abandon the hogon we'd found, leaving its interior poles and covering of tree bark and mud to finish returning to nature. Then we'd take over another one abandoned by the lesser Dineh and make it our own. There we'd seal up the east facing door and create our own west facing door. Once one of the other Dineh came to help us, but the snake bit her, and the owl clawed at her eyes and she fled whilst we laughed.

During the winter we were often cold and hungry. Our real friends were asleep or gone. Rarely our father would come into the hogon on all fours dragging a hunk of wolf-gnawed deer or elk and he'd share the meat with us. Together we growled and tore and fought and ate. It was the true way, for we were blessed by Coyote. We were his chosen children.

In the spring of our eighth year we underwent our first trial. For five days we could have neither food nor water. We were only able to suck on pine sap to stay alive. That task was easy, for throughout our youth we'd often gone hungry or thirsty. This first trial was simply to prepare us for the others.

The second trial was to sleep with the body of the dead, or more prosaically with a corpse. One night my brother and I snuck into a Dinah burial ground, snickering at the so-called sacred signs, and dug out the newest interned member. He held the feet and I the arms and we carried him back to our hogon and slept with it between us. One stiff arm, we had to work to bend them, over each of our chests.

In the morning we consumed the corpse. Proving our commitment and our resistance to the forces that truly haunted humanity. I had no problem, but my brother, the weak sickly one, barely survived. The only reason he got well again was because I brought him stolen food and water and managed to keep him alive. I'd need him. My father came one night whilst I was feeding him and attacked me, tearing at me with claw and tooth. But then I whispered in his ear why I was doing it and he howled in pride.

Then we began our next task. My brother and I each began to prepare the first of our true skins. He must have seen what was going to happen as he choose the coyote, but I knew it wasn't going to help him. I choose the owl, the quiet silent death. His was the quick short path. He had to only trap a coyote, slay it, and skin it. Then he'd be ready. Mine was far harder, but that was why I chose it. I trapped owls in snares, or lured them to me with scraps of meat and wrung their necks. Each was skinned, their feathers left attached. The skins were cut, separated into wing, body, and head. Fragments of each were sewn together to make the skin bigger. Feathers were moved and glued in with a mixture of sap and blood and ligament. Slowly my first skin grew, it was soft and sleek and oh so rare. Nobody in my clan had chosen owl as first, or as any, for five generations. My brother loafed and taunted me as I worked for his was done. But I persevered, kicking him or beating him when he got too annoying. I didn't kill him because I'd need him.

It wasn't until early spring that I finished my task. The skin was soft, carefully and lovingly prepared according to the ancient rituals. The feathers were white and gray and brown and lovingly arranged. Its head fit over my head and around my face leaving only my puny human eyes showing. The feathered body flowed down my back, and the feathered wings wrapped around my arms. It was beautiful, though my brother called it ugly.

I got it done just in time.

Two nights later was our ninth birthday, the time of our last task. According to ritual on that night I and my brother would fight, the victor living and the loser dying. But after all my work I wasn't going to take any chances. The day before the evening I followed my brother as he hunted, creeping silently through the pine forest. When he was making the kill I beat him with a huge rock. Not to death, but to unconsciousness. Then I bound him and dragged him back to the hogon we were using and waited. He awoke, hating, desperate, and I ridiculed him. I offered him water, but then pulled it away and laughed.

A tiny gibbous moon rose, and our parents, one wolf, the other raven, and the other members of our family gathered in the east facing entrance to watch the final ritual. With an ancient piece of flint I cut my brothers throat.

I could feel the power flowing into me, consuming me! I could feel Coyote behind me, laughing in glee and horror.

Leaning down I began sucking his blood.

And I remembered everything.

I stopped.

Dear god, what had I just done?

For nine years I'd lived like an animal. I'd done everything against civilization and culture that I could. I'd even tortured and slain my own brother. This was wrong, so incredibly and completely wrong! I could sense something in my mind, laughing at me, mocking me, calling me his own. I knew my family, if you could call them that, was behind me. I could scent the acidness of their sudden nervousness, their sudden sense that something was wrong.

I knew that they were all part of the evil that this body was a part of. Their culture was evil and it had to be rooted out, body and soul.

''You can't do it now'' mocked the voice of Coyote. ''Join me, take the skin. Take the power''.

I forced myself to swallow the blood and looked up at my family. Crimson drops fell from my mouth and I smelled my family's fetid breath, heard their breathing, saw the glow of their eyes. There were wolves, coyotes, even a wolverine. There were snakes, massive things of darkness that coiled amongst their legs. I couldn't outrun them. I couldn't fight them. Even if I still had my centaur body I still couldn't.

That was when I realized how odd, how wrong this body felt. I missed the hooves, the strength, the grace. There had to be a way to get it back. And there had to be a way to get answers.

But, for now, there was one way out. I needed time to find answers. And I needed time to destroy the evil that surrounded me.

I stood up, my human body awkward and ill fitting.

I stumbled forward and grasped the owl skin I'd made at such cost, falling to the ground on my knees before my clan.

And then I wrapped the feathers around me.

==Chapter 59: Coyote==

A burst of orgasmic pleasure pulsed from the skin and spread throughout my body. The pleasure faded, changing into a growing warmth that grew hotter and hotter yet never painful. I felt myself changing, shrinking, as the skin twisted itself around me. It twisted and began squeezing me and squeezing me, tighter and tighter. Never tight enough to be painful, but always applying pressure. I couldn't understand it until I realized that I was shrinking. The process went faster and faster, the warmth grew and grew...

And then it was suddenly over.

Opening my eyes I peered out, spinning my head almost all the way around. Where once the room had been dark, now it was as bright as day, and everything was crystal clear. The corpse of my brother, the creatures that were my family.

My family...

I'd forgotten them in the instant of change. What would they do? I didn't know. Digging through memories I remembered being Pegasus, and remembered how to fly. Unlike Pegasus I was now flesh and blood and I had to work to get off the ground, but the cupping of wings to grab the air was the same. My tail wobbled up and down and wiggled back and fourth as I jerked here and there in the air.

I had to get away and get time to think.

Flapping harder and harder, I got near the roof, and then I silently swooped down and through the entrance, one wingtip touching the door frame, and then I was out in the brilliant night. Behind me I heard noises of movement along with growls and caws a hisses. I stroked the air with my wings and fled into the pine forest, twisting and tilting around trees. Hearing wings behind me I fled into the darkest depths where they couldn't follow as they hadn't my eyes. When I could hear only the night sounds, I stroked strongly and tried to land on a branch, my feet struggling to get a grip, my claws digging at the wood. I slipped off and tumbled through the air, and then stretched my arms and swooped above the ground. More quick strokes, the movement silent in the night, and then it was another try. This time my aim was better and I grasped the branch with my feet, and kept going. Only releasing the grip kept me from swinging back and forth upside down like a pendulum. On my third attempt I aimed for the branch and, at the last moment, flapped my wings and hovered above the branch for an instant before letting myself settle down safely and successfully.

I stopped and waited and listened. The pine forest was silent, scentless. Or was it that I couldn't smell? I looked around, my head twisting an impossible distance. There! In the needles, at the base of a tree. Movement!

Suddenly I was in the air, silently swooping. The mouse had only time for a single squeak of panic before my claws dug into its back and snapped its spine. I tumbled and rolled through the needles, never letting go of my victim until it stopped moving. Then I righted myself and swallowed my food whole. Finally a few hops, a down stroke of the wings, and then I was back in the air and soon back on a branch. The rest of the night passed as I preened my wings and relaxed, always looking around me.

At the pre dawn glow I leapt off the branch and circled around the tree, wings flapping, going higher and higher. I dove and ducked around branches and spiraled upward, finally landing on a thick branch near the top. My claws dug into the thick bark and I closed my eyes and went to sleep.

----

I was comfortably standing in the Sea of Grass on all four hooves, my hands hanging loosely beside me. The sun was high in the sky and I could smell the rich greenness of the grass as the stalks bent and swirled around me in the wind.

''Comfortable world you have here Stephan.'' It was the same voice I'd heard when I'd slain my brother.

Rearing up, I spun around. My forehooves thudded to the ground right in front of a coyote who was sitting in a bare patch blissfully ignoring me. "Who are you?"

The coyote looked at me and yawned. ''Me? I'm the nice guy who gave you the gift you so richly earned. You can call me Coyote.''

Rich disgusting memories poured through me as I remembered the joy and glee with which I'd entrapped, and then killed, my brother. My hide shuddered and I looked down at him in disgust. "I don't want you gift."

''I'm hurt! Really I am''! He snickered. ''But it's too late now so you might as well accept it.''

"I should kill you."

''Oh but Stephan, if you did that, how would you get back to where you need to go?''

I glared at the creature. "I can do it without your help."

''Can you? Do you know where you are?''

Disgusted with myself I turned away. "No," I muttered.

''Ah, such a biased outlook upon the richness of life and dreams! You're new people call themselves the Dineh, though the term Navajo might be more familiar to you. No? North American Indians from your distant past, before they migrated southward.''

I refused to look at him.

''Ah Stephan, Stephan. Stubborn as always! You need to lighten up! It was that stubbornness in you as a child that made you kill all those owls.''

"Hmph!" I managed to keep my stomach somewhat settled at the thought of what had gone into it. The mouse was okay, it was natural for the form I'd assumed, but the flesh of a corpse, the blood of my own brother... Again I shuddered.

''You are now in what the Dinah would term the Spiritworld. I'm you guide and master, for you are of the clan of the Skinwalkers''. His voice turned dark. ''You are mine.''

"No I'm not."

''Believe what you well. It's kind of sad actually. The Skinwalkers started as a private joke. I wanted to see how far the mortal would go to be my follower''. He snickered. Who knew?

The coyote appeared in front of me and I involuntarily took a step back.

''You underwent the rituals, and now you're one of them. According to the Dinah you're cursed and lost to humanity. If they can they'll hunt you down and kill you.''

"An then I'll be free and I'll find a new birth and a new body, back where I need to be."

''Stephan, you are far, far away from where you were. Remember when you, as Pegasus, tried to escape? Of course you do. You saw swirls of energy, multiple swirls. The reality of Greek myth is one of them. Egyptian myth is another, Celtic myth yet another. And you, my servant, are in the reality of Dinah mythology and dreams.''

The memory of my attempted escape as Pegasus played itself in my mind but I refused to let any expression show on my face.

''If you die Stephan, then you'll be reborn as a member of the Dinah, but due to the taint on your soul you'll be a Skinwalker again and again and again. Your memories of other existences will fade and eventually you'll take glee in your superiority like the rest of my followers.''

"I will never join you."

''Ah Stephan, quoting from movies made long ago and yet never made. I liked them, until the creator made the smuggler shoot second.''

"Coyote," I remembered that he was a trickster deity, but nothing more, "I survived being Medusa for eons. I'll survive this and find a way out."

''Stephan, there is no way out. We created this in our dreams and discoveries. But then it always existed, and we found it because we were fated to find it''. He laughed, a long mournful laugh. '' I'm trapped, you're trapped, we're all trapped. We're caught in the cycle you created and until you finish that cycle none of us can be free''. He changed before my eyes, growing somehow, becoming more and more manlike. ''And in this potentiality you will be successful. Even if I have to reshape you in my own image first.''

I looked down at him. Even though he was now more man than coyote, I still towered over him. "It's not my fault that the body I was born into was a member of this Skinwalker clan. The parents may bear the sin, the being I was may bear the sin, but I do not. I will be free of you."

''Stephan, Stephan!'' He changed, become slightly hunched, a wise old grandmother chiding her grandson. ''You blame what you did in your past life on Ixion's blood. And now you blame it on the body you picked. The reality in which you briefly found yourself, a quantum space/time warp unique to this cavern, only allows what you call a spirit or soul to enter a body who's life will fit that spirit. The taint on your soul drew you to the body of a Skinwalker!''

And with that he vanished, leaving behind only coyote laughter.

==Chapter 60: Assassin==

With a jerk I awoke, still perched high on my branch in the scentless pine tree. Or, at least it seemed scentless to me. It was late in the day, the sky shadowed as the sun was behind the mountains. The pine forest was quiet with only a faint wind rustling through the top of the tightly packed trees.

Holding out my arms/wings, I stretched them, and then shook them a little to work out the stiffness. I was both thirsty and hungry, and decided to wait until nightfall. It also gave me time to figure out what was going on.

I knew of bits from other mythologies, mostly picked up when looking for comparisons to classical Greek mythology. As far as I could remember, the 'spirit world' was a place of dreams and drug produced delusions to which North American Indians would go in search of visions with the aid of a spirit guide, usually a totem animal. The dream I'd had seemed far too vivid to be just a dream, and given what I'd already seen I was willing to consider it a spirit journey.

And I was willing to accept the creature who'd talked to me as Coyote. But, the truth of his statements I did not wholly accept.

The statement that I was with the Dineh or Navejo was almost certainly true. He might have lied about the exact tribal group, but from what I'd seen this was definitely a culture from the new world, although it could be a very old ice age era tribe from the old world. For now I would accept the new world statement.

Coyote's description of the vortexes I'd seen also matched what I remembered. And, given the different mythological structure here, that supported the fact that I was within a different vortex.

The rest of it, the structure of the spirit/soul world, the fact that a spirit could only enter a new body who's life would match the spirit... None of that was I willing to accept. And yet, it sounded right. There was certainly reincarnation, but I refused to accept the trap Coyote claimed I was in. If the so-called taints on my soul limited my bodies, then it would become harder and harder to escape as the upbringing of my body would twist my soul, my spirit, into something darker and darker.

Was this purgatory? Had I died beneath the waves when my airline snapped?

I couldn't accept that. If there was a purgatory, which I didn't believe, then its purpose would be to give souls a chance to repent and improve. Instead, here the tendency was for my soul to become darker and darker. The opposite of what purgatory was said to mean.

I shook my head and wings angrily.

This wasn't getting me anywhere! The cold fact, the one thing I could be certain of, was that these Skinwalkers were wrong. They were evil and had no right to live. Their culture had used me, had made me do things, horrible things, things that I would never have done if I'd known myself. I'd resolved earlier to stop it, and now that resolve was stronger. If the soul taint was correct, then by destroying the Skinwalkers I would force bodies that weren't fated to be a member of the cult to accept my soul for my next rebirth. It would be hard to be born a Skinwalker if there weren't any.

A small voice inside me whispered, ''Do you have the right to judge? Do you have the right to pronounce judgement and perform the execution?''

Was that me, or one of the mares that had merged into my mind? I had no way to know.

Was my soul turning dark? Before I'd had the centaurs as a driving force. They'd caused a growing desire in myself to work for their improvement, to sacrifice myself for their good. That was heroism, or was it egotism? No! I refused to go down that path. Their way had been self-destructive, the failure of their race to grow and prosper confirmed that. They could always have left me.

Here I had no tribe to save, no driving force... Unless I tried to save the Skinwalkers.

Could I do that?

I reviewed the rituals I'd been taught in my mind by my parents the few times I'd seen them. Other than sleeping with, and consuming the dead, and the murder of a relation, there really wasn't anything wrong. The question was, how necessary was each step? How could I find out? The only way to find out that I could think of was to ask Coyote, and there was no way to force him to answer, and no way to know if he was answering truthfully.

All of this meant that I needed information. I was in a form with great mobility, few physical enemies, and extreme eyesight. Not as good as a hawk's would have been, but much better in low light conditions.

I resolved to stay this way and study the Dineh, both groups of them. And if I encountered Coyote again, I would ask him some more pointed questions. If he was my spirit guide, my totem animal, then I would meet him again. And he owed me.

----

Through the spring and into the summer I lived as an owl, hunting during the night, staying up for a bit in the morning to take a look at how the Dineh lived. Some things I learned early. The non-Skinwalker Dineh somehow were able to detect Skinwalkers when they were in the form of animals. If I didn't stay concealed, they'd see me and sometimes try and shoot me with an arrow. Fortunately they rarely looked up. Other Skinwalkers were more actively hunted.

One night I flew over the Dineh village and saw a wolf sneaking in. He forced himself into one of the hogons and there were the sounds of fighting and the screams of pain. He came out, blood on his muzzle and fled. A woman came out screaming, holding her dead child and wailing about her dead husband. I forced myself to stay awake and extremely cautious, and watched as the shaman used the blood left behind to seek the wolf. A hunting party tracked him, cornered him, and eventually killed himm though they were wounded themselves. Upon death, the Skinwalker shifted back into human shape, his body draped in a wolfskin. Rather than burying the body, they burned it and the skin separately, and then scattered the ashes and bones all over the landscape. The Shaman conducted purification rituals over the hunters upon their return. I kept an eye on them afterward and there was no sign of them becoming Skinwalkers.

The Skinwalker culture, if you could call it that, was dark and violent. The entire culture was parasitic. As humans they lived off the abandoned materials of the tribe and stole the other things they needed. As animals they were generally solitary. Natural animals of the same species refused to accept them. Packs would drive them out. Skinwalkers could sense their own kind, even if they were in different forms, and I realized that I too, somehow, knew innately if an animal was a Skinwalker or not.

Children were born human and were practically abandoned as soon as they were weaned. Some parents visited them intermittently, some not at all. The only common ritual shared by the Skinwalkers was witnessing the moment when a child underwent his first change. Then all the Skinwalker's would gather in witness. I had no idea what the meaning of that was, I only knew that it was always done. I felt no call, no need, to go to those. I don't know if that was typical, or if I was different somehow.

In midsummer I noticed that one of the non-Skinwalker tribe members left the village alone. He carried his weapons, but no bags or tools, which suggested that he wasn't going to hunt. I followed him.

To my surprise close to the village he stopped and met with my father.

My father was standing in the shadows, beneath a twisted dead pine try that had once been struck by lightning. Around him was draped a torn and dirty skin that had once been worn by a woman of the non-Skinwalker Dineh group. His skin was dark and scarred, covered with patches of dirt, and his hair was long and clumped with mud and grease. From his face his nose was thick and dark, almost black, and his ears were pointed just enough to be noticed. His limbs and body were thin and bony. Over his head and down his back was draped his wolfskin.

He was standing there, leaning against a tree and tossing a knife from one hand to the other and then back again.

Silently I landed in a nearby tree and watched and listened.

"Shiye?" the stranger asked. Shiye was the name of my father, or at least the father of this body. The stranger's voice wavered, he was nervous, very, very nervous.

My father stopped tossing the knife. "I could be."

"Tiis told me where to find you."

"Then you must be Ashkii. Tiis told me you wanted me to do something."

"I want you to kill Ahigo."

My father raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

"It has to look like an accident! You have to lure him away from a hunting party and kill him as though it was done by an animal. There can't be any suspicion!"

My father laughed, a cold, harsh sound. "Has there been any suspicion before?"

My father had murdered before?!

"No..."

My father continued in a calm voice. "For two bows and three knives."

"You don't want to know why?!"

"I don't care."

At this point I couldn't leave if I'd wanted to.

Ashkii stared at him. Then he swallowed and licked his lips. "Just make sure no harm comes to his mate Yazhi."

My father shook his head. "Another jealous male. Well you meet my price?"

Ashkii glanced around. "I will."

"Then be here at the next full moon. The job will be done and I'll be here." My father looked into Ashkii's eyes and I saw my father's eyes turn a solid black. "Don't be late and don't forget anything."

At that Ashkii turned and fled.

My father called after him, "And it's too late to cancel our deal!" Then he started tossing the knife again, back and forth from hand to hand.

My father was a paid killer? I'd thought that the Skinwalker's were evil, but this... A cold rage flowed into my body.

"Hokii! You can come down and talk if you want."

I went still. Hokii was the name he'd given me.

"Just like you know where I am right now, I know exactly where you are. I won't hurt you. Just want to talk. You impressed me with what you did to your brother. Impressed all of us. But then you vanished. They whispered that an animal had gotten you. I knew better."

Stretching my wings, I flapped them down and pulled myself into the air. Dodging other branches, I swooped around the tree finally setting down on a higher perch. Throughout the flight I never made a sound.

All the time my father's eyes followed my path.

That was when I realized that just as I could sense other Skinwalkers, other Skinwalkers could sense me.

My father shrugged. "If you'd rather not, you know when I'll be back."

As he turned away I decided that I had to know. From all I'd seen I couldn't believe my father would do what he'd promised to do. That anybody would do such a thing. With my anger high in me, I leapt into the air and landed on a large branch about five metres from the ground. Then I pecked at my feathered chest, pecked until I drew blood.

The world swirled, power spun around me, my body stretched like toffee. Then I was grasping the trunk with an awkward hand to keep my balance. Over my head and back and arms was the skin I'd spent so long making.

My father turned at the sound. "So Hokee, you decided to chat. You look well."

I stared down at him, now almost hidden in the dark shadow. The rich scent of pine wafted around me, polluted with the smell of unwashed flesh. My father.

I stared at him.

"Hokee, you were far the better. I brought food not for your brother, but for you. Now get down here! If I wanted to kill you this knife would already be in your chest."

"I'll stay up here."

He shrugged. "I guess we can talk this way then."

I had to know. "Are you really going to murder for this Ashkii?"

His eyes narrowed. "Killing one of them is not murder. It's the natural order. I thought you knew that."

"You're really going to do it, aren't you? And you've done it before."

"Of course Ashkii. Don't worry though, I've been waiting for you. I'm getting old. I need an apprentice."

I couldn't keep the disbelief and horror out of my voice. "You expect me to join you, to learn to kill for pay like you do?" In my many lives I'd almost certainly killed far more men then my father. But that was in war. This, this was completely different!

He shifted the knife to his right hand. "What's changed you? You know it's the order of things..."

Suddenly has hand moved and his dagger was speeding towards me.

"...they outcast us. It's only fair." The tone of his voice never changed.

Fortunately the Scythians had fought with daggers. I snapped out my arm and slapped the blade with my palm and sent it clattering off into the branches. Then I stopped.

He stood there watching me as I watched him.

I knew I had to attack him, I burned to attack him, but if I jumped I'd break one of my four leg… God damnit, I was human!

He'd just begun to turn to leave when, rage flowing through my veins, I leapt down towards him. My feathered skin flapped in the air as I fell.

He'd turned to flee when I landed on him, my feet on his back, my momentum shoving him to the ground. There was a snap, a scream. And silence.

Then, power geysered up from the corpse of my father and flowed into me. Now his skins were my skins. I knew where he'd hidden his others that were now mine. I knew them all and could hear them all calling me.

And the mocking laughter of Coyote echoed through the forest.

==Chapter 61: Youth and Psychologies==

Carefully I stood up, still a little wobbly from the influx of power and knowledge. I knew where the cornucopia of richness was, but I had to get there. Rolling my father's body over, I pulled the wolfskin off him. It was a shame that I couldn't carry this new skin in flight.

Of course, there was another way.

Carefully and reverently I removed my owl skin and gently placed it down. Then I wrapped my wolf skin around me.

The magic that swarmed about me was similar, yet different, from what had happened when I'd first became an owl. This was a heavier magic, full of the richness of the earth and the scents of life. Again I was squeezed endlessly into myself. Something yanked me down onto my hands and feet as my head exploded outward. It stopped.

The air was full of scents, so full that I was drowning in them. There the acidity of fear. Beside it greed and boredom. The thick miasma of ill-cared for human flesh. Rich banquets of blood and vomit from where my father had been crushed against the ground. Confusion and hope and terror. Swirls of pine and sap and torn bark and crushed ground. Familiar human.

The last was coming most strongly from the owlskin I'd spent so long making. Sticking my nose against it I inhaled the scent of myself, mingled with fear and horror and feather and horse. Gently I grasped the skin in my teeth, and then pushed my head underneath. A quick motion and it flipped onto my back and I started trotting away.

Being on all fours was strangely comfortable, though it still wasn't right. I was able to move fast, staying under the trees, moving along nearly invisible trails. My only guide was my new knowledge, and my new nose. And before my new nose the whole world was laid out. I could tell who had passed, how many had passed, how long ago they had passed.

The ground rose up, becoming rockier as the trees thinned. I could scent my father clearly now, he'd been along here many times. The trail led down into a small crack in the side of a cliff. From there I had to leap to get up onto a small ledge, and then I followed a narrow trail upwards against the wall. Maybe halfway up I pushed my head underneath a bush and could make out a small cave piled with supplies, dried food and water, and skins. My skins. I yanked my head out, flipped my owlskin off my back and onto the ground. Then, carefully holding it in my teeth, I pulled it as I crawled under the bush, the mass of the skin trailing between my legs and behind me. When I was fully in the cave I dropped it.

The light was dim, and I could see little though scents of numeous land animals wafted around me. There was a bear, a wolverine, a cougar, a couple of different kinds of foxes... All predators. And that was because all of the skins here were the skins of predators.

Leaning down I ripped and tore at my right foreleg with my teeth, digging in until I drew blood. My world swirled, mass poured into me.

And then I was crouching on hands and legs in a suddenly small cave.

Carefully I picked up my owlskin, brushed the dirt off it, and then neatly folded it. Now, what to try first? There were so many choices! After hesitating, choosing, hesitating, choosing again, I finally realized that the sun was setting and the cave was getting darker. And it was getting cold. And my crouching here naked wasn't helping.

I pulled out one of the fox skins, it was actually a number sewn together, and wrapped it around myself. Again the orgasmic pleasure of change swept through me, squeezing me, shaping me, making me what it wanted. Too soon it was over, and I curled up, put my fluffy tail over my nose, and went to sleep nice and warm.

----

I found myself standing on four hooves in the Sea of Grass, but now it was strangely dull. It was night, and the stars were scattered across the heavens in countless profusions. A gleaming arch stretched from the horizon, overhead, and down behind the other horizon. I could scent nothing, not the grass, not myself. Or was it so faint compared to what I'd experienced as a wolf that I couldn't notice it.

I started trotting and before I knew it I was galloping for all I was worth just for the fun of it. The movement was relaxing, calming. My mind started reorganizing itself, making connections that it had been struggling for months to make.

I'd killed my father. Again.

I skidded to a stop, my sides heaving as I sucked air in and pushed it out.

With Modyes, my Scythian father, I'd killed him by trusting Ephebos. Here I'd killed Shiye by a direct physical act. I hadn't meant to kill him, or at least I didn't think I had. But once the rage had consumed me... I remembered other cases. It had controlled me against Poseidon. Looking back I realized that I'd fought like a colt. There'd been no skill, or at least not much. In battle I'd used my rage, my hatred, had used its energy, but the last few times it had controlled me. Had it always controlled me? When I'd fought Gryneos had the rage controlled me? When I was insane was it the rage that had controlled me? I could remember times of a childlike curiosity, but no instances of hate.

I remembered further back. The bully in grade school that I'd finally pounded so hard he'd been gone from school for a week. Had I always been this full of hate? And, if I was, why was I so calm no--

''This land isn't too bad you know.''

I spun around and looked down at Coyote. Appearing as half man, half beast, he stood beside me, easily standing on his two hind legs whilst holding a smoking pipe in his right front paw, or was that his hand.

''I'd offer you a pipe but you probably don't smoke either. No wine, no women, no pipe. How can anybody live like that?''

"What are you doing here?!"

He inhaled through the pipe and exhaled a big smoke sculpture of a centaur killing Acheans all around him. It slowly drifted upward, dispersing much slower than it should have. ''Since I'm your totem, where else would I be?''

"Then...!" I swallowed and pushed back my rage. "Where were you all this time? I've needed you."

''Have you Stephan''? He inhaled again, and blew a normal smoke ring this time. Normal until I noticed the tiny nude human woman that looked suspiciously like Phillipa sitting on it waving at me. ''You seemed to do quite fine. You even killed your father and took his power.''

"It was an accident!" I snapped.

''Stephan! Here there's only us. I know all the answers. Don't lie to yourself. Ever!''

Snorting I turned away and started trotting through grass, trying to think only of the pleasant physical sensation of movement. It wasn't to be though as Coyote easily jogged beside me on his two hind legs.

''If I'm here as your guide, maybe you should be honest with me''. Then he laughed bitterly. ''And if I'm the evil trickster playing with your soul, does anything you say really matter?''

With out turning to face him I spat out my answer. "It doesn't matter. You're right, it's possible I wanted to." My voice turned bitter. "My aim was certainly good."

''Do you believe it was chance that landed your feet on his spine? Or desire?''

I remained silent for a while, thinking. Coyote was right. He likely knew everything anyway, so my telling him truths couldn't hurt. And I needed to know to figure out what I was going to do. I'd seen psychiatrists in my youth, and they'd helped somewhat. But that was so long ago.

I remembered helping program a complete rewrite from somebody recovered from beyond the London arcology. She'd been feral, almost incapable of speech although her growls and screams were interspersed with the odd English phrase or word. A personality is made up of many factors. Some of it is genetic, but most of it is surroundings and experiences during early youth. In other words, the upbringing. In the arcologies we'd worked out the optimum program for mentally healthy and sane offspring, but the feral had been raised outside the system.

I remembered studying the diagrams of her neural matrix with others. The knots from abuse, from hatred, from rejection by others. Memories of fighting for food. Feelings of rejection from others because she was smaller, weaker, not worthy of survival.

Ultimately I'd suggested a complete rebuild. It would be easier to create completely new memories of a childhood rather than try and preserve any of the horrors that had happened to her in reality. We'd ended up writing a new neural matrix extrapolating from her genetics and average case histories of individuals of her sex and physical build raised in a more normal upbringing. We'd destroyed her and made something new.

But... No I hadn't. The person who's memories I'd stolen whilst a spirit had. I hadn't. How could something seem so wrong to me, yet so right to another someone else?

I trotted on in the silence broken only by the steady beat of my hooves, and the regular thudding of Coyote's feet. Until he interrupted. ''Very good Stephan''. I ignored him. I needed to figure this out.

I realized that the source of the knowledge didn't matter. It hadn't been me and what was done was done. And, there were parallels with my upbringing.

I'd been smaller, and had become more athletic to make up for it. Beside my father, though I worshipped him, I'd always seemed inadequate. Never smart enough, never fast enough to figure out the answer he was looking for. He'd respected intelligence, and not much else. He'd expected an endless fount of intelligence and wisdom from me. Intelligence and wisdom that it took me years to discover on my own, a discovery I'd largely made in defense from him.

I'd both loved, and hated him. Loved him with a red passion of loyalty and respect, and hated him with a well as deep as that of my love.

Was my deep seated anger, my sudden rising walls of hatred, a result of trying to please him and getting punished time after time because I failed? Had I hidden away my hatred for him and had that pool spill out on others?

==Chapter 62: Entrapment==

With a start I woke up, the rising sun shining in my eyes.

I yawned, stretching my fox jaws wide, blinking at the morning light glinting into my cave. Why’d my father pick an east facing entrance? Could it be an echo of the non Skinwalker Dineh?

A sharp nip and a stab of pain, and a swirl of magic, and I was back to my weakling human form. What to choose, what to choose? The skin of a mountain lion drew me and, on an impulse, I pulled it out from the pile. It was old and hadn’t been used recently. I had to shake the dirt out of it. Then I stood, or maybe crouched, and with a swirl of magic, and a green stab of hunger and arrogance, my body reshaped into a hunter. This time there was no real size change, in fact there was more of a size increase, a great growth of muscle and power. Blinking my eyes in the morning sun I padded to the entrance of the cave and looked out over my domain. And then I roared out my joy.

One would think that it would be difficult, if not impossible, to get down the path to the ground, but my new body did it with a graceful ease. In the cool morning I padded into the pine forest, looking for the right place. Scents led me to a pool glistening in the light, and the destination of many looking for water. My whiskers felt the direction of the wind and with a scramble of claws I pulled myself up a large tree and lay on a branch waiting.

The day passed as I lay there. It was like a dream in which you knew months had passed, but nothing really seemed to happen. After midday a deer came to drink. He was male, with horns just beginning to grow, scarred, tough, and wary. But he was in the wrong position and too old and tough to take down. I watched him drink and then proudly walk away. After that I think I napped, but was suddenly entranced by movement below me. It was another male deer, but much younger. He limped slightly, I wasn’t sure why. With endless patience I waited as he came near my perch and then leaned down to drink. Not a perfect position, but… I took a few silent steps down the branch. He looked up, sniffed, kicked at the ground, and then leaned back down to the water. I leapt, landed feet first with claws out on his back. My weight bowled him over and he fell to the ground as I scrambled to stay on top. With an impossible twist, I clenched my jaws around his neck and squeezed. The flesh was sweet, rich, warm, and full of glorious taste. Blood oozed out, and then gushed and drenched my snout. The deer died and I gulped down hunks of warm bloody meat, the salt tickling my tongue as the blood splattered over my snout. Only when I was done did I pad over and drink, and then carefully wash myself.

It was a wonderful day. Warm, sunny, and I had a full stomach. Life was perfect. Sated, I padded back to the cliff and up and into my lair. A few circles, and then I lay down, purring, as I went to sleep.

I passed the rest of the summer as a lion. It was a quiet lazy time. And I didn’t care about anything else. I kept wanting to try some of the other skins, but I never had the energy. Food was plentiful, and the only thing I needed to avoid were the Dineh.

One day after I’d gone out I made my way back angry and hungry. The hunting had been bad, every attempt I’d made at a kill had failed. Leaping back into my cave I padded around until it was comfortable to settle down. In front of me were the other skins, calling, beckoning. Was it time for a change?

What was I doing?

I was trapped here, trapped as a Skinwalker.

But why did it matter? I had everything I needed here. Why should I exert myself?

Because others needed me. I could go back, save the centaurs that still lived. Find out why Poseidon was me. I sensed something undone that needed to be done.

Didn’t I deserve a break?

Why the sudden doubt, why the sudden hesitation? Why was I resisting doing the right thing?

I looked at the skins, and then turned and looked at myself.

Was I running away?

The centaurs had left civilization, gone off to die in the wilderness. They’d stopped trying to succeed. They hadn’t cared anymore.

Wasn’t I doing the same?

I’d sworn to stop the Skinwalker, and yet I’d done nothing. I’d studied the Dineh, but for months now I’d just avoided them.

I spent hours, days, just watching from a height. Watching and waiting. Never had I even thought about what to do.

A chill swept through me. Was it the skins? As an owl I’d killed a mouse and consumed it without any disgust. As a fox I’d immediately gone comfortably to sleep curled up with my tail over my nose. As a lion I’d hunted successfully on my first attempt. Was that luck? Or was there skills, animal minds, hidden in the skins?

How much of what was left was them, and how much was me?

As a centaur I’d worked my way through life, worked my way through problems, usually controlled my anger. Except when Poseidon had proven he’d stolen the experiences of my son from me. That had been too much.

I suddenly realized how much I missed my centaur body. It was my body. I suddenly knew that. In my dreams I was never human, never an animal. Always a centaur.

If only I could be a centaur again. I’d figure out a way out. I’d get back onto the path.

Was that the true trap of the Skinwalker? It made you leave human society, human morality, and take that of an animal?

I needed to think, and I needed to think outside of my dreams. I feared that my dreams were simply Coyote’s manipulations.

The secret had to be in these skins. It had…

It was all an excuse.

Angrily I bit my teeth into my left leg and tore out flesh down to the bone. I was angry, disgusted with what I’d become. The magic swirled around me, and I felt the strength, the confidence, the power of the lion leaving me. Soon all that was left was an old boy, not yet even a young man, crouching on the floor of a cold and lonely cave. I rooted around and found some dried food left by my father and wolfed it down.

The skins were a trap. My stolen memories suggested that they were an addiction. But I knew that they were something more. They contained the mind of the animal, and that mind slowly absorbed me.

How much had they taken from me? How much did I have left?

I sat down.

Here I was, human again. And it felt so wrong!

I dug through my memoires. I’d been so much, and it seemed that my soul, my spirit, was no longer human. When I dreamed I was always a centaur. Was that how I saw myself?

The memories of the psychiatrist offered me a term. Species Dysphoric. It had existed. Humans who believed that they were a horse who had been born as a man, or a rabbit who had been born a man. In the early part of the 21st century some cases had been determined to be a result of physical disabilities, real or imagined, a desire to be in a healthy body. With improved medical technology that problem had been solved. And yet a few seemed to have no cause. The solution, the only way to make them happy, was to destructively download them into a cybernetic pattern and wrap their code in an appropriate body which became them in the world of the net.

Maybe that was what I needed to do. Become centaur again.

But how?

I could die, but according to Coyote I’d simply be reborn as a Skinwalker.

Wait… Was there a way to do it with a skin? Given that a skin imposed at least some of what it had been, could a centaur skin restore what I’d lost to the owl and the lion?

I’d have to find a centaur to get the skin from. And there were none. But, could I make a centaur skin? Certainly there were no horses, but I could use a deer. Kill one, take its skin. Then kill a human and take its skin. Sew the two together and prepare it for the magic and…

WHAT THE HELL WAS I THINKING?!

But still, I missed the centaur form so much. It seemed that I needed it. Was there a way?

Could I use a partial skin?

I remembered my old body. All the organs had been in the horse chest, the human chest had only been muscle and bone. I worked out the problem logically, applying ruthless computer rules. If I took a deer skin and wrapped it below my waist the magic might work, but then I’d have two lungs, two hearts, and two esophagi. Amongst others. I doubted that that would be a workable system. Could I wrap the skin higher? Say I extended the neck so that it ran from my waist to my neck, with my arms sticking out uncovered. That would suggest a single set of organs.

I looked at the skins. They were calling me, luring me to give up my humanity. When I was using a skin they’d been silent. A centaur skin seemed the answer. And yet… Was it the skin calling me, or my memories of what I’d once been?

There was only one way to find out, and that was to try it. Maybe it wouldn’t work. Maybe I’d die trying it. But I needed to try something. I had so many pieces and no answers!

Pulling the mountain lion skin out, I wrapped it around me, letting the magic take me, but keeping my goal focused. Then I slept. It took me two days to find the right deer, male, not too big, not too small. The first kill tore the skin where I needed it. I realized that I’d have to kill it by crushing the skull. The second attempt almost killed me. The head was too big, and I barely kept out of the way of the horns. Due to hunger I killed the next deer the conventional way, and tore through the neck to get at the soft flesh underneath.

When I was laying sated from that kill a thought occurred to me. For the owlskin I’d sewn hundreds of bits of owl together. Why couldn’t I do the same for the neck?

Rather than leaving that kill I dragged it back to the cave. Everything I needed was there and after I’d finished eating the flesh I cleaned it and prepared it. After that I made two more kills, eating the flesh, and preparing the hides. The air grew colder, snow flakes drifted down one night. I was running out of time. But, the third kill had been enough.

I stayed in the cave as a human, working feverishly. It became an effort to ignore the call of the other skins. Especially of the owlskin, my first skin. Coyote’s gift to me. I forced the voices back and worked. I grew thin, bony. I was hungry, thirsty, weak.

But I finished it.

Holding the centaur skin, I prepared to climb down from the cave. My body was shaking so bad I could barely stand. Outside it was snowing, the flakes blowing in a cold wind. I grabbed something, my owlskin, and took both skins as I stumbled down the path and almost fell onto the ground.

It was time.

I dropped the owlskin and shook out the deerskins I’d sewn together. Then, keeping my arms outside, I wrapped the skin around me.

==Chapter 63: Resolution==

Once again the magic took me, but this time it was different. It was a quiet magic, a green magic. I felt it ripple down my body, I felt my legs changing to famliar hooves. Fur spread out, up my legs, up my chest.

And then the magic started going wrong.

It needed a focus, a seat of itself. And that seat wasn't present. I could feel it searching as I fell to the ground. I couldn't breathe, my limbs wouldn't work. More and more magic swirled around me desperately seeking.

I was cold, starving. This had to succeed. If it didn't, then I was dead. Digging back through my memories I remembered healing the others, remembered my own body regrowing. I concentrated on those, forced the memories into the top of my consciousness. The green magic recoiled, and then fought. It sensed a seat, but not one it could accept. My body was shaking, writhing back and forth in the thickly falling snow. I remembered my centaur body, remembered the good days. Remembered my life before the Skinwalkers. The magic swirled around me, pressing against my self. It was looking for a weakness, but I refused to give it any. I felt it gathering, towering over me higher and higher like I'd towered over victims as Medusa. I focused my thoughts on what I'd been. On how it had felt to walk, to trot, to gallop. On the shivering of my horse hide on my horse body. Of the weight of divine armour on my human shoulders. Of the warmth of healing a scar or a wound. On the pain of Achilles' sword in my chest. I poured my anger against the magic, hating what it was trying to make of me. Images of deer flickered like an out of focus movie through my memories but I pushed them aside. I remembered what I'd been. What I would be again. The magic poured into my body, it sucked the skin further into my flesh. I grew, my hooves turned cloven. That was not right. Not right! Heat burned through me. I hated Skinwalkers. I hated this place. I refused to let this skin beat me! Suddenly my hooves were non cloven, equine. The magic struggled harder, drawing more and more from the skin I'd created and ensorceled. Time passed. I grew dark and cold, the snow whipped across me as the wind grew and grew. In the distance there was a rumble as lightning flashed. I could feel my body dying as my anger burned higher and higher. I knew what I wanted my body to be, what my body would be, and the skin knew what it wanted my body to be. We fought for our visions, and neither would give in. I would never give in, and it had no sentience to even think of giving in. I felt my body chilling, my breathing slowing. I started feeling pleasantly warm even as my anger and hatred burned in my soul.

No! I refused to let it end like this. There had to be another way.

The skin couldn't give in. I could fight it, resist it, and ultimately we'd both die. What if my anger was stronger?

If it was then the skin would only draw more magic.

Was my anger not enough?

For a second my will wavered, and the magic pressed forward and both my hind legs once again had cloven hooves.

With red hot rage I pushed it back, but I was weakening. I was dying.

Something in my mind whispered that maybe anger wasn't the way. Maybe there was another way. A way that didn't require anger. A way of compromise.

Without warning I released my grip on my left rear horse hoof and immediately the magic swirled around it making it again cloven. The magic rose up, pressed forward, but I would not let it go further. When it subsided I let it have my right rear horse hoof and immediately it turned cloven. Again the magic rose and fought, but I didn't give up. Then I slowly withdraw, letting the magic win. My body stretched, my lower body growing from the ground, pushing aside the snow the piled against me. Legs burst from my chest and out into the snow, ending in cloven hooves of their own. The magic, strong now, pressed against my will. I slowly fell back. My human chest grew furred. It tried to suck my arms into its neck but I refused. I let a trickle through and fur burst out of the flesh. Otherwise my arms and hands remained unchanged. The magic was weaker now for most of its job was done. It pressed, but I held it back. I let it slip over my head, felt fur grow out. My head changed, distorted, stretched. It tried to touch my mind but I kept it out of my core. Slowly I let it have everything, except the shape of my arms and hands, except for my mind. It was weak now. Most of its energy had been expended. Now I pressed forward, pushing at the potentiality that sought the final changes. I pushed it down, down my furred human chest, down my furred deer chest, down to the tip of my tiny tail. There it struggled, resisted. But I was ruthless. I had what I had to have, and had let it have everything that I could. I pressed and pressed. Finally I forced it out, out into the coldness where it burst into nothingness.

I realized that my body was warm. Pleasantly warm. Snow lay against me, piled there by the howling wind. I had no energy left, no energy to move, no energy even to raise an arm. And I was tired, so very tired.

I'd done it. Somehow, I'd done it.

I moved my arm slightly. It was stiff, sore. I could sense my owlskin, my first magic, nearby. I needed it with me. I couldn't leave it. My hand fumbled around in the warm snow. It touched something that was not snow, something stiff, cold. Something that was me as much as it was not. Clenching my hands around it I relaxed in the pleasant warmth and let the snow bury me.

----

I awoke unpleasantly hot. My mouth was hanging open, my tongue lolling out, and drool had made the furs on which my head rested damp. I could feel my owlskin over my human back, and warm furs piled high on top of me. The place where I regained consciousness was dim. A low fire burned in one corner and it provided the only light. In the shadows I could see a Dineh sitting on a rough chair, weaving a spiderweb pattern in a frame before her.

My body was sore, stiff, and it burned with fire. Turning my head I snorted through my furred snout and she immediately turned. She was dressed ornately, her hair long and loose down her back, somehow looking almost woven. My eyes followed her as she walked over to the fire and pulled off a boiling pot of liquid and poured some into a polished wooden bowl. After putting the pot back, she walked over and held the bowl up to my mouth. Although now my mouth was more of a snout.

"Don't drink," she said. "You need to lap it up. Take your time."

I don't know why but I immediately trusted her. Carefully I stuck out my tongue and touched the liquid. It was hot, but not too hot, and it tasted sweet.

"You need to curl your tongue and scoop in a little bit."

I tried doing what she said and slowly got some liquid into my mouth and down my throat. I spilled some, in fact I think I spilled most, but she didn't mind. As it went down it gave off a pleasant warmth, pushing back the scorching heat that pulsed through my body in waves. Too soon it was done and I licked my lips with my larger, coarser tongue.

She reached down and rubbed the stiff fur of my snout, and then the thinner fur behind my wide ears which flicked away from her hand. "Rest now Stephan. Rest now and heal."

"Heal..."

I sighed and lay my head back down on the furs upon which it had been resting. My mouth stayed open, my tongue hanging out, and I panted as I breathed. The healing warmth swept through me, and I felt better and better and fell into a healthier sleep.

----

I awoke in a dream. Again I was standing on the Sea of Grass but it was subtly different. The silver arch still went from horizon to horizon, hanging high in the heavens as the stars twinkled around it in their endless profusions. The grass seemed taller though shorter. In front of my face I could see a furred snout and somehow I knew that it was mine.

I nibbled on some grass which tasted not bad, though it was a little dry, and looked up and around, chewing slowly. There was a single tree nearby, dark, without leaves. It looked dead. My ears twisted to focus on the sound of wings and a dark shape landed on a branch which sank down under the bird's weight, and then began bobbing upwards and downwards in slowly shrinking amounts.

''Stephan! What were you thinking?''

I recognized the voice as that of Coyote, though he was now the bird, raven I realized, in the tree in front of me.

I swallowed the grass that was now pulp in my mouth and felt it slide down my throat. It settled in my stomach. "You don't like what I've done?"

''Don't like?! You could have died!''

"I didn't."

''Stephan, Stephan. You should have trusted me. I had your best interests at heart. I offered you a gift, a time to rest. You have to go back before Troy and that means that you can rest here as long as you need to.''

I took a few steps forward until my snout was almost touching his feathered chest. The branch was almost motionless. "I may not have studied your myths, but I've heard enough to not trust you."

''Stephan! You wound me. I'm hurt. I gave the body of one of my children to you. I guided your hand and your skill. Helped you--''

"You made me kill my brother."

''You can't expect my gifts without paying a price. I had such hopes for you''.

"The price was too high," I said dryly.

''The Skinwalkers needed a new direction. I wanted you to give that to them. To save them like you saved the centaurs.''

I turned away and looked up into the heavens. Up at the silver arch. My mind was clearer now than it'd been since I'd been reborn. I knew what I had to do. I wasn't doing it out of anger, but out of moral justification. I'd seen the Dineh deal with their enemies. That would be my guide. "The Skinwalkers are an abomination. I'm going to wipe them out. All of them."

==Chapter 64: Rest==

Coyote cocked his head and stared at me. Then he started laughing. He laughed so hard that he fell off the branch and landed in the deep grass. I waited but the laughter showed no sign of abating. So I tore off another mouthful of grass and started chewing it while I was waiting. I didn't know what was so funny. I'd simply stated what I was going to do.

I swallowed that mouthful and two more before Coyote suddenly changed back into his human-like coyote form and looked at me. ''You really had me going there Stephan. For a second I actually believed you.''

I swallowed my mouthful. "The Skinwalkers are a curse on the Dineh. They bring disease. They kill and murder. They are the dark side of the human soul and that dark side needs to be removed."

Coyote looked at me. ''Oh my, you really aren't kidding. Are you?''

"No."

He shook his head. ''I thought Grandfather Spirit was kidding when he said that Death could only come into the world for a short time. I couldn't believe then that he didn't see the consequences of no death.'' Coyote shrugged. ''I finally destroyed the ladder Death came down so that Death was trapped here. Boy was Grandfather Spirit pissed!''

I blinked my eyes and looked at him. "You brought death into this world?" In Greek mythology mankind had long ago left the Golden Age and passed through the Silver Age and into the Iron Age of poverty, hardship, and death. And Coyote was proud of this?

He buffed the knuckles of his right hand-paw on the fur of his left arm. ''Yup. Good job if I say so myself.''

"Coyote, have you ever wondered how many people must curse you?"

''It's not my fault that they don't understand. Stephan... wait... don't tell me YOU don't understand either?''

"This place was a paradise and you destroyed it!"

''Great Spirits!'' Coyote cried to the skies above. '' Can you believe this centaur? And HE'S the one who's going to free everybody?!''

I ignored him and nibbled on some more grass. It tasted sour and I realized from the scent that it was watered with coyote piss. Disgusted I spit it out.

Coyote laughed. ''Gotcha! Stephan, Stephan, where would you be now if you couldn't die when you stabbed yourself. Where would Chiron, your son, be if he'd never been able to die?''

I snorted and stared at him, the sour taste still in my mouth. Or at least I was when my stomach rumbled and I started burping, though it wasn't quite a burp. Something was forcing itself back up my throat and into my mouth. It was a thick goo, tasteless, soft, warm--

''By Grandfather Spirit Stephan!'' A bubble of laughter burst out from Coyote. ''You should see yourself! You look like the coyote who ate the chicken trying to hide the feathers in his mouth from Elmer!''

I felt my stomach rumble again and glared at him.

Shaking his head he stated: ''Stephan, it's cud. Deer eat their food once, swallow it into one stomach which starts one stage of digestion. Then they vomit up the food as cud, chew it some more, and swallow it again into another stomach.''

Angrily and quickly I chewed the pulp into a finer form and then swallowed it again as Coyote kept snickering. Finally I asked, "How was I supposed to know?"

''Because you're the hero who's supposed to know everything, right?'' His face remained calm and a pipe appeared in his hand. He took a long inhale from it, and then blew smoke in my face making me sneeze. ''In that other mythic quantum potentiality you knew all that was going to happen. You knew all the characters, all the events, and all the points of decision. But here you don't know anything.''

Internal muscles pulsed again and more cud was pushed up my throat and into my mouth. As I knew I'd have to get used to it I forced myself to chew it.

''What is it like Stephan to not have all the answers?'' There was a hint of desperation in his voice. ''To not know what everybody is going to do? You watched the Dineh for what, four moons? And what do you know about them? Anything?''

"They live with the world. Names call things, for good or evil. They're very ceremonial. They're terrified by witchcraft, even the proper shaman whom they never really trust. And they curse the Skinwalkers as bringers of evil and disease."

''And so Western Cultural archetypes spread throughout time and space. You honestly have no clue.'' Shaking his head, he took another breath through the pipe, and blew out another cloud of bluish smoke. ''Well, you're stubborn. I have to admire that. You'll only learn if you yourself discover the truth.''

"I know the truth."

''Do you Stephan? Do you really?'' He shrunk down and vanished, leaving only a coyote grin hanging in the air. ''Go on your crusade. You'll learn. And when you're ready we'll talk again, you and I. I need a good laugh every now and then.''

And then the smile vanished.

----

With a jerk I awoke back in the dark chamber where the woman was still working on her weaving. The air was hot, stale. The fire was still burning as it had when I'd entered the dream with Coyote. My head was clear, and my body felt warm, not painfully hot. Forcing stiff limbs to move, I staggered up and onto my cloven hooves. It was hard to stand, subtly different from when I'd been a horse centaur. The furs slithered off my deer back to slump into a pile around my legs. My feathered owlskin was tied loosely around my throat and it shushed around me as I moved, a warm and comforting presence.

The woman finished working the thread through the entire width of the design she was weaving and then stood up and turned to face me. "So Stephan, you're awake now."

My throat was dry, my voice hoarse. "How do you know my name?"

"Grandfather Spirit told me. You've slept a long time." She walked over to the fire and poured liquid from the same pot there into a clean wooden bowl. It smelled different, sweeter, with a strong hint of pine.

"How long?"

Unhurriedly she carried the bowl forward and held it up in front of me. "Remember that you need to lap it up."

Its sweet pine scent wafted down my quivering nostrils. Unable to resist I pushed my snout into it and lapped it all up. Much neater than before.

She waited until my long tongue was licking the bowl for the last hints of the thick vegetable broth before speaking. "You've slept through the winter."

My head jerked up and I stumbled backwards. My rear hooves caught in the furs and I fell in a pile of limbs. "All... all winter?!"

She smiled, and the smile filled her face with a spiderweb of wrinkles. "Your body needed time to relearn itself. It's no longer a skin that you're wearing, what you are is what you are."

I didn't know what to say.

"I have one gift for you, then you have to go make your own way. I'm not a charity here."

I looked at her, eyes blinking. "Then why did you help me?"

"You needed help just then. Why'd you help Phillipa?"

"How...?"

She turned away and walked over to a pile of sacks and started rummaging through them.

"I did it because it was the right thing to do. Because she needed help and I was in a position to give it."

"You needed help Stephan, and I was in the right place to offer it. Now where... ah hah!"

At that point a familiar rumble and muscular contraction worked its way through my chest and I felt stuff, cud, being pushed up my throat. It slid into my mouth and I started chewing. I watched as she pulled something out of the bag and then she stood up and turned towards me. I could see that she was holding two things. The first was an ornamental Cretan bronze knife, and the second was a long feather stark white in colour. I tried to swallow--

"Take your time Stephan. The chewing needs to be done right. These things have waited for you for a long time. I've held them for you." She started walking towards me.

I chewed quickly and swallowed the goo in my mouth. "They have?"

"Pieces from your past. The knife you need, and the feather will save you in the time of your greatest danger."

"What? When?"

By then she was in front of me and she gently pushed the no feathered tip into the fur at the tip of my left ear. It stung as the point pricked my skin, but I didn't feel any lasting pain, and didn't feel any blood. "There you go. Don't worry, you won't lose it, and it won't bother you. But it'll be there." Then she hung a leather strap over my shoulder which held a tooled Dineh style scabbard that held the dagger.

"You didn't have that bef--"

"Stephan, it's for you. Use it well, think before you act."

"But the strap, the scabbard--"

"I wish your path could be changed, but what will happen will happen. You need to learn on your own."

I swallowed down my questions. "Thank you."

"No problem. You're much nicer than either Nayenegani or Tobadzistsini were. They were in such a hurry to destroy evil. Never a word or even a nod of thanks."

I started working my hind hoofs out of the tangle of furs. "Do you have a name?"

"Oh my! A name?! Well, of course. But-- Well, I guess my title is safe."

"Your title?"

"It's one of my names anyway."

"I just like to know who's helped me. To honour them."

"Oh, I understand."

She slapped me on my deer flank. "Now get going, you have work to do. And I need some time to relax."

The force of her slap caused me to take a single bound forward. It wasn't like a gallop, or a walk. Instead I seemed to leap from where I had been to where I was. In front of me there was suddenly an entrance out into the sunfilled spring. Pine scent filled my nostrils, birds sang in the air. In the distance I could here the songs of the Dineh at one of their festivals.

"Well, go on. Nothing out there is going to hurt you."

I turned at my waist to face her. "Your name?"

Smiling, she shook her head. "You Westerners and your need for labels. If you really need something, you can call me Spider Woman. Now shoo!"

"Thank you Spider Woman." I turned and bounded out into the pine forest.

I had much to do, and the first thing I needed was a bow and arrows. Then I could begin to hunt. With this body I could live off the leaves and grass, and smooth and polish the bow as I walked.

Soon the hunt would begin.

==Chapter 65: The Cleansing==

If only life were that easy.

With only a knife it was hard to find good wood. I eventually came across a branch knocked down by lightning. It was pine, but since there didn't seem to be much else, I was stuck with it.

And, although food was plentiful, I had to eat a lot of it. An awful lot of it. Meat contains concentrated proteins, grass and leaves don't. I ended up spending most of my day wandering around looking for food, and most of my time wandering eating. When I wasn't eating it I ended up chewing the regurgitated cud. And none of it had any taste. The only real difference was whether it was dry or wet.

Still I persevered.

I stayed away from the Dineh through the spring as I worked, and the Skinwalkers avoided me. I didn't worry about them finding my father's cave as his skins were useless to them unless they killed me. And I was pretty sure I'd notice if they killed me.

Once I'd found the wood it was more tedium than work to shape it. The string was a problem as it took me a long time to find a plant to get the fibres from. I couldn't find any I knew from my time with the Scythians, and my childhood with the Dineh, if you could call it that, hadn't including anything practical. I finally ended up stealing one from a Dineh by swooping in as an owl at night and grabbing one. Changing into an owl was different, harder. It still wasn't painful but there seemed to be a lot more effort involved. Maybe that was due to the difference in mass

The arrows were far easier and they were made quickly, their heads made from flint. The quiver I ended up making from deerskin taken from an abandoned kill, likely made by a Skinwalker. There was a certain justice in that.

In all, it wasn't until the summer that I was finally ready to begin my crusade.

I didn't want to go to one of the gatherings to watch a child become a Skinwalker. There'd be too many there and I didn't even want to make my presence known to a group. Too dangerous. Instead I hoped it would be easy to find other Skinwalkers near the Dineh village. I could detect them, or so I hoped. In my wanderings to make the bow I hadn't sensed any, but then I'd stayed away from the village. The only thing I knew that they would do, or at least some of them, was to sell their services of murder. I was afraid to wander near the camp as I was obviously alien and feared what they would do. Instead I again used my owlskin, first to store the bow I'd worked so hard on. With difficulty I managed to hold my bow in my claws and fly it up into the cave. At least there it'd be dry and safe.

There were other unexpected difficulties too. I had to eat mice and small rodents, but they never went down well. My body didn't reject them, but I always had to force myself to swallow them. Hunts were more difficult. It was like my heart was no longer in it. But I managed. At least I needed a lot less food.

It wasn't until late in the summer that I finally sensed a Skinwalker. The feeling nudged me from sleep and I flew around the pine trees and followed at a discrete distance. He must have sensed me but there was no reaction. When he finally stopped near the Dineh settlement I made note of where he was and hurried back to my father's cave in a flurry of feathers. Still an owl I dumped my knife and quiver full of arrows out of the cave, and fluttered down behind them holding the bow in my feet. Pecking at one wing until I drew blood, my body exploded outward and I was once again the deer centaur I'd become. I picked up the knife and hung the strap over one shoulder, and hung the strap holding the quiver and its arrows over the other. Then I leaned down and picked up the bow. Securing my skin around my neck I turned and bounded off through the woods towards where the Skinwalker had stopped.

Bounding as a deer is not the same as galloping as a horse. It's more of a controlled jump that starts and ends and then starts again. You jump, fly through the air for a moment, thud onto the ground with bent legs, forelegs first, hindlegs second, and then do it again. It's certainly not as fast as an all out gallop, but it has its own grace and allows far more maneuverability which is useful in the woods. My hooves thudded into the needle laden ground again and again, and the quiver bounced on my back against my cloak of owl feathers. I just hoped I wasn't too late. When I was close I stopped and proceeded at a more cautious walk. My nose quivered at every scent, and my deer-like ears twisted and flicked around in all directions, listening.

As I approached I heard two voices. Then the sounds of somebody leaving. There was a scent in the air in addition to the faint wiff of human. It was a cold scent that twisted along the ground. It was a scent of death and disease. As silent as a deer I crept closer, stringing my bow and drawing an arrow. In the dappled sunlight I saw a figure, and knew it was the Skinwalker. It wasn't a he, but a she. A girl, maybe 14. Around her she was wrapping a wolfskin. I let loose my first arrow, and drew and fired another. The first hit her in the left breast, the second in her chest.

I put a third in her throat to keep her from screaming. As I walked towards her, a drift of power passed from her into me. A voice whispered in my head: ''Judge, jury, and executioner.''

I was more than large enough to drag her and her skin, it was her only skin, off into the forest. There I gathered fallen branches and, with flint and tinder she had in a pouch, I burned them both. The pouch and the flint and iron I kept for myself.

My second kill came soon after. I was nibbling pine needles which were getting dry and increasingly bitter. I sensed a Skinwalker nearby and my ears focused on the sound of fluttering feathers and angrily cawing voices. I knew that there was a dead deer nearby, the scavengers had been at it. From the other scent around it, it had been the kill of a wolverine. Carefully I approached, bow at the ready. From the sounds I guessed that when the Skinwalker had come, the ravens had fled. Normal animals avoided us. They wouldn't hunt us which made my life a lot safer. Soon I saw that there was one raven that was on the corpse, pecking and tearing at the rotten meat.

One arrow took it in the chest.

Oblivious to the power flowing into me, I walked forward watching as the form changed from raven into human cloaked in raven feathers. This one was female. As I picked her up to take her off and burn her, I saw the face.

It was another woman. It was my mother.

Was I doing the right thing?

Of course I was!

With a snort I heaved her body over my shoulder and walked off. I followed my new knowledge to her lair, an abandoned wolf den, and pulled out her other two skins. The den wasn't deep. One was a wolf, and one was a deer. Odd, I didn't know any Skinwalkers other than myself dealt with herbivores.

I burned all her skins.

----

As summer faded into fall kills followed one after the other. My body grew antlers and, other than learning to keep my head low so as not to get entangled in branches, I ignored them. I had a job to do. By then I was very efficient. I always wandered near the Dineh village, but not too near. I avoided the Dineh. Eventually I would sense a Skinwalker, and then it would be over quickly. Most were wolves or coyotes, many were foxes. These were all easy to catch as I was faster. Those few with bird forms I had to sneak up on and get very close before killing. It also seemed that the more I killed, the better I could sense them. My range increased and soon I could sense them long before they could sense me. However, by the first snowfall my kill rate was slowing. Skinwalkers were getting harder and harder to find. Hopefully because I was killing most of them.

There was a thin layer of snow on the ground, and food was becoming harder to find. I hadn't sensed any Skinwalkers for almost a full moon when I suddenly felt one nearby. Using my perfected methods, I strung my bow and silently moved towards the feeling. I heard voices and, as I generally did, ignored them. There were two, one male and one female. The female was crying, sobbing, and I started bounding towards the source. I just prayed I wouldn't be too late!

"Take me! Please take me!" the female voice shouted.

"There, there. Don't worry, I'll show you the way," the male voice responded.

"I won't go back! I won't!"

"You won't have to. Come with me, leave their stilted order behind. Be free!"

"But, but, you're evil. You're witches! The Shaman says so."

"Young one, that's what they want you to think. I won't force you into marriage, I won't force you to mate."

"He's already got one wife! Why does he need me?! It's been so horrible since he became chief."

"Don't worry, I won't let Ahigo hurt you."

Ahigo? It was Ahigo that my father had been hired to murder.

I burst into a clearing and saw two figures crouching in the snow. One was an older man enwrapped in white wolf fur. He was the skinwalker. Being held in his arms was a young Dineh woman. She was dressed in ornamental hides, and the scent of her sadness and horror drenched my quivering nostrils. Below them was the scent of sex, of blood, and of rape.

I stopped, lowering my bow, feeling the snow flakes settling onto my back, onto my outstretched antlers. The man turned to face me, enwrapping the girl with his wolfskin to protect her from me.

"If you want to kill me shoot. Just don't send her back."

==Chapter 66: Lessons==

"What's going on?" I whispered, my voice soft across the gently falling snow. It was barely audible over the sobbing of the girl.

"Why are you protecting Ahigo? He's a bloodless bastard not worthy to be one of us, not even worthy to be one of the Dineh."

"But--?"

"Every one of us that's been paid to kill him you've slain. Why? How much did he pay you?"

"He didn't--"

The Skinwalker spit onto the snow. "Greedy monster. Just kill me and get it over with. But please, make the girl one of us. She doesn't deserve what happened to her."

Turning, I fled through the gently falling the snow, a stubborn part of me refusing to let go the bow I'd spent so much time on.

What had I done? The Skinwalkers were evil. Monsters. I was simply doing the Dineh a service. And yet, apparently Ahigo was a monster too. Was it possible that the Skinwalker was lying? But what about the girl? I knew she wasn't a Skinwalker. I could smell no deceit on her, no deceit on either of them.

If everything was true, then I'd allowed Ahigo to live. I'd allowed that girl to be raped and so horrified that she'd rather be one of the cursed Skinwalkers then remain with Ahigo.

Plowing into a deep drift of snow, I slowed and stopped. I was in a clearing, and, through a gap in the clouds, the half moon brightly shone.

What was I going to do?

Then I knew what I HAD to do. Swallowing I turned back the way I'd come.

I knew where the Dineh encampment was. I needed the truth. If this Ahigo was the monster the girl and the Skinwalker made him out to be, I'd kill him and damn the consequences. If he was a monster than that would be a start to undo what I'd done.

I started bounding throughtthe snow towards the village.

What exactly had I done?

I'd been judge, jury, and executioner. I'd set myself up as the sole power of life and death. Had I been wrong? Was I worse than the Skinwalkers? If I was, then why had that Spider Woman helped me?

The snow fell heavier, muffling all sound. Clouds passed in front of the moon and the forest vanished in darkness. I was forced to slow and walk. Dimly I could scent a fire, and from that I knew where the village was. I made my way towards it, sensing my way forward through the darkness. Hearing branches sway slightly in the faint wind I ducked beneath them. In the distance I suddenly saw a flickering light and knew that it was a small fire for the Dineh watchers. Moving as silent as a deer I angled away from it but still moving towards the village. Still holding the bow I crossed my hands behind my back and leaned forward. I wanted to look like just another deer.

I saw another fire off in the distance.

Moving slower, I stopped often, nibbling at some of the bitter needles. All the time I kept moving forward.

I heard the watchers at the nearest fire, I knew that there were a pair at each, whispering to one another.

"May the Great Spirit curse Ahigo! Nobody's going to come tonight."

"Shut up! That's witch talk!"

The first voice spoke lower, a conspiratorial whisper and my ears swiveled to focus and still I could barely make him out. "He took my sister. You know what he's going to do to her!"

"He's our chief and thus we obey him. It's the w--" And then the voices faded to unintelligibility.

From when I'd been a owl I knew that there were usually five watches equally spaced around the village. One was directly east, the others equally spaced so that none were directly west.

The night was quiet and getting colder. The snow fell heavier, large flakes that drifted downward. The moon remained hidden.

And then I saw the village. It was dark, but I could see dim glows around the hides that covered the entrances. The chieftain's was the largest, and I knew where it had once been. The shaman's was actually the smallest as he made an effort to be poor and unsuccessful so that the tribe didn't turn on him as a witch.

I heard a male voice, and then a woman's scream. Both seemed to come from the chieftain's hogon.

I stopped being quiet and bounded towards it.

I heard a slap, and then another scream.

Skidding to a stop at the entrance, snow up to my knees, I drew an arrow.

From inside I heard a man's voice: "DAMN YOU BITCH, WHERE IS SHE?!"

I tore the hide off the east-facing entrance and looked in.

There was a man there. He was naked, heat poured off his skin. I could smell his anger and his hatred. I could smell sex. He was holding a leather strap. Below him was a woman, older. She was on the ground sobbing. Her clothes had been torn off, and bloody streaks covered her back.

He spun around and saw me.

I could see the hate in his eyes, the evil. I could scent his disdain. I could scent his confidence in his power.

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU?! PUT THAT HIDE BACK, YOU HEAR ME! I SAID I WASN'T TO BE DISTURBED!"

Lowering my head I stepped into the hogon. Then I raised my upper body to its full height and my antlers clunked against the poles holding up the roof.

"SKINWALKER! SKINWALKER! HELP!!" He must have recognized the owlskin around my shoulders.

Below him the woman screamed and started crawling to the farthest corner of the hogon in horror and terror.

I'd let this happen and it was up to me to do what should have been done months ago. My first arrow took Ahigo in the chest, my second was sunk in beside it. My third went through his mouth now gurgling blood. Ducking my head under the doorframe, I turned to flee.

Outside the screams behind were quieter. It was snowing harder, and the wind was rising. All around I heard movement, voices. More hides were moved aside and light fell upon me. There were screams and shouts.

I fled bounding into the snow. A few arrows sped past me. I heard a deep voice, echoing weirdly, and blue-white fire surrounded me, but didn't kill me. The only effect was a burning at the base of my ear, and a burnt and shriveled feather falling out, the wind of my passage whipping it away.

Soon all that was around me was the rustle of the trees in the rising wind, and the drifting snowflakes that snuck between the pines. The wind grew louder, gradually turning into a howling roar. All the while I fled through deeper and deeper snow. I'd killed what seemed to be the bad guys, and now I'd killed the bad guy. Had I done right? Had I done wrong? I didn't know. Why hadn't I remembered what Ephebus had done to me?!

By dawn I was gasping for breath as the wind howled and the snow whipped around me. I'd gone higher up the mountainside and was now walking across wind blasted rock. Frozen gravel slid underhoof and I fell, and then forced myself up again. Icicles from my panting breath hung from the hairs around my muzzle. In the dim pre-dawn light I could make out a cave, or a crevice, in the rock ahead of me. My limbs heavy, I forced myself towards it, leaning into the wind. One step, another, another. My hand was frozen around the bow that had allowed me to perpetuate horror after horror. It was a dead weight. The wind shrieked around me. One step, another, another.

And suddenly there was a blessed silence as I reached the shelter of the rock. Tiny whirlwinds swept around me but the main blast of the wind couldn't reach me. I collapsed onto the cold rock.

----

A cold wind was blowing across the Sea of Grass. The grass was dry. It was dark, the sky covered with clouds. The only light was from a small fire and I could see a form sitting beside it. I walked closer to the warmth, my limbs stiff and sore. Soon I recognized it as Coyote, in his human-like Coyote form. He was sitting on the ribcage of a horse.

''Come over to the fire Stephan. I think you're ready to talk.''

I made my way over and gracefully lowered myself onto my deer chest. The fire popped and crackled. Fueling the fire was human bones.

''It's a sad thing Stephan when you know what's going to happen. When you know that nothing you can do will change it. It’s at times like these that I sometimes regret what we did.''

I looked at him and then spoke, my voice haunted. "What did I do wrong?"

''Lots of things. The Dineh culture has a lot going for it. They're generally peaceful. They revere many of the same things that you do. The Skinwalkers are a lot of things that you consider evil. The two groups are really opposites, and in a sense each defines the other. One is light, one is dark.''

''Unfortunately, by the will of the Great Spirit, the Dineh live in a largely prescribed way. Things are done the way they're always done. People are obeyed because of their position, not because of their soul''.

I closed my eyes and remembered what I'd seen in the hogon. "Ahigo was one of those without the soul, wasn't he?"

Coyote snorted. ''You could say that.'' A pipe appeared in his hand and he inhaled and blew out a cloud of rich blue smoke that was whipped away by the wind. ''Would you like some? You really should.''

I snorted. "Given my record I'd better listen for a change." Taking the pipe he offered, I inhaled the rich smoke into my lungs. Immediately I started coughing uncontrollably.

As he laughed, Coyote caught the pipe before I flung it out of my hands. ''You should see what you look like!''

When I stopped coughing I glared at him, though I don't think Coyote got it as I sneezed loudly. Ignoring me, he continued.

''Dineh life is quite restricted. They can't touch a corpse or perpetrate murder or administer poison. The social pressures against those actions are far far greater than they were when you were on the surface. Dineh have to obey their leaders''.

''The Skinwalkers provide an exit. Skinwalkers can do everything that a Dineh can't. Including getting rid of soulless bastards.''

''In other words, a Skinwalker can do what needs to be done. They're not bound by the Dineh laws and rules and thus can achieve things for the people that the Dineh are forbidden or incapable of doing.''

"That doesn't make sense."

''Pah! You Westerners! It's always your way, or the wrong way!'' Coyote turned and looked at me and I felt my soul falling into his yellow eyes. ''Alexander the Great was told that the Persians should be subservient to the Greeks because they were barbarians. Not Greeks''.

''You came to North America and exterminated the natives. And then, finally, you felt sorry for us. You decided to make amends. He leaned forward until his muzzle was almost against mine. You swore that you wouldn't do it again. BUT YOU JUST DID!''

I jerked backwards, away from his vehemence.

''Sometimes I wish the Great Spirit would just wipe you out!''

I watched as he snapped the pipe in two in his hands.

He sighed. ''Stephan, Stephan. You can't understand a culture by watching it for a few moons. Any given culture works as it is. It has to. If you're going to change it, make absolutely sure you know what you're doing''. He poked me in my human chest with the fixed pipe. ''Keep your people from doing it.''

I turned away and watched the fire for a while as Coyote puffed on his pipe. I could feel myself getting colder but I really didn't want to move. What did he mean by my people? How was I supposed to know?

''You'll have to excuse an old Coyote Stephan. You just got under my skin''. He sighed. ''It's tough knowing what's going to happen, knowing that you can't stop it, knowing that the misery has to happen because it happened''. A bone appeared in his hand and he tossed it into the fire. ''Sometimes I wish I'd stayed behind like you.''

I turned to him. "What do you mean 'stayed behind like me'?"

''You'll find out. Now, let's smoke together, make peace. Then I have to send you on your way.''

"Answer my question!"

''Nope. Can't do that because I don't''. He offered me the pipe. ''Take a puff, lighter this time, and then I'll send you on your way.''

I took the pipe and looked at the mouthpiece and the smoke wisping from it.

''Oh come on! You don't think I'd vastly enhance the bitterness again, do you? What do you take me for, Coyote or something? Sheesh! Take a puff, because then I have to send you on your way. And don't take too long, you're running out of time.''

I sniffed at the smoke. It certainly didn't seem as strong. "What do you mean I'm running out of time? You said something moons ago about my having all the time I need."

He chuckled. ''Right now your body is freezing. Soon it'll be dead. If I don't send you on your way soon, you will be dead. Then we'll have to start all over again. Just one little puff for the old man, please?''

Was that why I felt so cold? I put the pipe up to my lips.

''Remember, think before you act. Don't let anger control you. Don't act until you're sure. The last thing we need is another Western world''.

''Go and change the world Stephan.''

I touched the pipe to my lips and inhaled a little bit. The smoke was sweet, not like last time. Slowly I blew it out of my nostrils. It was nice. I pulled in more.

''Gotcha''.

Gagging and coughing, I threw the pipe away. The smoke burned, burned my lungs, burned my mouth, burned my nostrils.

And then the fire, the Sea of Grass, Coyote, all vanished and I was sinking into steaming hot water.

==Chapter 67: Coyote's Gift==

I tried to move, but my limbs were cold, stiff. I could barely feel anything. My legs touched the bottom and I stopped sinking with the sulphur scented water just lapping over my deer back. The water was hot, a faint mist clung to its surface. Leaning forward I stretched my upper body out so that it was in the water too. I had to look up to keep my nostrils above the water. Slowly life poured back into me, a glorious warmth that burned my nerves, sent tingling pain through me. But it brought me back to life.

It'd been close.

Sighing, more or less oblivious to the stench of sulphur which wafted all around me, I let the heat bake my muscles. And once I had feeling back I let it soothe my soreness. The water gurgled and bubbled and I just relaxed.

----

I must have nodded off because the next thing I remember was jerking awake uncomfortably hot. I was desperately panting, and I could see the world shimmering around me. Somehow I staggered out, my limbs leaden, and stood on the shore. There was a little grass. Instead it was mostly jagged chunks of shattered rock. Water dripped from my fur and I walked a bit further away from the pool and lay down and slept again, wrapping the sodden owlskin around me. Not quite enough to change of course.

----

When next I awoke it was late in the day and I felt much better. Stretching my arms, I realized that I was still holding the bow I'd laboured over so hard. It was still wet, and the wood had warped from its immersion. Standing up, I threw it away, whipping it high and far. Dimly I heard the clatter of wood on stone. I never wanted to see it again. The stiff deerleather quiver and the arrows followed. I pulled the strap and scabbard and cretan knife off and prepared to send it after the bow and arrows but then stopped. Carefully I drew the ornate bronze blade and looked at it.

It was beautiful.

It was odd that I'd never looked at it, just taken it. So consumed had I been in my crusading justice, I'd ignored the simple things around me. I decided to keep the knife. I'd have to make a new scabbard to get rid of the sulphur smell, but the knife could stay. It would be a reminder. For now though I'd have to keep the scabbard and strap. I hung it back over my shoulder and walked away, looking for some grass.

Soon I realized that I was on a mountain, the ground sloping downward. Below I could see rich grasses and deciduous trees beckoning. Seeing no sign of civilization, I made my way down, carefully ignoring the outcroppings of fallen shattered rock.

The leaves and shoots were green, the grass was green. They were sweet and wet, though still relatively tasteless. The cud was a little better. It seemed that wherever I was now, it was spring. Shrugging, I decided to relax at least for a little bit. I'd have to figure out where I was, but first I wanted, no needed, a couple of days to get fed, to get clean, and to get rid of the tension and the horror of what I'd been doing.

The days passed quickly. I found a cold pool at the base of a waterfall and soaked in it for brief periods to get rid of the sulphur that clung to me. I washed my owlskin a couple of times and that seemed to get the sulphur out of it. At least its magic had protected it. Other than that I encountered only wildlife. Deer were around, and lots of small animals.

The deer accepted me, at least the does. The males fled. Possibly because I still had my antlers. I could feel a bit of rage, but none of them seemed a real threat and I had no trouble keeping my anger under control. Once a doe and her fawn let me walk right up to them. I just stood there as the fawn sniffed at me, walked around, and then nudged me. He fled and I chased him around and around the clearing. It was wonderful. Too soon the sun set and the doe took her child away whilst I stayed and ate, recovering from the effort.

A week passed. Some days it rained but I really didn't mind. Finally I felt sated. My muscles no longer ached as I moved. My antlers were still there and I wasn't sure what was going to happen with them. Normally they'd fall off before the end of the year, but to my body that time hadn't happened yet. I wasn't sure if temperature was a factor in them. I'd just have to find out.

At dusk I walked to the edge of a small cliff and looked over the edge. All I could see was wilderness. Hoping it would work, I wrapped my owlskin around me. I felt the magic swirl and possess me, sucking my body smaller and smaller. I felt somebody helping, somebody female. And then it was over. The world was brighter, larger. I took wing and the land spread out below me.

Like the woods and grass, small mammals were plentiful. I had no trouble finding food, and it was much easier to kill it and eat it. Maybe I'd gotten used to it over the months.

Two days afterward I began moving south, I came across a dirt road. Curious, I landed on the branch of an oak. At least now I knew that there was civilization. The road was a plain dirt track, with pools of water and mud scattered here and there from the rain the previous night. There was no sign of life. At first I didn't want to take the skin off as being an owl was safer, but then I realized that most traffic would be during the day when I'd be asleep. Fluttering down from the tree I landed on a root and pecked and tore at my right wing until crimson blood stained the feathers. Magic swirled around me and my body grew and expanded. Wings became arms, a second pair of legs grew out, and antlers extended from my head.

Trusting my ears and nose, I wandered near the road but out of sight in the trees and underbrush. There I lived off the rich grass and buds. On the first day I heard nothing and slept near the road but behind a massive oak tree, cradled between its roots. On the second day I heard the sound of hooves and feet and voices. Carefully, ears flicking to focus better as the voices echoed through the trees and brush, I stepped closer to the road. Lying down behind a patch of brush I listened.

"...is not the only way to glory. There is much to be said for the simple joys." The voice was male, deep and old.

He was answered by the voice of a young child. "But I want to be a warrior! Why do I need to know about trees?"

"Ah Achilles..."

Achilles?

"...be wise you must know something about all things. Give it time. Your name shall be sung through the ages, remembered for all eternity." The older man chuckled. "But even great things start small."

I head the sound of feet thudding on mud. "I bet you can't catch me!" I heard the sound of a child running.

Carefully, I poked my muzzle through the brush until I could see the road. Into my sight came a naked child, about five, running faster than the wind. Suddenly he stopped right in front of the brush and looked me. Before I had a chance to move, he leapt through the brush and onto me, wrapping his arms around my neck and squeezing.

Gasping I leapt to my feet and burst through the brush just as I heard hooves clattering down the road. All that time the child clung to me squeezing tighter and tighter. Unable to breathe I saw a centaur clattering to a stop in front of me.

Not just any centaur.

A centaur that had the front legs of a man and the rear legs of a horse.

A centaur that I recognized.

Coyote had sent me to my son. To Chiron.

==Chapter 68: Prophecies==

I stared at Chiron as Chiron stared at me, too shocked to worry about my inability to breathe.

Finally Chiron turned away from me towards the little human who was in the process of wringing my neck. "Achilles," he said mildly, "that's not a deer for you to eat. Let him go."

Suddenly the pressure was gone and, as I gasped for breath, Achilles dropped down and stood in front of Chiron, his head hung low in shame. "I'm... I'm sorry Chiron. I--"

"Achilles, the mark of a great warrior is not how many people he slays, but whom he slays. What do you think people would think of you if you walked up and stuck a spear through the king you were fighting for?"

"I won't do it again. I promise. Really. I swear."

"Like last time?" Chiron asked dryly.

"This time I mean it! Really!"

Chiron didn't respond but instead turned to me. In his hands was a waterskin which he untied and offered me. I could smell that it was water. Taking it from him, I rose my muzzle high and let the water slide down my mouth and down my throat. Even though the waterskin was huge, I must have poured half of it down my throat before handing it back.

Trying to speak, I instead sneezed. "Excuse me. And thank you."

Chiron motioned to Achilles still standing abashedly beside him, now kicking the dirt with a bare foot. "My charge is still learning. I'm Chiron, and on his behalf I apologize."

"I'm..." What should I say? I had so many names. No! I wasn't going to hide anymore. "My name is Stephan."

Chiron looked at me as I looked at him, now that I could do other IMPORTANT things like breathe. He was a lot like I used to be. His skin was tanned but free of scars and tattoos. His horse body was ivory, with black points above his hooves. His tail, hair, and mane were all the same ivory colour.

"I thought I knew all the centaurs around. I must admit, I've never seen one like you."

"I'm not from around here."

Chiron snorted. "If you wish, you can come back to my cave. The least I can do is offer you a meal."

"I'd be honoured."

"Achilles!" Chiron called.

"Yes Chiron?"

"Go to the cave and get the fire started. We've a guest for dinner."

"Can I get a swine on the way? Can I? Huh?"

Chiron sighed. "If you find some wild swine, you may take one. So go. We'll be a while."

I broke in. "Is it all right for him to go alone?"

Chiron laughed. "Him? Some days I don't think the gods could hurt him. Of all my students, he's certainly the toughest."

By then Achilles was out of sight.

I looked down the road Achilles had taken, my mind full of questions. That was Achilles. In two decades he'd try to kill me on the fields of Troy. I felt a spasm of pain between my front legs where he had, or was that would, stab me. Had? Would? Was that--

Chiron interrupted my thoughts. "It seems as though I should know your voice. It sounds familiar, yet I can't place it."

Closing my eyes I swallowed, and scratched an itch at the top of my right leg with my right hind hoof. What was I going to tell him? Why was I afraid of telling him? "You're the son of two centaurs like yourself. A mare named Philya who died giving birth, and a stallion named Scylurus who may also have been known as Stephan. You were taken by Apollo and raised by him and Artemis."

"Apollo told me that I was the son of Chronos. Yet, why would you lie...?"

Turning to look down the road after Achilles I opened my eyes and my voice continued as though in a dream. "I remember your birth. You killed your mother, you were too big for her. A flaw in the biology. The storm was ending and I'd granted a mare, Anarcharax, milk so that you could suckle. Then Apollo came and he took you from me. He made me insane when I wouldn't let him."

"Apollo told me that Chronos left after he planted his seed in Philyra. He told me that she turned into a tree at the sight of me. He did say that the first beast to offer me milk was a mare."

"I've missed you so. Oh god but I've missed you! For so long I wished to be with you, to meet you, to understand you. I only ever saw you once..." My voice faded to silence when I remembered that meeting. It hadn't happened yet. How could I tell Chiron that the only time I saw him was when he began to die? And that other centaur that was with him. The one in the skin. The one Poseidon had become.

The one that had had the body and head of a deer and wore a feathered cloak.

Chiron turned and began walking down the road and I trotted after him to follow. "I would remember seeing somebody like you before," he muttered.

I was silent for a while as my mind raced. The prophecy played through my mind, and I could hear the Pythia chanting the words.

<poem>''Around the sea, but not across''
''The coin you must, twice it toss''

''The second time your first will be''
''The first one second time will flee''

''When in war you first will fail''
''There your gift will turn you pale''

''If you'd learn to do the deed''
''In death the answers will be freed''

''It is in peace that you will take''
''It's with the sea that you will make''

''And only then shall all partake''</poem>

Dear god! It finally made sense! The first time I fought Poseidon was in the fifth year of the Trojan War. That was about two decades from now. Poseidon had been at Troy much earlier when he and Apollo had built the city walls. The first stanza had always been obvious. Poseidon had power over the sea, I would have to avoid it. The second stanza must mean that I would first face Poseidon during the war, and then I would end up in the past and face Poseidon when he was building the walls. The second time I faced him, would be the first time to Poseidon. The third stanza simply stated that to learn how to kill Poseidon I would have to die. I would have to enter the paleness of death. There I would find the answer. It was so simple now! Chiron was immortal, yet he died. He died by giving his immortality to Prometheus. I'd been immortal. I'd died by giving my immortality to Poseidon in the future. And Poseidon would die by giving his immortality to me.

But the last bit... I had no interest in killing Poseidon any more. That was in the past, what was done was done. And yet Apollo had stated something about me freeing them. And Coyote had told me to change the world. He'd hinted that I'd had a destiny.

What the hell was it?

That was when I heard Chiron mutter, more to himself than to me, "Why would you lie in such an obvious way?"

"I didn't lie. There are reasons you don't remember." How could I tell him that he was going to die...?

Or was he? I'd been with him. I would be with him again. I could keep him alive! Then another memory flashed. I'd been in the midst of the battle, I'd seen Heracles, I'd tried to stop him, but I'd pushed him so that his arrow hit Chiron.

I could stop myself!

Or could I? If I changed my past, what would happen to me?

I realized that Chiron had stopped and had turned to face me. "What are those reasons?"

"I..." What was I going to tell him. "I wish I could tell you. You wouldn't believe me."

He put his hands on his waist. "Try me."

"I..." I couldn't lie to my son. Bowing my head I whispered, "When I killed you."

"Killed? Me?" He burst out laughing. "You must have me confused with somebody else!" He turned and started trotting down the path. "Now come along, Achilles probably has supper half done by now. He's quick and dangerous that one."

I had to hurry to catch up to him. I didn't know what to say. I'd tried to tell him the truth, but...

The road began to climb, becoming steeper and steeper. Chiron turned off onto a narrow and winding trail which I found hard work to climb. All the way up I kept regurgitating cud and having to chew it before swallowing again. I had to keep ducking my head to keep my antlers from getting entangled. My mind was in turmoil, I didn't know what to do. Other than stay with Chiron, keep him alive, save him from the arrow.

It was dusk before we passed out of the dense brush around the path and into a small clearing before a cave. Light flickered from inside and I could smell roasting meat and hear the sizzle of grease dripping into flame. I could also hear the loud whacking of a stick against another stick.

Ducking my head, I followed Chiron in, our hooves clattering on the stone. The passage opened into a large chamber which was not a cave, but a comfortable room. Hangings draped the walls and rough but well made wooden frames separated the large area into separate rooms. In one corner Achilles was beating at a wooden pole with a wooden sword. Beside the fire on a wooden stool sat a gorgeous woman in course linen dyed yellow slowly turning a spit which suspended a skinned boar over the fire.

"Stephan, you already know Achilles. Allow me to present my youngest daughter Ocyrrhoe. Ocyrrhoe, this is Stephan. Achilles tried to bring him in as dinner."

At her father's voice Ocyrrhoe turned and saw me. Her eyes widened and I saw that she suddenly knew her destiny. Even though I knew what was going to happen, I couldn't think of a way to stop it.

Chiron chuckled. Stephan here says that I'm going to die."

For a second horror stretched itself across Ocyrrhoe's face, and then I saw the prophecy take her. With a cold voice she stated:'

<poem>''And thou, my sire, not destin'd by thy birth ''
''To turn to dust, and mix with common earth, ''
''How wilt thou toss, and rave, and long to dye, ''
''And quit thy claim to immortality; ''
''When thou shalt feel, enrag'd with inward pains, ''
''The Hydra's venom rankling in thy veins? ''
''The Gods, in pity, shall contract thy date, ''
''And give thee over to the pow'r of Fate.''**</poem>

And then I saw Zeus' will take hold upon her.

==Chapter 69: Fate==

Achilles had spun to watch; Chiron just stood there in shock. It was I who bounded over to hold her as Zeus' will swept through her. Laying on my deer chest I cradled her head as it stretched out into an equine muzzle. I held her, giving her what comfort I could as her body grew, turning a dark brown, almost black. All the time her eyes looked into mine, beseeching me to help but I couldn't, and I think she knew that too. Finally she was laying there, a black mare, her lungs heaving up and down as she quivered in fear.

For a long moment everybody remained still, until Chiron quietly asked. "What did you just do Stephan?"

I didn't turn away from Ocyrrhoe, I just held her head and began petting her mane. "I didn't do anything. Did you hear what she said?"

"I heard."

"Now do you believe me?"

"It doesn't matter. Get out."

I stopped comforting Ocyrrhoe and turned my upper body and head to look at him.

"Get out before I do something I'll regret."

"Ocyrrhoe, do you need help?"

''Stephan... I see what you are now. You honour me.''

"Stephan leave."

I got up and watched as Ocyrrhoe staggered up onto her hoofs. "It's not I who did this, it was Zeus. He cursed her for telling you too much." I started walking for the entrance.

Behind me other hooves moved to follow me.

"Ocyrrhoe...?" Chiron asked.

I stopped and watched as she stopped. She was still awkward, but she was learning fast. ''Father'', she nickered. ''He's the father of my new race. I need to learn from him. On you, I'd... I'd be a burden.''

"You can't understand her, can you?" I asked.

Hope blossomed through Chiron's voice. "She's not an animal? She can be restor--?"

"No. I'm sorry. When you're ready to talk to her we'll be around."

And with that I left with Ocyrrhoe following.

Once outside of the cave I stopped. "You should eat. Unfortunately it's not the best tasting, but it's what you need. Are there villages nearby?"

''A couple down the mountain. Stephan, why did Chiron--?''

"He's afraid. Possibly for the first time in his life he's faced with something he can't heal. Give him a little while. Rest. He'll want to talk to you."

She started eating and I ate with her. After a little bit she stopped and turned to look at me. ''It's dry and bitter''.

"I know."

----

I stayed with Ocyrrhoe as we wandered the foothills. I visited the village a couple of times and after some initial fears traded work for grain and fruits which I then offered to Ocyrrhoe upon my return. She grew used to her body, but never happy with it.

One afternoon she asked: ''Why did Zeus do this?''

"I don't know."

''But you said that this was Zeus' punishment. You must know something''.

"I know a little bit. I know that you were fated to tell your father his fate. And I know that would cause Zeus to transform you into a mare. Why? I think it was because you were revealing things Zeus wanted kept secret."

''But then why transform me afterwards?''

"That's beyond what I've heard. All I can think of is that either this was a message or warning to Chiron, or you were fated to reveal something in the future. I don't know everything." Though I was starting to think I knew too much. I'd heard the prophecy of Chiron's death. Before I was confident I could keep him alive, but now?

''You know exactly when my father's going to die, don't you?''

For a while I remain quiet in the shade of the trees on the mountainside. Finally I swallowed the cud I'd been chewing. "Yes."

''And you can save him.''

I wished I could cry. "Have you heard the story of Oedipus?"

''Yes...''

"A prophecy has been spoken."

She stopped chewing and looked at me. ''You're going to try anyway, aren't you?''

"Yes, I am."

She went back to eating and so did I. Most of the afternoon passed in companionable silence before she nickered, ''Thank you.''

----

It wasn't until the fall that I heard Chiron calling out for Ocyrrhoe. She galloped towards his call and I followed afterwards at a more sedate pace. By the time I reached them they were standing one in front of the other. It seemed that neither knew what to do.

"Where's Achilles?" I asked.

Chiron sighed. "I sent him off on a quest to make a bow... father."

I blinked. "I wish we didn't have to meet this way."

"I think I understand, now. Will you help me talk with my daughter?"

"Yes."

Until the sun set I stood there, translating what Ocyrrhoe said. By the end Chiron embraced her, tears in his eyes, as she nibbled at his mane.

----

Years passed as Ocyrrhoe and I lived with Chiron. The first fall my antlers did fall off, and after that I grew them each year. I guess my body had to get in tune with this world. I helped Chiron train Achilles. Although I would duel with Achilles, I never took a weapon for my own. Not even a bow. One day when Achilles was almost 14 and we'd been dueling with bronze blades in a glen he stopped and looked at me. As usual he'd beaten me. His body was covered with sweat whilst I was panting.

"Stephan, why don't you at least carry a bow?"

I looked at him and licked my lips. "Achilles, a weapon is power. With it you can kill with impunity. I've killed far too many people, and far too many of them I killed by mistake. I don't want to kill any more innocents."

"But you can tell. If they're an enemy then you kill them!" He swung his sword through the air with a loud whoosh.

I sighed. "Achilles, if only it was that easy. You're going to kill many men. And then you'll die. But you'll be remembered for all time. You'll have eternal glory. You'll kill in war, and that's easy."

"So?" He leapt into the air and spun around and his blade thunked against a tree again and again."

I stepped over to him and grabbed his arm and held it. "Achilles, that tree is not an enemy. It'll likely die now. You've broken its skin and now it'll slowly bleed to death."

He looked at me. "But it's a tree!"

"And does that make its life any less IMPORTANT?"

"But--"

"Achilles. Killing is a last resort. It's final. Once it's done it can't be undone. What would you do if you saw somebody killing a woman?"

"I'd slice my blade through him from shoulder to waist!"

"And what if that woman was about to give birth to an abomination that would kill thousands. The man knew and was trying to stop it before it was too late."

"I'd kill the monster!"

"And what about the man? He did no wrong. He was trying to do what you did. Now he's dead."

"Oh."

"In war it's easy, but outside of war you have to know before you act!"

"You always find out first, don't you Stephan."

Closing my eyes I swallowed, forcing calm into my voice before opening my eyes and answering. "Achilles, I've killed hundreds in war." I swallowed again, my lips dry. For once I wished I had some cud to chew. "And I've killed far too many who were innocent. I've killed boyhood friends. I've killed others who were only doing necessary things."

I lowered my head to look into his eyes. "Achilles, this is very IMPORTANT. When you're a man, you'll fight on the fields before fair Illium. You'll be the greatest hero there, even in the midst of a massive army. One day a group of centaurs will attack and you'll fight them. Your men will kill them. Finally...," my voice started shaking as I remembered standing over Philyanax's body with Achilles waiting to kill me. "Finally you'll face the leader of the centaurs, a creature that is half man and half horse. He'll be armoured all in bronze and standing over the fallen body of a horse. You'll fight and at the end you'll stick your sword into his crotch. He'll fall, dying, and then he'll tell ask you to tell him of Chiron, his son."

"But he can't be Chiron's father! You're his father!"

"Achilles. He is Chiron's father because he's me. You have to promise to believe him. You have to because he'll be telling the truth. He'll be confused, but he'll be telling the TRUTH. You have to remember this."

"I will Stephan."

"Swear to me. Swear!"

"I will Stephan, I will!"

"Thank you. Remember that if you don't, then you'll commit a grievous crime because as he is Chiron's father, he is, by guest right, your relative. Don't do the crimes I've done. Please."

"I won't Stephan."

"Thank you."

That night Chiron helped me patch the tree with special herbs and fungi.

----

Achilles left shortly after that and I spent a couple of quiet years with my son. He was admirable in almost every way. He almost never got angry, he was always patient. I learned healing from him, things I'd never even thought of. He also taught me natural history. Some of it disagreed with what I'd been taught in my human youth, but there was a surprising amount that didn't. Ocyrrhoe, meanwhile, had taken to spending more and more time with the wild horses. The entire time I did my best to keep Chiron away from the wild centaurs. I knew they wren't going to kill him without Heracles, but I saw no need to give accidents a chance to happen.

Finally the moment I'd feared for so long came.

Outside the cave a voice boomed out. "Chiron! You there?!"

I'd never understood Heracles before, but I recognized the voice. There was no way I'd ever forget it. Before Chiron could say a word he came stalking into the main chamber and hugged Chiron so hard I'd swear a couple of ribs cracked.

How to describe Heracles? His was a big man, almost three metres tall. His legs and arms were massive. His legs were almost half a metre in diameter, his arms close to that. His skin was tanned dark with sun and dirt. Even his face was massive, almost round, and full of expression and a childlike innocence. His eyes glistened beneath the cold eyes of the lionskin that covered his hair and back.

Finally, he let go of Chiron who could breathe again and turned to me. I'd been lying on a wool blanket but had stood when I heard his voice. In my hands was a cup of a herbal tea that Chiron brewed.

"And who is this?" he boomed out.

Chiron answered. "Heracles, I'd like you to meet my father. Stephan."

Heracles cocked his head and looked at me. That was when I saw that he did have a bow and a quiver of arrows with him. Later I found out that he'd left his club outside.

I knew what was on those arrows.

Then he was in front of me hugging me like he'd hugged Chiron. The carved wooden cup of tea fell from my hand and I felt my ribs creaking. "Then he's my friend too!" he boomed out. "I greet you Stephan, father of Chiron!"

Chiron burst in: "So what brings you to visit Heracles?"

Finally Heracles let go of me. "I was in the neighbourhood and thought you'd like to see your cousins."

"Oh?"

"And I've heard of the wine that Pholus has. I'd like to try it."

"Chiron! You can't go!" I screamed.

Chiron was the first to answer. "I don't see why not. I haven't seen them for years. Maybe they've learned a little."

Heracles turned and looked at me. "Don't worry little one, I'll protect you."

Ignoring Heracles I turned to Chiron. He had to understand! "Remember what Ocyrrhoe said. About the Hydra's venom!"

Chrion turned to look at me, his expression thoughtful. "Heracles, have you lost any arrows?"

He patted his quiver. "Every one is here."

"Well then," Chiron asked, "what's the danger?"

I tried another tact. "Heracles, leave your arrows here. You won't need them."

He laughed. "And not be able to protect you little one? I'd be remiss if I didn't have my arrows to save my best friend and his father."

For the first and only time Chiron missed the obvious. Why, I still don't know. The only thing I can think of is that he was fated to miss the obvious. "Then there's no danger. Sit down Stephan, relax. Heracles you too. Tell us all you've done! I've heard stories..."

Regretfully I sat down and picked up my cup. I asked for more tea and Chiron poured some more from a small pot over the fire, but my mind was spinning. I knew what was going to happen. I'd been there! And nothing I tried seemed to be able to stop it.

Plans spun through my head as Heracles told of his Twelve Tasks. Could I hide Heracles' arrows? No. In our short acquaintance he'd been guarding them like they were his newborne, and my concerns had only made him guard them more. Could I stop Chiron from going? How? I could subdue him, but there was no way I couldt subdue Heracles. Gradually I realized that the only hope I had was to keep an eye on them both, to make sure that the accident I'd seen didn't happen. I was even willing to take the arrow if that was what I had to do.

We stayed up late talking, Heracles was an amazing storyteller. And, with his booming voice, there was no way I could sleep. For the first time in ages I missed being a horse. At least a horse could pull its ears against its skulls and maybe dampen the noise a bit.

I didn't sleep well that night. It was late summer and the velvet around my antlers itched. Years ago Chiron had politely requested I not scrape them inside the cave and given the bloody mess they left I couldn't blame him. I was afraid to go outside and scrape them against a tree. Even though I knew that nothing was going to happen I couldn't make myself get up. It was like watching a disaster. I couldn't tear myself away.

How could I know what was going to happen and be powerless to stop it?!

I didn't sleep well that night.

Heracles awoke with the sun. His voice woke Chiron up and dragged me out of my fitful slumber. I followed them outside and then muttered something and bounded off to do much needed personal business. I should have done it in the night, but I couldn't let the two of them out of my sight. I thought about finding Ocyrrhoe, but she was off in the valley with the wild horses. Maybe I should have left to find her, but I thought then that the herd could be anywhere and that it'd take too long. Instead I decided to stick with Chiron and Heracles.

Pholus' cave wasn't far. Chiron and I had encountered some of the other centaurs on the slopes, but not for years. When we had we generally ignored each other. I knew that my past self was nearby, a mad child, but I decided not to seek myself out. I didn't know what would happen. Maybe I was hoping that if I didn't look, I could believe that my past self wasn't there. That my past self wouldn't cause Heracles to kill Chiron.

On our way Heracles shot and brought down a stag which he threw over his shoulder. Even with that delay, too soon we reached Pholus' cave.

"Pholus!" Heracles boomed out. "I've come to visit!"

It wasn't too long before Pholus came out. He was an elderly centaur, a light bay in colour. A scar crossed his face from cheek to forehead. One eye was only a puckered scar. "Chiron! I haven't talked to you in what, years?"

Chiron responded. "I've come to visit. Heracles here wanted to see you."

"Oh?"

Chiron shuffled a hoof. "He wants to try some of that wine of yours. You know the one."

Pholus crossed his arms. "No."

"What?!" boomed out Heracles. "Why not?! I've even brought meat for you." He threw the stag to the ground with a thud. My nostrils wrinkled at the stench that rose up from it. "What's wrong with a little wine to accompany it?"

"It's only for us centaurs."

"Pholus," Chiron calmly stated, "Heracles is one of my pupils. Possibly my best. A little bit won't hurt him."

I looked around nervously. I thought about entering the argument, but what was I going to say? Too many were fated to die this day. I didn't know how to stop it.

Pholus looked thoughtful for a moment. "There's not much left. I've been saving it for a special occasion."

Maybe I could use that! "Isn't the King of the Lapiths looking to get married?"

"Hey Chiron," Pholus motioned to me, "who's he? He certainly looks odd."

I snorted.

"He's my father."

"I thought Chronos was. You certainly never let some of us forget," Pholus stated.

"Trust me on this," Chiron responded. "Why not let Heracles here have a taste?"

"I won't drink it all!" Heracles burst out.

Pholus looked around. He sighed. "Only because you ask Chiron. Just a little. Come with me Heracles, it's in the cave."

"Thanks Pholus," Chiron responded.

In desperation I burst out, "Don't! It'll--"

"Stephan," Heracles boomed out, "like I said last night, I'll keep Chiron safe. You don't need to worry!"

A new scent filled the air and I saw Chiron stiffen. It was odd that it didn't affect me at all. I watched as Chiron raised a hoof and then slowly lowered it. My ears started moving all around as I heard hoofbeats approaching us from all directions. I spun around, seeking out the source of the sounds.

And then I saw myself.

I just stared, oblivious to everything else. I'd indeed been impressive, and the scars added a barbaric splendor. My human front legs were thick with muscle and covered with scar tissue. I took a step towards my past self as my past self took a step towards me.

And that was when all hell broke loose.

I heard screams from behind. Shouts, curses. The centaurs were fighting over the wine. Turning I saw Chiron moving away. Heracles, running from inside the cave, drew an arrow and fired it.

Chiron didn't flee, instead he turned. A kick from another centaur had knocked one to the ground bleeding, possibly with a broken leg. Chiron, never without his pouch of herbs, made his way over to the body.

I saw my past self galloping towards Heracles and watched as my past self wrapped his arms around Heracles and squeezed. Heracles burst out of his grip and I watched my past self stagger to the ground.

Knowing too much about Heracles and his rages. I spun around. Where'd Chiron gone? There! I bounded towards him, my owlskin flapping in the wind. I skidded to a stop beside him. Chiron was kneeling, tending another wounded centaur.

"Chiron! We have to get out of here!"

"Just a moment, he's hurt--"

I turned and saw Heracles throw a centaur through the air. He drew his arrow and I saw my past self heading towards him. I knew what was going to happen. I'd been there.

"NOOO!" I screamed as my past self impacted Heracles and Heracles fired.

And the fated arrow sped through the air and, after passing through one centaur, nicked Chiron in the leg.

==Chapter 70: Free Will==

Chiron screamed. A desperate haunting sound filled with pain and horror. I bounded over to him, stopped beside him. He’d already collapsed to his side. He looked up at me, pain stitching his face.

“My… cave… medicine…”

Even though I knew it’d be fruitless, I struggled to help him up but I didn’t have the strength. “HERACLES! CHIRON’S HURT!”

Behind me I heard roars and screams and neighs. And then Heracles was on the other side of Chiron from me and together we helped him to his hooves and feet. The other centaurs were fleeing, abandoning their dead. My future self was nowhere to be seen. I knew that he’d fled already.

Somehow Heracles and I got Chiron back to his cave. There Heracles stood helpless while I got every herb, every infusion, every powder that Chiron asked for. None of them helped. I don’t know how Chiron kept from screaming out. Sometime during the night Chiron collapsed into sleep and I staggered outside. I needed a drink, I needed to think. Tomorrow I’d have to find Ocyrrhoe. Tell her.

I heard heavy footsteps beside me and knew without turning that it was Heracles.

“It was one of my arrows, wasn’t it?” He said.

“Yes.”

He grabbed me by my shoulders and spun me around, holding me up only by his immense strength. “Why didn’t I listen to you?! WHY?!”

I looked down at the ground. “Because it was Zeus’ will. He blinded you and Chiron.”

“I’ll find a cure for him! As long as it takes!”

I knew that there was no cure. There never would be a cure. A release, but not a cure. I couldn’t tell Heracles that. “Let him rest. Help him tomorrow, I need to find his daughter, let her know what happened.” I sighed. “Maybe the powders aren’t strong enough. Maybe fresher ones will do it.”

“I’ll stay with him tomorrow.”

I slowly nodded and watched as he went back into the cave. I could hear Chiron moaning in his sleep.

Turning back around I stared up at the stars. I knew that I couldn’t sleep. Instead I slowly made my way towards a mountain stream.

What had gone wrong? I’d spent years making sure he never saw the other centaurs just in case. And when Heracles had finally come, I’d done everything I could to stop him, or to have the arrows left behind.

How could I know exactly what was going to happen and be powerless to stop it?

Could I have done more? Could I have physically restrained them? Stolen Heracles’ arrows? I knew I couldn’t, but I didn’t believe myself. Part of me still doesn’t.

By then I’d reached the pool and I looked down and sighed before drinking. The night was quiet. I was tired, exhausted. But I knew sleep wouldn’t come. Leaning down I drank for a long time. By the end my muzzle was just in the water without drinking. Finally I stood upright, water dripping from my lips. Again for a while I just stood there, my forehooves still in the water. Why did this have to happen? How could this have happened? I’d known what was going to happen! EXACTLY what was going to happen!

Oh God but I wished I could cry!

Some time later I stepped away from the pool. My owlskin was still wrapped around me, it was always wrapped around me. It never got dirty, it never got worn. I couldn’t part with it for more than a day, it was too much a part of me. I’d added a tie to it years ago so that it always hung around my neck, the head hanging behind me like a jacket’s hood. Wrapping it around myself I let the magic take me, swirling around, compressing me into an owl. Then I took silent wing and started searching the valleys for Ocyrrhoe.

By dawn I hadn’t found her so I slept. At nightfall I took wing again. I drank only what I needed, never stopping to eat. Still, it took me two days to find her. She was with a small herd in a small valley. Most were resting, so was she. I landed amidst a few soft knickers and greetings. Even as an owl they knew me. Oblivious to the pain I tore at my wing until I drew blood and then just stood there as the magic swirled around me, into me. I grew upward, outward. When it was over, ignoring the rumbling of my stomach, I stepped over to Ocyrrhoe’s sleeping form.

She looked so peaceful.

“Ocyrrhoe. Wake up.”

Her ears flickered and her tail brushed her back. An eye flicked open and she leapt to her feet before me. ''Stephan?''

“You need to come back home. Chiron needs you. He’s…” I couldn’t say it.

''He’s dying.''

“Yes.”

''But he can’t die.''

“You heard the words you said. You know that he will. But not right away. You need to get to him quickly before the pain drives him mad. Go, I’ll follow. Don’t worry about me keeping up.”

Without a word she headed off at a gallop.

I didn’t want to go, she and Chiron deserved some time alone, but I would be needed to translate. I bounded after her, following her up the mountainside. She only stopped once to drink, galloping or cantering the whole way. I had trouble keeping up. It wasn’t until the middle of the next morning that we reached the cave and were greated by screams and moans of pain that echoed from the entrance.

“Let me go first. Heracles is in there and he might react badly if you came in unannounced.”

''Hurry Stephan.''

Ducking my head I hurried in.

The cave was dark, it took a minute for my eyes to adjust. The only light came from behind me. The place was a shambles. Chiron was on the floor, covered in sweat. Furniture was wrecked, cooking implements scattered.

A shape moved and I recognized Heracles. “Thank Zeus it’s you! Nothing works!”

“I know.”

“He… I told him you’d come back. He mixed up something, told me only to give it to him when you came back. He said it was too strong to take continuously.”

“I think I know what it is. Get it, it’ll make him lucid for a while. His daughter’s with me, you know that Zeus transformed her into a horse?”

Heracles fumbled around the ceramic bottles. One got knocked off the shelf and shattered when it hit the floor. “No… Chiron called for her… he said something but I couldn’t make it out.”

“Ocyrrhoe! You can come in now!”

Behind me I heard hooves on stone and I just stood there as she pushed past me. She stopped in front of me. She stared. Her body language was stiff.

''Father''? she nickered.

“Let Heracles feed him some medicine. It’ll make him lucid.” I watched as Heracles held Chiron’s head to keep it still and forced the medicine down his throat.

Chiron coughed, gagged, but Heracles didn’t let go. He stood up as Chiron screamed. Chiron’s entire body shook and Ocyrrhoe stepped backwards. He voided himself but then his breathing slowed. He didn’t get up but just looked around.

“Ocyrrhoe?”

She hurried over and stopped beside him, almost falling onto her chest so that she could rub her head against his mane. ''Father, father, what happened?''

I started translating and listened to what Chiron said. He had to know what happened, but he never blamed Heracles. Never even mentioned the source of the arrow. We all knew, but it was a sign of Chiron’s kindness that he never put any blame on Heracles.

Late in the day Ocyrrhoe suddenly turned and fled. She couldn’t stand to see what was happening to her father. I couldn’t stand what was happening to my son, but I couldn’t leave him. I remembered what Achilles had told me, repeating what Heracles would tell him.

That night I gorged on grain. I knew I needed food to function. I even forced Heracles to eat. Chiron wouldn’t take anything, not food, not water. He was hot, almost too hot to touch. When Chiron was once again unconscious I questioned Heracles and figured out what Chiron had likely had made. It was indeed strong. After lighting a candle I spent most of the night making as much of it as I could. Then I slept.

Time after that was a blur. I know I fed Chiron some of the painkiller and he drove himself to search out remedies he’d only heard of. Somehow he got used to the pain, became lucid sometimes on his own. Heracles and I went with him, helping him, usually Heracles ended up carrying him. Through the winter we traveled to hidden valleys, quiet mountain streams, forgotten stands of forest. Often we’d have to stop for days and wait for Chiron to become strong enough to tell us what to do. I kept the painkiller handy, but Chiron usually refused it. It was too strong, and it was addictive. In sustained doses it would rapidly destroy the body. As though the poison wasn’t doing that already.

I don’t know how Chiron kept going. Within a few weeks he was only skin and bones. He had no strength and needed Heracles and I to move him. He could keep nothing down and only his immortality kept him alive.

Occasionally I saw Ocyrrhoe in the distance. She was always alone, never too close and never too far. A couple of times I tried to catch her but she fled.

Summer passed into fall and then winter. My antlers fell off again. We proceeded further north into wild mountains. The land was rugged, often more stone than dirt. Once we were forced to shelter in a cave for a month due to a snowstorm. Heracles ate well but I couldn’t eat meat and eventually had to become an owl and eat scraps. Heracles didn’t say a word. Given his parentage I wasn’t surprised.

It was late spring when I heard a distant scream of pain that echoed through the valleys and off the cliffs. I knew who it was.

With Heracles’ help I fed Chiron half of the remaining potion and waited for the light of wisdom to return to his eyes. Slowly it did, slower than it had before. He needed a stronger dose but I couldn’t afford to give it to him. It would cause too much other damage.

“Father?” he whispered. This was the first time he’d called me father since he’d first accepted it.

“There’s an out. A way to end the pain.”

His hands grasped me, his touch light as a feather. “There is… no… no... way…”

That was when the inhuman scream echoed down as it did every morning.

“Chiron. You can give up your immortality. You can die. It’s the only way.”

“No… no…”

I wanted to grab him to make him listen, but I was afraid he’d break. “Have you heard of Prometheus?”

“Prometh… etheus?”

“He stole fire from Zeus to give to humankind. Because of that Zeus chained him to a cliff. Everyday an eagle rips out his liver and consumes it. Zeus stated that Prometheus would only be freed if an immortal gave him his immortality.”

“No… no…” Then he lapsed into unconsciousness.

I didn’t know what to do. I knew what would happen, both from the myth, and from what Achilles had told me. Maybe Chiron just needed some time to think about it. As though he could think through his fever.

“Heracles, watch him. If he awakes talk some sense into him. There’s no other way. I’m going to talk to Prometheus. Maybe he has some ideas.”

“I’ll beat them out of him!”

“You have to stay with Chiron. You have to protect him.”

“Yes, you’re right.”

Clambering to my feet I stepped away and then stopped. “If I’m not back in three days, take Chiron towards the sound. Towards Prometheus. When you’re there feed him the rest of the potion.” Then I bounded off.

I moved around splashes of fallen and shattered rock, over deep cracks in the rock of the mountain. Each time the moans and sobs got louder. I followed them through a deep crack in the side of a sheer cliff. Turning a corner I saw a huge drop of blood splatter on the rock in front of me. Rock which I realized was stained red and brown. Stopping I looked up.

There was Prometheus. He was massive, at least 20 metres high. Huge chains of glistening metal pierced his wrists and ankles to the rock, and a huge eagle had its claws dug into his waist as it tore into his flesh to get at the liver.

His head moved and he looked down. “Stephan!” he boomed out. “I’ve been waiting for you. Both you and Chiron.”

Did all the immortals know me? “You know that Chiron is dying?”

“I’ve always…” he winced as the eagle shoved its beak into his chest, “…known.”

I looked up at him. His face was proud, noble, even when wracked by pain. His hair was golden, falling down his back almost to the ground. Otherwise he was naked.

Another drop of blood followed by a huge hunk of flesh fell to the ground nearby. I wrinkled my nostrils from the stench.

“Prometheus, why?”

“Why? Why the eagle? You know why.”

“Why couldn’t I save him?”

“Ah! The free will question.”

I moved out of the way of another chunk of flesh.

“Yes, I know what happened to you. We immortals know all. We know everything. We know all that’s knowable.”

“You’re avoiding the question.”

“No Steph-- AHHHHHHHHHHHH!” At that point the eagle ripped out the liver, or most of it. Blood gushed out and Prometheus’ body writhed. Slowly it passed. “No, I’m not. We immortals know everything. We know everything that’ll happen. We know every decision that’ll be made. All of our life is an eternal chain that our consciousness can fly along, alighting at any point at will. From our beginning when we shucked our mortal coils we knew everything that would happen.”

“Then there is no free will.”

“I didn’t say that! There is, but we know what choices will be made.”

“I don’t--"

“Let me try to explain. You knew what was going to happen to Chiron when Heracles came. You made a decision to try and save him. You asked him not to go. You asked Heracles to leave the arrows behind. All that, even though you knew what would happen. That was free will. You choose your actions. Even though the end result was known, you choose what you would do. Free will.”

“Fine! If I have this free will then WHY COULDN’T I SAVE HIM?!”

“Why Stephan? You couldn’t because you didn’t. When you fought Achilles, you knew he’d beat you. And yet you still fought, why?”

How’d he know…? “I fought because I had to. I fought because I had hope.”

“You didn’t have hope. You knew that Achilles would be victorious. So, knowing that, why did you choose to fight him?”

“I--"

“You choose even knowing the result. You exerted free will even though you knew it wouldn’t make any difference.”

The eagle clambered into the wound and pecked around inside looking for the last bits. Prometheus screamed again and I waited until the eagle, now drenched in blood, clambered back out. It gulped down a big hunk of liver.

“We all have free will. We make choices, and through those choices prove we have free will.”

“That doesn’t make any sense! Everything is fated! How can there be free will?!”

“Stephan, you make choices. That’s free will. You’ll learn.”

The eagle clambered back into Prometheus’ body and blood and flesh dribbled out, splashing on the rock. Again Prometheus moaned. Finally the bird made its way out.

“Please bring Chiron Stephan. Please bring him.”

“If you know your whole life, and can experience whatever bits of it you want, then why are you experiencing this?”

“I HAVE TO AT LEAST ONCE!”

I turned and left, wincing as Prometheus screamed out behind me.

I made it back to Chiron by nightfall. He wasn’t any better. I told Heracles to go and hunt some food while I made a fire. I assured him that I’d keep an eye on Chiron. The next day wasn’t any better. Heracles stood up and looked towards the screams.

“If you go know you’ll only deprive Chiron of dying. Go with Chiron when he’s ready. Help Chiron give his immortality to Prometheus. Then you can kill the eagle and set Prometheus free. After 30,000 years a day won’t hurt.”

“This isn’t right!”

“Heracles, I wish it wasn’t this way. But it is! It’s fate! It’s the way things work. I hate it as much as you do.”

He ended up going anyway. I don’t know what happened. I just know that he didn’t kill the eagle or free Prometheus that day. Or, if he tried, he was unable to.

At dawn the next day I knew it was safe to feed Chiron the last of the potion and with Heracles’ help did. It wasn’t until midday that the light of sanity shone in my son’s eyes.

“Heracles, help me get him up.” Wordlessly Heracles did. I continued, “Son, we’re taking you to Prometheus. He’s waited for 30,000 years for you. Give him your life, let yourself die. You can’t go on like this!”

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Ocyrrhoe but couldn’t let go of Chiron to fetch her.

Chiron moved his lips but I couldn’t hear what he was saying. Even pressing one of my ears against his mouth was to no avail.

It took Heracles and I most of the day to carry Chiron to where Prometheus was chained. Occasionally I heard hoofs in the distance and I hoped that it was Ocyrrhoe. The eagle was gulping down a big hunk of liver when we rounded the bend.

“Chiron! You’ve come at last!” Prometheus boomed out.

I watched Chiron’s lips move, but couldn’t hear a sound.

“It’s the only way!” Prometheus called out. “It’s Zeus’ will. You can end both our pain. Please… Heal me…”

Chiron’s lips moved again, and he stretched an arm out towards Prometheus.

“Bring him! He must touch me!”

Since I knew that the gift had to be freely offered, I wasn’t worried. “Heracles, help me bring Chiron to the cliff. They need to touch.”

“Are you sure?”

“It is the will of Prometheus, of the Gods, and of Chiron.”

He nodded.

We carried Chiron to the edge of the cliff and I raised his arm to touch the titan’s foot. Hoofbeats echoed through the chasm and I saw Ocyrrhoe galloping towards us just as Chiron and Prometheus touched.

I felt my son’s body shudder, and then it collapsed. It fell apart and onto the ground, a pile of skin and bone without muscle or tendon or organ.

Behind me Heracles drew his bow.

I fell to my deer chest as Ocyrrhoe clattered to a stop. I picked up Chiron’s skull only to feel the flesh melting off it.

Behind me I heard the echoing boom of a massive body hitting the ground as Heracles killed the eagle with a single arrow through its heart.

==Chapter 71: Ending the Cycle==

That night Heracles and I built a pyre whilst Ocyrrhoe watched. Prometheus lit it with a touch and we all watched in silence as it burned. In the morning Prometheus helped us entomb the ashes, and then was gone. The three of us made our way back south.

We didn't talk much. There wasn't much to talk about. Heracles was full of self-guilt. You'd think he'd be used to it by now. Ocyrrhoe wasn't much better. She was full of guilt for not being with Chiron. Her eyes were dark, cold. She didn't care about anything anymore. I wasn't much better. I'd known what was going to happen. I'd done everything I could, or so I repeated over and over. Still my son had died.

After about a week of quiet travel we reached near the source of a river which Heracles recognized as the Axios River. It flowed southeast through Macedon and into the Aegean Sea. Heracles told us that he'd been away from other things too long and was going to go south, and we were welcome to go with him. Ocyrrhoe refused after I did. I just wanted to end the cycle. I needed to get to fair Illium and not by sea. And there I'd kill Poseidon and end this madness. The Axios was going in the right direction.

After Heracles had left I turned to Ocyrrhoe. "Why'd you stay?"

''I don't know,'' she nickered.

"You could go and see your sister, tell her what happened."

''Endeis?'' She snorted. ''Ever since she got married she's refused to associate with the likes of beasts. She let her mother convince her of that. At least I was wise enough not to listen.''

"Doesn't your mother deserve to know?"

''Khariklo?! She's running around somewhere doing nymph things. I never understood what father saw in her anyway''.

"Maybe he was just lonely."

''Maybe''. She kicked the ground with a hoof. ''Stephan, is it wrong not to want to think anymore?''

"What?"

''I've known so much pain. I'm tried of it. I just want to forget. Please Stephan, please make me forget.''

I stared at her.

''You're the creator of my race, the first mother. You can do it. You can take away my intelligence, my memories. You can take it all!''

That night I refused. She followed. Almost continuously she asked me, begged me. For a week this continued. She was relentless.

One day I'd had enough. "Ocyrrhoe! Stop!"

''Stephan! I don't want to remember!''

"Shut up! I'll... I'll do it. It's wrong, but if you're sure it's what you want."

''YES!'' she screamed.

"I don't know if I can."

''I trust you.''

Like so many others had. "Fine. Fine!"

''Please do it now. Please.''

"You're sure?"

''Yes! Haven't I asked you enough?!''

I looked at her, looked at the fire in here eyes. I'd only seen that fire before Zeus had transformed her. Could I leave her with that? I sighed. "I'll try."

''What do I do?''

"Lie down in front of me." She did, and I lay down facing her. "Close your eyes." She did. "Don't move." Swallowing I reached out with my hands and placed them on either side of her head, below her eyes. I closed mine. How the hell was I going to do this? I wanted the memories, not the personality, not the fire. Maybe... I searched through my mind and recalled what it was like to fight the other spirits. What it was like to take their experiences.

And then I felt them coming from her into me. Her birth, her distant mother and sister, her father, my father, through our youth. The shock of the change, the pain, the anguish, the terror that I hadn't done the right thing! The shame as I fled, the horrible, horrible enduring shame. My grandfather had been so strong. He'd done what was right. Oh Zeus, I'd failed him, I'd failed my father, my grandfather. How could I?

And then the flow stopped.

I opened my eyes and saw her head, eyes closed, quietly waiting. Had it worked? "Open your eyes."

They flickered open and became full of fire, full of life. ''Thank you Stephan! Thank you!''

"Do you remember anything? Your name?"

''My name? Why would I have a name? Are you going to give me one?''

I thought about naming her back to Ocyrrhoe and then decided not to. She had what she wanted. She'd regained her fire. That name would only cause problems.

I jumped up to my hooves and she followed me. She began running around, exploring the world as though it was a new place.

"Go child! Go and live your life!"

''Thank you Stephan! Thank you!''

She leapt into the air, kicking out for the joy of it, and then she landed.

I couldn't help but smile at her antics. At least somebody was happy. I watched her race off.

She had freedom. I had nothing.

After a while I turned away and continued towards my fate.

----

I avoided people and traveled slowly. It wasn't difficult, and somewhat relaxing. There wasn't much to eat until I got out of the mountains and into the Sea of Grass. I was never completely happy there, the lack of cover made me nervous. I forced that down. Traveling slowly, I stayed near the sea. When I saw Scythians I fled. A year passed. My antlers grew and fell off and began growing again. One day I was walking along edge of the sea and noticed a glinting in the water. Curious I walked closer, waves splashing my lower legs.

As I was half expecting it was the sword of my Scythian father. I picked it up and looked around. Was this where I'd slain Ephebus? It didn't look familiar, but there the sword was. I thought about throwing it back. Then I stopped myself.

That night for the first time in over a year I made fire, gathering dried dung from near a freshwater pool I'd chosen to stop at. I still had a leather pouch of supplies from when I'd left Chiron's cave and soon a fire was burning. I still had the Cretan knife that Spider Woman had given me. In a new scabbard of course.

Lying close to the fire, I enjoyed the unaccustomed warmth whilst I examined the sword. It was pitted, worn, but the beauty of it could still be seen. I just needed some tools to clean it and it'd be as good as new. How long had it lain in the Black Sea?

"It's been waiting for you Stephan. Your family found it long ago and passed it from father to son until it came to you."

Leaping to my hooves I spun around. There was a man walking towards the fire, dressed in the rough wool of a builder, but with glowing golden hair and eyes. I cold smell clay dust on him. "Apollo?"

A bundle appeared in his hand and he tossed it to me. Catching it, I realized that it contained polishing cloth and various files. Then I saw a plain leather scabbard flying through the air towards me and I almost caught it as it thudded into the ground. It wasn't fancy, but instead looked very old and very plain.

"I don't think you need the polished ostensity I gave you last time." With that a log appeared along with a skinned pig roasting over the fire. It turned by itself.

Spreading the tools out on the ground, I pulled out a rough file and began cleaning and sharpening my father's blade. No, it was my blade. "I wouldn't speak too much of ostensity if I were you Apollo."

He laughed. "I've worked long and hard for King Laodemon. I deserve a little relaxation."

I frowned. "How goes the work?"

"Don't worry Stephan. We'll still be there when you arrive."

I sighed and put down my sword and the file. "Apollo, why are you here?"

"Why? Just thought I'd say hello. Give you a couple of things you needed. I like the new look. Artemis might not though."

"Probably not," I responded dryly.

"Stephan, I'm glad your burning anger is gone. Its absence makes you a much nicer person."

I turned away from him and looked into the dancing flames. Grease was starting to drip into them and sizzle. "As though you didn't know."

"Stephan, I know you're bitter--"

"Bitter? BITTER?! By the fact that nothing I do has any meaning? That everything I've done has been known, planned for, and taken advantage of?! No! Not at all!"

Apollo sighed and then remained silent for a while before answering. "Most of your anger is gone. Stephan, that is not and never has been true."

"Then how come you, all of you, know! You know what I'm going to do, you've helped me do it. And knowing you Olympians you're betting on it!"

"Stephan! Shut up for a second and listen!"

I turned my head to face him. I wasn't sure if I wanted him to slay me or not.

"You knew that Chiron, your son, was going to die. You'd already been there when the arrow hit him. Correct?"

"Yes," I snapped.

"Did that knowledge affect the choices you made?"

"Of course it did!"

"Did that knowledge only allow you to choose one single path?"

"It...!" Had it? Once I saw my son I knew that I was going to stay with him. I knew that I was going to try and save him. And, I knew that I'd fail. "I could have chosen differently. I, I guess I could have left him. But there was no way that I would have! So yes!"

"Did it Stephan? Did it really? You choose to stay with your son."

"Of course I did!"

"Was staying with your son the only choice it was physically possible for you to make?"

"It..." I'd sworn to always be honest with myself. Had it been the only possible choice? I could have left, it was an option. Not one I would ever have chosen. "I guess other choices were possible."

"Stephan, before you came back to see your son, did you make your decisions at random, or did you make them as a best guess solution using all the facts you knew to achieve your desired aim?"

I looked at him and slowly worked through the meaning of that statement. He sounded like one of my teachers in psychology! But I'd never had a teacher in psychology! One of the memories I'd taken as a spirit remembered having one. Regardless, the conclusion was true. "Yes, I did. Anybody does, if they're sane anyway. Nobody does anything without a reason."

"Did you have free will before Coyote sent you back?"

"Of course--" Had I? Had I had any free will after I received the prophecy. Did I have free will before I received the prophecy? Or did the future existence of the prophecy lock my entire life into a fixed course? "I... I don't know."

"You've worked it out, haven't you? You're wondering if your entire life has been a programmed event because at one point you received a prophecy."

Mutely I nodded.

"The real question to ask is this: If time travel is possible, and you must know that it is, then is time immutable? And if time is immutable, than does anybody have what you used to consider free will?"

Was my life a lie? Was everybody's life a lie? Was it all a story created by some supreme being for amusement?

"Stephan, we all make decisions based on what we know. Foreknowledge can affect those decisions. Those decisions we make are made for good reasons. For logical reasons. We CHOOSE to make those decisions of our own free will. The fact that the result of that decision is already known, has always been known, does not change the fact that the choice was made of our own free will. Of your own free will."

I just looked at him.

"Remember that Stephan. Never forget it. It'll keep you sane. It keeps me sane. And now," the pig stopped turning, "supper is ready."

I snorted. "Just like a god. Food for him, nothing for anybody else."

"Stephan?"

"I can't eat meat--"

Apollo rolled his eyes. "Stephan, you COULDN'T eat meat. When Coyote sent you here, he modified you. You're an omnivore. Are you telling me that you've never-- Of course, why would you have?"

And of course Coyote had never told me! That's why when I was an owl I didn't mind mice as much. I could hear him in my mind whispering ''Gotcha''. And even if Apollo was lying I have to lose? If I couldn't eat it then Apollo was probably the best person to have nearby. Drawing my knife I made to cut off a slab and...

Apollo handed me a bronze fork.

Snorting in annoyance I stuck the fork in and cut off a slice. I held the slice to my mouth, my nostrils quivering at the scent. It wasn't bad. I blew on it for a bit and then carefully took a bite. Teeth I never knew I had dug in and chewed it up and it went down well. It tasted odd, far far too greasy, but it didn't taste bad.

"There you go. Enjoy." Apollo was eating a slice of his own.

We didn't talk much, just ate, and by the time the moon rose all that was left was bones and scraps of flesh. Getting up I walked over to the pool and took a long drink. When I finished I turned back to Apollo who had an open skin of wine in his hand.

"Apollo? Did I do the right thing? For Ocyrrhoe?"

He turned away and looked at the rising moon. "Did you? Is she happier now?"

"She was when I last saw her."

"Then you did the right thing."

I closed my eyes remembering. Then I opened them and asked, "But why does it seem so wrong?"

"Stephan, do the Skinwalkers seem wrong to you? Of course they do. Ocyrrhoe made her choice, for her own reasons. We may not agree with them. But we have to respect them. She's happy now, what more can anybody ask?"

"I don't know."

There wasn't much conversation after that. I worked on the sword a bit while Apollo watched the stars and drank. Then, yawning, I went to bed. When I awoke, Apollo was gone. But in his place was a mare.

Blinking the sleep out of my eyes I stared at her. I recognized her. "Anarcharax?"

''Stephan? That you? No look, but smell.''

Before I realized it my arms were around her neck and tearless sobs wracked my body. "I'm sorry. So so sorry..."

''Why?''

"I left you! I let you die alone!"

''Not dead.''

"No, Of course not." Slowly I unwrapped my arms from around her and stepped back.

She was old. Very very old. Her hide was flecked with white. But she was healthy, there were no wounds.

And then I remembered the cairn I'd found on the way to fair Illium. A centaur, Phillipa had said, had buried a horse there. Why? Because he'd wronged the horse.

Anarcharax had come to spend her last days with me before death.

"Anarcharax, why are you here? Where have you been?"

''Apollo cared me. Sent me. I asked.''

"It was your choice?"

''My choice! You my mother! I stay!''

I snorted in laughter. At least her personality was still there. "Come along then, we have a long way to go."

''I won't leave. You won't leave.''

"No Anarcharax, I won't leave you. I wouldn't dare."

----

We travelled slowly. I let Anarcharax set the pace. I never rushed her. Apollo would have known she would be with me, and he'd told me I would arrive in time. I knew that it had to happen. Just like I knew that I would slay Poseidon. That I would become him. And then I would slay my past self. Each night I worked on the sword a bit. Filing, cleaning, polishing. I gave it back its warm glow.

We rounded the Black Sea in mid summer and approached the Bosporus by fall. My antlers were full grown by then. Anarcharax grew weaker. I skirted a village which I knew was Phillipa's. Stopping, I looked at it from a distance. Achilles would be nearly twenty now. How old was he at fair Illium? Was Phillipa there right now, a child not knowing the horrors that awaited?

The next day when I woke up Anarcharax didn't. She'd died when she was asleep, a quiet peaceful death. Slowly I gathered wood for a fire. I burned her. Somebody must have seen the smoke and come up to see what was going on. They were nervous, after all they'd never seen anybody like me before. I just kept staring at the fire.

"Are you man, beast, or god?" one asked.

What was I? I was doomed. But, he deserved an answer. Was I a god? Could a god make all the mistakes I had? "I'm a centaur."

The other said, "But I thought centaurs were like men and horses."

"Not all of us."

They watched for a while. Finally the second asked, "What are you doing?"

"I'm sending a friend on her way," I motioned to Anarcharax who's form could still be made out through the fire. "I wronged her years ago and she deserves no less."

The first stated, "But she's a horse."

"I know."

After that they watched for a while and then left. They were probably thinking that all centaurs were a little bit out of their mind. I didn't care. The fire burned down to smoldering coals and I went to sleep.

In the morning I buried the ashes and bones with rocks, the biggest I could lift. She deserved to rest. As that took most of the day I again slept there that night. In the morning I turned to fair Illium. It was time to end the cycle.

It was two days before I reached the ridge overlooking the plains. So much blood would be spilled here but now it was quiet. In the distance I looked at fair Illium and its walls. All was done except for a short section still surrounded by wooden scaffolding. For a while I watched.

For rebelling against him, Zeus had sentenced Apollo and Poseidon to serve King Laodemon of Troy. King Laodemon ordered the two gods, not knowing they were gods, to build walls for his city. They'd brought King Aeacus to help because a prophecy had stated that if the walls of fair Illium were built only by gods, they would never fall. Gods don't like things like that. Ultimately King Laodemon would refuse to pay the gods which is why Poseidon and Apollo were on the side of the Acheans. Apollo later switched when Achilles desecrated one of his temples.

In the late afternoon I turned away and walked down and drank from a stream and waited. The sun set and the workers retired to their tents outside the city. I waited until the moon was high in the sky, patient, knowing what I was going to do. That was when Apollo appeared beside me. I wasn't even surprised.

"Hold on," he said. "I'll take you to Poseidon's tent. Our work on the walls is done, now it's up to King Aeacus to finish them."

I held his hands tightly and closed my eyes. Wind howled past me, my hooves hung in the air. And then I was on land.

"You can look now. He's in that tent." Apollo pointed at the tent right in front of me and then walked away, his hands slipping out of my grasp.

I looked at the tent. Do I want to do this? Do I have any choice? Is this free will? Maybe I'd know when the deed was done.

I carefully untied the knots holding the flap closed and pulled it open. Drawing my sword, I ducked my head and slowly walked in and then pulled the flap closed behind me. I waited for my eyes to adjust to what little light there was. Soon I could make out that there was one person in the tent. He was asleep on a pile of mats. Was it Poseidon? Of course it was, why else was I here? There was no way to be sure until I did the deed. I silently moved until I was standing over him, my head and upper body low to keep my antlers from scraping the roof.

Carefully I chose a place away from any major organs in his chest. Then, in one swift action, I shoved my sword through the man's left kidney. Hopefully my Scythian father was resting easier now. Then I let myself fall upon Poseidon, holding him tight against me, making sure the sword moved with every breath I took.

Screaming he awoke. He saw me and panic filled his eyes, his cries choked to silence. A warm darkness oozed down his side and soaked into my fur.

"Poseidon, if you try to leave, I'll go with you. There is only one way to stop this pain. You know it and you know what you'll do. We're touching. I'm ready. Give me your immortality, your power, and I'll heal you."

He glared at me with hatred and terror.

"Resist and the pain continues. And will continue for as long as it takes. You know what's going to happen."

And then his mind, his immortality, his power, poured into me.

==Chapter 72: Changing the World==

It was a flood, a tidal wave, a deluge. Infinitely more vast than the infinitesimal trickles of power I'd received when I killed a Skinwalker. It was too much! I struggled with my will, pressed against it, somehow managed to force it back. I sealed the dam and only let a little through.

And still it was too much.

I knew everything then.

People were coming because of Poseidon's scream. My body flowed and looked like he had. I'd made a promise. An instant of will and Poseidon, now mortal, was healed. Then I hid him away in a cave, sealed it, and locked him into stasis until I was ready to give him his power back.

A part of me told the guards who'd come that it was only a bad dream. They went away. But most of me was finally realizing what had happened. What this place was. And what I was to do.

Humanity had evolved. It had learned more, and enhanced its abilities more and more. The rate of change had been an accelerating curve with no end in sight. One day on Ceres, an experiment broke into another reality, different from ours. It was examined, quantified, and studied. This reality had no sentience, but was instead a medium that could hold sentience, infinite sentience. And it overlapped our reality everywhere.

Over a week this was revealed to all the enhanced neural gestalts. Each gestalt a group of humans, AIs, and enhanced animals that had bonded together so that the members were no longer individuals, but were a single greater being. This new reality offered infinite intelligence and knowledge. It offered a new frontier when the ability of computing neural power to increase in density was reaching the physical limits of this reality. A vote was taken and the world net was plugged into the neural reality. The gestalts expanded into it, grew as they needed to grow. Each taking parts of the other. Things that had never been understood before suddenly made sense, and that knowledge led to new things. New things allows new senses, new explorations, and yet new things.

In an eyeblink the process accelerated to infinity.

And each gestalt was suddenly one, and that one knew everything about everything.

Time and space became meaningless. Existence became eternal, extending from the beginning of time to the end of time. Each gestalt entity had always existed, had always been present. That instant was just the moment of creation that exploded in both directions to either end of time.

The surviving intellects knew everything. There was no more to discover. Absolutely nothing.

Some went mad, but they really couldn't. Some created new realities out of the neural reality. Virtual realms that they setup as clockwork puzzles and then abandoned. Some broke through into other planets in our space/time and created entire civilizations and watched them grow. Even though they knew exactly what would happen in every instant, they still did it because they had done it.

On earth a few tried to flee, to hide from the possibilities. They found a place beneath Santarini that had a rare realspace/neuralspace overlap. In that place they could exist in both states, and take only what they wanted. They knew they would move into that place because they moved into that place. At the instant of discovery it had seemed the right thing to do, even though they knew exactly what would happen afterward. In earlier times, before the time of infinite human growth, one member of each mythic culture happened to be the first to enter the place of realspace/neuralspace overlap, and a space/time reality spun out within the cavern and became what they remembered as it spread in both directions through time.

I was the one who spun out the mythological world of Greece.

The evolved intellects took that moment of inspiration, that moment of innocent creation, and spread it back and fourth through all time. Even though each mythic space/time had a specific instant of creation, once that instant occurred, the mythic space/time existed throughout time.

And as these mythic space times had a link to the neural reality, complex sentiences, in other words people, could exist as organized entities outside of physical bodies. As sentient potentialities entirely within the neural reality. That was where I'd gone when I'd died.

One of the things I learned was that the existence of complex neural activities, or in other words a sentient mind, created a miniscule overlap naturally between our reality and the neural reality. A kind of symbiosis. And this link acted as a conduit for dreams, for visions, and for imagination.

I'd been the inciting incident for the Greek mythic space/time. From me had all the legends come into initial creation, and been remembered and first recorded by the Greeks.

That was where I refused to go any further.

I could have joined the minds that humanity and its companions had grown into. But I refused. I didn't want to know everything. I'd been there, and I'd hated it. I kept up a wall and did what had to be done.

Beyond this placed of warped and twisted realities, the original earth had lain fallow. Quiet and abandoned. Low level machines had tended the buildings, the mechanisms. But all sentience had gone elsewhere.

The earth was empty and awaiting rebirth.

For reasons I couldn't understand, complex agreements had been made between the intellects that inhabited and created the twisted mythic space/times within this cavern. They had all agreed to not change things, to not 'rock the boat' because such risked destroying the dimensional overlap that allowed the mythic space/times to exist. They had all agreed that each would have limitations on what they could do within the mythic space/time. Even though each could have infinite power, they had agreed not to.

Poseidon, as in the myths, had power over the sea, and power over the land. He was the god of the oceans, and the bringer of earthquakes.

This place was a trap. The myths went through the cycle and ended. The cycle stretched through time, always existing, but only actually occurring once. The reason I could move outside the forward flow of time was that time was different with different mythic space/times.

Only one thing could happen. A play. An imagination taken from, and creating, the earliest stories and legends of humankind. But that is all that would, that could ever occur. Achilles could never not die at Troy. He could never refuse to go. Odysseus could never not wander for ten years.

The world needed to be changed and I had to do it, as I was the one who was outside the agreements made when the potentials for this place came into existence.

I was the Chronos who had created the world, and now I was the Chronos who would break it and create a new one.

I would shatter the cavern, allow the mythic space/times to explode outward across the surface of the earth. The myths would continue, as they had, as they are, and as they would. But there would be a possibility of moving away from them. Of leaving the mythic space/time. As there had always been, as there was, and as there would be. The twisted vortices of mythic space/time caused all instants in the mythic cycle to exist at all times. It was a twisted overlap that I could understand, but to understand I would have to accept the full power, the full knowledge, and the full curse, of those who had been the last generations of humanity.

The years passed as I dreamed, as I fought for the knowledge I needed, and struggled to keep the knowledge I feared from sneaking over with it. I put my father's sword where Gryneos would find it. I decided how I would save the centaurs when I transported them beyond this mythic space/time. I moved to the time just before I killed my future self and did the deed. Did everything I remembered doing and watched my spirit flee towards the Dineh mythic space/time. Listened to the eulogy written for me. And then I gave each centaur a choice. They could stay, live their lives, or they could come with me to a new world. The world would change them in some ways, but they would be free of humanity. They would have wives, they could have children. I made the same offer to some humans, including Phillipa. I made this offer to all the centaurs, not just the ones I'd led to fair Illium.

And when those whom I'd known had agreed had, those whom I'd known would refuse had, I stretched out the power I'd horded, the little bits I'd accepted whilst refusing the limitless flood.

The world shook, rocks shattered, the mantle heaved. The roof and walls of the cavern collapsed, falling outwards into rubble as the rock beneath lifted upward on a fountain of magma, rose above the surface. The floor cracked, broke apart, and exploded outward pressed by immense pressures. The mythic space/times swept away to various places upon the globe, linked by twisted strands of their unique space/time back to the place of interface.

I took those who agreed and remolded them. I made the humans into centaurs. And then I changed everybody in the same way. Fur sprouted out over their human bodies to match their horse bodies. Their faces stretched out a bit, not into a muzzle, but showing a tendency towards one. I made them a unified being, not two disparate forms made into one in myth.

And then I left, giving my power, my stolen knowledge, my magical immortality, back to Poseidon and releasing him from the stasis.

==Epilogue==

The old centaur in the owlfeather cloak looked over the fire at the other centaur. He too was old, but age did not pour out of his eyes as it did out of the first one.

The cloaked centaur, Stephan, finally stated, "And that's the story. The end sounds kind of silly doesn't it? But I don't really understand it anymore. I no longer have the knowledge of the underlying laws of reality to understand it."

The other centaur looked at him. "It's interesting. It poses an answer but requires belief in too much." He motioned up at the silver arch in the heavens that stretched from horizon to horizon. "I take it that that was created before this humanity grew into infinity?"

"Yes."

"So, why drag me out away from the tribe? For four days I've walked with you. Listened to your story."

"To make you an offer."

"Uh huh."

"Assume that I'm Stephan, assume that the story is true. Given that the other mythic space/times were also opened, other races exist on the earth. Including humanity. I made a choice. When I left I made my body ageless. I wanted to be here, no, it's more that I felt an obligation to be here. To guide, to protect, to advise."

"Why didn't you join us when you created us? Why didn't you come among us as Stephan?"

"Why? Because then you'd all have obeyed me, fawned on me. I'd had enough of that. I wanted to see what you would create."

"I can accept that. But why tell me this? Why not anybody else?"

"Olcynther, I'm not infallible. At one point I could have known everything, but as Apollo told me, knowing everything does not guarantee perfection. One still makes choices, one just has more information to aid in making the choice. In a sense they have free will, in a sense they don't. Technically none of us do but I prefer the illusion of my having it.

"I'm not the only adviser. The first one I told the truth to was Phillipa. We still see each other. We marry for a generation or so and then go our own ways. It keeps us from hating each other. There are more, not many. Together we provide a continuity, a voice of wisdom, a watchman over the race as we grow and learn."

"And you want to make me one of these? Why? How?"

"Ah Olcynther, you forget that I created our race. I had infinite time to work out the details. I only let bits of future knowledge slip through to ensure that the race would not die out because of a mistake I made in the creation. I also put little things in the genetics. There is a concoction, one only we unaging ones know of. If you consume that concoction you will become ageless. Not immortal, a sword or an arrow can still kill you. Disease could, but it would have to work harder. You'd just never wear out."

"And if I choose to live only my allotted time?"

Stephan shrugged, "Then we part. You've heard a legend. If you tell others, they won't believe you. And if they do, I'll just leave for a generation or two or three until I become legend again. Others will join your tribe and watch it. Offer advice in council."

"Is it only responsibility that keeps you here then? That's a harsh burden."

"That's much of it certainly. But there is a core reason. I changed the world to bring this about. I made our race that way it is. I made the choices. I could have known the results but decided that I didn't want to learn that way. It felt wrong. But I still wanted to know."

Stephan paused, and looked up into the sky.

"Someday we'll go there. If you join us, you can go there too, or you can later decide that your time is over and pass on to whatever lies beyond this mortal life." Stephan chuckled. "Another one of the things I made sure not to learn. As for myself, I'll probably pass on some day. But not now."

"Why?"

"Because Olcynther, I want to know what we become. I want to see what options exist other than the path taken by western humanity. I want to explore the universe in a different way than just learning to understand it. I want to learn and change. Someday I'll grow tired, and then-- but not yet!"

----

*Quotations from The Illiad are from the translation by Edward, Earl of Derby, available via the Guttenburg Project.

**Quotations from Ovid's Metamorphosis from the translation by Sir Samuel Garth, John Dryden, et al

User:Michael Bard

2009-07-23T19:21:19Z

Michael Bard: That failed too

{{author page|Bard, Michael}}
{{DEFAULTSORT:Bard, Michael}}

I'm an old fogy of an author who has been posting for FAR too long. We'll see how this new fangled contraption works out compared to feather, ink, and parchment.

=Poetry=

Yes, I ''do'' dabble in this occasionally. Fear not, I plan to ''only'' post TF related poetry here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Going Home|Going Home]]

=Stories=

These are written at various points over the past 30 years, and include only those works with ''on stage'' transformations. For a more complete story set, go to [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard Michael Bard's Story Page]

==Stand Alone Stories==

These are various odds and ends that are unrelated to other stories. Some may have a sequel (or a prequel) (or something else related) written, in which case they'll be moved and labeled appropriately.

[[User:Michael Bard/Action MUST be Taken!|Action MUST be Taken!]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Applicant|The Applicant]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Bee or not a Bee|A Bee or not a Bee]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Bob and the Goose|Bob and the Goose]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Can I help You?|Can I help You?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Christmas Dreams|Christmas Dreams]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Choices|Choices]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Coyote and Road Runner Show|The Coyote and Road Runner Show]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Down the Rabbit Hole|Down the Rabbit Hole]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Dragon, the Rock, and the Wanderer|The Dragon, the Rock, and the Wanderer]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Dragon Slayer|The Dragon Slayer]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Faerie Tale|A Faerie Tale]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Feathers|Feathers]]

[[User:Michael Bard/How did the Ceolocanth REALLY Survive?|How did the Ceolocanth REALLY Survive?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Horse in the Glass Bubble|The Horse in the Glass Bubble]]

[[User:Michael Bard/How not to be Seen|How not to be Seen]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Inspire Me|Inspire Me]]

[[User:Michael Bard/It's in the Skin|It's in the Skin]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Keeping Secrets|Keeping Secrets]]

The Last of the Niagaras - Now available for purchase in a Dead Tree Anthology from Lulu with lots of other great stories! [http://www.lulu.com/content/4431539 Alone in the Dark]

[[User:Michael Bard/Marduk's Gift|Marduk's Gift]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Melash...|Melash...]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Mowing the Lawn|Mowing the Lawn]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Myth of Beetlecat|The Myth of Beetlecat]]

Note: Trying to post MYTHIC JOURNEYS as the single novel it is managed to break Shifti, so I'm splitting it up into two parts.

----

[[User:Michael Bard/Mythic Journeys - Part 1|Mythic Journeys - Part 1]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Mythic Journeys - Part 2|Mythic Journeys - Part 2]]

----

[[User:Michael Bard/Of the Ylourgne Expanse|Of the Ylourgne Expanse]]

[[User:Michael Bard/One CarePony at a Time|One CarePony at a Time]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Perils of Wereostrichdom|The Perils of Wereostrichdom]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pizza is Us|Pizza is Us]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Power of Suggestion|The Power of Suggestion]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Psychological Reassignment - Case HM-474-353-793|Psychological Reassignment - Case HM-474-353-793]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Raccoon Flying Tail (tm)(c)|The Raccoon Flying Tail (tm)(c)]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Raccoon Morph Body Biosuit (tm)(c)|The Raccoon Morph Body Biosuit (tm)(c)]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Rabbit's Life|A Rabbit's Life]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Returning Home|Returning Home]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Something's out there|Something's out there]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Slip Sliding Around|Slip Sliding Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Somebody's Watching|Somebody's Watching]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Survival and Sacrifice|Survival and Sacrifice]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Transformation Vignettes|Transformation Vignettes]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Trust|Trust]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Truth about Bard|The Truth about Bard]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Untitled #1|Untitled #1]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Wanted: Bobs|Wanted: Bobs]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Wereing on the Moon|Wereing on the Moon]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Who gets the Dreamers?|Who gets the Dreamers?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Whom God Destroys|Whom God Destroys]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Xepher's Werewolf Overload|Xepher's Werewolf Overload]]

[[User:Michael Bard/You get what you Wished for|You get what you Wished for]]

==Story Cycles:==

And here are the stories that are set in a common universe with other stories. Note that some only have one story listed, generally because other stories in the cycle don't have any ''on screen'' transformations.

===Asteroid Ship===

In which those interested in "freedom of body" flee the oppressive UN aboard a hollowed out asteroid generation ship. More stories can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/asteroidship/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Dealing with the Faerie|Dealing with the Faerie]]

===LTF (List TransFormed)===

In which everybody on the TSA-talk mailing list is TFed into their most commonly depicted online fursona. Mine has changed a lot, but this was written years ago. There are two additional stories at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/centaur/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Diary of a Centaur in a Human's World|Diary of a Centaur in a Human's World]]

===Metamor Keep - ''Raider of the Lost Cult'' cycle===

My first poke into the Metamor Keep universe. Even though only the first story has a TF, and it's off screen, they're being put here as an experiment, and so that other people writing in the universe can read, and comment, on the ''in development'' versions.

[[User:Michael Bard/Pawned|Pawned]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A few Days in Heaven|A few Days in Heaven]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Cultists Strike Back!|The Cultists Strike Back!]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Tales of Euper Investigations|Tales of Euper Investigations]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Into the Darkness|Into the Darkness]]

[[User:Michael Bard/On the Hunt|On the Hunt]]

[[User:Michael Bard/From the Other Side|From the Other Side]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Summoning|The Summoning]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Between the Worlds|Between the Worlds]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Last Trial|The Last Trial]]

===National Enchanted Forest===

A weird little universe about a world where Faerie and Us co-exist, and how unwary people can get zapped.

[[User:Michael Bard/Christmas in the National Enchanted Forest|Christmas in the National Enchanted Forest]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Enchanted Buck Season|Enchanted Buck Season]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Walk in the National Enchanted Forest|A Walk in the National Enchanted Forest]]

===Of Brains and Bodies===

The first stories I wrote after joining TSA-talk. There is an outline for a third that would complete the meta-story, but, at this point, it is highly unlikely to ever be written.

[[User:Michael Bard/Dreams can become Nightmares; Nightmares can become Dreams|Dreams can become Nightmares, Nightmares can become Dreams]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Escaping my Father|Escaping my Father]]

===A History of the Future===

These are based on a fairly detailed outline I made up many moons ago for my last attempt at a SFRPG. We did one adventure, but then it faded away. Doesn't mean I couldn't write in it--

Note that there are two ''eras'' in this. The one with humans and a small set of aliens, and the one half a million years later with humans. ''Destinies'' explains this.

There are more stories, but right now they're all set aside to be edited for magazine submission.

[[User:Michael Bard/Destinies|Destinies]]

===Space Cadet===

A hard SF universe inspired by Robert A Heinlein's ''Space Cadet'' juvenile, and lots of other '50s SF. It's as realistic as I can make it, even though it is populated by furies and occurs 50,000 years after the 20th century. One story has been published in print media -- ''Hunters'' in [http://www.renardsmenagerie.com/ Renards Menagerie #2]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Survivor|The Survivor]]

===Tales from the Blind Pig===

''Lots'' more of these on my website in the [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/tbp/indexintro.html Master Blind Pig Archive]. This one is for a group story that is still under development and is only here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Beyond the Wall of Ice|Beyond the Wall of Ice]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Switching Sides|Switching Sides]]

===Tales of SUPERMARE!===

This is the origin story. There are many sequels, but most of them don't have implicit TFs, or require earlier stories to be read. They can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/supermare/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/My Name is...|My Name is...]]

===Tales of The World===

These are stories, myths, etc. set in the last FRPG world I created. There are more at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/talesoftheworld/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Beornwyn's Love|Beornwyn's Love]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Lies and Truths|Lies and Truths]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Of Love and Hate|Of Love and Hate]] (revised (rewritten) April 2008)

[[User:Michael Bard/Of Love and Dream|Of Love and Dreams]] (a sequel to "Of Love and Hate" though written much earlier so there are some inconsistencies)

[[User:Michael Bard/Two Gods and a Faerie|Two Gods and a Faerie]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pricing Immortality - Book 1 - Immortality Lost|Pricing Immortality - Book 1 - Immortality Lost]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pricing Immortality - Book 2 - Immortality Regained|Pricing Immortality - Book 2 - Immortality Regained]] Unfinished, but it would be odd to put the sequel/conclusion separate from Part 1.

[[User:Michael Bard/Swimming from the Dragon|Swimming from the Dragon]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The End of all Things|The End of all Things]]

===Warhammer 40,000 Fanfiction===

Fairly obvious what these are. This is only one that I've written, but the longest. Most can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/agrippa/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Bloodstone's Gift|The Bloodstone's Gift]]

===Xanadu===

As a Xanadu story, by it's nature, includes a TF, all of what I've written are here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Five Hours, Thirty-two Minutes|Five Hours, Thirty-two Minutes]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Flying Free|Flying Free]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Just Lounging Around|Just Lounging Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Like the Unfolding Petals of a Dream|Like the Unfolding Petals of a Dream]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Losing Himself|Losing Himself]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Now I will believe that there are Unicorns|Now I will believe that there are Unicorns]] Prequel to "Unicorn Dreams"

[[User:Michael Bard/Something Fishy|Something Fishy]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Still Lounging Around|Still Lounging Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Tale of a Tail|Tale of a Tail]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Tale of the Ivory Otherkin|The Tale of the Ivory Otherkin]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Unicorn Dreams|Unicorn Dreams]] Sequel to "Now I will believe that there are Unicorns"

= Stories in Progress =

Stories that are either in progress, or indefinitely stalled. Those which are stalled will eagerly take any advice offered to get restarted...

[[User:Michael Bard/Head on the Bed, The|The Head on the Bed]] Complete, but I REALLY need advice on the ending. It just doesn't work. Maybe a pun--

[[User:Michael Bard/Repayment|Repayment]] A draft version of character background story for a PaW character I'm playing with.

[[User:Michael Bard/Tale of One Entity, A|A Tale of One Entity]] An old project I poke at every so often, later inspired by "By his Bootstraps" by RA Heinlein. More details at the beginning of the story.

[[User:Michael Bard/Untitled PaW story]] Another PaW universe story being worked on.

[[User: Michael Bard/What difference can a Man make?]] A story of the Persian War in progress.

=The Abandoned=

These are various odds and ends either from abandoned shared world projects, story ideas that didn't pan out, or whatever. They are in various states of completion and it is unlikely anything further will ever be done on them. Read at your own risk!

[[User: Michael Bard/Consequences: The Simple Things]] Started out as a cyberpunk story. Was later used as a setup for a TSAT contest.

[[User: Michael Bard/Quiet World, The|The Quiet World]] Story universe plan where everybody who had a fursona was TFed into said fursona at the same time as everybody else vanished. Yea, it's been done before, but I wanted to poke at.

[[User: Michael Bard/Kor's Journey]] The linchpin story of "The World" that clarifies things, unifies concepts, etc. Been abandoned for years. There is an outline of future chapters at the end.

[[User: Michael Bard/Saving the Multiverse]] An abandoned shared world story project. This would be the intro for my "character". You may notice that I had been watching a certain cartoon series-- The intro story is complete, but nothing else was ever written in the universe.

[[User: Michael Bard/MMPs at Work]] An abandoned bit of fluff that is highly dated due to a corresponding TSAT editorial from the tranformees POV. Given that TSAT is long dead, I really doubt this story will be finished.

=Other Authors=

Some people have asked me to put their stuff here for various reasons. The author name will be indicated.

[[User:Michael Bard/Golden Mirror|Golden Mirror]] by Fish

=Books I need Replacement copies of=

About a decade ago now, 90% of my books were destroyed by a burst water pipe. A lot of the survivors mysteriously vanished during a move about 5 years ago. So, with a lot of crying (literally) and resulting ongoing depression, I put together a master list of what I still need to find copies of. Any help is appreciated, these are all recommended:

Adams, Douglas
- Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

Anderson, Poul
- The King of Ys: The Dog and the Wolf
- Brainwave
- The High Crusade
- The Dancer from Atlantis
- Maurai and Kith
- Operation Luna
- Vault of Ages
- The War of Two Worlds
- Orbit Unlimited
- After Doomsday
- Three Worlds to Conquer
- Beyond the Beyond
- The Bywolrder
- There Will be Time
- The Worlds of Poul Anderson
- The Devil's Game
- No Truce with Kings
- The Best of Poul Anderson
- How to build a Planet

Anthony, Piers
- Macroscope

Bach, Richard
- Jonathon Livingston Seagull

Benford, Gregory
- Across the Sea of Suns
- Furious Gulf

Bradbury, Ray
- NOT Martian Chronicles

Brin, David
- Heart of the Comet (with Benford I think)
- The River of Time

Butler, Octavia E
- Patternmaster
- Survivor
- Wild Seed
- Clay's Ark

Chalker, Jack L
- Midnight at the Well of Souls
- Horrors of the Dancing Gods
- Spirits of Flux and Anchor
- Empires of Flux and Anchor
- Masters of Flux and Anchor
- The Birth of Flux and Anchor
- Children of Flux and Anchor

Chambers, Robert W
- The King in Yellow

Clarke, Arthur C
- 2001: A Space Odyssey
- Rendezvous with Rama

Cherryh, CJ
- Gate of Ivrel
- Fires of Azeroth
- Exile's Gate
- Ealdwood
- The Dreamstone
- The Tree of Swords and Jewels
- Downbelow Station
- Chanur's Venture

Clement, Hal
- Mission of Gravity
- Close to Critical
- Starlight
- Ocean on Top

Colfer, Eoin
- Artemis Fowl

De Lint, Charles
- Moonheart
- The Riddle of the Wren

De Camp, L Sprague
- The Castle of Iron
- Wall of Serpents
- The Best of L Sprague de Camp

Donaldson, Stephen
- Daughter of Regals: And other stories

Duane, Diane
- The Door into Fire
- The Door into Shadow
- The Door into Sunset
- The Sword and the Dragon
- So you Want to be a Wizard
- High Wizardry

Durgin, Doranna
- Dun Lady's Jess

Dunsany, Lord
- The King of Elfland's Daughter
- The Charwoman's Shadow

Farmer, Philip Jose
- The Maker of Universes
- The Gates of Creation
- A Private Cosmos
- Behind the Walls of Terra
- The Lavalite World

Friesner, Esther
- Harlot's Ruse

Harrison, Harry
- Star Smashers of the Galaxy Rangers

Heinlein, Robert H
- Universe
- Farmer in the Sky
- Double Star

Hodgell, P C
- Seeker's Mask
- Dark of the Gods
- To Ride A Rathorn

Homer
- The Illiad (verse)

Hoyle, Fred
- The Black cloud

Kay, Guy Gavriel
- The Wandering Fire
- The Darkest Road

Le Guin, Ursula K
- The Left Hand of Darkness

Lee, Tanith
- Quest for the White Witch
- Don't Bite the Sun
- Delusion's Master

Leiber, Fritz
- The Swords of Lankhmar

Logstan, Ann
- Shadow

Lovecraft, HP
- The Dreamquest of Unknown Kadath

MacCaffrey, Anne
- All the Weyrs of Pern
- The Skies of Pern

Martin, George RR
- Wild Cards
- Aces High
- Jokers Wild

McKillip, Patricia
- The Riddle-Master of Hed
- Heir of Sea and Fire
- Harpist in the Wind

Meyers, Roy
- Daughers of the Dolphin
- Destiny of the Dolphins

Moffitt, Donald
- The Jupiter Theft
- The Genesis Quest
- Second Genesis

Niven, Larry
- The Ringworld Engineers
- Escape from Hell
- Protector
- The Patchwork Girl
- The Long ARM of Gil Hamilton
- Crashlander
- The Draco Tavern
- The Man-Kzin Wars 3-5, 7-9, 12 (and counting)

Offutt, Andrew J
- The Eye of Sarsis
- Web of the Spider

Raymond, Alex
- Flash Gordon

Reynolds, Alastair
- Revelation Space
- Chasm City'
- Redemption Ark
- Absolution Gap

Rosenburg, Joel
- The Sleeping Dragon
- The Sword and the Chain
- The Silver Crown

Simak, Clifford D
- City

Smith, Cordwainer
- The Planet buyer
- The Underpeope

Stapledon, Olaf
- Odd John
- Sirius

Stirling, SM
- Snowbrother
- The Sharpest Edge
- The Cage
- Shadow's Son
- Saber and Shadow

Swann, Thomas Burnett
- The Day of the Minotaur
- Cry Silver Bells
- The Dolphin and the Deep
- Where is the Bird of Fire?
- Wolfwinter
- How are the Mighty Fallen
- The Not World
- The Minnikins of Yam
- The Tournament of Thorns
- Will of the Wisp
- Queens Walk in the Dust

Tarr, Judith
- The Isle of Glass
- The Golden Horn

Tolkein, JRR
- The Fellowship of the Ring
- The Two Towers
- The Return of the King

Vance, Jack
- The Moon Moth: And other stories

Varley, John
- The Persistance of Vision
- Blue Champagne
- Steel Beach

Watt-Evans, Lawrence
- The Spell of the Black Dagger

Weber, David
- Crusade

Wells, HG
- The War of the Worlds

White, TH
- The Once and Future King

Williams, Tad
- The Dragonbone Chair
- The Stone of farewell
- To Green Angel Tower

Williamson, Jack
- The Humanoids

Wolf, Gene
- The Shadow of the Torturer
- The Claw of the Conciliator
- The Sword of the Lictor
- The Citadel of the Autarch

Wurts, Janny
- Stormwarden
- Keeper of the Keys
- Shadowfane

Wyndham, John
- The Day of the Triffids

Zelazny, Roger
- Unicorn Variations

Anthologies:
- Science Fiction Hall of Fame (vol 1+2)

User:Michael Bard

2009-07-23T19:20:26Z

Michael Bard: Testing other options for the edit

{{author page|Bard, Michael}}
{{DEFAULTSORT:Bard, Michael}}

<img>http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/stuff/authorphoto.jpg</img> I'm an old fogy of an author who has been posting for FAR too long. We'll see how this new fangled contraption works out compared to feather, ink, and parchment.

=Poetry=

Yes, I ''do'' dabble in this occasionally. Fear not, I plan to ''only'' post TF related poetry here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Going Home|Going Home]]

=Stories=

These are written at various points over the past 30 years, and include only those works with ''on stage'' transformations. For a more complete story set, go to [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard Michael Bard's Story Page]

==Stand Alone Stories==

These are various odds and ends that are unrelated to other stories. Some may have a sequel (or a prequel) (or something else related) written, in which case they'll be moved and labeled appropriately.

[[User:Michael Bard/Action MUST be Taken!|Action MUST be Taken!]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Applicant|The Applicant]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Bee or not a Bee|A Bee or not a Bee]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Bob and the Goose|Bob and the Goose]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Can I help You?|Can I help You?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Christmas Dreams|Christmas Dreams]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Choices|Choices]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Coyote and Road Runner Show|The Coyote and Road Runner Show]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Down the Rabbit Hole|Down the Rabbit Hole]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Dragon, the Rock, and the Wanderer|The Dragon, the Rock, and the Wanderer]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Dragon Slayer|The Dragon Slayer]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Faerie Tale|A Faerie Tale]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Feathers|Feathers]]

[[User:Michael Bard/How did the Ceolocanth REALLY Survive?|How did the Ceolocanth REALLY Survive?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Horse in the Glass Bubble|The Horse in the Glass Bubble]]

[[User:Michael Bard/How not to be Seen|How not to be Seen]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Inspire Me|Inspire Me]]

[[User:Michael Bard/It's in the Skin|It's in the Skin]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Keeping Secrets|Keeping Secrets]]

The Last of the Niagaras - Now available for purchase in a Dead Tree Anthology from Lulu with lots of other great stories! [http://www.lulu.com/content/4431539 Alone in the Dark]

[[User:Michael Bard/Marduk's Gift|Marduk's Gift]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Melash...|Melash...]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Mowing the Lawn|Mowing the Lawn]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Myth of Beetlecat|The Myth of Beetlecat]]

Note: Trying to post MYTHIC JOURNEYS as the single novel it is managed to break Shifti, so I'm splitting it up into two parts.

----

[[User:Michael Bard/Mythic Journeys - Part 1|Mythic Journeys - Part 1]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Mythic Journeys - Part 2|Mythic Journeys - Part 2]]

----

[[User:Michael Bard/Of the Ylourgne Expanse|Of the Ylourgne Expanse]]

[[User:Michael Bard/One CarePony at a Time|One CarePony at a Time]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Perils of Wereostrichdom|The Perils of Wereostrichdom]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pizza is Us|Pizza is Us]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Power of Suggestion|The Power of Suggestion]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Psychological Reassignment - Case HM-474-353-793|Psychological Reassignment - Case HM-474-353-793]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Raccoon Flying Tail (tm)(c)|The Raccoon Flying Tail (tm)(c)]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Raccoon Morph Body Biosuit (tm)(c)|The Raccoon Morph Body Biosuit (tm)(c)]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Rabbit's Life|A Rabbit's Life]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Returning Home|Returning Home]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Something's out there|Something's out there]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Slip Sliding Around|Slip Sliding Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Somebody's Watching|Somebody's Watching]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Survival and Sacrifice|Survival and Sacrifice]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Transformation Vignettes|Transformation Vignettes]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Trust|Trust]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Truth about Bard|The Truth about Bard]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Untitled #1|Untitled #1]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Wanted: Bobs|Wanted: Bobs]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Wereing on the Moon|Wereing on the Moon]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Who gets the Dreamers?|Who gets the Dreamers?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Whom God Destroys|Whom God Destroys]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Xepher's Werewolf Overload|Xepher's Werewolf Overload]]

[[User:Michael Bard/You get what you Wished for|You get what you Wished for]]

==Story Cycles:==

And here are the stories that are set in a common universe with other stories. Note that some only have one story listed, generally because other stories in the cycle don't have any ''on screen'' transformations.

===Asteroid Ship===

In which those interested in "freedom of body" flee the oppressive UN aboard a hollowed out asteroid generation ship. More stories can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/asteroidship/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Dealing with the Faerie|Dealing with the Faerie]]

===LTF (List TransFormed)===

In which everybody on the TSA-talk mailing list is TFed into their most commonly depicted online fursona. Mine has changed a lot, but this was written years ago. There are two additional stories at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/centaur/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Diary of a Centaur in a Human's World|Diary of a Centaur in a Human's World]]

===Metamor Keep - ''Raider of the Lost Cult'' cycle===

My first poke into the Metamor Keep universe. Even though only the first story has a TF, and it's off screen, they're being put here as an experiment, and so that other people writing in the universe can read, and comment, on the ''in development'' versions.

[[User:Michael Bard/Pawned|Pawned]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A few Days in Heaven|A few Days in Heaven]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Cultists Strike Back!|The Cultists Strike Back!]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Tales of Euper Investigations|Tales of Euper Investigations]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Into the Darkness|Into the Darkness]]

[[User:Michael Bard/On the Hunt|On the Hunt]]

[[User:Michael Bard/From the Other Side|From the Other Side]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Summoning|The Summoning]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Between the Worlds|Between the Worlds]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Last Trial|The Last Trial]]

===National Enchanted Forest===

A weird little universe about a world where Faerie and Us co-exist, and how unwary people can get zapped.

[[User:Michael Bard/Christmas in the National Enchanted Forest|Christmas in the National Enchanted Forest]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Enchanted Buck Season|Enchanted Buck Season]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Walk in the National Enchanted Forest|A Walk in the National Enchanted Forest]]

===Of Brains and Bodies===

The first stories I wrote after joining TSA-talk. There is an outline for a third that would complete the meta-story, but, at this point, it is highly unlikely to ever be written.

[[User:Michael Bard/Dreams can become Nightmares; Nightmares can become Dreams|Dreams can become Nightmares, Nightmares can become Dreams]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Escaping my Father|Escaping my Father]]

===A History of the Future===

These are based on a fairly detailed outline I made up many moons ago for my last attempt at a SFRPG. We did one adventure, but then it faded away. Doesn't mean I couldn't write in it--

Note that there are two ''eras'' in this. The one with humans and a small set of aliens, and the one half a million years later with humans. ''Destinies'' explains this.

There are more stories, but right now they're all set aside to be edited for magazine submission.

[[User:Michael Bard/Destinies|Destinies]]

===Space Cadet===

A hard SF universe inspired by Robert A Heinlein's ''Space Cadet'' juvenile, and lots of other '50s SF. It's as realistic as I can make it, even though it is populated by furies and occurs 50,000 years after the 20th century. One story has been published in print media -- ''Hunters'' in [http://www.renardsmenagerie.com/ Renards Menagerie #2]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Survivor|The Survivor]]

===Tales from the Blind Pig===

''Lots'' more of these on my website in the [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/tbp/indexintro.html Master Blind Pig Archive]. This one is for a group story that is still under development and is only here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Beyond the Wall of Ice|Beyond the Wall of Ice]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Switching Sides|Switching Sides]]

===Tales of SUPERMARE!===

This is the origin story. There are many sequels, but most of them don't have implicit TFs, or require earlier stories to be read. They can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/supermare/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/My Name is...|My Name is...]]

===Tales of The World===

These are stories, myths, etc. set in the last FRPG world I created. There are more at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/talesoftheworld/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Beornwyn's Love|Beornwyn's Love]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Lies and Truths|Lies and Truths]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Of Love and Hate|Of Love and Hate]] (revised (rewritten) April 2008)

[[User:Michael Bard/Of Love and Dream|Of Love and Dreams]] (a sequel to "Of Love and Hate" though written much earlier so there are some inconsistencies)

[[User:Michael Bard/Two Gods and a Faerie|Two Gods and a Faerie]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pricing Immortality - Book 1 - Immortality Lost|Pricing Immortality - Book 1 - Immortality Lost]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pricing Immortality - Book 2 - Immortality Regained|Pricing Immortality - Book 2 - Immortality Regained]] Unfinished, but it would be odd to put the sequel/conclusion separate from Part 1.

[[User:Michael Bard/Swimming from the Dragon|Swimming from the Dragon]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The End of all Things|The End of all Things]]

===Warhammer 40,000 Fanfiction===

Fairly obvious what these are. This is only one that I've written, but the longest. Most can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/agrippa/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Bloodstone's Gift|The Bloodstone's Gift]]

===Xanadu===

As a Xanadu story, by it's nature, includes a TF, all of what I've written are here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Five Hours, Thirty-two Minutes|Five Hours, Thirty-two Minutes]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Flying Free|Flying Free]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Just Lounging Around|Just Lounging Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Like the Unfolding Petals of a Dream|Like the Unfolding Petals of a Dream]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Losing Himself|Losing Himself]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Now I will believe that there are Unicorns|Now I will believe that there are Unicorns]] Prequel to "Unicorn Dreams"

[[User:Michael Bard/Something Fishy|Something Fishy]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Still Lounging Around|Still Lounging Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Tale of a Tail|Tale of a Tail]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Tale of the Ivory Otherkin|The Tale of the Ivory Otherkin]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Unicorn Dreams|Unicorn Dreams]] Sequel to "Now I will believe that there are Unicorns"

= Stories in Progress =

Stories that are either in progress, or indefinitely stalled. Those which are stalled will eagerly take any advice offered to get restarted...

[[User:Michael Bard/Head on the Bed, The|The Head on the Bed]] Complete, but I REALLY need advice on the ending. It just doesn't work. Maybe a pun--

[[User:Michael Bard/Repayment|Repayment]] A draft version of character background story for a PaW character I'm playing with.

[[User:Michael Bard/Tale of One Entity, A|A Tale of One Entity]] An old project I poke at every so often, later inspired by "By his Bootstraps" by RA Heinlein. More details at the beginning of the story.

[[User:Michael Bard/Untitled PaW story]] Another PaW universe story being worked on.

[[User: Michael Bard/What difference can a Man make?]] A story of the Persian War in progress.

=The Abandoned=

These are various odds and ends either from abandoned shared world projects, story ideas that didn't pan out, or whatever. They are in various states of completion and it is unlikely anything further will ever be done on them. Read at your own risk!

[[User: Michael Bard/Consequences: The Simple Things]] Started out as a cyberpunk story. Was later used as a setup for a TSAT contest.

[[User: Michael Bard/Quiet World, The|The Quiet World]] Story universe plan where everybody who had a fursona was TFed into said fursona at the same time as everybody else vanished. Yea, it's been done before, but I wanted to poke at.

[[User: Michael Bard/Kor's Journey]] The linchpin story of "The World" that clarifies things, unifies concepts, etc. Been abandoned for years. There is an outline of future chapters at the end.

[[User: Michael Bard/Saving the Multiverse]] An abandoned shared world story project. This would be the intro for my "character". You may notice that I had been watching a certain cartoon series-- The intro story is complete, but nothing else was ever written in the universe.

[[User: Michael Bard/MMPs at Work]] An abandoned bit of fluff that is highly dated due to a corresponding TSAT editorial from the tranformees POV. Given that TSAT is long dead, I really doubt this story will be finished.

=Other Authors=

Some people have asked me to put their stuff here for various reasons. The author name will be indicated.

[[User:Michael Bard/Golden Mirror|Golden Mirror]] by Fish

=Books I need Replacement copies of=

About a decade ago now, 90% of my books were destroyed by a burst water pipe. A lot of the survivors mysteriously vanished during a move about 5 years ago. So, with a lot of crying (literally) and resulting ongoing depression, I put together a master list of what I still need to find copies of. Any help is appreciated, these are all recommended:

Adams, Douglas
- Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

Anderson, Poul
- The King of Ys: The Dog and the Wolf
- Brainwave
- The High Crusade
- The Dancer from Atlantis
- Maurai and Kith
- Operation Luna
- Vault of Ages
- The War of Two Worlds
- Orbit Unlimited
- After Doomsday
- Three Worlds to Conquer
- Beyond the Beyond
- The Bywolrder
- There Will be Time
- The Worlds of Poul Anderson
- The Devil's Game
- No Truce with Kings
- The Best of Poul Anderson
- How to build a Planet

Anthony, Piers
- Macroscope

Bach, Richard
- Jonathon Livingston Seagull

Benford, Gregory
- Across the Sea of Suns
- Furious Gulf

Bradbury, Ray
- NOT Martian Chronicles

Brin, David
- Heart of the Comet (with Benford I think)
- The River of Time

Butler, Octavia E
- Patternmaster
- Survivor
- Wild Seed
- Clay's Ark

Chalker, Jack L
- Midnight at the Well of Souls
- Horrors of the Dancing Gods
- Spirits of Flux and Anchor
- Empires of Flux and Anchor
- Masters of Flux and Anchor
- The Birth of Flux and Anchor
- Children of Flux and Anchor

Chambers, Robert W
- The King in Yellow

Clarke, Arthur C
- 2001: A Space Odyssey
- Rendezvous with Rama

Cherryh, CJ
- Gate of Ivrel
- Fires of Azeroth
- Exile's Gate
- Ealdwood
- The Dreamstone
- The Tree of Swords and Jewels
- Downbelow Station
- Chanur's Venture

Clement, Hal
- Mission of Gravity
- Close to Critical
- Starlight
- Ocean on Top

Colfer, Eoin
- Artemis Fowl

De Lint, Charles
- Moonheart
- The Riddle of the Wren

De Camp, L Sprague
- The Castle of Iron
- Wall of Serpents
- The Best of L Sprague de Camp

Donaldson, Stephen
- Daughter of Regals: And other stories

Duane, Diane
- The Door into Fire
- The Door into Shadow
- The Door into Sunset
- The Sword and the Dragon
- So you Want to be a Wizard
- High Wizardry

Durgin, Doranna
- Dun Lady's Jess

Dunsany, Lord
- The King of Elfland's Daughter
- The Charwoman's Shadow

Farmer, Philip Jose
- The Maker of Universes
- The Gates of Creation
- A Private Cosmos
- Behind the Walls of Terra
- The Lavalite World

Friesner, Esther
- Harlot's Ruse

Harrison, Harry
- Star Smashers of the Galaxy Rangers

Heinlein, Robert H
- Universe
- Farmer in the Sky
- Double Star

Hodgell, P C
- Seeker's Mask
- Dark of the Gods
- To Ride A Rathorn

Homer
- The Illiad (verse)

Hoyle, Fred
- The Black cloud

Kay, Guy Gavriel
- The Wandering Fire
- The Darkest Road

Le Guin, Ursula K
- The Left Hand of Darkness

Lee, Tanith
- Quest for the White Witch
- Don't Bite the Sun
- Delusion's Master

Leiber, Fritz
- The Swords of Lankhmar

Logstan, Ann
- Shadow

Lovecraft, HP
- The Dreamquest of Unknown Kadath

MacCaffrey, Anne
- All the Weyrs of Pern
- The Skies of Pern

Martin, George RR
- Wild Cards
- Aces High
- Jokers Wild

McKillip, Patricia
- The Riddle-Master of Hed
- Heir of Sea and Fire
- Harpist in the Wind

Meyers, Roy
- Daughers of the Dolphin
- Destiny of the Dolphins

Moffitt, Donald
- The Jupiter Theft
- The Genesis Quest
- Second Genesis

Niven, Larry
- The Ringworld Engineers
- Escape from Hell
- Protector
- The Patchwork Girl
- The Long ARM of Gil Hamilton
- Crashlander
- The Draco Tavern
- The Man-Kzin Wars 3-5, 7-9, 12 (and counting)

Offutt, Andrew J
- The Eye of Sarsis
- Web of the Spider

Raymond, Alex
- Flash Gordon

Reynolds, Alastair
- Revelation Space
- Chasm City'
- Redemption Ark
- Absolution Gap

Rosenburg, Joel
- The Sleeping Dragon
- The Sword and the Chain
- The Silver Crown

Simak, Clifford D
- City

Smith, Cordwainer
- The Planet buyer
- The Underpeope

Stapledon, Olaf
- Odd John
- Sirius

Stirling, SM
- Snowbrother
- The Sharpest Edge
- The Cage
- Shadow's Son
- Saber and Shadow

Swann, Thomas Burnett
- The Day of the Minotaur
- Cry Silver Bells
- The Dolphin and the Deep
- Where is the Bird of Fire?
- Wolfwinter
- How are the Mighty Fallen
- The Not World
- The Minnikins of Yam
- The Tournament of Thorns
- Will of the Wisp
- Queens Walk in the Dust

Tarr, Judith
- The Isle of Glass
- The Golden Horn

Tolkein, JRR
- The Fellowship of the Ring
- The Two Towers
- The Return of the King

Vance, Jack
- The Moon Moth: And other stories

Varley, John
- The Persistance of Vision
- Blue Champagne
- Steel Beach

Watt-Evans, Lawrence
- The Spell of the Black Dagger

Weber, David
- Crusade

Wells, HG
- The War of the Worlds

White, TH
- The Once and Future King

Williams, Tad
- The Dragonbone Chair
- The Stone of farewell
- To Green Angel Tower

Williamson, Jack
- The Humanoids

Wolf, Gene
- The Shadow of the Torturer
- The Claw of the Conciliator
- The Sword of the Lictor
- The Citadel of the Autarch

Wurts, Janny
- Stormwarden
- Keeper of the Keys
- Shadowfane

Wyndham, John
- The Day of the Triffids

Zelazny, Roger
- Unicorn Variations

Anthologies:
- Science Fiction Hall of Fame (vol 1+2)

User:Michael Bard

2009-07-23T19:09:41Z

Michael Bard: Ignore prior edits -- idea didn't pan out

User:Michael Bard

2009-07-23T19:08:31Z

Michael Bard:

{{author page|Bard, Michael}}
{{DEFAULTSORT:Bard, Michael}}

[[File:http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/stuff/authorphoto.jpg]] I'm an old fogy of an author who has been posting for FAR too long. We'll see how this new fangled contraption works out compared to feather, ink, and parchment.

=Poetry=

Yes, I ''do'' dabble in this occasionally. Fear not, I plan to ''only'' post TF related poetry here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Going Home|Going Home]]

=Stories=

These are written at various points over the past 30 years, and include only those works with ''on stage'' transformations. For a more complete story set, go to [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard Michael Bard's Story Page]

==Stand Alone Stories==

These are various odds and ends that are unrelated to other stories. Some may have a sequel (or a prequel) (or something else related) written, in which case they'll be moved and labeled appropriately.

[[User:Michael Bard/Action MUST be Taken!|Action MUST be Taken!]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Applicant|The Applicant]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Bee or not a Bee|A Bee or not a Bee]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Bob and the Goose|Bob and the Goose]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Can I help You?|Can I help You?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Christmas Dreams|Christmas Dreams]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Choices|Choices]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Coyote and Road Runner Show|The Coyote and Road Runner Show]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Down the Rabbit Hole|Down the Rabbit Hole]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Dragon, the Rock, and the Wanderer|The Dragon, the Rock, and the Wanderer]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Dragon Slayer|The Dragon Slayer]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Faerie Tale|A Faerie Tale]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Feathers|Feathers]]

[[User:Michael Bard/How did the Ceolocanth REALLY Survive?|How did the Ceolocanth REALLY Survive?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Horse in the Glass Bubble|The Horse in the Glass Bubble]]

[[User:Michael Bard/How not to be Seen|How not to be Seen]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Inspire Me|Inspire Me]]

[[User:Michael Bard/It's in the Skin|It's in the Skin]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Keeping Secrets|Keeping Secrets]]

The Last of the Niagaras - Now available for purchase in a Dead Tree Anthology from Lulu with lots of other great stories! [http://www.lulu.com/content/4431539 Alone in the Dark]

[[User:Michael Bard/Marduk's Gift|Marduk's Gift]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Melash...|Melash...]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Mowing the Lawn|Mowing the Lawn]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Myth of Beetlecat|The Myth of Beetlecat]]

Note: Trying to post MYTHIC JOURNEYS as the single novel it is managed to break Shifti, so I'm splitting it up into two parts.

----

[[User:Michael Bard/Mythic Journeys - Part 1|Mythic Journeys - Part 1]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Mythic Journeys - Part 2|Mythic Journeys - Part 2]]

----

[[User:Michael Bard/Of the Ylourgne Expanse|Of the Ylourgne Expanse]]

[[User:Michael Bard/One CarePony at a Time|One CarePony at a Time]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Perils of Wereostrichdom|The Perils of Wereostrichdom]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pizza is Us|Pizza is Us]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Power of Suggestion|The Power of Suggestion]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Psychological Reassignment - Case HM-474-353-793|Psychological Reassignment - Case HM-474-353-793]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Raccoon Flying Tail (tm)(c)|The Raccoon Flying Tail (tm)(c)]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Raccoon Morph Body Biosuit (tm)(c)|The Raccoon Morph Body Biosuit (tm)(c)]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Rabbit's Life|A Rabbit's Life]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Returning Home|Returning Home]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Something's out there|Something's out there]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Slip Sliding Around|Slip Sliding Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Somebody's Watching|Somebody's Watching]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Survival and Sacrifice|Survival and Sacrifice]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Transformation Vignettes|Transformation Vignettes]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Trust|Trust]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Truth about Bard|The Truth about Bard]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Untitled #1|Untitled #1]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Wanted: Bobs|Wanted: Bobs]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Wereing on the Moon|Wereing on the Moon]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Who gets the Dreamers?|Who gets the Dreamers?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Whom God Destroys|Whom God Destroys]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Xepher's Werewolf Overload|Xepher's Werewolf Overload]]

[[User:Michael Bard/You get what you Wished for|You get what you Wished for]]

==Story Cycles:==

And here are the stories that are set in a common universe with other stories. Note that some only have one story listed, generally because other stories in the cycle don't have any ''on screen'' transformations.

===Asteroid Ship===

In which those interested in "freedom of body" flee the oppressive UN aboard a hollowed out asteroid generation ship. More stories can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/asteroidship/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Dealing with the Faerie|Dealing with the Faerie]]

===LTF (List TransFormed)===

In which everybody on the TSA-talk mailing list is TFed into their most commonly depicted online fursona. Mine has changed a lot, but this was written years ago. There are two additional stories at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/centaur/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Diary of a Centaur in a Human's World|Diary of a Centaur in a Human's World]]

===Metamor Keep - ''Raider of the Lost Cult'' cycle===

My first poke into the Metamor Keep universe. Even though only the first story has a TF, and it's off screen, they're being put here as an experiment, and so that other people writing in the universe can read, and comment, on the ''in development'' versions.

[[User:Michael Bard/Pawned|Pawned]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A few Days in Heaven|A few Days in Heaven]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Cultists Strike Back!|The Cultists Strike Back!]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Tales of Euper Investigations|Tales of Euper Investigations]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Into the Darkness|Into the Darkness]]

[[User:Michael Bard/On the Hunt|On the Hunt]]

[[User:Michael Bard/From the Other Side|From the Other Side]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Summoning|The Summoning]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Between the Worlds|Between the Worlds]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Last Trial|The Last Trial]]

===National Enchanted Forest===

A weird little universe about a world where Faerie and Us co-exist, and how unwary people can get zapped.

[[User:Michael Bard/Christmas in the National Enchanted Forest|Christmas in the National Enchanted Forest]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Enchanted Buck Season|Enchanted Buck Season]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Walk in the National Enchanted Forest|A Walk in the National Enchanted Forest]]

===Of Brains and Bodies===

The first stories I wrote after joining TSA-talk. There is an outline for a third that would complete the meta-story, but, at this point, it is highly unlikely to ever be written.

[[User:Michael Bard/Dreams can become Nightmares; Nightmares can become Dreams|Dreams can become Nightmares, Nightmares can become Dreams]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Escaping my Father|Escaping my Father]]

===A History of the Future===

These are based on a fairly detailed outline I made up many moons ago for my last attempt at a SFRPG. We did one adventure, but then it faded away. Doesn't mean I couldn't write in it--

Note that there are two ''eras'' in this. The one with humans and a small set of aliens, and the one half a million years later with humans. ''Destinies'' explains this.

There are more stories, but right now they're all set aside to be edited for magazine submission.

[[User:Michael Bard/Destinies|Destinies]]

===Space Cadet===

A hard SF universe inspired by Robert A Heinlein's ''Space Cadet'' juvenile, and lots of other '50s SF. It's as realistic as I can make it, even though it is populated by furies and occurs 50,000 years after the 20th century. One story has been published in print media -- ''Hunters'' in [http://www.renardsmenagerie.com/ Renards Menagerie #2]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Survivor|The Survivor]]

===Tales from the Blind Pig===

''Lots'' more of these on my website in the [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/tbp/indexintro.html Master Blind Pig Archive]. This one is for a group story that is still under development and is only here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Beyond the Wall of Ice|Beyond the Wall of Ice]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Switching Sides|Switching Sides]]

===Tales of SUPERMARE!===

This is the origin story. There are many sequels, but most of them don't have implicit TFs, or require earlier stories to be read. They can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/supermare/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/My Name is...|My Name is...]]

===Tales of The World===

These are stories, myths, etc. set in the last FRPG world I created. There are more at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/talesoftheworld/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Beornwyn's Love|Beornwyn's Love]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Lies and Truths|Lies and Truths]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Of Love and Hate|Of Love and Hate]] (revised (rewritten) April 2008)

[[User:Michael Bard/Of Love and Dream|Of Love and Dreams]] (a sequel to "Of Love and Hate" though written much earlier so there are some inconsistencies)

[[User:Michael Bard/Two Gods and a Faerie|Two Gods and a Faerie]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pricing Immortality - Book 1 - Immortality Lost|Pricing Immortality - Book 1 - Immortality Lost]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pricing Immortality - Book 2 - Immortality Regained|Pricing Immortality - Book 2 - Immortality Regained]] Unfinished, but it would be odd to put the sequel/conclusion separate from Part 1.

[[User:Michael Bard/Swimming from the Dragon|Swimming from the Dragon]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The End of all Things|The End of all Things]]

===Warhammer 40,000 Fanfiction===

Fairly obvious what these are. This is only one that I've written, but the longest. Most can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/agrippa/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Bloodstone's Gift|The Bloodstone's Gift]]

===Xanadu===

As a Xanadu story, by it's nature, includes a TF, all of what I've written are here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Five Hours, Thirty-two Minutes|Five Hours, Thirty-two Minutes]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Flying Free|Flying Free]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Just Lounging Around|Just Lounging Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Like the Unfolding Petals of a Dream|Like the Unfolding Petals of a Dream]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Losing Himself|Losing Himself]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Now I will believe that there are Unicorns|Now I will believe that there are Unicorns]] Prequel to "Unicorn Dreams"

[[User:Michael Bard/Something Fishy|Something Fishy]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Still Lounging Around|Still Lounging Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Tale of a Tail|Tale of a Tail]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Tale of the Ivory Otherkin|The Tale of the Ivory Otherkin]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Unicorn Dreams|Unicorn Dreams]] Sequel to "Now I will believe that there are Unicorns"

= Stories in Progress =

Stories that are either in progress, or indefinitely stalled. Those which are stalled will eagerly take any advice offered to get restarted...

[[User:Michael Bard/Head on the Bed, The|The Head on the Bed]] Complete, but I REALLY need advice on the ending. It just doesn't work. Maybe a pun--

[[User:Michael Bard/Repayment|Repayment]] A draft version of character background story for a PaW character I'm playing with.

[[User:Michael Bard/Tale of One Entity, A|A Tale of One Entity]] An old project I poke at every so often, later inspired by "By his Bootstraps" by RA Heinlein. More details at the beginning of the story.

[[User:Michael Bard/Untitled PaW story]] Another PaW universe story being worked on.

[[User: Michael Bard/What difference can a Man make?]] A story of the Persian War in progress.

=The Abandoned=

These are various odds and ends either from abandoned shared world projects, story ideas that didn't pan out, or whatever. They are in various states of completion and it is unlikely anything further will ever be done on them. Read at your own risk!

[[User: Michael Bard/Consequences: The Simple Things]] Started out as a cyberpunk story. Was later used as a setup for a TSAT contest.

[[User: Michael Bard/Quiet World, The|The Quiet World]] Story universe plan where everybody who had a fursona was TFed into said fursona at the same time as everybody else vanished. Yea, it's been done before, but I wanted to poke at.

[[User: Michael Bard/Kor's Journey]] The linchpin story of "The World" that clarifies things, unifies concepts, etc. Been abandoned for years. There is an outline of future chapters at the end.

[[User: Michael Bard/Saving the Multiverse]] An abandoned shared world story project. This would be the intro for my "character". You may notice that I had been watching a certain cartoon series-- The intro story is complete, but nothing else was ever written in the universe.

[[User: Michael Bard/MMPs at Work]] An abandoned bit of fluff that is highly dated due to a corresponding TSAT editorial from the tranformees POV. Given that TSAT is long dead, I really doubt this story will be finished.

=Other Authors=

Some people have asked me to put their stuff here for various reasons. The author name will be indicated.

[[User:Michael Bard/Golden Mirror|Golden Mirror]] by Fish

=Books I need Replacement copies of=

About a decade ago now, 90% of my books were destroyed by a burst water pipe. A lot of the survivors mysteriously vanished during a move about 5 years ago. So, with a lot of crying (literally) and resulting ongoing depression, I put together a master list of what I still need to find copies of. Any help is appreciated, these are all recommended:

Adams, Douglas
- Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

Anderson, Poul
- The King of Ys: The Dog and the Wolf
- Brainwave
- The High Crusade
- The Dancer from Atlantis
- Maurai and Kith
- Operation Luna
- Vault of Ages
- The War of Two Worlds
- Orbit Unlimited
- After Doomsday
- Three Worlds to Conquer
- Beyond the Beyond
- The Bywolrder
- There Will be Time
- The Worlds of Poul Anderson
- The Devil's Game
- No Truce with Kings
- The Best of Poul Anderson
- How to build a Planet

Anthony, Piers
- Macroscope

Bach, Richard
- Jonathon Livingston Seagull

Benford, Gregory
- Across the Sea of Suns
- Furious Gulf

Bradbury, Ray
- NOT Martian Chronicles

Brin, David
- Heart of the Comet (with Benford I think)
- The River of Time

Butler, Octavia E
- Patternmaster
- Survivor
- Wild Seed
- Clay's Ark

Chalker, Jack L
- Midnight at the Well of Souls
- Horrors of the Dancing Gods
- Spirits of Flux and Anchor
- Empires of Flux and Anchor
- Masters of Flux and Anchor
- The Birth of Flux and Anchor
- Children of Flux and Anchor

Chambers, Robert W
- The King in Yellow

Clarke, Arthur C
- 2001: A Space Odyssey
- Rendezvous with Rama

Cherryh, CJ
- Gate of Ivrel
- Fires of Azeroth
- Exile's Gate
- Ealdwood
- The Dreamstone
- The Tree of Swords and Jewels
- Downbelow Station
- Chanur's Venture

Clement, Hal
- Mission of Gravity
- Close to Critical
- Starlight
- Ocean on Top

Colfer, Eoin
- Artemis Fowl

De Lint, Charles
- Moonheart
- The Riddle of the Wren

De Camp, L Sprague
- The Castle of Iron
- Wall of Serpents
- The Best of L Sprague de Camp

Donaldson, Stephen
- Daughter of Regals: And other stories

Duane, Diane
- The Door into Fire
- The Door into Shadow
- The Door into Sunset
- The Sword and the Dragon
- So you Want to be a Wizard
- High Wizardry

Durgin, Doranna
- Dun Lady's Jess

Dunsany, Lord
- The King of Elfland's Daughter
- The Charwoman's Shadow

Farmer, Philip Jose
- The Maker of Universes
- The Gates of Creation
- A Private Cosmos
- Behind the Walls of Terra
- The Lavalite World

Friesner, Esther
- Harlot's Ruse

Harrison, Harry
- Star Smashers of the Galaxy Rangers

Heinlein, Robert H
- Universe
- Farmer in the Sky
- Double Star

Hodgell, P C
- Seeker's Mask
- Dark of the Gods
- To Ride A Rathorn

Homer
- The Illiad (verse)

Hoyle, Fred
- The Black cloud

Kay, Guy Gavriel
- The Wandering Fire
- The Darkest Road

Le Guin, Ursula K
- The Left Hand of Darkness

Lee, Tanith
- Quest for the White Witch
- Don't Bite the Sun
- Delusion's Master

Leiber, Fritz
- The Swords of Lankhmar

Logstan, Ann
- Shadow

Lovecraft, HP
- The Dreamquest of Unknown Kadath

MacCaffrey, Anne
- All the Weyrs of Pern
- The Skies of Pern

Martin, George RR
- Wild Cards
- Aces High
- Jokers Wild

McKillip, Patricia
- The Riddle-Master of Hed
- Heir of Sea and Fire
- Harpist in the Wind

Meyers, Roy
- Daughers of the Dolphin
- Destiny of the Dolphins

Moffitt, Donald
- The Jupiter Theft
- The Genesis Quest
- Second Genesis

Niven, Larry
- The Ringworld Engineers
- Escape from Hell
- Protector
- The Patchwork Girl
- The Long ARM of Gil Hamilton
- Crashlander
- The Draco Tavern
- The Man-Kzin Wars 3-5, 7-9, 12 (and counting)

Offutt, Andrew J
- The Eye of Sarsis
- Web of the Spider

Raymond, Alex
- Flash Gordon

Reynolds, Alastair
- Revelation Space
- Chasm City'
- Redemption Ark
- Absolution Gap

Rosenburg, Joel
- The Sleeping Dragon
- The Sword and the Chain
- The Silver Crown

Simak, Clifford D
- City

Smith, Cordwainer
- The Planet buyer
- The Underpeope

Stapledon, Olaf
- Odd John
- Sirius

Stirling, SM
- Snowbrother
- The Sharpest Edge
- The Cage
- Shadow's Son
- Saber and Shadow

Swann, Thomas Burnett
- The Day of the Minotaur
- Cry Silver Bells
- The Dolphin and the Deep
- Where is the Bird of Fire?
- Wolfwinter
- How are the Mighty Fallen
- The Not World
- The Minnikins of Yam
- The Tournament of Thorns
- Will of the Wisp
- Queens Walk in the Dust

Tarr, Judith
- The Isle of Glass
- The Golden Horn

Tolkein, JRR
- The Fellowship of the Ring
- The Two Towers
- The Return of the King

Vance, Jack
- The Moon Moth: And other stories

Varley, John
- The Persistance of Vision
- Blue Champagne
- Steel Beach

Watt-Evans, Lawrence
- The Spell of the Black Dagger

Weber, David
- Crusade

Wells, HG
- The War of the Worlds

White, TH
- The Once and Future King

Williams, Tad
- The Dragonbone Chair
- The Stone of farewell
- To Green Angel Tower

Williamson, Jack
- The Humanoids

Wolf, Gene
- The Shadow of the Torturer
- The Claw of the Conciliator
- The Sword of the Lictor
- The Citadel of the Autarch

Wurts, Janny
- Stormwarden
- Keeper of the Keys
- Shadowfane

Wyndham, John
- The Day of the Triffids

Zelazny, Roger
- Unicorn Variations

Anthologies:
- Science Fiction Hall of Fame (vol 1+2)

User:Michael Bard/Untitled

2009-07-10T01:28:20Z

Michael Bard: Created page with 'Category:Michael Bard Category:Story{{DEFAULTSORT:Untitled #1}} {{title|name=Untitled #1|author=Michael Bard}} Category:AnimalCategory:RabbitCategory:Cervid ...'

[[Category:Michael Bard]]
[[Category:Story]]{{DEFAULTSORT:Untitled #1}}
{{title|name=Untitled #1|author=Michael Bard}}
[[Category:Animal]][[Category:Rabbit]][[Category:Cervid]]

The camp counselor in his voluminous blue robe stood before the pile of toothpicks that had once been a summer camp before the tornadoes had come through. "I'm sorry children -- I wish we could have rescheduled but with the storm knocking down all the IP infrastructure, your parents just brought you anyway. ''Any''way, we have no choice but to move the advanced teenager camp forward to include you young gentlemen. Now, if you will just open each of your envelopes and read the enclosed incantation (printed using smaller words to match your reading level) we can get started.

----

The two deer stood there side by side, chewing, watching the world around them. "You know," said little Johnny Waker, "this wouldn't be so bad if it wasn't for all the pesticide they'd been spraying." With that he spit out some of the cud.

"Yea, they really should go through this to see what it does to the flavouring!"

Johnny motioned towards a rabbit head peaking out of a hole. "I guess it could be worse. We don't have to dig our own homes--"

"Just be rained on--"

"Oh come on! You can hardly feel it under the trees!"

"Okay, okay, granted."

"Besides, ''anything'' is better than having to deal with a vitamin deficiency."

"Vitamin?"

Johnny chewed some more grass, then motioned towards the rabbit that was all the way out of his hole. On his breast was the handy sticky label ''Phill Guesser''. The bunny sniffed around, and then started eating a kind of small dry pellet.

"Johnny, that's not--"

"Yea, it is."

"EWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWWW!"

----

AUTHORS NOTE: To get the joke: [http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Rabbit#Diet_and_eating_habits]

User:Michael Bard

2009-07-10T01:25:06Z

Michael Bard:

User:Michael Bard

2009-07-10T01:24:26Z

Michael Bard: /* Stand Alone Stories */

{{author page|Bard, Michael}}
{{DEFAULTSORT:Bard, Michael}}

I'm an old fogy of an author who has been posting for FAR too long. We'll see how this new fangled contraption works out compared to feather, ink, and parchment.

=Poetry=

Yes, I ''do'' dabble in this occasionally. Fear not, I plan to ''only'' post TF related poetry here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Going Home|Going Home]]

=Stories=

These are written at various points over the past 30 years, and include only those works with ''on stage'' transformations. For a more complete story set, go to [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard Michael Bard's Story Page]

==Stand Alone Stories==

These are various odds and ends that are unrelated to other stories. Some may have a sequel (or a prequel) (or something else related) written, in which case they'll be moved and labeled appropriately.

[[User:Michael Bard/Action MUST be Taken!|Action MUST be Taken!]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Applicant|The Applicant]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Bee or not a Bee|A Bee or not a Bee]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Bob and the Goose|Bob and the Goose]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Can I help You?|Can I help You?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Christmas Dreams|Christmas Dreams]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Choices|Choices]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Coyote and Road Runner Show|The Coyote and Road Runner Show]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Down the Rabbit Hole|Down the Rabbit Hole]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Dragon, the Rock, and the Wanderer|The Dragon, the Rock, and the Wanderer]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Dragon Slayer|The Dragon Slayer]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Faerie Tale|A Faerie Tale]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Feathers|Feathers]]

[[User:Michael Bard/How did the Ceolocanth REALLY Survive?|How did the Ceolocanth REALLY Survive?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Horse in the Glass Bubble|The Horse in the Glass Bubble]]

[[User:Michael Bard/How not to be Seen|How not to be Seen]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Inspire Me|Inspire Me]]

[[User:Michael Bard/It's in the Skin|It's in the Skin]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Keeping Secrets|Keeping Secrets]]

The Last of the Niagaras - Now available for purchase in a Dead Tree Anthology from Lulu with lots of other great stories! [http://www.lulu.com/content/4431539 Alone in the Dark]

[[User:Michael Bard/Marduk's Gift|Marduk's Gift]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Melash...|Melash...]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Mowing the Lawn|Mowing the Lawn]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Myth of Beetlecat|The Myth of Beetlecat]]

Note: Trying to post MYTHIC JOURNEYS as the single novel it is managed to break Shifti, so I'm splitting it up into two parts.

----

[[User:Michael Bard/Mythic Journeys - Part 1|Mythic Journeys - Part 1]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Mythic Journeys - Part 2|Mythic Journeys - Part 2]]

----

[[User:Michael Bard/Of the Ylourgne Expanse|Of the Ylourgne Expanse]]

[[User:Michael Bard/One CarePony at a Time|One CarePony at a Time]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Perils of Wereostrichdom|The Perils of Wereostrichdom]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pizza is Us|Pizza is Us]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Power of Suggestion|The Power of Suggestion]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Psychological Reassignment - Case HM-474-353-793|Psychological Reassignment - Case HM-474-353-793]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Raccoon Flying Tail (tm)(c)|The Raccoon Flying Tail (tm)(c)]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Raccoon Morph Body Biosuit (tm)(c)|The Raccoon Morph Body Biosuit (tm)(c)]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Rabbit's Life|A Rabbit's Life]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Returning Home|Returning Home]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Something's out there|Something's out there]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Slip Sliding Around|Slip Sliding Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Somebody's Watching|Somebody's Watching]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Survival and Sacrifice|Survival and Sacrifice]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Transformation Vignettes|Transformation Vignettes]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Trust|Trust]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Truth about Bard|The Truth about Bard]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Untitled #1/Untitled #1]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Wanted: Bobs|Wanted: Bobs]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Wereing on the Moon|Wereing on the Moon]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Who gets the Dreamers?|Who gets the Dreamers?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Whom God Destroys|Whom God Destroys]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Xepher's Werewolf Overload|Xepher's Werewolf Overload]]

[[User:Michael Bard/You get what you Wished for|You get what you Wished for]]

==Story Cycles:==

And here are the stories that are set in a common universe with other stories. Note that some only have one story listed, generally because other stories in the cycle don't have any ''on screen'' transformations.

===Asteroid Ship===

In which those interested in "freedom of body" flee the oppressive UN aboard a hollowed out asteroid generation ship. More stories can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/asteroidship/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Dealing with the Faerie|Dealing with the Faerie]]

===LTF (List TransFormed)===

In which everybody on the TSA-talk mailing list is TFed into their most commonly depicted online fursona. Mine has changed a lot, but this was written years ago. There are two additional stories at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/centaur/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Diary of a Centaur in a Human's World|Diary of a Centaur in a Human's World]]

===Metamor Keep - ''Raider of the Lost Cult'' cycle===

My first poke into the Metamor Keep universe. Even though only the first story has a TF, and it's off screen, they're being put here as an experiment, and so that other people writing in the universe can read, and comment, on the ''in development'' versions.

[[User:Michael Bard/Pawned|Pawned]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A few Days in Heaven|A few Days in Heaven]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Cultists Strike Back!|The Cultists Strike Back!]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Tales of Euper Investigations|Tales of Euper Investigations]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Into the Darkness|Into the Darkness]]

[[User:Michael Bard/On the Hunt|On the Hunt]]

[[User:Michael Bard/From the Other Side|From the Other Side]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Summoning|The Summoning]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Between the Worlds|Between the Worlds]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Last Trial|The Last Trial]]

===National Enchanted Forest===

A weird little universe about a world where Faerie and Us co-exist, and how unwary people can get zapped.

[[User:Michael Bard/Christmas in the National Enchanted Forest|Christmas in the National Enchanted Forest]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Enchanted Buck Season|Enchanted Buck Season]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Walk in the National Enchanted Forest|A Walk in the National Enchanted Forest]]

===Of Brains and Bodies===

The first stories I wrote after joining TSA-talk. There is an outline for a third that would complete the meta-story, but, at this point, it is highly unlikely to ever be written.

[[User:Michael Bard/Dreams can become Nightmares; Nightmares can become Dreams|Dreams can become Nightmares, Nightmares can become Dreams]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Escaping my Father|Escaping my Father]]

===A History of the Future===

These are based on a fairly detailed outline I made up many moons ago for my last attempt at a SFRPG. We did one adventure, but then it faded away. Doesn't mean I couldn't write in it--

Note that there are two ''eras'' in this. The one with humans and a small set of aliens, and the one half a million years later with humans. ''Destinies'' explains this.

There are more stories, but right now they're all set aside to be edited for magazine submission.

[[User:Michael Bard/Destinies|Destinies]]

===Space Cadet===

A hard SF universe inspired by Robert A Heinlein's ''Space Cadet'' juvenile, and lots of other '50s SF. It's as realistic as I can make it, even though it is populated by furies and occurs 50,000 years after the 20th century. One story has been published in print media -- ''Hunters'' in [http://www.renardsmenagerie.com/ Renards Menagerie #2]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Survivor|The Survivor]]

===Tales from the Blind Pig===

''Lots'' more of these on my website in the [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/tbp/indexintro.html Master Blind Pig Archive]. This one is for a group story that is still under development and is only here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Beyond the Wall of Ice|Beyond the Wall of Ice]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Switching Sides|Switching Sides]]

===Tales of SUPERMARE!===

This is the origin story. There are many sequels, but most of them don't have implicit TFs, or require earlier stories to be read. They can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/supermare/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/My Name is...|My Name is...]]

===Tales of The World===

These are stories, myths, etc. set in the last FRPG world I created. There are more at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/talesoftheworld/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Beornwyn's Love|Beornwyn's Love]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Lies and Truths|Lies and Truths]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Of Love and Hate|Of Love and Hate]] (revised (rewritten) April 2008)

[[User:Michael Bard/Of Love and Dream|Of Love and Dreams]] (a sequel to "Of Love and Hate" though written much earlier so there are some inconsistencies)

[[User:Michael Bard/Two Gods and a Faerie|Two Gods and a Faerie]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pricing Immortality - Book 1 - Immortality Lost|Pricing Immortality - Book 1 - Immortality Lost]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pricing Immortality - Book 2 - Immortality Regained|Pricing Immortality - Book 2 - Immortality Regained]] Unfinished, but it would be odd to put the sequel/conclusion separate from Part 1.

[[User:Michael Bard/Swimming from the Dragon|Swimming from the Dragon]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The End of all Things|The End of all Things]]

===Warhammer 40,000 Fanfiction===

Fairly obvious what these are. This is only one that I've written, but the longest. Most can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/agrippa/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Bloodstone's Gift|The Bloodstone's Gift]]

===Xanadu===

As a Xanadu story, by it's nature, includes a TF, all of what I've written are here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Five Hours, Thirty-two Minutes|Five Hours, Thirty-two Minutes]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Flying Free|Flying Free]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Just Lounging Around|Just Lounging Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Like the Unfolding Petals of a Dream|Like the Unfolding Petals of a Dream]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Losing Himself|Losing Himself]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Now I will believe that there are Unicorns|Now I will believe that there are Unicorns]] Prequel to "Unicorn Dreams"

[[User:Michael Bard/Something Fishy|Something Fishy]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Still Lounging Around|Still Lounging Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Tale of a Tail|Tale of a Tail]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Tale of the Ivory Otherkin|The Tale of the Ivory Otherkin]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Unicorn Dreams|Unicorn Dreams]] Sequel to "Now I will believe that there are Unicorns"

= Stories in Progress =

Stories that are either in progress, or indefinitely stalled. Those which are stalled will eagerly take any advice offered to get restarted...

[[User:Michael Bard/Head on the Bed, The|The Head on the Bed]] Complete, but I REALLY need advice on the ending. It just doesn't work. Maybe a pun--

[[User:Michael Bard/Repayment|Repayment]] A draft version of character background story for a PaW character I'm playing with.

[[User:Michael Bard/Tale of One Entity, A|A Tale of One Entity]] An old project I poke at every so often, later inspired by "By his Bootstraps" by RA Heinlein. More details at the beginning of the story.

[[User:Michael Bard/Untitled PaW story]] Another PaW universe story being worked on.

[[User: Michael Bard/What difference can a Man make?]] A story of the Persian War in progress.

=The Abandoned=

These are various odds and ends either from abandoned shared world projects, story ideas that didn't pan out, or whatever. They are in various states of completion and it is unlikely anything further will ever be done on them. Read at your own risk!

[[User: Michael Bard/Consequences: The Simple Things]] Started out as a cyberpunk story. Was later used as a setup for a TSAT contest.

[[User: Michael Bard/Quiet World, The|The Quiet World]] Story universe plan where everybody who had a fursona was TFed into said fursona at the same time as everybody else vanished. Yea, it's been done before, but I wanted to poke at.

[[User: Michael Bard/Kor's Journey]] The linchpin story of "The World" that clarifies things, unifies concepts, etc. Been abandoned for years. There is an outline of future chapters at the end.

[[User: Michael Bard/Saving the Multiverse]] An abandoned shared world story project. This would be the intro for my "character". You may notice that I had been watching a certain cartoon series-- The intro story is complete, but nothing else was ever written in the universe.

[[User: Michael Bard/MMPs at Work]] An abandoned bit of fluff that is highly dated due to a corresponding TSAT editorial from the tranformees POV. Given that TSAT is long dead, I really doubt this story will be finished.

=Other Authors=

Some people have asked me to put their stuff here for various reasons. The author name will be indicated.

[[User:Michael Bard/Golden Mirror|Golden Mirror]] by Fish

=Books I need Replacement copies of=

About a decade ago now, 90% of my books were destroyed by a burst water pipe. A lot of the survivors mysteriously vanished during a move about 5 years ago. So, with a lot of crying (literally) and resulting ongoing depression, I put together a master list of what I still need to find copies of. Any help is appreciated, these are all recommended:

Adams, Douglas
- Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

Anderson, Poul
- The King of Ys: The Dog and the Wolf
- Brainwave
- The High Crusade
- The Dancer from Atlantis
- Maurai and Kith
- Operation Luna
- Vault of Ages
- The War of Two Worlds
- Orbit Unlimited
- After Doomsday
- Three Worlds to Conquer
- Beyond the Beyond
- The Bywolrder
- There Will be Time
- The Worlds of Poul Anderson
- The Devil's Game
- No Truce with Kings
- The Best of Poul Anderson
- How to build a Planet

Anthony, Piers
- Macroscope

Bach, Richard
- Jonathon Livingston Seagull

Benford, Gregory
- Across the Sea of Suns
- Furious Gulf

Bradbury, Ray
- NOT Martian Chronicles

Brin, David
- Heart of the Comet (with Benford I think)
- The River of Time

Butler, Octavia E
- Patternmaster
- Survivor
- Wild Seed
- Clay's Ark

Chalker, Jack L
- Midnight at the Well of Souls
- Horrors of the Dancing Gods
- Spirits of Flux and Anchor
- Empires of Flux and Anchor
- Masters of Flux and Anchor
- The Birth of Flux and Anchor
- Children of Flux and Anchor

Chambers, Robert W
- The King in Yellow

Clarke, Arthur C
- 2001: A Space Odyssey
- Rendezvous with Rama

Cherryh, CJ
- Gate of Ivrel
- Fires of Azeroth
- Exile's Gate
- Ealdwood
- The Dreamstone
- The Tree of Swords and Jewels
- Downbelow Station
- Chanur's Venture

Clement, Hal
- Mission of Gravity
- Close to Critical
- Starlight
- Ocean on Top

Colfer, Eoin
- Artemis Fowl

De Lint, Charles
- Moonheart
- The Riddle of the Wren

De Camp, L Sprague
- The Castle of Iron
- Wall of Serpents
- The Best of L Sprague de Camp

Donaldson, Stephen
- Daughter of Regals: And other stories

Duane, Diane
- The Door into Fire
- The Door into Shadow
- The Door into Sunset
- The Sword and the Dragon
- So you Want to be a Wizard
- High Wizardry

Durgin, Doranna
- Dun Lady's Jess

Dunsany, Lord
- The King of Elfland's Daughter
- The Charwoman's Shadow

Farmer, Philip Jose
- The Maker of Universes
- The Gates of Creation
- A Private Cosmos
- Behind the Walls of Terra
- The Lavalite World

Friesner, Esther
- Harlot's Ruse

Harrison, Harry
- Star Smashers of the Galaxy Rangers

Heinlein, Robert H
- Universe
- Farmer in the Sky
- Double Star

Hodgell, P C
- Seeker's Mask
- Dark of the Gods
- To Ride A Rathorn

Homer
- The Illiad (verse)

Hoyle, Fred
- The Black cloud

Kay, Guy Gavriel
- The Wandering Fire
- The Darkest Road

Le Guin, Ursula K
- The Left Hand of Darkness

Lee, Tanith
- Quest for the White Witch
- Don't Bite the Sun
- Delusion's Master

Leiber, Fritz
- The Swords of Lankhmar

Logstan, Ann
- Shadow

Lovecraft, HP
- The Dreamquest of Unknown Kadath

MacCaffrey, Anne
- All the Weyrs of Pern
- The Skies of Pern

Martin, George RR
- Wild Cards
- Aces High
- Jokers Wild

McKillip, Patricia
- The Riddle-Master of Hed
- Heir of Sea and Fire
- Harpist in the Wind

Meyers, Roy
- Daughers of the Dolphin
- Destiny of the Dolphins

Moffitt, Donald
- The Jupiter Theft
- The Genesis Quest
- Second Genesis

Niven, Larry
- The Ringworld Engineers
- Escape from Hell
- Protector
- The Patchwork Girl
- The Long ARM of Gil Hamilton
- Crashlander
- The Draco Tavern
- The Man-Kzin Wars 3-5, 7-9, 12 (and counting)

Offutt, Andrew J
- The Eye of Sarsis
- Web of the Spider

Raymond, Alex
- Flash Gordon

Reynolds, Alastair
- Revelation Space
- Chasm City'
- Redemption Ark
- Absolution Gap

Rosenburg, Joel
- The Sleeping Dragon
- The Sword and the Chain
- The Silver Crown

Simak, Clifford D
- City

Smith, Cordwainer
- The Planet buyer
- The Underpeope

Stapledon, Olaf
- Odd John
- Sirius

Stirling, SM
- Snowbrother
- The Sharpest Edge
- The Cage
- Shadow's Son
- Saber and Shadow

Swann, Thomas Burnett
- The Day of the Minotaur
- Cry Silver Bells
- The Dolphin and the Deep
- Where is the Bird of Fire?
- Wolfwinter
- How are the Mighty Fallen
- The Not World
- The Minnikins of Yam
- The Tournament of Thorns
- Will of the Wisp
- Queens Walk in the Dust

Tarr, Judith
- The Isle of Glass
- The Golden Horn

Tolkein, JRR
- The Fellowship of the Ring
- The Two Towers
- The Return of the King

Vance, Jack
- The Moon Moth: And other stories

Varley, John
- The Persistance of Vision
- Blue Champagne
- Steel Beach

Watt-Evans, Lawrence
- The Spell of the Black Dagger

Weber, David
- Crusade

Wells, HG
- The War of the Worlds

White, TH
- The Once and Future King

Williams, Tad
- The Dragonbone Chair
- The Stone of farewell
- To Green Angel Tower

Williamson, Jack
- The Humanoids

Wolf, Gene
- The Shadow of the Torturer
- The Claw of the Conciliator
- The Sword of the Lictor
- The Citadel of the Autarch

Wurts, Janny
- Stormwarden
- Keeper of the Keys
- Shadowfane

Wyndham, John
- The Day of the Triffids

Zelazny, Roger
- Unicorn Variations

Anthologies:
- Science Fiction Hall of Fame (vol 1+2)

User:Michael Bard

2009-06-29T00:32:40Z

Michael Bard: /* Books I need Replacement copies of */

{{author page|Bard, Michael}}
{{DEFAULTSORT:Bard, Michael}}

I'm an old fogy of an author who has been posting for FAR too long. We'll see how this new fangled contraption works out compared to feather, ink, and parchment.

=Poetry=

Yes, I ''do'' dabble in this occasionally. Fear not, I plan to ''only'' post TF related poetry here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Going Home|Going Home]]

=Stories=

These are written at various points over the past 30 years, and include only those works with ''on stage'' transformations. For a more complete story set, go to [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard Michael Bard's Story Page]

==Stand Alone Stories==

These are various odds and ends that are unrelated to other stories. Some may have a sequel (or a prequel) (or something else related) written, in which case they'll be moved and labeled appropriately.

[[User:Michael Bard/Action MUST be Taken!|Action MUST be Taken!]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Applicant|The Applicant]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Bee or not a Bee|A Bee or not a Bee]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Bob and the Goose|Bob and the Goose]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Can I help You?|Can I help You?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Christmas Dreams|Christmas Dreams]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Choices|Choices]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Coyote and Road Runner Show|The Coyote and Road Runner Show]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Down the Rabbit Hole|Down the Rabbit Hole]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Dragon, the Rock, and the Wanderer|The Dragon, the Rock, and the Wanderer]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Dragon Slayer|The Dragon Slayer]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Faerie Tale|A Faerie Tale]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Feathers|Feathers]]

[[User:Michael Bard/How did the Ceolocanth REALLY Survive?|How did the Ceolocanth REALLY Survive?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Horse in the Glass Bubble|The Horse in the Glass Bubble]]

[[User:Michael Bard/How not to be Seen|How not to be Seen]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Inspire Me|Inspire Me]]

[[User:Michael Bard/It's in the Skin|It's in the Skin]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Keeping Secrets|Keeping Secrets]]

The Last of the Niagaras - Now available for purchase in a Dead Tree Anthology from Lulu with lots of other great stories! [http://www.lulu.com/content/4431539 Alone in the Dark]

[[User:Michael Bard/Marduk's Gift|Marduk's Gift]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Melash...|Melash...]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Mowing the Lawn|Mowing the Lawn]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Myth of Beetlecat|The Myth of Beetlecat]]

Note: Trying to post MYTHIC JOURNEYS as the single novel it is managed to break Shifti, so I'm splitting it up into two parts.

----

[[User:Michael Bard/Mythic Journeys - Part 1|Mythic Journeys - Part 1]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Mythic Journeys - Part 2|Mythic Journeys - Part 2]]

----

[[User:Michael Bard/Of the Ylourgne Expanse|Of the Ylourgne Expanse]]

[[User:Michael Bard/One CarePony at a Time|One CarePony at a Time]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Perils of Wereostrichdom|The Perils of Wereostrichdom]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pizza is Us|Pizza is Us]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Power of Suggestion|The Power of Suggestion]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Psychological Reassignment - Case HM-474-353-793|Psychological Reassignment - Case HM-474-353-793]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Raccoon Flying Tail (tm)(c)|The Raccoon Flying Tail (tm)(c)]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Raccoon Morph Body Biosuit (tm)(c)|The Raccoon Morph Body Biosuit (tm)(c)]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Rabbit's Life|A Rabbit's Life]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Returning Home|Returning Home]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Something's out there|Something's out there]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Slip Sliding Around|Slip Sliding Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Somebody's Watching|Somebody's Watching]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Survival and Sacrifice|Survival and Sacrifice]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Transformation Vignettes|Transformation Vignettes]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Trust|Trust]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Truth about Bard|The Truth about Bard]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Wanted: Bobs|Wanted: Bobs]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Wereing on the Moon|Wereing on the Moon]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Who gets the Dreamers?|Who gets the Dreamers?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Whom God Destroys|Whom God Destroys]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Xepher's Werewolf Overload|Xepher's Werewolf Overload]]

[[User:Michael Bard/You get what you Wished for|You get what you Wished for]]

==Story Cycles:==

And here are the stories that are set in a common universe with other stories. Note that some only have one story listed, generally because other stories in the cycle don't have any ''on screen'' transformations.

===Asteroid Ship===

In which those interested in "freedom of body" flee the oppressive UN aboard a hollowed out asteroid generation ship. More stories can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/asteroidship/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Dealing with the Faerie|Dealing with the Faerie]]

===LTF (List TransFormed)===

In which everybody on the TSA-talk mailing list is TFed into their most commonly depicted online fursona. Mine has changed a lot, but this was written years ago. There are two additional stories at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/centaur/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Diary of a Centaur in a Human's World|Diary of a Centaur in a Human's World]]

===Metamor Keep - ''Raider of the Lost Cult'' cycle===

My first poke into the Metamor Keep universe. Even though only the first story has a TF, and it's off screen, they're being put here as an experiment, and so that other people writing in the universe can read, and comment, on the ''in development'' versions.

[[User:Michael Bard/Pawned|Pawned]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A few Days in Heaven|A few Days in Heaven]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Cultists Strike Back!|The Cultists Strike Back!]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Tales of Euper Investigations|Tales of Euper Investigations]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Into the Darkness|Into the Darkness]]

[[User:Michael Bard/On the Hunt|On the Hunt]]

[[User:Michael Bard/From the Other Side|From the Other Side]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Summoning|The Summoning]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Between the Worlds|Between the Worlds]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Last Trial|The Last Trial]]

===National Enchanted Forest===

A weird little universe about a world where Faerie and Us co-exist, and how unwary people can get zapped.

[[User:Michael Bard/Christmas in the National Enchanted Forest|Christmas in the National Enchanted Forest]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Enchanted Buck Season|Enchanted Buck Season]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Walk in the National Enchanted Forest|A Walk in the National Enchanted Forest]]

===Of Brains and Bodies===

The first stories I wrote after joining TSA-talk. There is an outline for a third that would complete the meta-story, but, at this point, it is highly unlikely to ever be written.

[[User:Michael Bard/Dreams can become Nightmares; Nightmares can become Dreams|Dreams can become Nightmares, Nightmares can become Dreams]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Escaping my Father|Escaping my Father]]

===A History of the Future===

These are based on a fairly detailed outline I made up many moons ago for my last attempt at a SFRPG. We did one adventure, but then it faded away. Doesn't mean I couldn't write in it--

Note that there are two ''eras'' in this. The one with humans and a small set of aliens, and the one half a million years later with humans. ''Destinies'' explains this.

There are more stories, but right now they're all set aside to be edited for magazine submission.

[[User:Michael Bard/Destinies|Destinies]]

===Space Cadet===

A hard SF universe inspired by Robert A Heinlein's ''Space Cadet'' juvenile, and lots of other '50s SF. It's as realistic as I can make it, even though it is populated by furies and occurs 50,000 years after the 20th century. One story has been published in print media -- ''Hunters'' in [http://www.renardsmenagerie.com/ Renards Menagerie #2]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Survivor|The Survivor]]

===Tales from the Blind Pig===

''Lots'' more of these on my website in the [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/tbp/indexintro.html Master Blind Pig Archive]. This one is for a group story that is still under development and is only here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Beyond the Wall of Ice|Beyond the Wall of Ice]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Switching Sides|Switching Sides]]

===Tales of SUPERMARE!===

This is the origin story. There are many sequels, but most of them don't have implicit TFs, or require earlier stories to be read. They can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/supermare/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/My Name is...|My Name is...]]

===Tales of The World===

These are stories, myths, etc. set in the last FRPG world I created. There are more at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/talesoftheworld/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Beornwyn's Love|Beornwyn's Love]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Lies and Truths|Lies and Truths]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Of Love and Hate|Of Love and Hate]] (revised (rewritten) April 2008)

[[User:Michael Bard/Of Love and Dream|Of Love and Dreams]] (a sequel to "Of Love and Hate" though written much earlier so there are some inconsistencies)

[[User:Michael Bard/Two Gods and a Faerie|Two Gods and a Faerie]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pricing Immortality - Book 1 - Immortality Lost|Pricing Immortality - Book 1 - Immortality Lost]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pricing Immortality - Book 2 - Immortality Regained|Pricing Immortality - Book 2 - Immortality Regained]] Unfinished, but it would be odd to put the sequel/conclusion separate from Part 1.

[[User:Michael Bard/Swimming from the Dragon|Swimming from the Dragon]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The End of all Things|The End of all Things]]

===Warhammer 40,000 Fanfiction===

Fairly obvious what these are. This is only one that I've written, but the longest. Most can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/agrippa/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Bloodstone's Gift|The Bloodstone's Gift]]

===Xanadu===

As a Xanadu story, by it's nature, includes a TF, all of what I've written are here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Five Hours, Thirty-two Minutes|Five Hours, Thirty-two Minutes]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Flying Free|Flying Free]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Just Lounging Around|Just Lounging Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Like the Unfolding Petals of a Dream|Like the Unfolding Petals of a Dream]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Losing Himself|Losing Himself]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Now I will believe that there are Unicorns|Now I will believe that there are Unicorns]] Prequel to "Unicorn Dreams"

[[User:Michael Bard/Something Fishy|Something Fishy]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Still Lounging Around|Still Lounging Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Tale of a Tail|Tale of a Tail]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Tale of the Ivory Otherkin|The Tale of the Ivory Otherkin]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Unicorn Dreams|Unicorn Dreams]] Sequel to "Now I will believe that there are Unicorns"

= Stories in Progress =

Stories that are either in progress, or indefinitely stalled. Those which are stalled will eagerly take any advice offered to get restarted...

[[User:Michael Bard/Head on the Bed, The|The Head on the Bed]] Complete, but I REALLY need advice on the ending. It just doesn't work. Maybe a pun--

[[User:Michael Bard/Repayment|Repayment]] A draft version of character background story for a PaW character I'm playing with.

[[User:Michael Bard/Tale of One Entity, A|A Tale of One Entity]] An old project I poke at every so often, later inspired by "By his Bootstraps" by RA Heinlein. More details at the beginning of the story.

[[User:Michael Bard/Untitled PaW story]] Another PaW universe story being worked on.

[[User: Michael Bard/What difference can a Man make?]] A story of the Persian War in progress.

=The Abandoned=

These are various odds and ends either from abandoned shared world projects, story ideas that didn't pan out, or whatever. They are in various states of completion and it is unlikely anything further will ever be done on them. Read at your own risk!

[[User: Michael Bard/Consequences: The Simple Things]] Started out as a cyberpunk story. Was later used as a setup for a TSAT contest.

[[User: Michael Bard/Quiet World, The|The Quiet World]] Story universe plan where everybody who had a fursona was TFed into said fursona at the same time as everybody else vanished. Yea, it's been done before, but I wanted to poke at.

[[User: Michael Bard/Kor's Journey]] The linchpin story of "The World" that clarifies things, unifies concepts, etc. Been abandoned for years. There is an outline of future chapters at the end.

[[User: Michael Bard/Saving the Multiverse]] An abandoned shared world story project. This would be the intro for my "character". You may notice that I had been watching a certain cartoon series-- The intro story is complete, but nothing else was ever written in the universe.

[[User: Michael Bard/MMPs at Work]] An abandoned bit of fluff that is highly dated due to a corresponding TSAT editorial from the tranformees POV. Given that TSAT is long dead, I really doubt this story will be finished.

=Other Authors=

Some people have asked me to put their stuff here for various reasons. The author name will be indicated.

[[User:Michael Bard/Golden Mirror|Golden Mirror]] by Fish

=Books I need Replacement copies of=

About a decade ago now, 90% of my books were destroyed by a burst water pipe. A lot of the survivors mysteriously vanished during a move about 5 years ago. So, with a lot of crying (literally) and resulting ongoing depression, I put together a master list of what I still need to find copies of. Any help is appreciated, these are all recommended:

Adams, Douglas
- Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

Anderson, Poul
- The King of Ys: The Dog and the Wolf
- Brainwave
- The High Crusade
- The Dancer from Atlantis
- Maurai and Kith
- Operation Luna
- Vault of Ages
- The War of Two Worlds
- Orbit Unlimited
- After Doomsday
- Three Worlds to Conquer
- Beyond the Beyond
- The Bywolrder
- There Will be Time
- The Worlds of Poul Anderson
- The Devil's Game
- No Truce with Kings
- The Best of Poul Anderson
- How to build a Planet

Anthony, Piers
- Macroscope

Bach, Richard
- Jonathon Livingston Seagull

Benford, Gregory
- Across the Sea of Suns
- Furious Gulf

Bradbury, Ray
- NOT Martian Chronicles

Brin, David
- Heart of the Comet (with Benford I think)
- The River of Time

Butler, Octavia E
- Patternmaster
- Survivor
- Wild Seed
- Clay's Ark

Chalker, Jack L
- Midnight at the Well of Souls
- Horrors of the Dancing Gods
- Spirits of Flux and Anchor
- Empires of Flux and Anchor
- Masters of Flux and Anchor
- The Birth of Flux and Anchor
- Children of Flux and Anchor

Chambers, Robert W
- The King in Yellow

Clarke, Arthur C
- 2001: A Space Odyssey
- Rendezvous with Rama

Cherryh, CJ
- Gate of Ivrel
- Fires of Azeroth
- Exile's Gate
- Ealdwood
- The Dreamstone
- The Tree of Swords and Jewels
- Downbelow Station
- Chanur's Venture

Clement, Hal
- Mission of Gravity
- Close to Critical
- Starlight
- Ocean on Top

Colfer, Eoin
- Artemis Fowl

De Lint, Charles
- Moonheart
- The Riddle of the Wren

De Camp, L Sprague
- The Castle of Iron
- Wall of Serpents
- The Best of L Sprague de Camp

Donaldson, Stephen
- Daughter of Regals: And other stories

Duane, Diane
- The Door into Fire
- The Door into Shadow
- The Door into Sunset
- The Sword and the Dragon
- So you Want to be a Wizard
- High Wizardry

Durgin, Doranna
- Dun Lady's Jess

Dunsany, Lord
- The King of Elfland's Daughter
- The Charwoman's Shadow

Farmer, Philip Jose
- The Maker of Universes
- The Gates of Creation
- A Private Cosmos
- Behind the Walls of Terra
- The Lavalite World

Friesner, Esther
- Harlot's Ruse

Harrison, Harry
- Star Smashers of the Galaxy Rangers

Heinlein, Robert H
- Universe
- Farmer in the Sky
- Double Star

Hodgell, P C
- Seeker's Mask
- Dark of the Gods
- To Ride A Rathorn

Homer
- The Illiad (verse)

Hoyle, Fred
- The Black cloud

Kay, Guy Gavriel
- The Wandering Fire
- The Darkest Road

Le Guin, Ursula K
- The Left Hand of Darkness

Lee, Tanith
- Quest for the White Witch
- Don't Bite the Sun
- Delusion's Master

Leiber, Fritz
- The Swords of Lankhmar

Logstan, Ann
- Shadow

Lovecraft, HP
- The Dreamquest of Unknown Kadath

MacCaffrey, Anne
- All the Weyrs of Pern
- The Skies of Pern

Martin, George RR
- Wild Cards
- Aces High
- Jokers Wild

McKillip, Patricia
- The Riddle-Master of Hed
- Heir of Sea and Fire
- Harpist in the Wind

Meyers, Roy
- Daughers of the Dolphin
- Destiny of the Dolphins

Moffitt, Donald
- The Jupiter Theft
- The Genesis Quest
- Second Genesis

Niven, Larry
- The Ringworld Engineers
- Escape from Hell
- Protector
- The Patchwork Girl
- The Long ARM of Gil Hamilton
- Crashlander
- The Draco Tavern
- The Man-Kzin Wars 3-5, 7-9, 12 (and counting)

Offutt, Andrew J
- The Eye of Sarsis
- Web of the Spider

Raymond, Alex
- Flash Gordon

Reynolds, Alastair
- Revelation Space
- Chasm City'
- Redemption Ark
- Absolution Gap

Rosenburg, Joel
- The Sleeping Dragon
- The Sword and the Chain
- The Silver Crown

Simak, Clifford D
- City

Smith, Cordwainer
- The Planet buyer
- The Underpeope

Stapledon, Olaf
- Odd John
- Sirius

Stirling, SM
- Snowbrother
- The Sharpest Edge
- The Cage
- Shadow's Son
- Saber and Shadow

Swann, Thomas Burnett
- The Day of the Minotaur
- Cry Silver Bells
- The Dolphin and the Deep
- Where is the Bird of Fire?
- Wolfwinter
- How are the Mighty Fallen
- The Not World
- The Minnikins of Yam
- The Tournament of Thorns
- Will of the Wisp
- Queens Walk in the Dust

Tarr, Judith
- The Isle of Glass
- The Golden Horn

Tolkein, JRR
- The Fellowship of the Ring
- The Two Towers
- The Return of the King

Vance, Jack
- The Moon Moth: And other stories

Varley, John
- The Persistance of Vision
- Blue Champagne
- Steel Beach

Watt-Evans, Lawrence
- The Spell of the Black Dagger

Weber, David
- Crusade

Wells, HG
- The War of the Worlds

White, TH
- The Once and Future King

Williams, Tad
- The Dragonbone Chair
- The Stone of farewell
- To Green Angel Tower

Williamson, Jack
- The Humanoids

Wolf, Gene
- The Shadow of the Torturer
- The Claw of the Conciliator
- The Sword of the Lictor
- The Citadel of the Autarch

Wurts, Janny
- Stormwarden
- Keeper of the Keys
- Shadowfane

Wyndham, John
- The Day of the Triffids

Zelazny, Roger
- Unicorn Variations

Anthologies:
- Science Fiction Hall of Fame (vol 1+2)

User:Michael Bard

2009-06-29T00:31:06Z

Michael Bard: /* The Abandoned */

{{author page|Bard, Michael}}
{{DEFAULTSORT:Bard, Michael}}

I'm an old fogy of an author who has been posting for FAR too long. We'll see how this new fangled contraption works out compared to feather, ink, and parchment.

=Poetry=

Yes, I ''do'' dabble in this occasionally. Fear not, I plan to ''only'' post TF related poetry here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Going Home|Going Home]]

=Stories=

These are written at various points over the past 30 years, and include only those works with ''on stage'' transformations. For a more complete story set, go to [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard Michael Bard's Story Page]

==Stand Alone Stories==

These are various odds and ends that are unrelated to other stories. Some may have a sequel (or a prequel) (or something else related) written, in which case they'll be moved and labeled appropriately.

[[User:Michael Bard/Action MUST be Taken!|Action MUST be Taken!]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Applicant|The Applicant]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Bee or not a Bee|A Bee or not a Bee]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Bob and the Goose|Bob and the Goose]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Can I help You?|Can I help You?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Christmas Dreams|Christmas Dreams]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Choices|Choices]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Coyote and Road Runner Show|The Coyote and Road Runner Show]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Down the Rabbit Hole|Down the Rabbit Hole]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Dragon, the Rock, and the Wanderer|The Dragon, the Rock, and the Wanderer]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Dragon Slayer|The Dragon Slayer]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Faerie Tale|A Faerie Tale]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Feathers|Feathers]]

[[User:Michael Bard/How did the Ceolocanth REALLY Survive?|How did the Ceolocanth REALLY Survive?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Horse in the Glass Bubble|The Horse in the Glass Bubble]]

[[User:Michael Bard/How not to be Seen|How not to be Seen]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Inspire Me|Inspire Me]]

[[User:Michael Bard/It's in the Skin|It's in the Skin]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Keeping Secrets|Keeping Secrets]]

The Last of the Niagaras - Now available for purchase in a Dead Tree Anthology from Lulu with lots of other great stories! [http://www.lulu.com/content/4431539 Alone in the Dark]

[[User:Michael Bard/Marduk's Gift|Marduk's Gift]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Melash...|Melash...]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Mowing the Lawn|Mowing the Lawn]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Myth of Beetlecat|The Myth of Beetlecat]]

Note: Trying to post MYTHIC JOURNEYS as the single novel it is managed to break Shifti, so I'm splitting it up into two parts.

----

[[User:Michael Bard/Mythic Journeys - Part 1|Mythic Journeys - Part 1]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Mythic Journeys - Part 2|Mythic Journeys - Part 2]]

----

[[User:Michael Bard/Of the Ylourgne Expanse|Of the Ylourgne Expanse]]

[[User:Michael Bard/One CarePony at a Time|One CarePony at a Time]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Perils of Wereostrichdom|The Perils of Wereostrichdom]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pizza is Us|Pizza is Us]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Power of Suggestion|The Power of Suggestion]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Psychological Reassignment - Case HM-474-353-793|Psychological Reassignment - Case HM-474-353-793]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Raccoon Flying Tail (tm)(c)|The Raccoon Flying Tail (tm)(c)]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Raccoon Morph Body Biosuit (tm)(c)|The Raccoon Morph Body Biosuit (tm)(c)]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Rabbit's Life|A Rabbit's Life]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Returning Home|Returning Home]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Something's out there|Something's out there]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Slip Sliding Around|Slip Sliding Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Somebody's Watching|Somebody's Watching]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Survival and Sacrifice|Survival and Sacrifice]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Transformation Vignettes|Transformation Vignettes]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Trust|Trust]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Truth about Bard|The Truth about Bard]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Wanted: Bobs|Wanted: Bobs]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Wereing on the Moon|Wereing on the Moon]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Who gets the Dreamers?|Who gets the Dreamers?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Whom God Destroys|Whom God Destroys]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Xepher's Werewolf Overload|Xepher's Werewolf Overload]]

[[User:Michael Bard/You get what you Wished for|You get what you Wished for]]

==Story Cycles:==

And here are the stories that are set in a common universe with other stories. Note that some only have one story listed, generally because other stories in the cycle don't have any ''on screen'' transformations.

===Asteroid Ship===

In which those interested in "freedom of body" flee the oppressive UN aboard a hollowed out asteroid generation ship. More stories can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/asteroidship/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Dealing with the Faerie|Dealing with the Faerie]]

===LTF (List TransFormed)===

In which everybody on the TSA-talk mailing list is TFed into their most commonly depicted online fursona. Mine has changed a lot, but this was written years ago. There are two additional stories at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/centaur/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Diary of a Centaur in a Human's World|Diary of a Centaur in a Human's World]]

===Metamor Keep - ''Raider of the Lost Cult'' cycle===

My first poke into the Metamor Keep universe. Even though only the first story has a TF, and it's off screen, they're being put here as an experiment, and so that other people writing in the universe can read, and comment, on the ''in development'' versions.

[[User:Michael Bard/Pawned|Pawned]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A few Days in Heaven|A few Days in Heaven]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Cultists Strike Back!|The Cultists Strike Back!]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Tales of Euper Investigations|Tales of Euper Investigations]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Into the Darkness|Into the Darkness]]

[[User:Michael Bard/On the Hunt|On the Hunt]]

[[User:Michael Bard/From the Other Side|From the Other Side]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Summoning|The Summoning]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Between the Worlds|Between the Worlds]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Last Trial|The Last Trial]]

===National Enchanted Forest===

A weird little universe about a world where Faerie and Us co-exist, and how unwary people can get zapped.

[[User:Michael Bard/Christmas in the National Enchanted Forest|Christmas in the National Enchanted Forest]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Enchanted Buck Season|Enchanted Buck Season]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Walk in the National Enchanted Forest|A Walk in the National Enchanted Forest]]

===Of Brains and Bodies===

The first stories I wrote after joining TSA-talk. There is an outline for a third that would complete the meta-story, but, at this point, it is highly unlikely to ever be written.

[[User:Michael Bard/Dreams can become Nightmares; Nightmares can become Dreams|Dreams can become Nightmares, Nightmares can become Dreams]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Escaping my Father|Escaping my Father]]

===A History of the Future===

These are based on a fairly detailed outline I made up many moons ago for my last attempt at a SFRPG. We did one adventure, but then it faded away. Doesn't mean I couldn't write in it--

Note that there are two ''eras'' in this. The one with humans and a small set of aliens, and the one half a million years later with humans. ''Destinies'' explains this.

There are more stories, but right now they're all set aside to be edited for magazine submission.

[[User:Michael Bard/Destinies|Destinies]]

===Space Cadet===

A hard SF universe inspired by Robert A Heinlein's ''Space Cadet'' juvenile, and lots of other '50s SF. It's as realistic as I can make it, even though it is populated by furies and occurs 50,000 years after the 20th century. One story has been published in print media -- ''Hunters'' in [http://www.renardsmenagerie.com/ Renards Menagerie #2]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Survivor|The Survivor]]

===Tales from the Blind Pig===

''Lots'' more of these on my website in the [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/tbp/indexintro.html Master Blind Pig Archive]. This one is for a group story that is still under development and is only here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Beyond the Wall of Ice|Beyond the Wall of Ice]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Switching Sides|Switching Sides]]

===Tales of SUPERMARE!===

This is the origin story. There are many sequels, but most of them don't have implicit TFs, or require earlier stories to be read. They can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/supermare/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/My Name is...|My Name is...]]

===Tales of The World===

These are stories, myths, etc. set in the last FRPG world I created. There are more at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/talesoftheworld/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Beornwyn's Love|Beornwyn's Love]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Lies and Truths|Lies and Truths]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Of Love and Hate|Of Love and Hate]] (revised (rewritten) April 2008)

[[User:Michael Bard/Of Love and Dream|Of Love and Dreams]] (a sequel to "Of Love and Hate" though written much earlier so there are some inconsistencies)

[[User:Michael Bard/Two Gods and a Faerie|Two Gods and a Faerie]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pricing Immortality - Book 1 - Immortality Lost|Pricing Immortality - Book 1 - Immortality Lost]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pricing Immortality - Book 2 - Immortality Regained|Pricing Immortality - Book 2 - Immortality Regained]] Unfinished, but it would be odd to put the sequel/conclusion separate from Part 1.

[[User:Michael Bard/Swimming from the Dragon|Swimming from the Dragon]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The End of all Things|The End of all Things]]

===Warhammer 40,000 Fanfiction===

Fairly obvious what these are. This is only one that I've written, but the longest. Most can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/agrippa/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Bloodstone's Gift|The Bloodstone's Gift]]

===Xanadu===

As a Xanadu story, by it's nature, includes a TF, all of what I've written are here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Five Hours, Thirty-two Minutes|Five Hours, Thirty-two Minutes]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Flying Free|Flying Free]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Just Lounging Around|Just Lounging Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Like the Unfolding Petals of a Dream|Like the Unfolding Petals of a Dream]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Losing Himself|Losing Himself]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Now I will believe that there are Unicorns|Now I will believe that there are Unicorns]] Prequel to "Unicorn Dreams"

[[User:Michael Bard/Something Fishy|Something Fishy]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Still Lounging Around|Still Lounging Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Tale of a Tail|Tale of a Tail]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Tale of the Ivory Otherkin|The Tale of the Ivory Otherkin]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Unicorn Dreams|Unicorn Dreams]] Sequel to "Now I will believe that there are Unicorns"

= Stories in Progress =

Stories that are either in progress, or indefinitely stalled. Those which are stalled will eagerly take any advice offered to get restarted...

[[User:Michael Bard/Head on the Bed, The|The Head on the Bed]] Complete, but I REALLY need advice on the ending. It just doesn't work. Maybe a pun--

[[User:Michael Bard/Repayment|Repayment]] A draft version of character background story for a PaW character I'm playing with.

[[User:Michael Bard/Tale of One Entity, A|A Tale of One Entity]] An old project I poke at every so often, later inspired by "By his Bootstraps" by RA Heinlein. More details at the beginning of the story.

[[User:Michael Bard/Untitled PaW story]] Another PaW universe story being worked on.

[[User: Michael Bard/What difference can a Man make?]] A story of the Persian War in progress.

=The Abandoned=

These are various odds and ends either from abandoned shared world projects, story ideas that didn't pan out, or whatever. They are in various states of completion and it is unlikely anything further will ever be done on them. Read at your own risk!

[[User: Michael Bard/Consequences: The Simple Things]] Started out as a cyberpunk story. Was later used as a setup for a TSAT contest.

[[User: Michael Bard/Quiet World, The|The Quiet World]] Story universe plan where everybody who had a fursona was TFed into said fursona at the same time as everybody else vanished. Yea, it's been done before, but I wanted to poke at.

[[User: Michael Bard/Kor's Journey]] The linchpin story of "The World" that clarifies things, unifies concepts, etc. Been abandoned for years. There is an outline of future chapters at the end.

[[User: Michael Bard/Saving the Multiverse]] An abandoned shared world story project. This would be the intro for my "character". You may notice that I had been watching a certain cartoon series-- The intro story is complete, but nothing else was ever written in the universe.

[[User: Michael Bard/MMPs at Work]] An abandoned bit of fluff that is highly dated due to a corresponding TSAT editorial from the tranformees POV. Given that TSAT is long dead, I really doubt this story will be finished.

=Other Authors=

Some people have asked me to put their stuff here for various reasons. The author name will be indicated.

[[User:Michael Bard/Golden Mirror|Golden Mirror]] by Fish

=Books I need Replacement copies of=

About a decade ago now, 90% of my books were destroyed by a burst water pipe. A lot of the survivors mysteriously vanished during a move about 5 years ago. So, with a lot of crying (literally) and resulting ongoing depression, I put together a master list of what I still need to find copies of. Any help is appreciated, these are all recommended:

Adams, Douglas
- Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

Anderson, Poul
- The King of Ys: The Dog and the Wolf
- Brainwave
- The High Crusade
- The Dancer from Atlantis
- Maurai and Kith
- Operation Luna
- Vault of Ages
- The War of Two Worlds
- Orbit Unlimited
- After Doomsday
- Three Worlds to Conquer
- Beyond the Beyond
- The Bywolrder
- There Will be Time
- The Worlds of Poul Anderson
- The Devil's Game
- No Truce with Kings
- The Best of Poul Anderson
- How to build a Planet

Anthony, Piers
- Macroscope

Bach, Richard
- Jonathon Livingston Seagull

Benford, Gregory
- Across the Sea of Suns
- Furious Gulf

Bradbury, Ray
- NOT Martian Chronicles

Brin, David
- Heart of the Comet (with Benford I think)
- The River of Time

Butler, Octavia E
- Patternmaster
- Survivor
- Wild Seed
- Clay's Ark

Chalker, Jack L
- Midnight at the Well of Souls
- Horrors of the Dancing Gods
- Spirits of Flux and Anchor
- Empires of Flux and Anchor
- Masters of Flux and Anchor
- The Birth of Flux and Anchor
- Children of Flux and Anchor

Chambers, Robert W
- The King in Yellow

Clarke, Arthur C
- 2001: A Space Odyssey
- Rendezvous with Rama

Cherryh, CJ
- Gate of Ivrel
- Fires of Azeroth
- Exile's Gate
- Ealdwood
- The Dreamstone
- The Tree of Swords and Jewels
- Downbelow Station
- Chanur's Venture

Clement, Hal
- Mission of Gravity
- Close to Critical
- Starlight
- Ocean on Top

Colfer, Eoin
- Artemis Fowl

De Lint, Charles
- Moonheart
- The Riddle of the Wren

De Camp, L Sprague
- The Castle of Iron
- Wall of Serpents
- The Best of L Sprague de Camp

Donaldson, Stephen
- Daughter of Regals: And other stories

Duane, Diane
- The Door into Fire
- The Door into Shadow
- The Door into Sunset
- The Sword and the Dragon
- So you Want to be a Wizard
- High Wizardry

Durgin, Doranna
- Dun Lady's Jess

Dunsany, Lord
- The King of Elfland's Daughter
- The Charwoman's Shadow

Farmer, Philip Jose
- The Maker of Universes
- The Gates of Creation
- A Private Cosmos
- Behind the Walls of Terra
- The Lavalite World

Friesner, Esther
- Harlot's Ruse

Harrison, Harry
- Star Smashers of the Galaxy Rangers

Heinlein, Robert H
- Universe
- Farmer in the Sky
- Double Star

Hodgell, P C
- Seeker's Mask
- Dark of the Gods
- To Ride A Rathorn

Homer
- The Illiad (verse)

Hoyle, Fred
- The Black cloud

Kay, Guy Gavriel
- The Wandering Fire
- The Darkest Road

Le Guin, Ursula K
- The Left Hand of Darkness

Lee, Tanith
- Quest for the White Witch
- Don't Bite the Sun
- Delusion's Master

Leiber, Fritz
- The Swords of Lankhmar

Logstan, Ann
- Shadow

Lovecraft, HP
- The Dreamquest of Unknown Kadath

MacCaffrey, Anne
- All the Weyrs of Pern
- The Skies of Pern

Martin, George RR
- Wild Cards
- Aces High
- Jokers Wild

McKillip, Patricia
- The Riddle-Master of Hed
- Heir of Sea and Fire
- Harpist in the Wind

Meyers, Roy
- Daughers of the Dolphin
- Destiny of the Dolphins

Moffitt, Donald
- The Jupiter Theft
- The Genesis Quest
- Second Genesis

Moore, C L
- Jirel of Joiry

Niven, Larry
- The Ringworld Engineers
- Escape from Hell (forthcoming)
- Protector
- The Patchwork Girl
- The Long ARM of Gil Hamilton
- Crashlander
- The Draco Tavern
- The Man-Kzin Wars 3-5, 7-9, 12 (and counting)

Offutt, Andrew J
- The Eye of Sarsis
- Web of the Spider

Raymond, Alex
- Flash Gordon

Reynolds, Alastair
- Revelation Space
- Chasm City'
- Redemption Ark
- Absolution Gap

Rosenburg, Joel
- The Sleeping Dragon
- The Sword and the Chain
- The Silver Crown

Simak, Clifford D
- City

Smith, Cordwainer
- The Planet buyer
- The Underpeope

Stapledon, Olaf
- Odd John
- Sirius

Stirling, SM
- Snowbrother
- The Sharpest Edge
- The Cage
- Shadow's Son
- Saber and Shadow

Swann, Thomas Burnett
- The Day of the Minotaur
- Cry Silver Bells
- The Dolphin and the Deep
- Where is the Bird of Fire?
- Wolfwinter
- How are the Mighty Fallen
- The Not World
- The Minnikins of Yam
- The Tournament of Thorns
- Will of the Wisp
- Queens Walk in the Dust

Tarr, Judith
- The Isle of Glass
- The Golden Horn

Tolkein, JRR
- The Fellowship of the Ring
- The Two Towers
- The Return of the King

Vance, Jack
- The Moon Moth: And other stories

Varley, John
- The Persistance of Vision
- Blue Champagne
- Steel Beach

Watt-Evans, Lawrence
- The Spell of the Black Dagger

Weber, David
- Crusade

Wells, HG
- The War of the Worlds

White, TH
- The Once and Future King

Williams, Tad
- The Dragonbone Chair
- The Stone of farewell
- To Green Angel Tower

Williamson, Jack
- The Humanoids

Wolf, Gene
- The Shadow of the Torturer
- The Claw of the Conciliator
- The Sword of the Lictor
- The Citadel of the Autarch

Wurts, Janny
- Stormwarden
- Keeper of the Keys
- Shadowfane

Wyndham, John
- The Day of the Triffids

Zelazny, Roger
- Unicorn Variations

Anthologies:
- Science Fiction Hall of Fame (vol 1+2)

User:Michael Bard/MMPs at Work

2009-06-29T00:25:44Z

Michael Bard: An unifnished bit of fluff that came up in conversation so I posted it

[[Category:Michael Bard]]
[[Category:Story]]{{DEFAULTSORT:MMPs at Work}}
{{title|name=MMPs at Work|author=Michael Bard}}
[[Category:Fantasy]]
{{stopped}}

“Merriweather, what are you doing?” Flora asked.

“My name is NOT Merriweather.”

“Of course it is!” Fauna responded.

“I’m tired of being the odd pixie out,” the blue clad winged woman responded, motioning vigorously with her magic wand.

“Watch it with that thing!” Flora screeched as her dress turned blue.

“You look better that way dear.”

“Hmph!” Flora flicked her magic wand and changed her dress back to pink.

“My name is Matter.”

“Matter?” Flora laughed. “That’s a silly name.”

“Well what else can I use? HE gave you two the good ones -- plant life and animal life.”

“Dears, let’s worry about that later,” Fauna interrupted. “We’re here.”

The three microscopic pixies hovered in place beside a torn, cracked, scratched, blackish-gray wall and looked up. Way up. Way way up. So far up that anything other than pixies couldn’t have seen that far up. In the distant reaches of magical pixie site the blackish-gray wall gave place to a tanned fur, each strand towering monstrously far far far (very far) (make that very VERY far) overhead.

“Now,” Fauna began, “shall we begin?”

Matter interrupted: “Fauna, there is a procedure to this.” She pulled a thick book out of thin air and opened it so that it hovered in front of her.

Flora turned to Fauna and whispered, “Matter, that’s such a silly name.”

Matter spoke in a loud voice: “I heard that! But never mind -- have work to do! Let me see now…” She adjusted the spectacles on her dainty nose. “It says here that we’re supposed to change this centaur,” she motioned with her magic wand and in a shower of sparks the endless wall began changing to a silver-blue colour, “into a silver-blue dragon. Everybody got that.”

“This won’t take 16 years will it?” Fauna asked. “That last time…”

“It’s done with and she looked better in blue!”

“Pink,” Flora muttered.

“Ah hum!” Matter spoke loudly. The other two fluttered a little closer as the silver-blue spread behind them. “I guess we should start with this thing,” she motioned back towards the silver-blue wall and more sparks flew and the wall turned blue-silver in a spreading pool. “Anybody know where we are?”

“I’m not sure … Let’s just put his head here,” Fauna said.

“We can’t do that!” Flora screeched. “Remember that Cubist fellow? Backwards feet where his arms should have been, head where his tail should have been… We had to fill out forms for years! Why--"

“It drove him around the bend dear,” Matter said.

Flora flicked her wand and a big chart appeared hanging in mid-air in front of which floated a 3-D hologram of a tan centaur. At the base of his left-hind hoof were three lights -- one blue, one pink, one red -- all flashing, and above the three lights were a flashing pink neon sign: YOU ARE HERE. “Aren’t you glad I checked Fauna?” she asked sweetly.

“Oh never mind!”

Matter decided this had gone far enough: “Well then, let’s start with the left rear foot. Everybody ready?”

“Can’t we sing?” Fauna asked. “We always used to.”

“Fauna dear,” Matter stated with exaggerated gravity, “singing belongs to the dark ages. Modern scientific study has shown us that singing simply wastes energy. All it requires is focus and the proper application of modern magical-physical methodologies.”

“Merryweather,” Flora said, “you spend way too much time at those seminars. I’ve signed every petition I’ve seen protesting nanite development--"

“And some in favour of it,” Fauna muttered.

“--and I know that we are prefect safe using the old ways. If you aren’t careful--"

Matter couldn’t take anymore, “Their day is coming -- they'll lick the heat problem and we must be ready! You have to know your enemy! Anyway, let’s transform this hoof to a foot!”

Flora rolled her eyes.

Oblivious Matter continued, “On the count of three. One… two… three!”

And with that all three pointed their magic wands at the blue wall in front of them and a continuous stream of magical particles popped into existence and sped towards the hoof and impacted. Almost instantly the wall began to change, stretching, changing from blue to silver-blue, bulging outward as it exploded into toes and claws and scales. The three pixies quickly flew backwards to stay out of contact with the expanding surface.

“My but this is hard work,” Flora muttered.

“Dear, “ Matter said, “we all have to do our part. This is the way the world is. The is the way of the Magical Microscopic--"

“I can’t keep it up anymore!” Fauna wailed.

And with that the stream of magical particles sputtered and halted.

“Something’s wrong here,” Matter said. “It shouldn’t be this hard.” The book moved in front of her and turned a page as Matter fluttered over to start reading. “Bard…male…writer…very bad writer…dropping out…”

Flora flicked her wand at Matter and Matter’s dress turned from blue to pink.

“…Cubist…TSAT…” She stopped reading. “Somebody hates us dears.”

“Why?” the other two asked in chorus.

“This one’s a shapeshifter.”

The monstrous green dragon foot began shrinking back into a monstrous blackish-gray hoof, shrinking away into the distance as it did so.

“Of course they give US the tough ones!” Fauna screeched. “One little mistake…”

“You think they’d have forgiven us by NOW for telling the unicorns they weren’t wanted on the ark!” Flora shouted. “They even made us watch that bitch for 16 years!”

“She was quite nice, especially at the end…” Matter reminisced.

“I STILL haven’t gotten the brown crap she expelled out of my dress!” Flora screamed. “Look at it!”

“I’ve seen it already dear,” Fauna stated with extreme patience. “You’ve shown it to us enough times.”

“Ladies, ladies,” Matter interrupted. “Once we’re done this transformation we can go back into the anti-nanite picket. An easy job for a few years.”

“Merryweather,“ Flora said. “Where’d the centaur go?”

“Huh? Where… Hey! Flora, I’ve told you and told you to LEAVE MY DRESS ALONE!” She flicked her wand and her dress turned from pink back to blue.

Fauna rolled her eyes. “If the two of you will look over that way,” she pointed with her wand, “you’ll realize that our centaur has changed his foot back to a hoof.”

“So?” Flora asked. “Why isn’t it here?”

“Why…? Oh.” Matter suddenly realized what had happened. “Flora dear, his left hind leg is much smaller in diameter than the dragon leg we made for him. It’s a simple application of calculus. If you--"

“Now now!” Fauna screeched. “Let’s get back there -- we don’t have time for this.”

And with that the three of them zipped back to beside the monstrously huge hoof.”

“Everybody ready?” Matter asked. “On the count of three. One--"

“That’s not going to work,” Fauna said. “The same thing will happen that happened last time.”

“We need to apply scientific methodologies!”

“Don’t say that word!” Flora said.

Fauna continued: “We don’t need that here. I think we need to try a major change. Something that will distract him.”

“If we construct a lathe…” Matter continued obliviously.

“A lathe?!” Flora burst out.

Fauna flew over and tapped Matter on the shoulder with her wand. “You’ll get to build your lathe after the nanites are put in their place.”

Matter glared, her face compact and solid, not liquid or gaseous. With her hands against her sides she continued, “What do YOU suggest then?”

Flora sang out: “Wings. Cuter feathered wings.”

Matter turned to her. “A dragon’s wings are NOT feathered! The vast majority of internet art--"

“But feathered wings are prettier.”

“We’re not here for pretty! We’re here to apply scientific magical principals and fulfill the terms of the contract we were saddled with!”

Fauna burst out, “I think wings would work.”

“Huh?” the other two asked.

“If we transform both his arms into wings, that might distract him enough so that we can finish the job.”

“Fauna dear,” Matter said with all the gravity that had attended her ever since she changed her name, “he is a centaur. His arms must become his forelegs, and his forelegs must become his wings. It’s all in Gray’s Magical Anatomy!”

“Are they feathered?” Flora asked.

Fauna responded, oblivious to Flora: “I don’t care what your MODERN books say, I say that his ARMS become wings. It’ll all be fixed anyway when the transformation is comple--"

“But that’s sloppy work, against scientific principles! Applying the rules of magical anatomy, his forelimbs MUST become wings and his arms MUST become forelimbs! It’s all in Darwin!”

“Matter, Darwin was a human and dealt with E-VO-LU-TI-ON. We deal with MA-GIC.”

“That doesn’t matter! There’s a right way and a wrong way--"

“If we change his forelimbs to wings, he’ll fall down and that’ll be a better distraction,” Flora burst out.

Matter spun around to face her. “Flora, draconic wings are NOT feather--"

“Hey, she’s right. Matter, I agree with you. Forelimbs to wings it is. You’re right.”

“I’m ALWAYS right.”

Both Flora and Fauna rolled their eyes.

User:Michael Bard

2009-06-29T00:24:19Z

Michael Bard: /* The Abandoned */

{{author page|Bard, Michael}}
{{DEFAULTSORT:Bard, Michael}}

I'm an old fogy of an author who has been posting for FAR too long. We'll see how this new fangled contraption works out compared to feather, ink, and parchment.

=Poetry=

Yes, I ''do'' dabble in this occasionally. Fear not, I plan to ''only'' post TF related poetry here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Going Home|Going Home]]

=Stories=

These are written at various points over the past 30 years, and include only those works with ''on stage'' transformations. For a more complete story set, go to [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard Michael Bard's Story Page]

==Stand Alone Stories==

These are various odds and ends that are unrelated to other stories. Some may have a sequel (or a prequel) (or something else related) written, in which case they'll be moved and labeled appropriately.

[[User:Michael Bard/Action MUST be Taken!|Action MUST be Taken!]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Applicant|The Applicant]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Bee or not a Bee|A Bee or not a Bee]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Bob and the Goose|Bob and the Goose]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Can I help You?|Can I help You?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Christmas Dreams|Christmas Dreams]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Choices|Choices]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Coyote and Road Runner Show|The Coyote and Road Runner Show]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Down the Rabbit Hole|Down the Rabbit Hole]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Dragon, the Rock, and the Wanderer|The Dragon, the Rock, and the Wanderer]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Dragon Slayer|The Dragon Slayer]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Faerie Tale|A Faerie Tale]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Feathers|Feathers]]

[[User:Michael Bard/How did the Ceolocanth REALLY Survive?|How did the Ceolocanth REALLY Survive?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Horse in the Glass Bubble|The Horse in the Glass Bubble]]

[[User:Michael Bard/How not to be Seen|How not to be Seen]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Inspire Me|Inspire Me]]

[[User:Michael Bard/It's in the Skin|It's in the Skin]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Keeping Secrets|Keeping Secrets]]

The Last of the Niagaras - Now available for purchase in a Dead Tree Anthology from Lulu with lots of other great stories! [http://www.lulu.com/content/4431539 Alone in the Dark]

[[User:Michael Bard/Marduk's Gift|Marduk's Gift]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Melash...|Melash...]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Mowing the Lawn|Mowing the Lawn]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Myth of Beetlecat|The Myth of Beetlecat]]

Note: Trying to post MYTHIC JOURNEYS as the single novel it is managed to break Shifti, so I'm splitting it up into two parts.

----

[[User:Michael Bard/Mythic Journeys - Part 1|Mythic Journeys - Part 1]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Mythic Journeys - Part 2|Mythic Journeys - Part 2]]

----

[[User:Michael Bard/Of the Ylourgne Expanse|Of the Ylourgne Expanse]]

[[User:Michael Bard/One CarePony at a Time|One CarePony at a Time]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Perils of Wereostrichdom|The Perils of Wereostrichdom]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pizza is Us|Pizza is Us]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Power of Suggestion|The Power of Suggestion]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Psychological Reassignment - Case HM-474-353-793|Psychological Reassignment - Case HM-474-353-793]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Raccoon Flying Tail (tm)(c)|The Raccoon Flying Tail (tm)(c)]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Raccoon Morph Body Biosuit (tm)(c)|The Raccoon Morph Body Biosuit (tm)(c)]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Rabbit's Life|A Rabbit's Life]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Returning Home|Returning Home]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Something's out there|Something's out there]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Slip Sliding Around|Slip Sliding Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Somebody's Watching|Somebody's Watching]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Survival and Sacrifice|Survival and Sacrifice]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Transformation Vignettes|Transformation Vignettes]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Trust|Trust]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Truth about Bard|The Truth about Bard]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Wanted: Bobs|Wanted: Bobs]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Wereing on the Moon|Wereing on the Moon]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Who gets the Dreamers?|Who gets the Dreamers?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Whom God Destroys|Whom God Destroys]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Xepher's Werewolf Overload|Xepher's Werewolf Overload]]

[[User:Michael Bard/You get what you Wished for|You get what you Wished for]]

==Story Cycles:==

And here are the stories that are set in a common universe with other stories. Note that some only have one story listed, generally because other stories in the cycle don't have any ''on screen'' transformations.

===Asteroid Ship===

In which those interested in "freedom of body" flee the oppressive UN aboard a hollowed out asteroid generation ship. More stories can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/asteroidship/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Dealing with the Faerie|Dealing with the Faerie]]

===LTF (List TransFormed)===

In which everybody on the TSA-talk mailing list is TFed into their most commonly depicted online fursona. Mine has changed a lot, but this was written years ago. There are two additional stories at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/centaur/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Diary of a Centaur in a Human's World|Diary of a Centaur in a Human's World]]

===Metamor Keep - ''Raider of the Lost Cult'' cycle===

My first poke into the Metamor Keep universe. Even though only the first story has a TF, and it's off screen, they're being put here as an experiment, and so that other people writing in the universe can read, and comment, on the ''in development'' versions.

[[User:Michael Bard/Pawned|Pawned]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A few Days in Heaven|A few Days in Heaven]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Cultists Strike Back!|The Cultists Strike Back!]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Tales of Euper Investigations|Tales of Euper Investigations]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Into the Darkness|Into the Darkness]]

[[User:Michael Bard/On the Hunt|On the Hunt]]

[[User:Michael Bard/From the Other Side|From the Other Side]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Summoning|The Summoning]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Between the Worlds|Between the Worlds]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Last Trial|The Last Trial]]

===National Enchanted Forest===

A weird little universe about a world where Faerie and Us co-exist, and how unwary people can get zapped.

[[User:Michael Bard/Christmas in the National Enchanted Forest|Christmas in the National Enchanted Forest]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Enchanted Buck Season|Enchanted Buck Season]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Walk in the National Enchanted Forest|A Walk in the National Enchanted Forest]]

===Of Brains and Bodies===

The first stories I wrote after joining TSA-talk. There is an outline for a third that would complete the meta-story, but, at this point, it is highly unlikely to ever be written.

[[User:Michael Bard/Dreams can become Nightmares; Nightmares can become Dreams|Dreams can become Nightmares, Nightmares can become Dreams]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Escaping my Father|Escaping my Father]]

===A History of the Future===

These are based on a fairly detailed outline I made up many moons ago for my last attempt at a SFRPG. We did one adventure, but then it faded away. Doesn't mean I couldn't write in it--

Note that there are two ''eras'' in this. The one with humans and a small set of aliens, and the one half a million years later with humans. ''Destinies'' explains this.

There are more stories, but right now they're all set aside to be edited for magazine submission.

[[User:Michael Bard/Destinies|Destinies]]

===Space Cadet===

A hard SF universe inspired by Robert A Heinlein's ''Space Cadet'' juvenile, and lots of other '50s SF. It's as realistic as I can make it, even though it is populated by furies and occurs 50,000 years after the 20th century. One story has been published in print media -- ''Hunters'' in [http://www.renardsmenagerie.com/ Renards Menagerie #2]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Survivor|The Survivor]]

===Tales from the Blind Pig===

''Lots'' more of these on my website in the [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/tbp/indexintro.html Master Blind Pig Archive]. This one is for a group story that is still under development and is only here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Beyond the Wall of Ice|Beyond the Wall of Ice]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Switching Sides|Switching Sides]]

===Tales of SUPERMARE!===

This is the origin story. There are many sequels, but most of them don't have implicit TFs, or require earlier stories to be read. They can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/supermare/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/My Name is...|My Name is...]]

===Tales of The World===

These are stories, myths, etc. set in the last FRPG world I created. There are more at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/talesoftheworld/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Beornwyn's Love|Beornwyn's Love]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Lies and Truths|Lies and Truths]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Of Love and Hate|Of Love and Hate]] (revised (rewritten) April 2008)

[[User:Michael Bard/Of Love and Dream|Of Love and Dreams]] (a sequel to "Of Love and Hate" though written much earlier so there are some inconsistencies)

[[User:Michael Bard/Two Gods and a Faerie|Two Gods and a Faerie]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pricing Immortality - Book 1 - Immortality Lost|Pricing Immortality - Book 1 - Immortality Lost]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pricing Immortality - Book 2 - Immortality Regained|Pricing Immortality - Book 2 - Immortality Regained]] Unfinished, but it would be odd to put the sequel/conclusion separate from Part 1.

[[User:Michael Bard/Swimming from the Dragon|Swimming from the Dragon]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The End of all Things|The End of all Things]]

===Warhammer 40,000 Fanfiction===

Fairly obvious what these are. This is only one that I've written, but the longest. Most can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/agrippa/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Bloodstone's Gift|The Bloodstone's Gift]]

===Xanadu===

As a Xanadu story, by it's nature, includes a TF, all of what I've written are here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Five Hours, Thirty-two Minutes|Five Hours, Thirty-two Minutes]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Flying Free|Flying Free]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Just Lounging Around|Just Lounging Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Like the Unfolding Petals of a Dream|Like the Unfolding Petals of a Dream]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Losing Himself|Losing Himself]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Now I will believe that there are Unicorns|Now I will believe that there are Unicorns]] Prequel to "Unicorn Dreams"

[[User:Michael Bard/Something Fishy|Something Fishy]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Still Lounging Around|Still Lounging Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Tale of a Tail|Tale of a Tail]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Tale of the Ivory Otherkin|The Tale of the Ivory Otherkin]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Unicorn Dreams|Unicorn Dreams]] Sequel to "Now I will believe that there are Unicorns"

= Stories in Progress =

Stories that are either in progress, or indefinitely stalled. Those which are stalled will eagerly take any advice offered to get restarted...

[[User:Michael Bard/Head on the Bed, The|The Head on the Bed]] Complete, but I REALLY need advice on the ending. It just doesn't work. Maybe a pun--

[[User:Michael Bard/Repayment|Repayment]] A draft version of character background story for a PaW character I'm playing with.

[[User:Michael Bard/Tale of One Entity, A|A Tale of One Entity]] An old project I poke at every so often, later inspired by "By his Bootstraps" by RA Heinlein. More details at the beginning of the story.

[[User:Michael Bard/Untitled PaW story]] Another PaW universe story being worked on.

[[User: Michael Bard/What difference can a Man make?]] A story of the Persian War in progress.

=The Abandoned=

These are various odds and ends either from abandoned shared world projects, story ideas that didn't pan out, or whatever. They are in various states of completion and it is unlikely anything further will ever be done on them. Read at your own risk!

[[User: Michael Bard/Consequences: The Simple Things]] Started out as a cyberpunk story. Was later used as a setup for a TSAT contest.

[[User: Michael Bard/Quiet World, The|The Quiet World]] Story universe plan where everybody who had a fursona was TFed into said fursona at the same time as everybody else vanished. Yea, it's been done before, but I wanted to poke at.

[[User: Michael Bard/Kor's Journey]] The linchpin story of "The World" that clarifies things, unifies concepts, etc. Been abandoned for years. There is an outline of future chapters at the end.

[[User: Michael Bard/Saving the Multiverse]] An abandoned shared world story project. This would be the intro for my "character". You may notice that I had been watching a certain cartoon series-- The intro story is complete, but nothing else was ever written in the universe.

[[User: Michael Bard/MMPs at Work]] An abandoned bit of fluff that is highly dated due to a TSA-talk April Fool's joke a few years ago (hence the commercial). Given that, I really doubt it will be finished.

=Other Authors=

Some people have asked me to put their stuff here for various reasons. The author name will be indicated.

[[User:Michael Bard/Golden Mirror|Golden Mirror]] by Fish

=Books I need Replacement copies of=

About a decade ago now, 90% of my books were destroyed by a burst water pipe. A lot of the survivors mysteriously vanished during a move about 5 years ago. So, with a lot of crying (literally) and resulting ongoing depression, I put together a master list of what I still need to find copies of. Any help is appreciated, these are all recommended:

Adams, Douglas
- Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

Anderson, Poul
- The King of Ys: The Dog and the Wolf
- Brainwave
- The High Crusade
- The Dancer from Atlantis
- Maurai and Kith
- Operation Luna
- Vault of Ages
- The War of Two Worlds
- Orbit Unlimited
- After Doomsday
- Three Worlds to Conquer
- Beyond the Beyond
- The Bywolrder
- There Will be Time
- The Worlds of Poul Anderson
- The Devil's Game
- No Truce with Kings
- The Best of Poul Anderson
- How to build a Planet

Anthony, Piers
- Macroscope

Bach, Richard
- Jonathon Livingston Seagull

Benford, Gregory
- Across the Sea of Suns
- Furious Gulf

Bradbury, Ray
- NOT Martian Chronicles

Brin, David
- Heart of the Comet (with Benford I think)
- The River of Time

Butler, Octavia E
- Patternmaster
- Survivor
- Wild Seed
- Clay's Ark

Chalker, Jack L
- Midnight at the Well of Souls
- Horrors of the Dancing Gods
- Spirits of Flux and Anchor
- Empires of Flux and Anchor
- Masters of Flux and Anchor
- The Birth of Flux and Anchor
- Children of Flux and Anchor

Chambers, Robert W
- The King in Yellow

Clarke, Arthur C
- 2001: A Space Odyssey
- Rendezvous with Rama

Cherryh, CJ
- Gate of Ivrel
- Fires of Azeroth
- Exile's Gate
- Ealdwood
- The Dreamstone
- The Tree of Swords and Jewels
- Downbelow Station
- Chanur's Venture

Clement, Hal
- Mission of Gravity
- Close to Critical
- Starlight
- Ocean on Top

Colfer, Eoin
- Artemis Fowl

De Lint, Charles
- Moonheart
- The Riddle of the Wren

De Camp, L Sprague
- The Castle of Iron
- Wall of Serpents
- The Best of L Sprague de Camp

Donaldson, Stephen
- Daughter of Regals: And other stories

Duane, Diane
- The Door into Fire
- The Door into Shadow
- The Door into Sunset
- The Sword and the Dragon
- So you Want to be a Wizard
- High Wizardry

Durgin, Doranna
- Dun Lady's Jess

Dunsany, Lord
- The King of Elfland's Daughter
- The Charwoman's Shadow

Farmer, Philip Jose
- The Maker of Universes
- The Gates of Creation
- A Private Cosmos
- Behind the Walls of Terra
- The Lavalite World

Friesner, Esther
- Harlot's Ruse

Harrison, Harry
- Star Smashers of the Galaxy Rangers

Heinlein, Robert H
- Universe
- Farmer in the Sky
- Double Star

Hodgell, P C
- Seeker's Mask
- Dark of the Gods
- To Ride A Rathorn

Homer
- The Illiad (verse)

Hoyle, Fred
- The Black cloud

Kay, Guy Gavriel
- The Wandering Fire
- The Darkest Road

Le Guin, Ursula K
- The Left Hand of Darkness

Lee, Tanith
- Quest for the White Witch
- Don't Bite the Sun
- Delusion's Master

Leiber, Fritz
- The Swords of Lankhmar

Logstan, Ann
- Shadow

Lovecraft, HP
- The Dreamquest of Unknown Kadath

MacCaffrey, Anne
- All the Weyrs of Pern
- The Skies of Pern

Martin, George RR
- Wild Cards
- Aces High
- Jokers Wild

McKillip, Patricia
- The Riddle-Master of Hed
- Heir of Sea and Fire
- Harpist in the Wind

Meyers, Roy
- Daughers of the Dolphin
- Destiny of the Dolphins

Moffitt, Donald
- The Jupiter Theft
- The Genesis Quest
- Second Genesis

Moore, C L
- Jirel of Joiry

Niven, Larry
- The Ringworld Engineers
- Escape from Hell (forthcoming)
- Protector
- The Patchwork Girl
- The Long ARM of Gil Hamilton
- Crashlander
- The Draco Tavern
- The Man-Kzin Wars 3-5, 7-9, 12 (and counting)

Offutt, Andrew J
- The Eye of Sarsis
- Web of the Spider

Raymond, Alex
- Flash Gordon

Reynolds, Alastair
- Revelation Space
- Chasm City'
- Redemption Ark
- Absolution Gap

Rosenburg, Joel
- The Sleeping Dragon
- The Sword and the Chain
- The Silver Crown

Simak, Clifford D
- City

Smith, Cordwainer
- The Planet buyer
- The Underpeope

Stapledon, Olaf
- Odd John
- Sirius

Stirling, SM
- Snowbrother
- The Sharpest Edge
- The Cage
- Shadow's Son
- Saber and Shadow

Swann, Thomas Burnett
- The Day of the Minotaur
- Cry Silver Bells
- The Dolphin and the Deep
- Where is the Bird of Fire?
- Wolfwinter
- How are the Mighty Fallen
- The Not World
- The Minnikins of Yam
- The Tournament of Thorns
- Will of the Wisp
- Queens Walk in the Dust

Tarr, Judith
- The Isle of Glass
- The Golden Horn

Tolkein, JRR
- The Fellowship of the Ring
- The Two Towers
- The Return of the King

Vance, Jack
- The Moon Moth: And other stories

Varley, John
- The Persistance of Vision
- Blue Champagne
- Steel Beach

Watt-Evans, Lawrence
- The Spell of the Black Dagger

Weber, David
- Crusade

Wells, HG
- The War of the Worlds

White, TH
- The Once and Future King

Williams, Tad
- The Dragonbone Chair
- The Stone of farewell
- To Green Angel Tower

Williamson, Jack
- The Humanoids

Wolf, Gene
- The Shadow of the Torturer
- The Claw of the Conciliator
- The Sword of the Lictor
- The Citadel of the Autarch

Wurts, Janny
- Stormwarden
- Keeper of the Keys
- Shadowfane

Wyndham, John
- The Day of the Triffids

Zelazny, Roger
- Unicorn Variations

Anthologies:
- Science Fiction Hall of Fame (vol 1+2)

User:Michael Bard/It's in the Skin

2009-06-02T20:29:48Z

Michael Bard: Fixed a few typos

[[Category:Michael Bard]]
[[Category:Story]]{{DEFAULTSORT:It's in the Skin}}
{{title|name=It's in the Skin|author=Michael Bard}}
[[Category:Animal]][[Category:Cervine]][[Category:Fantasy]]

The fire burned dim and the wood collapsed into coals, as Patrick whispered the last words of the native ritual he'd found.

He had no idea whether it worked, but he figured the financial outlay was minor, especially in these days of eBay, and the unlikely reward was so great! The most expensive part had been getting an uncured deer skin, and getting a bucket of its blood for the moment that was upon him. Money had kept the hunter silent.

As the last syllables tumbled from his lips, he pulled the deer skin out of the trough it had been sitting in, blood dripping and oozing off it in arcane patterns. Turning his head up towards the Hunter's Moon, he draped the skin around his body, over his shoulders, and the bottom of the skull on top of his head.

The skin was like cold slime, it felt like it was sliding and oozing across his skin. The blood with thick and clotted, and he felt it curdle through the tangled stubble from where he'd shaved around his naked private parts. Without warning a wind rose, howling and grasping, sliding across his body with fingers of ice as his breath misted in the sudden chill.

He waited, blood dripping onto the ground and staining his feet with frigid drops. But nothing happened.

Nothing at all.

He sniffled, shivered, felt tears slide down through the blood dribbling down his face from the deer's skull pressed against his shaven head.

Oh, he'd take a ribbing for being shaved, but he could always say it was an initiation thing.

And then he felt warmth begin to pound through him, drenching him from the skin and being sucked into his cold body. The blood became more liquid, it began flowing around his skin, entering patterns, as the sopping hide slid and slithered across his flesh. He tried to move, but his muscles wouldn't respond, and he stood there as the skin stretched and enveloped him. He legs lengthened. Two toes grew as others shrank. Without volition his hands let go of the skin, but it didn't fall; he could see out of the corner of his eyes his arms stretching, his two middle fingers becoming the lobes of hooves as others vanished or shrunk to dewclaws. Leaning forward, he felt his head being sucked into the skull. For a second he was blind, and then he could see again, but in faded tepias, and all the way around. Things gurgled inside him, his skin, his crotch, all shivered and tingled as he clopped down onto his four cloven hooves. He blinked his eyes, felt his new ears flick and then focus on a crackle in the glowing sparks as he raised his tail in a moment of panic.

It had worked.

Dear God, it had actually ''worked''!

He took a careful step forward, feeling new muscles stretch and move in his arm, feeling his wrist curve, his remaining two fingers, now hoof lobes, stretch outward, before he put them back down onto the ground. They stretched a bit more, and he felt a strand of grass tickling the sensitive skin between them.

''It had '''worked'''''!

Licking his nostrils, he sniffed at the air, cataloging scents of peppery man, of cedar wood, of ashy fire, of bitter smoke. But he ignored them all, ignored the detritus of his abandoned and unmourned human life as he bounded off into the national forest, enjoying the fulfillment of his desperate hopeless dreams as he finally ''lived'' in the body he was born to have!
{{separator}}

The spring passed and blossomed into summer before Patrick began to wonder. It was like something was wrong, but he couldn't place it. Finding a quiet pool, he looked at his reflection, all deer, none human. He flicked his ears at the buzzing of a mosquito and cocked his head. He still had no sign of any antlers. Maybe they were late-- or maybe the transformation hadn't completed himself.

Leaning his head down, he sniffed at one of his forelegs, and then looked underneath. Nothing. Maybe--

Drinking some water, he bounded off.
{{separator}}

As the season collapsed into fall, Patrick grew more and more worried. He finally got his answer during mating when a great buck chased after him. He tried to flee, but his body wouldn't let him. As the buck's weight settled on his back, and its mighty organ pierced him, Patrick had one last thought before the pounding pleasure burst upon him.

Damn hunter had snuck him a doe skin instead of a buck--

The Muse Files

2009-05-13T21:29:49Z

Michael Bard:

{{Note|Here you'll find various questions being asked or ideas being posted. This is all to help you find inspiration. If you've got ideas you can't use just add them here.}}

In a world where "reformatting" your body is a popular form of self-expression, how does a person that is medically restricted from using the tech survive?

Alternatively… How does such tech become popular? How are the first users of it treated?

----

Similar to the Paradise setting a "Random Event" effects people, turning them into furs. But rather than being hidden from sight they are in the open. Some persecution is sure to occur, but what if the government took the stance that they were still "human" under the law and extended all protections the law offers to them?

----

Wierd End of the World Dream:
* "end of the world" - but a few (one?) - survived
* how - everything was put in stasis - contained mushroom clouds, etc.
* why not this person
* why can survive?! - logically shouldn't be able to
* why did survive
* done by aliens to save species since didn't have time to stop the bombs/explosions
* each stasis bubble seals off own "reality" - but still bound by constants of universe - hero cannot enter bubbles - but can make way between them
* end - transformed to help save world - why and into what??

----

* man into merman transformation via brain transplant - NO - biological"merman" suit taken on expedition to Europa in addition to biological space suits and others
* taken to Europa to swim in oceans underneath ice and find out what is there - quite deep - covered by ice - close to zero
* what is there?

----

One race is surveying planet that is in space between them and another race. Transform into race to go down and see what is going on since have detected advanced weapons fire in early bronze age culture - go down - Kafer/Star Trek scenario - how does it feel to be "energized" by adrenalin? (NOTE: Kafer are alien race from Traveller 2300 -- when they get excited, get an adrenalin rush, they LITERALLY get smarter. Most of the smartness wears off when the adrenalin goes away, but not all)

----

Non sentient alien swarm (aka Tyrannid/Alien) paste humanity. Humanity flees across the galaxy for centuries to hide and gradually develop enough tech to fight back.

----

Terraforming of Mars/Planaforming of Humans. Human deciding to be planaformed/planaformed human working on terraforming equipment lured to join 'natives'/other.

----

SF story about a human using a hightech alien fursuit to spy on an alien culture. In essence "fursuit" is biological lifeform that fully TFs wearer into said alien -- sensations, skin, eyes, senses, etc.

----

"First in" scout arrives in system. Surveys planet. Animal life is odd - it seems to be very slow and methodical, and always very well armoured. Sends created life form down - created to have simple brain but no mind - it has no problems.

Goes down self - gets out - swarmed by wasps and head "explodes"

Finally wakes up - is now MASSIVE insect swarm. Apparently insects need complex brain neural connections to survive. They also absorb some of the knowledge from the neural connections they consume. His arrival triggered the arrival of massive swarms from all over for the free meal and his mind overwhelmed them. He is now a massive hive but has to survive

How? Hives are normally small because can only really feed off of dead animals. Learns to set traps, etc. and apply intelligence

----

Centaroid aliens arrive bringing their own planet along with them. There is no apparent means of propulsion. They are creating a 'galactic supermind' [ala Star Maker] to join the Star Maker entity they can dimly perceive now. They part their planet near Earth in the same orbit so that both planets share the moon (which now has a figure 8 orbit). The only measurable affect of their arrival are REALLY strong neutrino detection results in pools. Eventually they come to earth, turn off all weapons, and transform all life in some way to obtain their aim, and will wait until sentience on earth is ready to join the group mind.

POV character is journalist covering the opening of one of the neutrino detection sites.

Alternate plot thoughts: Humanity/other life modified into telepathic non-mobile brains (live by photosynthesis?) -- story could be one man relaying this, and then fighting to maintain his identity as the group mind slowly consumes him. End with him seeing "God"

----

Genetically enginnered, non-human. Treated as slaves in high tech religiusocracy US (ala Heinlein's interregnum -- same name)
Is helped escaped particularly brutal master to be helped escape to Canada
Meets various people, escapes patrols, lots of close calls - learns (she thinks) about what it means to be free.
Final friends hug -- lots of sadness, joy
POV walks into Canada

Is greeted by "immigration", led to electrocution chair. "Sorry, but we have analyzed the threat of your genetic capabilities to humanity. We can't take the chance. It's as painless as we can make it. I'm sorry."

----

Modified human with some vacuum adaptions, and with arms and hands replacing feet, is officer/commander/watchman of one of six ‘Hohmann Stations’ that exist in an elliptical orbit that also orbits both earth and mars on regular legs of its trip. Freight is transported to the station and latched to it, human cargo is generally carried in stasis).

Has pet engineered cyberetic octopus (lives in air, moves by jet propulsion, can interface with computer hardware, has roughly the IQ of a 12 year old)

Two months ago received unusually large transmission from earth for relay/boost to mars.

Story starts with AI from message addressing our hero. He is taking over the station and plans to reroute it to the asteroids as a base for colonies there

Story is struggle to preserve ship/defeat AI. AI has control of most functions, but critical functions (life support, drive) are locked away and require our hero’s personal activation – AI is cracking the code

Hero has to get to core, force system reset over software overrides – at end AI flees into Octopus, hides, our hero realizes it, and kills the octopus

At end begins growing a clone and prepares to read backup of its neural cortext into the clone to restore it

----

Person who loses their legs wants artificial legs, but demands hoofed/pawed digitgrade artificial legs

----

Something gloatingly, joyously human-centric, without irony. Had this knocking around for a while - a kudu is chased across the savanna by a human hunter. It outpaces him, easily, time and again, but every time it stops, he catches up, following its track. Two to five hours in extreme heat. Persistence hunting! Eventually the kudu collapses from exhaustion, heart about to burst, and the hunter, instead of bashing its head in, does... something. Kudu turns into a human, or mostly-human. Not furry - hairless and with sweat glands, a big rounded flat-faced head, elastic feet, hyoid bone, decoupled shoulders, the works. Why?

:After the kudu is TFed to human...
::...the hunter says, "NOW do you believe that cursorial hunting is a damned effective strategy, Harry?"
::...the ex-kudu leaps on the hunter, and highly intimate physical acts ensue (i.e., the whole chase/hunt routine was *foreplay*).
::...the hunter asks, "How'd it go?", the ex-kudu babbles about how wonderful the experience was, and the hunter says, "Alright, you've made your point. Next time, *I* get to be the prey!"
::...it turns out that the ex-kudu is a criminal who did something horrible to the hunter (and/or the hunter's family), and assumed the kudu form to escape the consequences; the hunter changed the kudu back to be *sure* he had the right one, and after confirmation, he puts a bullet thru the ex-kudu's head.
:Feel free to use any or all of these notions... [[User:Cubist|Cubist]] 20:34, 31 March 2009 (UTC)

----

To Understand a Dolphin

Part 1: Decision:

*at dead end in research
*virtual reality tanks/rich living on through transplants
*transplant own brain into fetal dolphin shortly before birth
*discussion with grad students - explanations - thoughts
*resolution - quote - To Catch a Thief, use a Thief - to Understand a Dolphin, BE a Dolphin

Part 2: Birth:

*awake in the womb
*senses
*learning to use senses and to move
*struggle
*boredom
*birth
*to the surface and first breath of air

Part 3: Youth:
*growing up as a dolphin
*irregular contacts as grow up
*first hunt
*leaving mother
*finding "friends"
*drifting away from humanity

Part 4: Mate:
*joining a "gang"
*"hunt" for a female in a group
*victory - first pleasures
*last report - less and less human

----

Human biologist on Mars. Mars is being terraformed (partially?). Story occurs in great valley roofed over/walled for higher pressure. Life forms are being developed and released to gradually adapt Mars biosphere. One of these forms is heavily modified wolves. Something has started killing the herbivorous animals -- wolves are suspected. Biologist is sent to confirm, terminate wolves (genetic "off switch"?) What REALLY happened is that "something" has been awakened, something highly Lovecraftian/non-human, and it is eating things. Thing attacks biologist, wolves come and save, one looks at her (certain level of intelligence) and basically tells her to GET THE HELL AWAY before returning to the doomed fight.

----

The Price of Survival

*supervisor/foreman on orbital construction platform
*late in shift – goes by airlock where the new organic (shudder) suits stored for C shift – show hatred, distrust, quesiness

*disaster – collision alert – hatches sealed – trapped with suits
*doors hiss shut – jerks of vector changes – lights go out – restart dim and red

*now what?
*wait for rescue – try radio contact – nothing – but should be safe *but had vector change – could be on collision or in decaying orbit
*opens door and looks at suits – description – horror - stories
*wait or not to wait?

*would be stupid to die over a little fear – should be safe – but….
*part of him starts to wonder what it would be like
*goes over to largest EVA suit – reaction gas bladders are full on suit

*how much air left? How much power? Starts to feel hot – a vac suit would be wonderful

*creeps forward and touches largest one – warm, inviting, alive
*suddenly clam shell front opens…

*shoves self back into wall (freefall) – hot to the touch – breathing heavily
*no choice

*backs into suit

*reaction – skin crawling – slides arms into slots, legs into slots *air is getting very hot – creaks and groans in metal in background

*settles in – not too bad – but still open
*afraid? – how to seal? – sweating now

*panic? – can’t move arms – tries to wiggle fingers – touches something – suit seals…

*NO! – tentacles, goo in lungs, etc.
*then fine/free – moves around – no problem – wish knew how to use reaction jet – can sense them but… - then drifts into far wall – so that’s how – feels like farting

*makes way to airlock – opens inner and then outer door – in space – fear, sensation, feeling
*makes contact with rescue stick – gets ready to jump out – there is a collision/explosion likely soon

*then pauses – just a minute – remembers the other suits – better rescue them too…

----

Two high tech races infiltrating primitive world. Each posing as "god". Objective is to gain theocratic control of culture, instill a technic society, and advance their techbase sufficient to join the respective empires. Done this way so that the world "seems" to do it on their own, to maintain the "cold war" status between the two races and not escalate the situation

----

Astronaut working on orbital construction. Accident of some kind? Has air and environment, but no jets, no safety rope, nothing to push against. A multi-tonne girder is drifting *SLOWLY* towards him -- will *SLOWLY* crush him (Why can't move? Trapped somehow?) Psychological story about his reaction to pending unstoppable death. Live at end? How? Push against girder somehow? Give enough of slow gradual vector change so that girder will only crush leg?

----

Zombie Apocalypse Extreme, or how your dreams tell you that you watch too much Stargate: Atlantis. Story is about survivors of a Zombie Apocalypse. They are trying to survive/get somewhere. Region they are in is flooded, some kind of ground subsistence (from nuclear strikes/earthquake). Are attacked by "super zombie/wraith" that is smart, fast, STUPIDLY TOUGH, and sucks out your life energy. Find one, somehow manage to kill it. Survivor group includes at least one military. End up on island surrounded by shallow water -- top of underground parking garage. At some point lost one character. Hope they got all of the "wraiths" - manhole covers pop open, another superzombie/wraith comes out -- it's the former character. Kill it due to grenade sacrifice of another survivor but military type is bitten/infected by virus vector. Radios base, states area MUST be nuked. Absolutely. More superzombies come out, surrounding him, waiting. He can feel the change. He keeps talking in the radio as mushroom clouds appear on the horizon. "Got you, you bastards". Rest move forward-- nuclear annihilation.

----

Writer is woken up and grabbed by military and whisked off. Turns out alien has landed, and the description matches EXACTLY a book that said writer got published recently. Questioned, taken to observe alien -- alien sees him/her -- "You!" Turns out alien/human are somehow linked -- either by third party, soul sharing, or whatever. Alien whisks human off as he's needed to fulfill some task?

----

Person becomes animal chimera in order to be "legally non-human" in order to get a lethal injection because of some incurable disease

Talk:The Muse Files

2009-05-13T12:44:28Z

Michael Bard:

"Genetically enginnered, non-human. Treated as slaves in high tech religiusocracy US"

Why is it a religiusocracy? How would that even add to the story? And reading that on a random page on shifti, felt like me taking a stroll through the park, and having a stranger jump out in front of me, and slash me in the eye with a knife and causally walk away. I seriously doubt this is what you intended, but that is the emotional impression and mental image I got from reading it.

-- Alex Warlorn 2008 Nov 06

:Note that he was talking about a US where the religious groups - and industrial groups - had gained their own, independent representation in the government. That is what Heinlein's "Interregnum" was and what that idea is about. -- [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 07:54, 6 November 2008 (EST)

It just feels like another 'religion is bad' 'religion is the enemy of reason' 'religion is an oversized game' 'religion is a mass delusion' message piggy backed on a story to me. I doubt that was the intention but it is the feeling I got. A mass corporation, in control of the media, has shown the ability to warp and control public opinion all on their own. And devotion to the all might dollar is the most dreaded of religions. -- Alex Warlorn 2008 Nov 06

::That's what I get for jotting ideas down whilst reading other stories. Terms carry over. You can use any dictatorship in any high tech large powerful country. If you want the depressing ending, you have to have one of the superpowers; if gengineering is cheap and easy, you can do it with any state. Of course, if you can only gengineer in the womb -- once you're born you're stuck -- then you can go either way.

::P.S. The Heinlein story in question: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Revolt_in_2100

::[[User:Michael Bard|Michael Bard]] 13:22, 6 November 2008 (EST)

"man into merman transformation via brain transplant - NO - biological"merman" suit taken on expedition to Europa in addition to biological space suits and others"

:This was actually done, though it wasn't Europa, it was Neptune. Gordon Eklund's "A Thunder on Neptune" explored some of those ideas. --[[User:Jetfire|Jetfire]] 09:51, 6 November 2008 (EST)

::I did it with suits you put on too. Ideas are cheap, the implementation is the challenge. It's why I don't mind posting all my notes -- if we both use the same one as a starting point, we'll still have completely different stories -- [[User:Michael Bard|Michael Bard]] 13:24, 6 November 2008 (EST)

"Modified human with some vacuum adaptions, and with arms and hands replacing feet"

:I take it someone recently read Falling Free.

::Actually no. There was a short story in Analog in the late '70s about space adapted humans finding a frozen corpse with LEGS and modifying themselves with these odd items... --[[User:Michael Bard|Michael Bard]] 08:47, 13 May 2009 (EST)

Talk:PAW Collab

2009-03-31T23:03:06Z

Michael Bard: /* Regarding Coati */

==Sue==

Not sure on when this story is supposed to be set but looking at the dates given in the 'little things' I assumed it was at least 2038.

I am aiming with this character to show a bit of technology from the near future to contrast with the anti technological bias in the blind pig storys. Today prosthesis are about roughly 1/6th as strong as normal human limbs but research into stuff like [[http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Dielectric_elastomers Dielectric elastomers]] points towards possible fully functional prosthetic limbs in the forseeable future, even DARPA has doled out funding with the mission of developing a prosthetic arm as functionally capable as a human arm by 2009.

--[[User:Devin|Devin]] 06:13, 2 October 2007 (EDT)

:Good idea there, Devin. This story is one of the "indeterminites" - the scene-setting itself should be around 2038, but the vignettes themselves are going to fit in the period from the onset of "blowtorch fever" and TFOR all the way through to the stories "present". I think we might have to specify the time period every time we shift to another vignette. — [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 14:09, 2 October 2007 (EDT)

== Page Purpose? ==

I can't make head nor tail of this page. I think the story needs to be broken off onto its own page, with links to character backgrounds instead. What I see is that it's somehow embedded into the middle of the page. And that makes me go huh? --[[User:JonBuck|Buck]] 22:18, 5 October 2007 (EDT)

:The page isn't really "public", per-se. Sure, we're letting people see the story as it evolves, but at the moment we've got it formatted in the way that worked the best for us when we started the collaboration. But I'll change the page about and move the story so it's the first thing visible. — [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 22:30, 5 October 2007 (EDT)

::Just my two cents here, but wouldn't it be more beneficial for the setting as a whole if the character descriptions were kept on a seperate page altogether? I'm just asking because Alexei's description is seperate and things might get messy if everyone writing in PaW does the same.
== Getting a 'Complete' story out of this ==

Howdy. This here is just a little thought on how much more writing we need to get this story done and presentable.

Now we have beginnings for all the characters atm, so thats good. Now for a bare bones example lets say we also need a middle and an end. If everyone writes two more snippets of size similar to what they already have this will if you look at the amount already written be a tremendous boon to the word count.

The goal should be that your middle snippet describe something towards the middle of the night. Bits of the game, conversation, getting something from goordy, intellectual monologues(I know how much you guys love these;) ).

And the last snippet describes something towards the end of the night. People leaving, yourself leaving, an oath to stay up all night and drink as much as possible I don't know you figure it out.

But this will at the very least give us a story which is what we are aiming for. We can add snippets of cool ideas on after word or during but we should at least have a story with a beginning a middle and an end. Otherwise if we don't keep this in mind we risk being stuck on what to do with this story a month or two down the road, which i will not let happen.

The advantage of this? Everyone only has to write a couple more segments of whatever size they can manage and this puppy will have enough meat to be considered done!

Order could be a problem but my advice is to just not worry so much about it and write what you can. If you can write something in response to something someone else wrote go for it! If not, just write as though its the middle or the end of the evening and if its the end keep in mind whether or not people are still there is all. Thats it.

:At this point, it's clear that the story is not progressing well. Why? I think it's because we don't really have a ''story'' yet. We have an overall goal, yes -- "let's introduce readers to the PAW setting" -- but without a ''story,'' we might as well be writing a travelogue/documentary.<br>
:I have a suggestion for the overall plot: This story is about Mr. Peaches' ferretgirl. Specifically, it's the tale of how she comes to terms with her new body. The other characters are pretty much accustomed to being TFORs, and we can use their backstories to both (a) give readers info on the setting, and (b) help the ferretgirl get used to what she is. Yes? No? [[User:Cubist|Cubist]] 02:54, 29 January 2009 (EST)

== Ideas ==

I've been thinking of the editing we're going to have to do after we finish writing this and there aren't many solutions to making the story easier to follow. The problem it has, currently, is that the shifts in perspective are rather jarring and the tense and voice change for each part.

There are an innumerable number of ways to do the edit, but there are only two that would solve the above problem:
# pick a viewpoint character and rewrite all the parts so that character is telling the story
# use third-person omniscient
# Select a standard tense and voice, then expand and condense the different parts so they are longer and have the events overlap, told from the different characters

The first option would involve a lot of work by all involved people and selecting who to have as the character narrating the story is always a chore. Changing the viewpoint to third-person omniscient would seem to be the easiest, but it would remove a lot of the unique voice of the different authors involved. And the third choice isn't much different from the first in the amount of work required, but it is a much more commonly seen format and is generally used for round-robin type stories. If anything, the third choice will preserve the unique voices and also provide a platform for the different authors to extend their characterization a lot. — [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 19:53, 14 October 2007 (EDT)

: Speaking as a guy who once wrote a short story with 11 different first-person viewpoints, I don't see what's so horrible about having multiple different perspective-shifts. As long as you clearly identify the 'breakpoints', like we're doing right now, where's the problem? [[User:Cubist|Cubist]] 05:15, 15 October 2007 (EDT)

I think I have to agree with Cubist on this. Option 1 would require cutting out massive portions of other peoples snippets(just look at dash's or sue's introduction for instance.) and the other two options would be very labour intensive and may not come across the way they were originally written afterwards.

Although I cant think of to many examples of published stuff I have read with this many different writers working on a single story like this all doing their own different thing I have seen this happen multiple times on the TSA List itself and considering that not a whole lot of the writers on the list are being paid for anything they write it is almost always an easy thing to forgive.

--[[User:Devin|Devin]] 15:50, 15 October 2007 (EDT)

:Bard is the one who started the whole thing. I kinda agree with it, which is why I like the third option the most – it gives us a way to preserve everything that exists and will also lessen the jarring nature of the currently existing parts. Of course, we could always edit the smaller sections together into single, coherent wholes :) — [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 17:18, 15 October 2007 (EDT)

== 1.21 ==

Good couple pieces by felix and peaches here, I really liked how you handled rosa's sense of dispair peaches! I got an idea for sue for after rosa leaves the washroom just before anyone starts on a follow up to this newest one of rosa's and if not up tonight its because I fell asleep at the computer and it should be up tomorrow night at the latest.

--[[User:Devin|Devin]] 04:23, 2 January 2008 (EST)

:I'd like to call the one after yours, Devin. I've got some good ideas as well. [[User:Arrow Quivershaft|Arrow Quivershaft]] 05:23, 2 January 2008 (EST)

::Go ahead with it :) I've got a part in the works for Scott that fits between the latest Dash and Rosa parts — [[User:ShadowWolf|ShadowWolf]] 15:38, 2 January 2008 (EST)

== Minor Question ==

This is just a small question but its been bugging me for a while. The character description says that Scott is two meters tall... but isn't that around 6'7" or something?

:Yes. He's a ''big'' sumbitch. [[User:Cubist|Cubist]] 18:43, 7 March 2009 (UTC)

== Regarding Coati ==

Coati's description mentions that she doesn't have a shapeshifting ability, but it mentions under "On Flight" that she used to be a raven and in "Repayment" it says she was a coyote (and male), so I'm just wondering how that would work and what animal she was actually mixed with since the setting rules says TFOR can only blend a person with one organism. -- [[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd]]

:Coati is actually a colony organization of undifferentiated cells (think "The Thing" from the movies). This means that she absorbs genetic information from biological cells she consumes, along with memories. So, if she absorbs enough of a body she reforms herself into that body, be it coyote, raven, or coati. As I recall, my plans for her was that she was initially an animal, not human. Can't say for sure anymore though. Anyway, the crux of all this is that the one animal she "bonded with" is closer to an amoeba than anything else. Everything else is a "natural ability". -- [[User:Michael Bard|Michael Bard]]

The Muse Files

2009-03-28T21:36:55Z

Michael Bard: Another dream thought added

{{Note|Here you'll find various questions being asked or ideas being posted. This is all to help you find inspiration. If you've got ideas you can't use just add them here.}}

In a world where "reformatting" your body is a popular form of self-expression, how does a person that is medically restricted from using the tech survive?

Alternatively… How does such tech become popular? How are the first users of it treated?

----

Similar to the Paradise setting a "Random Event" effects people, turning them into furs. But rather than being hidden from sight they are in the open. Some persecution is sure to occur, but what if the government took the stance that they were still "human" under the law and extended all protections the law offers to them?

----

Wierd End of the World Dream:
* "end of the world" - but a few (one?) - survived
* how - everything was put in stasis - contained mushroom clouds, etc.
* why not this person
* why can survive?! - logically shouldn't be able to
* why did survive
* done by aliens to save species since didn't have time to stop the bombs/explosions
* each stasis bubble seals off own "reality" - but still bound by constants of universe - hero cannot enter bubbles - but can make way between them
* end - transformed to help save world - why and into what??

----

* man into merman transformation via brain transplant - NO - biological"merman" suit taken on expedition to Europa in addition to biological space suits and others
* taken to Europa to swim in oceans underneath ice and find out what is there - quite deep - covered by ice - close to zero
* what is there?

----

One race is surveying planet that is in space between them and another race. Transform into race to go down and see what is going on since have detected advanced weapons fire in early bronze age culture - go down - Kafer/Star Trek scenario - how does it feel to be "energized" by adrenalin? (NOTE: Kafer are alien race from Traveller 2300 -- when they get excited, get an adrenalin rush, they LITERALLY get smarter. Most of the smartness wears off when the adrenalin goes away, but not all)

----

Non sentient alien swarm (aka Tyrannid/Alien) paste humanity. Humanity flees across the galaxy for centuries to hide and gradually develop enough tech to fight back.

----

Terraforming of Mars/Planaforming of Humans. Human deciding to be planaformed/planaformed human working on terraforming equipment lured to join 'natives'/other.

----

SF story about a human using a hightech alien fursuit to spy on an alien culture. In essence "fursuit" is biological lifeform that fully TFs wearer into said alien -- sensations, skin, eyes, senses, etc.

----

"First in" scout arrives in system. Surveys planet. Animal life is odd - it seems to be very slow and methodical, and always very well armoured. Sends created life form down - created to have simple brain but no mind - it has no problems.

Goes down self - gets out - swarmed by wasps and head "explodes"

Finally wakes up - is now MASSIVE insect swarm. Apparently insects need complex brain neural connections to survive. They also absorb some of the knowledge from the neural connections they consume. His arrival triggered the arrival of massive swarms from all over for the free meal and his mind overwhelmed them. He is now a massive hive but has to survive

How? Hives are normally small because can only really feed off of dead animals. Learns to set traps, etc. and apply intelligence

----

Centaroid aliens arrive bringing their own planet along with them. There is no apparent means of propulsion. They are creating a 'galactic supermind' [ala Star Maker] to join the Star Maker entity they can dimly perceive now. They part their planet near Earth in the same orbit so that both planets share the moon (which now has a figure 8 orbit). The only measurable affect of their arrival are REALLY strong neutrino detection results in pools. Eventually they come to earth, turn off all weapons, and transform all life in some way to obtain their aim, and will wait until sentience on earth is ready to join the group mind.

POV character is journalist covering the opening of one of the neutrino detection sites.

Alternate plot thoughts: Humanity/other life modified into telepathic non-mobile brains (live by photosynthesis?) -- story could be one man relaying this, and then fighting to maintain his identity as the group mind slowly consumes him. End with him seeing "God"

----

Genetically enginnered, non-human. Treated as slaves in high tech religiusocracy US (ala Heinlein's interregnum -- same name)
Is helped escaped particularly brutal master to be helped escape to Canada
Meets various people, escapes patrols, lots of close calls - learns (she thinks) about what it means to be free.
Final friends hug -- lots of sadness, joy
POV walks into Canada

Is greeted by "immigration", led to electrocution chair. "Sorry, but we have analyzed the threat of your genetic capabilities to humanity. We can't take the chance. It's as painless as we can make it. I'm sorry."

----

Modified human with some vacuum adaptions, and with arms and hands replacing feet, is officer/commander/watchman of one of six ‘Hohmann Stations’ that exist in an elliptical orbit that also orbits both earth and mars on regular legs of its trip. Freight is transported to the station and latched to it, human cargo is generally carried in stasis).

Has pet engineered cyberetic octopus (lives in air, moves by jet propulsion, can interface with computer hardware, has roughly the IQ of a 12 year old)

Two months ago received unusually large transmission from earth for relay/boost to mars.

Story starts with AI from message addressing our hero. He is taking over the station and plans to reroute it to the asteroids as a base for colonies there

Story is struggle to preserve ship/defeat AI. AI has control of most functions, but critical functions (life support, drive) are locked away and require our hero’s personal activation – AI is cracking the code

Hero has to get to core, force system reset over software overrides – at end AI flees into Octopus, hides, our hero realizes it, and kills the octopus

At end begins growing a clone and prepares to read backup of its neural cortext into the clone to restore it

----

Person who loses their legs wants artificial legs, but demands hoofed/pawed digitgrade artificial legs

----

Something gloatingly, joyously human-centric, without irony. Had this knocking around for a while - a kudu is chased across the savanna by a human hunter. It outpaces him, easily, time and again, but every time it stops, he catches up, following its track. Two to five hours in extreme heat. Persistence hunting! Eventually the kudu collapses from exhaustion, heart about to burst, and the hunter, instead of bashing its head in, does... something. Kudu turns into a human, or mostly-human. Not furry - hairless and with sweat glands, a big rounded flat-faced head, elastic feet, hyoid bone, decoupled shoulders, the works. Why?

----

To Understand a Dolphin

Part 1: Decision:

*at dead end in research
*virtual reality tanks/rich living on through transplants
*transplant own brain into fetal dolphin shortly before birth
*discussion with grad students - explanations - thoughts
*resolution - quote - To Catch a Thief, use a Thief - to Understand a Dolphin, BE a Dolphin

Part 2: Birth:

*awake in the womb
*senses
*learning to use senses and to move
*struggle
*boredom
*birth
*to the surface and first breath of air

Part 3: Youth:
*growing up as a dolphin
*irregular contacts as grow up
*first hunt
*leaving mother
*finding "friends"
*drifting away from humanity

Part 4: Mate:
*joining a "gang"
*"hunt" for a female in a group
*victory - first pleasures
*last report - less and less human

----

Human biologist on Mars. Mars is being terraformed (partially?). Story occurs in great valley roofed over/walled for higher pressure. Life forms are being developed and released to gradually adapt Mars biosphere. One of these forms is heavily modified wolves. Something has started killing the herbivorous animals -- wolves are suspected. Biologist is sent to confirm, terminate wolves (genetic "off switch"?) What REALLY happened is that "something" has been awakened, something highly Lovecraftian/non-human, and it is eating things. Thing attacks biologist, wolves come and save, one looks at her (certain level of intelligence) and basically tells her to GET THE HELL AWAY before returning to the doomed fight.

----

The Price of Survival

*supervisor/foreman on orbital construction platform
*late in shift – goes by airlock where the new organic (shudder) suits stored for C shift – show hatred, distrust, quesiness

*disaster – collision alert – hatches sealed – trapped with suits
*doors hiss shut – jerks of vector changes – lights go out – restart dim and red

*now what?
*wait for rescue – try radio contact – nothing – but should be safe *but had vector change – could be on collision or in decaying orbit
*opens door and looks at suits – description – horror - stories
*wait or not to wait?

*would be stupid to die over a little fear – should be safe – but….
*part of him starts to wonder what it would be like
*goes over to largest EVA suit – reaction gas bladders are full on suit

*how much air left? How much power? Starts to feel hot – a vac suit would be wonderful

*creeps forward and touches largest one – warm, inviting, alive
*suddenly clam shell front opens…

*shoves self back into wall (freefall) – hot to the touch – breathing heavily
*no choice

*backs into suit

*reaction – skin crawling – slides arms into slots, legs into slots *air is getting very hot – creaks and groans in metal in background

*settles in – not too bad – but still open
*afraid? – how to seal? – sweating now

*panic? – can’t move arms – tries to wiggle fingers – touches something – suit seals…

*NO! – tentacles, goo in lungs, etc.
*then fine/free – moves around – no problem – wish knew how to use reaction jet – can sense them but… - then drifts into far wall – so that’s how – feels like farting

*makes way to airlock – opens inner and then outer door – in space – fear, sensation, feeling
*makes contact with rescue stick – gets ready to jump out – there is a collision/explosion likely soon

*then pauses – just a minute – remembers the other suits – better rescue them too…

----

Two high tech races infiltrating primitive world. Each posing as "god". Objective is to gain theocratic control of culture, instill a technic society, and advance their techbase sufficient to join the respective empires. Done this way so that the world "seems" to do it on their own, to maintain the "cold war" status between the two races and not escalate the situation

----

Astronaut working on orbital construction. Accident of some kind? Has air and environment, but no jets, no safety rope, nothing to push against. A multi-tonne girder is drifting *SLOWLY* towards him -- will *SLOWLY* crush him (Why can't move? Trapped somehow?) Psychological story about his reaction to pending unstoppable death. Live at end? How? Push against girder somehow? Give enough of slow gradual vector change so that girder will only crush leg?

----

Zombie Apocalypse Extreme, or how your dreams tell you that you watch too much Stargate: Atlantis. Story is about survivors of a Zombie Apocalypse. They are trying to survive/get somewhere. Region they are in is flooded, some kind of ground subsistence (from nuclear strikes/earthquake). Are attacked by "super zombie/wraith" that is smart, fast, STUPIDLY TOUGH, and sucks out your life energy. Find one, somehow manage to kill it. Survivor group includes at least one military. End up on island surrounded by shallow water -- top of underground parking garage. At some point lost one character. Hope they got all of the "wraiths" - manhole covers pop open, another superzombie/wraith comes out -- it's the former character. Kill it due to grenade sacrifice of another survivor but military type is bitten/infected by virus vector. Radios base, states area MUST be nuked. Absolutely. More superzombies come out, surrounding him, waiting. He can feel the change. He keeps talking in the radio as mushroom clouds appear on the horizon. "Got you, you bastards". Rest move forward-- nuclear annihilation.

----

Writer is woken up and grabbed by military and whisked off. Turns out alien has landed, and the description matches EXACTLY a book that said writer got published recently. Questioned, taken to observe alien -- alien sees him/her -- "You!" Turns out alien/human are somehow linked -- either by third party, soul sharing, or whatever. Alien whisks human off as he's needed to fulfill some task?

User:Michael Bard

2009-03-12T08:09:56Z

Michael Bard: /* Books I need Replacement copies of */

{{author page|Bard, Michael}}
{{DEFAULTSORT:Bard, Michael}}

I'm an old fogy of an author who has been posting for FAR too long. We'll see how this new fangled contraption works out compared to feather, ink, and parchment.

=Poetry=

Yes, I ''do'' dabble in this occasionally. Fear not, I plan to ''only'' post TF related poetry here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Going Home|Going Home]]

=Stories=

These are written at various points over the past 30 years, and include only those works with ''on stage'' transformations. For a more complete story set, go to [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard Michael Bard's Story Page]

==Stand Alone Stories==

These are various odds and ends that are unrelated to other stories. Some may have a sequel (or a prequel) (or something else related) written, in which case they'll be moved and labeled appropriately.

[[User:Michael Bard/Action MUST be Taken!|Action MUST be Taken!]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Applicant|The Applicant]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Bee or not a Bee|A Bee or not a Bee]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Bob and the Goose|Bob and the Goose]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Can I help You?|Can I help You?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Christmas Dreams|Christmas Dreams]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Choices|Choices]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Coyote and Road Runner Show|The Coyote and Road Runner Show]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Down the Rabbit Hole|Down the Rabbit Hole]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Dragon, the Rock, and the Wanderer|The Dragon, the Rock, and the Wanderer]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Dragon Slayer|The Dragon Slayer]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Faerie Tale|A Faerie Tale]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Feathers|Feathers]]

[[User:Michael Bard/How did the Ceolocanth REALLY Survive?|How did the Ceolocanth REALLY Survive?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Horse in the Glass Bubble|The Horse in the Glass Bubble]]

[[User:Michael Bard/How not to be Seen|How not to be Seen]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Inspire Me|Inspire Me]]

[[User:Michael Bard/It's in the Skin|It's in the Skin]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Keeping Secrets|Keeping Secrets]]

The Last of the Niagaras - Now available for purchase in a Dead Tree Anthology from Lulu with lots of other great stories! [http://www.lulu.com/content/4431539 Alone in the Dark]

[[User:Michael Bard/Marduk's Gift|Marduk's Gift]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Melash...|Melash...]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Mowing the Lawn|Mowing the Lawn]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Myth of Beetlecat|The Myth of Beetlecat]]

Note: Trying to post MYTHIC JOURNEYS as the single novel it is managed to break Shifti, so I'm splitting it up into two parts.

----

[[User:Michael Bard/Mythic Journeys - Part 1|Mythic Journeys - Part 1]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Mythic Journeys - Part 2|Mythic Journeys - Part 2]]

----

[[User:Michael Bard/Of the Ylourgne Expanse|Of the Ylourgne Expanse]]

[[User:Michael Bard/One CarePony at a Time|One CarePony at a Time]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Perils of Wereostrichdom|The Perils of Wereostrichdom]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pizza is Us|Pizza is Us]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Power of Suggestion|The Power of Suggestion]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Psychological Reassignment - Case HM-474-353-793|Psychological Reassignment - Case HM-474-353-793]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Raccoon Flying Tail (tm)(c)|The Raccoon Flying Tail (tm)(c)]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Raccoon Morph Body Biosuit (tm)(c)|The Raccoon Morph Body Biosuit (tm)(c)]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Rabbit's Life|A Rabbit's Life]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Returning Home|Returning Home]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Something's out there|Something's out there]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Slip Sliding Around|Slip Sliding Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Somebody's Watching|Somebody's Watching]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Survival and Sacrifice|Survival and Sacrifice]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Transformation Vignettes|Transformation Vignettes]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Trust|Trust]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Truth about Bard|The Truth about Bard]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Wanted: Bobs|Wanted: Bobs]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Wereing on the Moon|Wereing on the Moon]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Who gets the Dreamers?|Who gets the Dreamers?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Whom God Destroys|Whom God Destroys]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Xepher's Werewolf Overload|Xepher's Werewolf Overload]]

[[User:Michael Bard/You get what you Wished for|You get what you Wished for]]

==Story Cycles:==

And here are the stories that are set in a common universe with other stories. Note that some only have one story listed, generally because other stories in the cycle don't have any ''on screen'' transformations.

===Asteroid Ship===

In which those interested in "freedom of body" flee the oppressive UN aboard a hollowed out asteroid generation ship. More stories can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/asteroidship/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Dealing with the Faerie|Dealing with the Faerie]]

===LTF (List TransFormed)===

In which everybody on the TSA-talk mailing list is TFed into their most commonly depicted online fursona. Mine has changed a lot, but this was written years ago. There are two additional stories at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/centaur/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Diary of a Centaur in a Human's World|Diary of a Centaur in a Human's World]]

===Metamor Keep - ''Raider of the Lost Cult'' cycle===

My first poke into the Metamor Keep universe. Even though only the first story has a TF, and it's off screen, they're being put here as an experiment, and so that other people writing in the universe can read, and comment, on the ''in development'' versions.

[[User:Michael Bard/Pawned|Pawned]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A few Days in Heaven|A few Days in Heaven]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Cultists Strike Back!|The Cultists Strike Back!]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Tales of Euper Investigations|Tales of Euper Investigations]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Into the Darkness|Into the Darkness]]

[[User:Michael Bard/On the Hunt|On the Hunt]]

[[User:Michael Bard/From the Other Side|From the Other Side]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Summoning|The Summoning]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Between the Worlds|Between the Worlds]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Last Trial|The Last Trial]]

===National Enchanted Forest===

A weird little universe about a world where Faerie and Us co-exist, and how unwary people can get zapped.

[[User:Michael Bard/Christmas in the National Enchanted Forest|Christmas in the National Enchanted Forest]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Enchanted Buck Season|Enchanted Buck Season]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Walk in the National Enchanted Forest|A Walk in the National Enchanted Forest]]

===Of Brains and Bodies===

The first stories I wrote after joining TSA-talk. There is an outline for a third that would complete the meta-story, but, at this point, it is highly unlikely to ever be written.

[[User:Michael Bard/Dreams can become Nightmares; Nightmares can become Dreams|Dreams can become Nightmares, Nightmares can become Dreams]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Escaping my Father|Escaping my Father]]

===A History of the Future===

These are based on a fairly detailed outline I made up many moons ago for my last attempt at a SFRPG. We did one adventure, but then it faded away. Doesn't mean I couldn't write in it--

Note that there are two ''eras'' in this. The one with humans and a small set of aliens, and the one half a million years later with humans. ''Destinies'' explains this.

There are more stories, but right now they're all set aside to be edited for magazine submission.

[[User:Michael Bard/Destinies|Destinies]]

===Space Cadet===

A hard SF universe inspired by Robert A Heinlein's ''Space Cadet'' juvenile, and lots of other '50s SF. It's as realistic as I can make it, even though it is populated by furies and occurs 50,000 years after the 20th century. One story has been published in print media -- ''Hunters'' in [http://www.renardsmenagerie.com/ Renards Menagerie #2]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Survivor|The Survivor]]

===Tales from the Blind Pig===

''Lots'' more of these on my website in the [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/tbp/indexintro.html Master Blind Pig Archive]. This one is for a group story that is still under development and is only here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Beyond the Wall of Ice|Beyond the Wall of Ice]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Switching Sides|Switching Sides]]

===Tales of SUPERMARE!===

This is the origin story. There are many sequels, but most of them don't have implicit TFs, or require earlier stories to be read. They can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/supermare/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/My Name is...|My Name is...]]

===Tales of The World===

These are stories, myths, etc. set in the last FRPG world I created. There are more at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/talesoftheworld/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Beornwyn's Love|Beornwyn's Love]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Lies and Truths|Lies and Truths]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Of Love and Hate|Of Love and Hate]] (revised (rewritten) April 2008)

[[User:Michael Bard/Of Love and Dream|Of Love and Dreams]] (a sequel to "Of Love and Hate" though written much earlier so there are some inconsistencies)

[[User:Michael Bard/Two Gods and a Faerie|Two Gods and a Faerie]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pricing Immortality - Book 1 - Immortality Lost|Pricing Immortality - Book 1 - Immortality Lost]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pricing Immortality - Book 2 - Immortality Regained|Pricing Immortality - Book 2 - Immortality Regained]] Unfinished, but it would be odd to put the sequel/conclusion separate from Part 1.

[[User:Michael Bard/Swimming from the Dragon|Swimming from the Dragon]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The End of all Things|The End of all Things]]

===Warhammer 40,000 Fanfiction===

Fairly obvious what these are. This is only one that I've written, but the longest. Most can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/agrippa/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Bloodstone's Gift|The Bloodstone's Gift]]

===Xanadu===

As a Xanadu story, by it's nature, includes a TF, all of what I've written are here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Five Hours, Thirty-two Minutes|Five Hours, Thirty-two Minutes]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Flying Free|Flying Free]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Just Lounging Around|Just Lounging Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Like the Unfolding Petals of a Dream|Like the Unfolding Petals of a Dream]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Losing Himself|Losing Himself]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Now I will believe that there are Unicorns|Now I will believe that there are Unicorns]] Prequel to "Unicorn Dreams"

[[User:Michael Bard/Something Fishy|Something Fishy]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Still Lounging Around|Still Lounging Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Tale of a Tail|Tale of a Tail]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Tale of the Ivory Otherkin|The Tale of the Ivory Otherkin]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Unicorn Dreams|Unicorn Dreams]] Sequel to "Now I will believe that there are Unicorns"

= Stories in Progress =

Stories that are either in progress, or indefinitely stalled. Those which are stalled will eagerly take any advice offered to get restarted...

[[User:Michael Bard/Head on the Bed, The|The Head on the Bed]] Complete, but I REALLY need advice on the ending. It just doesn't work. Maybe a pun--

[[User:Michael Bard/Repayment|Repayment]] A draft version of character background story for a PaW character I'm playing with.

[[User:Michael Bard/Tale of One Entity, A|A Tale of One Entity]] An old project I poke at every so often, later inspired by "By his Bootstraps" by RA Heinlein. More details at the beginning of the story.

[[User:Michael Bard/Untitled PaW story]] Another PaW universe story being worked on.

[[User: Michael Bard/What difference can a Man make?]] A story of the Persian War in progress.

=The Abandoned=

These are various odds and ends either from abandoned shared world projects, story ideas that didn't pan out, or whatever. They are in various states of completion and it is unlikely anything further will ever be done on them. Read at your own risk!

[[User: Michael Bard/Consequences: The Simple Things]] Started out as a cyberpunk story. Was later used as a setup for a TSAT contest.

[[User: Michael Bard/Quiet World, The|The Quiet World]] Story universe plan where everybody who had a fursona was TFed into said fursona at the same time as everybody else vanished. Yea, it's been done before, but I wanted to poke at.

[[User: Michael Bard/Kor's Journey]] The linchpin story of "The World" that clarifies things, unifies concepts, etc. Been abandoned for years. There is an outline of future chapters at the end.

[[User: Michael Bard/Saving the Multiverse]] An abandoned shared world story project. This would be the intro for my "character". You may notice that I had been watching a certain cartoon series-- The intro story is complete, but nothing else was ever written in the universe.

=Other Authors=

Some people have asked me to put their stuff here for various reasons. The author name will be indicated.

[[User:Michael Bard/Golden Mirror|Golden Mirror]] by Fish

=Books I need Replacement copies of=

About a decade ago now, 90% of my books were destroyed by a burst water pipe. A lot of the survivors mysteriously vanished during a move about 5 years ago. So, with a lot of crying (literally) and resulting ongoing depression, I put together a master list of what I still need to find copies of. Any help is appreciated, these are all recommended:

Adams, Douglas
- Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

Anderson, Poul
- The King of Ys: The Dog and the Wolf
- Brainwave
- The High Crusade
- The Dancer from Atlantis
- Maurai and Kith
- Operation Luna
- Vault of Ages
- The War of Two Worlds
- Orbit Unlimited
- After Doomsday
- Three Worlds to Conquer
- Beyond the Beyond
- The Bywolrder
- There Will be Time
- The Worlds of Poul Anderson
- The Devil's Game
- No Truce with Kings
- The Best of Poul Anderson
- How to build a Planet

Anthony, Piers
- Macroscope

Bach, Richard
- Jonathon Livingston Seagull

Benford, Gregory
- Across the Sea of Suns
- Furious Gulf

Bradbury, Ray
- NOT Martian Chronicles

Brin, David
- Heart of the Comet (with Benford I think)
- The River of Time

Butler, Octavia E
- Patternmaster
- Survivor
- Wild Seed
- Clay's Ark

Chalker, Jack L
- Midnight at the Well of Souls
- Horrors of the Dancing Gods
- Spirits of Flux and Anchor
- Empires of Flux and Anchor
- Masters of Flux and Anchor
- The Birth of Flux and Anchor
- Children of Flux and Anchor

Chambers, Robert W
- The King in Yellow

Clarke, Arthur C
- 2001: A Space Odyssey
- Rendezvous with Rama

Cherryh, CJ
- Gate of Ivrel
- Fires of Azeroth
- Exile's Gate
- Ealdwood
- The Dreamstone
- The Tree of Swords and Jewels
- Downbelow Station
- Chanur's Venture

Clement, Hal
- Mission of Gravity
- Close to Critical
- Starlight
- Ocean on Top

Colfer, Eoin
- Artemis Fowl

De Lint, Charles
- Moonheart
- The Riddle of the Wren

De Camp, L Sprague
- The Castle of Iron
- Wall of Serpents
- The Best of L Sprague de Camp

Donaldson, Stephen
- Daughter of Regals: And other stories

Duane, Diane
- The Door into Fire
- The Door into Shadow
- The Door into Sunset
- The Sword and the Dragon
- So you Want to be a Wizard
- High Wizardry

Durgin, Doranna
- Dun Lady's Jess

Dunsany, Lord
- The King of Elfland's Daughter
- The Charwoman's Shadow

Farmer, Philip Jose
- The Maker of Universes
- The Gates of Creation
- A Private Cosmos
- Behind the Walls of Terra
- The Lavalite World

Friesner, Esther
- Harlot's Ruse

Harrison, Harry
- Star Smashers of the Galaxy Rangers

Heinlein, Robert H
- Universe
- Farmer in the Sky
- Double Star

Hodgell, P C
- Seeker's Mask
- Dark of the Gods
- To Ride A Rathorn

Homer
- The Illiad (verse)

Hoyle, Fred
- The Black cloud

Kay, Guy Gavriel
- The Wandering Fire
- The Darkest Road

Le Guin, Ursula K
- The Left Hand of Darkness

Lee, Tanith
- Quest for the White Witch
- Don't Bite the Sun
- Delusion's Master

Leiber, Fritz
- The Swords of Lankhmar

Logstan, Ann
- Shadow

Lovecraft, HP
- The Dreamquest of Unknown Kadath

MacCaffrey, Anne
- All the Weyrs of Pern
- The Skies of Pern

Martin, George RR
- Wild Cards
- Aces High
- Jokers Wild

McKillip, Patricia
- The Riddle-Master of Hed
- Heir of Sea and Fire
- Harpist in the Wind

Meyers, Roy
- Daughers of the Dolphin
- Destiny of the Dolphins

Moffitt, Donald
- The Jupiter Theft
- The Genesis Quest
- Second Genesis

Moore, C L
- Jirel of Joiry

Niven, Larry
- The Ringworld Engineers
- Escape from Hell (forthcoming)
- Protector
- The Patchwork Girl
- The Long ARM of Gil Hamilton
- Crashlander
- The Draco Tavern
- The Man-Kzin Wars 3-5, 7-9, 12 (and counting)

Offutt, Andrew J
- The Eye of Sarsis
- Web of the Spider

Raymond, Alex
- Flash Gordon

Reynolds, Alastair
- Revelation Space
- Chasm City'
- Redemption Ark
- Absolution Gap

Rosenburg, Joel
- The Sleeping Dragon
- The Sword and the Chain
- The Silver Crown

Simak, Clifford D
- City

Smith, Cordwainer
- The Planet buyer
- The Underpeope

Stapledon, Olaf
- Odd John
- Sirius

Stirling, SM
- Snowbrother
- The Sharpest Edge
- The Cage
- Shadow's Son
- Saber and Shadow

Swann, Thomas Burnett
- The Day of the Minotaur
- Cry Silver Bells
- The Dolphin and the Deep
- Where is the Bird of Fire?
- Wolfwinter
- How are the Mighty Fallen
- The Not World
- The Minnikins of Yam
- The Tournament of Thorns
- Will of the Wisp
- Queens Walk in the Dust

Tarr, Judith
- The Isle of Glass
- The Golden Horn

Tolkein, JRR
- The Fellowship of the Ring
- The Two Towers
- The Return of the King

Vance, Jack
- The Moon Moth: And other stories

Varley, John
- The Persistance of Vision
- Blue Champagne
- Steel Beach

Watt-Evans, Lawrence
- The Spell of the Black Dagger

Weber, David
- Crusade

Wells, HG
- The War of the Worlds

White, TH
- The Once and Future King

Williams, Tad
- The Dragonbone Chair
- The Stone of farewell
- To Green Angel Tower

Williamson, Jack
- The Humanoids

Wolf, Gene
- The Shadow of the Torturer
- The Claw of the Conciliator
- The Sword of the Lictor
- The Citadel of the Autarch

Wurts, Janny
- Stormwarden
- Keeper of the Keys
- Shadowfane

Wyndham, John
- The Day of the Triffids

Zelazny, Roger
- Unicorn Variations

Anthologies:
- Science Fiction Hall of Fame (vol 1+2)

User:Michael Bard

2009-03-12T06:15:21Z

Michael Bard: Updated book replacement list

{{author page|Bard, Michael}}
{{DEFAULTSORT:Bard, Michael}}

I'm an old fogy of an author who has been posting for FAR too long. We'll see how this new fangled contraption works out compared to feather, ink, and parchment.

=Poetry=

Yes, I ''do'' dabble in this occasionally. Fear not, I plan to ''only'' post TF related poetry here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Going Home|Going Home]]

=Stories=

These are written at various points over the past 30 years, and include only those works with ''on stage'' transformations. For a more complete story set, go to [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard Michael Bard's Story Page]

==Stand Alone Stories==

These are various odds and ends that are unrelated to other stories. Some may have a sequel (or a prequel) (or something else related) written, in which case they'll be moved and labeled appropriately.

[[User:Michael Bard/Action MUST be Taken!|Action MUST be Taken!]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Applicant|The Applicant]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Bee or not a Bee|A Bee or not a Bee]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Bob and the Goose|Bob and the Goose]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Can I help You?|Can I help You?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Christmas Dreams|Christmas Dreams]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Choices|Choices]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Coyote and Road Runner Show|The Coyote and Road Runner Show]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Down the Rabbit Hole|Down the Rabbit Hole]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Dragon, the Rock, and the Wanderer|The Dragon, the Rock, and the Wanderer]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Dragon Slayer|The Dragon Slayer]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Faerie Tale|A Faerie Tale]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Feathers|Feathers]]

[[User:Michael Bard/How did the Ceolocanth REALLY Survive?|How did the Ceolocanth REALLY Survive?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Horse in the Glass Bubble|The Horse in the Glass Bubble]]

[[User:Michael Bard/How not to be Seen|How not to be Seen]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Inspire Me|Inspire Me]]

[[User:Michael Bard/It's in the Skin|It's in the Skin]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Keeping Secrets|Keeping Secrets]]

The Last of the Niagaras - Now available for purchase in a Dead Tree Anthology from Lulu with lots of other great stories! [http://www.lulu.com/content/4431539 Alone in the Dark]

[[User:Michael Bard/Marduk's Gift|Marduk's Gift]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Melash...|Melash...]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Mowing the Lawn|Mowing the Lawn]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Myth of Beetlecat|The Myth of Beetlecat]]

Note: Trying to post MYTHIC JOURNEYS as the single novel it is managed to break Shifti, so I'm splitting it up into two parts.

----

[[User:Michael Bard/Mythic Journeys - Part 1|Mythic Journeys - Part 1]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Mythic Journeys - Part 2|Mythic Journeys - Part 2]]

----

[[User:Michael Bard/Of the Ylourgne Expanse|Of the Ylourgne Expanse]]

[[User:Michael Bard/One CarePony at a Time|One CarePony at a Time]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Perils of Wereostrichdom|The Perils of Wereostrichdom]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pizza is Us|Pizza is Us]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Power of Suggestion|The Power of Suggestion]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Psychological Reassignment - Case HM-474-353-793|Psychological Reassignment - Case HM-474-353-793]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Raccoon Flying Tail (tm)(c)|The Raccoon Flying Tail (tm)(c)]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Raccoon Morph Body Biosuit (tm)(c)|The Raccoon Morph Body Biosuit (tm)(c)]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Rabbit's Life|A Rabbit's Life]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Returning Home|Returning Home]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Something's out there|Something's out there]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Slip Sliding Around|Slip Sliding Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Somebody's Watching|Somebody's Watching]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Survival and Sacrifice|Survival and Sacrifice]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Transformation Vignettes|Transformation Vignettes]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Trust|Trust]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Truth about Bard|The Truth about Bard]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Wanted: Bobs|Wanted: Bobs]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Wereing on the Moon|Wereing on the Moon]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Who gets the Dreamers?|Who gets the Dreamers?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Whom God Destroys|Whom God Destroys]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Xepher's Werewolf Overload|Xepher's Werewolf Overload]]

[[User:Michael Bard/You get what you Wished for|You get what you Wished for]]

==Story Cycles:==

And here are the stories that are set in a common universe with other stories. Note that some only have one story listed, generally because other stories in the cycle don't have any ''on screen'' transformations.

===Asteroid Ship===

In which those interested in "freedom of body" flee the oppressive UN aboard a hollowed out asteroid generation ship. More stories can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/asteroidship/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Dealing with the Faerie|Dealing with the Faerie]]

===LTF (List TransFormed)===

In which everybody on the TSA-talk mailing list is TFed into their most commonly depicted online fursona. Mine has changed a lot, but this was written years ago. There are two additional stories at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/centaur/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Diary of a Centaur in a Human's World|Diary of a Centaur in a Human's World]]

===Metamor Keep - ''Raider of the Lost Cult'' cycle===

My first poke into the Metamor Keep universe. Even though only the first story has a TF, and it's off screen, they're being put here as an experiment, and so that other people writing in the universe can read, and comment, on the ''in development'' versions.

[[User:Michael Bard/Pawned|Pawned]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A few Days in Heaven|A few Days in Heaven]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Cultists Strike Back!|The Cultists Strike Back!]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Tales of Euper Investigations|Tales of Euper Investigations]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Into the Darkness|Into the Darkness]]

[[User:Michael Bard/On the Hunt|On the Hunt]]

[[User:Michael Bard/From the Other Side|From the Other Side]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Summoning|The Summoning]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Between the Worlds|Between the Worlds]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Last Trial|The Last Trial]]

===National Enchanted Forest===

A weird little universe about a world where Faerie and Us co-exist, and how unwary people can get zapped.

[[User:Michael Bard/Christmas in the National Enchanted Forest|Christmas in the National Enchanted Forest]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Enchanted Buck Season|Enchanted Buck Season]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Walk in the National Enchanted Forest|A Walk in the National Enchanted Forest]]

===Of Brains and Bodies===

The first stories I wrote after joining TSA-talk. There is an outline for a third that would complete the meta-story, but, at this point, it is highly unlikely to ever be written.

[[User:Michael Bard/Dreams can become Nightmares; Nightmares can become Dreams|Dreams can become Nightmares, Nightmares can become Dreams]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Escaping my Father|Escaping my Father]]

===A History of the Future===

These are based on a fairly detailed outline I made up many moons ago for my last attempt at a SFRPG. We did one adventure, but then it faded away. Doesn't mean I couldn't write in it--

Note that there are two ''eras'' in this. The one with humans and a small set of aliens, and the one half a million years later with humans. ''Destinies'' explains this.

There are more stories, but right now they're all set aside to be edited for magazine submission.

[[User:Michael Bard/Destinies|Destinies]]

===Space Cadet===

A hard SF universe inspired by Robert A Heinlein's ''Space Cadet'' juvenile, and lots of other '50s SF. It's as realistic as I can make it, even though it is populated by furies and occurs 50,000 years after the 20th century. One story has been published in print media -- ''Hunters'' in [http://www.renardsmenagerie.com/ Renards Menagerie #2]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Survivor|The Survivor]]

===Tales from the Blind Pig===

''Lots'' more of these on my website in the [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/tbp/indexintro.html Master Blind Pig Archive]. This one is for a group story that is still under development and is only here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Beyond the Wall of Ice|Beyond the Wall of Ice]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Switching Sides|Switching Sides]]

===Tales of SUPERMARE!===

This is the origin story. There are many sequels, but most of them don't have implicit TFs, or require earlier stories to be read. They can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/supermare/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/My Name is...|My Name is...]]

===Tales of The World===

These are stories, myths, etc. set in the last FRPG world I created. There are more at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/talesoftheworld/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Beornwyn's Love|Beornwyn's Love]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Lies and Truths|Lies and Truths]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Of Love and Hate|Of Love and Hate]] (revised (rewritten) April 2008)

[[User:Michael Bard/Of Love and Dream|Of Love and Dreams]] (a sequel to "Of Love and Hate" though written much earlier so there are some inconsistencies)

[[User:Michael Bard/Two Gods and a Faerie|Two Gods and a Faerie]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pricing Immortality - Book 1 - Immortality Lost|Pricing Immortality - Book 1 - Immortality Lost]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pricing Immortality - Book 2 - Immortality Regained|Pricing Immortality - Book 2 - Immortality Regained]] Unfinished, but it would be odd to put the sequel/conclusion separate from Part 1.

[[User:Michael Bard/Swimming from the Dragon|Swimming from the Dragon]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The End of all Things|The End of all Things]]

===Warhammer 40,000 Fanfiction===

Fairly obvious what these are. This is only one that I've written, but the longest. Most can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/agrippa/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Bloodstone's Gift|The Bloodstone's Gift]]

===Xanadu===

As a Xanadu story, by it's nature, includes a TF, all of what I've written are here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Five Hours, Thirty-two Minutes|Five Hours, Thirty-two Minutes]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Flying Free|Flying Free]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Just Lounging Around|Just Lounging Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Like the Unfolding Petals of a Dream|Like the Unfolding Petals of a Dream]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Losing Himself|Losing Himself]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Now I will believe that there are Unicorns|Now I will believe that there are Unicorns]] Prequel to "Unicorn Dreams"

[[User:Michael Bard/Something Fishy|Something Fishy]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Still Lounging Around|Still Lounging Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Tale of a Tail|Tale of a Tail]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Tale of the Ivory Otherkin|The Tale of the Ivory Otherkin]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Unicorn Dreams|Unicorn Dreams]] Sequel to "Now I will believe that there are Unicorns"

= Stories in Progress =

Stories that are either in progress, or indefinitely stalled. Those which are stalled will eagerly take any advice offered to get restarted...

[[User:Michael Bard/Head on the Bed, The|The Head on the Bed]] Complete, but I REALLY need advice on the ending. It just doesn't work. Maybe a pun--

[[User:Michael Bard/Repayment|Repayment]] A draft version of character background story for a PaW character I'm playing with.

[[User:Michael Bard/Tale of One Entity, A|A Tale of One Entity]] An old project I poke at every so often, later inspired by "By his Bootstraps" by RA Heinlein. More details at the beginning of the story.

[[User:Michael Bard/Untitled PaW story]] Another PaW universe story being worked on.

[[User: Michael Bard/What difference can a Man make?]] A story of the Persian War in progress.

=The Abandoned=

These are various odds and ends either from abandoned shared world projects, story ideas that didn't pan out, or whatever. They are in various states of completion and it is unlikely anything further will ever be done on them. Read at your own risk!

[[User: Michael Bard/Consequences: The Simple Things]] Started out as a cyberpunk story. Was later used as a setup for a TSAT contest.

[[User: Michael Bard/Quiet World, The|The Quiet World]] Story universe plan where everybody who had a fursona was TFed into said fursona at the same time as everybody else vanished. Yea, it's been done before, but I wanted to poke at.

[[User: Michael Bard/Kor's Journey]] The linchpin story of "The World" that clarifies things, unifies concepts, etc. Been abandoned for years. There is an outline of future chapters at the end.

[[User: Michael Bard/Saving the Multiverse]] An abandoned shared world story project. This would be the intro for my "character". You may notice that I had been watching a certain cartoon series-- The intro story is complete, but nothing else was ever written in the universe.

=Other Authors=

Some people have asked me to put their stuff here for various reasons. The author name will be indicated.

[[User:Michael Bard/Golden Mirror|Golden Mirror]] by Fish

=Books I need Replacement copies of=

About a decade ago now, 90% of my books were destroyed by a burst water pipe. A lot of the survivors mysteriously vanished during a move about 5 years ago. So, with a lot of crying (literally) and resulting ongoing depression, I put together a master list of what I still need to find copies of. Any help is appreciated, these are all recommended:

Adams, Douglas
- Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

Anderson, Poul
- The King of Ys: The Dog and the Wolf
- Brainwave
- The High Crusade
- The Dancer from Atlantis
- Maurai and Kith
- Operation Luna
- Vault of Ages
- The War of Two Worlds
- Orbit Unlimited
- After Doomsday
- Three Worlds to Conquer
- Beyond the Beyond
- The Bywolrder
- There Will be Time
- The Worlds of Poul Anderson
- The Devil's Game
- No Truce with Kings
- The Best of Poul Anderson
- How to build a Planet

Anthony, Piers
- Macroscope

Bach, Richard
- Jonathon Livingston Seagull

Benford, Gregory
- Across the Sea of Suns
- Furious Gulf

Bradbury, Ray
- NOT Martian Chronicles

Brin, David
- Heart of the Comet (with Benford I think)
- The River of Time

Butler, Octavia E
- Patternmaster
- Survivor
- Wild Seed
- Clay's Ark

Chalker, Jack L
- Midnight at the Well of Souls
- Horrors of the Dancing Gods
- Spirits of Flux and Anchor
- Empires of Flux and Anchor
- Masters of Flux and Anchor
- The Birth of Flux and Anchor
- Children of Flux and Anchor

Chambers, Robert W
- The King in Yellow

Clarke, Arthur C
- 2001: A Space Odyssey
- Rendezvous with Rama

Cherryh, CJ
- Gate of Ivrel
- Fires of Azeroth
- Exile's Gate
- Ealdwood
- The Dreamstone
- The Tree of Swords and Jewels
- Downbelow Station
- Chanur's Venture

Clement, Hal
- Mission of Gravity
- Close to Critical
- Starlight
- Ocean on Top

Colfer, Eoin
- Artemis Fowl

De Lint, Charles
- Moonheart
- The Riddle of the Wren

De Camp, L Sprague
- The Castle of Iron
- Wall of Serpents
- The Best of L Sprague de Camp

Donaldson, Stephen
- Daughter of Regals: And other stories

Duane, Diane
- The Door into Fire
- The Door into Shadow
- The Door into Sunset
- The Sword and the Dragon
- So you Want to be a Wizard
- High Wizardry

Durgin, Doranna
- Dun Lady's Jess

Dunsany, Lord
- The King of Elfland's Daughter
- The Charwoman's Shadow

Farmer, Philip Jose
- The Maker of Universes
- The Gates of Creation
- A Private Cosmos
- Behind the Walls of Terra
- The Lavalite World

Friesner, Esther
- Harlot's Ruse

Harrison, Harry
- Star Smashers of the Galaxy Rangers

Heinlein, Robert H
- Universe
- Farmer in the Sky
- Double Star

Hodgell, P C
- Seeker's Mask
- Dark of the Gods
- To Ride A Rathorn

Homer
- The Illiad (verse)

Hoyle, Fred
- The Black cloud

Kay, Guy Gavriel
- The Wandering Fire
- The Darkest Road

Le Guin, Ursula K
- The Left Hand of Darkness

Lee, Tanith
- Quest for the White Witch
- Don't Bite the Sun
- Delusion's Master

Leiber, Fritz
- The Swords of Lankhmar

Logstan, Ann
- Shadow

Lovecraft, HP
- The Dreamquest of Unknown Kadath

MacCaffrey, Anne
- All the Weyrs of Pern
- The Skies of Pern

Martin, George RR
- Wild Cards
- Aces High
- Jokers Wild

McKillip, Patricia
- The Riddle-Master of Hed
- Heir of Sea and Fire
- Harpist in the Wind

Meyers, Roy
- Daughers of the Dolphin
- Destiny of the Dolphins

Moffitt, Donald
- The Jupiter Theft
- The Genesis Quest
- Second Genesis

Moore, C L
- Jirel of Joiry

Niven, Larry
- The Ringworld Engineers
- Escape from Hell (forthcoming)
- Protector
- The Patchwork Girl
- The Long ARM of Gil Hamilton
- Crashlander
- The Draco Tavern
- The Man-Kzin Wars 3-5, 7-9, 12 (and counting)

Offutt, Andrew J
- The Eye of Sarsis
- Web of the Spider

Raymond, Alex
- Flash Gordon

Reynolds, Alastair
- Revelation Space
- Chasm City'
- Redemption Ark
- Absolution Gap

Rosenburg, Joel
- The Sleeping Dragon
- The Sword and the Chain
- The Silver Crown

Simak, Clifford D
- City

Smith, Cordwainer
- The Planet buyer
- The Underpeope

Stapledon, Olaf
- Odd John
- Sirius

Stirling, SM
- Snowbrother
- The Sharpest Edge
- The Cage
- Shadow's Son
- Saber and Shadow

Swann, Thomas Burnett
- The Day of the Minotaur
- Cry Silver Bells
- The Dolphin and the Deep
- Where is the Bird of Fire?
- Wolfwinter
- How are the Mighty Fallen
- The Not World
- The Minnikins of Yam
- The Tournament of Thorns
- Will of the Wisp
- Queens Walk in the Dust

Tarr, Judith
- The Isle of Glass
- The Golden Horn

Tolkein, JRR
- The Fellowship of the Ring
- The Two Towers
- The Return of the King

Vance, Jack
- The Moon Moth: And other stories

Varley, John
- The Persistance of Vision
- Blue Champagne
- Steel Beach

Watt-Evans, Lawrence
- The Spell of the Black Dagger

Weber, David
- Crusade

Wells, HG
- The War of the Worlds

White, TH
- The Once and Future King

Williams, Tad
- The Dragonbone Chair
- The Stone of farewell
- To Green Angel Tower

Williamson, Jack
- The Humanoids

Wolf, Gene
- The Shadow of the Torturer
- The Claw of the Conciliator
- The Sword of the Lictor
- The Citadel of the Autarch

Wurts, Janny
- Stormwarden
- Keeper of the Keys
- Shadowfane

Wyndham, John
- The Day of the Triffids

Zelazny, Roger
- Unicorn Variations

Anthologies:
- Science Fiction Hall of Fame (vol 1+2)

User talk:Michael Bard/Repayment

2009-03-11T01:04:36Z

Michael Bard: /* What's her job? */

== Touching and grim ==

This was a good, sad story. The imagery was really vivid. I hope Coati can forgive herself someday. :(

== What's her job? ==

Is Coati a voice actress or something like that? I've read all 3 stories she's in but nothing specific about her job is mentioned. [[User:Lloyd Brunnel|Lloyd]]

:As I recall, she was either a voice actor in a kids show, or an actual CHARACTER in a kids show. Rereading the story, I think voice actor, but then as she can shapeshift-- :) [[User:Michael Bard|Michael Bard]]

User talk:Michael Bard/Repayment

2009-03-11T01:00:52Z

Michael Bard: /* What's her job? */

Doppelganger

2009-02-28T22:40:44Z

Michael Bard: fixed spelling error

{{byline|user=Sheep|author=Sheep}}[[Category:Sheep (author)]][[Category:Story]][[Category:Equine]][[Category:Comedy]]
Sergei Fedorov could see that the final days of the Soviet Union were upon him. SFSR had voted and they were seceding, whether the Congress liked it or not.

Sergei sat, seeing his country go the way of capitalism, shit-faced drunk on vodka. He knew, in the back of his mind, of the stereotype of the drunk Russian, but he really didn't care. Above him, traffic roared with residents driving in and out of Samara, not knowing that below them, Sergei had decided to kill himself.

The only thing he had left to his name was Ivan, a Bashkir horse, who, like Sergei, was no more good. Like Sergei, Ivan used to be productive, but either through neglect or the fact that no one seemed to have a need for a utility horse (or maybe a little of both), Ivan did not fare too well.

Now that capitalism was upon him, Sergei was unable to see how he and Ivan would survive. He was too cowardly to put Ivan down, but also unable to see him waste away and die. He would have to die before Ivan.

Pulling himself off the side of the cement shore next to the river, he stumbled back up the hill back into Samara. Tonight, he would do it. Tonight, when there was little traffic and little chance than anyone would stop him, he'd leap off the bridge. Hopefully, he'll end up in the Volga, chopped into little bits by a boat propeller. At least, then he'd be useful as food for some of the carnivorous species in there.

It took a couple hours, but he made it back to Ivan's stable. It was a wretched stable and Ivan looked forlornly at him. He patted Ivan's muzzle, saying his goodbyes. He turned around to leave and gasped when a smiling man was standing literally centimeters from him.

“Say, bub. Why so glum?” the man asked brightly. Sergei tried to go around him, but the man blocked the exit.

“Get outta my way,” Sergei slurred.

“Not until you hear me out. The name's Fillip. Fillip Nikitin. And do I have the answer to what ails ya!”

“Not interested,” Sergei grunted and tried to push past.

Fillip blocked Sergei with his right arm. With his left, Fillip placed a bottle of dark-blue liquid into Sergei's hand. “I haven't even told ya what it does yet.” Sergei grunted again, seeing no way out until he allowed Fillip to give his speech.

“You've seen the news,” Fillip continued. “Capitalism's everywhere now. I'm just trying to get by. Like you, I take it.”

Sergei did not respond, but waited, rather impatiently, for Fillip to finish.

“Well, I don't know about you, but it's gonna be tough,” Fillip continued. Sergei could tell that Fillip had rehearsed this. “That's why I made this. Give it to old Ivan here,” Fillip motioned to the name on the stable door, “and he'll be able to help ya in the new economy.”

“Ivan's useless,” Sergei said, then continued, under his breath, “like me.”

“Ah,” Fillip said brightly, “with this, that doesn't matter. With this, Ivan will be a great help to ya.”

Sergei still was not interested, but could see that Fillip wouldn't take “no” for an answer. “What does it do?” Sergei finally asked.

“Well, Ivan here will be able to do all the work you do.”

“I don't work.”

“You do now,” said Fillip. “You can work for me! Help me to sell this!” He opened a briefcase full of the little bottles. Sergei sighed. If it would shut Fillip up...

“Fine. What do I have to do?”

“First, pour a bit of this into Ivan's feed trough. Horses love this stuff. After, you'll see how he can help you and how neither of you are useless.”

Even if it killed Ivan, Sergei didn't care much anymore. After today, there would be no more Sergei to worry about it. He opened the bottle and poured the blue liquid into the trough. Immediately, Ivan began to munch on the now-blue feed.

“Now what?” Sergei asked.

“Now we wait.”

“Wait for what?”

“You'll see,” Fillip said, a smile on his face that seemed to belie his actual emotions. A few minutes passed while Ivan stood in his stable. Ivan then began to wave his head back and forth, whuffling.

Suddenly, Ivan let out an ear-splitting scream and he began to shake violently. “You asshole,” Sergei shouted, “What did you to do Ivan?!”

Fillip took a seat on a small wooden chair, fingers laced on the top of his head.

Loud crackling sounds filled the stable. Ivan began to lose his fur, bald-patches widening to reveal pinkening skin. Ivan whinnied loudly, and reared up. With sounded like multiple gunshots, each of Ivan's hooves cracked into five pieces.

Loud popping sounds and Ivan reared up even further. His head was against the ceiling of the stable. Ivan made strange noises while loud crunching sounds came from Ivan's body. With each crunch, Ivan's head pulled away from the ceiling. He was shrinking.

Fascinated, Sergei watched as the hooves softened, becoming pliable....like fingers!

“What have you done to Ivan?” Sergei gasped.

“I'm making him useful.”

Bones cracked inside Ivan's shortening muzzle. Ivan collapsed on the floor of the stable, shaking violently. He took on a fetal position as his tail withered away.

There, laying on the floor, was a naked Sergei. Sergei looked down at his doppleganger in the stable.

“Oh my god,” Sergei said, looking at his twin, then back to Fillip.

“He can now help you sell my product,” Fillip said.

Ivan sat up finally. He licked his new human lips and choked. Then a weak smile came over Ivan's face and he said, “Well, I guess in Soviet Russia, horse transforms into YOU!”

Doppelganger

2009-02-28T22:34:03Z

Michael Bard: Replaced content with 'GONE'

GONE

User:Michael Bard/The Applicant

2009-01-16T00:47:26Z

Michael Bard:

[[Category:Michael Bard]] [[Category:Inanimate]]
[[Category:Story]]{{DEFAULTSORT:Applicant, The}}
{{title|name=The Applicant|author=Michael Bard}}
[[Category:Comedy]][[Category:Equine morph]][[Category:Mythical]]

"I'm sorry, but you don't fulfill our needs at this time. We're really looking for somebody more experienced--"

"Oh. Well, thank you for your time."

The young doctor stood up and shook hands with the older man seated behind the desk. He just sighed as the young man left. Who'd have thought that looking for a senior doctor to oversee the administration of the surgery department at this teaching hospital would be so hard? They'd dragged him in from administration because they couldn't spare anybody. He'd tried recruiting from in house, but nobody had the time to devote to such a task. Or, oddly enough, the experience. All they did was give him a checklist to run through.

Sighing, he pressed the intercom. "Sandra, is the next applicant here?"

"Yes sir, he is--"

"Send him in please."

"But sir--"

"Is he there? If so then just send him in."

"Yes sir. Right away sir."

The intercom clicked to silence and he took off his glasses to clean them.

There was a moment of silence, and then the heavy oaken door opened, and the next applicant came in. His foot steps were loud on the floor, and he seemed to stumble as he walked. He hadn't washed either, there was a thick stench of horse that came in with him, filling the room.

What kind of senior doctor wouldn't even wash himself? Well, at least this interview would be over fast. He put his glasses back on and looked intently at the pages, shuffling through them until he brought up the applicant's resume. It was a thick one, almost twenty pages. Squinting a bit he read the name off the top. "Dr. Chiron?"

"That is what I've been called through most of time." The voice was deep and melodious, the sound an opera bass singer would kill for, except for the slight nasal overtone.

"Now, let's see-- According to this you've been training physicians. Is that correct? First name listed here is Asclepius. You state that you taught him, amongst others, on the slopes of Mount Olympus between 1400 and 1100BC. Is Mt. Olympus in Greece?"

"In what you now know as Greece, yes."

"I've never heard of that school. Is it accredited by the AMA?"

"The AMA didn't exist then."

"Just answer the question please."

"No."

"Well, that means nothing then. For all I know Asclepius was some sheep herder who knew how to stick a bandaid on. You'll probably tell me that he raised the dead or something. Next record you have is for Alexandria, Egypt, 210-90 BC. Awful large gap there. Were you sick?"

The doctor swallowed. "You could say that. It took me centuries to purge Heracles' poison from my system. Bleeding myself day after day--"

He really needed new glasses and had to concentrate to read the tiny text on the resume. In the background he could hear Dr. Chiron moving nervously, the floor creaking beneath him. "You can sit down if you wish."

"Thank you. I don't think a chair will work."

"Your choice then. Let me see if there's anything here that the AMA recognizes." He started leafing through the thick resume. "Head of medical school in Alexandria, Egypt, 210-90BC. Students included Galen. Head of medical school Persia, 840-900AD. Students included Ibn Riza. Specialized in concise descriptions of illnesses. Chief medical teacher in Damascas Syria, 1180-1200AD.

"You seem to have transferred a lot."

"It's often safer to relocate than to spend a century or two healing from mortal injury."

"Doesn't say much for your Hippocratic oath, abandoning patients for your own safety."

"Sir! I have never abandoned a student!"

"Well--" He leafed through more pages of the resume, moving through arcane latin descriptions, ancient European cities, working his way through the centuries. "Chief medical lecturer at the Institute of St Vincence de Paul in Alexandria from 1810-1892AD? Taught Florence Nightengale amongst others?! Sir! This-- joke has gone too far, and it is in very poor taste!"

"I assure you that it is no joke, just as I assure you that you will not find a better administrator or teacher."

"That is for ''me'' to decide Dr. Chiron, if that ''is'' your name!" Angrily he leafed through more pages. "And what school gave you ''your'' accredation? You say you were ''born'' with it?"

"Mr. Finley, I have had ''quite'' enough of your ridicule!"

"And Mr. Chiron, I have had quite enough of yours!" He slammed down the resume and, for the first time, looked at the applicant. Looked and stared. "Oh my God--"

Standing in front of his desk was a creature that was half horse and half man, but containing only the noblest elements of each. His hooves were black as night, polished to a high gleam. His fur, where it showed beneath his impeccably groomed pants, was a golden yellow, so bright that it seemed to glow with the light of the sun. His tail was a shining midnight black. And his human half, dressed in crisp white shirt and brown tie, framed a neatly groomed face lined by untold ages, and dominated by blue eyes of infinite depth in a face framed by thick curls of black hair that tumbled down his back to his-- to the--

"It's-- it's a costume--" he stammered out.

"Mr. Finley, I can assure you that I am not wearing a costume! I am here because this is where I need to be. And you ''will'' hire me."

"Mr. Chiron, this may be a joke, and you have gone far too far with it. Walk or-- wheel that suit out, and stop wasting my time!"

The creature sighed, loud and lonely and ancient. "I hate it when I have to do it the hard way. At least I did finally pick the trick up -- one can learn anything given the time."

Mr. Finley tried to speak, but suddenly found that he couldn't move, couldn't breathe. In fact he felt himself shrinking, turning in upon himself as he grew smaller and smaller, or the world grew larger and large. He felt himself pulled deep into Chiron's eyes, deep into their infinite blueness. The world grew larger, the colours changed, everything blurred, his clothes vanished. He couldn't breathe, didn't need to breathe. His felt his stiff limbs growing thinner, longer--

Chiron walked behind the desk, his hooves thudding quietly into the carpet. "Sandra?"

Reality wavered and changed as the new one spread out.

"Yes Dr. Chiron?"

"Are there any more students who wish to see me? I did have dinner plans for tonight."

The ruffling of paper came over the intercom. "No more. You really should spend more time on yourself you know. You devote all your time to teaching, I don't know how you can survive. I'm still not sure how we survived till you took over."

Chiron chuckled. "I admit, you weren't managing very well. You might as well leave, I'll see you tomorrow then."

"Night Doctor."

The intercom clicked off and Chiron pushed the desk so that he had room to settle his horse half down upon the mat that had once been a chair. He picked up the beautifully carved wooden sculpture of a new-born horse and put it on his desk.

"There you go Mr. Finley, you've gone and made a complete foal of yourself."

User:Michael Bard

2009-01-08T16:03:43Z

Michael Bard: /* Books I need Replacement copies of */

[[Category:Author]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Bard, Michael}}

I'm an old fogy of an author who has been posting for FAR too long. We'll see how this new fangled contraption works out compared to feather, ink, and parchment.

=Poetry=

Yes, I ''do'' dabble in this occasionally. Fear not, I plan to ''only'' post TF related poetry here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Going Home|Going Home]]

=Stories=

These are written at various points over the past 30 years, and include only those works with ''on stage'' transformations. For a more complete story set, go to [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard Michael Bard's Story Page]

==Stand Alone Stories==

These are various odds and ends that are unrelated to other stories. Some may have a sequel (or a prequel) (or something else related) written, in which case they'll be moved and labeled appropriately.

[[User:Michael Bard/Action MUST be Taken!|Action MUST be Taken!]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Applicant|The Applicant]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Bee or not a Bee|A Bee or not a Bee]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Bob and the Goose|Bob and the Goose]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Can I help You?|Can I help You?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Christmas Dreams|Christmas Dreams]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Choices|Choices]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Coyote and Road Runner Show|The Coyote and Road Runner Show]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Down the Rabbit Hole|Down the Rabbit Hole]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Dragon, the Rock, and the Wanderer|The Dragon, the Rock, and the Wanderer]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Dragon Slayer|The Dragon Slayer]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Faerie Tale|A Faerie Tale]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Feathers|Feathers]]

[[User:Michael Bard/How did the Ceolocanth REALLY Survive?|How did the Ceolocanth REALLY Survive?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Horse in the Glass Bubble|The Horse in the Glass Bubble]]

[[User:Michael Bard/How not to be Seen|How not to be Seen]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Inspire Me|Inspire Me]]

[[User:Michael Bard/It's in the Skin|It's in the Skin]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Keeping Secrets|Keeping Secrets]]

The Last of the Niagaras - Now available for purchase in a Dead Tree Anthology from Lulu with lots of other great stories! [http://www.lulu.com/content/4431539 Alone in the Dark]

[[User:Michael Bard/Marduk's Gift|Marduk's Gift]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Melash...|Melash...]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Mowing the Lawn|Mowing the Lawn]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Myth of Beetlecat|The Myth of Beetlecat]]

Note: Trying to post MYTHIC JOURNEYS as the single novel it is managed to break Shifti, so I'm splitting it up into two parts.

----

[[User:Michael Bard/Mythic Journeys - Part 1|Mythic Journeys - Part 1]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Mythic Journeys - Part 2|Mythic Journeys - Part 2]]

----

[[User:Michael Bard/Of the Ylourgne Expanse|Of the Ylourgne Expanse]]

[[User:Michael Bard/One CarePony at a Time|One CarePony at a Time]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Perils of Wereostrichdom|The Perils of Wereostrichdom]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pizza is Us|Pizza is Us]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Power of Suggestion|The Power of Suggestion]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Psychological Reassignment - Case HM-474-353-793|Psychological Reassignment - Case HM-474-353-793]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Raccoon Flying Tail (tm)(c)|The Raccoon Flying Tail (tm)(c)]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Raccoon Morph Body Biosuit (tm)(c)|The Raccoon Morph Body Biosuit (tm)(c)]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Rabbit's Life|A Rabbit's Life]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Returning Home|Returning Home]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Something's out there|Something's out there]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Slip Sliding Around|Slip Sliding Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Somebody's Watching|Somebody's Watching]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Survival and Sacrifice|Survival and Sacrifice]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Transformation Vignettes|Transformation Vignettes]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Trust|Trust]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Truth about Bard|The Truth about Bard]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Wanted: Bobs|Wanted: Bobs]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Wereing on the Moon|Wereing on the Moon]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Who gets the Dreamers?|Who gets the Dreamers?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Whom God Destroys|Whom God Destroys]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Xepher's Werewolf Overload|Xepher's Werewolf Overload]]

[[User:Michael Bard/You get what you Wished for|You get what you Wished for]]

==Story Cycles:==

And here are the stories that are set in a common universe with other stories. Note that some only have one story listed, generally because other stories in the cycle don't have any ''on screen'' transformations.

===Asteroid Ship===

In which those interested in "freedom of body" flee the oppressive UN aboard a hollowed out asteroid generation ship. More stories can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/asteroidship/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Dealing with the Faerie|Dealing with the Faerie]]

===LTF (List TransFormed)===

In which everybody on the TSA-talk mailing list is TFed into their most commonly depicted online fursona. Mine has changed a lot, but this was written years ago. There are two additional stories at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/centaur/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Diary of a Centaur in a Human's World|Diary of a Centaur in a Human's World]]

===Metamor Keep - ''Raider of the Lost Cult'' cycle===

My first poke into the Metamor Keep universe. Even though only the first story has a TF, and it's off screen, they're being put here as an experiment, and so that other people writing in the universe can read, and comment, on the ''in development'' versions.

[[User:Michael Bard/Pawned|Pawned]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A few Days in Heaven|A few Days in Heaven]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Cultists Strike Back!|The Cultists Strike Back!]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Tales of Euper Investigations|Tales of Euper Investigations]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Into the Darkness|Into the Darkness]]

[[User:Michael Bard/On the Hunt|On the Hunt]]

[[User:Michael Bard/From the Other Side|From the Other Side]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Summoning|The Summoning]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Between the Worlds|Between the Worlds]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Last Trial|The Last Trial]]

===National Enchanted Forest===

A weird little universe about a world where Faerie and Us co-exist, and how unwary people can get zapped.

[[User:Michael Bard/Christmas in the National Enchanted Forest|Christmas in the National Enchanted Forest]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Enchanted Buck Season|Enchanted Buck Season]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Walk in the National Enchanted Forest|A Walk in the National Enchanted Forest]]

===Of Brains and Bodies===

The first stories I wrote after joining TSA-talk. There is an outline for a third that would complete the meta-story, but, at this point, it is highly unlikely to ever be written.

[[User:Michael Bard/Dreams can become Nightmares; Nightmares can become Dreams|Dreams can become Nightmares, Nightmares can become Dreams]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Escaping my Father|Escaping my Father]]

===A History of the Future===

These are based on a fairly detailed outline I made up many moons ago for my last attempt at a SFRPG. We did one adventure, but then it faded away. Doesn't mean I couldn't write in it--

Note that there are two ''eras'' in this. The one with humans and a small set of aliens, and the one half a million years later with humans. ''Destinies'' explains this.

There are more stories, but right now they're all set aside to be edited for magazine submission.

[[User:Michael Bard/Destinies|Destinies]]

===Space Cadet===

A hard SF universe inspired by Robert A Heinlein's ''Space Cadet'' juvenile, and lots of other '50s SF. It's as realistic as I can make it, even though it is populated by furies and occurs 50,000 years after the 20th century. One story has been published in print media -- ''Hunters'' in [http://www.renardsmenagerie.com/ Renards Menagerie #2]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Survivor|The Survivor]]

===Tales from the Blind Pig===

''Lots'' more of these on my website in the [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/tbp/indexintro.html Master Blind Pig Archive]. This one is for a group story that is still under development and is only here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Beyond the Wall of Ice|Beyond the Wall of Ice]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Switching Sides|Switching Sides]]

===Tales of SUPERMARE!===

This is the origin story. There are many sequels, but most of them don't have implicit TFs, or require earlier stories to be read. They can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/supermare/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/My Name is...|My Name is...]]

===Tales of The World===

These are stories, myths, etc. set in the last FRPG world I created. There are more at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/talesoftheworld/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Beornwyn's Love|Beornwyn's Love]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Lies and Truths|Lies and Truths]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Of Love and Hate|Of Love and Hate]] (revised (rewritten) April 2008)

[[User:Michael Bard/Of Love and Dream|Of Love and Dreams]] (a sequel to "Of Love and Hate" though written much earlier so there are some inconsistencies)

[[User:Michael Bard/Two Gods and a Faerie|Two Gods and a Faerie]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pricing Immortality - Book 1 - Immortality Lost|Pricing Immortality - Book 1 - Immortality Lost]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pricing Immortality - Book 2 - Immortality Regained|Pricing Immortality - Book 2 - Immortality Regained]] Unfinished, but it would be odd to put the sequel/conclusion separate from Part 1.

[[User:Michael Bard/Swimming from the Dragon|Swimming from the Dragon]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The End of all Things|The End of all Things]]

===Warhammer 40,000 Fanfiction===

Fairly obvious what these are. This is only one that I've written, but the longest. Most can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/agrippa/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Bloodstone's Gift|The Bloodstone's Gift]]

===Xanadu===

As a Xanadu story, by it's nature, includes a TF, all of what I've written are here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Five Hours, Thirty-two Minutes|Five Hours, Thirty-two Minutes]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Flying Free|Flying Free]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Just Lounging Around|Just Lounging Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Like the Unfolding Petals of a Dream|Like the Unfolding Petals of a Dream]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Losing Himself|Losing Himself]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Now I will believe that there are Unicorns|Now I will believe that there are Unicorns]] Prequel to "Unicorn Dreams"

[[User:Michael Bard/Something Fishy|Something Fishy]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Still Lounging Around|Still Lounging Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Tale of a Tail|Tale of a Tail]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Tale of the Ivory Otherkin|The Tale of the Ivory Otherkin]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Unicorn Dreams|Unicorn Dreams]] Sequel to "Now I will believe that there are Unicorns"

= Stories in Progress =

Stories that are either in progress, or indefinitely stalled. Those which are stalled will eagerly take any advice offered to get restarted...

[[User:Michael Bard/Head on the Bed, The|The Head on the Bed]] Complete, but I REALLY need advice on the ending. It just doesn't work. Maybe a pun--

[[User:Michael Bard/Repayment|Repayment]] A draft version of character background story for a PaW character I'm playing with.

[[User:Michael Bard/Tale of One Entity, A|A Tale of One Entity]] An old project I poke at every so often, later inspired by "By his Bootstraps" by RA Heinlein. More details at the beginning of the story.

[[User:Michael Bard/Untitled PaW story]] Another PaW universe story being worked on.

[[User: Michael Bard/What difference can a Man make?]] A story of the Persian War in progress.

=The Abandoned=

These are various odds and ends either from abandoned shared world projects, story ideas that didn't pan out, or whatever. They are in various states of completion and it is unlikely anything further will ever be done on them. Read at your own risk!

[[User: Michael Bard/Consequences: The Simple Things]] Started out as a cyberpunk story. Was later used as a setup for a TSAT contest.

[[User: Michael Bard/Quiet World, The|The Quiet World]] Story universe plan where everybody who had a fursona was TFed into said fursona at the same time as everybody else vanished. Yea, it's been done before, but I wanted to poke at.

[[User: Michael Bard/Kor's Journey]] The linchpin story of "The World" that clarifies things, unifies concepts, etc. Been abandoned for years. There is an outline of future chapters at the end.

[[User: Michael Bard/Saving the Multiverse]] An abandoned shared world story project. This would be the intro for my "character". You may notice that I had been watching a certain cartoon series-- The intro story is complete, but nothing else was ever written in the universe.

=Other Authors=

Some people have asked me to put their stuff here for various reasons. The author name will be indicated.

[[User:Michael Bard/Golden Mirror|Golden Mirror]] by Fish

=Books I need Replacement copies of=

About a decade ago now, 90% of my books were destroyed by a burst water pipe. A lot of the survivors mysteriously vanished during a move about 5 years ago. So, with a lot of crying (literally) and resulting ongoing depression, I put together a master list of what I still need to find copies of. Any help is appreciated, these are all recommended:

Adams, Douglas
- Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

Anderson, Poul
- The King of Ys: The Dog and the Wolf
- Brainwave
- The High Crusade
- The Dancer from Atlantis
- Maurai and Kith
- Operation Luna
- Vault of Ages
- The War of Two Worlds
- Orbit Unlimited
- After Doomsday
- Three Worlds to Conquer
- Beyond the Beyond
- The Bywolrder
- There Will be Time
- The Worlds of Poul Anderson
- The Devil's Game
- No Truce with Kings
- The Best of Poul Anderson
- How to build a Planet

Anthony, Piers
- Macroscope

Bach, Richard
- Jonathon Livingston Seagull

Benford, Gregory
- Across the Sea of Suns
- Furious Gulf

Bradbury, Ray
- NOT Martian Chronicles

Brin, David
- Heart of the Comet (with Benford I think)
- The River of Time

Butler, Octavia E
- Patternmaster
- Survivor
- Wild Seed
- Clay's Ark

Chalker, Jack L
- Midnight at the Well of Souls
- The River of Dancing Gods
- Vengeance of the Dancing Gods
- Songs of the Dancing Gods
- Horrors of the Dancing Gods
- Spirits of Flux and Anchor
- Empires of Flux and Anchor
- Masters of Flux and Anchor
- The Birth of Flux and Anchor
- Children of Flux and Anchor

Chambers, Robert W
- The King in Yellow

Clarke, Arthur C
- 2001: A Space Odyssey
- Rendezvous with Rama

Cherryh, CJ
- Gate of Ivrel
- Fires of Azeroth
- Exile's Gate
- Ealdwood
- The Dreamstone
- The Tree of Swords and Jewels
- Downbelow Station
- Chanur's Venture

Clement, Hal
- Mission of Gravity
- Close to Critical
- Starlight
- Ocean on Top

Colfer, Eoin
- Artemis Fowl

De Lint, Charles
- Moonheart
- The Riddle of the Wren

De Camp, L Sprague
- The Incomplete Enchanter
- The Castle of Iron
- Wall of Serpents
- The Best of L Sprague de Camp

Donaldson, Stephen
- Daughter of Regals: And other stories

Duane, Diane
- The Door into Fire
- The Door into Shadow
- The Door into Sunset
- The Sword and the Dragon
- So you Want to be a Wizard
- High Wizardry

Durgin, Doranna
- Dun Lady's Jess

Dunsany, Lord
- The King of Elfland's Daughter
- The Charwoman's Shadow

Farmer, Philip Jose
- The Maker of Universes
- The Gates of Creation
- A Private Cosmos
- Behind the Walls of Terra
- The Lavalite World

Friesner, Esther
- Harlot's Ruse

Gibson, William
- Neuromancer

Harrison, Harry
- Star Smashers of the Galaxy Rangers

Heinlein, Robert H
- Universe
- Farmer in the Sky
- Double Star

Herbert, Frank
- Dune

Hodgell, P C
- Seeker's Mask
- Dark of the Gods
- To Ride A Rathorn

Homer
- The Illiad (verse)

Hoyle, Fred
- The Black cloud

Kay, Guy Gavriel
- The Wandering Fire
- The Darkest Road

Le Guin, Ursula K
- The Left Hand of Darkness

Lee, Tanith
- Quest for the White Witch
- Don't Bite the Sun
- Delusion's Master

Leiber, Fritz
- The Swords of Lankhmar

Logstan, Ann
- Shadow

Lovecraft, HP
- The Dreamquest of Unknown Kadath

MacCaffrey, Anne
- All the Weyrs of Pern
- The Skies of Pern

Martin, George RR
- Wild Cards
- Aces High
- Jokers Wild

McKillip, Patricia
- The Riddle-Master of Hed
- Heir of Sea and Fire
- Harpist in the Wind

Meyers, Roy
- Daughers of the Dolphin
- Destiny of the Dolphins

Moffitt, Donald
- The Jupiter Theft
- The Genesis Quest
- Second Genesis

Moore, C L
- Jirel of Joiry

Niven, Larry
- The Ringworld Engineers
- The Gripping Hand (with Pournelle)
- Escape from Hell (forthcoming)
- Protector
- The Patchwork Girl
- The flight of the Horse
- The Long ARM of Gil Hamilton
- Convergent Series
- Crashlander
- The Draco Tavern
- The Man-Kzin Wars 1-12 (and counting)

Offutt, Andrew J
- The Eye of Sarsis
- Web of the Spider

Raymond, Alex
- Flash Gordon

Reynolds, Alastair
- Revelation Space
- Chasm City
- Redemption Ark
- Absolution Gap

Rosenburg, Joel
- The Sleeping Dragon
- The Sword and the Chain
- The Silver Crown

Saberhagen, Fred
- Empire of the East

Simak, Clifford D
- City

Smith, Cordwainer
- The Planet buyer
- The Underpeople

Stapledon, Olaf
- Odd John
- Sirius

Stirling, SM
- Snowbrother
- The Sharpest Edge
- The Cage
- Shadow's Son
- Saber and Shadow

Swann, Thomas Burnett
- The Day of the Minotaur
- Cry Silver Bells
- The Dolphin and the Deep
- Where is the Bird of Fire?
- Wolfwinter
- How are the Mighty Fallen
- The Not World
- The Minnikins of Yam
- The Tournament of Thorns
- Will of the Wisp
- Queens Walk in the Dust

Tarr, Judith
- The Isle of Glass
- The Golden Horn

Tolkein, JRR
- The Fellowship of the Ring
- The Two Towers
- The Return of the King

Turtledove, Harry
- The Misplaced Legion
- An Emperor for the Legion
- The Legion of Videssos
- Swords of the Legion

Vance, Jack
- The Moon Moth: And other stories

Varley, John
- The Persistence of Vision
- Blue Champagne
- Titan
- Wizard
- Demon

Vinge, Vernor
- The Peace War
- Marooned in Real Time

Watt-Evans, Lawrence
- The Spell of the Black Dagger

Weber, David
- Crusade
- In Death Ground
- The Shiva Option

Wells, HG
- The Time Machine
- The War of the Worlds

White, TH
- The Once and Future King

Williams, Tad
- The Dragonbone Chair
- The Stone of farewell
- To Green Angel Tower

Williamson, Jack
- The Humanoids

Wolf, Gene
- The Shadow of the Torturer
- The Claw of the Conciliator
- The Sword of the Lictor
- The Citadel of the Autarch

Wurts, Janny
- Stormwarden
- Keeper of the Keys
- Shadowfane

Wyndham, John
- The Day of the Triffids

Zelazny, Roger
- Unicorn Variations

Anthologies:
- Science Fiction Hall of Fame (vol 1+2)

User:Michael Bard

2009-01-08T16:02:29Z

Michael Bard: /* Books I need Replacement copies of */

[[Category:Author]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Bard, Michael}}

I'm an old fogy of an author who has been posting for FAR too long. We'll see how this new fangled contraption works out compared to feather, ink, and parchment.

=Poetry=

Yes, I ''do'' dabble in this occasionally. Fear not, I plan to ''only'' post TF related poetry here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Going Home|Going Home]]

=Stories=

These are written at various points over the past 30 years, and include only those works with ''on stage'' transformations. For a more complete story set, go to [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard Michael Bard's Story Page]

==Stand Alone Stories==

These are various odds and ends that are unrelated to other stories. Some may have a sequel (or a prequel) (or something else related) written, in which case they'll be moved and labeled appropriately.

[[User:Michael Bard/Action MUST be Taken!|Action MUST be Taken!]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Applicant|The Applicant]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Bee or not a Bee|A Bee or not a Bee]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Bob and the Goose|Bob and the Goose]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Can I help You?|Can I help You?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Christmas Dreams|Christmas Dreams]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Choices|Choices]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Coyote and Road Runner Show|The Coyote and Road Runner Show]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Down the Rabbit Hole|Down the Rabbit Hole]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Dragon, the Rock, and the Wanderer|The Dragon, the Rock, and the Wanderer]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Dragon Slayer|The Dragon Slayer]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Faerie Tale|A Faerie Tale]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Feathers|Feathers]]

[[User:Michael Bard/How did the Ceolocanth REALLY Survive?|How did the Ceolocanth REALLY Survive?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Horse in the Glass Bubble|The Horse in the Glass Bubble]]

[[User:Michael Bard/How not to be Seen|How not to be Seen]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Inspire Me|Inspire Me]]

[[User:Michael Bard/It's in the Skin|It's in the Skin]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Keeping Secrets|Keeping Secrets]]

The Last of the Niagaras - Now available for purchase in a Dead Tree Anthology from Lulu with lots of other great stories! [http://www.lulu.com/content/4431539 Alone in the Dark]

[[User:Michael Bard/Marduk's Gift|Marduk's Gift]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Melash...|Melash...]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Mowing the Lawn|Mowing the Lawn]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Myth of Beetlecat|The Myth of Beetlecat]]

Note: Trying to post MYTHIC JOURNEYS as the single novel it is managed to break Shifti, so I'm splitting it up into two parts.

----

[[User:Michael Bard/Mythic Journeys - Part 1|Mythic Journeys - Part 1]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Mythic Journeys - Part 2|Mythic Journeys - Part 2]]

----

[[User:Michael Bard/Of the Ylourgne Expanse|Of the Ylourgne Expanse]]

[[User:Michael Bard/One CarePony at a Time|One CarePony at a Time]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Perils of Wereostrichdom|The Perils of Wereostrichdom]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pizza is Us|Pizza is Us]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Power of Suggestion|The Power of Suggestion]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Psychological Reassignment - Case HM-474-353-793|Psychological Reassignment - Case HM-474-353-793]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Raccoon Flying Tail (tm)(c)|The Raccoon Flying Tail (tm)(c)]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Raccoon Morph Body Biosuit (tm)(c)|The Raccoon Morph Body Biosuit (tm)(c)]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Rabbit's Life|A Rabbit's Life]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Returning Home|Returning Home]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Something's out there|Something's out there]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Slip Sliding Around|Slip Sliding Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Somebody's Watching|Somebody's Watching]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Survival and Sacrifice|Survival and Sacrifice]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Transformation Vignettes|Transformation Vignettes]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Trust|Trust]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Truth about Bard|The Truth about Bard]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Wanted: Bobs|Wanted: Bobs]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Wereing on the Moon|Wereing on the Moon]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Who gets the Dreamers?|Who gets the Dreamers?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Whom God Destroys|Whom God Destroys]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Xepher's Werewolf Overload|Xepher's Werewolf Overload]]

[[User:Michael Bard/You get what you Wished for|You get what you Wished for]]

==Story Cycles:==

And here are the stories that are set in a common universe with other stories. Note that some only have one story listed, generally because other stories in the cycle don't have any ''on screen'' transformations.

===Asteroid Ship===

In which those interested in "freedom of body" flee the oppressive UN aboard a hollowed out asteroid generation ship. More stories can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/asteroidship/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Dealing with the Faerie|Dealing with the Faerie]]

===LTF (List TransFormed)===

In which everybody on the TSA-talk mailing list is TFed into their most commonly depicted online fursona. Mine has changed a lot, but this was written years ago. There are two additional stories at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/centaur/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Diary of a Centaur in a Human's World|Diary of a Centaur in a Human's World]]

===Metamor Keep - ''Raider of the Lost Cult'' cycle===

My first poke into the Metamor Keep universe. Even though only the first story has a TF, and it's off screen, they're being put here as an experiment, and so that other people writing in the universe can read, and comment, on the ''in development'' versions.

[[User:Michael Bard/Pawned|Pawned]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A few Days in Heaven|A few Days in Heaven]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Cultists Strike Back!|The Cultists Strike Back!]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Tales of Euper Investigations|Tales of Euper Investigations]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Into the Darkness|Into the Darkness]]

[[User:Michael Bard/On the Hunt|On the Hunt]]

[[User:Michael Bard/From the Other Side|From the Other Side]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Summoning|The Summoning]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Between the Worlds|Between the Worlds]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Last Trial|The Last Trial]]

===National Enchanted Forest===

A weird little universe about a world where Faerie and Us co-exist, and how unwary people can get zapped.

[[User:Michael Bard/Christmas in the National Enchanted Forest|Christmas in the National Enchanted Forest]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Enchanted Buck Season|Enchanted Buck Season]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Walk in the National Enchanted Forest|A Walk in the National Enchanted Forest]]

===Of Brains and Bodies===

The first stories I wrote after joining TSA-talk. There is an outline for a third that would complete the meta-story, but, at this point, it is highly unlikely to ever be written.

[[User:Michael Bard/Dreams can become Nightmares; Nightmares can become Dreams|Dreams can become Nightmares, Nightmares can become Dreams]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Escaping my Father|Escaping my Father]]

===A History of the Future===

These are based on a fairly detailed outline I made up many moons ago for my last attempt at a SFRPG. We did one adventure, but then it faded away. Doesn't mean I couldn't write in it--

Note that there are two ''eras'' in this. The one with humans and a small set of aliens, and the one half a million years later with humans. ''Destinies'' explains this.

There are more stories, but right now they're all set aside to be edited for magazine submission.

[[User:Michael Bard/Destinies|Destinies]]

===Space Cadet===

A hard SF universe inspired by Robert A Heinlein's ''Space Cadet'' juvenile, and lots of other '50s SF. It's as realistic as I can make it, even though it is populated by furies and occurs 50,000 years after the 20th century. One story has been published in print media -- ''Hunters'' in [http://www.renardsmenagerie.com/ Renards Menagerie #2]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Survivor|The Survivor]]

===Tales from the Blind Pig===

''Lots'' more of these on my website in the [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/tbp/indexintro.html Master Blind Pig Archive]. This one is for a group story that is still under development and is only here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Beyond the Wall of Ice|Beyond the Wall of Ice]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Switching Sides|Switching Sides]]

===Tales of SUPERMARE!===

This is the origin story. There are many sequels, but most of them don't have implicit TFs, or require earlier stories to be read. They can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/supermare/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/My Name is...|My Name is...]]

===Tales of The World===

These are stories, myths, etc. set in the last FRPG world I created. There are more at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/talesoftheworld/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Beornwyn's Love|Beornwyn's Love]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Lies and Truths|Lies and Truths]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Of Love and Hate|Of Love and Hate]] (revised (rewritten) April 2008)

[[User:Michael Bard/Of Love and Dream|Of Love and Dreams]] (a sequel to "Of Love and Hate" though written much earlier so there are some inconsistencies)

[[User:Michael Bard/Two Gods and a Faerie|Two Gods and a Faerie]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pricing Immortality - Book 1 - Immortality Lost|Pricing Immortality - Book 1 - Immortality Lost]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pricing Immortality - Book 2 - Immortality Regained|Pricing Immortality - Book 2 - Immortality Regained]] Unfinished, but it would be odd to put the sequel/conclusion separate from Part 1.

[[User:Michael Bard/Swimming from the Dragon|Swimming from the Dragon]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The End of all Things|The End of all Things]]

===Warhammer 40,000 Fanfiction===

Fairly obvious what these are. This is only one that I've written, but the longest. Most can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/agrippa/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Bloodstone's Gift|The Bloodstone's Gift]]

===Xanadu===

As a Xanadu story, by it's nature, includes a TF, all of what I've written are here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Five Hours, Thirty-two Minutes|Five Hours, Thirty-two Minutes]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Flying Free|Flying Free]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Just Lounging Around|Just Lounging Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Like the Unfolding Petals of a Dream|Like the Unfolding Petals of a Dream]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Losing Himself|Losing Himself]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Now I will believe that there are Unicorns|Now I will believe that there are Unicorns]] Prequel to "Unicorn Dreams"

[[User:Michael Bard/Something Fishy|Something Fishy]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Still Lounging Around|Still Lounging Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Tale of a Tail|Tale of a Tail]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Tale of the Ivory Otherkin|The Tale of the Ivory Otherkin]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Unicorn Dreams|Unicorn Dreams]] Sequel to "Now I will believe that there are Unicorns"

= Stories in Progress =

Stories that are either in progress, or indefinitely stalled. Those which are stalled will eagerly take any advice offered to get restarted...

[[User:Michael Bard/Head on the Bed, The|The Head on the Bed]] Complete, but I REALLY need advice on the ending. It just doesn't work. Maybe a pun--

[[User:Michael Bard/Repayment|Repayment]] A draft version of character background story for a PaW character I'm playing with.

[[User:Michael Bard/Tale of One Entity, A|A Tale of One Entity]] An old project I poke at every so often, later inspired by "By his Bootstraps" by RA Heinlein. More details at the beginning of the story.

[[User:Michael Bard/Untitled PaW story]] Another PaW universe story being worked on.

[[User: Michael Bard/What difference can a Man make?]] A story of the Persian War in progress.

=The Abandoned=

These are various odds and ends either from abandoned shared world projects, story ideas that didn't pan out, or whatever. They are in various states of completion and it is unlikely anything further will ever be done on them. Read at your own risk!

[[User: Michael Bard/Consequences: The Simple Things]] Started out as a cyberpunk story. Was later used as a setup for a TSAT contest.

[[User: Michael Bard/Quiet World, The|The Quiet World]] Story universe plan where everybody who had a fursona was TFed into said fursona at the same time as everybody else vanished. Yea, it's been done before, but I wanted to poke at.

[[User: Michael Bard/Kor's Journey]] The linchpin story of "The World" that clarifies things, unifies concepts, etc. Been abandoned for years. There is an outline of future chapters at the end.

[[User: Michael Bard/Saving the Multiverse]] An abandoned shared world story project. This would be the intro for my "character". You may notice that I had been watching a certain cartoon series-- The intro story is complete, but nothing else was ever written in the universe.

=Other Authors=

Some people have asked me to put their stuff here for various reasons. The author name will be indicated.

[[User:Michael Bard/Golden Mirror|Golden Mirror]] by Fish

=Books I need Replacement copies of=

About a decade ago now, 90% of my books were destroyed by a burst water pipe. A lot of the survivors mysteriously vanished during a move about 5 years ago. So, with a lot of crying (literally) and resulting ongoing depression, I put together a master list of what I still need to find copies of. Any help is appreciated, these are all recommended:

Adams, Douglas
- Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

Anderson, Poul
- The King of Ys: The Dog and the Wolf
- Brainwave
- The High Crusade
- The Dancer from Atlantis
- Maurai and Kith
- Operation Luna
- Vault of Ages
- The War of Two Worlds
- Orbit Unlimited
- After Doomsday
- Three Worlds to Conquer
- Beyond the Beyond
- The Bywolrder
- There Will be Time
- The Worlds of Poul Anderson
- The Devil's Game
- No Truce with Kings
- The Best of Poul Anderson
- How to build a Planet

Anthony, Piers
- Macroscope

Bach, Richard
- Jonathon Livingston Seagull

Benford, Gregory
- Across the Sea of Suns
- Furious Gulf

Bradbury, Ray
- NOT Martian Chronicles

Brin, David
- Heart of the Comet (with Benford I think)
- The River of Time

Butler, Octavia E
- Patternmaster
- Survivor
- Wild Seed
- Clay's Ark

Chalker, Jack L
- Midnight at the Well of Souls
- The River of Dancing Gods
- Vengeance of the Dancing Gods
- Songs of the Dancing Gods
- Horrors of the Dancing Gods
- Spirits of Flux and Anchor
- Empires of Flux and Anchor
- Masters of Flux and Anchor
- The Birth of Flux and Anchor
- Children of Flux and Anchor

Chambers, Robert W
- The King in Yellow

Clarke, Arthur C
- 2001: A Space Odyssey
- Rendezvous with Rama

Cherryh, CJ
- Gate of Ivrel
- Fires of Azeroth
- Exile's Gate
- Ealdwood
- The Dreamstone
- The Tree of Swords and Jewels
- Downbelow Station
- Chanur's Venture

Clement, Hal
- Mission of Gravity
- Close to Critical
- Starlight
- Ocean on Top

Colfer, Eoin
- Artemis Fowl

De Lint, Charles
- Moonheart
- The Riddle of the Wren

De Camp, L Sprague
- The Incomplete Enchanter
- The Castle of Iron
- Wall of Serpents
- The Best of L Sprague de Camp

Donaldson, Stephen
- Daughter of Regals: And other stories

Duane, Diane
- The Door into Fire
- The Door into Shadow
- The Door into Sunset
- The Sword and the Dragon
- So you Want to be a Wizard
- High Wizardry

Durgin, Doranna
- Dun Lady's Jess

Dunsany, Lord
- The King of Elfland's Daughter
- The Charwoman's Shadow

Farmer, Philip Jose
- The Maker of Universes
- The Gates of Creation
- A Private Cosmos
- Behind the Walls of Terra
- The Lavalite World

Friesner, Esther
- Harlot's Ruse

Gibson, William
- Neuromancer

Harrison, Harry
- Star Smashers of the Galaxy Rangers

Heinlein, Robert H
- Universe
- Farmer in the Sky
- Double Star

Herbert, Frank
- Dune

Hodgell, P C
- Seeker's Mask
- Dark of the Gods
- To Ride A Rathorn

Homer
- The Illiad (verse)

Hoyle, Fred
- The Black cloud

Kay, Guy Gavriel
- The Wandering Fire
- The Darkest Road

Le Guin, Ursula K
- The Left Hand of Darkness

Lee, Tanith
- Quest for the White Witch
- Don't Bite the Sun
- Delusion's Master

Leiber, Fritz
- The Swords of Lankhmar

Logstan, Ann
- Shadow

Lovecraft, HP
- The Dreamquest of Unknown Kadath

MacCaffrey, Anne
- All the Weyrs of Pern
- The Skies of Pern

Martin, George RR
- Wild Cards
- Aces High
- Jokers Wild

McKillip, Patricia
- The Riddle-Master of Hed
- Heir of Sea and Fire
- Harpist in the Wind

Meyers, Roy
- Daughers of the Dolphin
- Destiny of the Dolphins

Moffitt, Donald
- The Jupiter Theft
- The Genesis Quest
- Second Genesis

Moore, C L
- Jirel of Joiry

Niven, Larry
- The Ringworld Engineers
- The Gripping Hand (with Pournelle)
- Escape from Hell (forthcoming)
- Protector
- The Patchwork Girl
- The flight of the Horse
- The Long ARM of Gil Hamilton
- Convergent Series
- Crashlander
- The Draco Tavern
- The Man-Kzin Wars 1-12 (and counting)

Offutt, Andrew J
- The Eye of Sarsis
- Web of the Spider

Raymond, Alex
- Flash Gordon

Reynolds, Alastair
- Revelation Space
- Chasm City
- Redemption Ark
- Absolution Gap

Rosenburg, Joel
- The Sleeping Dragon
- The Sword and the Chain
- The Silver Crown

Saberhagen, Fred
- Empire of the East

Simak, Clifford D
- City

Smith, Cordwainer
- The Planet buyer
- The Underpeople

Stapledon, Olaf
- Odd John
- Sirius

Stirling, SM
- Snowbrother
- The Sharpest Edge
- The Cage
- Shadow's Son
- Saber and Shadow

Swann, Thomas Burnett
- The Day of the Minotaur
- Cry Silver Bells
- The Dolphin and the Deep
- Where is the Bird of Fire?
- Wolfwinter
- How are the Mighty Fallen
- The Not World
- The Minnikins of Yam
- The Tournament of Thorns
- Will of the Wisp
- Queens Walk in the Dust

Tarr, Judith
- The Isle of Glass
- The Golden Horn

Tolkein, JRR
- The Fellowship of the Ring
- The Two Towers
- The Return of the King

Turtledove, Harry
- The Misplaced Legion
- An Emperor for the Legion
- The Legion of Videssos
- Swords of the Legion

Vance, Jack
- The Moon Moth: And other stories

Varley, John
- The Persistance of Vision
- Blue Champagne
- Titan
- Wizard
- Demon

Vinge, Vernor
- The Peace War
- Marooned in Real Time

Watt-Evans, Lawrence
- The Spell of the Black Dagger

Weber, David
- Crusade
- In Death Ground
- The Shiva Option

Wells, HG
- The Time Machine
- The War of the Worlds

White, TH
- The Once and Future King

Williams, Tad
- The Dragonbone Chair
- The Stone of farewell
- To Green Angel Tower

Williamson, Jack
- The Humanoids

Wolf, Gene
- The Shadow of the Torturer
- The Claw of the Conciliator
- The Sword of the Lictor
- The Citadel of the Autarch

Wurts, Janny
- Stormwarden
- Keeper of the Keys
- Shadowfane

Wyndham, John
- The Day of the Triffids

Zelazny, Roger
- Unicorn Variations

Anthologies:
- Science Fiction Hall of Fame (vol 1+2)

The Muse Files

2009-01-06T11:53:33Z

Michael Bard:

{{Note|Here you'll find various questions being asked or ideas being posted. This is all to help you find inspiration. If you've got ideas you can't use just add them here.}}

In a world where "reformatting" your body is a popular form of self-expression, how does a person that is medically restricted from using the tech survive?

Alternatively… How does such tech become popular? How are the first users of it treated?

----

Similar to the Paradise setting a "Random Event" effects people, turning them into furs. But rather than being hidden from sight they are in the open. Some persecution is sure to occur, but what if the government took the stance that they were still "human" under the law and extended all protections the law offers to them?

----

Wierd End of the World Dream:
* "end of the world" - but a few (one?) - survived
* how - everything was put in stasis - contained mushroom clouds, etc.
* why not this person
* why can survive?! - logically shouldn't be able to
* why did survive
* done by aliens to save species since didn't have time to stop the bombs/explosions
* each stasis bubble seals off own "reality" - but still bound by constants of universe - hero cannot enter bubbles - but can make way between them
* end - transformed to help save world - why and into what??

----

* man into merman transformation via brain transplant - NO - biological"merman" suit taken on expedition to Europa in addition to biological space suits and others
* taken to Europa to swim in oceans underneath ice and find out what is there - quite deep - covered by ice - close to zero
* what is there?

----

One race is surveying planet that is in space between them and another race. Transform into race to go down and see what is going on since have detected advanced weapons fire in early bronze age culture - go down - Kafer/Star Trek scenario - how does it feel to be "energized" by adrenalin? (NOTE: Kafer are alien race from Traveller 2300 -- when they get excited, get an adrenalin rush, they LITERALLY get smarter. Most of the smartness wears off when the adrenalin goes away, but not all)

----

Non sentient alien swarm (aka Tyrannid/Alien) paste humanity. Humanity flees across the galaxy for centuries to hide and gradually develop enough tech to fight back.

----

Terraforming of Mars/Planaforming of Humans. Human deciding to be planaformed/planaformed human working on terraforming equipment lured to join 'natives'/other.

----

SF story about a human using a hightech alien fursuit to spy on an alien culture. In essence "fursuit" is biological lifeform that fully TFs wearer into said alien -- sensations, skin, eyes, senses, etc.

----

"First in" scout arrives in system. Surveys planet. Animal life is odd - it seems to be very slow and methodical, and always very well armoured. Sends created life form down - created to have simple brain but no mind - it has no problems.

Goes down self - gets out - swarmed by wasps and head "explodes"

Finally wakes up - is now MASSIVE insect swarm. Apparently insects need complex brain neural connections to survive. They also absorb some of the knowledge from the neural connections they consume. His arrival triggered the arrival of massive swarms from all over for the free meal and his mind overwhelmed them. He is now a massive hive but has to survive

How? Hives are normally small because can only really feed off of dead animals. Learns to set traps, etc. and apply intelligence

----

Centaroid aliens arrive bringing their own planet along with them. There is no apparent means of propulsion. They are creating a 'galactic supermind' [ala Star Maker] to join the Star Maker entity they can dimly perceive now. They part their planet near Earth in the same orbit so that both planets share the moon (which now has a figure 8 orbit). The only measurable affect of their arrival are REALLY strong neutrino detection results in pools. Eventually they come to earth, turn off all weapons, and transform all life in some way to obtain their aim, and will wait until sentience on earth is ready to join the group mind.

POV character is journalist covering the opening of one of the neutrino detection sites.

Alternate plot thoughts: Humanity/other life modified into telepathic non-mobile brains (live by photosynthesis?) -- story could be one man relaying this, and then fighting to maintain his identity as the group mind slowly consumes him. End with him seeing "God"

----

Genetically enginnered, non-human. Treated as slaves in high tech religiusocracy US (ala Heinlein's interregnum -- same name)
Is helped escaped particularly brutal master to be helped escape to Canada
Meets various people, escapes patrols, lots of close calls - learns (she thinks) about what it means to be free.
Final friends hug -- lots of sadness, joy
POV walks into Canada

Is greeted by "immigration", led to electrocution chair. "Sorry, but we have analyzed the threat of your genetic capabilities to humanity. We can't take the chance. It's as painless as we can make it. I'm sorry."

----

Modified human with some vacuum adaptions, and with arms and hands replacing feet, is officer/commander/watchman of one of six ‘Hohmann Stations’ that exist in an elliptical orbit that also orbits both earth and mars on regular legs of its trip. Freight is transported to the station and latched to it, human cargo is generally carried in stasis).

Has pet engineered cyberetic octopus (lives in air, moves by jet propulsion, can interface with computer hardware, has roughly the IQ of a 12 year old)

Two months ago received unusually large transmission from earth for relay/boost to mars.

Story starts with AI from message addressing our hero. He is taking over the station and plans to reroute it to the asteroids as a base for colonies there

Story is struggle to preserve ship/defeat AI. AI has control of most functions, but critical functions (life support, drive) are locked away and require our hero’s personal activation – AI is cracking the code

Hero has to get to core, force system reset over software overrides – at end AI flees into Octopus, hides, our hero realizes it, and kills the octopus

At end begins growing a clone and prepares to read backup of its neural cortext into the clone to restore it

----

Person who loses their legs wants artificial legs, but demands hoofed/pawed digitgrade artificial legs

----

Something gloatingly, joyously human-centric, without irony. Had this knocking around for a while - a kudu is chased across the savanna by a human hunter. It outpaces him, easily, time and again, but every time it stops, he catches up, following its track. Two to five hours in extreme heat. Persistence hunting! Eventually the kudu collapses from exhaustion, heart about to burst, and the hunter, instead of bashing its head in, does... something. Kudu turns into a human, or mostly-human. Not furry - hairless and with sweat glands, a big rounded flat-faced head, elastic feet, hyoid bone, decoupled shoulders, the works. Why?

----

To Understand a Dolphin

Part 1: Decision:

*at dead end in research
*virtual reality tanks/rich living on through transplants
*transplant own brain into fetal dolphin shortly before birth
*discussion with grad students - explanations - thoughts
*resolution - quote - To Catch a Thief, use a Thief - to Understand a Dolphin, BE a Dolphin

Part 2: Birth:

*awake in the womb
*senses
*learning to use senses and to move
*struggle
*boredom
*birth
*to the surface and first breath of air

Part 3: Youth:
*growing up as a dolphin
*irregular contacts as grow up
*first hunt
*leaving mother
*finding "friends"
*drifting away from humanity

Part 4: Mate:
*joining a "gang"
*"hunt" for a female in a group
*victory - first pleasures
*last report - less and less human

----

Human biologist on Mars. Mars is being terraformed (partially?). Story occurs in great valley roofed over/walled for higher pressure. Life forms are being developed and released to gradually adapt Mars biosphere. One of these forms is heavily modified wolves. Something has started killing the herbivorous animals -- wolves are suspected. Biologist is sent to confirm, terminate wolves (genetic "off switch"?) What REALLY happened is that "something" has been awakened, something highly Lovecraftian/non-human, and it is eating things. Thing attacks biologist, wolves come and save, one looks at her (certain level of intelligence) and basically tells her to GET THE HELL AWAY before returning to the doomed fight.

----

The Price of Survival

*supervisor/foreman on orbital construction platform
*late in shift – goes by airlock where the new organic (shudder) suits stored for C shift – show hatred, distrust, quesiness

*disaster – collision alert – hatches sealed – trapped with suits
*doors hiss shut – jerks of vector changes – lights go out – restart dim and red

*now what?
*wait for rescue – try radio contact – nothing – but should be safe *but had vector change – could be on collision or in decaying orbit
*opens door and looks at suits – description – horror - stories
*wait or not to wait?

*would be stupid to die over a little fear – should be safe – but….
*part of him starts to wonder what it would be like
*goes over to largest EVA suit – reaction gas bladders are full on suit

*how much air left? How much power? Starts to feel hot – a vac suit would be wonderful

*creeps forward and touches largest one – warm, inviting, alive
*suddenly clam shell front opens…

*shoves self back into wall (freefall) – hot to the touch – breathing heavily
*no choice

*backs into suit

*reaction – skin crawling – slides arms into slots, legs into slots *air is getting very hot – creaks and groans in metal in background

*settles in – not too bad – but still open
*afraid? – how to seal? – sweating now

*panic? – can’t move arms – tries to wiggle fingers – touches something – suit seals…

*NO! – tentacles, goo in lungs, etc.
*then fine/free – moves around – no problem – wish knew how to use reaction jet – can sense them but… - then drifts into far wall – so that’s how – feels like farting

*makes way to airlock – opens inner and then outer door – in space – fear, sensation, feeling
*makes contact with rescue stick – gets ready to jump out – there is a collision/explosion likely soon

*then pauses – just a minute – remembers the other suits – better rescue them too…

----

Two high tech races infiltrating primitive world. Each posing as "god". Objective is to gain theocratic control of culture, instill a technic society, and advance their techbase sufficient to join the respective empires. Done this way so that the world "seems" to do it on their own, to maintain the "cold war" status between the two races and not escalate the situation

----

Astronaut working on orbital construction. Accident of some kind? Has air and environment, but no jets, no safety rope, nothing to push against. A multi-tonne girder is drifting *SLOWLY* towards him -- will *SLOWLY* crush him (Why can't move? Trapped somehow?) Psychological story about his reaction to pending unstoppable death. Live at end? How? Push against girder somehow? Give enough of slow gradual vector change so that girder will only crush leg?

----

Zombie Apocalypse Extreme, or how your dreams tell you that you watch too much Stargate: Atlantis. Story is about survivors of a Zombie Apocalypse. They are trying to survive/get somewhere. Region they are in is flooded, some kind of ground subsistence (from nuclear strikes/earthquake). Are attacked by "super zombie/wraith" that is smart, fast, STUPIDLY TOUGH, and sucks out your life energy. Find one, somehow manage to kill it. Survivor group includes at least one military. End up on island surrounded by shallow water -- top of underground parking garage. At some point lost one character. Hope they got all of the "wraiths" - manhole covers pop open, another superzombie/wraith comes out -- it's the former character. Kill it due to grenade sacrifice of another survivor but military type is bitten/infected by virus vector. Radios base, states area MUST be nuked. Absolutely. More superviruses come out, surrounding him, waiting. He can feel the change. He keeps talking in the radio as mushroom clouds appear on the horizon. "Got you, you bastards". Rest move forward-- nuclear annihilation.

User:Michael Bard

2009-01-01T22:22:23Z

Michael Bard:

[[Category:Author]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Bard, Michael}}

I'm an old fogy of an author who has been posting for FAR too long. We'll see how this new fangled contraption works out compared to feather, ink, and parchment.

=Poetry=

Yes, I ''do'' dabble in this occasionally. Fear not, I plan to ''only'' post TF related poetry here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Going Home|Going Home]]

=Stories=

These are written at various points over the past 30 years, and include only those works with ''on stage'' transformations. For a more complete story set, go to [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard Michael Bard's Story Page]

==Stand Alone Stories==

These are various odds and ends that are unrelated to other stories. Some may have a sequel (or a prequel) (or something else related) written, in which case they'll be moved and labeled appropriately.

[[User:Michael Bard/Action MUST be Taken!|Action MUST be Taken!]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Applicant|The Applicant]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Bee or not a Bee|A Bee or not a Bee]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Bob and the Goose|Bob and the Goose]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Can I help You?|Can I help You?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Christmas Dreams|Christmas Dreams]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Choices|Choices]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Coyote and Road Runner Show|The Coyote and Road Runner Show]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Down the Rabbit Hole|Down the Rabbit Hole]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Dragon, the Rock, and the Wanderer|The Dragon, the Rock, and the Wanderer]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Dragon Slayer|The Dragon Slayer]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Faerie Tale|A Faerie Tale]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Feathers|Feathers]]

[[User:Michael Bard/How did the Ceolocanth REALLY Survive?|How did the Ceolocanth REALLY Survive?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Horse in the Glass Bubble|The Horse in the Glass Bubble]]

[[User:Michael Bard/How not to be Seen|How not to be Seen]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Inspire Me|Inspire Me]]

[[User:Michael Bard/It's in the Skin|It's in the Skin]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Keeping Secrets|Keeping Secrets]]

The Last of the Niagaras - Now available for purchase in a Dead Tree Anthology from Lulu with lots of other great stories! [http://www.lulu.com/content/4431539 Alone in the Dark]

[[User:Michael Bard/Marduk's Gift|Marduk's Gift]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Melash...|Melash...]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Mowing the Lawn|Mowing the Lawn]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Myth of Beetlecat|The Myth of Beetlecat]]

Note: Trying to post MYTHIC JOURNEYS as the single novel it is managed to break Shifti, so I'm splitting it up into two parts.

----

[[User:Michael Bard/Mythic Journeys - Part 1|Mythic Journeys - Part 1]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Mythic Journeys - Part 2|Mythic Journeys - Part 2]]

----

[[User:Michael Bard/Of the Ylourgne Expanse|Of the Ylourgne Expanse]]

[[User:Michael Bard/One CarePony at a Time|One CarePony at a Time]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Perils of Wereostrichdom|The Perils of Wereostrichdom]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pizza is Us|Pizza is Us]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Power of Suggestion|The Power of Suggestion]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Psychological Reassignment - Case HM-474-353-793|Psychological Reassignment - Case HM-474-353-793]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Raccoon Flying Tail (tm)(c)|The Raccoon Flying Tail (tm)(c)]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Raccoon Morph Body Biosuit (tm)(c)|The Raccoon Morph Body Biosuit (tm)(c)]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Rabbit's Life|A Rabbit's Life]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Returning Home|Returning Home]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Something's out there|Something's out there]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Slip Sliding Around|Slip Sliding Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Somebody's Watching|Somebody's Watching]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Survival and Sacrifice|Survival and Sacrifice]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Transformation Vignettes|Transformation Vignettes]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Trust|Trust]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Truth about Bard|The Truth about Bard]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Wanted: Bobs|Wanted: Bobs]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Wereing on the Moon|Wereing on the Moon]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Who gets the Dreamers?|Who gets the Dreamers?]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Whom God Destroys|Whom God Destroys]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Xepher's Werewolf Overload|Xepher's Werewolf Overload]]

[[User:Michael Bard/You get what you Wished for|You get what you Wished for]]

==Story Cycles:==

And here are the stories that are set in a common universe with other stories. Note that some only have one story listed, generally because other stories in the cycle don't have any ''on screen'' transformations.

===Asteroid Ship===

In which those interested in "freedom of body" flee the oppressive UN aboard a hollowed out asteroid generation ship. More stories can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/asteroidship/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Dealing with the Faerie|Dealing with the Faerie]]

===LTF (List TransFormed)===

In which everybody on the TSA-talk mailing list is TFed into their most commonly depicted online fursona. Mine has changed a lot, but this was written years ago. There are two additional stories at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/centaur/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Diary of a Centaur in a Human's World|Diary of a Centaur in a Human's World]]

===Metamor Keep - ''Raider of the Lost Cult'' cycle===

My first poke into the Metamor Keep universe. Even though only the first story has a TF, and it's off screen, they're being put here as an experiment, and so that other people writing in the universe can read, and comment, on the ''in development'' versions.

[[User:Michael Bard/Pawned|Pawned]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A few Days in Heaven|A few Days in Heaven]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Cultists Strike Back!|The Cultists Strike Back!]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Tales of Euper Investigations|Tales of Euper Investigations]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Into the Darkness|Into the Darkness]]

[[User:Michael Bard/On the Hunt|On the Hunt]]

[[User:Michael Bard/From the Other Side|From the Other Side]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Summoning|The Summoning]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Between the Worlds|Between the Worlds]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Last Trial|The Last Trial]]

===National Enchanted Forest===

A weird little universe about a world where Faerie and Us co-exist, and how unwary people can get zapped.

[[User:Michael Bard/Christmas in the National Enchanted Forest|Christmas in the National Enchanted Forest]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Enchanted Buck Season|Enchanted Buck Season]]

[[User:Michael Bard/A Walk in the National Enchanted Forest|A Walk in the National Enchanted Forest]]

===Of Brains and Bodies===

The first stories I wrote after joining TSA-talk. There is an outline for a third that would complete the meta-story, but, at this point, it is highly unlikely to ever be written.

[[User:Michael Bard/Dreams can become Nightmares; Nightmares can become Dreams|Dreams can become Nightmares, Nightmares can become Dreams]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Escaping my Father|Escaping my Father]]

===A History of the Future===

These are based on a fairly detailed outline I made up many moons ago for my last attempt at a SFRPG. We did one adventure, but then it faded away. Doesn't mean I couldn't write in it--

Note that there are two ''eras'' in this. The one with humans and a small set of aliens, and the one half a million years later with humans. ''Destinies'' explains this.

There are more stories, but right now they're all set aside to be edited for magazine submission.

[[User:Michael Bard/Destinies|Destinies]]

===Space Cadet===

A hard SF universe inspired by Robert A Heinlein's ''Space Cadet'' juvenile, and lots of other '50s SF. It's as realistic as I can make it, even though it is populated by furies and occurs 50,000 years after the 20th century. One story has been published in print media -- ''Hunters'' in [http://www.renardsmenagerie.com/ Renards Menagerie #2]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Survivor|The Survivor]]

===Tales from the Blind Pig===

''Lots'' more of these on my website in the [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/tbp/indexintro.html Master Blind Pig Archive]. This one is for a group story that is still under development and is only here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Beyond the Wall of Ice|Beyond the Wall of Ice]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Switching Sides|Switching Sides]]

===Tales of SUPERMARE!===

This is the origin story. There are many sequels, but most of them don't have implicit TFs, or require earlier stories to be read. They can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/supermare/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/My Name is...|My Name is...]]

===Tales of The World===

These are stories, myths, etc. set in the last FRPG world I created. There are more at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/talesoftheworld/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/Beornwyn's Love|Beornwyn's Love]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Lies and Truths|Lies and Truths]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Of Love and Hate|Of Love and Hate]] (revised (rewritten) April 2008)

[[User:Michael Bard/Of Love and Dream|Of Love and Dreams]] (a sequel to "Of Love and Hate" though written much earlier so there are some inconsistencies)

[[User:Michael Bard/Two Gods and a Faerie|Two Gods and a Faerie]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pricing Immortality - Book 1 - Immortality Lost|Pricing Immortality - Book 1 - Immortality Lost]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Pricing Immortality - Book 2 - Immortality Regained|Pricing Immortality - Book 2 - Immortality Regained]] Unfinished, but it would be odd to put the sequel/conclusion separate from Part 1.

[[User:Michael Bard/Swimming from the Dragon|Swimming from the Dragon]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The End of all Things|The End of all Things]]

===Warhammer 40,000 Fanfiction===

Fairly obvious what these are. This is only one that I've written, but the longest. Most can be found at [http://www.transform.to/~mwbard/agrippa/index.html Michael Bard's Story Page]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Bloodstone's Gift|The Bloodstone's Gift]]

===Xanadu===

As a Xanadu story, by it's nature, includes a TF, all of what I've written are here.

[[User:Michael Bard/Five Hours, Thirty-two Minutes|Five Hours, Thirty-two Minutes]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Flying Free|Flying Free]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Just Lounging Around|Just Lounging Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Like the Unfolding Petals of a Dream|Like the Unfolding Petals of a Dream]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Losing Himself|Losing Himself]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Now I will believe that there are Unicorns|Now I will believe that there are Unicorns]] Prequel to "Unicorn Dreams"

[[User:Michael Bard/Something Fishy|Something Fishy]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Still Lounging Around|Still Lounging Around]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Tale of a Tail|Tale of a Tail]]

[[User:Michael Bard/The Tale of the Ivory Otherkin|The Tale of the Ivory Otherkin]]

[[User:Michael Bard/Unicorn Dreams|Unicorn Dreams]] Sequel to "Now I will believe that there are Unicorns"

= Stories in Progress =

Stories that are either in progress, or indefinitely stalled. Those which are stalled will eagerly take any advice offered to get restarted...

[[User:Michael Bard/Head on the Bed, The|The Head on the Bed]] Complete, but I REALLY need advice on the ending. It just doesn't work. Maybe a pun--

[[User:Michael Bard/Repayment|Repayment]] A draft version of character background story for a PaW character I'm playing with.

[[User:Michael Bard/Tale of One Entity, A|A Tale of One Entity]] An old project I poke at every so often, later inspired by "By his Bootstraps" by RA Heinlein. More details at the beginning of the story.

[[User:Michael Bard/Untitled PaW story]] Another PaW universe story being worked on.

[[User: Michael Bard/What difference can a Man make?]] A story of the Persian War in progress.

=The Abandoned=

These are various odds and ends either from abandoned shared world projects, story ideas that didn't pan out, or whatever. They are in various states of completion and it is unlikely anything further will ever be done on them. Read at your own risk!

[[User: Michael Bard/Consequences: The Simple Things]] Started out as a cyberpunk story. Was later used as a setup for a TSAT contest.

[[User: Michael Bard/Quiet World, The|The Quiet World]] Story universe plan where everybody who had a fursona was TFed into said fursona at the same time as everybody else vanished. Yea, it's been done before, but I wanted to poke at.

[[User: Michael Bard/Kor's Journey]] The linchpin story of "The World" that clarifies things, unifies concepts, etc. Been abandoned for years. There is an outline of future chapters at the end.

[[User: Michael Bard/Saving the Multiverse]] An abandoned shared world story project. This would be the intro for my "character". You may notice that I had been watching a certain cartoon series-- The intro story is complete, but nothing else was ever written in the universe.

=Other Authors=

Some people have asked me to put their stuff here for various reasons. The author name will be indicated.

[[User:Michael Bard/Golden Mirror|Golden Mirror]] by Fish

=Books I need Replacement copies of=

About a decade ago now, 90% of my books were destroyed by a burst water pipe. A lot of the survivors mysteriously vanished during a move about 5 years ago. So, with a lot of crying (literally) and resulting ongoing depression, I put together a master list of what I still need to find copies of. Any help is appreciated, these are all recommended:

Adams, Douglas
- Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy

Anderson, Poul
- the King of Ys: Dahut
- The King of Ys: The Dog and the Wolf
- Brainwave
- The High Crusade
- The Dancer from Atlantis
- Maurai and Kith
- Operation Luna
- Vault of Ages
- The War of Two Worlds
- Orbit Unlimited
- After Doomsday
- Three Worlds to Conquer
- The Horn of Time
- Beyond the Beyond
- The bywolrder
- There Will be Time
- The Worlds of Poul Anderson
- The Devil's Game
- No Truce with Kings
- The Best of Poul Anderson
- The Unicorn Trade
- How to build a Planet

Anthony, Piers
- Macroscope

Bach, Richard
- Jonathon Livingston Seagull

Benford, Gregory
- In the Ocean of Night
- Across the Sea of Suns
- Furious Gulf

Blish, James
- Cities in flight

Bradbury, Ray
- ANYTHING

Brin, David
- Startide Rising
- Heart of the Comet (with Benford I think)
- The River of Time

Butler, Octavia E
- Patternmaster
- Mind of My Mind
- Survivor
- Wild Seed
- Clay's Ark

Chalker, Jack L
- Midnight at the Well of Souls
- The River of Dancing Gods
- Vengeance of the Dancing Gods
- Songs of the Dancing Gods
- Horrors of the Dancing Gods
- Spirits of Flux and Anchor
- Empires of Flux and Anchor
- Masters of Flux and Anchor
- The Birth of Flux and Anchor
- Children of Flux and Anchor

Chambers, Robert W
- The King in Yellow

Clarke, Arthur C
- 2001: A Space Odyssey

Cherryh, CJ
- Gate of Ivrel
- Well of Shiuan
- Fires of Azeroth
- Exile's Gate
- Ealdwood
- The Dreamstone
- The Tree of Swords and Jewels
- Downbelow Station
- Chanur's Venture
- The Kif Strike Back
- Chanur's Homecoming

Clement, Hal
- Mission of Gravity
- Close to Critical
- Starlight
- Ocean on Top

Colfer, Eoin
- Artemis Fowl

De Lint, Charles
- Moonheart
- The Riddle of the Wren

De Camp, L Sprague
- The Incomplete Enchanter
- The Castle of Iron
- Wall of Serpents
- The Best of L Sprague de Camp

Donaldson, Stephen
- Daughter of Regals: And other stories

Duane, Diane
- The Door into Fire
- The Door into Shadow
- The Door into Sunset
- The Sword and the Dragon
- So you Want to be a Wizard
- Deep Wizardry
- High Wizardry

Durgin, Doranna
- Dun Lady's Jess

Dunsany, Lord
- The King of Elfland's Daughter
- The Charwoman's Shadow

Farmer, Philip Jose
- The Maker of Universes
- The Gates of Creation
- A Private Cosmos
- Behind the Walls of Terra
- The Lavalite World

Feist, Raymond E
- Magician: Apprentice
- Magician: master
- Silverthorn
- A Darkness at Sethanon

Friesner, Esther
- Harlot's Ruse

Gibson, William
- Neuromancer

Harrison, Harry
- Star Smashers of the Galaxy Rangers

Heinlein, Robert H
- Universe
- Farmer in the Sky
- Double Star

Herbert, Frank
- Dune

Hodgell, P C
- Seeker's Mask
- Dark of the Gods
- To Ride A Rathorn

Homer
- The Illiad (verse)

Hoyle, Fred
- The Black cloud

Kay, Guy Gavriel
- The Summer Tree
- The Wandering Fire
- The Darkest Road

Le Guin, Ursula K
- The Left Hand of Darkness

Lee, Tanith
- Quest for the White Witch
- Don't Bite the Sun
- Delusion's Master

Leiber, Fritz
- The Swords of Lankhmar

Logstan, Ann
- Shadow

Lovecraft, HP
- The Dreamquest of Unknown Kadath

MacCaffrey, Anne
- All the Weyrs of Pern
- The Skies of Pern

Martin, George RR
- Wild Cards
- Aces High
- Jokers Wild

McKillip, Patricia
- The Riddle-Master of Hed
- Heir of Sea and Fire
- Harpist in the Wind

Meyers, Roy
- Daughers of the Dolphin
- Destiny of the Dolphins

Moffitt, Donald
- The Jupiter Theft
- The Genesis Quest
- Second Genesis

Moore, C L
- Jirel of Joiry

Niven, Larry
- Ringworld
- The Ringworld Engineers
- The Gripping Hand (with Pournelle)
- Escape from Hell (forthcoming)
- Protector
- The Patchwork Girl
- The flight of the Horse
- The Long ARM of Gil Hamilton
- Convergent Series
- Crashlander
- The Draco Tavern
- The Man-Kzin Wars 1-12 (and counting)

Offutt, Andrew J
- Demon in the Mirror
- The Eye of Sarsis
- Web of the Spider

Pratt, Fletcher
- The Well of the Unicorn

Raymond, Alex
- Flash Gordon

Reynolds, Alastair
- Revelation Space
- Chasm City'
- Redemption Ark
- Absolution Gap

Rosenburg, Joel
- The Sleeping Dragon
- The Sword and the Chain
- The Silver Crown

Saberhagen, Fred
- Empire of the East

Simak, Clifford D
- City

Smith, Cordwainer
- The Planet buyer
- The Underpeope

Stapledon, Olaf
- Odd John
- Sirius

Stirling, SM
- Snowbrother
- The Sharpest Edge
- The Cage
- Shadow's Son
- Saber and Shadow

Swann, Thomas Burnett
- The Day of the Minotaur
- Cry Silver Bells
- The Dolphin and the Deep
- Where is the Bird of Fire?
- Wolfwinter
- How are the Mighty Fallen
- The Not World
- The Minnikins of Yam
- The Tournament of Thorns
- Will of the Wisp
- Queens Walk in the Dust

Tarr, Judith
- The Isle of Glass
- The Golden Horn
- The Hounds of God

Tolkein, JRR
- The Fellowship of the Ring
- The Two Towers
- The Return of the King

Turtledove, Harry
- The Misplaced Legion
- An Emperor for the Legion
- The Legion of Videssos
- Swords of the Legion

Vance, Jack
- The Dying Earth
- The Moon Moth: And other stories

Varley, John
- The Persistance of Vision
- Blue Champagne
- Titan
- Wizard
- Demon

Vinge, Vernor
- The Peace War
- Marooned in Real Time

Watt-Evans, Lawrence
- The Spell of the Black Dagger

Weber, David
- Crusade
- In Death Ground
- The Shiva Option

Wells, HG
- The Time Machine
- The War of the Worlds

White, TH
- The Once and Future King

Williams, Tad
- The Dragonbone Chair
- The Stone of farewell
- To Green Angel Tower

Williamson, Jack
- The Humanoids

Wolf, Gene
- The Shadow of the Torturer
- The Claw of the Conciliator
- The Sword of the Lictor
- The Citadel of the Autarch

Wurts, Janny
- Stormwarden
- Keeper of the Keys
- Shadowfane

Wyndham, John
- The Day of the Triffids

Zelazny, Roger
- Unicorn Variations

Anthologies:
- Science Fiction Hall of Fame (vol 1+2)

User talk:Michael Bard/Christmas in the National Enchanted Forest

2008-12-30T17:01:03Z

Michael Bard:

What a wonderful story. Thank you, Morgan! You brought a smile to my face too. --[[User:MatthiasRat|MatthiasRat]] 11:42, 26 December 2008 (EST)

:You never read this one? Huh, who knew... :) Anyway, glad you liked it. --[[User:Michael Bard|Michael Bard]] 12:07, 30 December 2008 (EST)

User talk:Michael Bard/Unicorn Dreams

2008-12-30T16:59:57Z

Michael Bard:

Cool. I'm guessing you took out the hooves to streamline the story? ... I laughed a few times. Been on the Internet too long, I guess, since anguish is funny. I liked that they didn't get together at the end, which is open enough that for all we-the-readers know they hooked up slowly, found out they were cousins, became really good friends, or let it slide.

Now for some teal dear.

I don't actually think that the fantasy market would have ''crashed'', as such. People would still want that particular kind of escapism, with fantastic worlds that have different rules. [[http://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/Main/AirportFantasy Airport fantasy]] would survive in one form or another, for instance. I do think things would have shifted, maybe travelogues would resurge. There would always be a market for fantasy, even if many of the authors would have shifted to fiction. Not a lot of other genres have the usual high fantasy combo of really epic scale, clear good against equally clear evil, prophecies, fantasy archetypes, a different world which is unlike our own. Space opera would endure too, I'd think, though Star Wars itself wouldn't. But hey, speculation. *shrug* --[[User:Joysweeper|Joysweeper]] 13:54, 29 December 2008 (EST)

:Glad you liked it. As to the hooves, Cubist pointed out that they didn't actually serve any purpose, so I took them out. As to the fantasy, you're probably right. If there was a market for Xanadu stories I'd edit it to tweak that, I can think of a couple of ways. But, oh well. It was an experiment-- -- [[User:Michael Bard|Michael Bard]] 12:05, 30 December 2008 (EST)

User:Michael Bard/Now I will believe that there are Unicorns

2008-12-23T14:40:45Z

Michael Bard: Added category

[[Category:Michael Bard]]
[[Category:Xanadu]]{{DEFAULTSORT:Now I will believe that there are Unicorns}}
[[Category:Story]]{{DEFAULTSORT:Now I will believe that there are Unicorns}}
{{title|name=Now I will believe that there are Unicorns|author=Michael Bard}}
[[Category:Animal]][[Category:Cervine]][[Category:Mythical]][[Category:Mental change]][[Category:Mental Change]]

Xanadu!

Unlike most, I wasn't here for the costumes, I was here to sneak in and maybe buy a little art. Yes, ''that ''kind of art. The kind that I hid and looked at with a flashlight under my covers, even though I lived alone and was well of age. The one magical escape I had from my life of low paid mundane drudgery.

It just didn't feel right looking at them on a desk in the sunlight--

In years before the convention had been more oriented towards art, and I'd never felt out of place just going as myself, but this year was different. Some rich guy had decided to turn it into a costume extravaganza. And so, unlike years previous, I did feel out of place. The odd man out. Even here, as I seemed to be everywhere else.

And given why I was secretly here, I just felt worse.

At first I didn't know what to do, but then I ran into my savior. It seemed that I wasn't the only one feeling odd and noticeable. A number of enterprising individuals had capitalized on that by selling small and cheap ears and noses that people could wear and join the fun. Or not feel so out of place.

The variety wasn't great, but it was good enough that I could choose.

Something grabbed my attention.

There, hanging by itself, was a small tiara with a little yellow plush horn at the front, and two white ears at the sides. A little touch of unicorn for the deprived. A dream.

Here I was, secretly preparing to buy the lower end of the furry porn art industry, still a male virgin, my only satisfaction being under the covers in the darkness with the pictures before me, and there was the costume of the symbol of purity and virginity. A symbol of the magic I'd lost so long ago. How could I resist? So, ignoring the odd look the dealer gave me when I bought a little girl's bit of fancy, I paid my $10 and put it on. I felt a little silly, but I also felt a little safer, and a little more camouflaged with the pack. Off to the art room!

The room was smaller than it had been in years past, squeezed into one of the lesser chambers to make room for the costumes. But the variety, as always, was bewildering. And at the entrance--

At the entrance was this wondrous image of a unicorn, pure, sweet, innocent, standing beneath a last twisted tree, surrounded by an endless field of burned stumps and tracks of machinery. She was facing off a monstrous steaming engine of destruction, massive riveted plates of ebony iron on a body covered in scratches and dings, and bits of leaf and dirt, treads heavy with mud and ground plant life, thick black smoke thumping out of its battered smokestack.

A damning statement if I'd ever seen one.

I stopped, and looked at it, feeling with a bit of embarrassment the cheap little tiara. On my head a child's toy, a child's dream, a child's magic; before me a very adult imagery of the way the world was going. There was no perversion in the costume I'd picked, no dreams of being a girl, just memories--

Closing my eyes, I dreamed of my youth, of my innocence lost, of when I'd believed in magic. When I was young, and foolish, and naive, and the world was a place of wonder and light. Not the bitter loneliness it had turned into.

My eyes still shut, a tear speckling in them at all I'd lost, the dream changed. I saw myself as that unicorn, standing there on four hooves, staring out at the world of technology and classification, defiant, doomed. A last guardian of purity and nature and magic before the rapacity of humankind. Trying to save the world, trying to save the magic, as the humans turned it all to the dust and rationality of ''science''.

And my mind blurred--

----

Elsewhere, the rich guy who'd changed the focus of the convention, felt an ancient pent-up magic pour through him and explode out upon the convention. Instantly everyone changed, becoming what their costume had only let them pretend to be. Some were completely lost in their roles--

----

--I was standing there, small, innocent. All around me the stench of man, of disease, of will forced upon the natural way.

I blinked, raised my long glimmering horn, looking around at the artwork, at the people who were just starting to panic. Looking around at the stained wood and poured concrete and formed plastic--

It hurt, oh it hurt! The smoke, the pollution, the foulness of metal and iron. The ghosts of dead trees in the wall screamed at me, cursing me for failing. Stone wailed at memories of being crushed and reformed, hating me that I still stood, having failed in my task.

How could anything like this happen?! Where were my fellow sisters, my brothers?!

An anthropomorphic rabbit just stared at me.

I shuddered, feeling the cold iron, the radiation, the unfiltered sun, the chemicals, the toxins, all pouring upon me.

Screaming, I leapt forward, my silver hooves leaving the floor and my horn shining with a pure light that fought a doomed fight against the weight of industrialization looming everywhere. I pierced the veils of reality and leapt away, fleeing the weight of change--

--and bounded back into existence standing at the edge of a river in a stone valley surrounded by trees.

But even here my kind had failed!

I shuddered, hearing the wails of trees young and stunted, missing the dimly remembered wisdom of their elders, chopped down before nature could take them to nurture their children. Looking down at my image wavering in the waters of the river, I heard but a single fish sobbing at the foul stench of the water it gulped, at the water grumbling about how it had been moved and shoved off its rightful path. A thin sheen of chemical glistened on the surface, so fine that only the magic of my horn illuminated it so that it glistened in a foul rainbow of horror and waste.

It was odd, horrifying and beautiful. I looked at my reflection in the glistening, almost magical chemical glow. My pure white hide, my dainty ivory hooves, my tangled long mane, my thin horn that almost touched the surface of the water as I looked, my fine deer-like face. And it all glistened and glowed in the oily sheen.

How could something so beautiful, be so wrong! But it was! It burned me. Standing there was like leaning into a vast gale with all my strength.

The poor waters, the stream, the fish--

Where had it all gone wrong?!

I reared up, neighing in horror and anger. Dimly I could hear the growl of machines, the roar of far too many people.

Leaping up, I shoved my glistening horn through reality, piercing the veil and leaping into nothingness--

--and bounded back into existence in a lonely field glittering with drops of dawn dew. All around echoed the sounds of birds just awakening, chirping their glory at the new day.

But even here I could sense the loss, the pain of things killed. Iron and glowing nuclear decay along the surface. Tiny cells that worked by chance, not by design as they slowly forgot what they had to do.

Where had it all gone wrong?!

I leapt again into nothingness--

--and onto the sands of the ocean. The salt was strong in my nostrils, the call of birds in the distance, the shush of waves on the shore. And all around me people, thousands and thousands of humans. One, a small girl, looked at me, pointed, smiled. I could see the magic in her, the dreams--

The dreams that were dying in the banality all around. All around, the sea of humanity, lying in the sand, walking, talking, tossing their crushed tree and mutated oil waste on the dirty grains. I could sense the water crying at the stains and toxins that oozed through it.

And one small spot of magic, of dream, slowly being crushed underhoof.

No! No!

I bounded again and pierced the veil, horn glowing--

--and landed with a clatter of hooves in a valley of shattered stone. All around me the rock cried and sobbed, ripped and torn apart, its hidden gems yanked out and the rock that had caressed and held them tossed and abandoned on the side. Weeds grew because nothing else could in the cracks left in the rock. All around there were bits of rusting metal from mechanical treads, carbon soot from mechanisms of technology, and chemical waste from explosives that had first shattered the rock asunder.

Was there nothing left?!

I leapt again--

--and landed in a field of shaped stone glistening with crystal squares. All around me things whirred and clicked and grinded and roared. Monoxides spewed into the air, oils dripped on the tarred crushed rock. Spirits sobbed and cried, all alone without those they'd spent eternities with. And everywhere humans. Thousands and thousands and millions of humans, all turning to stare. A camera flashed, its harsh light searing my flesh.

I leapt--

--and landed in a snow swept wasteland, my hooves sinking deep into billows of soft snow as the clean wind howled and swept around me, whipping my mane back and forth. I took a step and listened, and I could hear the ground groan and weep as the black liquids were pumped out and taken far, far away to be changed and torn apart.

Humans were everywhere!

I leapt--

--to a carpet of crushed stone where thousands of steel coffins roared by.

And I leapt--

--to a forest of thin tiny trees all neatly arranged for harvest in a month, to decorate a living room or a hallway as they died.

I leapt again and again, from one place to another. It was all different, changed, warped. The natural order ripped away. The magic gone. Gone!

Panic swept through me and I leapt further and further, staying a shorter and shorter time. The world was fading, the magic a distant shadow of what it had been.

And of my kind, nothing. Nothing!

Everywhere signs of our failure. Proof that the humans had warped and changed the world we were supposed to protect.

Vast deserts of sand where there had once been trees.

Seas of dying dirt with waves of monoculture wheats. Winds blew away grains of soil to be lost in the waters. The naked, lifeless rock beneath coming closer and closer to the surface as the rich loam flew over the oceans and sank to choke the life there.

How had it gone so wrong?!

Finally I stopped, high on a mountain overlooking jungle drowned rivers beneath a mist of rain and cloud. And even there, in the distance, hints of smoke and the nearly inaudible whine of combustion powered saws wafted hundreds of miles across the shrinking wilderness, mocking my failure. My complete failure.

I staggered forward, crystal tears dripping from my eyes.

I was too late. Too small, too alone. The world was doomed, left in the hands of the naive who destroyed instead of built.

I sobbed, standing there, watching, hearing the world cry its pain.

Before me there was a small pool. Quiet, serene.

A last bit of innocence that remained in a world of horror and hopelessness.

I took a step forward, letting the still ice water, pure, cold, caress my fore hooves.

And yet, even here, I could feel specks of isotopes, shards of processed metal, of mercury, all gathered from the atmosphere.

Leaning forward I bowed, the weight of the world on my shoulders too heavy to bear, and let my long spiral horn pierce the water.

It was all in the hands of one naive species who didn't know what they were doing, and who had not the will to stop it. Glistening tears dripped down my muzzle and plinked into the water, sending shimmering light through the depths.

I stopped and turned my head and looked out, out across the jungle.

There was hope. They had the power; if only they had the will. They had the innocence, the magic, before it was buried under technology and science.

If only--

Flicking my long thin tail in sorrow, and in hope, a dream filled me. A possibility.

If they had the will--

I stood straighter, prouder, the last of my kind. Then I leaned down, pierced the waters with my long ivory horn and pushed the magic up and into it. It grew and flowed, pouring out of me like rain into parched ground. I focused it, gave it will, power, near sentience. More and more of myself I poured into it, poured into the waters swirling in that pool. I felt my soul flicker, weaken, and the magic weakened for a moment as my will panicked at the thought of the end of my immortality, but I closed my eyes and shoved it out of me.

Shoved it into the water.

A spring burst into existence in the depths. Water, pure, innocent, clean, untainted, gurgled up, brought here by my magic.

But it wasn't enough!

All my magic, it would take all of it! I shoved the dreams and memories of the cost, of what could be, of what WOULD be, unless things changed.

A warning, a dream, a power to want, to NEED to change.

The magic poured out of me, glowing a brilliant green-white that glistened off the water and shone over the valley and towards the sea.

It was a great magic, a powerful magic, a last magic. A dream that would give life and hope and skill and need to some of those who would drink the water. Maybe. Possibly.

A gift of dreams of what the world was, and what the world could be again. A gift of magic.

My light faded, my skin turned drab and gray as I felt death seeping in to me, harvesting my life.

The last little bits of magic glimmered out and I fell, watching the dream flow and mingle in the water.

Distantly I could hear the souls of my kind calling me away. Calling me to rest as I'd done what I could.

The water overflowed the basin and began to tumble down the mountain, rich with purity and magic and dreams and warnings. Rich with hope.

My body collapsed, melting into dust that settled and twirled in the water. My soul left the husk to join my fellows.

Hoping and praying that the dream I'd created would save the world. Hoping that one day humanity would believe that once there were unicorns--

{{series bar
|next=[[User:Michael Bard/Unicorn Dreams|Unicorn Dreams]]
}}

User:Michael Bard/Unicorn Dreams

2008-12-23T14:37:40Z

Michael Bard:

[[Category:Michael Bard]]
[[Category:Xanadu]]{{DEFAULTSORT:Unicorn Dreams}}
{{title|name=Unicorn Dreams|author=Michael Bard}}
[[Category:Mythical]]

There was a Christmas tree on the Kitchen table.

It hadn't been there five minutes ago when he'd staggered awake, staggering through the kitchen to the washroom. He hadn't bought one for years. It'd been so easy a decade ago. He could dream of magic, secure in the knowledge that there was no such thing. He could write about it. He'd even sold a novel, and there was talk of a sequel. He wasn't rich, but it had been enough, and with the promise of more.

And then Xanadu had happened. And magic was ''real'' and alive in the world.

And it had left Edward behind.

He hadn't had enough when he was well off to afford any of the actual mages who'd sprung up. And, with magic ''real'' the so-called fantasy market collapsed. And with it his dreams. And his writing.

He hadn't written a word in years. He hadn't dreamed--

Dreams hurt too much.

So ''what'' was a Christmas tree doing on the table? It hadn't been there last night. He ''knew'' that. Had it been there when he'd woken up? He couldn't say. But now--

It wasn't a big tree, just a tiny one that would have done Charlie Brown proud. Yet, unlike the comic character's, the needles were rich and green, the tree alive and growing. It was even in a small clay pot, one more than large enough to support it to an eventual replanting. Its scent was rich, sweet pine with the promise of future life.

And, beneath the tree, was a present.

He blinked.

It was a dream, it had to be. He ''knew'' he didn't have a tree! Was he going mad?

And yet-- the tree was real.

With shaking hand he reached out and touched a bough of soft needles. They hissed against each other as the branch moved slightly at his touch. The scent was richer. Letting go, the branched wiggled back, and he reached down and touched the present. It was solid, the paper warm and slick under his finger, the ribbon a bright ivory around white paper that tickled his touch. And there was a card.

He pulled the box out. It was heavy, and something sloshed inside. The card almost fell into his hand and he lifted it, opening it to read what was inside. A simple inscription in a swirling scrolling hand he ''knew'' he'd never seen before. But it was easy to read:

'''FOR THE MAGIC'''

Tossing it down, he fled, leaving the tree behind, leaving the magic he'd once held in his mind, he'd once put on the page, behind. He threw himself onto the bed sobbing. It creaked underneath.

After a while he shoved the pain, the agony, the dreams he'd lost, the whisper of his soul that had abandoned him years before, aside, and went and showered. He ignored the tree, ignored the present. Then he got dressed and went to his minimum wage job like all the other mind-dead drones. Lost in banalilty.

----

For three days his life continued. Studiously, carefully, he ignored the tree and the present. As he always did once he got home, he sat at the computer and stared at the blank screen. From long memory he rewrote the last paragraph he'd ever written, hoping it would break the dam. As always, it didn't. He typed in a dry meaningless account of his day. An account with nothing but empty plain words that had no meaning, no dreams. Even yesterday when one of the superheros Xanadu had spawned had halted a police chase in front of him by lifting the chased car into the air and off towards the station--

All he could write about it was short simple sentences. A chase. A car. A superhero. A resolution.

And then he ''saw'' the tree again. Not in any magic inspiring way. He just became aware of its existance. Of it's needles drying out. Of it's life dying drop by drop. He filled a glass with water and carefully poured it into the little pot, pushing the present aside so he wouldn't spill.

The present.

What could it hurt?

In small neat motions he untied the ribbon and folded it neatly. He slit the neat pieces of tape with a knife and unfolded the paper to get it off, and then folded it back. There was a box, plain white cardboard. And inside was dry straw, faintly smelling of spice and dirt. And, cradled on it was a little bottle full of liquid. His hands trembling, he picked it up. A bubble oozed along the glass as he twisted it side to side. The top would screw off, but was sealed in wax. And there was only a plain white label, with only a handful of words in that same beautiful script that had been on the card:

'''UNICORN DREAMS'''

He stared. ''Stared''. And then he screamed, screaming out his anguish, and throwing the bottle onto the floor where it clattered and rolled, the liquid gurgling inside. And then he fled to clean, to dust, to write meaningless words. And then to sleep and dream forgotten dreams, and then to wake up and go to work.

----

Days passed. Weeks, months. Each day he gave the tree a little water. Each day it grew a little greener, a little bigger. The box was tossed in the recycle bin along with its pretty wrapping. And his banal life continued day by day. He kicked the bottle early one morning, stubbing his toe against the cold glass. Somehow his throwing it away hadn't broken it. The same way his kicking it so that it rumbled across the floor and clinktinked against the wall hadn't cracked the glass. He picked it up, pain throbbing from his toe. The label was as white as it had been, and the writing just as mocking.

Only to avoid more pain did he put it on the counter out of the way.

----

After a long cold winter spring finally burst forth. The last of the snow melted, and the plants burst into green.

He had no garden, just a strip of gravel strewn dirt along the sidewalk. He'd always thought about doing something with it, but never had. Early on one of his days off he picked up a small garden shovel at a garage sale, and some good dirt from the grocery store. Digging the gravel and garbage and bits of glass from a little spot by his front door, he poured in some of the rich dirt he'd bought. As though it was made of glass, he pried the little tree out of its pot, putting its little ball of soil in the hole, and then filling said hole with the rest of what he'd bought.

The tree looked so small and defenceless. Given its proximity to the sidewalk and the road, he gave it a day. And yet-- and yet it ''seemed'' right. And-- and the tree couldn't stay in the pot forever. He watered it and left.

Day by day it survived and grew. Bottle were tossed into the little strip of dirt that was all he had, but never around the tree. Garbage was kicked against the house wall, and people stomped on the little strip of stone-strewn dirt.

But, the little tree was never touched.

Every day he watered it, and every day it grew a little more.

In a sense it was a miracle. Maybe it was magic.

But his soul was still empty.

----

It was a hot July day. Not hot, ''blistering''. He'd just watered the tree. Had it actually thanked him? Nah. Impossible. Going inside, he checked the fridge for something cold to drink. Nothing. Nothing--

--except a little glass bottle.

He didn't even recognize it until he'd opened it and unscrewed the top. The water-- if it was water-- smelled of lilacs and pine and crystal clear water and salt and-- and ''everything'' not man made. That was when he recognized the bottle. Recognized, and ''remembered''. He hadn't put it in the fridge! And yet--

His throat was dry. And it ''was'' open.

He took a sip, rolled it against his tongue. It was water. Water that tasted of innocence and nature and purity and freshness and oak trees hanging over and quiet happy live and-- It was the purest, most perfect, water he'd ever tasted.

He downed the bottle in five swallows.

After tossing it into the recycle bin, he sat back at his computer. A hot muggy afternoon. An empty screen--

But it didn't ''remain'' empty!

The words poured out of him, flooded onto the screen. The story of a Xanadu victim became unicorn. Of his despair at what the world had become, and of his sacrifice to bring dreams and magic back. Writing it, it was like it shoved its way out of his soul and burned its way onto the screen. Like he was watching an unfolding movie, but more. He could smell the foulness that was humanity. His heart burned and tore with the emotions of the unicorn, the creature that Xanadu had brought into existance destroying the man who had gone before like a blast furnace would destroy a leaf.

And in two hours the story was done.

Following Heinlein's Rules, he proofed it once, looked up an online ezine he knew of that paid a few pennies for Xanadu fiction, and submitted it.

An hour later they offered to buy it.

It was only for $5, but--

It was the first thing, the ''only'' thing, in years.

For the first time in ''ages'' he went to bed happy. Even looking forward to the next day.

----

The next day he started on an actual novel. Another Xanadu victim, but this time he became a celtic myth, a white stag. He researched the old celtic and gaelic and welsh stories, and got into the three-part rhythm as he told a tale of a life, and who it touched, and how it ended. If there was one thing the agent he'd had, and he guess he still had, had hammered into him after his one novel, was that ''publishers like sequels''. This time he made ''sure'' that any of the lives touched by the stag could be made into a novel -- if the publisher wanted.

t took him over a year of poking at it in his time off, letting the words flow out in what time he had. He'd polished the first three chapters and tossed them to his agent -- he ''was'' still on file -- and said agent had been enthusiastic -- after he'd read it. The agent had said he was worried it was plagerism, given the long dryspell, but the style was recognizable.

As he worked, and wrote, he passed the lilttle tree each day. It was still doing fine, though it wasn't as little. Rich and green, growing in rich black soil admired, but left untouched, by those who passed by it. When he came in from work on Christmas day with the novel half done, he'd have sworn there was a little star on top twinkling away, but when he'd looked carefully it was gone.

It was summer by the time he had the thing done; a British publisher was interested and wanted to see the whole thing. There were advantages to having had a novel published -- you were a known property that could make money. He still had the file cabinet full of rejection slips from before-- As to his writing, he fell into his usual bored depression after finishing a project, but this time it lasted no where near as long

As it always had, his mind got better, and he began working on the outline for one of the characters the stag had touched -- a rabbit.

In late October he got word that the publisher was willing to buy. An advance of twenty thousand, to be deducted from his royalties as was standard. Or, he got at least ''twenty grand'', more once his royalties exceeded that amount.

That night he went out to party. Well, if going to a local bar and getting stinking drunk alone with endless chicken wings and some football game on television could be called a party. He'd made arrangements with the bar keep to send him home, and he managed to make it to his bed.

The next day he didn't get up until noon, and when he did it was with a pounding headache and a dry scratchy throat. It was too early to get up! So, what had awakened him?

Something banged on the door. Again. He heard a muffled voice.

Cursing, he whipped a bathrobe on over his pajamas and stomped through the house to answer the noise. At least it was summer. He ripped the door open just as the mailman was leaving.

"Registered delivery. You need to sign for it."

He blinked. "But--"

"Just sign--" He handed over an heavy electronic thing and Edward signed on the screen where indicated. A thick envelope was shoved into his hand and the courier left even as Edward closed the door and pushed his way to the kitchen. He wasn't going to sleep now, so he might as well see what it was. A knife was required to get through all the cardboard, but inside was a thin pamphlet. A ticket fell out as he pulled it out.

''Congratulations! You've won an all expenses paid tour of the Amazon''! blared out at him from the front of the booklet.

He rubbed his eyes, and then went and got a drink of water. Gulping it down, he felt a bit better as he sat down to read more.

It was a free trip, a chartered tour of the Amazon. He'd tour the river, visit ruins in the mountains, generally have a good time. Or so it was claimed.

For a moment Edward thought it was a scam, or thought he should just give it away. Checking the ticket, he called the airline and confirmed the reservation. And it was free. Why not go? It wasn't until December, but the price was right.

He hadn't been on a vacation in years--

----

Edward had to get a passport, and get time off, and get everything ready, but there was no problem achieving that. As usual, it was bedlam at the airport, but he managed to board just in time. The jet landed in Brasilia. Exiting it was like walking into molasses, the heat and humidity was so hot and thick. Not to mention the salt from the ocean, and the smog that billowed over everything. An overnight stay, and then onto the charter plane. Next was a week boat cruise further inland, with extensive lectures of the river's wildlife and ecology. Fascinating stuff. The writer in him drank it up, already thinking of scenes he could use, if he could figure a way to sneak them into the plot he was working on. Edward even wrote a few up -- one day he'd find a story for them, or not. The boat trip ended and he moved to another chartered plane and started touring the ruins. Fascinating stuff. The heat wasn't so bad, though the less said about the bugs the better, not to mention the oozing mud that clung to his boots like thick clay. The group that survived to the final stage wasn't large, only twenty people. Edward didn't talk much, just took notes and pictures and typed -- he'd picked up a laptop especially for this trip -- and there was another quiet one, though she sketched to pass the time.

It was December twenty-fourth when the reached the last site. Given the date, there was a small party in the evening, and there'd be the tour on the twenty-fifth. After that, the plane would leave for Brasilia on the twenty-sixth, then the jet, and then he'd be home again.

And yet-- the closer he got to the last stop, the more nervous he became. Something was ''wrong'', and he had no idea what. The landing was rough, the runway short and only barely paved. Upon exit the air was cool and clear, filled with the smells of vibrant greenery and rot. He'd seen so ''many'' ruins that these, even though in not too bad shape, were just more of the same. And yet-- He needed ''something''. But what?

Edward had no idea why he found himself at the desk of the tine on-site office, asking to rent a truck. He'd run directly there ''right'' after the plane had landed and ''still'' was somehow beaten by the artist girl. She was leaving just as he got there. Edward couldn't ''say'' why he needed the truck. When the bored clerk asked, all that he could come up with was that he needed to be away for a day, alone. And it ''was'' true. He ''knew'' he had to drive out into the wilderness. Normally there were three trucks but one was down for maintenance, and one was taken. Damn that girl! Before he knew what he'd done, he'd talked them into renting him the last vehicle, the one they'd wanted to keep in case of emergency. It'd taken all the money he had left on him as a bribe. Why?

He didn't know.

Well, it was done. And, he might as well take advantage of it.

He didn't sleep that night, couldn't sleep. It wasn't the thin air, or the scents, or the night sounds. Visions danced just at the edge of consciousness. Turning and tossing, he couldn't find a position that made any difference. At four he surrendered. After showering and getting dressed, he picked up the keys. They warned him not to go before dawn, but he could feel ''something'' calling him. He had to give them the rest of his traveler's cheques as collateral, along with his credit card number, even though they already had it. Part of him wondered if he'd ever see any of it again. But then, did it matter? He didn't know why, but he ''had'' to do this. And, he'd never have another chance. This was the last stop. Besides, he still had his tickets home.

One way was as good as another, and he chose upward. Edward didn't drive like a madman -- it would be the ultimate irony in a story for him to drive off a cliff the day before he was to go home. This was Edward's ''life''. So he drove slowly and cautiously, all the lights he had shoving their way through the darkness to illuminate the dirt track. It changed to gravel, and the overarching trees fell to brush, and then broken and shattered rock. On his right the face rose higher and higher, twisted sheets of limestone shoved up out of their beds eons ago. On his left the ground fell steeper and steeper. Oh, it never became a cliff, just a steep slope that would be just as suicidal to start rolling down. Just not as Hollywood dramatic.

The sun dawned on his left; the reddish glare almost blinding him. He had to stop and wait for the sun to rise high enough that he could see. This was stupid! But-- But he ''had'' to go. The ''need'' filled him. He couldn't go back. Half an hour was the most he could make himself delay, before getting back in the battered dusty truck and coaxing the engine back into grinding operation. Five miles. Ten miles. The road grew more rugged, scattered with shards of rock as it followed along the slope rising higher and higher. Once the sun was rising behind him, he sped up more than his mind liked, but less than his heart demanded. It was past noon, he'd climbed who knew how high from where he'd started. The road was shambles, but still drivable.

Turning a corner he saw, arching over him, a cliff of sheer granite. From far above tumbled water, almost all mist by the time it plattered against the plateau he was on. The road stayed near the edge of the slope, but there was a crack in the face that glistened in the sun. Rich greenery grew throughout, and a small pool collected the dripping water from the cliff face and falling mist. Wipers were needed to keep the windshield clear. Spilling over into a jagged crack was a pool, its runoff passing under the road -- a bunch of metal sheets covered it -- and then bounding and jumping and hopping down the cliff to the jungle below.

Stopping, with a creak, a rattle, and a wheeze, he let the engine clatter to its eventual halt. He could hear the hot metal popping beneath the droplets, the clinkclink of water down the slope, and the faint hiss of wind and chatter of birds below. Almost afraid, he got out, leaving the door hanging open. The suspension creaked as his weight left it. This was the place--

The place? Why the hell had he ''had'' to come ''here''?

He looked at the grass, he looked at the still pinging truck, at the slope, at the jungle below. It was like something he'd seen before, but he'd never been here in his life! Reaching down, he untied his boots and pulled them off and put them in the truck. The same with his socks. This was stupid! Against everything he'd been told. And yet, it was ''right''. He stepped across the painful gravel with his naked feet, and onto the cool grass.

This grass felt different than any he'd felt before. More alive. More ''real''. And the stream, and the water-- He looked up-- Then he ''knew''. ''Knew''! Knew that far above was the pool burned into his mind. The pool from first story he'd written after Xanadu.

Where the unicorn had gone to die.

He stepped over to the pool and leaned down, his jeans getting soaked and stained with water and greenery. Cupping the clean water in his hands, he raised it to his lips, and sipped.

The scent of greenery filled him. Life. Pureness. The release of dreams and the hope of wonder.

He remembered the bottle under the tree. The taste when he'd drank it. But this-- this-- it wasn't right. So close--

Water dribbling down his chin he looked up and ''knew'' that the water that'd come with the little tree had come from the original spring way up there. Stepping forward, he strained to get a better look, his feet disappearing beneath the water, sinking into the rich ooze below. It was cool and relaxing, comfortable, refreshing. The water washed away his cares, filling him with hope and life.

He wanted to get up there, but how? And should he? He felt it calling, but also felt its privacy. Felt it wasn't for him. It didn't make--!

The roar of an engine burst around the bend from further down the road. Who the hell? And why ''now''? What was he going to do? And yet, had he done anything wrong?

Another truck grumbled along the road and stopped behind his. Its door groaned open and a figure walked out, silhouetted in the sun. Edward didn't know what to do. But, somehow, the water gave him strength. Standing there, he waited. Boots crunched on the ground, stopping at the edge of the road. A cloud slid in front of the sun and the glare faded until Edward could see.

It was the girl, the artist.

"Hello?" he asked.

"Umm-- hello." She looked embarrassed.

His eyes slid down her form cataloguing with the mind of an author. She was young. Early twenties he'd guess. Well dressed, but not excessively. She wore a fedora, a white cotton shirt, dirty now and splattered with water-streaked dust. She wore beige canvas pants that went down until they were tucked into her boots. Those were finely made, beadwork and Celtic designs worked along their rim. And--

She coughed, breaking the spell. A long silence, before both spoke as one: "Did you get a--" They stopped, looking away. Both started again. "Christmas tree--"

In the silence Edward pointed to her and then put a hand over his mouth. Words just didn't seem right.

Her voice wasn't the sweet melody of myth and story, but a human voice. Slightly higher than perfect, and with some slurred vowels. "Two years ago I found a little Christmas tree. And under it a bottle of water. After drinking the water-- I got--"

He nodded. "I-- well-- the same."

"I hadn't drawn in years."

"I hadn't written in years."

"Then I drew the unicorn facing off against the iron beast--"

"The steam shovel."

"She nodded."

He knew then that she'd seen the unicorn in her mind, just as he'd in his when he'd written that first story. "I'd like a copy."

"I can make you a print."

"Thanks." His legs were starting to get cold, but he didn't want to move. "I wrote a story, a short story, about a unicorn, a pool--"

"I dreamed it. Could I get a copy?"

"Sure. And I wrote a novel--"

"I got a contract. For a cover. It was weird -- I'd sent out a portfolio, just to get on their file, and then they called me. An unknown! It's for a new fantasy novel called ''The White Stag of Xanadu''."

''The White Stag''-- He stared. And then starting laughing. A loud and joyous and ''right'' sound as he shook his head.

Putting her hands to her waist as the cloud slid away from in front of the sun, its renewed light haloing her head in its short hair, she glared. "What's so funny?"

"Is-- Is it by Edward Derksen?"

"Yes!"

He snickered. "Hi. Edward Derksen, author. Pleased to make your acquaintance. And you are?"

He couldn't see her face other than as a shadow, but he knew she was blinking, her mouth opening and closing as she tested response after response. "Umm-- hello. Amber Quisselle, artist. I guess we've already kinda met." She paused, and looked up, pointing. "Do you think--?"

"I ''know'' the pool is up there. And whatever is left of ''him''."

"I ''know''. I enjoyed the book."

"Oh. Thank you. I was afraid-- well-- there are horror stories of artists never reading the book they illustrate. I haven't even seen proofs of the cover yet."

"I sent in my three proposals just before taking this vacation. I haven't heard back yet."

"I-- I'm sure I'll like them all."

"I'm sure."

"I-- Oh hell!" he burst out. "Take those boots off and come in. We can watch the sunset. The water--"

"Is it?"

"No." He sighed. "It's up there," he pointed up the cliff. "But this is close. And-- somehow-- it-- well-- it feels right."

Walking back, she hopped up and sat on the seat of her truck, unlacing her boots and pulling them off, and then her clean white socks. He just watched. Tossing them in the truck with a clunkclunk sound, she walked towards him.

"This is nice." Stopping, she looked into the water.

"Take a drink. Come in. Rest your feet."

Nodding, she crouched down, cupping the water and gulping it. "This is nice, but--"

"Not the same. That's up--" he pointed.

She nodded, stepping in. "It's cold!"

He nodded.

"But-- we could build a spa here. Sell tickets. This-- it's--"

"No spa."

"Of course not! But--"

"Do you think--?"

"Of course not!"

She stopped and he found himself holding her hand. It was warm, splattered with water that squeezed between their palms. In any novel he ''knew'' they'd kiss, swear undying love, and live happily ever after. But-- this wasn't a myth, this was life. And--

Amber broke the silence. "Okay-- I'll bite. I have to. The unicorn, ''he'' was real. Xanadu made it happen. And ''he''-- ''he'' did what he could. But why us? Why here? Why now?"

He shrugged. "Got me. Real life doesn't work like storybooks. ''He'' gave up his life to bring dreams and magic back to the world. Well, Xanadu brought the magic. I guess ''he'', us, are bringing back the dreams. Through my writing, your artistry--"

She pulled her hand out of his. "Fine! But--"

"Why? I don't know! But here-- I can take a guess. Today's Christmas."

She laughed. "So it is!"

He felt his muse singing in his soul. Or was it the unicorn. Did it even matter? "Two years ago we got a gift. We got back what we'd lost and couldn't find. Maybe what he left behind found it, helped us. Maybe it's ''using'' us. I don't know how much of what I write is true, and how much I make up. I doubt I'll ever know.

"But, it brings dreams. It brings magic into homes. It whispers to the child in us. Why did we have to come here--? I don't know. Maybe to prove ''he'' was real. Maybe the water here, the grass, it's all a sign, a reminder, of what ''he'' was so we'd never forget why. Dreams made real as proof that ''his'' dreams existed. That they've come back, small, weak, but able to grow given time and help.

"There are probably others. Already, or later. We'll know each other. We can help each other-- Keep ''his'' legacy alive."

She nodded.

"But, as we, as they, come here to see the proof, they'll find that they don't need it." A warmth filled his soul. All his life he'd quested after magic, been cheated by Xanadu. And yet-- the magic had always been there. Inside him. Part of him. It had needed some help, but that was it. A ''gift'' he could share with all. "Magic exists, and the world knows it, but doesn't ''believe'' it. We know. We know and we ''believe''. And we'll share."

She nodded. They both looked up through the mist at the spring the ''knew'' existed, at the ''grave'' far above. Soon they'd go home, go their own ways, share what that Christmas gift had given them. They'd stay in contact, but each would grow. Each would share the dreams, the magic.

Each would change the world.

And, each would know, as would all the others who came after, that once, ''once'', there had been a unicorn--

{{series bar
|previous=[[User:Michael Bard/Now I will believe that there are Unicorns|Now I will believe that there are Unicorns]]}}

User:Michael Bard/Now I will believe that there are Unicorns

2008-12-23T14:36:13Z

Michael Bard:

[[Category:Michael Bard]]
[[Category:Xanadu]]{{DEFAULTSORT:Now I will believe that there are Unicorns}}
[[Category:Story]]{{DEFAULTSORT:Now I will believe that there are Unicorns}}
{{title|name=Now I will believe that there are Unicorns|author=Michael Bard}}
[[Category:Animal]][[Category:Cervine]][[Category:Mythical]]

Xanadu!

Unlike most, I wasn't here for the costumes, I was here to sneak in and maybe buy a little art. Yes, ''that ''kind of art. The kind that I hid and looked at with a flashlight under my covers, even though I lived alone and was well of age. The one magical escape I had from my life of low paid mundane drudgery.

It just didn't feel right looking at them on a desk in the sunlight--

In years before the convention had been more oriented towards art, and I'd never felt out of place just going as myself, but this year was different. Some rich guy had decided to turn it into a costume extravaganza. And so, unlike years previous, I did feel out of place. The odd man out. Even here, as I seemed to be everywhere else.

And given why I was secretly here, I just felt worse.

At first I didn't know what to do, but then I ran into my savior. It seemed that I wasn't the only one feeling odd and noticeable. A number of enterprising individuals had capitalized on that by selling small and cheap ears and noses that people could wear and join the fun. Or not feel so out of place.

The variety wasn't great, but it was good enough that I could choose.

Something grabbed my attention.

There, hanging by itself, was a small tiara with a little yellow plush horn at the front, and two white ears at the sides. A little touch of unicorn for the deprived. A dream.

Here I was, secretly preparing to buy the lower end of the furry porn art industry, still a male virgin, my only satisfaction being under the covers in the darkness with the pictures before me, and there was the costume of the symbol of purity and virginity. A symbol of the magic I'd lost so long ago. How could I resist? So, ignoring the odd look the dealer gave me when I bought a little girl's bit of fancy, I paid my $10 and put it on. I felt a little silly, but I also felt a little safer, and a little more camouflaged with the pack. Off to the art room!

The room was smaller than it had been in years past, squeezed into one of the lesser chambers to make room for the costumes. But the variety, as always, was bewildering. And at the entrance--

At the entrance was this wondrous image of a unicorn, pure, sweet, innocent, standing beneath a last twisted tree, surrounded by an endless field of burned stumps and tracks of machinery. She was facing off a monstrous steaming engine of destruction, massive riveted plates of ebony iron on a body covered in scratches and dings, and bits of leaf and dirt, treads heavy with mud and ground plant life, thick black smoke thumping out of its battered smokestack.

A damning statement if I'd ever seen one.

I stopped, and looked at it, feeling with a bit of embarrassment the cheap little tiara. On my head a child's toy, a child's dream, a child's magic; before me a very adult imagery of the way the world was going. There was no perversion in the costume I'd picked, no dreams of being a girl, just memories--

Closing my eyes, I dreamed of my youth, of my innocence lost, of when I'd believed in magic. When I was young, and foolish, and naive, and the world was a place of wonder and light. Not the bitter loneliness it had turned into.

My eyes still shut, a tear speckling in them at all I'd lost, the dream changed. I saw myself as that unicorn, standing there on four hooves, staring out at the world of technology and classification, defiant, doomed. A last guardian of purity and nature and magic before the rapacity of humankind. Trying to save the world, trying to save the magic, as the humans turned it all to the dust and rationality of ''science''.

And my mind blurred--

----

Elsewhere, the rich guy who'd changed the focus of the convention, felt an ancient pent-up magic pour through him and explode out upon the convention. Instantly everyone changed, becoming what their costume had only let them pretend to be. Some were completely lost in their roles--

----

--I was standing there, small, innocent. All around me the stench of man, of disease, of will forced upon the natural way.

I blinked, raised my long glimmering horn, looking around at the artwork, at the people who were just starting to panic. Looking around at the stained wood and poured concrete and formed plastic--

It hurt, oh it hurt! The smoke, the pollution, the foulness of metal and iron. The ghosts of dead trees in the wall screamed at me, cursing me for failing. Stone wailed at memories of being crushed and reformed, hating me that I still stood, having failed in my task.

How could anything like this happen?! Where were my fellow sisters, my brothers?!

An anthropomorphic rabbit just stared at me.

I shuddered, feeling the cold iron, the radiation, the unfiltered sun, the chemicals, the toxins, all pouring upon me.

Screaming, I leapt forward, my silver hooves leaving the floor and my horn shining with a pure light that fought a doomed fight against the weight of industrialization looming everywhere. I pierced the veils of reality and leapt away, fleeing the weight of change--

--and bounded back into existence standing at the edge of a river in a stone valley surrounded by trees.

But even here my kind had failed!

I shuddered, hearing the wails of trees young and stunted, missing the dimly remembered wisdom of their elders, chopped down before nature could take them to nurture their children. Looking down at my image wavering in the waters of the river, I heard but a single fish sobbing at the foul stench of the water it gulped, at the water grumbling about how it had been moved and shoved off its rightful path. A thin sheen of chemical glistened on the surface, so fine that only the magic of my horn illuminated it so that it glistened in a foul rainbow of horror and waste.

It was odd, horrifying and beautiful. I looked at my reflection in the glistening, almost magical chemical glow. My pure white hide, my dainty ivory hooves, my tangled long mane, my thin horn that almost touched the surface of the water as I looked, my fine deer-like face. And it all glistened and glowed in the oily sheen.

How could something so beautiful, be so wrong! But it was! It burned me. Standing there was like leaning into a vast gale with all my strength.

The poor waters, the stream, the fish--

Where had it all gone wrong?!

I reared up, neighing in horror and anger. Dimly I could hear the growl of machines, the roar of far too many people.

Leaping up, I shoved my glistening horn through reality, piercing the veil and leaping into nothingness--

--and bounded back into existence in a lonely field glittering with drops of dawn dew. All around echoed the sounds of birds just awakening, chirping their glory at the new day.

But even here I could sense the loss, the pain of things killed. Iron and glowing nuclear decay along the surface. Tiny cells that worked by chance, not by design as they slowly forgot what they had to do.

Where had it all gone wrong?!

I leapt again into nothingness--

--and onto the sands of the ocean. The salt was strong in my nostrils, the call of birds in the distance, the shush of waves on the shore. And all around me people, thousands and thousands of humans. One, a small girl, looked at me, pointed, smiled. I could see the magic in her, the dreams--

The dreams that were dying in the banality all around. All around, the sea of humanity, lying in the sand, walking, talking, tossing their crushed tree and mutated oil waste on the dirty grains. I could sense the water crying at the stains and toxins that oozed through it.

And one small spot of magic, of dream, slowly being crushed underhoof.

No! No!

I bounded again and pierced the veil, horn glowing--

--and landed with a clatter of hooves in a valley of shattered stone. All around me the rock cried and sobbed, ripped and torn apart, its hidden gems yanked out and the rock that had caressed and held them tossed and abandoned on the side. Weeds grew because nothing else could in the cracks left in the rock. All around there were bits of rusting metal from mechanical treads, carbon soot from mechanisms of technology, and chemical waste from explosives that had first shattered the rock asunder.

Was there nothing left?!

I leapt again--

--and landed in a field of shaped stone glistening with crystal squares. All around me things whirred and clicked and grinded and roared. Monoxides spewed into the air, oils dripped on the tarred crushed rock. Spirits sobbed and cried, all alone without those they'd spent eternities with. And everywhere humans. Thousands and thousands and millions of humans, all turning to stare. A camera flashed, its harsh light searing my flesh.

I leapt--

--and landed in a snow swept wasteland, my hooves sinking deep into billows of soft snow as the clean wind howled and swept around me, whipping my mane back and forth. I took a step and listened, and I could hear the ground groan and weep as the black liquids were pumped out and taken far, far away to be changed and torn apart.

Humans were everywhere!

I leapt--

--to a carpet of crushed stone where thousands of steel coffins roared by.

And I leapt--

--to a forest of thin tiny trees all neatly arranged for harvest in a month, to decorate a living room or a hallway as they died.

I leapt again and again, from one place to another. It was all different, changed, warped. The natural order ripped away. The magic gone. Gone!

Panic swept through me and I leapt further and further, staying a shorter and shorter time. The world was fading, the magic a distant shadow of what it had been.

And of my kind, nothing. Nothing!

Everywhere signs of our failure. Proof that the humans had warped and changed the world we were supposed to protect.

Vast deserts of sand where there had once been trees.

Seas of dying dirt with waves of monoculture wheats. Winds blew away grains of soil to be lost in the waters. The naked, lifeless rock beneath coming closer and closer to the surface as the rich loam flew over the oceans and sank to choke the life there.

How had it gone so wrong?!

Finally I stopped, high on a mountain overlooking jungle drowned rivers beneath a mist of rain and cloud. And even there, in the distance, hints of smoke and the nearly inaudible whine of combustion powered saws wafted hundreds of miles across the shrinking wilderness, mocking my failure. My complete failure.

I staggered forward, crystal tears dripping from my eyes.

I was too late. Too small, too alone. The world was doomed, left in the hands of the naive who destroyed instead of built.

I sobbed, standing there, watching, hearing the world cry its pain.

Before me there was a small pool. Quiet, serene.

A last bit of innocence that remained in a world of horror and hopelessness.

I took a step forward, letting the still ice water, pure, cold, caress my fore hooves.

And yet, even here, I could feel specks of isotopes, shards of processed metal, of mercury, all gathered from the atmosphere.

Leaning forward I bowed, the weight of the world on my shoulders too heavy to bear, and let my long spiral horn pierce the water.

It was all in the hands of one naive species who didn't know what they were doing, and who had not the will to stop it. Glistening tears dripped down my muzzle and plinked into the water, sending shimmering light through the depths.

I stopped and turned my head and looked out, out across the jungle.

There was hope. They had the power; if only they had the will. They had the innocence, the magic, before it was buried under technology and science.

If only--

Flicking my long thin tail in sorrow, and in hope, a dream filled me. A possibility.

If they had the will--

I stood straighter, prouder, the last of my kind. Then I leaned down, pierced the waters with my long ivory horn and pushed the magic up and into it. It grew and flowed, pouring out of me like rain into parched ground. I focused it, gave it will, power, near sentience. More and more of myself I poured into it, poured into the waters swirling in that pool. I felt my soul flicker, weaken, and the magic weakened for a moment as my will panicked at the thought of the end of my immortality, but I closed my eyes and shoved it out of me.

Shoved it into the water.

A spring burst into existence in the depths. Water, pure, innocent, clean, untainted, gurgled up, brought here by my magic.

But it wasn't enough!

All my magic, it would take all of it! I shoved the dreams and memories of the cost, of what could be, of what WOULD be, unless things changed.

A warning, a dream, a power to want, to NEED to change.

The magic poured out of me, glowing a brilliant green-white that glistened off the water and shone over the valley and towards the sea.

It was a great magic, a powerful magic, a last magic. A dream that would give life and hope and skill and need to some of those who would drink the water. Maybe. Possibly.

A gift of dreams of what the world was, and what the world could be again. A gift of magic.

My light faded, my skin turned drab and gray as I felt death seeping in to me, harvesting my life.

The last little bits of magic glimmered out and I fell, watching the dream flow and mingle in the water.

Distantly I could hear the souls of my kind calling me away. Calling me to rest as I'd done what I could.

The water overflowed the basin and began to tumble down the mountain, rich with purity and magic and dreams and warnings. Rich with hope.

My body collapsed, melting into dust that settled and twirled in the water. My soul left the husk to join my fellows.

Hoping and praying that the dream I'd created would save the world. Hoping that one day humanity would believe that once there were unicorns--

{{series bar
|next=[[User:Michael Bard/Unicorn Dreams|Unicorn Dreams]]
}}

User:Michael Bard/Unicorn Dreams

2008-12-23T14:32:59Z

Michael Bard: Final version

User:Michael Bard

2008-12-23T14:30:52Z

Michael Bard:

User:Michael Bard

2008-12-22T00:20:05Z

Michael Bard:

User:Michael Bard/The Last Trial

2008-12-22T00:18:26Z

Michael Bard: Final version

{{title|name=The Last Trial|author=Michael Bard|user=Michael Bard}}
{{Comment tag}}[[Category:Metamor Keep]]
[[Category:Michael Bard]]
[[Category:Story]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Last Trial, The}}
[[Category:Anthropomorphic]][[Category:Cervine]][[Category:Mythical]]
'''December, 707 CR'''

Yvarra stood in the good sized chamber. In the middle, alone. She was dressed in simple robes, her fedora was in her hands against her chest. The ''Sword of Songs'' had been left in her rooms. A tiny stub, shattered, torn, still remained, coming out of her forehead. Other than that, good food, bed rest, time, all had healed the wounds to her body. And maybe to her soul.

Except for the memories.

The chamber was crowded, filled to capacity and possibly beyond. The goat who'd chased her in Euper was there. The tiger that'd saved her, that'd saved the keep, if not the world, was there. The scarred fox was there. And so many others.

Before her were two thrones, a larger one and a smaller, both had crimson cushions and looked to be made for humans. Behind her were the three rows of full benches, and the aisle between them she'd been escorted down. A deep red cloth covered the floor, and ancient hangings poured down from rafters as sunlight shimmered in through glass windows.

The two guards, a human and an otter, turned and left her as an old man called out. "All stand for his excellency Duke Thomas of the House of Hassan, fifth of his line, Duke of Metamor and Euper, King of the Northern Midlands. Hail! Hail!"

The last two words were echoed by the crowd, and Yvarra curtseyed as low as she could as Duke Thomas entered the room. He was a horse, a rich chestnut, dressed in simpler robes than she'd expected. He walked with a stately dignity, his hooves thudding on the rich carpet. As the crowd was silent, he made his way to the larger of the two thrones, and carefully lowered himself into it. From experience, Yvarra could tell that he'd pulled his tail painfully up so that he could sit in a seat made for the human form.

"Be seated; the accused will stand as the charges are read," boomed out the same old man.

With grace, Yvarra stood up from her crouched position, and looked at the Duke, at the judge of her fate, with steady eyes. His voice was steady, old and tired. "Court is now in session. The accused, known as Yvarra, once known as Sarpadon, employed as an ''obtainer of rare antiquities'', you are before this court on charges of murder to the minimum count of twenty. Of the killing of citizens that have the Duke’s sworn protection. How do you plead?"

Yvarra swallowed. Glad that cud did not chose to come up. Her voice, proud and steady, she called out her choice: "Guilty."

The crowd mumbled and the duke’s ears lowered. He sighed. The crowd leaned forward.

The old man slammed the base of his staff thrice -- *boom* *boom* *boom* and then called out, “Jim Dobie, head of Euper Investigations, rise and read the charges and accusations, and describe the proof against the accused.”

Yvarra watched the goat that had chased her across the rooftops stand and clear his throat. He shuffled some papers and looked down at them. “If it pleases the court, between September and October 707 CR inclusive, forty-eight cases of murder were discovered and investigated within the walls of Euper. There were additional, but the ones in question all consisted of entire families whose homes were entered by illegal means. All family members were then slain by daggers slashed across the neck.”

Yvarra blinked. She’d only killed twenty four in bed!

“Euper Investigations requested a mage which arrived and did a magical reading of a dagger that was found at one of the murder--"

“I protest those numbers!” Yvarra burst out. “I ''know'' how man--"

“The accused will be silent!” roared out the old man.

“I will not plead guilty to killing people I didn’t kill!”

“You will be silent--!”

The Duke entered the discussion. “You may respond to the numbers once Jim Dobie has finished his statement You ''will'' be silent until then though.”

The Duke’s voice hadn’t been raised, but Yvarra ''knew'' she’d pushed it as far as she was going to be allowed. Her tail whipping back and forth, she nodded.

“You may continue, without further interruption,” state the Duke.

Jim swallowed and shuffled on his hooves. “To continue. The mage’s readings confirmed that the dagger had been used in violent acts. As it was found at one of the scenes, and was positioned in a way consistent with being used as a weapon. The dagger had been enchanted and was destroyed before conclusive evidence could be gathered. The magical investigation suggested that the dagger had been manufactured by one Oberon, currently a member of the Longs. When questioned, he confirmed he'd made the dagger, and that he had sold it to a female anthro unicorn. Investigations of travellers between Euper and Metamor, along with events within both locales, indicated that a unicorn matching the accused had appeared in Euper about three weeks before the first of the murders. She visited the library in Metamor. During the Fall Festival she purchased three daggers, including the murder weapon, from the same Oberon. When located she fled, resisting arrest by diving into the Euper harbour. There were no more murders, and there were no further sightings of the unicorn until Oberon returned to Metamor carrying her in his arms.”

“Is that all, Jim?” the Duke asked.

“Your highness-- I don’t know a lot of what is going on here. I admit that the evidence is circumstantial that this individual committed the murders, but she is the only one we have any magical or other evidence against. And, the murders did start after she arrived, and ended when she vanished. During the pursuit she told me something about a cult.” He cleared his throat and stood higher. “Your highness, murder is murder. Whether she killed those plotting evil, or slaughtered innocents, it does not change the fact she murdered citizens of Metamor, and for that she ''must'' face due process.

“That is all.”

“Thank you Jim, you may be seated.” The goat bowed, and returned to his seat. “The accused may not speak.”

About time! “I wish to clarify my plea.”

“Continue--"

“I have never murdered anybody before I came to Metamor. Since I’ve arrived, I’ve killed thirty-eight people.”

The crowd muttered at the number.

“A sad statement if ever I had to make one, but I perceived no other choice. Of those thirty eight, thirty seven were members of the doomsday cult. Of those thirty seven, only twenty-four were killed in their beds. If I am accused of more than twenty-four slain in that matter, I emphatically plead my innocence as to the additional.”

Lowering her head and closing her eyes, Yvarra sighed. “I know the stain on my soul that I will carry to my grave. I will not deny it. But I will ''not'' be blamed for acts I did not do!”

Silence filled the chamber until the Duke ended it. “Is that all you wish to say?”

“At this time.”

The Duke nodded towards the old man. “You may continue.”

The old man slammed the base of a staff on the floor with a dull boom and roared out: “Are there any who would speak on the behalf of the accused?”

For a moment there was silence. Then the massive tiger boomed out. “I wish to speak.”

“Let the speaker step forward,” boomed out the old man. “Speak naught but truth before the eyes of the Duke.”

The tiger stepped forward and Yvarra remembered. Remembered meeting him in the keep. Remembered meeting him at the fair. And remembered him rushing inexplicably to her rescue before the swirling gate and, even as she'd begged, he'd hacked off her alicorn. Her hand reached up to touch the jagged edge as her body shivered.

Or so she’d been told.

"Who wishes to speak?"

"I, Adon Naharel Sahana'Haudorn, also known as Oberon of the Longs."

“You may speak Adon Naharel Sahana’Haudorn, also known as Oberon, of the Longs.”

“I met her in the keep before she went on her course. I met her again during the Fall Festival. She looked nervous then, almost hunted. Now I think it was the cult that was hunting her. Somebody was knocked out nearby, by a dart I think. Likely it was meant for her.”

He bowed his head. “I admit, that at first I suspected her of being without honour. I had heard of the murders, and then Jim, Head of Euper Investigations, brought me a piece of evidence. A dagger I had made, and that I had sold the accused. I heard what she was accused of, the murder of innocents, the murder of ''children'', and-- and I prejudged her.”

Yvarra shivered at the hatred in his voice when he'd said ''murderer of children''. She remembered something that the rabbit had said -- about setting her up with the watch with one of the daggers. That must be the one he meant. Still-- “The children, if they ''were''--“

“The accused will remain silent!” boomed out the old man.

Yvarra did.

“Adon Naharel Sahana’Haudorn, also known as Oberon, will continue.”

Yvarra sighed, and lowered her muzzle. It was so light now, and she ached at the loss of the weight of her alicorn. She'd murdered, she did not deny it, even to herself. But they needed to hear the ''truth''!

“I needed to kill her myself, to attone for the guilt she had put on my personal honour for the killings she conducted with the weapons I had sold her. But, nobody could find her. With urging from Misha I spoke to Fox Cutter, the librarian of the Longs, and he told me some information about a cult. And-- and when I returned to my forge Kyia had put a door there that hadn’t been there. Arming myself, I took the door and followed a passage down into the bowls beneath the keep. It led me to a massive chamber where there were six people chanting before a swirling portal.

“Whatever was behind that gate was-- evil. Utterly and completely evil. There is no other way to describe it. I watched as the accused burst from the cage they had sealed her in and killed what seemed to be the cult leader. The others turned on her, as whatever was trying to come through the gate was urging everybody to kill her. I burst amongst them, and slew the rest as they fought.

“The accused fled, or at first I thought, but instead she ran to the portal. When the rest of the cultists were dead, she was standing there, her alicorn piercing the veil, and her body slowly being pulled in. Even though she told me, begged me, to leave, to not risk saving her, that the gate ''had'' to be sealed, I cut off her horn because she was not deserving of such a fate. Such would not be justice. The portal twisted into tortured rock and she screamed, and collapsed.

“I picked her up and carried her back to the keep. I came out in rooms I had never seen before, but there was a bed and I put her upon it. Then I summoned healers, and guards.”

Yvarra watched the Duke looking at the tiger, measuring him.

“Your highness, I do not believe the accused is evil. There was a cult, and the cult was trying to bring something into this world that would have destroyed all of us. She stopped it, and in doing so I believe that she saved every one of us. From what Fox Cutter told me, the thing she stopped was a Titan. Only her actions kept it from being let out.

“She did what she had to do to save us all. Should she be punished for that?”

The Duke scratched his chin. “Oberon, how did you know that removing her ''alicorn'',” the word rolled oddly off his tongue as though he was unfamiliar with it, “would seal the gate but let her live? Did you consider that closing the gate required her body as well as her horn?”

“Your highness, I-- I do not know. All I can say is that I ''knew'' that her death would be ''wrong''. ''Knew'' it with absolute certainty. How-- I do not know.”

The Duke nodded. “At least you were right. You're sure the gate is sealed?”

“As sure as anybody can be. When I arrived, it was swirling as though alive, glowing with unholy light, pulsing with energy. When I left it was rock, dark, cold.”

“Could you lead anybody there, so we could guard it?”

“With apologies, no. After I brought her back, the door vanished and nobody has seen it. The Longs have looked. All I can think is that Kyia will take care of it herself. Though, one wonders why she did not take care of the summoning herself.”

“Is that all you wish to say, Oberon?”

“That is my account, and I swear to its accuracy.”

“Thank you. You may be seated.”

The old man boomed out: “Adon Naharel Sahana’Haudorn, also known as Oberon, your evidence has been heard. The Duke thanks you for your aid in this matter, and bids you be seated.”

The tiger looked at Yvarra, measuring, weighing. Nodding, he returned to his seat.

The Duke turned to regard the unicorn. “Yvarra, you had something to say. Do you wish to say it now? Do you wish to change your plea?”

“No. My plea stands. I killed the cultists. Thirty-seven of them. Twenty-four in their beds. No more. The only one I do not bitterly regret is the cult leader. However, I do object to the accusation that I killed either children or innocents.”

“Continue.”

“I was sent here originally to find the ''Sword of Songs''. It's in the room I was using. One power that the ''Sword of Songs'' had was to detect cultists. Other than a dyer in Euper who attacked me to take my alicorn -- and I do ''not'' include him in the list of the cultists as I consider that self defense -- all of them were confirmed as a cultist by the sword. Except for the rabbit cult leader, but after weeks of being whipped and tortured at his hand, and his actions, and watching him lead the summoning, I think his case was fairly obvious.”

“How did this sword reveal the existence of these ''cultists''?”

“By sound, usually be playing one or more song patterns. It’s name is more descriptive than one might think. And, I’m guessing that most of this, charade,” she motioned at the crowd and the chamber, “are for those I killed in their sleep. Each of those I made absolutely sure were cultists before ending their lives. And, as to the children, given the curse, how can ''anybody'' be sure who is an adult, and who not?”

“Is that all?”

Yvarra sighed. “That’s all.”

The old man slammed the base of his staff on the floor with a dull boom and roared out: “Are there any who would speak on the behalf of the accused?”

For a moment there was silence. Then an old fox in some kind of ‘taur form spoke out. “I wish to clarify a point.”

“Let the speaker step forward,” boomed out the old man. “Speak naught but truth before the eyes of the Duke.”

"Who wishes to speak?"

"I, Fox Cutter."

“You may speak Fox Cutter.”

The foxtaur walked forward and bowed to the Duke who waved it off. “Your highness, I confirm that the elves who were here before us believed that a Titan was imprisoned beneath this keep. The accused showed Mael-Murie a symbol known to be used by a cult dedicated to releasing things better left sealed away. I would have suggested action, but she dismissed it and I found out almost too late. The cult was real, the Titan was real. I thank all the divinities that the summoning was halted. Given what Oberon described, I have no doubt we all owe our continued existence to this individual.

“That is all.”

“Thank you, Fox Cutter,” said the Duke.

The old man boomed out: “Fox Cutter, your evidence has--"

“I don’t think we need to formalities ''every'' time,” said the Duke.

“As your Highness wishes.”

Yvarra shook her head as the fox sat down. A noble not taking every instant to remind people of his power -- who'd have thought?

The old man slammed the base of a staff on the floor with a dull boom and roared out: “Are there any who would speak on the behalf of the accused?”

“I wish to speak,” said an old raccoon.

“Oh go ahead, Brian,” said the Duke before the old seneschal could speak.

“Oberon fetched me to look at the wounds of the accused. Her body showed the long healed scars of massive abuse. Whippings and various sword wounds. The greatest wound was the alicorn hacked off of her head. The wound seeped blood, and her body was cold to the touch. Her breathing could barely be detected. It was ''very'' slow. She had suffered a lot of damage, and a lot of abuse. From the age of the wounds it happened many months ago, before she even existed as I stand the current theory. Given what has been reported of the healing abilities of her alicorn, they could have been very recent. All I could do was keep her warm, prescribe lots of rest. I didn’t expect her to live. But then-- ''something'' happened. Her body suddenly grew warm, and her breathing became much more rapid. The same type of change that occurs when a mage or priest returns to their body from wandering outside it. After that she healed rapidly.

“She was a model patient, at least at first. Always kind, always thankful. I can’t see her being a murderess. As I was leaving one night, she had fallen asleep, and I heard a harp playing a lullaby. I couldn’t place it at first, but I determined it came from the sword that was hanging on the wall near her bed. Assuming that is the ''Sword of Songs'', it has at least some magical ability.

“That is all, your highness.”

“Thank you Brian. Anybody else?” The Duke looked around and the crowd murmured, but nobody else raised there voice. “Well then--"

“I wish to speak!” Yvarra burst out.

The Duke shrugged. “Well, speak then.”

“You accuse me of murdering twenty-four people. And yet-- how many,” she spun around to face the audience, “have each of you killed?” She walked over to face the scarred fox warrior, so arrogant he was even wearing a string of lutin ears. Tropheys. She remembered meeting him when she’d passed into Metamor the first time. “You—Misha I think I heard somebody call you, how many lutins have you killed? Ten? A hundred? A thousand? Do you see me keeping tropheys of those ''I'' killed?”

“Lutins are different,” Misha responded. “They are irredeemably evil. They are a threat to the safety of this keep, and of the midlands. They ''have'' to be killed.”

“Do they? Have you ever ''asked'' them? Are they ''all'' out to kill you at any cost, or are they doing it because they have no choice? Maybe even because you will kill them so they have no option but to try and kill you first!”

“Lutins are different!”

“In what way? Let’s just ''say'' that they're irredeemably evil, and that every single one of them represent a dire threat to the safety of this portion of the world. How many have you killed?”

“Over a hundred.”

“And did you kill them ''all'' in fair combat? Or-- maybe you snuck into their camps, into their fortresses, and killed them in their sleep. Slit their throats. How many lutins have your ''murdered''?”

“It’s war!”

“And how is that different from me? I was sent here to recover an item. I was changed into what I am now by the Curse. I trust you know of it? And, then the cult attacked ''me''. There was no reasoning with them. I either fought back, or I ''died''. How is that any different from you, from ''any'' of you, and the lutins? You sneak into their camps, their fortresses, and if you can you kill them in their sleep. You kill them by magic. You kill them by any means that minimizes risk to yourselves because you are smart warriors. You never give the enemy an even chance because the cost of failure is too high.

“And you expect me to do different?

“I didn’t know the ultimate cost of my failure at first. Gradually I found out. But, my options were either to let them kill me, to flee, and doom the world, or to fight them by any means I could. Up to and including murder.

“Has anybody, ''anybody'' ever tried to raise a lutin child? Teach him or her a different morality? Or are all lutins just evil, deserving nothing more than death?”

There was an embarrassed silence.

“You want to punish me? Fine. I do not deny what I did. I am not proud of it. And I ''definitely'' don’t parade around with tropheys of what I’ve done like so many of you. Misha, Oberon, how many others? War is war, and you just fight it, never thinking of another option.

“Oh, I know of Nasoj. Who doesn’t? I’m not saying to negotiate with him, but maybe his servants would prefer another out."

Yvarra’s voice faded. “Maybe some of the cultists would have preferred to leave what they’d gotten themselves into. But I was alone. I couldn’t risk asking because I was one, and they were legion. I wish--

“What is done is done.” She turned and stalked back towards the Duke. Guards advanced, but the Duke waved them off. Yvarra stopped well short. “You wish to judge me, that is your right. Eli knows, we mortals need to have somebody try as best they can. But, if you judge me, also judge yourselves, for I’ve done ''nothing'' any of you wouldn't have done in my position, and that most of you ''have'' done when given the opportunity to attack the lutins.

“I just wish that I hadn’t been so blind, so arrogant, that I refused the help I was offered. So obstinate to refuse aid that I now believe would have been granted me. I was foolish, and that is my sin.”

She turned away. “That-- that's all I wish to say, your-- highness.”

The old man slammed the base of his staff on the floor, shattering the silence. *boom* “Are there any who would speak on the behalf of the accused?”

There was silence, and whispering. But nobody else stood forward. The seneschal looked around, nodded, and raised his staff--

The room dimmed, the sunlight glittering through the crystal windows faded, and somehow focused, condensing down into the shimmering yellow form of a beautiful woman, transparent, and yet there. Silence fell from her like water from a dripping leaf, as her robes swept around her and she walked towards the centre of the chamber.

“Kyia--" somebody whispered.

Yvarra was almost as awed as everybody else, but also getting a bit annoyed. She’d had too much of gods and goddesses poking in her life recently. And yet-- what could a mortal do?

The seneschal’s voice was almost a whisper. “Let the-- the-- Kyia speak. Say not but truth before-- before the-- the Duke.”

Even though her voice was so quiet as to be almost inaudible, every soul in the room had no trouble hearing her bell-like tones with complete clarity and comprehension. “The child Yvarra tells the truth in all she has said. That she killed, is true. That the threat was as dire as Fox Cutter said, is true. When she came she was arrogant, self serving. She did what she had to do, and she refused the hand I offered. That was her right, and from it came much evil that could have been avoided. And yet, she did only what she was forced to. Though she came at first for the personal profit of fulfilling her contract, at the end she killed only in personal defense, to save others, no longer caring about the costs to herself. Judge her. And judge yourselves.”

She was gone, and the light returned to normal.

Yvarra blinked.

The seneschal was the first to regain his wits. *boom* went his staff. “Are there any who would speak on the behalf of the accused?”

The silence was long, and this time complete. And, this time, nobody spoke up.

<nowiki>*</nowiki>boom* *boom* “All who wish to speak on behalf of the accused have spoken and have been heard. The accused-- has spoken. The charges have been read and acknowledged by the accused. Now his people await the fair and blessed judgement of his excellency Duke Thomas of the House of Hassan, fifth of his line, Duke of Metamor and Euper, King of the Northern Midlands. Be silent and await! May the wisdom of the divine guide his thoughts.” *boom* *boom*.

Yvarra didn’t have long to wait as her tail swept back and forth behind her. Her stomachs grumbled, and she wished she’d eaten the breakfast she’d been offered. She'ds choose to not risk cud interrupting at an inopportune moment. She wished the ''Sword of Songs'' was here with her. She wished ''anybody'' was there for her.

Holding the necklace that still hung around her neck with its blue gem, she clasped the gem tightly in one hand. I did it for you, Ansala. All for--

<nowiki>*</nowiki>boom* *boom* “Duke Thomas of the House of Hassan, fifth of his line, Duke of Metamor and Euper, King of the Northern Midlands, has reached his judgement.” *boom* *boom* “All listen to his words in silence.”

She swallowed. This was it.

“Yvarra, once known as Sarpadon, you came to our lands on a quest for an item. Through that you became entangled in forces beyond any of our control. We believe that you did what you thought was right, and what you thought you had to do, as do we all.”

Yvarra almost collapsed in relief.

“And yet, the fact remains that you did murder twenty-four individuals who had the right to the protection of my honour, and the right to protection under the law.”

She clenched her fists. And here she was beginning to think this one was different!

“I have a quandary. What you did saved us all, and yet the way you did it would shame any of us. So, Yvarra, formerly Sarpadon, hear my judgement.”

Here it comes.

“For your sins, you shall be imprisoned--"

What?

“-- within the environs of the Castle of Metamor. Within said environs you shall move freely and unguarded. None shall let you pass beyond. Here we wish you to think upon what you have done, and why you were forced to do it. And upon what could have been.

“Such imprisonment shall continue as long as you shall live, or until a ruler in the line of Metamor decrees otherwise.”

<nowiki>*</nowiki>boom* *boom* “Duke Thomas of the House of Hassan, fifth of his line, Duke of Metamor and Euper, King of the Northern Midlands, has rendered judgement. So let it be written, so let it be done.” *boom* *boom*

'''Epilogue'''

Yvarra stood on one of the balconies overlooking the gardens. The sky was gray, overcast, and cold, her breath misted with each exhale as white things drifted downward. From what others had said it was ''snow''.

Yvarra had never seen ''snow'' before.

Each flake danced before her, drifting with a will of its own, yet remorselessly falling. Each was unique, different, and lived only for a moment before vanishing onto the ground, forming a single whole.

Souls. Each of them. Different, unique, passing to their individual destiny, and then death.

Like her. If she would ever die -- Klepnos had not been clear.

The trial had ended a week ago. The quarters that-- Kyia had provided were hers now. It was odd -- she'd had to run down Pyat to figure out who Kyia was. Not a god, but certainly divine. A creature who lived within the keep, maintained it, guarded it. And moved around its interior architecture as suited her whim, revealing rooms and chambers when needed. Like the door Oberon had told about that led him to the summoning, like the chambers Kyia had offered in friendship and she’d thrown away like the fool she’d been.

Foolish as each of these snowflakes glorying in their short unchanging lives as they plummeted to their deaths. Never changing, doing what they want.

She looked over the snow covered grounds.

And yet, even out of their individuality came a greater beauty.

{{series bar
|previous=[[User:Michael Bard/Between the Worlds|Between the Worlds]]}}

User:Michael Bard/Between the Worlds

2008-12-22T00:12:23Z

Michael Bard: Final version

{{title|name=Between the Worlds|author=Michael Bard|user=Michael Bard}}
{{Comment tag}}[[Category:Metamor Keep]]
[[Category:Michael Bard]]
[[Category:Story]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Between the Worlds}}
[[Category:Anthropomorphic]][[Category:Cervine]][[Category:Mythical]]
'''Unknown'''

Between the Worlds
Unknown

--torn asunder. Torn through and splattered across a timeless eternity. Ripped--

And then Yvarra-- no, ''Sarpadon'' was sitting in a luxuriously appointed room, free of pain.

That, more than anything made Sarp-- Yvarra relax into comfort. Luxurious wondrous comfort without the pain that had been her, ''his'' companion for so long. The pain of whipping, the pain of battle, the pain of knife and sword wounds. So much pain--

"And now it's time to discuss payment."

Yvarra opened her, his eyes, too luxuriously free of pain to move otherwise. The voice was from long in the past, almost forgotten. It was that of the ''Lady Tarathana'' that had hired her, him only-- only five months ago? Was it only five months?

"Great deeds never take as long as they seem to in the sagas."

Yvarra watched as the Lady Tarathana sat down on a luxurious padded chair in front of a window through which sunlight streamed. Just like she had before. The brilliant light turned her into a silhouette of shadow and soft angles, shimmered through her pale blue dress and amongst the find strands of her golden hair. And it hid her face.

She, he, realized that she, he'd never seen her face. Ever.

The room was the same as when she'd hired her-- him.

Moving slowly, afraid to move any faster and give up the sensation of ''no pain'', he looked down at his old body, male, human. Scarred. Craggy. Full of selfishness and foolish pride. And--

And ''she'' realized that this wasn't ''her'' anymore.

Uncomfortable in her old body, she forced the dismay from her face. Always bargain from strength, and somehow ''she'' knew that she was about to make the most important bargains of her life. Trying to relax she looked around the room, peering from beneath the rim of her fedora. Here was where it'd all begun. Where she'd told her so few truths, and so many lies, and started her on her journey to redemption.

Or had this Lady? She ''had'' to know, even though it weakened her position. But then, there were things more important than personal gain. She knew that now. "What happened? Am I dead? Is-- is Ansela dead?"

Lady Tarathana cocked her head. "Maybe you have learned something. They say soul follows form-- You won. As I knew you would."

"Thank Klepnos--"

"Don't thank me!"

She blinked. "Klepnos--?"

"In the soul so to speak."

She's suspected that Lady Tarathana had been more than she'd seemed. Maybe a Glimmer, or a Devas or on the outside an Archon, but one of the actual Daedra lords? "I-- I--"

"The Titan is back in his dreaming prison. The cult is destroyed for another millennium. Kyia didn't have to take direct action so Metamor hasn't been blasted from the face of the world. Everything is back to the way it should be."

She relaxed. She'd saved the world. Everybody was safe. Ansela was safe. But, who was-- "Kyia?"

"The eternal guardian of Metamor. She guards the gate you closed, and other things I can't talk about."

"Can't--?"

"Even us Gods have rules."

She blinked. Now that the important thing was done, she wanted answers! "Rules? Well, I take it your rules include getting out of our deal."

"Then I'll just let you die and you won't be my problem."

"But you haven't. What ''is'' it with you, anyway?" She remembered the ''thing's'' last pitiful pleads to not be imprisoned alone. "You're painted as evil, and then you send me to do your dirty work of saving the world. What did that ''thing'' ever do to you anyway? Towards the end it was begging--"

The Lady Tarathana, Kelpnos, sighed. "Nothing he did. We were jealous of them, so we fought them and imprisoned them. Each alone. And it drove them into what you would call madness. If they get out, they'll destroy the worlds. Our sin, and thus we're cursed to watch them for the rest of time."

She wanted to stand up, but she was still enthralled by the lack of pain. "So you use me to do the dirty work to cover your sins."

Lady Tarathana burst to her feet, still silhouetted in the warm sunlight. "''Who are you to judge us''?"

"The one who saved your behind!"

"Saved? You didn't save us! You simply saved yourself, and the insignificant mortals! You were the backup, Kyia was the failsafe!"

"Fine! I did that. You hired me, you sent me into the wolf's den, and I did what you needed me to do. So--"

The divinity's voice was calm again. "So. What now? You will be paid, I promised. And paid you will be. The question is how."

Forcing down the fear, Yvarra, slowly moved one hand, and then the other. No pain. A wonderful delirious happiness of painlessness. "As I recalled, you offered me a significant sum of wealth."

"And do you want wealth?"

"I--" She didn't know anymore. What did she want?

"I can give you wealth. I can cure the curse--"

"I was told that there was no cure."

"''He'' offered his followers a cure. And, ''I'' can cure you. Or, do you doubt my word?"

"Do I?" She scratched her head, feeling the cold flesh, the flat skull. Her body, her ''soul'' ached as she realized, she ''knew'', her alicorn was gone. Sacrificed to the greater need. But ''gone''. "You said you were bound by rules too. And, if the Gods could cure, why not the priests?"

"Because they aren't allowed to! Eli got an exception, a measure of control, but ''that's it''! That's--"

"Not allowed to--"

Lady Tarathana, Klepnos, sighed. "I can give you more wealth than even you can spend. I can restore your humanity, your maleness, and transport you far, ''far'' away from Metamor."

"Everything I wanted--" She felt the painful protrusion between her legs and knew that ''she'' wanted gone.

She motioned to her male human body. "And why am I like this? Is this my soul, shielded from the curse. Or a trick? I worshipped you, in a sense, but I think I've learned much. And, I've always known of your reputation as a trickster. Now-- I think it might be time for us to part ways--"

"You dare?"

"Why not? I'm here, I'm your prisoner. But, you should know me well enough to know that I do not bow to authority. That much of me is still Sarpadon. I-- I want to go back."

Disbelief filled her voice. "You want to return to being female. To being weak?"

"I want what I earned! I want-- I--" Yvarra bowed her human head. A last chance. And yet-- it didn't fit. It wasn't ''her'' anymore! She remembered thoughts, suspicions. "Maybe-- maybe it's something you did. I adjusted to my body, my gender, almost instantly. I don't know how common that is -- I'm pretty sure you had something to do with it. I can't complain, it kept me alive. It saved the world-- or at least did so in a way that minimized damage." She remembered the thing's last cries, its begging-- And yet, yet--

"You're right. I helped. Gave you the basic skills because there was no time. I-- tweaked the curse a bit. You were fated to become female, but you needed to become unicorn. It was-- easier to combine the two. And-- I gave little nudges. Too small to be noticed, to attract attention. Some luck, energy when you needed it--"

"The strength that filled me at the end."

The god nodded.

"I--" He lowered his head and his voice. "I want you to return me. Back into ''my'' body. Back--"

"What if that body is dead?"

Yvarra gasped. Could it be. She remembered the pain. The mind searing mind stabbing pain as her essence was hacked from her. But it closed the gate, that was all that mattered. It closed the gate, or so Klepnos said. And, why would he lie about that?

If her body, her ''true'' body was dead. Then-- did she want to live? Live as male? Take back the life she'd had before? Friendless. Selfish. Short sighted and cold.

She swallowed. "I-- If the body is dead, then let me die with it. This-- this isn't me any more."

Slowly Klepnos clapped her hands and nodded. "You've exceeded my hopes."

"''I have''?"

"Silly mortal." I could see her forcing down the urge to pat me on my head as she sat in front of the window. "You call us evil, and others good. We're not. You fit us into your definitions because that's all you can do. And, we let you because your belief gives us more strength than we ever had before. You define us, put us into boxes that are only a fraction of what we are. Remember that, as it applies to all things. Maybe you'll some day attain true wisdom."

Yvarra watched and nodded.

"As to restoring you, your body lives. I made sure. I can put you back into it--"

Yvarra reached up to her forehead knowing what had been there, what was gone--

"Oh don't worry about it! The bud is there, and it'll grow and blossom, and in a few years you'll be what you that form should have been, not what I made it out of necessity. All the magic that is yours will come back."

Warmth and hope filled Yvarra.

"I said ''your'' magic. I kept you charged, fed you with power when you needed it. That'll be gone. You'll heal a lot slower, you'll run out of energy a lot faster. Be ready for it."

She could be herself again!

"You will be your new form, but you still have choices. I can return you to where you were. At the gate, in the hands of the tiger. ''And'' in the hands of Kyia and the keep's justice. I can do that and give you wealth. Or-- or I can restore you and take you far away, out of reach of Metamor for all time."

Could she? Of course she could. But-- wouldn't that be a cheat?

The god watched her.

Reaching up, still moving slowly, she pulled off her fedora and looked at it. Clean, new. She worked it with her hands. She tried flicking an ear, but human ears didn't do that. She could run, hide--

No!

She'd never fled from anything in her life, and she wouldn't flee now!

"Put me back to where I left. Put me back to where-- to where ''I'' belong. And, where I deserve to be."

The god nodded.

"You blessed me, gave me an opportunity to redeem my soul. You made me a unicorn, and I have to live up to that. That means taking what I deserve. That means accepting justice, even if they imprison me, even if they kill me.

"I am a unicorn, and it is time I acted like one!"

Somehow Yvarra had gotten onto her feet. No, not her feet, her ''hooves''. She could feel her ears, see her muzzle, sense her tail whipping behind her.

She was ''home''.

"You ''are'' a unicorn. Go with my blessings."

For the first time in her life, Yvarra stood up, turned towards Lady Tarathana, towards the Daedra known as Klepnos, and courtseyed, paying respect to someone other than herself.

"Good luck my child."

"Lady, Kelpnos, I would ask one question--"

She could hear the amusement in the god's voice. "Oh?"

"Could you ''really'' have cured me?"

"You doubt the word of a ''Daedra''? But then, I ''am'' the ''Lord of Lies''." Klepnos laughed. "Does it matter?"

"Not anymore."

"The there's your answer."

"Oh, and if Fox Cutter ever asked, the first movie was the best."

"Movie?"

"He'll know."

----

Yvarra blinked her eyes open, lying partially on her side on a soft bed in warm sunlight. The room-- she recognized it. The gift freely offered. The gift that she'd refused and tried to destroy.

Now--

Not it was home.

Just as ''she'' was.

{{series bar
|previous=[[User:Michael Bard/The Summoning|The Summoning]]|next=[[User:Michael Bard/The Last Trial|The Last Trial]]}}

User:Michael Bard/The Summoning

2008-12-22T00:10:50Z

Michael Bard: Final version

{{title|name=The Summoning|author=Michael Bard|user=Michael Bard}}
{{Comment tag}}[[Category:Metamor Keep]]
[[Category:Michael Bard]]
[[Category:Story]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Summoning, The}}
[[Category:Anthropomorphic]][[Category:Cervine]][[Category:Mythical]]
'''November, 707 CR'''

Yvarra was used to waking up with pain. Great burning stabbing pain. But then, pain was better than being dead. Even when each breath was a study in agony, it didn’t take long until the screaming pain was swallowed up by a pleasant burning warmth as her alicorn did its work.

Closing her eyes she sniffed the air with gentle inhales, slowly puzzling out the clues from the salty stench of her own blood. There was stone-- cold, wet. A stench worse than the mud, the shit, the waste dumped out of upper story windows. A stench of ancient death, putrid and decaying, filling the air with a heavy cold that almost made her gag as she took shallower and shallower breaths. And--

Almost, ''almost'' she screamed. It was a-- a ''nothingness'' that scraped against her soul again and again, rubbing it raw with its ''wrongness''.

She found herself curling up in a ball to try and hide. The physical pain was easy, but this-- Grasping the ''Sword of Songs'' for its support, she found that it was gone! On her back was an empty scabbard. And her daggers-- gone! All she had left was the tattered remnants of her clothing, the battered fedora, and the necklace she’d found that reminded her of those blue eyes--

Those trusting blue eyes that would be destroyed if she failed.

From somewhere deep within herself she forced her soul to uncurl from its sobbing state, forced her body to relax. She was alive, and that meant there was hope. Hope even though there was no one else. Only herself. A unicorn.

She prayed to Klepnos that that was enough.

Clasping the fedora between her breasts, she hid the blue stone beneath it. Her ears flicked as she heard the sound of movement, booted feet and-- and the irregular heavy thump of paws on stone. And a clang-clang of something banging against the stone with each thump. It wasn’t armour, it wasn’t anything light, instead something heavy. There were-- three? She sniffed, forced her way past the cloying ancient death, picking out hints nearly overwhelmed by the stench that surrounded her. A hint of the blood and warmth of a female human. And a male badger nearby. And-- and-- a rabbit?

Why not, around this damn place!

The two approaching stopped. The rabbit panting from exertion. His scent was tinged-- no, not tinged, overwhelmed, with hatred. Hatred and soul burning ''pain''. A faint tinkle came from the rabbit -- the ''Sword of Songs''?

“Wake her!” The voice was cold, naked, filled with pain and anger. And high pitched, almost a squeak. If not for the gravel rubbing undertones she’d have laughed out loud. Instead, it terrified her even more.

Someone, the human, walked over. The one as she who'd stabbed her again and again. The human was wearing boots of some kind, and the heel thudded on the wet stone. Something rattled, and then icy muddy water poured onto her. It drained into the still healing wounds reawakening their stabbing pain. It oozed along her fur, between her breasts, down her legs. Slimy coldness oozed down her nostrils and she coughed and gagged and sneezed, struggling to get the dirty water out.

“You wanted to kill me,” the rabbit squeaked.

Yvarra needed information. She stopped moving, letting her body sag into apparent unconsciousness.

“Cut the crap! You’re conscious. I can smell it, and I can see it!”

So much for that idea. With a moan, Yvarra raised her muzzle and looked at him. He was indeed a rabbit, thin, scrawny, almost nothing but flesh and bones. His eyes were sunken into his skull and they glowed with a preternatural hatred. His fur, it may have been a rich tan once, was wet, matted with calcium and dirt. His ears were limp along his back. And in his hand, battered, abused, bent but not broken, was the ''Sword of Songs''.

And yet-- All that paled beside the dim blue-purple light. Not steady, a swirling pulse of colour slowly turning, rotating. The light was alive-- no, not alive. It hated life. Hated existence with a screaming insanity so beyond mortal knowledge that it seemed sane. Looking up, she felt herself, her ''soul'', falling towards the slowly swirling-- gate? It had to be, there was nothing else it could be. It was an irregular circle, the edge formed from twisted and cracked rock that glistened with crystal deposits. Rock that seemed to scream in agony, that seemed to twist and try to flee even though it was cold and wet and solid. The gate--

It looked solid, looked like patterned marble of glistening, shining, blue and purple. It was solid, carved and patterned rock. And yet-- and yet it ''moved''. It turned, it twisted, it spun, it rotated around and around. And not a single motion. Each fraction of the irregular disc swirled in its own pattern, some in the opposite direction of that around it. All curdling and twisting, like thick tar pulled together and stirred endlessly, flickering with-- hot coals of the deepest black. And-- and there were-- hints? Patterns that suggested a face of inhuman beauty and age and wisdom. Utter and complete kindness and saintliness that screamed ''evil'' into her soul.

“Damn you! Damn you to all nine of the hells!” The rabbit’s squeaky grating voice pulled her, dragged her soul back from the abyss it has been falling into all unaware.

Turning her head slightly, she looked at him. And then ignored him as unworthy. Her eyes turned away as she stretched and straightened her fedora, slowly bringing it back into semblance of its original shape. Looking at it critically, she worked out some of the mud and dirt, forcing it back to what it should look like. Only when she was satisified, well, more resigned that it was the best she could do, did she slip it back on her head, fitting the slot over her alicorn.

Yvarra turned away. She was naked, no weapons, no tools, imprisoned. She was in ''their'' power. And that meant that her only hope was for ''them'' to make a mistake. Mistakes were more often made when emotions overwhelmed common sense. This was going to hurt, but she was certain they weren’t going to kill her. If they were, she’d already be dead. If she could even die. And that meant her best hope was to invite the pain, to ''feed'' the hatred that created it.

Screaming, the rabbit slashed the whip across her arm, its edge digging into the fur, into the flesh, splattering her body with fresh crimson. It was a fresh pain, a cruel pain. It was like the whip was alive, laughing, taunting her. Out of the corner of her eye she saw that his other hand was still holding the ''Sword of Songs'' and she could hear it whimpering in a clattering tone of high pitched harp strings.

She closed her eyes, turning her head as far away from the rabbit as she could.

"''Face me''!"

She let his hatred shape her voice, let her pain fill it with sorrow and agony. “Klepnos take you,” she whispered.

The rabbit coiled the whip. “We have all the time in the world, you and I. All the time we can ever need.” Holding the sword in one hand and the whip in the other, he struck her again and again. Each strike was the caress of a cruel lover. Each strike caused a fresh wound, and made sure to caress an existing one, peeling back her flesh, splattering her blood, tearing her muzzle. Her alicorn glowed, her stomachs growled, all she could taste was bile and blood. Almost she whimpered, but she clenched her hands, one around itself, one around the blue gem that was all she lived for, and kept her silence.

He snapped the whip and knocked the fedora from her head. Letting go of the gem, she grabbed for it, but wasn’t fast enough.

The rabbit stared. Then he squeaked out in a loud voice that grated around the cavern. “You said you’d searched her! Stripped her!”

Her hand whipped back to grab the gem, but he was too fast. The glass and metal tipped leather snapped against the necklace, digging into her neck, laying bare her windpipe. And knocking the necklace off where it clattered and slid across the floor. Gasping for breath, the air gurgling out the wound as it healed, blood tinting the dark flesh around her lips, she tried to crawl towards the necklace.

Too late.

The rabbit threw the ''Sword of Songs'' away towards the gate, the whip fell form his grasp, and his hand grabbed the necklace, yanked it out of reach.

All she could do was glare her hatred at him. All she could do was grab her fedora from the wet floor and put it back on. A last act of defiance.

“But-- we checked for magic--" the woman said.

“You didn’t check hard enough.” He picked up the necklace by its chain and looked at the blue teardrop it held.

She couldn’t stop one hand from making a futile grab in its direction, as she stared at him with complete and utter hatred.

“You want this, don’t you?”

She spit a glob of blood towards him. It landed on the damn stone just in front of one of his large, scratched and bloody, rabbit paws.

“You’ve lost it. Like you’ve lost the game.” She watched as he put the chain around his neck. “Do you know how much I hate you? Do you ''know''?”

Oh, she ''knew''. This had started as a tactic to make him make a mistake. But, not any more. Before she’d worked because she was being paid. She’d kept going for her own pride, for a promise to protect an innocent. And now-- now it was personal. She glared at him.

“Oh-- I’ll teach you. By Eli I’ll teach you what hate ''really'' means.”

<nowiki>*</nowiki>snap* *snapsnap*

The third strike grabbed her fedora; it fled past her clutching hands and slid on the damp cave floor.

<nowiki>*</nowiki>snapsnap* *snap*

If she had thought she’d been whipped before, she’d have been wrong. The ''instrument of pain'' rose again and again, snapping across her body like the caresses of a lover. Enough to cause pain, so very ''very'' much pain. But never ''ever'' enough to kill her.

And that was fine. It fed her hatred. It kept her alive. By Klepnos, the rabbit would ''pay''!

----

Eventually the pain stopped. They left, they all left. A clay bowl was tossed in, and filled with slop Yvarra wouldn’t have fed a pig. But, she knew she needed food. Her stomachs overrode her disgust and she ate the garbage, even licking the last little bits out of the bowl.

Her complete exhaustion abated a bit.

Pain, somebody had once told her, purified the soul. She'd had a lot of pain in her life. Knife wounds. Broken bones and bruises from her misspent youth when she’d had to fight for everything she’d gotten. Weeks spent without food. Stealing water that had been left out for the fey and risking their wrath that had never come. But--

But, what she had experienced in this one day overshadowed all her life into the games of a child. This was ''real''. The stakes weren’t just her life, they were ''everybody’s'' life. And that included Ansela’s.

Instinctively her hand clasped at the necklace, forgetting that it was gone.

Damn him! Damn him to every hell. Damn him to every doom imagined by a thousand years of human hate.

All she had left was the body she’d been gifted with, or cursed. That and her hate.

And yet, what had hate gotten her?

Through her entire life she had hated the privledged, the rich who’d had what she’d never had. She’d taught herself the skills of a thief not out of any altruistic motives, but for the purpose of vengeance. As she’d grown older, she’d buried that fact -- taken it as a matter of honour, that her word meant something, that she would always succeed in ''redistributing'' wealth to those who hired her.

And yet, the real reason she’d done so was to strike out at those who’d owned the objects. To attempt to make them feel some of what she had.

The pain seeped into her bones, always present. Dull. She had enough strength to stay alive, but never enough to fully heal.

The first thing was to create options. They’d left her with only her alicorn, and her wits. Her tools were gone, her weapons were gone. And the gate was always watching. The ''thing'' inside it always pulling at her soul, scratching rusty metal claws all along it.

Options. Options that they would not detect. Options that they would not expect.

Even though she could barely move, she examined the cage. It was rough, crude, thick heavy pieces of scrap iron. Far too heavy to break, or to cut. And yet-- Yet there was door, and it was held only by one heavy metal bar that had been hammered around the post of the gate and of a wall to keep it closed. The metal bar was far heaver than she could move -- that was obvious just from looking at it, even in the dim purple light, even when she used some of her faltering magic to bring the warm light of her alicorn into brave defiance.

And yet--

She had her alicorn. It’s sharp bone piercing edge.

Moving forward, twisting, she began scraping its edge back and forth along the inside of the metal strap imprisoning her. Only on the inside. Only where they couldn’t see it. For as long as she could. Scrapping and rubbing, slowly ''slowly'' working her way through the metal. To cut it, to weaken it--

To do what she could.

----

Every day ''he'' came. The insane rabbit. He yelled at her, screamed at her. She refused to answer. She refused to dignify his presence with an answer. It was the innate stubbornness in her soul. And yet, what would she say? What could she say?

All she did was bear it. Bear it until he stopped, exhausted. Then he left, and she was fed. She ate, and then went back to work rubbing, scraping her alicorn back and forth, until she collapsed into a stiff sleep until ''he'' came again.

<nowiki>*</nowiki>scrapescrapescrape*

Yet, rubbing her alicorn back and forth, back and forth, wasn’t intellectually demanding. All she could do was think. Think, and dream.

<nowiki>*</nowiki>scrapescrapescrape*

All her life she’d fought to revenge. Cloaked it in words and deals and money. And she’d been very good at it. So very good. And, where had it gotten her? Was she rich, powerful? Not at all. All it had done was gotten the attention of Gods, and gotten her damned to this never-ending hell.

And--

And it had made her what she was now. Gifted her with magic. Transformed her into a symbol. Given her the chance to save the innocent. To protect the likes of Ansela. Through her delirious dreams the little girls face looked at her. Wide blue eyes. Trusting blue eyes. Eyes that ''knew'' she would protect them against all the evil in the world.

<nowiki>*</nowiki>scrapescrapescrape*

The evil that she faced every day. The evil that glared at her, growing stronger, more aware.

What had she made of her life? A reputation, personal honour-- and what more?

People knew her. Those who had need of her ''special'' services hired her. But, did any of them ''respect''her.

<nowiki>*</nowiki>scrapescrapescrape*

She remembered meeting after meeting. In sailor-filled taverns. In mercenary-filled inns. Cloaked hidden individuals hiring her to deal with their enemies. So ashamed of what they were doing that they hid themselves beneath false names and false faces.

Using her. Using her and disgarding her because ''she'' was meaningless in the greater realm of things.

<nowiki>*</nowiki>scrapescrapescrape*

Never treating her as a person, never respecting ''her''. Never ''honouring'' her.

So, what was her life worth?

----

More whipping. More pain. Brine dumped on her digging into the wounds with stabs of hot fire. Garbage tossed onto the stone for her to lap up like a dog. And the ''thing'', the God of the Cult watching, growing, waiting.

Pain purified she’d been told. And pain tears away all the lies, all the rationalities. Pain reveals the naked truth.

<nowiki>*</nowiki>scrapescrapescrape*

She'd been as bad as those she’d despised. Oh, maybe she had more personal honour than they did, but it was her own rationalization. Her own attempts to make herself better than ''they'' were, when she was actually worse. Until now she’d never killed, but she had destroyed careers, livelihoods. She had destroyed reputations. She had planted false evidence.

And what had she done it for? For nothing but momentary wealth that she'd then dumped into personal gratification. Nothing more.

<nowiki>*</nowiki>scrapescrapescrape*

She was the kind of person that Ansela would run away from screaming.

She’d been given a new chance, a new form, a new blessing, and a task of honour and importance. And, what had she done?

<nowiki>*</nowiki>scrapescrapescrape*

Into her mind flowed memories of when she’d gone to Metamor Keep. Of the room that had been offered. Of a new start. And, likely, of help. Maybe she’d have had to kill to find her way to the cult. And yet, maybe she wouldn’t have had to either. Maybe she could've had help. Had friends. Had Ansela coming to her, ''thanking'' her for what she was doing.

<nowiki>*</nowiki>scrapescrapescrape*

No, she’d had to do it her way. Alone. Bumbling and finding the only way she could. A way, not necessarily the best way, or the safest way, or the most honourable way. ''Her'' way.

And now she was in a cage, waiting for her fate, trying to give herself one last chance at redemption.

For Ansela.

<nowiki>*</nowiki>scrapescrapescrape*

----

Sometimes after the daily whipping, the endless stream of squeaking hatred, she hated herself too. Hated her inadequacies, her failures. She’d murdered, something she’d sworn never to do. And done it so much that it had become evil.

<nowiki>*</nowiki>scrapescrapescrape*

Murdered because she was alone. Without help. Without friends. Without anybody she could depend on.

Without the friendship offered her in Metamor that could have saved her, that could have saved the world from the cost of her selfishness.

<nowiki>*</nowiki>scrapescrapescrape*

She’d had a chance. She’d thrown it away. Tossed it onto the rubbish heap. Betrayed the simple look of a little girl who ''knew'' that a unicorn would do only what was right.

<nowiki>*</nowiki>scrapescrapescrape*

Thrown away everything until all she had was her naked form, her alicorn, and the ceaseless rubbing of her soul back and forth as the ''thing'' beyond the gate watched, growing stronger and clearer, the swirling light brighter, more twisted and soul searing as the colours moved up the spectrum.

----

More whipping. More hatred. A bit more food, but then she needed more to live given what they were doing to her.

More pain and more desperation that ripped every last bit of lie and false belief from her soul.

<nowiki>*</nowiki>scrapescrapescrape*

Pain purifed. Pain scraped away everything that was not the truth. It revealed what was real, what mattered, and tore away what was lies and selfish protections.

<nowiki>*</nowiki>scrapescrapescrape*

Yvarra had only her core left. Her soul. Her soul that had been given a chance at redemption. Offered trust. Offered help. And then thrown it away in the ultimate selfishness. A soul that still lived, though the Gods knew way. A soul that could still redeem itself, could still do what mattered.

<nowiki>*</nowiki>scrapescrapescrape*

A soul that no longer lied to itself. A soul that lived for one last promise. For one last eradication of evil that had proven itself unworthy of life. For one last act to save the world, no matter the cost.

<nowiki>*</nowiki>scrapescrapescrape*

For the trusting eyes of one little girl.

<nowiki>*</nowiki>scrapescrapescrape*

----

Time passed. The whippings, the hatreds, all blurred together into sameness. She ignored them because they didn’t matter. They were meaningless. All that mattered was herself, and the ''thing'' beyond the gate.

<nowiki>*</nowiki>scrapescrapescrape*

The ''thing'' that grew stronger. The ''thing'' who’s beauty was so perfect, so absolute, that it burned her eyes if she dared look at it. A beauty too powerful to witness. A beauty so powerful that it could only be insanity.

<nowiki>*</nowiki>scrapescrapescrape*

The gate swirled faster, faster, as the whippings started and ended. The face grew more distinct. Its presence more solid. Its texture more inhumanly perfect and powerful and beautiful and graceful. And more and more utterly insane and insufferable. It had to be stopped. Part of it even knew it had to be stopped, and that part was all that kept its ceaseless watch from piercing what she was doing. From stopping her and destroying the world.

<nowiki>*</nowiki>scrapescrapescrape*

The thing that came closer, and closer. More solid, more real. More painful to bear as it tore at her soul. More insane and wonderful and necessary to stop.

It watched her. It judged her and found her wanting. Found her inadequate. Found her laughable.

<nowiki>*</nowiki>scrapescrapescrape*

But it did not damn her as the child’s trusting blue eyes that damned her in her nightmares when she failed the ultimate test and let the ''thing'' loose.

<nowiki>*</nowiki>scrapescrapescrape*

----

<nowiki>*</nowiki>scrapescrapescrape*

She hadn’t fallen asleep when she heard voices. The gate was brighter now, a swirling pool of bubbling marble of rolling blues and purples and red. She never faced it anymore, tried to never look at it, but she couldn’t avoid it. The face was clearer now. Before it was a hint, a promise. Now it was real. A face of inhuman beauty and sanity and madness. Eyes of kindness and wonder and then flashing to hatred and insanity. Sometimes the face itself would change, falling from its perfection into snarling mindlessness madness.

And all the time the ''thing'' was calling to her. Promising her what had been her dreams. Promises or recognition, of power. And when she refused to respond, the ''thing'' dug its mental claws into her soul, tearing and ripping as she screamed into the silence. The only sound she made -- always maintaining a stoic stubborn silence when the rabbit came.

But-- he was early--

She watched the rabbit approach, wearing the threadbare robe he always wore. The necklace with the blue of Ansela’s eyes was around his neck. The ''Sword of Songs'' was silent, abandoned on the rock, slowly going to rust. Behind him, in two columns, were five more figures, each bearing a staff of polished bone. Six total.

Six.

She watched. Staring at the rabbit. Staring as the rabbit threw away the hated whip. His voice squeaked out, commanding the silence. “It is time. You know your places. Our salvation is at hand!”

“Our salvation!” the five chorused back.

She watched the rabbit turn to face the gate, arms upraised, three cultists forming on one side, two on the other. As one they crouched down, praying to their lord beyond the gate. Or was it praying? It was more a chant, and cascading grate of syllables not meant for human or any tongue. A chant that twisted down corridors of sound never to be pursued. Syllables that tore at the ear, that shattered the normal reality. And, as they chanted, the gate grew brighter, the colours rising to putrid pinks and yellows and oranges. A sound began from the gate, a nearly inaudible grumble, the scrape of rock on rock, of reality on damnation. And the smells, the stenches rose, higher and higher. The cultists continued their chant, their voices rising higher and higher.

Yvarra pulled her ears tight against her skull, tried to hide from the ''sound'' but there was no escape. Just like there was no escape from the ''thing''. Even though it wasn't the darkness night of this year, it was close enough. Now was ''his'' time. ''He'' was ready. ''He'' would come to the world and remake it. ''He''--

No! You will not have Ansela!

With a sound like tearing rock, Yvarra tore her soul from its hypnotism. She stood up, her alicorn glowing a healing light that battered against the pulsing colours from beyond space, from beyond time, that poured form the gate. A solitary hope. A single soul refusing to give up. Her body filled as her alicorn ''glowed''. She screamed, a sound of anger, of hatred, of hope. She threw herself against the gate, praying she’d done enough--

With the sound of tearing metal, of metal straining to maintain its order in the chaos pouring onto it from beyond, the bolt she'd worked at so hard and so long snapped with a sound of blessed ''normality''. The gate flung open, its ill-made hinges squeaking and complaining.

Yvarra was free!

The door clanged open, the chanting continued, the gate swirled, though she could see that the rabbit could see her. Lowering her head, she ran towards him, faster and faster, diving towards the bastard who had tortured her for days, weeks, months. A small part of sanity grabbed her poor battered fedora where it’d been left on the ground to rot--

And then she slammed into him.

There was no resistance. Her alicorn, glistening in the flickering amber light passed through the scrawny rabbit’s skull like a hot knife through butter. The chant faltered, as the rabbit gurgled his last. He whispered, loud enough that Yvarra could hear, his voice the voice of the damned, without hope: “Eli curse you, you lying bastard!”

Somehow Yvarra knew the rabbit wasn’t talking to her.

She ran through the cultists parting before her, slowing as the weight of the rabbit dragged on the rock. Staggering to a stop almost touching the swirling pulsing gate, she lowered her alicorn and the rabbit slid off, blood oozing off like thick gelatin that glowed with an unholy radiance. Black fingers, twisting like thick tar, were sucked out of the rabbit and she heard him scream as his soul was dragged off into the gate.

She didn’t care.

Reaching down she ripped off the necklace and put it on. Spinning around, she put her soaked, twisted fedora on her head.

The ''thing'' in the gate laughed behind her.

The chanting faltered and stopped and the cultists stared.

“''Give me the One''!” The voice-- the voice was like nothing Yvarra had ever heard. Both beautiful, promising infinite forgiveness, and full of twisted insane hatred. It sang, syllables tumbling one over the other like Eli’s heavenly choir, even as they twisted and tore and shredded each other moments later.

With a shock Yvarra realized it was coming from the gate behind her.

Was the thing through? It couldn’t be. It couldn’t! What was she going to do? ''What''?

Screaming and growling the cultists charged her, all five, brandishing the staffs and drawing short swords.

Yvarra turned away and fled. Not towards the gate, dear Klepnos not towards the gate! She ran off at an angle, her hooves clicking on the stone, their lobes stretching and twisting so that she somehow kept from falling.

The ''thing'' in the gate laughed.

What to do? What to do?

A dull tone, piercing, full of agony and pain called to her. It pierced the rising hum of the gate that tore at her bones, ripped at her ears, and gave her some hope, even as it sobbed out its pain.

It was the ''Sword of Songs''.

She remembered it lying there, bent, rusty, dull. And yet-- it had to be better than nothing. Curving her course towards it, she leaned down, grabbing it as energy filled her. Turning, she faced her enemies, the gate behind them, the ''thing'' laughing at her. Laughing at them all. The sword glowed, it’s light burning bright and clear and ''normal'' as it sang, as it healed, straightening and sharpening itself, humming with eagerness in her hand.

“Maybe you are the key to the gate--" Yvarra mumbled.

She had time for no more as the cultists swarmed upon her. Using what little she'd learned, she parried the bone staves, and stabbed, but the cultists knew what they were doing. Time and again she needed her alicorn to save her neck. Somehow she was flush with energy, full of vitality and strength. Wherefrom, she had no clue. Yet, there were so many, if she faltered for even a second--

Step by step she was forced back. Forced back to the gate swirling now in mustard yellows and sickly whites. She could hear the ''thing'' laughing; she could feel its ''presence''.

“''To me! Give her to me and all you wish will be yours''!”

She shoved the ''Sword of Songs'' against one cultist, two more battered on her alicorn with their staves as she swung it wildly around. Growing more and more desperate she swung it, tearing into the cloth of a lion as he leapt backward preventing further injury.

The gate howled its hunger and she could feel a pulsing ice against her back as rusty claws tore into her soul, tearing, pulling. She almost stumbled, her strength, wherever it had come from, was fading--

One of the cultists screamed as a heavy black arrow passed through is chest, clacking off of her alicorn. Gurgling he fell, and she watched the sickly tar of his soul being sucked out into the gate.

“''More! More! Drive the One to me''!”

Klepnos! The death of the cultists was going to be enough to release the ''thing''!

In her hands the ''Sword of Songs'' sang the march it had whispered at her at the fountain so long ago. A military march of hope and glee. But-- but ''what was she going to do''?

The cultists pressed their attack and she stepped back as a staff slammed into her side, knocking the wind out of her. Somehow she raised the ''Sword of Songs'' as blows rained down upon.

“''Give me the One! Free me''!”

A roar burst through the cavern and an immense white tiger bowled into the cultists, fighting with claws and teeth and sword. A monstrous tiger. Oberon? But-- how? ''How in the Seven Hells did he get here''?

The ''thing'' in the gate screamed and howled. Another soul got sucked down, and another. The essence of deluded fools screaming as they were dragged to eternal torment. She had to close the gate. Had to close it ''now''. The cultists-- Klepnos, if ''they'' all died-- Would it be enough?

She spun around, turned to face the gate. It was all a face now, inhumanly handsome and perfect. Full of ageless wisdom and kindness.

And with glowing silver eyes that glistened with insanity.

“''Free! After all these eons''!”

What to do? What to do? The ''Sword of Songs''! The leader had tried to destroy it. It had to be the key. “Keep them busy!” she screamed, raising the ''Sword of Songs'' and running towards the gate.

It wasn’t like running on rock. To her eyes she was, but she could feel her hooves sink into what had been solid stone as though it was a thick mud. The air, it was like walking through taffy, dragging and clinging at her. The gate grew, larger, larger, far more monstrous than it could possibly be. It glimmered now, shining in gold and silver white as the face grew more and more solid.

Step by step she shoved herself forward. Closer and closer, the world twisting more and more. Angles twisting into impossibilities. The face growing larger and larger. Combed and braided hair appeared, gold in colour. A noble neck—

“''Free! Free''!”

Another thick twisted tarry strand soul got sucked down, swirling and twisting into one of its nostrils as the thing laughed.

The ''Sword of Songs'' was above her now. It was silent. The world was silent. No sound, nothing but the looming face. It was impossible to miss. She struck, swinging the ''Sword of Songs'' down. The blade twisting, the tip stretching from the base, the blade moving down impossible paths. It slammed into the face, she could feel the impact in her hand, up her arm--

And the ''thing'' laughed. A warm laugh of delightful humour that decayed into a mocking cackle of insanity that rose like a howling banshee, echoing and reverberating, growling louder and louder.

By all the Gods--

Yvarra struck again, and again. Nothing, nothing! She could feel it clawing at her soul, pulling it, pulling it out-- Her alicorn glowed with silver brightness, holding her soul back.

Why was the sword not working? ''Why''?

And she remembered--

''Alicorn it will''
''Close the shining gate''

It wasn’t the sword. It was ''herself''. Her alicorn.

For a moment ice gripped her soul. Shove her alicorn, her ''essence'' into ''that''?

It’s mocking laughter grew louder and louder. She could see shoulders now.

And, in her mind she could see Ansela’s trusting eyes--

If that's what it'll take, that's what it'll take. No regrets!

Lowering her head, she charged towards the gate. Her alicorn pierced the air that was thick as tar, staying straight and burning with a rich golden light. It stayed straight as dimensions spun and tore around it and she ran and ran—

And her alicorn pierced the ''thing’s'' neck.

It screamed. It begged. It cried. It sobbed. It thanked her. It cursed her.

Her alicorn slid into its stoney flesh, drawing the swirling energies of the gate into it, glowing with a radiance of all colours. But, whereas the gate’s light burned the soul, the light from her alicorn healed, blessed. Restored normality to the universe.

Time stopped. Her alicorn slid in further and further. The last cultist died. It’s soul swept towards her, swirled around her alicorn, the strands that tied it to the ''thing'' tearing, letting it escape to its destiny. And the thing-- the thing--

Whimpered. “''Please-- please-- it's been so long. So very, ''very'' long--''"

Her alicorn kept sliding in further and further, all of its length being swallowed by the ''thing'' in the gate.

But-- but ''was'' it a ''thing''? It was--

“I’m so alone-- so very ''very'' alone. Please-- mercy-- you're the ones who drove us to our madness. Haven’t we paid enough?”

She looked up into the ''thing’s'' eyes as they looked down at her, eyes filled with the light of sanity for the first time in unknown eons. Her alicorn slid further and further in. Would it stop?

“Well you-- come, come and join me! Stay with me. A--" The voice turned dark and cold, glistening with hints of insanity. “--toy, a thing. To keep me company. To pay, oh to pay!”

The ''Sword of Songs'' fell from her fingers and she leaned backwards, hooves scrabbling on the wet ''normal'' stone. But, remorsely, her alicorn slid further and further in, pulling her with it.

No, ''no''! This couldn’t be the price-- couldn't!

She could feel the ''thing'' being pushed back. Around the wall of her alicorn it scratched and clawed, but it was imprisoned. Pushed back inch by inch as divine energies poured from all the world into the alicorn, and from the alicorn into the gate. Closing it. Dulling it.

The alicorn-- the alicorn. It wasn’t her, it was her alicorn! She could get rid of it, she could be free. She could fulfill her mission, and live!

''If she was right''.

She wanted to live!

“Please--" the thing whispered. “Don’t leave me alone-- Please--"

She didn’t want to! She didn’t deserve it! She dug her hooves in but the alicorn sank further, dragging her remorselessly forward.

''Or do you''? a part of her whispered.

Raising the ''Sword of Songs'' she tried to strike at her alicorn. To cut it off.

To cut off her very essence--

It was all she could do to ''live''!

If she was right. ''If''.

Ansela’s face appeared in her eyes. Trusting. Innocent.

No! “''No''!” She couldn’t take the risk. If stopping the ''thing'' would cost her life. Then-- so be it!

She flung the ''Sword of Songs'' away so that she couldn’t be tempted. Cymbals clashed, the sword was angry.

But it had to be done.

She was sucked further and further in. A nobility settled upon her. Her entire life had led to this moment. This supreme sacrifice for the good for the world. For the good of Ansela.

“Please stay with me--" the saintly voice whispered.

Oberon appeared beside her, sword and claws bloody. He glistened white in the rainbow of colours pouring from her alicorn. He shouted something she couldn’t hear in the silence. He grabbed her, tried to drag her back, but her remorseless advance continued. She struggled, fought him, not knowing if he could hear her or if his world was as silent as hers.

He let go, raising his sword. An ancient thing of power and wisdom.

“No! ''No no no no''!” She threw her arms in its path, but the steel swung through them, tearing at her flesh, opening her arm to the bone.

And slamming into her alicorn. In and through.

Pain. Pain like nothing she had ever experienced. Pain as her soul was ripped asunder, as her essence was torn--

{{series bar
|previous=[[User:Michael Bard/From the Other Side|From the Other Side]]
|next=[[User:Michael Bard/Between the Worlds|Between the Worlds]]}}

User:Michael Bard/From the Other Side

2008-12-22T00:04:14Z

Michael Bard: Final version

{{title|name=From the Other Side|author=Michael Bard|user=Michael Bard}}
{{Comment tag}}[[Category:Metamor Keep]]
[[Category:Michael Bard]]
[[Category:Story]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:From the Other Side}}
[[Category:Anthropomorphic]][[Category:Cervine]][[Category:Mythical]]
'''November, 707 CR'''

Kane crouched in the massive chamber lit only by the flickering blue-purple of the slowly swirling portal. Oh, it wasn't open ''yet'', but the time was getting closer and closer. Soon the stars would be ''right'', the One would be sacrificed, and Kane would get his dreams.

''Bring me through and I will restore your humanity''.

“My humanity--" Kane whispered to himself.

Closing his eyes he remembered. The Battle of the Three Gates. The spell coiling inside him, corrupting him, warping his human form into the twisted rabbit he was now cursed to be. The beast overpowering him, his flight to his family--

And his arrival there just in time to watch the lutin kill them all. Watch them kill his wife Mary and their newborn son. And he, ''he'', trapped in this useless cursed ''thing'' could only cower and watch.

His body burned with hatred.

“Yes. My humanity.”

''Bring me The One. Bring her, give her unto me, and all you desire shall be yours''.

And Kane desired ''so'' much. A return to humanity. The final destruction of Nasoj. The curing of so many that had been cursed. A redemption of his soul, of all their souls. A return of normality he could place at the feet of the Duke.

Oh, he wanted it--

''I await. I hunger. Soon. Soon''!

Oh, Kane was sure everything promised was a lie. But it was a useful lie. It could be true, but-- but if it wasn’t, well then the destruction of the world would take Nasoj down with it.

Destroy him. Avenge his family. And then die and join them as he should have.

He turned, his robe rustling behind him, and hopped along the wet stone to his lair. It wasn’t much. A small tunnel, an old carpet, a witchlight hanging against the wall. But, it was all he needed. And, in it he felt safe. Safe--

----

“Kane!”

Looking up from the lime-tainted water he’d been licking up from the wall, he answered, in his high pitched squeaky voice. “What?”

“We have the One!”

Blinking, Kane looked at Galia, now a child, facing him. Her robe was bloody, but her child’s eyes glowed with fanaticism. “Alive?” Kane really didn’t care which -- The One had already cost him ''far'' too dearly to take any chances with. He’d sent the dagger she’d killed Graffon with as bait for the watch. He'd ordered other families killed to hide the cult. All because she’d proven herself so dangerous that he'd rather have her dead at anybody’s hands, if that was what was necessary. There were barely ten of his followers left after what ''she’d'' done. And, the summoning could occur without her, it would just have to wait longer. But-- “How many?”

“How--? Seven.”

Seven-- And that left five more, plus himself. Six for the summoning, six for the final reward.

''Six is enough''.

They had trusted him, and now they were dead. Dead at the hands of the so-called ''One''. He so, ''so'' wanted to kill her.

''Sacrifice her to me''.

“Is she conscious?” he asked.

“Daffyd is putting her into the cage. We stripped her naked, searched her to make sure she was hiding nothing.”

“Search her ''again''!”

“I-- as you wish. And-- the sword.” With that Galia pulled the cursed blade out from beneath his robe and threw it onto the stone in front of the rabbit.

Kane could feel the blade’s hatred. A snarl crept onto his lips as the ''thing'' screamed at him with a cacophony of mistuned strings. Picking it up, he held it so that he could see his lapine visage in the polished metal. “You will close the gate?”

The blade roared out a challenge of trumpets but that was it.

“So much for you.” With that, Kane turned the blade and began beating it against the wet stone, beating the side of its blade on the cold and unyielding rock again and again. Beating the thing as he remembered all the damage the sword and the One had done to him. Beating the thing with all his hatred for Nasoj.

The sword screamed with each hit, screams of pain or defiance, or--

It didn’t matter. Kane didn’t care as the blade stubbornly refused to break even as it bent and its razor edge dulled. Beating it again and again, Kane screamed at it, the piteous scream of a child coming from a rabbit’s twisted body. Screaming again and again until even the sounded faded to first a whimper, and then to silence. Silence but for the gasping of Kane’s breath as he held the blade, its stubbornly unshattered tip resting on the stone.

“Take me to her.”

Galia turned away, and Kane hopped after in short steps, the tips of his ears brushing against the wet ceiling.

With each bounce the cursed sword clanged onto the stone as he dragged it behind him.

----

The cage was made of twisted scraps of heavy rusted iron. There was no plan to it, no right angles. Just whatever the cult could get welded and bound together. Dafydd was hammering a twisted bar of metal around the door to seal it forever. And inside--

Kane stared. So, this was ''The One''.

She didn’t look like much. Her chest was covered in blood; her breath bubbled and wheezed from blood-splattered lips. The leather jacket she wore was torn, almost to shreds, hanging on only by its sleeves. Her pants were caked in mud and dirt. Clasped in her hands was a battered fedora, stained, muddy, but being held like Mary had held--

Screaming he hopped to the cage and swung the bent blade down towards her skull. Towards the still gleaming pearl of her alicorn.

''She must be sacrificed to me''!

Somehow Kane dragged his arm to the side so that the sword clanged against the stone.

Panting he glared at the cause of so much trouble. The light was a bit brighter, the patterns a bit more active, as the blue-purple flickered across her caked white fur. She looked scrawny. Limbs too long, sticks extending from a tiny body that was nothing but scar and bone. Her muzzle was thin, over long, stretched into a rictis around the bone of her skull. And the alicorn-- He glared at it, and swore it was glaring back at him. A thing of twisted bone, pale white and sharp. Oh so very ''very'' sharp.

“Wake her!”

Galia walked over and dumped of bucket of muddy icy water on her. The creature’s form shuddered, it coughed and gagged. As Kane watched the wounds slowly closed.

“You wanted to kill me.”

No motion.

“Cut the crap! You’re conscious. I can smell it, and I can see it!”

With a moan, she raised her muzzle and looked at him. The blue of her eyes was deep, so deep, like Mar--

“Damn you! Damn you to all nine of the hells!”

As he watched, she slowly worked the fedora back into something approaching its proper shape, and then put it on her head, slipping a slot in the brim over her alicorn.

Ignoring him.

Holding out a hand, he felt Hani put his whip into his paw. It wasn’t like the whip ''The One'' had carried, but a cruel thing tipped in glass and shards of metal. Kane took a step back and snapped the whip inches from the unicorn’s ear.

“Face me, Eli damn you! ''Face me''!”

She turned away.

Screaming, Kane slashed the whip across her arm, its edge digging into the fur, into the flesh, splattering her body with fresh crimson.

''Face me''!

“Klepnos take you,” she whispered.

Kane coiled the whip. “We have all the time in the world, you and I. All the time we can ever need.” Holding the sword in one hand and the whip in the other, he struck her again and again. He could see the pain flicker through her eyes, but she refused to look at him, keeping her fists clenched.

He snapped the whip and knocked the fedora from her head.

Something glistened, and Kane stared. It was a gem, black in the distorted light, with a glittering metal chain.

“You said you’d searched her! Stripped her!”

Her hand snaked towards the gem but he was faster. His whip snapped, curling around the chain, yanking the necklace off and out of the cage, its chain snapping and tinkling against the rock floor. Tossing the sword far from her reach, hopping to the cage, he grabbed it before she could.

“But-- we checked for magic--"

“You didn’t check hard enough.” Holding the gem up by one piece of its chain he looked at it.

''Now'' she looked at him.

“You want this, don’t you?”

A glob of spit splatted on the damp stone just before one of his large, scratched and bloody, rabbit paws.

“You’ve lost it. Like you’ve lost the game.” Tying the chain together, he put it around his neck. “Do you know how much I hate you? Do you ''know''?”

She glared.

“Oh-- I’ll teach you. By Eli I’ll teach you what hate ''really'' means.” He raised his whip.

*snap* *snapsnap*

The leather weapon rose again and again, snapping across her body like the caresses of a lover. Enough to cause pain, so ''very'' much pain. But never ''ever'' enough to kill her.

And Kane had all the time in the world--

----

Days passed. Weeks. Kane didn't know, and he didn't care. He’d stopped to sleep, stopped to let the pain of her wounds speak to her. He’d doused her in brine, whipped the same point over and over again. Only stopping for her to eat the slop he wouldn’t feed a lutin.

''It is time''.

Never had she said a word. Never!

Defiant. That’s what she was. Defiant, and he’d teach her--

''No! The time for the sacrifice is ''now''. The time of my return is ''now.

“''No''!”

''Yes! You want my gift? Or should I talk to'' another?

Kane spun around and glared at the gate. It was brighter now, a slowing swirling pool of bubbling blues and purples and reds. Sometimes a face could be seen. Beautific. Wondrous. Other times-- Other times the snarling mindlessness of insanity.

He threw the whip away, screaming out the pain in his soul. Damn her. Damn her to every hell in the universe! Clenching his fists, he slowly straightened his water stained robe. “It is time. You know your places. Our salvation is at hand!”

“Our salvation!”

Kane turned to face the gate, arms upraised. Three cultists forming on one side of him, two on the other. They all crouched down and prayed to their lord beyond the gate. And, as they prayed they chanted. The gate grew brighter, the colours rising to putrid pinks and oranges and yellows.

Yvarra screamed--

{{series bar
|previous=[[User:Michael Bard/On the Hunt|On the Hunt]]
|next=[[User:Michael Bard/The Summoning|The Summoning]]}}

User:Michael Bard/On the Hunt

2008-12-22T00:02:17Z

Michael Bard: Final version

{{title|name=On the Hunt|author=Michael Bard|user=Michael Bard}}
{{Comment tag}}[[Category:Metamor Keep]]
[[Category:Michael Bard]]
[[Category:Story]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:On the Hunt}}
[[Category:Anthropomorphic]][[Category:Cervine]][[Category:Mythical]]
'''Late October, 707 CR'''

Oberon was ''not'' a happy giant white tiger. He should be back, he had work, duties, but this was about ''honour''.

One of ''his'' weapons had been used to ''murder'' and he was ''honour bound'' to deal with the problem.

It seemed though that the watch had beaten him to the unicorn. Well, once she was imprisoned, he could deal with her as he needed to. Maybe their methods were better than his looming and demanding information. Lutins were so much easier to deal with -- find them, kill them.

Oberon pushed through the crowd, though they more just moved away from him. The only thing comparable to his size was an oxen, but even he gave way.

Just a bit longer-- No! ''No''!

The unicorn leapt from the roof she was trapped on into the stench of a harbour.

Mindless of those around him, Oberon bounded through the mud and barely slid to a stop on the worn wood, his claws tearing into it. A few last struggles and she sank out of sight. "By the blistered backsides of the three Forsaken Ones--” Oberon just stared as the water bubbled and gurgled, and then stilled to match the rest. His claws snicked in and out of his fingers.

“She’ll survive somehow--"

Half drawing his sword, Oberon spun around, to see the goat who’d come to question him standing a few feet away, other armed forms behind him. Oberon forced himself to relax. She couldn’t have lived-- and yet-- he ''knew'' she still lived. She still had one of ''his'' daggers and that told him. “She lives--"

“This is the business of the Euper Watch, not the Longs.”

Oberon growled, looking down at the goat who stood his ground, though some of his men stepped backward. “It is a matter of my honour.”

“I don’t care! When she’s captured you can question her. Until then, just let us do what we have to! For all ''any'' of us know maybe this supposed cult is real--”

Oberon stared, tail whipping back and forth even though he slowly slid his sword back into its sheath.

The goat called out an order, and the guards turned into formation and marched away. Watching them was the crowd, though none were throwing anything.

Oberon clenched his fists and stalked back to the keep.

----

Oberon stood as Misha, in his 'taur form, paced back and forth in front of him. He was ''still'' looking down at the old fox, but--

"Oberon, I know you're new here, but, by Eli, you can't just forego your duties on a whim!"

"It is a matter of honour--"

"I! Don't! Care! After the Battle of the Three Gates, relations have always been a bit touchy with Euper. They lost a ''lot'' of trade because of the curse. We only operate there with ''their permission''!"

"It was--"

"I don't care about your Eli damned honour!" The foxtaur was standing before him, his muzzle pressed into Oberon's chest just below his neck. The stench of his rage filled the room as he waved his arms about, looking up at him, poking a clawed finger into his chest. "You have ''duties''! And, such duties are ''far'' more important than any insane personal ven--"

Oberon hissed out through clenched teeth. "She murdered ''children''!"

Misha shoved a clawed finger into Oberon's chest so hard that a drop of blood appeared. "She is ''suspected'' of killing children. The Euper Watch will deal with it. And, ''when'' they deal with it, then and ''only then'' will you have a chance to talk to this unicorness!"

"If they ever do--"

"Oberon, ''if'' they want or need our help, then ''they'' will ask for it! Our purpose is to deal with lutins and threats against the state -- not some wacko murdering thief down there! If we're told to, then we will do so. But, ''nobody has told us''! So--"

"She is using ''my'' weapons to murder! To murder ''children''!"

Misha growled and turned away. "Are you ''sure''? I've read the reports -- the Euper Watch sent them to me as a ''courtesy''. The evidence is based solely on a magical identification of a dagger. There are no witnesses. No other magical evidence. Maybe, just ''maybe'' you should hear ''her'' side of the story."

"But--"

"I think I met her, and if I'm right, Madog liked her. Won't hold up in court, but that's not my problem." He turned around and shoved the bloody claw back into Oberon's chest. "Nor is it yours!

"I let you into the Longs not only because you're a good fighter. I let you in because you had command skills, and could follow orders. ''I put my neck out for you''! And now-- ''now'' you ignore your duties, tromp around in Euper when you ''should be working''!"

"But--"

"I don't care! But then, I told you that already. Get to your damn forge and don't leave until everything is taken care of. I mean ''everything''!"

"But--"

With a visible effort, Misha forced some calm, though his tail still looked like a bristling rats nest of hairs. "Fine! You are restricted to the Long House. You can order food, you've got your forge, you've got your quarters. Now just haul your Eli-forsaken ass out of here!"

"But--"

"Talk to me in a month!"

Looking as sheepish as a giant monster white tiger could look, Oberon turned and left.

Misha was right. He had obligations. He had family now -- he needed to pick up little Garen from day care. But-- but--

The daggers made with ''his'' soul were being used to ''murder children''! In their beds. In the most cowardly way imaginable!

He wanted to scream out his frustration, but he'd gotten enough warnings already over his volume.

This ''Yvarra'' didn't ''deserve'' a trial!

But--

Oberon stopped, tail whipping back and forth. He'd poked around for a couple of weeks, and found nothing. There was no way he could go into the harbour after her. All he ''did'' know was that she wasn't dead. And she was still fairly close.

A warrior fights with his mind.

Oberon needed information. The goat had mentioned something about a cult. Maybe Cutter would know something. Maybe the old librarian would give him some idea of where the murderess was hiding.

Maybe--

Shoving his rage into a small box, he forced a smile onto his muzzle and went on his way to get Garen. The little monster probably needed changing, but that was life. And, he did have forging obligations. Smithing always helped him think.

Get intelligence and then kill the murderess.

Pushing open the door to the day care he smiled and little Garen bounded and ran into his arms. "Papa! Papa!"

And yes, he ''did'' need to be changed--

----

<nowiki>*</nowiki>clangclangclinkclang*

There was a large backlog. Nothing major, just general wear and tear. The Long's had needed their own smith for a long time, and now that they had one they were making use of him.

<nowiki>*</nowiki>clangclinkclangclang*

He couldn't blame them. There were few smiths of his quality. At least it was mostly minor things -- normal wear and tear.

<nowiki>*</nowiki>clinkclangclangclink*

And, the last few weeks as he'd concentrated on his work ''had'' calmed down. It was painful when he was wrong and someone else was right, but it ''did'' happen on occasion.

<nowiki>*</nowiki>clangclang* He tossed the arrowhead into the cooling oil. *gurzzle* Another one down, a thousand more to go. With that he gave a long ''long'' stretch and put down the hammer. Just a bit more today and he'd be done. He picked up a blade nearly done and began filing and polishing its edge. It wasn't a new one, just dull from wear. It didn't take long, and then that was it for the day.

A warrior fought with his mind. And, to deal with this Yvarra, Oberon needed information. It had taken him a while to ferret out information -- Misha wasn't talking about what he knew -- but Oberon had finally found out that the goat down in Euper and gotten the whole story of what the murderess had said about a cult. That might be a place to start -- it might give him something to go by, or, at least, some idea as to what her aims and tactics might be.

At least it was ''something''.

And, at least, as far as he'd heard, there hadn't been any more murders.

Going to the water basin, he dipped in a cloth and wiped his facial fur and arms, then pulled off the heavy leather apron and hung it up. Talk to Fox Cutter first, then maybe a bath, then pick up his son, and--

Chucklesighing, he remembered that his life had been so much ''simpler'' only a few months ago. Go out. Kill lutins. Come back. Resupply. Repeat. Oh well--

It didn't take long for Oberon to make his way through Long House to where the library was. Probably the main Keep library would have been a better place to go, but Oberon had heard about Fox from Misha and wanted to meet him. And, this is as good an excuse as any. Stopping at the door clearly labeled in gold ''Library'', he knocked

"You don't need to knock you know," came through the heavy wood, muffled. Oberon thought it was Fox Cutter's voice, but he'd only been introduced once so wasn't sure.

Shrugging, he pushed the door open. The room before him was filled with numerous bookshelves arranged in neat rows crowding the room almost to claustrophobia except for the corner by the door. Shadow was everywhere, the only light source a glowing magelight hanging above the open lounge in one corner. The lounge was the only open area, though even it had a small fireplace. It was lit to keep out the winter chill, the books and scrolls protected by a metal screen in front of the flames. There were two large thickly stuffed chairs that just screamed ''comfort'',and a large table buried in books with more chairs around it. The only occupant of the room was a fox, one leg propped on a cushion, the cloth of the pants he was wearing hanging oddly. He was sitting by the fire, cane propped beside him, a thin book in his lap. From the colour on the binding, it looked like one of those ''CSI: Metamor'' books that were being printed.

"Well, come in," said the fox. "You're letting a draft in, and it's already cold enough."

Oberon walked in and pushed the door shut behind him, the wood booming loudly against the frame even though he'd ''tried'' to be gentle.

"So-- Oberon I think? -- what can I do for you?"

Oberon realized that he didn't have a lot to offer, but-- "What do you know about secret cults?"

Carefully marking his place, Cutter closed the book. "Well-- the colloquial description is an organization devoted either to a divinity, or a charismatic individual. Typically secretive, often considered evil by those not in the know. Doubt that's much help to you."

"I probably should not have come--"

"Of course, you could be looking for information specific to a unicorn--"

Oberon stopped, tail still, ears perked.

"People talk you know, and it's not secret. And, I've gotten interested. Pyat, one of the junior librarians in the Keep, passed some info on to me when he heard what was going on."

"Going on?"

"You know very well!" Cutter winced as he pushed himself onto his one good leg. Picking up his cane, he hobbled over to the table. "I was just looking it up here. Pyat had certain-- doubts about the seriousness Mael-Murie treated this with. Especially given what's been going on--" The fox stopped. Putting on a pair of ornate glasses that were sitting on one of the books, he heaved more off a massive tome that covered almost half the table, piling them onto stacks that looked like they should have fallen over eons ago. "Now--"

Oberon walked over, cautious to not touch any of the precarious piles.

"There it is." Cutter opened the book to a scribbled pair of pages, one covered in an eye-searing tangle of lines and shapes forming a sign. "The King in Yellow. Odd-- I remember reading a book by that title, Chambers really got Washington in the '20s wrong. Anyway, from what Pyat told me, this is the cult the unicorn is involved in. Nasty ''nasty'' thing."

"Oh?"

"One of many doomsday cults. Apparently cults that use this sign are devoted to summoning horrors that are better left undiscussed out of where they rightfully belong. But, there's more--" The fox left the book open to the eye-searing symbol, and pulled a smaller volume off one of the shorter piles. It wobbled but didn't fall. A scrap of parchment marked a spot, and he opened it to that page. "It seems that our friend Kyia isn't just here for laughs. Amongst Eli knows what else, this--" he tapped the page, "-- states that the Titan known as Nathales ''may'' be imprisoned below the keep. Far below. The elves weren't--"

Oberon leaned over to try and read the scribbled flowing text.

"Don't bother, very old form of Elvish -- doubt another book written in this dialect exists. Anyway, the elves knew of something of great power trapped far below us, and believed it to be one of the Titans. The best guess of the writer here is that it is Nathales, but he didn't know for sure. And no mortal alive today knows."

"So this cult could be real--"

"The Titans were some of the most powerful beings created by the Elders, and all have long been insane from their imprisonment. If one was released--" Cutter shuddered and turned to face Oberon. "If this is all real, then you better pray to everything you hold dear that the Titan never ''ever'' gets out. If he does, Nasoj will be the ''least'' of our concerns. So, if the unicorn is working to free them, she must be stopped. And, if she is working to stop this cult, then," Cutter poked a finger into Oberon's chest, "you better make ''damn'' sure she succeeds."

"But-- if this is all true-- shouldn't the churches, the Longs, hell ''everybody'' be working to stop this? At any cost?"

"Oh, ''if'' it's true-- but-- there is no proof. If a Titan is imprisoned here, nobody knows for sure. Kyia isn't saying. Wouldn't she be one to know? And yet--" He sighed. "There are concrete problems others are dealing with. Wounds to heal from the Winter Assault. We all just go on as best we can. All I'm saying is that if you do find the unicorn, you better make ''absolutely'' sure you know what is going on before you kill her."

Oberon growled. "How do you know--"

"Misha told me."

"This is a personal matter of honour."

"Is it? ''If'' any of what I've told you is true, it is ''not'' personal. It affects ''everybody'' on this world. Maybe if you ''thought'' instead--"

Oberon roared and grabbed the fox by his neck, claws out.

Cutter swallowed. "And-- are you going to-- kill me?"

With a force of will, Oberon loosened his grip. Turning, he stomped away, opening the door, and slamming it behind him.

----

Nobody said a world to Oberon as he stalked down the hall. All they did was get out of his way.

How ''dare'' Cutter insult his ability to function as a warrior!

Life had been so simple before he came to this place. So damned simple!

He had to go and pick up Garen. But-- not like this. He couldn't!

Yanking the door open to his forge, Oberon stalked in. Some work, get the rage and frustration out of his system. This was a matter of ''honour''! And, and--

And there was a new door that had not been there before. Something placed there by Kyia. She was always doing that -- and never without reason.

Oberon walked up to it.

The door was like nothing he'd seen before. Not made of wood, it was made from a single piece of rough-hewn stone. The handle was a hole drilled into the rock, and he could see it turn downwards so he could grip onto something. There was no sign of hinges. And no labels, no signs, no dust-- Though the stone glistened with water.

Right after he got information on this ''cult'' from Fox Cutter this door appears. The two had to be related. Assuming any bit of what Cutter had said was true, why had the door not appeared sooner? Unless--

Unless he ''needed'' to know.

It didn't matter! All he knew was that this meant he had to ''go'' and he had to go ''now''. So--

Action calming his soul, Oberon turned and walked down to pick up Garen. Holding the cub tight, he turned to Lisa. "I need your help."

"What can I do?"

"I need to go. And-- and have you seen Kristinai around? I need to talk to her?"

"Papa has to go?" Garen asked.

Oberon kissed the child's forehead. "I'm sorry-- it's important. I wouldn't go otherwise."

"Actually I'm right here, Oberon."

Oberon spun around to look into the eyes of his snow leopard mate, "Kristinai?"

Garen's eyes glistened. "Papa-- papa come back?"

Oberon hugged his adopted son fiercely. "I will come back. I promise you."

"Where are you going?" Kristinai asked. "Do you know how long? Does Misha know?"

"I--" Oberon swallowed. "A-- door appeared in my smithy. Right after Fox Cutter told me that whatever this unicorn is involved in, could be critical to the fate of the world. I do not know what to believe-- but the coincidence is too much. It is like-- like I can feel time pulling at me"

"What if it's a trap? A test?"

"It could only have been Kyia. And do you think she'd trick me, trick any of us?"

"I-- no." She looked away. "And let me guess-- I have to stay here, take care of Garen whilst you get all the glory."

"Papa leave?"

"I-- It's not for glory!" Oberon sighed. "I-- I wish you could-- but Kyia made the door in my forge, not our rooms. It-- I do not know how-- and it is personal! A matter of honour!"

"Honour? Is that more important than us? Than our son?"

"No! Yes! It's-- it's just something I have to do. Here." Before he could change his mind, Oberon pulled his son's arms from his shoulder and passed him over to Kristinai. "Take care of him-- I have to-- have to go."

"Papa?"

"Oberon! Don't you do this! Don't--"

"Oberon turned and fled."

"''Papa''?"

----

Oberon was back in his forge, getting ready for war. He had his sword, his bow, helm, what body armour he had -- he really needed to make himself a proper suit -- he'd grabbed rations, a lantern, other equipment. And--

And he realized he had everything.

"Oberon, what are you doing?"

The white tiger spun around and looked at Misha standing in the open door to his forge.

"Do you not ever knock?"

"I told you ''specifically'' not to leave! And, do you have any idea how Kristinai felt when she found me?"

"And what do you want me to ''do''?" Oberon pointed at the dripping door behind him. "Kyia puts ''this'' here, Cutter tells me about doomsday cults and imprisoned Titans. Why would this door appear ''now''?"

"''If'' this is a threat, ''if'', we'll do it together. Come with me, let's talk to Cutter, get more information, figure out what we should do--"

"And ''why'' is the door in ''my'' forge?"

"It--"

"If it was for ''all'' the Longs would not it be in the hall? Or anywhere else? But it's ''here''! It is a stain on ''my'' honour, and ''I'' must deal with it! And I can feel time pressing--"

"Honour-- who the hell cares about ''your'' honour? How do you know this isn't bigger than that?"

"It does not matter!" Oberon spun back around and shoved his paw into the handle. With all his strength he yanked, and stone ground on stone with a sound that shook his bones. Leaning into it he dragged it open, further and further.

"Don't do this!"

The gap was finally big enough for Oberon to fit through. Stalking over, he lit the lantern from the forge and stomped back.

"Oberon--"

"Do not ask me for what I cannot do." With that, Oberon walked through the door. On its own it ground shut behind him.

Misha stared, and, after a minute, turned away. "Good luck."

{{series bar
|previous=[[User:Michael Bard/Into the Darkness|Into the Darkness]]
|next=[[User:Michael Bard/From the Other Side|From the Other Side]]}}

User:Michael Bard/Into the Darkness

2008-12-21T23:59:58Z

Michael Bard: Final version

{{title|name=Into the Darkness|author=Michael Bard|user=Michael Bard}}
{{Comment tag}}[[Category:Metamor Keep]]
[[Category:Michael Bard]]
[[Category:Story]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Into the Depths}}
[[Category:Anthropomorphic]][[Category:Cervine]][[Category:Mythical]]
'''October, 707 CR'''

Yvarra was miserable.

Nearly a month. A month of murder. A month of killing her soul night by night. She was afraid of everything now. Never going to inns or taverns, scrounging through the garbage for what she could get, sneaking nibbles off rooftop gardens between her endless search.

She'd tried eating food in the houses of those she-- she--

No! She would ''not'' sugar coat the facts.

The houses of those she'd ''murdered''. She'd subsisted off food there, until the cult began poisoning it. Likely not all of it, but it took more energy to heal herself from the poison than she'd gain trying to find out if any was poisoned.

If they had left anything other than meat uncontaminated.

Her stomachs grumbled and the ''Sword of Songs'' hummed against her back, offering what support it could.

So, here she was. Wet, coated in mud from the cold rain that had fallen on and off over the last three days. Cold, hungry, miserable.

But, what could she do?

So much of her just wanted to leave. To walk out through the town gates, leave Metamor and never come back.

Only two things kept her here though. Two. Her word -- though that was wearing thin -- and the little girl-- Ansela. Her trusting face, her utter belief that tomorrow would be warm and sunny and safe. That every day that was to come would be warm and sunny and safe.

The trust and hope in her eyes were all that kept Yvarra going.

It was late afternoon, the sun had found a crack between the buildings and into the alley she was hiding in the back of, sleeping during the day, hidden in garbage and abandoned refuse.

The only place she found safe anymore.

As she began stretching, she went through her daily string of curses. Cursing the cult. Cursing what they made her do. Cursing the nameless evil she was supposedly going to stop, though she wasn't doing very well at ''that'' yet. And cursing the so-called ''Lady Tarathana'' that had started her on this doomed quest.

It was getting to the point that, if she ever ''did'' succeed, she'd join a monastery and devote the rest of her life to quiet contemplation of the innocent, and far ''far'' away from the chaos and horror of the world.

Yawning, she unswallowed and chewed on a bit of dry stringy cud -- all that she had yesterday. Tonight-- tonight she'd finally have to devote herself to stealing lots of good ''safe'' food. She couldn't go on without more.

Maybe tonight she wouldn't have to k--

" In the name of the Euper Watch, and the Duke of Metamor, you are ordered to surrender to His most blessed and fair justice!"

Head whipping around, Yvarra stared. The sunlight that had found its way to her was gone, blocked by standing figures crowding the edge of the alley, and piling back into the muddy street. How in the Nine Hells--

But-- Duke of Metamor? They weren't the cult-- Weren't they?"

Licking her nostrils, she sniffed. She shoved past the mud and rain and garbage, seeking what information her nose could find. Sweat, leather, oil, a veritable menagerie of animals.

"Stand slowly. Make no sudden moves."

How in Klepnos' name had they snuck up on her. Was she ''that'' tired. Or--

She resumed cursing under her breath. The damn sword had always warned her. But, not this time. Why not this time? Why--

They were the thrice-damned watch.

But-- what could they want with her? She'd left no evidence, her alicorn had cloaked her from magic, she'd been certain no one had seen her--

Take things one step at a time. Keeping her hands in front of her, she slowly stood as a trio of guard approached. One, the leader, was a goat, the other two-- one was a woman, though built like a man, and the other was feline of some sort. Yvarra couldn't tell their colouration as the sun was behind them.

Staying still, except for her breathing, she watched, sucking air in through her nostrils, sorting through scents in the hope of finding something, anything. More and more silhouettes moved into the alley from the street outside.

How damn many watch had they set on her?

She just needed a moment. Just-- In the bathhouse her alicorn had flashed so bright it had momentarily blinded the cultists. But, she hadn't done it! Yet-- Closing her eyes, she ransacked her memories, pulling up that moment. Pulling up ''exactly'' what it had felt like--

The goat began speaking. "In the name of the Duke of Metamor, you are under arrest for mass murder. If you move, you will be killed. If--"

She had it!

Focusing only on that memory, on the memory of the sensation, she shoved her magic out and into her alicorn. And then-- it happened! Eye-searing light filled the alley, and the watch screamed, grabbing their eyes. Yvarra hoped they'd be all right, she didn't want to kill them, didn't want to kill anybody. The cultists had forced her hand, but the watch was just doing their job. She respected them.

But, she had to get out of here!

Leaping up out of the mud, her hooves scrabbled as her hands scratched, and she got a grip on the worn wood. Like a cat-- or a mountain goat-- she was up the wall and on the roofs.

"Where the hells did--" "Everybody all right?" "Where is she?" "On the roof!"

Yvarra didn't have time to hear more. Instead she ran, her hooves clopping loudly on the tiles as she ran for her life. Bolts started hissing up from the ground. They weren't aimed, and their force was somewhat expended, but there were a ''lot'' of them.

She leapt across an alley, turning towards the river. Or river tributary-- she'd never been able to find out for sure.

"She's going to the docks!"

Yes, she was. And-- Nine Hells! Somehow she'd gotten trapped, maybe herded, onto a long row of buildings that led straight to the water, a street on either side. Yvarra was trapped.

She concentrated on running, on keeping her balance on the canted roof. On landing safely when she leapt over another alley. Her breath was coming short and sharp, a pain blossomed in her chest. Her diet was catching up to her, and--

She grabbed her hat to keep it from blowing off.

And-- Could she surrender? Give herself into the Watch's custody? And then be taken to jail, if not tried and executed immediately. Trapped in a locked cell for the Cult to find her and kill her, or poison her, or knock her out, or-- whatever they wanted.

Maybe the cult had set out evidence for the Watch. Set things up to screw her. But-- She'd used daggers in the bathhouse, hadn't been able to recover them. It could be ''any'' of those. Great-- just great--

She tripped over a missing shingle and fell on her chest and chin, having learned from bitter experience to raise her head to keep her alicorn from getting caught. The calls of the watch were falling behind, but it didn't matter. She could see a crowd gathering, probably betting on whether or not she'd escape. Blood thudding in her ears, heart pounding to burst out of her chest, she staggered back onto her hooves. There wasn't much further to go. And then--

What?

The goat's voice called out from behind: "Surrender! You won't-- be harmed-- if you surrender-- peacefully." He was gasping for breath too.

Surrender-- an opportunity to rest. It seemed like such a pleasant dream-- No! She'd ''never'' been caught. It-- it was a matter of ''pride''. And-- safety. Yea, safety.

She reached the end and fell over backwards stopping herself from going over. If the stench of the harbour hadn't been so bad, hadn't been a wall of foulness, she'd not have had enough warning to stop.

But-- what else ''could'' she do? Fight? No! She ''refused'' to kill innocents. Her soul was already blackened enough.

Life had been so much simpler before ''Lady Tarathana'' had drafted her, when she'd only herself to look out for. Now--

Ansela's face drifted in front of her eyes.

No! She would ''not'' let the child down!

It was all the honour she had left.

What to do? What to do?

She forced herself back to her hooves. The Watch wasn't firing -- though she could see they had their crossbows. They could wait her out. After all, where could she go? Where--?

Before her was the harbour, silted, dirty, the water black and oily. It was so bad she almost couldn't smell the runoff from the tanneries. A handful of barges were tied up, loaders had stopped and were looking at her, pointing. Gulls swooped and drifted along the shore, diving down for scraps of fish. A group of-- of ''otters'', human otters, were upstream-- fishing?

Something echoed from behind her and she turned her head enough to see -- more watch, on the roof behind her. The goat leading. His entire front was covered in mud -- he must have fallen. Yvarra ''did'' have to admire his dedication.

What to do-- what to--?

There was only one choice -- the harbour. She didn't know how to swim, had never learned. But-- Surrendering was signing her death warrant. Given how the Eli-damned cult had tracked her, harassed her, they ''had'' to have infiltrated the guard. Arrange to have the right people guarding her cell, and then enough bolts that even she couldn't heal.

Klepnos but she was ''hungry''!

The goat and the men-- well, the animals-- all arboreal-- a pair of squirrels, a raccoon, the feline. No wonder they'd been able to climb up so well. Must have let down a rope for the captain. If he'd needed it.

"Hold-- hold your-- fire!" the goat shouted down before turning to face her. "If you come-- come now-- you will be tried-- in the Duke's court. Justice will be done!" the goat called out.

If she lived that long.

She backed up, slowly turning to face her accusers. Her hands itched for the daggers she had left, but she refused. She would ''not'' kill an innocent. If the Watch were innocent-- The ''Sword of Songs'' was silent.

The Watch tensed.

She let herself slump, controlling it more to keep from collapsing completely than to make it look good. How she'd stay afloat she had no clue. But-- it was better than death. And-- and maybe the last shard of her self respect would stay with her. Never captured, even unto death.

Yvarra took a few steps away from the edge of the roof. Who knew how deep the river was, or what kind of sludge she would dive into--

It would be so ''easy'' to just surrender.

Easy to ''give up''.

''That's right. Give up. Betray your task. Let Ansela die''.

He knees shook, her legs shook, and she fought to breathe.

Which was better? Surrender and rest?

No! That had ''never'' been her way.

Right or wrong, she knew then that her decision had been made.

"Why?" the goat asked. "Why kill so-- so many?"

She stared at him. He didn't know. She'd have to go soon. Just a moment longer to catch her breath. Just a moment. "Because-- because if I-- I don't, they'll-- they'll kill us all--"

"Who?"

"Ask-- library--"

Forcing out the last of her strength, Yvarra spun around and ran, ran with all the breath she had left. Which wasn't much. Ran to the edge of the roof and dove off, hands in front of her, tumbling and falling. Sun, cloud, water, building. Crossbow bolts hissed past her, one shoved itself into her back, scrapping off a rib. Grain-- a barge of grain-- down-- down river--

And then she hit the water.

It was like a stone wall, the last of her breath was shoved out of her, she could feel ribs breaking. Without thinking she sucked in another breath, pulling the foul liquid into her lungs. Coughing, fighting, her alicorn glowing, her body burning, she sank into the blackness.

Her last act was to grab onto her hat--

----

Yvarra sank, her body hot with fear and terror. But, most of all, over whelming ''failure''. Beaten by the Watch! It was a good thing that she was dead so that she wouldn't have to live it down.

Her hooves sank into the thick slimey ooze at the bottom, and her body sank after it. The mud slid past her, oozing through her fur, her clothes, through the hand still holding her hat. Turning over, she coughed, a last few bubbles of air slowly rising to the surface as the thick liquid settled in her lungs.

''Klepnos, forgive me--''

Maybe she should have tossed the ''Sword of Songs'' on the roof before she'd leapt. Given it to somebody else so that they could fight the damn cult.

She was so very ''very'' tired--

At least she'd gone out in an epic fashion!

Though--

Um--

By the Seven Hells, ''why wasn't she dead''?

For a moment she drifted there, gently pushed along, her hooves and legs sliding through the fine silt. She could feel a coolness all around, over her body, deep insider her. She could feel the water pressing against her. And-- and--

She could feel the warmth trickle from her alicorn into her body.

She wasn't comfortable, but she wasn't in pain either.

Like-- like-- when she'd been in the dye! No tightness in her chest--

That brought up the immediate question: how long could she last like this? Not long, given her fatigue level, and lack of food.

Her stomachs grumbled angrily in agreement.

She coughed. A bit of thin slimy cud worked its way up and into her mouth where she chewed it.

Yvarra couldn't have long. So-- what now? Swim? How? And where?

As if in answer to her unspoken prayer, the ''Sword of Songs'' gently thrummed behind her as the -- current? -- gently pushed her along. The tone wasn't a song, or a warning. It was more an-- an ''envelopment'' of sound. A tone all around her. But-- was it ''stronger'' in one direction? Yes!

Without any skill she paddled, dragged, hopped, staggered, fell and drifted along with the current. She felt the pressure of time, she felt coldness claiming more and more of her body as her final reserves of strength began to fail. The sword's tone rose, higher, stronger; she followed it like a dog blindly following a scent. She shivered, her teeth chattered. The direction changed; the sword focussed above. Above-- There were-- were-- rocks, something. Mindless she climbed, climbed up into the darkness and chill.

Like a drowned rat she used her last strength to drag herself onto the cold slimy rock. Her body shook, exploded as she coughed and gagged out the water and mud and slime. With a rough, desperate gurgle, she sucked in air. Blessed, sweet, air--

Time passed. And endless time of darkness and desperation. Yvarra didn't think, she just shuffled around in the blackness, her nose, or her need, finding bits of fungi, subterranean mosses and mushrooms that she gulped down, desperately filling her empty stomachs. For water, she kept to the iron-rich drops that fell from the ceiling in steady rhythm, that being the only measure of time. She wandered deeper and deeper, aimless, needy. Once she passed a carved wooden door, half open, shelves of books beyond, but she ignored it for none would satisfy her need. Another time she passed an echoing hall, carved, smooth, covered in dust and stained in water, but it was ignored too.

Feeling and sensing her way by the echoes of her hooves, her ears swivelling to try and do what they could, but more often her scratched and dirty hands finding the wall she almost hit, or her hooves the edge she almost walked over. Finding only the bare minimums that she needed, and maybe a little bit more to allow a bit of healing. Away from the streams, away into the blackness.

Days and days and days later, she saw light.

It was a dim light, faint, yellow, yet painful to her long adjusted dark vision, even though there was never anything to see. In her mindless hunger she didn't ask, just crept further and further into the light. Sulphurous fumes from deep beneath the earth crept along the ground at her hooves, smelling of age, of anger, of mystery. There was a woman-- human-- old beyond old.

And there was food. Somehow there was a sack of grain down here in the forgotten stygian depths. That which controlled her body ran it forward, and shoved her muzzle into the open sack, and gorged. Gorged on the rich energy filled grain that the body so ''very'' desperately needed.

And then, full, she slept a deep, restful, healing sleep.

----

A voice spoke, old beyond imagining, ancient beyond history:

<poem>''The One who sleeps,''
''who needed long''
''Now doth awake.''</poem>

Yvarra leapt behind a stalagmite, drawing a dagger ready to throw even before she realized who was speaking. The ''Sword of Songs'' was silent, and that alone kept Yvarra from throwing towards the sound.

Silence.

<poem>''Fear not thou who art foretold''
''The food is for your, our, need''</poem>

Cud shoved its way up into Yvarra's dry mouth, and she chewed quickly, far faster than she should. But her other stomachs rumbled angrily, greedily. A dagger at the ready, she looked around.

It was a large chamber, unshaped by human hands. A jagged crack opened up into the depths, a dim red glow illuminating the yellow and green fumes that bubbled out of it like a heavy nightmare from a cursed cauldron. From a thin crack in the wall, a greenish-orange flame burned, wavering and hissing, fed by some gas generated somewhere far, ''far'' below. A pool of bubbling mud and clay, stained red and orange and yellow from the rocks all around, hissed and gurgled, its stench fading beneath that coming from the volcanic vent, even though it smelled so sweet in comparison.

And, crouched there, looking at her through pale white blind orbs, was a woman. Human. Her skin was wrinkled, ancient leather dusty and cracked with age. Her hair, streaked and stained with mud, both dried and wet, tumbled from her head, over her shoulders, covering her back and front. On her body the mud had dried, cracking into a kaleidoscope of scales, like those of a snake. It could have been the pattern of a master artist glistening and gleaming as jewels, but it was a random pattern of mud that dried and cracked and oozed. The woman's nails were yellow, long and jagged, and she crouched on bare feet, watching her through the blind eyes.

"Who are you? How--?"

<poem>''Does the Sibyl know''?
''She knows all that was''
''She knows all to come''
''She knows you, the one''
''The chosen to save''
''To save all the world''
''From that which sleeps here''</poem>

Yvarra stepped out, unswallowing more cud and chewing as the woman watched. She swallowed, her stomachs going to work greedily. "Are you the Sibyl? What is the Sibyl?"

<poem>''The Sibyl that is''
''Is that which she was''
''That which she will be''
''I am here for you''
''Here for the others''
''Who have all been here''
''Who have yet to be''
''I know what has been''
''I know what can be''
''I know what must be''
''First The One that is''
''Must feed her need here''</poem>

With that she grinned, a toothless ancient grin, and pointed at the bag of grain. If Yvarra hadn't been so desperate she would have asked more. Her body screamed with need, and she had little choice left. Creeping forward, her hooves clicking on the rock as the mud bubbled, she shoved her muzzle into the grain and gorged once more until she was again full. Stuffed, she turned and looked at the woman, at this ''Sibyl'' that had not moved. The mud that caked her glistened in the light like jewels, like a snake that watched, stared, hungered.

"Sibyl--" Yvarra licked her lips. "How long have you been here. Who put you here. What-- what am I fighting and-- and what must I do."

<poem>''I have always been''
''I will always be''
''But your time is short''
''The pawns are in play''
''He is now awake''
''For all he hungers''</poem>

<poem>''To the gate you go''
''Your destiny meet''</poem>

<poem>''Alicorn it will''
''Close the shining gate''
''The gate that opens''
''The way that is willed''
''The horn it must stay''
''Left eternal lock''</poem>

<poem>''The other pawn comes''
''Destiny arrives''
''Now go from here, go!''</poem>

"But how do you know! And, if you know, how do you ''know'' I will succeed?"

<poem>''I do not know that''
''It is but one dream''
''One dream of many''
''Most of which are hell''</poem>

<poem>''Take the grain that's here''
''The grain that's for you''
''The grain that waited''
''And go from here, now''!</poem>

The Sibyl's voice rose to a scream, her jagged hand pointed. Below the vent growled and rumbled, the flame flickered and grew high, high, towards the ceiling dimly seen in the darkness. The eyes gleamed red, snakes coiled along her skin, or seemed to, hissing at her in rage, in anger.

This was power, old, ancient. Power that filled Yvarra with a terror she'd never known. But, somehow, she knew it was a neutral power. Servant of neither side of law or chaos, but something that just ''was''.

Sheathing her dagger, she grabbed the sack, half empty now, and fled. Her hooves clicked on the stone, and her alicorn glowed a soft warmth to light her way into the darkness. She'd ran only a few hundred steps when the ground shook, rock groaned. Still running, she turned her head to see what was behind her.

A naked wall, wet with moisture.

She stopped, turned, stared. A part of her wanted to search the wall, find its secrets.

But, the sane part of her turned her around, and started walking her through the darkness.

As she walked, she spoke, her voice thin, full of dark terrors, and feeble hopes. "Sword, you know where to go. I don't. And you better show me, because I get the feeling neither of us want to be here."

The ''Sword of Songs'' was silent.

Yvarra snorted, slowed to a walk, and kept going the way she'd chosen.

After all, any way was as good as any other.

----

Time passed. Yvarra walked, ate, chewed cud, drank the iron-stained water dripping everywhere. Her only light was the dull glow of her alicorn. When the rest or the grain was gone, she just left the sack behind. Her whip was long gone, her jacket was nearly a complete loss, but it hadn't fallen apart yet. As to her hat, somehow she still had it. After she had cleaned and sharpened her remaining two knives, she began working the mud out, working the softness back into the leather. It kept her hands busy.

She'd followed the dripping, twisting, natural tunnel as it was the only way she could go. There'd been cracks, chasms, holes in the ceilng, but none large enough for her to fit in. After three days, or three sleep periods, she reached a point where what looked like a usable passage branched off. She chewed cud, mentally flipped a coin, and choose the right path. The clicking of her hooves loud in the passage, she started down it.

The ''Sword of Songs'' gave off a dull flat tone.

Yvarra stopped, reached over her shoulder, and drew the blade. It was gleaming, polished, like new. She should have cleaned it earlier, but she wasn't a swordswoman -- it had simply never entered her mind. As she watched, the last few bits of dried mud flaked off and fell to the damp rock she was standing on.

Sighing, she asked: "Now you talk?"

Silence.

Yvarra took another step down the right passage, and got the same sad tone.

"Fine! Stupid picky sword--"

The ''Sword of Songs'' let out a sharp angry note of strings twanging as they snapped.

"Don't you deny it!"

Yvarra went down the left passage, and the sword remained silent.

----

Time was hard to keep track of in the eternal blackness, lit only by the pale glow of her alicorn, broken only by sleep as she curled up in the driest corners she could find. The sword led her down a passageway to weirdly glowing fungi living on the walls, and pale, almost translucent, mushrooms giving off a near-invisible violet light. Not all of the ones she found smelled right, but enough did that she ate. She didn't know how she knew, just that she'd learned. There were dreams, smoky dim memories of wandering in the darkness, eating what she could find. Where they real? She wasn't sure.

Once she'd eaten her fill, the sword would lead her back to the path she'd been on.

It was on the third wake period after leaving the Sibyl that she came upon The Portal. Portal was the best word for it. In capitals. Though the entrance contained a door, it was of carved black rock, and fortunately hung slightly ajar. Else she'd never have moved it as the thing was higher than she could see, and wider than five of her body lengths. Yvarra peeked in, ignoring the flat toned warning from the sword on her back.

And she blinked. And blinked again. "In Kelpnos' name--" she whispered. Concentrating, she made her alicorn glow brighter and brighter, revealing more and more of the massive chamber.

Yvarra remembered one time, before she'd come to Metamor. Somebody had tried to hire her for a job, and when she'd asked about down payment, she'd been told that there'd be "more wealth than she could imagine" upon completion. She'd responded with, "I can imagine an ''awful'' lot." In the end she'd refused the commission. But--

Before her ''truly'' lay more wealth than she'd ever imagined. More wealth than she'd imagined could even exist.

Apparently it did.

What was it all ''doing'' down here? Was it the cult's? Then, why leave the door open? Why no warning from the sword, other than that this was the wrong way? Some of her shadow memories, after she'd pulled herself out of the water, were of passing other constructed chambers.

But ''nothing'' like this.

What could she be offered that could ''ever'' match this? Why should she continue fighting when there was this? The murders, the living in mud and filth, the drowning in that mudhole of a harbour. Being attacked by everybody.

It just wasn't worth it! ''Especially'' compared to this.

''But you gave your word'' a voice in her head whispered.

"Damn you, ''Lady Tarathana''! I won't do this anymore!"

The voice of the Sibyl echoed through her mind. ''But your time is short''.

And there was the whole ''saving the world'' thing.

Well, if it was ''that'' important, they could get somebody else!

Maybe.

Almost in a trance she walked further in. The ''Sword of Songs'' was silent. Maybe it agreed with her -- it couldn't have liked being doused in the harbour either.

How could there be this much wealth in this dinky little border country? How could they have kept it secret?

Did they even know about it?

She stopped. She blinked. And remembered legends--

It was said that the Emperors of the Suelman Empire, at the height of their power, had the dwarves shape for them a wondrous diamond. A diamond larger than any other in the world. The Arkenstone. Yvarra had figured that the size had grown with the ages of the telling -- the most recent she'd heard was that it was the size of a man's skull.

Reaching down she grabbed the-- the-- ''thing'' that had grabbed her eyes and lifted it. It took both hands. It was, even though it couldn't be, a diamond. A diamond twice as big as a man's skull. It glowed, no ''burned'' with an inner light, a fire in its core that flamed and pulsed to life when she'd picked it up.

With an act of will she threw it back onto one of the piles where it clunked and slid in clinkle and clatter of coins.

Where could you ''fence'' something like that?

And there were weapons. Reaching down she pulled out a golden sword, almost buried under the weight of gems of all colours, some bigger than her fist. She felt the edge, and it was dull, soft. But then, what would you expect of a blade made of pure soft gold-- She threw it away too.

Another weapon, an axe this time, and it was not gold. She could feel ''power'' radiating from it; stepping towards it was like walking into a howling gale. The thing was black, black as a moonless night, and it reflected no light -- just absorbed.

''Take me'' it whispered. ''I will make you strong. Stronger than any upon this world. Stronger than Misha, and that so-called weapon he bears. We will destroy ''all'' that stands before us!''

She felt power pour out of her alicorn, power so bright and strong that it blinded her. Power that silenced the-- the ''thing'' laying there, casually discarded, filled with the screaming hate and fear of untold souls consumed. It's power broken, she fell backwards, squashing her tail beneath her with a stab of fiery pain that cleared the last cobwebs from her mind.

The ''Sword of Songs'' gave a quick rising tone, accelerating as the notes rose higher and higher, faster and faster.

"Why?"

The sword fell silent.

"Look at this!" As if the sword could look.

''And what has wealth gotten you''? A voice whispered in her mind. ''You win fortune after fortune, spend it on girls, wine, gamble it away. Then you're cold, dejected, miserable, until you win another one''.

It was a sobering thought. Sure, she'd only won a fortune, or was that two, but money was like a game to her. Reward tokens on a board. It was the challenge of the hunt.

''Always for yourself'' the same voice continued.

"And why not? Who else is going to look out for me!"

''Friends. If you had any''.

"I don't need ''anybody''!" She ran, trying to flee the voice, the voice she knew was her own self yielding the truths she'd buried. Her hooves dug into a pile of coins and her pace slowed as the wealth of kingdoms tumbled and slid underhoof.

''The keep would have helped''.

"The keep? ''What''"? Hadn't somebody told her that the keep itself was alive, that it changed, formed passages and chambers as needed. Moved things around.

Was everything down here part of the keep? Ancient toys abandoned as no longer needed?

And, if they were, then that meant she was ''in'' the keep. Or part of it. Or, at least, below it.

And, if she was, that meant that she could have taken the chambers, the ''help'' implied and offered. Help to come down here in safety and ease, without the murders that drenched her soul in blood.

"I have no friends!" The words screamed through her muzzle, sounding like the were torn, flayed from a soul full of anguish.

''You could. The keep offered. And what did you do?''

She'd trashed the place. And then eaten the roses.

''And, even then, Ansela was left in your care. ''Your'' care. No friends''?

She stopped, tripped and fell, or just collapsed. Her muzzle pressed against the cold hard coins. Wealth beyond imagination that had never done anything for her.

''Their trust is in you. And what do you do''?

She abandons them to die, be consumed by some nameless evil as she lay on a useless, ''hard'' bed of gold and silver and awaited her own doom.

Was it worth it?

Had it been worth it? All those years? All that gold and gems and wealth stolen, sold, gambled.

And who would remember her?

Ansela, maybe.

One little girl.

She pushed herself back onto her knees, legs digging into the mound of coins. Her vision blurred, and she realized that she was crying--

"Eli be damned! I don't need this. ''Any'' of this! I'll take care of the damn cult because I was ''hired'' to do so! Not for anybody. Not for this keep. Not for this damn world! You here me? Do you? ''Do you''?"

Her voice echoed all around. She spun her head, flicked her ears, trying to catch any answer in the echoing sadness, the echoing desperation.

And she stopped, looking at one thing on the one pile of wealth amongst thousands. It was a necklace, of fine silver links. Anywhere else it would be worth taking, here it was garbage. But--

But her ''honour'' refused to let her leave this place without anything. She grabbed it, put it around her neck, not looking at the sea-blue gem that hung from the chain. A sea-blue the same colour as a little girls eyes.

''You're taking it for her--''

Ignoring the voice, she staggered down the pile. "Which way?"

The sword hummed, sang its notes, notes that formed and shaped a way.

And Yvarra stalked down, her hooves loud on the stone floor, deftly stepping over the odd loose gold coin, or forgotten raw ruby or emerald.

She wanted this over and ''done'' with. So that she could leave the damn place! Leave this keep, leave this curse, and go back to the way she'd been.

''Where you'd been so happy--''

"Shut up. ''Shut up''!"

By the time she made it back to the portal she was running, even though there was no reason. And then running down the passage in the proper way. Even as the portal shut behind her, and was shuffled into nowhere, or everywhere, by the powers of the keep all around.

----

Again time passed. An endless unchanging time in the dripping caves. The only illumination was the warm ivory glow of her alicorn, and the occasional phosphorescent mushrooms and fungi. With each choice the ''Sword of Songs'' pointed the way.

Yvarra was asleep when something jerked her awake. Her alicorn, the ''Sword of Songs'', all remained dark. Sniffing the air, she could only smell iron-tained water and cold dripping stone. Her ears flicked and swivelled around and around and--

Footsteps. Or, more properly, claws clicking on stone.

Yvarra drew the sword, pressed one ear against its warm metal, and concentrated with all her senses.

The claw clicks grew louder-- she could see a glow in the distance. With long practiced silence she shifted position until she was crouching.

And she drew one of her knives

The claw clicks were louder, she could faintly sniff out a hint of feline, and-- and-- human. Ever so faintly she could make out the slapslap of leather on stone. Licking her nose, the scents sharpened -- feline, human, burning oil--

The sword played a quiet warning against her ear. Cultists!

Finally, ''finally'' she'd found them.

Shifting the sword in her best feeble approximation of a proper guard position, she relaxed and prepared to move. Her tail whipped back and forth. The light brightened, the cultists rounded the corner and the harsh yellow-orange of a hooded lantern glaring down in front of her. She could see them now, a pair -- adult human and some kind of white mottled feline. They were wearing the robes. One may have had a sheathed sword, the other definitely had a crossbow. She couldn't tell if it was readied, but given that it was just slung over the shoulder on a strap, it likely wasn't. Still--

Screaming our her hate, she leapt into the light, knife flying from her fingers into the eye of the crossbow carrying human. The feline, reacting faster than she'd thought possible, threw the lantern towards her, drawing his sword. Yvarra dodged, pulling her last knife and whipping it towards the feline who tried to dodge-- not a clean shot, but it sunk into his cheap. His screaming joined the howling of the human. Running forward, she sliced the ''Sword of Songs'' across the feline's chest as the lantern went out. In the warm glow of her alicorn, she crudely slit each throat with her sword, and retrieved and cleaned her knives.

They gurgled out their last breaths as she searched them. Ignoring the coins, and their obvious weapons, she found no knives. One had a pouch with some dried grains and sugar cooked into wafers, and she wolfed them down.

Now what?

How much time did she have?

As quickly as she could, she dragged first one body, and then the other, about a hundred yards down the way she'd come. Not a good hiding place, but the best she had. From the human she took the robe. It was a cold thing of silk, wet with water and blood and something else likely best not thought of. She whipped it around herself. Picking up the lantern, relighting it using the flint the feline had, she returned to the main passage and continued in the direction the cultists had been travelling.

She needed to find a crevice, or better yet a raised platform she could lurk on in ambush. Maybe she should have questioned the pair of cultists, tried to get more info, but she didn't trust them. And fanatics were notoriously difficult to break. Maybe if one had been a child, or a woman--

Yvarra clenched the necklace she was wearing, the one from the treasure vault, remembering trusting blue eyes.

What else was she supposed to do? It wasn't like she had any place she could imprison them--

Yvarra could feel the sword whispering a faint high-toned warning against her. Should she have waited? Ambushed more? But how long until those two were missed? Should she have just followed them? But what if they'd seen her?

With a jerk she stopped, her soul cold.

All this time, all the possibilities and plans and options.

Never had she even though of the fact that she'd killed two more people.

Eli! What were the cultists doing to her?

She just wanted this to be over. She just wanted--

Footsteps from in front of her. Human, claws, at least one set of hooves-- Turning her head, she confirmed there was no where to hide -- just passage. She spun around, hurrying back the way she'd come. There'd been a passage.

Kelpnos! More movement from in front of her. She was trapped.

Which way? Which way? The way she came -- she knew where to run if she could make it. For a second she turned her head and glared at the sword. "You brought me out as close to their secret lair as you could, didn't you?"

Silence answered.

Nothing for it. Bluff. Get close. Strike. Thinking so, she briskly walked back the way she'd come, carrying the lantern in front of her, robe billowing. The disguise wouldn't last long with her alicorn, but she'd take any advantage she could.

There was a bend she remembered, and the gentle slope beyond it. A good place for an ambush, but with the echoes she had no way of knowing how far either group was. The one she was approaching had to be closer. Unswallowing, she chewed on cud as she concentrated, ignoring the oil. Three, maybe four in front. At least one human. Something musky-- otter? And-- that was it.

Well, no time like the present.

Walking at a good pace, hooves clicking on the stone, she went around the bend and down the slope, hoof lobes splayed so she could keep balance. She swallowed, walked a bit faster. She was almost upon them--

"You! Who are you?" a human asked form in front.

Even as she was saying, "And ''who'' are ''you''?" in her best voice of arrogance, Yvarra leapt forward. Throwing the lantern onto the group, she followed it with both daggers. She lowered her head and drew the ''Sword of Songs'' even as it sang a stirring martial theme.

There were four, and they screamed as the lantern slammed into them. One, the otter, drenched in burning oil, screamed louder than the rest. Yvarra hoped over the dying, and shoved her alicorn through the chest of one human. A second was down from a dagger, one was still unharmed. Slicing with her sword, he parried, almost knocking the ''Sword of Songs'' from her grasp.

An honourable fighter would have gone down, but Yvarra had never put armour over saving her own neck. Trusting her alicorn, she shoved her left arm out to block the sword. Its blade sliced into her, rasping along the bone of her arm. Hot pain shot through her as she pulled her arm away and sliced her alicorn against the cultist's neck. Its ridged edges were more than sharp enough to rip open his windpipe, and he fell, gurgling.

"The one!" "Take the one!"

The group that had been in front of her must have heard the fight, not hard as the screams still echoed up and down the passage. For a second Yvarra looked at her daggers as fever warmth poured from her alicorn into her arm. No time, no time! Clasping the ''Sword of Songs'' in one hand, and her fedora in the other as the hood of the robe had been blown off her head and now flapped against her back, she fled, her robe whipping and snapping behind her as the cultists pursued.

Maybe the robe hadn't been the best of ideas--

And, she could feel that she should have eaten more, but then she hadn't had much extra. The healing had taken a lot more out of her than it should have, and she was already starting to pant for breath.

Unswallowing, she chewed on the bars she'd taken from the dead cultists and swallowed. It helped a little.

How many Eli damned cultists were there anyway? She'd killed twenty-four in their sleep, another six or so just now. No idea how many in their ambush at the bath house. There couldn’t' be ''that'' many--!

The ones behind her were getting closer. Seven Hells! Where was the damn turn off. Where-- She was breathing heavily now-- Stumbling, she almost fell, but pushed herself off the ground and back onto her hooves. She'd kept her hat too.

A bolt hissed passed her, clattering onto the stone. Too damn close.

Turn off-- turn off-- ''there''! She almost slammed into the far wall, pushing off it and going off into the blackness. Sucking air in and out through her too small nostrils, she fought to slow down. To be quiet. Silence. Silence--

"We lost her!" "Impossible!" "How'd she go so fast--" "Because she didn't take the main passage, idiot!"

Klepnos! She should have expected them to figure it out. Next time she accepted a contract, she'd specify stupid cultists. Still gasping for breath, she pushed off from the wall, wobbled, and staggered on her way.

This passage was rougher than the other -- she should have noticed. Likely the other had been worked to make it easier to travel through. Or-- or maybe it was just worn down by that many feet.

"I see the One!"

Somehow she pushed herself to her hooves. Her chest burned, her alicorn burned, keeping her from collapsing in the short term, but just making the long term worse. "Ansela-- I'm-- I'm sorry--"

A turn, sharp. Maybe--

Shoving off one wall, she staggered to a stop, staying on her hooves only by force of will. Lungs heaving, she shoved the heavy air in and out and in and out. One chance-- just one. Then-- then she could rest. The ''Sword of Songs'' felt as heavy as lead, she'd been dragging it. Guess it understood -- it hadn't complained. Dragging it up, she raised it her. She didn't have the strength to wield it with force, its own weight would have to do. Lantern light danced into her vision and she heard the hooves, smelled-- smelled a deer-- and-- and-- a girl. Small--

I tried Ansela--

A deer's antler swung around the corner, he was panting too, and she let the sword fall, pushing with what strength she had left. Between the antlers, into the skull. Bone cracked, overpowering the sound of her desperate breathing and the deer fell like a load of bricks, the crossbow crushed by his weight. But-- but behind-- it was-- a girl. Blue eyed-- like-- like-- it can't be! It-- hair different--

The girl staggered over the corpse of the deer, holding a short sword. Her eyes were full of hate, her teeth gritted with anger. She was cold-- cold--

Yvarra tried to left the sword up, struggled, fell to her knees; she lowered her head, but the girl dodged. If she wasn't so tired-- she'd have-- have--

The lantern was thrown away, clattering down behind her. The girl must have. The girl that was on her chest. Stabbing, stabbing, shoving the shortsword into her chest again and again. Her alicorn burned as she fell, blood oozed out, pain filled her.

"I'm sorry-- I'm sorry--"

And she spun into the darkness--

{{series bar
|previous=[[User:Michael Bard/Tales of Euper Investigations|Tales of Euper Investigations]]
|next=[[User:Michael Bard/On the Hunt|On the Hunt]]}}

User:Michael Bard/Tales of Euper Investigations

2008-12-21T23:55:19Z

Michael Bard: Final version

{{title|name=Tales of Euper Investigations|author=Michael Bard|user=Michael Bard}}
[[Category:Metamor Keep]]{{Comment tag}}
[[Category:Michael Bard]]
[[Category:Story]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Tales of Euper Investigations}}
[[Category:Anthropomorphic]][[Category:Cervine]][[Category:Mythical]]
'''October, 707 CR'''

Jim stared. The dagger stared back Mocking. Oblivious to the faint drumming of cold rain against the stone tower wall.

Throwing down the scroll onto his battered desk, he flopped his goat form onto the tied-together wooden chair which creaked alarmingly under the pressure. ''Join the town watch'' they'd said. ''March before cheering crowds and thrown rose petals'' they said.

Instead there were crappy hours, rotten fruit, and the endless mud under his cloven hooves.

And when he'd been promoted to head of Euper Investigations, it was all ''now you can relax and enjoy life''.

Until the murders started.

Oh, there were always murders. Sometimes action was even taken. A body washing up under the docks once a week was usual. Same with a half rotted corpse in an alley. He'd have just left them, except for the standing order for cremation to make sure necromancy didn't raise them.

He stared at the dagger.

But now-- Entire families. Another one last night. All with their throats slit. Entry forced by a pro, the murders quick and thorough. Evidence of a careful search. Nothing taken and the door or window closed as the bastard left.

And then. Two days ago, the dagger, edged in dried blood, left on the floor.

Higher ups wanted the murders solved. Or, in the real meaning, stopped. Else heads -- in this case his -- would roll.

He'd have sworn the dagger was mocking him.

Glaring back, he scowled at its leather-bound hilt. His eyes slid down its length to the bound book it was thrust into: ''Tales of Metamor Investigations''.

Ha!

He'd read the first one. Or tried to. A building full of highly trained mages and clerics. Careful records. Undisturbed crime scenes. Elaborate illusions recreating complex murders in agonizing detail. The criminal always being caught--

Ha!

He had one person directly under him, this desk that he'd had to supply himself -- and it was the only momento of his grandmother he had -- a room it could barely fit in. Eli! He'd sent to the keep ''two days ago'' for a mage or somebody to do a reading on the presumed murder weapon.

And, so far, nothing.

He turned his hatred to the latest volume: ''Tales of Metamor Investigations -- the Dollhouse Murderer''. The printing house up by the keep kept sending him complementary copies. Eli damn--

There was a knock on the door. Jim yanked his eyes away from the book, from ''the dagger'', as the knock repeated, his ears flipping to catch the sound.

"The door's open, Chrispher." The shy knock had told him it was his arrant female assistant knocking. She'd been male before the curse, and now she refused to touch a weapon.

And now his secretary.

She pushed the door open, her cute female face blasted with a scowl. "That mage is here."

"Send him in!"

"Okay--"

Her tone of voice struck him as odder than usual, and it didn't take long for the reason to make itself apparent. The ''mage'' who came in could barely be seen behind his desk, and Jim didn't get the full impact of the wizard's appearance until said wizard hopped, or climbed, onto the desk.

The magic worker looked like a fox, but was dark gray in colour and wrapped in a soaked silver-threaded black wool cloak. His eyes glittered, and glared, hating the entire world. Jim almost laughed, the fox looked young enough that he had to still be nursing, except he noticed the Patrol ''Captain'' badge.

Jim saluted. "Sir."

A big blob of muck slipped from the mage's cloak onto the edge of the desk, and then fell off, splatting on the floor.

"Blasted rain! When I find out who's brain-deceased idea it was to send a fire mage--" The fox shook himself, the weight of the cloak almost dragging him backwards off the desk. "I'm here. What do you want?"

Jim blinked, tail pulled up against his spine. "Umm-- sir-- That dagger," he pointed. "I need a reading. Who owns it? What did they do with it?"

The fox blinked back. "Reading? I'm a fire mage, not a blasted Investigations specialist!" The wizard's eyes sparked as water dripped onto the floor.

The damn fox probably ''loved'' those stories. "I'm sorry. I did specify--"

"Whatever--" the mage said, rolling his eyes. He pointed, "That dagger?"

Jim sighed and nodded. "We've tried to minimize contact with it as much as possible. The blood on it was there when we found it."

"You ''think''?" the fox said dryly. He produced a long piece of chalk and tapped it against the underside of his muzzle. Circling the murder weapon once, his toeclaws dug into the desk. The goat cringed when the mage bent over and began drawing circles and odd glyphs upon the wood.

"Uh-- you're scratching my desk."

"I know." The fox continued, plea unheeded. Soon the wood surface was a tangled mess of chalk lines, and with little foot room left he pushed Jim aside and moved onto his now vacant chair. From this farther vantage point, he leaned over and waved a claw over the dagger as the symbols resonated with a faint glow. "Pay attention. I'm only doing this once."

Jim leaned forward, his ears angled in desperate attention as fox waved his hand in a circular motion.

"I was made--" the mage began, "made in fire and heat and pain. Hammered. Folded. Again and again. Yadda, yadda-- yeah, yeah we know--" He pursed his lips for a moment as if scanning some directory. "Made in love and honour by a smith of greatness. Oh, ''please''--" He rolled his eyes. "Oberon-- Oberon-- he made me, sold me. Sold me to-- to-- Blast it! It's hidden-- Magic cloaks? Secrets, secrets-- tell me, blast it! Flying through the air. Blood, hot blood, flowing, dripping. Soul death, taken. Taken-- yeah, yeah-- Found, found, magic, great magic, and hate, ''hate''! Ooo-- hmmm-- A hard power, a form, white glistening burning white. Holy life giving white and ivory. A unicorn. Used. ''Used''. A--" The mage clenched his teeth, his voice straining, "Take life-- all life-- ''all''-- GAH!!"

The dagger exploded, shattering into hard shards that flew across the room, clattering from the walls and floor and ceiling sounding like hail in a storm.

The wizard tumbled backwards off the chair, falling into a tumbled pile of fox and wool and mud as Jim wiped blood from his forehead. Squeezing around the desk, he kneeled, reaching down to check the fox's pulse -- the mage's muzzle was black with soot, and smoke coiled up from his fur. There--

"Get off me! Blast it!" The fox thrust the goat's hand away. "I'm fine!"

"You're sure?"

The only response was a death-glare.

"Well-- Thank you."

The wizard mumbled so softly that Jim strained to hear it. "They don't pay me enough--" His voice returned to a normal volume. "Next time, tell them to send a blasted scrying mage!"

With that, the fox wizard left, black tail-tip peering from under his dragging cloak. The door knob turned of its own accord and swung open for him, then slammed behind as he muttered about his, "only blasted day off."

Only when the door closed, did Jim turn to look at where the dagger had been, now only a soot-black crater on a smoldering book.

"Chrispher!"

The woman's head poked in. "Yes?"

"Tell the Euper Watch Captain's to keep their eyes open for a unicorn. Probably--"

"A-- unicorn?"

"Yes, a unicorn! Probably anthro. If--"

"Sir, I remember hearing--" She scratched her chin. "It was about a month ago. Heard it in the lunch room. Some tavern -- the Bronze Unicorn I think -- watch had been summoned. They were saying they saw a white anthro unicorn, female, she'd been in the basement. She shoved her way out, tavern keeper refused to press charges."

"Ahah! Tell the Captains to keep an eye out for an anthro unicorn. Probably white, but I don't trust anything in this case. Check with the gates, see if anybody remembers a white unicorn, or any unicorn, coming or leaving. Check the gates up to Metamor Town too." Jim started pacing back and forth in what little space he had.

"Nobody is to approach her. Just keep her in sight. And then fetch me. And reinforcements. ''Lots'' of reinforce--" He stopped, leaned down, and picked up a fragment, a large one, between two hoof fingers. It was the hilt, intact, even with a bit of the guard. "I'm going up to the keep. I think I've heard of an Oberon -- I want him to look at this dagger."

"That's all sir?"

"Yes, that's all!"

As Chrispher turned and left, Jim tossed the hilt onto his desk. It thunked and slid to a stop against the latest Investigations book, which was blacker than a few minutes ago, and definitely smoldering.

It seemed that today ''was'' his lucky day!

----

Jim's stomach was stabbing him with pain by the time he found what was, hopefully, Oberon's forge. He'd been wandering the keep for hours, once even reaching a dead end that led into a thoroughly trashed room with, of all things, both reading primers and a dagger target. It was like the keep wouldn't let him go where he needed to go. He was ''glad'' he lived in a normal building where a demigoddess didn't shuffle around the rooms and corridors at a whim.

''Finally'' he'd ran into somebody, and been told that Oberon had been advanced into the Long Scouts and had quarters with them. Choking down both a scream, and a hunk of cud, Jim had made his way to the central keep, and to where the Longs laired. Then it was endless security checks, ID checks, verification, delays, argument, disagreements, harassment, and everything else conceivable, before Jim had finally been let in to the damn long house. After that, at least, it'd been a reasonably direct path he'd been led upon to the forge where Oberon was working.

He chewed the last of his cud thoughtfully. On his way up he'd checked the gates onto ''The Killing Ground'' and one person remembered a white anthro unicorn, female, passing both into Metamor Town, and out of it a few days later, all a month or so ago.

Jim was fairly certain the unicorn was his murderer.

He'd arranged for the gate guard to spend an afternoon in the keep with an artist. Jim didn't want to start posting wanted posters everywhere yet, but he wanted to be ready. Give it a few days to see if the Euper Watch could flush her out.

Swallowing the last of his cud, his first stomach grumbled its annoyance. His escort pointed at the forge and there was, indeed, a monstrous white tiger working on something on an anvil. Each *clang* of the beast's hammer rang through the room, making Jim pull his ears against his head.

"Good luck," his escort said.

''Yea, I'll need it'' Jim thought.

With that he walked towards the forge, his hooves clicking on the stone floor. Eli but the tiger was ''big''. Insanely ''huge''. He had to force himself not to flee as the damn tiger could probably twist him into a pretzel with two fingers.

How could anybody ''be'' that big?

He stopped by a table covered in work tools. Forcing down his fear, ignoring the growing emptiness in his chest, Jim called out: "Are you the Long known as Oberon?

<nowiki>*</nowiki>clangclangclinkclang*

"Oberon! I need to talk to you!"

<nowiki>*</nowiki>clangclinkclangclang*

Jim took a deep breath. "By right as head of Euper Investigations, I ''demand'' you talk to me!

<nowiki>*</nowiki>clinkclangclangclink*

This wasn't working. Maybe a different tactic. "Smith Oberon! I have a broken dagger of yours!"

<nowiki>*</nowiki>clang--clink* The frighteningly monstrous tiger put down his hammer, dropped what he was working on into a barrel with a meat cooking roar of bubbling oil, and turned. The parts of his fur that were white were streaked with black that merged into his stripes, and his face was scarred and angry. "Impossible! My weapons ''never'' fail their owner!"

Jim took an involuntary step back. He swallowed, licked his long dry lips. "Well-- this-- this one did!" With that, Jim took ''the dagger'' from his pouch and tossed it on the table.

The tiger's tail whipped back and forth as he stomped over, foot claws tearing at the stone floor. "That is not--" Reaching the table, he stopped, staring. He picked up what was left of the dagger, sniffed at the hilt, ran a finger along what was left of the guard. Emotions whipped through his eyes, his ears stood tall and erect. "''What happened''?"

Drawing from strength he didn't know he head, Jim stood his ground. "Do you know who had this dagger?"

"Who had--? The Long's have some. I have some. The only ones I sold recently were to-- it was at the fair. Curse it! I ''knew'' something was wrong with her--"

"Can you tell me in detail what happened? It's a legal matter. I need to know everything you remember."

"It was--"

Jim listened as Oberon told him about the white unicorn. He'd run into her, almost literally, in the keep a few weeks before the fair. At the fair she'd come seeking the tiger. Oberon told him how she was always looking behind her. She had a sword, but no idea how to use it. But she was ''very'' good with thrown daggers. She'd purchased a scabbard for the sword -- on the one she'd, the bottom had been hacked off as it was too short to hold the sword.

''She must have stolen that'', Jim thought, ''But why carry it around''?

At the end she'd paid with a gem and a few coins.

"So you still have the gem?"

"Somewhere. I have not had time to deal with it. It is in my quarters. Just give me a minute."

Jim waited, getting more and more confused. Someone expert with knives, but with no sword skill, suggested somebody who fought in cities, in generally illegal ways. Not a warrior. That fit-- a thief would know how to enter as an expert. But why a unicorn? Talk about a memorable person! Unless-- the curse? He'd have to check the entry records for Euper for one to three weeks before the time this unicorn had been encountered in the Bronze Unicorn. That was likely only a few days before she went through the gates to Metamor Town. If somebody remembered a woman with a sword entering, maybe he could backtrack her--

"Here it is."

Jim jumped, almost out of his hooves. How in Eli's name could something ''that'' big walk ''that'' silently? Still shaking, he took the gem from the monster's palm. "Was it like this when you got it?"

The tiger nodded.

It was cut-- if the unicorn hadn't had it re-cut after acquiring it. Have to check with jewellers in both Euper and Metamor Town. Likely she brought it in with her-- there were no jewellery burglaries within the last few months. If he did find the jeweller, what he remembered probably wouldn't help much. Maybe a reading-- couldn't hurt--

"May I have it back, please?"

Jim looked up, way up, and felt his ears press against his skull. "I-- I'm sorry. I need to keep this."

"Why?"

"Possible evidence in a murder invest--"

The tiger's voice was cold. "Murder--"

"I'll give you a receipt. How much is it--?"

The tiger grabbed him by his shirt and lifted him until they were muzzle to muzzle. "Did she use the dagger?"

The gem fell from Jim's fingers and clattered on the floor.

The tiger tightened his grip until Jim thought his shirt was going to tear. "O-- over twen-- twenty that--"

"Over. Twenty." The grip tightened. "Who?"

Jim lost it in his pants. "Families-- Poor-- Euper--"

The tiger dropped him, and Jim gasped for breath. "The unicorn will be taken care of."

Forcing the next few words out between his desperate breaths was the hardest thing Jim have ever done. "N-- No. The-- the Duke does-- does-- does not want vigilante--"

"I. Don't. Care. She has taken the piece of my soul in that dagger, and she has cursed it. Cursed ''me'' with it."

"The Duke--"

"It is now personal."

"But--"

"Get. Out. Take the gem. Find out who started this. I will take care of her."

Jim staggered to his hooves and fled.

As he ran, he forced his thoughts to stop trembling in fear. He couldn't talk to the tiger again. He was sure the tiger was kind and nice, would never hurt him, but-- Predator and Prey. And the tiger, Oberon, was so insanely ''huge''. And now pissed.

Almost anybody else, Jim would have gone back to argue with. Or at least gone back for the gem. But, the tiger-- He just couldn't.

Which meant he had to find the unicorn first.

----

Three days had passed. Three days with no more bodies. But then, that was typical, through towards the long end of the scale. The wanted posters were being printed, patrols had been brought down from Metamor. Everything was falling into place.

And yet--

There was no memory of a unicorn entering Metamor before the first sighting in the Bronze Unicorn. No records. Nothing. And no woman with a big sword either.

Oh, Jim had confirmed that she'd been up in the keep. Had visited the library there. Had asked questions typical of the newly changed-- what her species was, any special dietary notes--

And then she'd asked about a symbol that the Chief Librarian had identified as that of a cult, and then dismissed the cult as myth, as an old wife's tale.

As to the motive, well, either she was insane in which case there was no motive. Or, she had purpose, and the only one --

A paper was on his otherwise empty desk. Where'd it come from? He'd have sworn it hadn't been there-- Unfolding it, he read the contents:

''She is not one of us, but she has purpose. Deal with her as you wish.''

It was signed with the dagger and coin symbol of the Guild of Thieves.

Eli damn! Purpose? Well, if it was the cult, well-- well--

Jim shook his head.

''If'' there was a cult, as a Citizen of Metamor, or as a visitor, her duty was to tell the authorities and let them, in this case the watch, deal with it. She had neither the right, nor the legal authority, to go on her own private crusade of death! No matter--

There was a knock on his door. "Enter."

It was Chrispher who pushed the door open, and he hadn't even noticed her distinctive knock. "Sir, a report has come in-- they think they've found the unicorn!"

Jim leapt to his hooves. "And--?"

"As per your orders, a ''very'' discrete watch is being kept on her.

"Good. Get the task force up. It's time for us to catch a unicorn--" Before that damn tiger who'd been snarling around Euper beat them to it.

----

They were led to what had to be the poorest, most destitute, most filled with hate and despair, part of Euper. As it had rained the night before, the streets were a thick soup of clinging, gluey mud. Jim wish he'd worn his boots, but was sure he'd need his hooves for climbing soon enough.

Nobody lived here who had a choice. Jim could see eyes peeking through the crack between shutters on the buildings to either side of them. He figured they were more afraid of him than of the serial killer he was after. You'd think that after the assault last winter, people would have left to help fulfill the desperate need for labourers up in Metamor Town. Only a few had. The rest lurked here where the tanning-stench filled the air, in the ruins, in the rubble, in the mud and the fear and the hate. Seagulls cried from over the docks, oars slapped into the water, and the miasma of fish going bad oozed between all the other scents.

A big piece of mud splatted on one of his men's helmets, but there was no sign of who'd thrown it. "Ignore it," Jim said. "We have bigger prey today."

The men grumbled, but he'd picked ones who were the toughest, the most skilled. The ones who knew what the worst of Euper was like.

A massive ox dressed in rags stomped through the mud. Jim almost didn't recognize him as a member of the watch. Holding up his hand, Jim heard the task force halt behind him. "You know where she is?" Jim whispered.

The ox nodded. "Caught a gleam o' pearl late last night, it vanished into that alley down there." He pointed. "No-one's left, and that there’s the only way in."

''Except for the roofs'' Jim thought. "Good job." He drew his sword, and heard the hiss of weapons being readied behind him. He'd have preferred heavy chain, but stealth was more important so he wore hardened leather, as did the others. He just hoped he'd gotten her first, before that tiger, before the Longs started poking around, though rumour said they had. Before any other intruders from the keep came down and started tramping all over Euper.

Clearing his throat, Jim stepped into the entrance of the alley. "In the name of the Euper Watch, and the Duke of Metamor, you are ordered to surrender to His most blessed and fair justice!"

Jim watched as the unicorn began to stand, almost wobbling. She was dressed in brown leathers complete with brimmed hat, streaked with dirt and mud. Her mane was tangled, her fur stained black with bits of white showing. Had she dyed it? And, and her horn. Her-- alicorn. Was that the word? It gleamed like the finest, most precious pearl ever given to the most noble of ladies. It glowed with power and goodness. It drew the eye, holding the mind. Trapping--

Jim tore his eyes away and shook his head to clear it. He ''hated'' magic sometimes! Watching her from the corner of his yes, he yelled out: "Stand slowly. Make no sudden moves." As she stood, he motioned the guards behind him to follow, almost having to slap the panther to get him to move. The others followed, tromping in the mud, the sun hanging in the sky behind them.

He stopped about ten feet away from her. "In the name of the Duke of Metamor, you are under arrest for mass murder." She closed her eyes. "If you move, you will be killed." How in Eli's name could this be the mass murderer? "If--"

The polished pearl glowed, brightened, brightened, until eye piercing blinding brightness filled the alley. Jim almost fell backwards, only the woman behind him keeping him upright. Others screamed as the world went white, nothing but white. Jim strained to listen, hearing hooves scraping against wood. He blinked, his eyes clearing as suddenly as they'd been blinded.

Somebody behind him called out. "Where the hells did--"

"Everybody all right?" Jim shouted.

All around him others were rubbing at their eyes, shouting and calling out in confusion. "Where is she?" one asked.

The panther beside Jim looked up, pointed. "On the roof!"

Jim pivoted his ears, and heard the clatter of hooves on tiles fading into the distance. "After her! She's going for the river!"

The confusion didn't last long. Jim shoved his way through, the thick mud sucking at his hooves as he ran, each step requiring him to almost physically yank one hoof out to move forward. Others crowded around him, pushing, running as fast as they could. He tripped on something, falling into the mud, just catching himself with his hands as his chest splashed into the ooze. The panther helped him up, and he staggered back into a run. Outside the alley the mud thinned, their speed improved. Some stopped and fired bolts up at her. Jim didn't stop them -- he refused to let the murderess get away.

"She's going to the docks!" a woman's voice yelled, and Jim ran faster, his breath coming hard and fast.

The men and women in Jim's task force spread out, going down alleys and along streets. More bolts were fired upwards as their prey ran. Herded. Sunlight shimmered off pearl as she leapt an alley, and that was when Jim knew that he had her! The block she was on was long and narrow, and there was nowhere to go from it.

"You five, stay her -- shoot her if she back tracks." He grabbed the shoulders of two squirrels, a raccoon, the panther still beside him, and motioned them up to the roofs. Sheathing his sword, his heart thudding loudly in his chest, he leapt onto the wall, cursing the mud caught between his lobes as his mountain goat hooves scrabbled and clawed at the weathered wood, pushing him upward. The others followed.

Above there was a loud crash, the clatter and scrap of tiles sliding and falling off. Below the unicorn, below them, Jim could hear the shouting of a crowd, cursing the watch, cursing the unicorn. Jim silently cursed them, not having enough breath to speak, as some of his men peeled off to keep the crowd away from the criminal.

He got his head above the edge of the roof just in time to see her back on her hooves, grabbing her leather fedora to keep it from blowing off. She ran and Jim yelled after her: "Surrender! You won't-- won't be harmed if -- if you surrender-- peacefully."

His breath shoved itself into his lungs, and shoved itself back out. The others pushed at him from below and he scrabbled onto the roof. Drawing from a well of strength he didn't know he had, he staggered after her. Not a run, just the best he could do.

Jim could smell the stench of the harbour now, and she could too, as she stopped at the edge of the row of buildings. She had nowhere to go but into the arms of the watch, or into the foul muddy water. He had her! "Hold-- hold your-- your fire!" Jim shouted out. He stopped, hands on his knees, fighting to hold his head up as he leaned forward fighting to catch his breath. "If you come-- come now-- you will be tried-- tried in the Duke's court. Justice will be done!"

All around him, his men tensed.

The crowd tensed.

Jim watched as she took a few steps away from the edge of the roof, her bare hooves gripping the wet tiles with surprising surety. "Why?" Jim asked. "Why kill so-- so many?"

She looked at him, the sun glittering in her eyes, on her alicorn. "Because-- because if I-- I don't, they'll-- they'll kill us all--"

At least she was out of breath too. One mortal weakness. "Who?"

"Ask-- library--" And then she spun, ran, and leapt off the edge of the roof.

All around, men fired bolts up at her, their iron tips hissing around her form. The crowd cheered, enjoying anything that caused problems for the watch. Birds screamed, oars slapped.

Jim staggered to the edge. There was no need to hurry because he wasn't paid anywhere near enough to dive into the sludge below. Below him, the Watch fired all the bolts they could towards the water. It looked like one sunk home by her spine, but Jim wouldn't put a copper on it. All he could do was watch. Watch her fall, tumbling. Watch her hit the water, splashing. Watch her struggle.

And watch her sink, even as the bolts hissed around her like rain.

"Sir--?" the raccoon asked, coming up to his side. Jim couldn't remember his name. "We did it--"

"Did we?"

"Sir?"

"Something doesn't add-- add up here. And-- she's not dead."

"But how do you ''know''?"

"Because that would be too easy."

Part of him hoped she lived, but the rest of him prayed she died. But, until a body was found, he'd have to keep searching. He dreaded having to ask an otter to swim in the stuff below, but he had no choice.

No choice at all.

{{series bar
|previous=[[User:Michael Bard/The Cultists Strike Back!|The Cultists Strike Back!]]
|next=[[User:Michael Bard/Into the Darkness|Into the Darkness]]}}

User:Michael Bard/The Cultists Strike Back!

2008-12-21T23:51:11Z

Michael Bard: Final version

{{title|name=The Cultists Strike Back!|author=Michael Bard|user=Michael Bard}}
{{Comment tag}}[[Category:Metamor Keep]]
[[Category:Michael Bard]]
[[Category:Story]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Cultists Strike Back!, The}}
[[Category:Anthropomorphic]][[Category:Cervine]][[Category:Mythical]]

'''September, 707 CR (during the Fall Festival)'''

Yvarra had been so relieved to get off the bloody holy mountain and back into the civilization of Euper. Had been until the night back in ''The White Hind''. She'd bolted the windows, and was fast asleep until awoken by a bell from the ''Sword of Songs'', a slipped open window, and the hiss of a dart. It hadn't hurt much, and whatever guck had been on it had been neutralized by her Alicorn. And, the attack had been so swift she'd never seen who did it, or had a chance to react. Her thrown dagger just went out the window into the night, never to be seen again.

And it happened three more times that night.

She'd switched to a different inn, ''The Lame Nobleman''. Only two attacks that night. Yvarra had slept till past noon as, at least, they left her alone during daylight. At least they were giving her a good stock of darts, once she cleaned the guck off of them. Not that she'd ever liked darts.

She hadn't realized what in the Nine Hells the cultists were trying, until she'd staggered down to the common room and went through three bowls of the porridge. And would have had another but they had no more. She remembered when she'd killed the first cultist, how drained she'd been. And how drained she'd felt after the darts. It seemed that the healing took energy, her own energy. And, she only had so much.

It had taken her three tries, but, finally, she'd found a vegetarian concentrated dried ration she could stomach. Something small, portable, and easy to keep to hand.

She'd left ''The Lame Nobleman'' to find the streets almost empty. It didn't take long for her ears to pick up the sounds of a festival, or celebration of some sort. It wasn't in Euper, but in the commons outside. The gates were open, there were no tolls for once, and--

The ''Sword of Songs'' donged a warning just in time for her to feel the dart thump into her thigh. She felt the warmth from her forehead as she plucked the weapon out. At least she hadn't wasted a throwing knife.

So much for resting in daylight.

She needed a plan, and she needed it ''yesterday''. The cultists were winning, and she had no idea how to find them, or how to fight them. She needed time to ''think''. Maybe in a crowd--

Not running, but walking briskly, she hurried through the gates and off towards the crowded commons. She could mingle, have some piece, and figure out what in Eli's name she could do!

Usually she liked festivals. Perfect grounds for some simple wealth acquisition. But now, ''now'' she was afraid to touch anything because she had no clue who was a damn cultist! Snorting, she adjusted her fedora. And she still needed to get a proper scabbard for the damn sword. Hopefully here--

The sword donged a warning.

Great, just great. At least this time there was no immediate dart. She looked around, getting a bit frantic, and then saw where the booths were, pushing her way through and blessing her height. Stopping, she stared. It was him! It ''was'' that damn monster tiger. From the keep. The lack of attacks she'd suffer on the mountain suggested that the cult wasn't there, and that suggested he was safe. And, Kelpnos be thanked, he looked to be selling weapons. She pushed her way towards him.

It wasn't far, and she watched him watching her from the counter he was behind. What was it with Metamorans and counters? What happened to the good old wagon and tent? Anyway, either he was a very poor merchant, or he'd been quite successful so far. Hopefully the later. As long as he wasn't a cultist she didn't really care.

She relaxed a bit, though she could feel her ears still flicking, and she kept sniffing at the air. They were here. And they knew that she knew. And she knew that they knew that she knew. And-- She shook her head to clear it. She needed sleep.

Why was she here again? Oh right, the scabbard.

The sword plucked a note of agreement.

She stopped in front of his-- stall? Counter? "Hello, sorry, busy. I need a scabbard for this. There was an accident--" She unbuckled the strap from over her shoulder and pulled the heavy thing off. "You got anything that'll do?"

He stared at her with a neutral expression. But then, did cats ever have anything else? At least his tail bent, unlike that bloody Brennar. The tiger's voice was deep and measured, full of barely restrained strength, and threat. "I might have something that would fit that weapon, but that would mean pulling apart an existing set of weapons in order to furnish you with the needed item."

She rolled her eyes. Damn smiths, always trying to raise the price. At least she only had to keep turning her head a little to see what was going on around her. "You have anything with throwing knives? I've been going through a lot recently--" If only he knew.

She watched him frown. Of course, she could hear him thinking, warriors ''never'' used throwing knives! Well, she hadn’t cared what others thought of her for a long time, and she didn't care now.

Still, he said nothing. Instead he asked, "Why are you carrying that large sword ma'am? Even I can see that you don't really know how to use it, and I have seen a lot in my life."

Stupid! Stupid stupid ''stupid''! Of course a warrior would notice that kind of thing, just like she'd notice the same with knives or a sling. For a second she through of playing the arrogant noble given a toy, but the ''Sword of Songs'' was just too distinctive. When in doubt, mix the truth with the lie. "It's kind of an heirloom. It," the sword played the sound of a discordant cymbal, "-- she and I are still working things out. Learning to use it is on my list when I have the time." If I survive till the new year.

She watched him cock his head and wiggle an ear as the ''Sword of Songs'' commented. "I see," he said. He placed his hand on the hilt of one of his swords.

Great. Damn finicky warriors. What had she done wrong ''this'' time?

Thank Eli he just continued. "Can I please take a closer look at your weapon so that I can get a good idea of what would fit it?"

Closer look? She clenched the hilt tightly. But then, what harm was he going to do? Especially here. She just prayed the cultists kept their distance. She could feel power here through her alicorn, hopefully the thing wasn't glowing. She needed more ''time''! With an act of will she loosened her grip. "Sure. I do apologize for the scabbard -- it was what I had or nothing."

"It's a hack job if I ever saw one."

She snorted. If only he knew.

"You must've been in a hurry when you did it." He pulled the sword from the cut off scabbard and examined it, the wax seal crumbling away. It made a low tone, like the long draw of a bow on a string.

She watched him, heart pumping, as he examined it. Her ears were flicking all over the place, and she began feeling a bit light headed as she was sucking air into her nostrils so fast. Clenching her fists, she forced herself to calm a little.

The hilt had an elegant downward pointed cross-tree on it and there were subtle engravings on both the cross-tree, the pommel, and the first two inches of the blade. Yvarra had never really taken the time to look at it. Swords were just tools. But this-- When she stole stuff she looked for the ornate, the fancy, this-- No runes, no heavy detail, no sculpting, no gems. Just clean smooth lines. In its own way, it was more beautiful than the gold and gem covered monstrosities she'd seen so many times.

He stepped back, and she stepped forward. Then he pulled one of his own swords from its scabbard and slid the ''Sword of Songs'' into it. It fit perfectly, and the two side thongs slipped over the cross-trees to reach their studs without a problem.

"How does this look?" he asked.

"It looks fine. Appearance isn't that big a thing compared to functionality. May I?" She reached to take it back--

"Wait a second miss! You are forgetting something. This costs money, and you did mention that you wanted throwing knives." He pulled down a baldric that contained four sheathes with throwing knives contained therein. "If you want both that will cost fifty suns."

"No I hadn't forgotten! Though I trust you, if I need this thing and my life is at stake, I have to know ''now'' how easily it draws. If you want, hold the scabbard whilst I draw my sword. Then we can talk."

He reversed the scabbard and undid the two peace thongs before pointing the hilt of her weapon towards her. He obviously had no intention of letting go of this scabbard until it was properly paid for. Merchant or warrior, she couldn't tell anymore. Not that it really mattered.

"Sorry -- I've just learned the bitter hard way that looks don't mean shit when somebody's trying to run you through." She reached up, such an experience -- she hadn't had to do ''that'' in a while -- and the ''Sword of Songs'' easily slid out and into her grip. She slid it back in, and out and in. "Good." She nodded in satisfaction.

"Well now do want the scabbard and these four knives?" he asked her, as he did, he flipped his cloak open a little to reveal the hilt of a monstrous sword and the heart shaped ruby set into its pommel.

She looked at the knives-- looked like good craftsmanship but no way to tell. And he was touchy. Better safe than sorry. "May I handle one, and do you have a target?"

He pointed to a post that he'd dug in for that very purpose. "You can throw it at that post there. I personally guarantee that they will never fail you in combat."

As if ''he'' knew! With all the gods that seemed to be crowding into her life recently, she didn't trust anything to perform as advertised anymore. She drew one of the daggers and held it by the hilt. Good grip. She balanced it vertically on her palm -- easy. Good balance.

"Looks like you know your way around a throwing knife Ma'am."

Grasping it by the handle, letting the leather warm to her touch, she squinted, cocked her head, and found a knothole in the post. That'll do for a start-- A swift straight movement back, snap forward, and the dagger was wobbling by its blade, centred in the knothole. "Good balance. You need a smaller target," she continued dryly.

Chuckling, he reached behind his back and whipped out another knife at the target. It stuck into the wood right beside her own weapon quivering slightly. "That's always what I tell the guys at the Deaf Mule."

"May I try a second one?" Without waiting for an answer she threw it and it thunked between the two existing daggers, quivering not at all.

"At least you have some skill with knives ma'am. That makes up for your lack of skill with that sword. Why do you carry it anyway if you can't even use it properly?"

"Like I said, she's kind of an heirloom." More nervous at the continuing lack of cultist, Yvarra looked around, licked her nose, and sniffed the air. Too damn many food odours. Some grain mush shoved its way up and she hurriedly chewed before swallowing again. "Fifty suns is enough to beggar my sick grandmother, make my poor lonely grandfather turn in his grave, and my eighteen children to die of starvation. Thirty."

"Ma'am, I make the highest quality weapons this side of the Western Sea. If you want my stuff you will have to be willing to pay my prices. But right now I can tell you that you will find no better hardware in all of the Midlands. My price stays unless you can make me a better offer."

Somebody was sure full of themselves, and no sense of humour. She'd been hoping to kill a few minutes. Crap. She had it in gold, barely, but she'd have next to no coin left. "Fine. Rules are yours. I'd offer a knife game with winner gets their way, but that's liable to take us all day. How about an equivalent gem in trade?"

She hadn't wanted to dig into them so soon, but things rarely went as planned. Reaching into the pouch, she felt around -- she'd have been happier if they hadn't been cut, or she'd had been able to find somebody she trusted to recut them. She had no need to go to the keep again, and anything that kept the ''Sword of Songs'' happy, and thus kept her alive, was good in her book. She felt a smaller one, felt the facets-- should be. Pulling it out she saw it was a brilliant star sapphire cut in twelve edges. Looked like it'd been pried out of a setting-- what to say--? Heirloom? Bad family times? No sense showing the rest of the wealth she'd taken from the cultists.

She put it on the counter. "Here. Should more than cover it, and your transaction fee to sell it. Old family setting, ring was fake -- no clue how that trick happened."

He picked up the gem and scratched at it with one of his claws before he held it up to his eye. "This is a very nice stone ma'am, but it will more than pay for what you are purchasing. Then again I do have to sell it."

"It's got bad memories. Ten gold from your end to cover the difference?"

He nodded, looking at the way she moved and her posture, her scent. Why did she always have to get the careful ones? For a long moment he just watched her, and then he pulled out five gold and dropped them on the counter. "Something isn't right about this, I can smell it. So I'm only going to give you half of what you want for it."

Damn! This was going to come back and bite her, she knew it. Be non chalant-- Where was some cud when she could use the distraction? "It's not worth the memories. Five is fine."

He shook his head at Yvarra and frowned. "Now you had best be on your way ma'am before you attract too much attention. I've been around long enough to know that something isn't quite right here."

If only he knew. She could scent his suspicion, but she had a choice. Either stay and try and reduce it, but that didn’t' seem likely, or get the hell out. Of course, if the cultists did try for her here, he'd have far greater things to worry about than a bit of lost money. Of course, they'd strike by a poison dart in the eye, or a toxined sharpened coin slid against your palm. She didn't even want to think of how many times her alicorn had saved her so far.

She felt something nick her leg and felt a wash of heat pour down from her forehead.

And again.

"I'd better be going. You're going to think the wrong thing when I say this, but just forget I was ever here. Sword, scabbard and daggers please?" She slipped the dart out, wiped the poison off on her pocket, and let it slip to the ground.

Taking her purchases, she pushed her way out into the crowd, chewing on the cud that finally chose to come up.

----

For whatever reason, it took a good chunk of the afternoon for the cultists to find her. Yvarra had almost relaxed, especially after getting both her stomachs full of delicious apples. How could food taste ''so'' good? The only thing that was able to distract her from the wondrous taste was what appeared to be a ''muffin'' tossing game of some sort.

Yvarra shook her head. She'd never understand this place--

Just as she was turning away, the ''Sword of Songs'' gonged a warning. Without thought she dove for the ground, managing to keep her muzzle up this time to keep her Alicorn from getting stuck in the grassy dirt. Something hissed just overtop of her and ''thunked'' into--

Klepnos! Not her, ''somebody else''!

She'd started to turn her head when there was a scream, and she watched what appeared to be a child collapsing.

Yvarra blinked.

She couldn't go on like this. Sure, she enjoyed challenges, enjoyed winning her victories, enjoyed tweaking the rich and the slow. But nothing she'd ''ever'' done had hurt an innocent. ''Nothing''! And now, now the Eli damned cult--

The boy vanished behind a crowd as she forced herself to her hoof and began to slink away. She shouldn't be here, she couldn’t be here any longer. And, as to the cult, well, fine!

If they wanted to play the game, ''that'' way, she'd play it ''that'' way. They'd taught her to kill. And, now, for the first time in her life, she ''wanted'' to kill.

Her ears flicked as the ''Sword of Songs'' played a mournful oboe note--

"He's alive!"

''What''? Yvarra spun around, trying to see past the crowd.

"She's just sleeping." "Stupid pranksters, playing with sleeping drugs."

Yvarra stopped, blinking.

''Sleeping'' drugs?

How'd they know? Did it really matter? Assume that statement was true. There were people who could know. Find the dart, carefully taste what was on its tip.

But, if it was a sleeping poison, then ''why''?

Either they had ''known'' that dart would hit an innocent. Or--

Or, they wanted her alive.

She shuddered.

Yvarra stood up straighter.

In the scheme of things, it didn't matter. The child was alive, or the adult, or whatever, and that was what counted. And yet, and yet it proved that the cult had crossed the line, and was willing to stay on the wrong side of that line.

She wouldn't be safe in crowds. She'd never be.

Her heart steeled itself with a new resolve.

They wanted death, she would ''give'' them death.

And there was one place she could start. The ''only'' place she could start.

The bathhouse. There'd been an entrance to the catacombs there. And, once she got there, got to where she knew how to move in silence, then she'd make them ''pay''.

But, first she had to get ready. A quick preparation. She couldn't go as she was now. She couldn't go until tonight.

It wasn't hard to push her way through the crowd as it was starting to disperse. There was a tanners district, by the river. It was impossible to miss -- especially with her newly enhanced nostrils. She'd pick a building at random, pay to be dyed black. Buy some clothes to wrap around her hooves for silence.

And then, tonight, ''tonight'' she'd go back to the bathhouse.

Nodding to herself, she made her way off the commons.

----

The dye was cold, and dark. But then it was black. Or it had better be. Yvarra kept a small stream of bubbles gurgling from her nostrils. The longer she crouched there, the darker the colouration. It was odd-- normally she'd be feeling some pain in her chest after the amount of time she'd been submerged, but it was like she could stay under forever. The longer the better for the black liquid, anyway. She hadn't told the dyer, but she was holding a knife, letting it move from hand to hand, though she'd told him to leave her in her privacy. She didn't know the dyer, didn't trust him. Eli, she didn't trust ''anybody'' anymore. She'd picked this dyer at random by flipping a coin. Hopefully he'd be safe, and she'd be safe.

Yvarra wasn't taking chances anymore.

She couldn't afford to. The white ''had'' to go. Absolutely. Before she'd just worn dark clothes, blackened wax on her face and hands. Now-- Now she'd do whatever she had too.

Yvarra'd known that most of her alicorn would be above the surface, but she planned to dip it later.

Still no need to breathe. Everything was odd. She'd have sworn, hell she'd have put good coin down, that she could feel air movment along her alicorn as it glistened in the air above. In fact-- was that the door she heard opening? The ''dyer''? She could see-- dagger-- ''Nine fucking hells''!

Acting more on instinct than reason, she burst out of the barrel of dye and whipped the knife from between two fingers. Even as she blinked, even as the black oily dye dripped from her ears, she heard the gurgling and whimpering of pain. In the few moments it took her to clear her burning eyes, the room fell silent. The dyer was lying there in a pool of blood, a knife stuck in his throat. Or, the dyer who was male now and-- Argh! She hated the damn curse!

Climbing the rest of the way out, she let the thick liquid roll off her naked body to pool beneath her hooves, mixing with the dyer's blood. It was cold, cold as ice. Cold as her blood felt now that she felt no remorse at the death. Stepping from the liquid, stepping across the body, she pushed the door he'd opened the rest of the way. It didn't matter that she was leaving a trail of black, she needed to know ''now''.

It didn't take her long to explore the small place, sniff around the stored skins to be tanned and dyed, to find -- nothing. Some coins, some fruits that must have been newly bought that she wolfed down. But-- nothing! No sign of him being a cultist, no secret passage, no entrance to the catacombs--

She hadn't expected the rest, but where was the robe? If the cultists stopped kindly identifying themselves, then how would she ''know''?

A cold chill swept through her soul. Was she going to be reduced to killing innocents now? But then, he ''had'' come after her with a knife. Even if what she'd seen, or thought she'd seen, was a trap, he'd ''still'' been holding the damn knife! And, why else would he have disturbed her?

It made no sense! It made no-- unless-- something she'd heard-- something when she'd been on the holy mountain-- what was it--? She scratched the base of her alicorn as she chewed on the last of the melon. That mouse-- she couldn't remember the name-- he'd said something about her alicorn being valuable, especially in Euper.

Could that be all it was?

This was great, ''just great''! Not only did she have the Klepnos-damned cult after her, she ''also'' had random fortune hunters out to kill her for ''her'' alicorn! Well-- they wouldn't have it! She'd survived in the streets, survived adulthood and city guard and assaults and imprisonment.

She ''would'' survive this!

Spinning on a black hoof, she clicked her way back to the dye. Holding the sides of the barrel, she held her alicorn down and under. It was odd-- she could feel the coldness of the dye. It felt-- it felt ''wrong'', repulsive. Still, it had to be done.

Standing up, she pulled her alicorn out of the black liquid.

Her alicorn that was white. Glimmering, shining white. She could see the last of the dye flowing off it like oil from water and pooling in a cold darkness in the fur of her muzzle.

Nine hells!

Fine!

Looking around, ignoring the cold, dead body, she saw a dirty cloth and stalked over and started wrapping it around her--

It felt ''wrong''! A burning itching filled her, pouring down her alicorn. It grew and grew, becoming unbearable as she ripped the cloth off and threw it away. The silver-white horn glimmered between her eyes and a feeling of comfort and relief filled her.

Hmph! So much for ''that''! She'd learned long ago ''not'' to try and changes things she had no control over.

The sun had set; she unswallowed and chewed some cud as she grabbed the cloth, and found a few more in another room. There were some things she could do something about, and high on that list was the sound her hooves would make on the wooden floor of the bathhouse.

Then she left the small shop in the blackness of the narrow streets of Euper. Her alicorn glowed gently, enough so that she could see where she was going when the towering buildings closing in the narrow muddy streets hid the shining moon far overhead.

The door hung open behind her.

----

Euper was quiet. She could smell unwashed forms, garbage, rotting vegetables. In the distance she could hear the crackle and ''boom'' of fireworks as they exploded above the commons. The soft rustle of the river, the honking of a few geese, a flag flapping in the wind. In the distance, a voice called out, it's meaning unintelligible. There was more than enough moonlight to see by, and when it slid behind the clouds, the soft warm glow of her alicorn sufficed.

The cold mud oozed between her hooflobes. She really should have kept the boots on, but she didn't know how much time she'd have when she got to the bathhouse. It was likely abandoned, but she didn't have any other ideas. All she could do was stay quiet, take a look, and improvise.

A lot of her life seemed to be like that these days.

She ducked into an ally as a squad of the town watch squelched by. She could hear them grumbling at not being able to go to the festival. Yvarra hoped the cultists were there. ''All'' the cultists. Then she'd have some peace and quiet for her investigations.

''And if you find the passage still there, what then?''

She had some provisions, her pack, her weapons, and her skill. It was a start. ''What else am I supposed to do?''

''Ask for help''?

Hmph! She'd never needed help before, and she didn't need it ''now''..

The watch passed, and she resumed her walk.

----

Yvarra ducked into an ally a short distance away from the bathhouse. Spitting on her hands, she eyed the worn brick wall, and swiftly climbed up it. Far easier than that wall in the keep. Damn that keep! ''Damn it to the Nine Hells''! She was ''never'' going anywhere near the place again.

No time to think about it.

The roof was worn wooden tiles. She stayed at the peak, not so much for silence, but to ensure her weight was on a support beam. Keeping her balance was easy, and her hooves stretched and gripped the wood with surprising ease. Maybe she'd gotten something useful out of the curse after all. As she reached the edge, she crouched down, eventually laying on her chest to look over the edge at the bathhouse.

The bathhouse was a separate building. That'd seemed odd, but maybe it made it easier to hide tunnels. And strange sounds. Laying there, she watched, looking around, hoping that the moonlight washed out her alicorn from anybody looking up. Normally she wouldn't have worried -- people almost never looked up -- but she expected that the cultists were more used to the idea.

The bathhouse looked abandoned. The door hung open, still in the windless night. Licking her nostrils she sniffed. Mud. Fresh wood. Leather. Many animals. Had the watch investigated already? Scratching a flicking ear, she tried to remember if she'd closed the door -- she'd have sworn she'd closed the door.

The building was two stories, slightly higher than the one she was on now. There was a window almost opposite where she was, shuttered and closed. It wouldn't work though -- no easy way to get to it without making noise. Unswallowing some cud, she chewed and thought-- The roof sloped downward on either side. Leaping would be easy, but she'd slam against the wall making sure anybody inside would hear. Leaping onto the roof wouldn't be hard either, and also noisy. Maybe--

Cocking her head, she looked at the edge of the roof, the bottom of the slope. It ''could'' be doable. She could leap, grab the edge, and then swing into the opening at the side until her momentum stopped. Then go hand over hand up the slope to the window, pry it open, and get in that way. It would be a bit of a climb, but it had the advantage of a number of abort points -- swing to the ground and run, drop from in front of the window to the ground and roll.

She crawled back from the edge of the roof and sat down, pulling the rags from her pack and tying them snugly around her hooves. They were ''not'' comfortable. She stood up, carefully, and almost slid off as they gave next to no traction. But, balance was one of the things she was good at, and this body seemed to have a very strong natural sense.

She walked to the edge of the roof, each hoof making a thudshush as they slipped a bit before the cloth stretched enough to provide a stable grip. At least they made almost no sound, which was the objective of the exercise. On her back, the ''Sword of Songs'' let out a nearly inaudible flute-like tweet, a warning, but Yvarra ignored it. She had no other idea what to do, and if she could find the thrice cursed entrance, ''maybe'' she could go on the offensive.

Yvarra crouched, gauging distances in the dark night. Her ears wiggling and shaping sound to give hints of what she couldn't see. She stretched her legs a bit, crouched, stretching and clenching fingers. Relaxation, that was the key. Then, hooves splaying, skittering, the cloth wrapping pinching painfully against the soft flesh between the lobes, she leapt. The sound was loud in her ears, and her heart thumped a bit faster, even though she knew it was almost silent. Just as she leapt, a tile jerked loose, skidding down and down the roof, the ''clinkclinkclink'' screaming in her ears. Stretching out her arms, she grabbed the edge of the roof, long thin fingers clenching tight as her weight swung around. Her fingers slid, but held as her ears focused on the ''splut'' of the tile into the mud deep below.

Then she swung, each swing less than the one before, hanging in the darkness, listening, hearing only the normal sounds. An owl hooted. Somebody called out the hour away on the walls.

Then she stopped.

Fingers straining, she pulled herself higher and higher up the sloped roof, her breathing easy and steady even as she hung higher and higher above the alley below. Then, glinting in the dim moonlight, she saw the window. Just a bit higher-- There! She swung a bit, pulling herself higher, until her hooves scrabbled against the window sill.

Klepnos but this would have been ''so'' much easier without the cloths. She almost had it, almost-- had it! Crouching down, she balanced on the ledge, pressing against one side of the shuttered window. A second to draw a thin dagger, to work it between the shutters, and pry the opposite one open. It resisted, then there was a ''pop'' and the catch gave. The shutter whipped open but she easily caught it.

Sheathing her dagger she edged along the sill, and then wiggled in through the window. Her hooves thudded on the floor, sliding a bit as the cloth pulled and stretched, and then she was in.

Grabbing the handle, she pulled the shutter shut. Her head warmed, her alicorn glowed, and she saw that the catch was unusable -- one end of it was in the room somewhere. Pulling out a copper, she opened the shutter a bit, wedged the copper between the two, and worked the shutter close until it was tight. Yvarra settled her fedora securely on her head.

She was in.

The room was old, dusty. It was just a space in the attic, though finished. Dust settled from her passage, and furniture and crap were piled haphazardly around, some covered in cloth and canvas. There was no door, instead a trapdoor. She sniffed, smelled dust, dirt-- something rotting overwhelming almost everything else. And-- and-- Licking her nostrils she inhaled, but--

The ''Sword of Songs'' gave a faint tone, a rising shrill just loud enough for her ears to hear. But, she heard nothing, saw nothing. Smelled--

Moving slowly, she walked step by step over to the trapdoor. Her entire body quivered with tension. Something--

The ''Sword of Songs'' made the sound of clanging bells and she was halfway around as the trapdoor creaked open; black cloaked figures throwing off tarpaulins and screaming as they ran towards her from all over the room.

''Klepnos''!

The dagger was in the air and then the throat of one cultist as her horn burst into eyesearing brightness that should have hurt her but didn't. The attackers staggered, blinded, and she found she'd drawn the ''Sword of Songs''. Though she had no skill, it was the act of a butcher, not an artist, to swing its gleaming length and hack it through the chest of a woman right in front of her. Her victim's screaming changed to a gurgle as the sword got pinned between her ribs. The light of her alicorn dimmed and the cultists moved towards the sound. Daggers hissed around her, one slamming into her chest. She ripped it out, threw it at another, and drew two more and threw them at two others. Only two left. Dragging at the sword it yanked out with a wet sucking sound as the trap door slammed onto the floor raising a cloud of dust. She shoved the blade into its sheaf, the sword seeming to guide itself. A hooded head poked up and a dagger slammed into her leg. She staggered.

This wasn't gong to work. Oh, she could hold them, but for how long? Ripping the dagger out and tossing it without aim through the trapdoor she ran across the floor; closing her hand into a fist, she punched it against the one shutter, sending it flying open. Due to necessity she trusted only her memory and leapt towards where the other roof should be. It was! But, she was going to be low. Curling up into a ball, she slammed into the roof, more tiles sliding and ''clinking'' down as she staggered back onto her hooves, slid, almost lost it but the cloth caught on something, the warmth of her healing flowing through her as she panted for breath. She turned her head enough to see a crossbow poking out the window as a bolt slammed into her back sending stabs of red pain through her. Somehow choking down a scream, she ran, yanking the bolt out in a spray of blood and flesh as another hissed by her.

By the Ninth Hell, what did it take to get these bastards to stop?

Voices called behind her, and she felt the roof shudder as a weight landed on it. The moon passed out from behind a faint cloud and shimmered in a sea of silver across the roofs and the glittering Metamor River in the distance.

Where was the damn watch?

A part of her snorted -- who'd have ever thought she'd wonder ''that''?

More thuds echoed behind her, and the clatter of booted feet. There was a scream, the rattle of tile against tile, and a moment later the thud of a body in the mud below. Somebody had lost it. Damn but she should have scouted this more! Reaching the end of the roof she leapt, trusting something was on the other side, not having time to look, not knowing. She fell and fell, her heart pumping out its desperate cry before slamming into a single story roof. It cracked under her, and one hoof fell through, the snap of its bone loud in her ears. Pain filled her, but she pulled and wiggled loose as her magic healed the wound, leaving behind blood and fur.

She could feel the fatigue now. Pulling at her, tugging at her. Breath gasping through her nostrils, into and out from her lungs. A few drops of blood still spraying from the bolt.

Why were they trying to kill her now, when they'd tried to drug her before? It made no sense!

She looked, peered, saw another roof before her, far too high to reach. Turning to the right, she continued to run, hooves skidding, the cloth digging into her flesh. There was a long row, a series of buildings. Her breath was hot inside her, her heart struggling against the prison of her ribs. She needed time! There was another gap and she leapt, slamming onto a roof slightly higher. Turning her head slightly she saw that four were running behind her, more leaping to follow. She needed to hide! But--

A higher story towered above the roofs and she ran behind it, almost falling so sharp did she turn. A moment out of their sight. And-- and--

And she had no choice.

She ran into the shadows, the tower hiding her form them, and them from her. Only a single room most likely, as the tower ended at an ally that passed between two buildings adjoining that with the tower. Having no choice, desperate, she grabbed a windowsill of the tower to slow her motion and then leapt into the darkness of the alley.

Silence but for her breath, her heart. Air whistling past her. Then she slammed into the wooden side of a building, slivers digging into her flesh as it tore and scrapped off. She fell, forcing herself to be silent as her entire body felt like it ''glowed'' with warmth. Then she slammed into the ground, her legs snapping, landing on her chest. The fire inside her burned, and her heart pumped frantically against what felt like her naked ribs. She forced her mind to clearness, feeling around as her alicorn remained mercifully dark, and the clouds hid the moon so that she was hidden in shadows.

There was trick -- she didn't have the tools -- or did she? Laying on her back, she pressed her hooves against the stonewall and begin clicking them against the stone as though she was running. She let the sound grow fainter, and fainter, even as she prayed to Kelpnos as she'd never prayed to before. Or, at least never prayed before in desperation, in ''need''.

Voices whispered above her, too faint to be understood. She stilled, unswallowed some cud, chewed with what strength she had left, her ears swivelling, listening. Bodies clambered down the walls, splutted into the mud, and ran into the street as others leapt and ran along the other roof. Spreading, searching.

Going ''away''.

Until there was only silence.

An owl hooted; somebody on one of the walls called out the hour. And the clouds whispered away from the moon as it glimmered down into the alley. She fumbled in her pouch as she swallowed the cud. She stuffed her muzzle, chewing the grain frantically. Her body sucked in the energy and her heart slowed.

----

Three more calls from the watch as she chewed, rebuilding her strength. It was near dawn when she felt safe. Drawing the ''Sword of Songs'' she looked at it, looked at the silver moonlight glimmering along its length.

"Why? Why me?"

Nothing.

"You warned me. You did. And I, the fool, ignored it. I should be dead. Dead, or--"

But, why dead? They were using sleeping drugs. Why? The first cultist, the one in the bath, had said that ''The One must die''! She ''knew'' he had. But--

Had they been taken off guard? Had whoever was controlling them changed their orders? Why?

Did they ''need'' her? She shuddered.

Pulling out a dry cloth from a pouch, she polished the ''Sword of Songs'' wiping the blood off its gleaming surface.

So many questions. So few answers. Nothing made sense!

And-- and now she had no idea what to do.

The sword gave a low tone as she chewed cud.

The sword. It was the key, it had to be. It was the damn sword that had brought her into this.

The sword that could detect the cultists.

Detect--

Closing her eyes she swallowed the cud, feeling the cold evil of ''necessity'' curl its hands around her soul.

She couldn't keep fighting like she had been. She'd lose. Tonight had been close. Far ''far'' too close. She needed a way to get at the cult. A way they couldn't prepare for. A way that would keep her safe, that would give her time to find a way to get into the catacombs where they lurked.

And--

And a way to ''hurt'' them. To make them feel the pain she felt from every one of their blades, their bolts, as they tore into her flesh. A way to make them pay for the innocents they'd brought into this.

She sighed. There ''was'' a way--

Pushing herself to her hooves, she held the sword in both hands, in front of her, pointing down so that its blade almost dragged in the mud.

"Find some cultists for me," she whispered.

----

It didn't take long until the sword played a tone she recognized. It was quiet, so quiet she could barely hear it.

She was standing in the street beside a small house, more of a hovel really. Instincts made her walk into the alley beside, into the obscuring darkness. She'd seen nobody as she'd searched, heard only the expected sounds. And now--

The door from the alley was easy to find. It was easy to pick, to open. Her hooves were coated in mud, its cold wetness soaked into the cloth wrapped around them. Stepping in she moved silently, or as silently as she could. There were barely two rooms, a workroom and kitchen, both filled with refuse, the scent of boiled grain warm in her nostrils.

Her stomachs grumbled but she forced them down. Not here. Not now.

There were two doors. The one she'd come through, and one that led further in. A window looked out onto the street, the large vertical shutter closed. By the warm glow that rose from her alicorn she saw mended clothes hanging beside it. At least somebody here made a living doing simple reparis. Ears wiggling, letting scents ooze through her nostrils, she made her way across to the door.

It wasn't locked, and she pushed it open a crack as the ''Sword of Songs'' hummed inaudibly against her back. There were four figures there, all curled up on a pile of straw. Two children, one human, one a small rodent of some kind, and two adults. One a horse, the other some kind of bird.

Hardly daring to breath she made her way across to a chest in front of the bed. She could feel the sword against her spine, warning, encouraging. But, she couldn't trust it, not yet. Crouching she lifted the chest open. Just clothes, normal clothes.

Until she fished below and found a cultist's robe. And another. And a third. Two small, child sized, one adult.

Damn you ''Klepnos''.

Children. If they even were children around here.

Damn Metamor. Damn it all. Damn the whole Kelpnos-damned place.

In silence she closed the lid and stood up. It was right that the ''Sword of Songs'' did it, but she wasn't skilled in it.

She sighed.

The ''Sword of Songs'' could find the cultists. She could prove they were cultists. And, it seemed there was only one language they understood.

Moving away from the chest holding one of the daggers she'd bought so few hours before, she slit their throats. One, two, three, four. Parents and children.

She had a method. And, eventually, she'd find another way into the underground.

But such a dirty, disgusting, ''necessary'' way to fight back.

But, what else could she do?

Wiping the dagger on the straw, she sheathed it.

A search of the building confirmed there were no hidden entrances, no passages into hidden basements or secret catacombs.

Creeping back out, closing the door behind her, she trudged through the mud in the predawn light looking for an inn in which she could sleep. Maybe--

{{series bar
|previous=[[User:Michael Bard/A few Days in Heaven|A few Days in Heaven]]
|next=[[User:Michael Bard/Tales of Euper Investigations|Tales of Euper Investigations]]}}

User:Michael Bard/A few Days in Heaven

2008-12-21T23:49:38Z

Michael Bard: Final version

{{title|name=A few Days in Heaven|author=Michael Bard|user=Michael Bard}}
{{Comment tag}}[[Category:Metamor Keep]]
[[Category:Michael Bard]]
[[Category:Story]]
{{DEFAULTSORT:Few Days in Heaven, A}}
[[Category:Anthropomorphic]][[Category:Cervine]][[Category:Mythical]]

'''September, 707 CR'''

Yvarra sighed, wishing she'd stolen a staff from someone.

She'd been in overgrown full-of-themselves keeps before, but Metamor took the prize. Not only did you first have to go through the shit town of Euper where all the dirty unwashed unworthies of heaven lived, you then had to walk a quarter mile up a damn slope. ''Then'' through the dead and echoing silence of what locals told her were called ''The Killing Grounds''.

Yvarra missed her fedora.

She was surprised the vast empty space wasn't kindly decorated with the decaying skulls of those who'd had the audacity of attacking the keep. Or, what she expected the Duke would have preferred, those who dared try to come from the pestilent hole of the lowly earth and up to the rarefied realms where the rich and important people lived. At least they'd only charged her a toll to get on the road up to the keep. Or keep and town.

Yvarra stumbled on a loose cobblestone. She ''needed'' boots. Her hooves were ''killing'' her.

Though, given the long rocky road she doubted that she'd have been better off if she'd still had boots, or a staff, or even feet.

She snorted, hurrying through the depressing emptiness as fast as her tired limbs could move her. At least there'd been no toll at the lower gates. Apparently seeing the hard divisor between the haves and the have-nots was free of charge.

Her stomach grumbling -- apparently the stew at the inn had finished working its way through to stomach B (the innkeeper had been a wealth of handy information) -- she made her way past a heavily loaded wagon that had broken one of its wheels. The two horses just stood there, sweat clinging to their hides, as the driver cursed.

She sniffed. Was the cart carrying--? It was! Sacks of grain.

Her stomach -- stomachs? -- grumbled louder.

She knew of far too many arrogant bastards that would've starved before eating raw grain, but her life had taught her to be more practical. Just like the damn cult, whatever it was, had taught her to kill. And, just like she was going to work with what she had, and apparently with some gifts of basic abilities and simple sanity, rather than railing about things she couldn’t change.

Turning, she made her way over to where the poor soul was cursing the gods, and everybody else he could think of. "--name of the Gods, of Eli, why me? Why? Damn piece of crap picks ''here'' of all the godsforsaken places--"

"Hello!"

"--to shat…" He sputtered to a stop and turned to look at her as she looked back at him. The man was still human, lucky him, a bit on the thin side. From what she'd picked up, he could have been a she, or maybe was just visiting. If the latter, he was probably screwed now, what with the time getting up here, and back down and out, and the delays the broken wheel would cause. Blushing, he bowed, and apologized. "Sor-- sorry ma'am."

"Is there somebody in town I can talk to, to get you some help?"

"Oh-- sure. Cartwright, name of Forgan. Sign of a broken wheel -- one of the new places just inside the gate. Tell him that Guinevere is stuck in the middle of the Grounds and needs a new rear wheel. He'll know."

Guinevere? Cocking her head, she looked at ''him''. Guess he was a local. "I'll do my best."

"Umm--" he kicked at the bare stone, "-- I don't suppose you can do one of those 'taur things I've heard rumoured?"

She blinked. "'Taur things?"

"Guess not-- Apparently some of the Keepers who have animal forms can change to a six limbed form -- four legs, human-like torso. Able to rip down a wall with their bare hands."

She tried to picture it in her mind, but failed. "Sorry-- Could I ask you a favour?"

"Why not, I ain't going anywhere."

She pulled out a silver. "I admit, it wasn't only your problem that made me stop, it was-- well-- I could really use some of your grain. Hungry you know."

"Sure! And don't you worry about paying for it. It's not doing me any good here."

"Just don't put it in a feeding bag."

He laughed, a rich sound consumed and transformed by the huge space into dull grunts of horror. He stopped. Drawing a knife, he cut a slit into the top of one of the sacks. "Help yourself, ma'am. I've got nothing to put it in, so take your fill. Best I can do."

"You, sir, are a saint!"

"After the assault last winter I think we're all saints. At least as blessed as any saint, given the divine favour required for us to survive."

Nodding, holding on the hat she no longer had, Yvarra walked over and plunged her muzzle in, sucking in a mouthful of the rich grain, and swallowing it almost without chewing. A second, a third, and then she was full. Damn stomachs-- Pulling her muzzle out, she licked her lips, and then wiped around her nostrils with a hand to get most of the grain dust out. "Thank you-- Guinevere."

"Notta problem. Remember, Forgan the Cartwright."

"I will!" For practice she slipped a silver into his pouch. She had lots, and with the time he lost today, he'd need it. And, kindness should be rewarded. Waving, she walked off, snorting a bit of missed grain dust out of her nostrils.

----

The gates that exited ''The Killing Grounds'' were typically massive and imposing. Things that stated ''Abandon Hope if Ye Dare Try to Pass and we Don't Want You''. And, from the line up they were controlling entry in some way, and were being lutins about it. Of course, she had no way of knowing how typical this was, but she expected it was very. In front of her was another native, or at least she was pretty sure he was given that you don't see many kids driving wagons on their own.

She sniffed-- apples? Oh my! She'd never cared for them before, but now-- Now they smelled like ambrosia. Besides, there was nowhere else she had to be, and just the thought of crunching on one--

"Morning!" she called.

A dog poked its head up from the seat where it'd been lying, and growled. "Down, Avenger," the kid said.

She snorted. "A message?"

"You could say that--"

"I don't suppose I could sit up there and rest a while? Give my-- umm-- hooves a rest as it were."

"No room."

Hmph. "Oh well. Never hurts to ask. Umm--" she sniffed, trying to keep her face expressionless, though she had no clue if it could even show expression, "Do you got any apples for sale."

"Sure. Sell you a basket for a gold."

She gagged.

Then he winked. "You look so cute like that, you know?"

She clenched her fist. "Fine." She didn't need the aggravation, and knowing her luck recently the cult was probably tracking their gold somehow anyway. Pulling out a gold she held it out to him.

This time it was his turn to blink. "Umm-- I wasn't serious-- Is that ''real''?"

"I'm hungry, and it's real." She tossed it into his lap and he fumbled and caught it as the dog, almost a wolf, watched her every move. "I'll just find the basket on my own--"

"Umm-- sure--" he bit the coin and stared at it. "Other side, take any-- take any one--"

"Thanks," she said dryly. If not for the dog she might have tried something, but it wasn't worth it. She normally had sleep-poisoned darts for obstacles like that, but not here. And, she was a humble penitent trying to find a sage, seeking information. She needed to know what the hell she'd gotten shanghaied into.

She walked to the far side of the wagon as it lurched forward a bit as the line moved, and then found stacks of baskets apples. At least her new height had some use. Of course, the baskets were huge bushels, nothing small. Far more than she needed -- she wasn't sure she could even lift one of them. Instead she cradled four apples in her left arm and held one in her right, and bit into the orgasmic sweetness.

She couldn't believe it, but she might have found something that was actually ''better'' than sex! Happily she munched on the apples as the line advanced. At least it wasn't long -- she dreaded what it'd be like before the dawn market. She was just about to start the last one when a voice from behind forced itself into her thoughts.

"Son, I came to Metamor and it turned me into a newt! I didn’t' get much better though-- And I am ''not'' a witch!"

It was such an odd turn of phrase and she couldn't help but see through her wider vision that it was indeed a humanoid lizard with a cane talking to a human boy. Who may have been an adult. Or a girl. Or-- Yvarra didn't even know anymore.

It seems she needed to get some basics on the Metamor Curse.

The line advanced, and she moved into the gate, the cold stone looming above plunging her into deep shadow. She moved deeper as the road made a sharp turn, cutting off the sunlight.

"You!"

A torch guttered and stank, hissing and crackling in its slot against one wall, its light pale. The portcullis and the massive iron wrought oak doors were open.

She'd made it to the gate.

There were guards there, of course. Two of them. One was a pig of some kind, the other a literal ox of a man. Licking her nose she sniffed, one of them -- the pig -- stunk of alcohol. Of course, it was an open question how many more lurked behind the murder holes above with crossbows ready.

"Yes, you! What's ya business at Metamor?" It was the pig who'd spoken.

"I wish to consult a sage."

"Sage--"

Her ears flicked as the other whispered, "'Think she means tha library."

The pig grunted, "As though they'll let ''her'' in," in a voice he probably thought she couldn't hear. He coughed and she almost gagged at the stench. Only her happy apple filled stomach kept her from an unwanted reaction. "Do you have any papers?"

Of course she did! People were paranoid enough these days, that she was ''prepared''. Of course, she'd paid for them to cover her coming here as man. She knew what they said, even though she couldn't read them, and couldn't have written them. Reaching into a pouch she pulled out the parchment and handed it over. For them it was probably just ritual, they ''certainly'' couldn't read--

The pig unfolded the paper and looked at it, eyes squinting. "Gives your name as Sarpadon. You don't look like a Sarpadon to me-- Ellcaran?" He folded the paper up. "Obtainer of rare antiquities, eh?"

"Why do you think I need to talk to-- visit the Library." She shuddered at how much hiring somebody to read for her would cost. And to think that this ''idiot'' was literate! At least she'd paid for the forgery to stand up, even if untoward things happened. It was ''far'' better to have some kind of history, some kind of ''voice speaking for one'' when visiting a strange place, than to have nothing at all.

"Don't think you'll be goin' back ''there'' any time soon!"

The ox guffawed.

She almost ripped the parchment from his hand before carefully folded it up. "My caravan was ambushed and my stay has been-- longer than planned. Now, what's the toll?"

"Three copper. There's that sword though--"

Sword, oh right. The damn ''Swords of Songs''. "What about it?"

"I need to make sure it's peace bound. Only Keepers and Watch are allowed with ready weapons. Security, ya know."

Peace bound-- Nine hells! She'd never carried a sword in her life, until now. She hadn't a clue how to use the damn thing. Be humble. Show respect. Let them enjoy their petty power. "I'm sorry." She wracked her brain-- how--? Wax. "Could you take care of it for me--?" At least she had a candle -- backup for the witchlight. Normally she wouldn't trust ''this'' pair with a broken crossbow, let alone a candle and fire, but she was tired, and they needed their little power trip.

"Oh sure. But we don't--"

There was a candle in his palm. She probably shouldn't have, but the wonderful mood from the apples was rapidly fading. "I've given you a candle. If you'd be so kind, there'll be a silver to cover it and the toll."

The ox laughed, and the pig lit the candle from the guttering torch. She gripped her pouch tightly in one hand, holding the apple in the other, as he dribbled wax against the hilt. She'd have sworn the sword sighed with her.

"There are rules," the ox intoned. "Either be out or have a place to stay by dusk. The Ducal keep is off limits unless Kyia lets you in. Library's free admittance, but Mael-Murie's word is law. Thieving is punishable with lashes. Other crimes at the discretion of the Keepers. Don't make no trouble, and you'll have a pleasant stay. I'd warn you about the curse, but you've already got it, so you're safe. Any questions?"

"No. There are Inns?"

"Sure."

"It won't be a problem."

"There, all done. Just one thing though--"

She turned, sniffed the candle, decided she was better off to buy a new one. "Yes?" Her spine crawled -- so many crossbows could be aimed at her skull. She ''hated'' going through gates.

"Ya gotta peace bond that too." He was pointing at her alicorn.

The ox sniggered.

"Peace bond, remove, or no entry."

Her fists clenched. Just the ''thought'' of some''thing'' like ''him'' touching it! She-- Remember those out of sight-- The apple. She should have been humble, should have asked ''him'' to do it, but she wouldn't let him ''near'' her alicorn!

And why was that? a part of her wondered. More questions for the library.

There'd be more apples. She tossed the last one sadly into the air, and speared it gently with her alicorn, so gently that it neatly plugged the edge. Filling her voice with sweetness, and calm, never forget the calm, she asked "Will that do?"

"Enough!" a voice boomed from above. "You've had your fun! You're on report -- don't make me transfer you to number forty-one. Ma'am, you're good to go. You two-- I ''am'' watching!"

The pair snapped to what had to be attention, though she wouldn't have bet on it. At least there were apparent limits of idiocy around this place.

She wondered who was speaking, though. Maybe one of those ''Keepers''. More questions. She'd never planned to enter Metamor proper, hadn't seen any need to research it once she knew that she had to be in and out for her own safety. Hah! Like that worked.

Tossing the silver at the ox, leaving the bright red apple stuck on the point of her alicorn, she stalked out, the clicking of her tired hooves echoing off the stone walls as she passed a guttering torch, and another, and another. A curve, more open gates, more portcullises, and more gates, until she ''finally'' got back under the open sky. She'd just enough time to get out of the tunnel before a group of guards ran past her and out. It was the usual mismatch, a dog, a woman, a gray fox kit, a pig and a striped wolf thing. All arguing, and she could smell alcohol. Bah!

There was a large open square on the far side of the gate. Carts were set up, farmers selling their wares -- no apples though -- and tinkers and other small craftsman. It didn't take long to get directions to Forgan the Cartwright, and get that promise taken care of.

Now to her business!

----

It was almost noon and she gratefully sat down on a bench by one of the fountains. No wells anywhere, just the happily burbling water. She was almost ready to cry.

And why was that? Before-- before all ''this'', ''he'd'' never have thought of crying. But, now-- How deep had the changes ''gone''? She forced her emotions back.

What was ''with'' this place? It was like ''everybody'' could read! Shops were labeled in chicken scratches. She would ask directions, and be given names and words and it was all ''meaningless''! It didn't help that there were obvious remnants of buildings everywhere! Cleared away foundations, filled in basements. Streets changed. Signs twisted.

Normally she'd have just paid some money, grabbed an urchin, and been guided to where she needed to go. But-- there wasn't ''any'' of that! ''No'' urchins. ''No'' beggars. Wide open streets, no overhanging buildings crowding one upon the other so that you had to be lucky to see the sun.

She'd never seen anything like this!

The Killing Fields were like passing through purgatory to gain entry to Heaven.

She swallowed some of her apple flavoured cud. She needed help, and she had no idea how to get it--

People yelled, and she looked up as somebody sped by at an unholy speed on some kind of self-propelled wagon. She'd never seen anything like it, and it seemed not everyone else had either, given some of the curses that were sent after it.

At least ''that'' seemed more normal.

Cupping her hands, she took some water and lapped it up. And then some more, and splashed it on her muzzle to deal with the dryness. Before her in the water was her reflection. So beautiful, and so alone.

Cocking her head, she looked at herself. She needed something-- An image flashed in her mind, a vision of herself. Her beloved floppy brimmed fedora, whip on her belt, repeating crossbow pistol. What had been on her forged letter? ''Obtainer of Rare Antiquities''. Probably call the song of her adventures something like ''Raider of the Lost Cult''. On her back, the ''Sword of Songs'' seemed to begin some kind of march--

She snorted. Nobody would ever care to hear about her.

All she would do was survive as she'd always managed to do. Alone. Proud. Doing what she had to.

Her eyes flicked up to the apple still on the top of her alicorn. Damn gate-- Scraping her alicorn against the side of the fountain, the apple slid off and plopped into the water.

And she stopped.

She couldn't move.

The tip of her alicorn was -- held? -- in water that had suddenly gone still as crystal. All around her the sounds faded. They echoed and collapsed into deeper and deeper tones that slowed into silence. There was something in the water, some echo, and she could ''feel'' it. Somebody--

Like pulling a rope from a frozen barrel of molasses, she dragged her alicorn out of the silent water, and then everything snapped back into normality.

This wasn't her world, and the sooner she got out of it, the happier everybody would be. Especially herself. If she still had it, she'd knead her hat in her hands--

Reaching down, she grabbed the apple, careful to keep her alicorn out of the water. She took a bite from the dripping fruit and licked the wondrous taste from her lips. Her ears flicked and spun at the sounds of the dripping and burbling water, at a child's voice in the distance. She sniffed. Bread? She sniffed again. ''Fresh'' bread? Swallowing the last of the apple, she unswallowed and chewed on some more apple-flavoured grain mash.

Bread sounded good right about now. Sit down, relax. Then ask to try and find somebody to take her where she had to go.

As to the bread, well, she'd just follow her nose!

----

It wasn't long until she'd followed the delicious, well, almost as good as apples, scent to a new stone building. She could smell the fresh cut cedar for the beams beneath the mouth watering scent of fresh bread. Somebody must have pulled a fresh batch out of the oven.

She stopped. Umm-- where did you buy the bread. No window, no bread set just out of reach to lure customers in-- just an open door.

She was supposed to go-- inside?

A brown rat in fine clothing walked past her and padded through the door.

This place just made ''no'' sense-- Shrugging, she followed.

Inside it was large and airy. A number of small round tables with various chairs and stools, beams of sunlight and dancing flour in the glistening light. A black and white tabby, well, somebody transformed into one, was sweeping the floor, tail ticking back and forth as he watched the rat talking to-- something-- to a pig-rat? Yvarra had no clue what it was. But the bread--

Her hooves clicking on the wood, she pulled out one of the stools and flopped on it, finally finding a seat the right height for her lengthened legs, and with lots of room for her long tail to hang down. It didn't take long for the patron to get a muffin, pay for it, and walk off, nibbling, whiskers twitching and tail wiggling. The-- rat thing walked over to her, brushing flour off his clothing.

"Good afternoon, Miss-- How may I be of assistance?"

Yvarra watched the cat watching her, its tail swinging back and forth like a pendulum, as she looked up at the-- man she presumed was the baker. He certainly ''smelled'' like he was. "Yes. Some bread. Maybe some honey if you have it. Some beer -- I don't care at this point. And help."

"Assuming you've the same diet as deer, I've some fresh acorn bread you might like. Got the honey, got the bread. Rather than beer, may I suggest some hot apple cider with cinnamon? As to the help, well, it depends."

She ''drooled''. "That would be wonderful! As to the help, well, I'm new here."

"Oh?" he called as he went into the back.

She sighed. All rehearsed lies. And they all seemed so ''wrong'' here. She couldn't afford the risk though. "Got attacked outside Euper, delayed me a bit too long-- I just want to get proper clothing, boots, visit a-- the library, get an idea of what I've become."

"You've asked for directions?"

"Of course!" If only that damn cat wouldn't keep watching her. "They give me names, they point, and as soon as they're out of site I'm lost again. What I need is a guide, and I haven't found one. I can afford it, but--"

He came back out with a tray containing a sliced loaf of steaming bread and a bowl of honey, and a steaming mug of apple cider. With a flourish, he clapped it down on the table she was seated at. "That I can probably help you with then. Brennar!"

The cat stopped sweeping.

"You've cleaned enough for the day, I think. You want to show the lady around?"

"Would he?"

"Just make sure he behaves himself. He can probably use the exercise. Oh, and call me Gregor. Everybody does--"

----

That had to be it!

Like a lightning bolt, it had hit her as she cocked her head and looked at the comfortable and familiar leather fedora balanced on her forehead.

It was all out of military expediency!

An invading army would be used to invading typical cities and towns. Tiny thin crooked streets, pictorial signs. They'd be used to having potential allies in terms of the street urchins and beggars -- those who'd have no loyalty to the existing regime.

Metamor was intentionally designed to screw up those preconceptions!

A bit brutal having to drive the urchins and beggars out of the city, but the security! Yvarra almost had to admire the ''genius'' of it, if not for the cold bloodedness it would take to execute.

She frowned as she tried to wedge the hat down more. Damn alicorn-- it was just in the way--

The shop clerk looked at her as Brennar watched, tail waving back and forth. "You know, miss, I think we could cut a slit in the brim-- make room for your-- natural accessory.

She pulled off the hat and looked at it. The thing was floppy, ill formed, not quite the same as her lost one, and yet-- it felt ''right''. But, the shopkeeper -- the ''clerk'' -- she played with the odd sounding word -- was right. "I guess a slit then."

The clerk nodded and the ''Sword of Songs'' dinged in satisfaction.

"I hope you're better behaved in battle," Yvarra muttered.

The ''clerk'' came back in a few minutes with the hat neatly cut, and a quick and neat sewn reinforcement to keep the tear from going any further. She plopped it down on Yvarra's forehead and brushed a bit of her fine silken mane out of the way to make it sit better. Tilting her doe-head, she looked at it, first one side, and then the other. "That works."

Yvarra looked into the mirror, cocked her head, and then shook it a bit. The hat stayed neatly in place. She felt ''so'' much better having it back. And, it ''felt''right. No other way she could describe it. Recently she'd learn to trust her feelings. A lot more than in the old days anyway. And, especially, when the gods were involved. "You're right, it does." And so did everything else. She looked down at the soft leather boots she was wearing, laced up and cunningly crafted to go past her hock and up almost to her knees. They were comfortable, and fit neatly around the lobes of her hooves. Felt weird, pressing and pulling on the soft flesh between her hoof lobes, but oddly comfortable. She'd picked up a basic white linen shirt, a leather vest, and some shorts -- with her fur she didn't need anything more. Just one more thing, then to have a night on the town before risking the library. She looked around the leather shop. She'd almost never used one, and she had no idea why she felt she needed it. But, it seemed that somebody knew, and that somebody wanted her to act. "Miss, do you have a whip?" She'd seen one, but she wanted to know what was offered.

It didn't take long for the clerk to come back with a pair of whips, both made of tightly bound leather. One was a bit larger. "I think the smaller one might be better for you, but it depends on your strength. We don't have any place you can really try it--"

Yvarra looked at them both. Held one in each hand. If only she knew more. Heavier would be awkward, but could do more damage with less control; but the lighter would be easier to control. She handed the bulkier one back -- she'd never been one for brute force.

The clerk nodded. Pulling out a piece of vellum -- what was with ''that'' -- and a piece some metal, she scratched stuff on the vellum, tapped, and then said, "That'll be 23 Gold Suns and a Moon." A haughty look filled her rabbity face. "We don't deal with ''small'' change."

Yvarra opened her mouth to offer a lower number, but she'd found out the hard way that was ''frowned'' upon around here. It marked one as positively ''provincial''. And, that wasn't unreasonable for quality work. If she'd been fencing it she'd have started at about forty gold. Nodding, she started counting out the coin.

One almost had to love fighting against cults, as long as they were ''rich'' cults.

----

The sun was setting by the time Yvarra got out of the leather shop. She'd have to go to a weaponsmith to try and find a scabbard -- at least the typical specialization existed in this madhouse. She'd almost been afraid that she'd be taken to a ''general store'' that carried everything, or even something like a ''department store'' that had each individual merchant in a separate department under a single roof.

How could people live like this?

She wanted so much to leave this mountain, go back to Euper where there were only insane people trying to kill her, rather than everything being so topsy turvey

Brennar looked at her, tail moving back and forth. Didn't he ever ''bend'' it? It was ''always'' like a piece of wood or a fence post, and always, ''always'', swinging.

Where did she want to go? Well, she'd done enough shopping. There were a couple of places they'd passed which promised to wash her mane and style it, but she figured she'd be dying it all a greasy black in a few days anyway. She didn't want to waste the cult's money ''that'' badly. Leaning backward, she stretched, old bones, or was that new bones, creaking. She needed a break. To relax. And she certainly still had the coin to do it.

She rubbed her hands together in anticipation. Odd, how a little thing like a tuft of hair at the back of her palms made such a simple action seem so very different. At least knives were thrown by the fingers so it didn't screw that up. "Brennar, how would you like to meet some women?"

The cat gave no apparently reaction.

"What I mean, Brennar, is that I'm in the mood for some relaxation, and I'll pay for you too. Time for you to experience life as a man!"

Still no reaction.

Yvarra blinked. "Umm-- you know-- Women of ill repute? Ladies of the night? Oh, I want men, but the good places always have both." Had she really said ''men''? She examined that thought, poked it around in her brain. Yup. Men. Seemed doing it with a woman had no appeal to her. Or well, she could be dominant on either side.

And still no reaction.

She sighed. "Fine. Just take me to a House of Ill Repute."

Brennar just stood there.

"Well?"

Nothing.

"You know, a whore house? Paid sex? Bangs for coin?"

He slowly shook his head.

"No? What do you mean, no? You won't take me?"

He shrugged.

"You can speak to me you know! Don't tell me there aren't any such places on this damn rock--"

He shook his head.

She stopped. Stared. Impossible. No place, ''no place'' could be that screwed up. She swallowed, licked dry lips. "Brennar, are you saying that there are ''no'' whore houses in Metamor Town?"

He nodded.

She stared. She blinked. "No whore houses--"

He shook his head.

Yvarra screamed. How could people ''live'' like this?

She needed a drink. A ''big'' one--

----

"So, I can stay here?" Yvarra asked.

Brennar nodded.

She looked at the wide two story wood-frame building. It looked almost ''normal''. Except for the sign that was covered with chicken scratches. "What's the place called?"

Brennar shrugged.

She was starting to wonder if he ''could'' speak.

The cat held out a furred palm.

At least some things never changed. She popped two silver into it and he purred and waved.

"Cats--" She looked at the-- door, shrugged, and then turned the hatch and pushed it open. There was no sound, at least the hinges were well oiled -- that reminded her, she'd need to get some oil somewhere -- and looked in. It was a large room, well lit by candles on an overhead chandelier. Maybe five tables, a bar, various stools. There was a fireplace, unlit, but then it was an unseasonably warm day. Ten people or so, plus a number of -- children? -- serving. Of course, around this place, ''children'' could be almost anything.

A girl in a rough-spun dress ran over to her. She looked about twelve, though it was hard to be certain. She curtseyed and asked, "How can ''The Shoeshine Inn'' be of service to you?"

Odd name that. She thought for a moment of talking down to her, but then, who knew what her ''real'' age was. "Well, yes. Two things actually. One, a room for the night. Two, the thickest, ugliest, most potent brain rotting liquor you have."

She scratched her chin in an almost cute pout. "Yup, paying for the room first, then, is wise. You want to get really soused? Out of your head soused? Snoring on the floor soused?"

"You got it, miss."

"Got one single left, three silver. Our best ''rot grub'' runs a bronze a mug. I would ask that you put that sword of yours in your room first though--"

The ''Sword of Songs'' chimed.

"I'd rather--"

"Sorry, with all the Keepers around, we can't take the chance of the rough housing getting that out of control. Daggers fine, sword not."

Yvarra needed a drink. She ''really'' did. She swallowed. "Umm-- how about I leave it behind the counter--?"

"Hmm-- yea, we can do that."

A happy flute crescendo came from the sword on her back.

The girl blinked. "How are you doing that?" She pointed at the alicorn. "That?"

"Not really me. Don't let it worry you--" she unbuckled the sword scabbard from over her shoulder and passed it over along with five silver. "Start the drinks coming."

"Your body." She led Yvarra to an empty table and motioned her down. "I'll bring some bread sticks on the house. Try to stay under control. There ''are'' Keepers here."

"Don't worry about me."

"Your silver."

It didn't take long until someone else, a boy with hints of white fur behind his ears, brought a tray with a pair of heaping mugs. She could smell the rich spicy scent and licked her muzzle in anticipation. "Ma'am, I've been told to warn you to take 'em slowly. They do have a surprising kick."

She started to say something, but then forced it down. Maybe there was a point -- she was in a new body. Slowly at first to get a feel, ''then'' it was time to get roaring, stinking, drunk. Grabbing the mug in one hand, she took a sip. The liquid was rich and heavy, thick and spicy with-- cinnamon, a hint of pepper, and some others she couldn't identify. It even had a slight effervescence. A glow of warmth flowed down from her forehead as she swallowed the rich liquid.

It hit her stomach like a warm brick. But that was it. Nothing else. No sensation at all. No dizziness, no faintness. Nothing.

Guess the drink wasn't that tough after all. Tasted pretty good though. She swallowed the rest, letting the last bit swish around in her muzzle before she swallowed. At least it did warm her forehead nicely.

Just to be safe, she sat for a bit, and nibbled on one of the bread sticks. Maybe it took a few moments to kick in--

She finished the breadstick and chewed some spicy cud. Nothing.

Hmph! She took the second and threw it back. Nice taste, not as good when it wasn't piping hot. Against the nice warmth on her forehead.

And then-- nothing.

"Hey! Some more of those spicy things!"

It didn't take long for the girl that had greeted her to come. She looked at Yvarra, at the empty mugs, at Yvarra. "You drank them?"

"I did. Quite tasty." She cocked her head. "Not much of a kick though."

The girl blinked.

"I'm starting to think you may have not quite given me your best stuff."

The girl put her hands on her hips. "Ma'am, I do ''not'' care for what you're insinuating."

"Well, these things of yours don't do much!"

"Ma'am! You see that drunk by the fireplace?"

She pointed, and Yvarra looked. There was a bear of a man, literally like so much around this madhouse, and he was snoring in the table, his breath bubbling and gurgling in half a spilt drink.

"That was his third. And you're telling me--?"

"That's what I'm telling you." Though, Yvarra was starting to have a sneaking suspicion-- No. She ''refused'' to believe that the universe could be ''that'' cruel. "You know what, I'll make you a deal. You bring me ''three'' of those things. I'll drink them all here, one after the other, straight down. If I'm still on my hooves -- and that'll be five mind -- I get those three for free. If I'm out, I pay double." With that, she pulled out ten bronze and clunked the coins on the table.

The girl looked. "Seems a bit more than double. How do I know you're not using magic?"

"Miss, I want to get drunk. I need some relief, and my first plan failed. This is my second. If there is magic, and you could be right, I sure as hell ''don't'' want it! I need confirmation though, because if it ''is'' what I fear it is, I'm ''not'' going to be happy with somebody. Oh, don't look like that. I won't deal with it here. But, she ''will'' hear of my displeasure."

The girl looked from the empty mugs, to the coins, and back. "I'm sorry. I'd like to, as I ''know'' what these do, but I can also smell a set up. You want the drinks, you buy them. I will lug your body up to your room, though."

By this time a crowd was watching.

Yvarra sighed. "Wise girl. Fine. Make it ''five'' more then, take an extra bronze for your trouble. Six total."

She nodded, and came back a short while later with a heavy tray of foaming mugs. She thumped them down, and the rich cinnamon scent wafted into Yvarra's nostrils. "I got father to put a double dose in these. So, either you're under the table, or you're using magic."

"I ain't using magic. I ain't got none. At least none that I've been taught. And none in items other than a witchstone and that sword you took. If it is me, ''if'' mind, it ''sure'' ain't by choice." With that, she lifted the first mug, and threw it back. Nice warm spice, nice hot liquid, and a pleasant glow from her forehead.

"One!" somebody in the crowd called out.

"Hmph!" said the innkeeper girl.

Yvarra grabbed the second and threw it back. And then the third--

"Two!" "Three!" More were watching now.

And still nothing. Absolutely nothing! Yvarra was getting ''pissed''.

"Four!"

Yvarra was feeling a bit full, and might need to ask for a bucket and a private corner soon. And, her nostrils were getting a tad sensitive from all that cinnamon. But, she was still rock steady.

"Five!"

Yvarra slammed the mug down. "Eli damn this to all the Nine Hells!"

"Magic," the girl said.

One of the others, a scruffy wolfman, called out. "You'll fall over if you stand. Get up on those dainty cloppy things and prove to us you're good."

Yvarra was pissed. Pissed, angry, depressed, and ''not'' the least bit drunk. No girls, no drink-- She was ''not'' having a good day. In a swift move she stood up, drew a knife, and whipped it across the room where it thunked into the bullseye of the worn dartboard on one wall. "Any other questions?"

Silence greeted her.

Yvarra sat down, squashing her tail against the back of the chair, and winced at the pain. "And that's not from the damn drink!" She lowered her voice. "Oh, it's magic. But nothing I want or choose. But, it seems I'm stuck with it. So, I want my sword, my dagger, and something to eat, and then I'm going to bed."

The girl looked at her. "Fine. Another bronze for the service, and two for the meal."

Yvarra pointed at the table and the girl pocketed the lot. Then she looked up at the sky. ''Lady Tarathana, you had better be paying me an ''Eli damned lot'' for this job''!

She sighed and nibbled on another breadstick. There really was only one word appropriate.

"Fuck."

Damn alicorn.

----

"Who goes there?"

It was the next day and Yvarra was walking up the short road to the keep on its final rise at the north end of the ridge. The gate was open, yet another huge depressing thing of wood and stone and death.

Why was she here again? She ''hated'' keeps. But then, she hated anything with only one way in or out. It was like a trap. A giant stone trap.

But, she needed answers, and, apparently, this was the only place to get them.

At least it had been easy to find--

So, now she was standing at the gates, feeling small and helpless, as a heavy-set woman in chain mail leveled a halberd at her.

"I would like to visit the library."

The woman looked at the other guard, a scarred badger in studded leather, and the badger looked back.

"Yes, the library. The vaunted library that anybody can visit by the Duke's order. Or so I'm told."

She chewed on some cud -- porridge definitely needed a bit less pepper the second time around -- and listened as they whispered.

"She is right--"

"But the paper work--"

"Do you want ''George'' to find out we turned somebody away--"

"Shit no!"

"I have an idea--" The last was from the badger who walked forward, full of arrogance. "You are right, Miss--"

She sighed. "Yvarra."

"But, why should we let you, an obvious warrior and--," he motioned at the ''Sword of Songs'' and it gave him the thumpthump of an angry kettledrum in response, "--and-- Keep that damn thing under control!"

Yvarra grinned. She could smell that he'd voided himself. Bloody idiot guards. "I simply want I'm told is my right. Or, should I ask for-- George?"

"Fine! You ''do'' have the right. Anybody does. But, you can't go into the keep wearing that thing!" He pointed at the ''Sword of Songs''.

She snorted. "I got the damn thing peace bound!"

"Doesn't mean shit! You draw it, kill somebody, and it's too late for the wax to save anybody from hell."

The ''Sword of Songs'' made a sound like a dying ukulele.

"Kyia will take care of her if she's a threat--" mumbled the woman.

"We're still sworn to protect the keep, and the Duke, and that sword is a threat!" the badger hissed back.

"So much for the much vaunted ''free access''."

"It is free, to those who can be trusted!"

A new voice broke in. "And since when has it been the practice to assume evil?"

The woman joined the badger in pissing herself as both turned and saluted in stiff parade style. Yvarra followed their graze and saw a curious pair: a male fox, wearing worn clothes, with a massive axe on his back. His left ear was gone, torn off by something. She could smell the odour of death around him, and couldn't help but wrinkle her nostrils. He wore a belt, and it was crowded with dried and cracked flaps of skin which were the source of the odour. Beside him was-- was ''something''. It looked like a fox, but it was ''huge'', easily reaching to the anthro fox's waist. And-- it wasn't flesh-- it was some kind of metal that moved like skin. With a clank if flopped down, tongue hanging out, panting with a metal clickclickclick.

"Sir!" the badger squeaked. "She-- she wants to see the library. We don't know who she is, and she has a sword--"

"I can see," said the axe-armed fox clearly. "And you object--"

"She has the sword! She could be sneaking in to assassinate the Duke!"

Yvarra snorted. As though she'd use a ''sword'' in an assassination. A thrown knife liberally coated in poison was ''far'' more effective. Not that she ''ever'' did, or ever ''wanted'', to do anything like that. Though, with the unknown cult hanging over her, she was thinking things she'd never have touched a month ago. It was terrifying how many of her moral standards she was suddenly willing to throw away in exchange for her life--

The fox turned and regarded her. "And you are?"

"Yvarra. I'm new, and I need some information--" and I ''really'' need it. Though, not being able to read would pose a problem--

"Hmph. Well, the library certainly has that." He raised a worn arm and scratched the ear of the metal monster, his claws scraping on the metal with a sound that made Yvarra's ears try and fold back against her neck.

The metal thing whined, and stood up with a groan of metal on metal, thumped over, and flopped down in front of Yvarra. It sniffed her, and Yvarra only shuddered a little. Then it started licking her. The thing's tongue felt like a file on her flesh, and she could feel her-- fur tearing out.

"Hmph. Madog likes you, and that's good enough for me, though it shouldn’t be necessary. Go, enjoy the library."

Yvarra wanted to itch her leg, damn metal thing. She hoped she still had skin left. Swallowing, she forced her fear down. This fox obviously knew his way around, and he was as good a one to ask as any. "Umm-- sir-- where is the library?"

The fox looked at her, and blinked. "Where is--?" Then he laughed, a coarse harsh sound that seemed dragged out and over steel spikes. He motioned back at the keep. "Just go, Kyia will lead you to it, or she won't."

''That'' was a big help. But-- She looked, and was suddenly glad that the fox wasn't out to kill her. One step at a time. Get in first, and then find somebody to ask where the damn library was, and then find somebody to help her read the damn scrolls. "Thank you." Boots thumping on the cobblestones, she hurried past.

"Now, as for ''you two''--" the fox roared behind her.

----

Metamor Keep was a strange place. She'd have said silly, but nothing so big and made of stone and so full of nasty people with sharp weapons could be considered silly. Though, she did have to admit that very few keeps that were surrounded by manicured gardens. They looked quite nice, and, she had to admit, the late-blooming flowers tasted quite good. Almost as good as they'd smelled. She wasn't sure how she'd managed to keep her nibbling only to isolated bits to try and keep people from noticing.

Too soon she had to leave the warm sunlight and go into one of the unguarded open doorways to the main keep. Odd the lack of guards. Though, as there was only one way in, one would presume that anybody here was allowed here. The thick oak door was hanging open, and she made her way in, her booted hooves thudding on the swept stone. The hall was straight, lit by slitted windows high in the wall. Dust specs danced in the streamers of brightness. It was odd though -- the air smelled-- old, abandoned. Like nobody had been here for a long ''long'' time.

Which was impossible.

And yet--

The corridor ended at an arched door carved of some fine white wood. Great, a dead end. Well, she ''obviously'' needed help. Raising a hand, she knocked on the door, the sound loud and lonely, echoing down the corridor.

"Hello?"

In response the door creaked open.

"''Hello''?"

Unable to resist, she poked her muzzle in and took a look.

It was a large room, a bedroom of some kind. In addition to the large four-poster bed, there was a desk, some-- books? Who would leave ''books'' unattended like that?

She stepped in. "Hello?"

The room-- the chamber-- it felt-- nice. Welcoming. She felt like she ''belonged'' there. The air was sweet, smelling of lilacs and rose. The bedclothes were clean. There was a dresser and an actual mirror. On the dresser were some brushes, large and heavy. More like horse brushes than those a woman would use. A finely carved wooden rack for a long sword was on the wall. At one end was a carved target, and a trio of throwing knives were sticking in the bullseye.

What in the Nine Hells? It was like-- it was like--

It was like a ''room for her''.

She looked around, feeling more and more at home. Even the ''Sword of Songs'' was playing a happy restful tune on some stringed instrument. Not that the damn sword had any kind of stringed instrument. She sniffed, and saw another door partway open. She could scent ''water'' behind there. Hot ''steaming'' bath water--

What was going on?

Stopping at the desk, she opened one of the books. The printing was large. A single character. Beside it was a small painted picture of an Apple. Below that was another symbol, and this time the picture beside it was a Bell.

Eli-- She could recognize a few of the symbols. Letters. She turned the page and saw a shape she thought was ''D''. Beside it was a dagger.

It was like a children's book, but not. It was like--

Like a book for ''her''.

She slammed it shut and looked around frantically.

It was like she was ''home'' but she couldn't be. ''Who'' at the keep could be expecting her?

On impulse she opened one of the drawers and saw a set of what she recognized as hoof cleaning and trimming tools.

Klepnos--

"No!"

Her voice echoed around the room. Around what seemed to be ''her'' room.

"''No''! I don't know what kind of sick joke this is, I don't know how it was set up, but ''this isn't me''! It isn't!"

Turning, she fled, running down the long hall. Running away from the gift she didn't want, hadn't asked for, her thudding hooves echoing off the walls, seeking the peace of the garden. The passage turned sharply to the left--

But the passage had been straight.

She stopped, almost skidding, and stared.

She ''knew'' the hall way had been straight.

And, she knew ''now'' that the hallway curved.

What ''was'' this place?

Unable to do anything else, she resumed walking down the passage. She had no idea where it led, but she also ''refused'' to go back to that room. Yvarra didn't take gifts, didn't take handouts. She made her ''own'' way!

''You took the'' Sword of Songs, a voice whispered in her mind.

''It's a tool. A tool loaned for a job''.

''Is it''?

Something grabbed her, grabbed her alicorn, and then it let go. She almost fell, but then stopped and looked up. And she'd gotten so used to looking ''down'' at everybody. In front of her, so close that her nostrils were almost in his chest fur, was the most massive white tiger she'd ever seen. The most massive, muscled, armed and armoured, white tiger she'd ever seen. He seemed to be looking at his one hand to make sure it was all right.

He shook his head, cleared his throat, and asked: "You look lost. Where are you trying to go?"

She swallowed. She didn't understand this place, but she needed information. She needed information so that she could complete the job she was ''hired'' for. "I'm looking for the library and seem to have gotten-- lost."

"Odd. The library is just down that way. End of the hall." He pointed. "Or, usually it is, anyway."

She looked down the corridor that branched off and hadn't been there before. She blinked. And ''usually'' it is?

"It takes getting used to. The keep is always moving things around."

Yvarra cocked her head and starred at him.

"Usually it'll take you where you need to go, eventually. Good luck."

"Err-- thanks." Turning, she fled down the hallway he'd pointed towards.

Like a drunken snake, the hallway curved and twisted. Once she looked out a window and would have sworn that it looked into another hallway where a rabbit was hopping on the ceiling and all the pictures were hung upside down. She'd have sworn that another time the hallway slowly rotated, twisting around so that it was shaped like a corkscrew, even though she was ''always'' walking on the ''level'' floor.

Finally, she reached a pair of double doors, one of which was open. Almost afraid, she peeked in.

And saw-- books. Books and books and books and more books. More books then she could have ever conceived of existing. More books than she could comprehend. She just stared at the inconceivable insanity of it.

The room was brightly lit, the walls lined high near the top with stained glass windows of various animals tinting the light that poured through a kaleidoscope of colours that fell amongst the books. She sniffed, and could smell nothing but books and dust and age and love. Odd, how love smelled. One would think you couldn't identify it, but these books were ''loved'' and it was obvious to her nose.

She took a step in and looked around. Looked around feeling small and helpless and useless. All those books, all those answers, and none of it was of any ''use'' to her--

With a loud sigh she walked the rest of the way in, pushing the door open a bit with a creak. Damn hinges need oiling -- she'd take care of it if she was robbing the place--

Bloody stupid town had all the knowledge, but not a single damn sage. It was one frustration after another!

"Do you need some help?" Yvarra jerked and looked down. It was a mouse, small, brown, standing on two legs and dressed in a red shirt and poofy blue pants. His long tail wiggled out behind, its tip slowly quivering. His ears twisted and focused on her.

She unswallowed, some cud picking a most inopportune time, and she nibbled on the half digested daisy petals. Too quickly to enjoy it, she swallowed. "Actually yes-- I need some information."

"You've come to the right place."

Yvarra rolled her eyes. "I'd agree, if I could read."

The mouse cocked his head and his tail went still, as he looked at her. "You can't?"

Yvarra sighed and slowly shook her head.

"Well! Seems like you ''do'' need help then." The mouse giggled.

Yvarra glared.

"So, what do you need help with?" The mouse's tail was wagging again.

She clenched her hands and then forced them to relax. "A few things. I guess-- let's start with the simple ones. I'm kind of new here. What, exactly, ''is'' the curse?"

"Curse?"

"The Metamor Curse!" She motioned around and then pointed to herself. "The one that did ''this'' to me!"

"Oh! ''That'' curse--!"

"Yes, ''that'' curse!"

"It's actually quite simple you know. I don't even need to look it up." The mouse turned and walked off between the stacks and Yvarra hurried after. "It came because of the Battle of the Three Gates. The evil mage, Nasoj, -- you've heard of him? -- had his servants cast three spells, one at each gate. They were supposed to be fairly local, and devastating. One would transform its victims into babies, one into mindless animals, and one into wildly over endowed brainless sex machines of the opposite gender. Of course, ''we'' weren't idle, and our mages managed to largely mitigate the curses, but they became permanently absorbed by the keep and the lands nearby. Victims were made children, not infants, half animals but still sentient, or just normal members of the opposite gender."

Yvarra nodded. "I must have gotten two of them then--"

The mouse stopped and squeaked. "Two? Two's almost unheard off. The only cases I know had an outside influence corrupting the curses."

The ''Sword of Songs'' chose that moment to play the sorrowful note of an oboe.

"I just ''bet'' you're sorry--" Yvarra mumbled.

"What was that?"

"Oh, I think I have an idea of what mucked me up. Oh well, not much I can do now."

"There are some groups who could help you adapt--"

"I'm fine!"

The mouse shrugged and resumed walking. "You said you had other questions?"

She sighed. "Yes. What am I?"

"A unicorn. That's obvious. Though, a bit unusual--"

"I ''know'' I'm a unicorn! I'm not an idiot. But, what does being a unicorn ''mean''? What do the legends say?"

The mouse stopped and stroked his chin. "We can look it up. There's a standard reference we have--"

"And what do you mean about ''unusual''?"

The mouse turned to face her looking her up and down. "Well, the tail is right, and the hooves, but the head-- The classical appearance is like that of a horse with the horn, cloven hooves, and lion tail. Your head is a deer, completely."

Yvarra responded through gritted teeth. "I know."

"Well, let's take a look and see. It might be that females are different. It's not unknown-- Ah! Should be here!" The mouse stopped at a table where a huge, heavy book was sitting open.

Yvarra sniffed, and a cascade of faint scents poured into her, all kinds of scents. Lions, tigers, bears-- oh my -- and many ''many'' other animals.

The mouse started leafing through the pages, mumbling "U-- u-- unicorn-- Ah hah!"

The mouse moved out of the way and Yvarra looked at the painted illustration. It was a unicorn, though the alicorn looked a bit short, and the head was definitely like that of a horse. It had a goat-like beard, and cloven hooves and lion tail. The hooves were darker than her own, and almost finer, but the tail was nearly identical. All around the picture and below it were scribbles and meaningless marks, though she did see a ''u'' and some other recognizable letters here and there. "What else does it say?"

"What else-- oh right." He ran a finger down a page. "The unicorn has a number of powers, though it is unsure how common they are, or even if all of them are truly possessed. Their horn, the ''alicorn'', is reputed to have healing properties. It can be ground up--"

Yvarra touched her alicorn possessively.

"--and the powder will purify anything poisonous; a cup made of an alicorn will similarly purify liquids poured into it. Alicorns are said to be great tools for manipulating magic, being extremely effective as a material for wands and staves. It is also said to be able to heal, or, more accurately can be used as by a unicorn to heal those who are worthy. It is said that if a unicorn touches you with its alicorn, all wounds will be healed, all poisons destroyed. There are legends of the recently dead being raised by the touch of a unicorn.

"Legend says that unicorns are attracted to virgins, or that a virgin, in her innocence and purity, is a symbol of what a unicorn is. A symbol that a unicorn must respect, possibly even worship at. Virgins have been used as bait for hunters who would capture or kill a unicorn."

Yvarra scratched her chin. "Is that all?"

"Pretty well. Not much else seems to be known -- nothing on diet, habits, or such things. Unusual, but then unicorns are rare." He tapped the book. "You seem to have lucked out in the curse department if half of this is true."

"Not as much as you might think--" The poison part certainly was, and she cursed it again. There had to be a way she could selectively turn it off!

"You don't have much to worry around here, but down in Euper, and outside the keep, I can see visitors trying to kill you for that horn. I hope you know how to use that sword."

She didn't, but she wasn't too worried. She knew how to take care of herself.

"Anything else I can help you with?"

"One more thing." She reached into a pouch and pulled out the cut scrap of cloth. Unfolding it, she slapped it down on the open book, the faint symbol facing out. "What is this?"

The mouse picked it up. "Trivially? A piece of black cloth, wool I think, with a sewn design. No clue what that dye is from."

Yvarra snorted.

"I take it you're more interested in the symbol?"

She nodded.

He scratched the base of an ear, took a few steps forward, then stopped. "I don't have a clue where to start. Let me take you to Mael-Murie." The mouse shivered and swallowed. "She'll have a far better idea. Come along."

The mouse scurried off, and Yvarra hurried after, first closing the book that the mouse had been reading from. It didn't take long for Yvarra to sense movement and look up, to see a great horned owl silently wing its way between the shelves, and then kaflump onto the floor, skidding a bit, and then almost falling over onto its -- ''her'' -- face. She was wearing a vest that left her arms, her wings, whatever you wanted to call them, free, along with a pair of shorts that were cinched with a rope of red silk.

"So, Pyat, this is the individual you can't help?"

The mouse squeaked, and she had to resist the urge to oil him. "Yes ma'am."

She looked at Yvarra, leaned sideways a bit, and looked again. "Hmph! So, what kind of problem does she have?"

The mouse held up the scrap of paper; Yvarra could scent his nervousness. "She wants to know about this."

Mael-Murie somehow grabbed it with her wing, though Yvarra couldn't see how. The owl's huge eyes focused on it as she slowly turned it around. "I think-- yes-- Such stupid questions. I've seen it before. Pyat, you get back to your copying. You, come with me." With that, she put the cloth in her beak and took wing, silently flapping her way between the shelves as Yvarra hurried after. The owl twisted round and round, but flapped hard and landed on a-- perch behind a table piled with old books. Putting the scrap of cloth down, the librarian reached a wing into a metal mesh cage, grabbed a squeaking mouse and tossed it into her beak. For an instant only the tail was visible, and then it vanished.

"''Much'' better!" she said.

Yvarra just swallowed, and wondered how that-- how Pyat could work around here.

"You're lucky, Miss," the owl continued. "What's your name, anyway? I was cataloguing these old volumes -- you wouldn't ''believe'' the mess Cutter left the place in -- and had just ran across that symbol. Coincidence, though there's never any of that where Kyia's involved."

"You can all me Yvarra."

"Fine, fine-- now--" She peered down at a thick old tome that stunk of age, and she flipped it open. The pages crackled, almost resisting being touched, as she quickly leafed through with her right wing. "Now-- where was it-- ah hah!" She let the cover thump onto the table and spun the book around so that Yvarra could see it.

The picture showed the same symbol as was sewn onto the robe, but it was drawn in ink. It didn't exactly match the sewn symbol, looking-- normal. Yvarra glanced at the cloth, and it was like her eyesight rolled off the symbol, sliding away from it, trying to avoid it. The copy in the book didn't have that.

"Definitely matches. As you can read--" She blinked at Yvarra's headshake. "Another one who can't read-- what ''is'' the world coming to? Fine--" Turning the book back around, she read: "The ''King in Yellow''. An ancient symbol reputed to be associated with an alien divinity of irresistible power and strength such that the Gods themselves would be destroyed. The creature is known under various names including Og-Sotot, Sasthoogua, Aphom-Cthuagas, Salestra, various others. Supposedly it is considered sacred to cults that prepare for the second coming of this entity, through the use of corrupt rites, sacrifices, and unholy blasphemies. Those who bear the symbol exist to sell their souls, sell their world, and offer all solely to open the way to bring back their master."

"Oh great--" Yvarra muttered. "An end of the world cult."

"I wouldn't worry." She slammed the book shut. "The whole thing is just a story. Utterly false. Even if a cult does exist, there's no way they could bring such a being, if it even existed, back. It's simply impossible."

Yvarra grabbed the symbol. "And how can you be ''sure''? If this-- oog-sootoot-- is ''that'' powerful, how can you take the risk?"

"Because there is ''no risk''. If there were, the Duke would know, Raven would know, Kyia would know, and correct and proper action would be taken. I take it you took this from somebody?"

"Yes-- A boy who tried to--"

"Some agent of Nasoj no doubt. Or some homeless urchin down in Euper who found this in an old book and grabbed it for his or her gang. Nothing more--"

On Yvarra's back, the ''Sword of Songs'' let out a loud, long, moan of an oboe.

"So," Yvarra said, "just some kid."

"Yup. Nothing to worry about. The watch will take them out when they get around it. Now, if that's all, I am ''very'' busy-- things to catalogue, books to organize-- ''Important'' things to do. If you think you can handle it, there are literacy classes--"

Yvarra snorted, and the rattattat of a metal drum on her back agreed with her. "Miss-- I am ''quite'' capable of taking care of myself. And, if I saw a ''need'' to read, I would ''not'' need your charity to learn how. In fact--"

But the owl had already closed the book and launched herself back into the air.

Yvarra sighed. A cult. Given who she figured had hired her, given her double curse, given the ''Sword of Songs'', she ''really'' doubted it was just some kids who'd found a cute symbol. Hmph! Well, it seemed that she was going to have to take care of the problem herself. After all, it was only the ''world'' that was at stake. Nothing ''important'' like killing lutins.

Shoving the cloth back into a pouch, she spun on her hoof and walked out.

She'd had ''enough'' of Metamor and its oddness. Half of her just wanted to let them rot and let this ''Ooog Soototh'', or whatever, anihilate them.

Hmph!

----

As Yvarra left the library, she realized that the hallway looked-- different. Different from what she'd come in through. But-- She didn't have much of an option as there was just the one way to go. It seemed like she walked for hours, the only sound her footsteps, the only scent her own, and the stinking tar of the torches. A part of her wondered who replaced them as she could detect no sign of anybody else having been here. That made no sense, but then nothing around here did.

She was ''really'' beginning to hate this keep.

The torches stopped, and the corridor became lit by small window slits high in the wall. Stopping, she looked. She didn't like this trapped feeling she was getting-- Yea, it was possible she'd fit through. Before climbing would have been easy. Now--

Well, one thing at a time.

The corridor ended at an arched door of carved white wood hanging open.

No.

Almost involuntarily she licked her nostrils and sniffed. Her ears tensed, she felt her tail pull between her. She could sniff herself, her own fear.

"Nine Hells no!"

She stepped forward and looked into the room that felt ''so'' much like her. The room that felt like a gladly offered gift.

"No! Do you hear me, ''no''! I won't take this!"

Screaming, she ran in, threw the books off the table, ripped the drawers out of the dresser, tore the bedclothes off the bed, grabbed and dragged and tipped and knocked and did everything she could to destroy the damn place. The place she didn't want.

----

She stood there, panting, looking around at the ruin. The ruin that looked sorrowfully back at her. Picking up her fedora and shoving it on, she snorted, spun around, raised her muzzle in pride, and walked out. "I don't want it, and I won't take it. You hear me? ''No''!"

Yvarra slammed the door so hard that she'd have sworn the wood cracked. Her limbs quivering, she leaned against the wall, tension shivering its way amongst her muscles. What ''was'' this place? Why can't it understand ''no''?

When she was in control again, she looked up. Looked up at a dead end. She was in a corridor that went no where, other than back to the room she'd wrecked. There were no torches, but a bright shaft of light coming from a window high in the wall.

Enough! Enough, Klepnos damn it!

Leaning against the wall, she unlaced her boots and pulled off first one, and then the other. Folding the soft leather up, she put them both into her pack. She was going to get out of here, and she was ''never'' coming back. The Eli-damned place can be destroyed with the rest of the world for all she cared! With long practiced ease she felt small cracks in the tight fitting stones of the wall, and pulled herself up. For a moment her hooves scrabbled, but then one found a grip, somehow tightly fitting on a hair-thin ledge.

Yvarra didn't understand it, but she wasn't complaining.

Inch by inch she crawled up the wall, shoving away her fear that whatever was here would remove the window just as she reached it. Rushing caused mistakes, and mistakes caused accidents. The window wasn't that high, maybe ten feet from the floor, but there was no sense taking chances.

She reached it without incident. And, the damn thing was narrow. Almost too narrow. Fine!

"I'm not staying!"

Releasing one hand she worked her pack off the one shoulder. Then she grabbed with that hand and did the same with the other, and was soon holding it. She pushed it out the window and heard it rustle through some leaves and then thud to the ground. Then she began wiggling through the window. She'd have to jump, but that she was used to. And, if they were brambles, well, the pain would be worth escaping this cursed place. Soon she was through, and she looked down to a bed of roses. Well, not as bad as brambles, but still-- If the window hadn't been so narrow, and so short, she'd have tried lowering herself, but there just wasn't room. Fine! Wiggling through, she leapt, plummeting hooves first and smashing into the roses, rolling to absorb the impact.

Without warning she jerked to a stop and felt her muscles tear. Pain stabbed through her, but then faded as warmth flowed down from her forehead. Blinking, she looked down the length of her alicorn and saw that it had stabbed into the ground almost its entire length.

Growling, she yanked it out, falling onto her back due to the damn thing's length. Thorns tore at her, blood streaked her white fur, as she shoved herself to her hooves. She licked a few rose petals off her lips -- not bad -- and chewed, as she looked around before grabbing her pack. Forcing her way through the battered and broken bushes, she staggered out onto the grass, her entire body almost burning with fever as she watched her wounds close, one by one.

"You! What are you doing in there?"

Yvarra looked up, and then stared. Slowly crawling across the grass was a giant snail, almost man sized. A monstrous shell curled up its back, and its almost human face glared at her as it slowly approached, its two hands clenching a hoe as its eyes glared at her from the end of long tentacle stalks.

"What have you done to the garden? You just wait right there until I reach you--"

Reaching into the bushes, she pulled out her fedora and shoved it on. Then she shook her head and pulled out her boots, and worked first one hoof into one, and then the other into the other. Tying them snug, she turned to leave, seeing the gate out to freedom in the distance. She wanted no part of this damn place.

"Don't you dare leave! Do you have any idea how much work you've destroyed?"

Swallowing, one of her stomach's growling, Yvarra yanked off a rose and ate it, even eating the branch it was on. There was a bud there that was quite tasty.

"What are you doing? I'll set the watch on you, I will! Just you wait!" The snails voice faded into silence as Yvarra reached the gate and walked out.

Nobody stopped her.

----

She sat there on the bench, the crystal water gurgling and splashing in front of her. She'd cleaned most of the blood off her muzzle and arms with the water. The red stained liquid had long since flowed away. On the far side of the fountain was a massive stone column, the same earthy gray as the wall of Metamor. It was a four sided tapering spire maybe twelve feet high, three feet square at its base

Only Metamor would have a pillar in the middle of nowhere.

What was she doing here? She was just a ''thief''! A thief having barely escaped a keep that wanted her to stay, and that wouldn't let her go. A keep that she ''refused'' to let help her. And, she, and she alone, had to stop the summoning of a thing beyond good and evil, a hunger, something without comprehendible emotion or will or want, that would destroy the world.

One lone unicorn. A myth set to fight another myth.

She laughed, a lonely mocking sound. She grabbed a stone and threw it into the fountain, watching it skip and skip and skip before clunking into the far side and sinking out of sight. Why in the Nine Hells should she bother?

"Keeper?"

She turned around, and saw a pudgy badger clothed in -- she sniffed -- linen and cotton.

"It'll just be a moment. She won't be any trouble -- just a quick errand."

The badger pushed forward a little human girl, and then waddled off.

"But I'm not--"

"Hi," the little girl said, waving.

Yvarra stared. A girl. A little girl. And, somehow, she knew that this wasn't a curse victim. But she wasn't a Keeper! Whatever that was--

The girl shifted her weight from foot to foot. "What's your name? I'm Ansela."

Yvarra just starred, looking from her wide blue eyes into the innocent little eyes of this little-- person. And after the woman who just trusted her, a stranger, with--

She looked at the long golden hair, tied up in a braid, glowing in the afternoon sunlight.

Yvarra swallowed. "Hello--"

"Hi! I'm Ansela."

"You said that, you know." She couldn't help but smile.

''What was she''? Yvarra wondered. A thief. A unicorn. A myth. A sword forged to save the world. And why? Why her? Well, why not? But why should she do it?

She looked at the trusting blue eyes. Looked at the receding mother.

"Hello, Ansela. I'm Yvarra."

For Ansela, and those like her, that's why.

And, for those, she could not, she ''would'' not, fail.

"Don't worry, Ansela, I'll keep you safe until she comes back." And safe always.

"I know. You're a Keeper."

Not a Keeper, but something better.

A ''unicorn''.

{{series bar
|previous=[[User:Michael Bard/Pawned|Pawned]]
|next=[[User:Michael Bard/The Cultists Strike Back!|The Cultists Strike Back!]]
}}