~Opening the Box~

Lt. Cutter Kara'nin

"You can't enter here."

"What? Why?" Cutter asked the marine officer standing in front of him. Although they were the same height, the bulk of his training and uniform made him look much more square than Cutter considered himself.

"Only designated Starfleet officers can enter here," the marine said, referring to the astrophysics laboratories within the large door behind him.

"I'm one of those designated Starfleet officers," Cutter said, calmly.

"No, you're not."

"Ka! I'm the Chief of Astrophysics!"

"Then why aren't you wearing your uniform," the marine asked. He had a point, a uniform was required when on duty, according to Starfleet regulations. But that did not prevent Cutter's frustration. "Look, I'd get kicked out of service if I let any idiot claiming to be the Chief of Astrophysics waltz in here."

"What do you mean any idiot claiming to be me. I'm the only Fruna'lin aboard! Who else on this ship has wings?!" Cutter yelled, throwing open his wings and filling the width of the hall. Although this technique would intimidate most ground walkers, this marine was unimpressed.

"If you're the chief officer, you must be in uniform."

Cutter sighed loudly and turned and walked away, defeated.

============================================

The coat was stiff from lack of wear. It had been almost a month since he had put it on. Cutter looked at himself in the mirror, black Starfleet and the Science blue that was just a shade lighter than his hair. It felt weird, putting it back on. It immediately brought back something negative and Cutter wanted to take it off. This was ridiculous, he thought. It would just be for an hour or so, just so he could enter the labs and attend the meeting about the experiment based on his research. Then it would be off again.

Cutter turned and started for the door, but he stopped suddenly. Something was missing, he'd forgotten something. He turned and walked towards his desk and opened the top drawer, reached in and pulled out a small silver box ingrained with the seal of Starfleet. He paused before he opened it, undefined thoughts running through his head.

Finally, he lifted the lid, revealing a Starfleet communicator, two pips and the insignia representing the chief of a science department. Slowly, he pulled out the communicator inside and attached it to his chest and fastened the pips to his collar. He took the insignia and attached it to the left side of his collar. Although it was largely symbolic, Cutter thought he should wear it anyway, in case the marine gave him any more trouble. Part of him wanted to wear it, though, part of him was happy to have it on his collar. He closed the box and left it on his desk as he left his quarters.

===========================================

"You again?"

"Yes, me again," Cutter said to the bored acting marine. "I'm in a uniform now."

"I still don't know whether or not you are a designated officer," the marine replied.

Cutter sighed. "We've gone through this -- Ka! Nevermind, look!" he said, pointing to the emblem on the left side of his collar. "That's a department chief insignia."

"You could get that from anywhere. That doesn't mean anything."

"What?! Then how do I get in?"

You need to place your finger here," the marine said, still as bored as ever, and held out a small PADD.

Cutter clenched his fists, he wanted to scream. "That's all? Wha--I!" Cutter spit out before giving up. He reached out and placed his thumb against the screen of the PADD, and after a moment of processing, the screen okayed him as a designated scientific officer. And the marine let him pass. As simple as that.

Cutter walked down the corridor, past several labs and his office, until he reached a conference room. The doors opened as he approached, revealing five scientists sitting at the table inside.

"Lieutenant, we we're beginning to think you weren't going to show up," Daniel called out. "Um, have a seat. We're uh, we were just about to start."

"Sympathy for the Mooch."

Lt. JG Dr. Klaus Fienberg
Erik Stiener, Shopowner

Klaus entered the back area of the shop. "Erik, I am sorry about what I said. And I'm sorry for not telling you*Chuckles* until now."

"Well, dear brother, you were right. But I just feel that there is some way to bring her back. At least If I could activate the brain, I could transfer her mind to my file in the ship's computer core."

Klaus sat down next to Erik, whom was staring half at the ground, half at the wall. "Well, being's your are just a civilian, you have a small file, definitely not big enough to hold and entire mind." Klaus was merely saying this to comfort his brother, knowing full well there was no way to fix that brain.

"Well, you once told me that I would be nothing more than an annoyance to the crew of any ship that I set up shop on." Klaus nodded. It was true. "Well, I have decided to request the Captain and starfleet that I become an Engineering advisor aboard the Galaxy."

For once Klaus saw that Erik was serious. He actually wanted to do this.

"Maybe in the future, I could have my old rank and duties reinstated. The Movement aparatus for my arm is a 50% success. It still cuts out sometimes, but it works good most of the time."

Klaus had only one thing to say at this point. "Do it." They stood up and Erik bearhugged his brother.

They had finally made peace. "Hey, you wanna go for a drink." Klaus smiled. "No, I can't. I have to go to work."

"The Verdict"

Rear Admiral Leigh Whitman,
Ciutric Sector JAG Official

Captain Alanna O'Ryan,
Commanding Officer,
USS Hawkwing

Captain William Sutherland,
Starbase 212 JAG Official

Lieutenant Taryn Benedor,
Adjutant (RA Whitman)

-Main Conference Room, USS Hawkwing-

"... So there you have it. That's all the evidence we have," Lieutenant Benedor said, from where she stood, having just finished playing recordings of the interviews, as well as the recording from the Geluf's quarters after their fight, the one with Lieutenant JG Grey and the android.

"Very good, Lieutenant Benedor. You put together a good presentation. If you could now excuse yourself, the panel will convene and come to a decision regarding this case," Admiral Whitman said, then watched Taryn Benedor nod and slip quietly from the room. "Well, Alanna, Will. Opinions?"

Alanna felt a migrane coming on, and she sipped at the water in front of her.

"I guess the Temporal Control Agency won't allow us a little leeway to just go back and avoid this messiness.", she said, trying to get some sanity restoring levity to break the tenseness of the mood, "But I would have to say that these Androids are not sentient according to the Law that protects Soong class Androids. They come close, but not quite. Like cuckoo's mimicking the parent bird. Captain Bhrode made the best of the situation he could and Mudd should be turned over to the Orions who must make reparations for the damage they caused to the Galaxy" She smiled tiredly, "That's my opinion."

"But they could be." William Sutherland replied, leaning back and stroking his beard. "We haven't really been able to get anyone like Bruce Maddox to examine them. They may have the same capablities as a Soong-Type Android, they just don't know it yet. They've showed an ability to adapt to any male they come across. If thier programming could be.. unrestricted.. they might actually have potential to evolve."

Will Sutherland was aware that he was a bit of an idealitst, and maybe it was the unfulfilled desire to be in explorer that pushed him towards prompting for the. "I really beleive that these androids need to be given every possible chance they can, and that we should view them as no different than any other indentured species. They simply need... time to grow."

"The pheremone ability would have to be neutralized.", Alanna said, "It has too much potential for misuse.

"Definately," Rear Admiral Whitman said, "Personally, I'm inclined to go with something along the lines of what Will is suggesting. But I need to know, what makes either of you believe they have the evolutionary ability. What if their programming is just too simplistic. What evidence have we seen that it isn't." She hated playing devil's advocate, but it was her job.

That was the sticky part, Will knew. "I don't know if I have an answer for that." he replied repluctantly.

"Having adaptablilty isn't the same as evolutionary ability.", Alanna said, "Aldebaran mollusks can adapt to their environment but they're clearly not evolving anytime soon."

"Well..." Sutherland began, clearly uncomfortable with what he was about to say. "Call it a hunch."

"Will, I don't think I can send a recommendation to Admiral Clarkson on a hunch.  We're going to need something solid.  Lieutenant JG Grey's conversation with the android is going to cause problems with just about anything that we put forth," Whitman said, scratching absently at her cheek, which was resting on one hand.

"Then I don't think we have any other choice, other than to officially remand them back into the custody of Mr. Mudd." Sutherland replied, the unpleasantness of that prospect clearly showing on his face. "We just don't have any other legal recourse."

Alanna got a rather evil smirk on her face.  "Well...who says we *have* to return them in the same condition Mudd had them in.", she said.  Soon as she heard Harry Mudd was involved, she read up the old logs from Kirk's days and he did something quite similar.

"Continue," Whitman said, intrigued, but wondering where this was going.  Alanna wasn't a JAG Officer, and was also a bit... unorthodox in her methods.

"Considering what's been said here, and the 'hunches' about these androids possible potential, why not give them a taste of independance.", Alanna said, "Give them the option of telling Mudd to kiss their asses if the don't want to do what he sends them to."

"Captain, hopefully, we won't have to resort to anything of that sort," Whitman said, "I think that my opinion, which I've carefully avoided stating yet, is that we confiscate the androids under the Exploitation of Potentially-Sentient Machines Act of 2374. They're being used for prostitution and god knows what else. So the solution is that we arrest Mudd for breaking that law, thus keeping the Orions from killing him, and take him back to Federation Space. The androids will be temporarily deactivated and placed aboard Hawkwing, then delivered to the USS Callimachus at Ciutric for delivery back to Commander Bruce Maddox for further study and possibly advancement."

"I'm amenable if you are, Will." Alanna said, nodding.

"I'm into it," the other Captain said, "Just so long as I can get a ride back to SB212."

"Not an issue," Hawkwing's captain said.

"Good, then it's decided. I'll contact Admiral Clarkson and get back to you both in an hour for the shipwide announcement.

Five hours later, the USS Hawkwing departed for Federation space, taking Harcourt Mudd and the androids with them. The USS Galaxy, finally rid of it's problems, turned and left Orion space, after first releasing the Orion 'Officers' into the custody of their own government.

Caught."

Junior Member Of Senate Ramir Omar.

Lieutenant Katrina Olegoski. Non-Player Character.

Lieutenant Shelly O'Rourke. Non-Player Character.

The Location: The Quarters Of Junior Member Of Senate Ramir Omar.

Junior Member Of Senate Ramir Omar entered his quarters and then quickly shook his head. Since their last meeting then Warrant Officer Sostik had actually refused to speak to him because Omar had mistaken Sostik for a Vulcan. How could he have of mistaken one of his own people for a Vulcan? He must have of been around of humans for too long.

Speaking of humans then he realised that he was trying to be contacted by his only human friend. He activated the communication screen and looked at the imposing image of Commander Chakotay.

"Hello my friend," he said "I hear that you are getting married to that Borg drone of yours."

"Yes," replied Chakotay "That is correct. Me and Seven Of Nine have not yet set a date four our wedding though."

"Soon then I shall be sending a shipment of ten bottles of my own Romulan Ale to your apartment that is at Earth," said Omar "I do hope that you shall find that it is an excellent wedding present."

"Thank you."

"Also then I have an aphrodisiac or two that might help with certain matters," quickly then Omar continued.

At this then Chakotay chuckled. "I shall tell you a secret. Me and my future wife do not need aphrodisiacs."

Omar laughed loudly. "So then it is true that Borg drone of yours values efficiency when she is off of duty as well. Some of us are not as lucky. Tomorrow then I shall send the Romulan Ale to you. Have fun Commander until we meet again."

"Goodbye Junior Member Of Senate."

Omar deactivated the communication screen and stood before gasping with surprise.

Lieutenant Katrina Olegoski had been observing his whole conversation. He must have of been conversing too much to have of noticed her.

"Romulan Ale? I must tell security of this immediately," she said with amusement.

Omar muttered with annoyance when she had exited his quarters.

Three hours later then all of the Romulan Ale had been confiscated and Omar was arguing with Lieutenant Shelly O'Rourke. "Tomorrow then I must deliver the Romulan Ale!" he insisted. "I apologise Ambassador but this is an illegal alcohol," she said and left.

Omar muttered with annoyance before he removed another ten bottles of Romulan Ale from a concealed place that was inside of his quarters and then prepared to smuggle it onboard of the departing freighter. Chakotay had better be grateful.

~There's Another Life, I~

Starring practically everyone. I hope I didn't misuse anyone's character.

"Captains Log. Stardate 50305.3. We have just recently picked up a group of ambassadors and are on our way to rondevous with the Pheonix. They are members of a species called the Uponashed, or something. They are supposedly ambassadors making their way across the Federation in an attempt to establish relations with its many member species, but they're like no ambassadors I've ever dealt with before. Seem like a bunch of hippies to me. Currently, they are down in Ten-Forward being greeted by most of my crew. Curran is probably about to have an aneurysm worrying about my 'human' crew offending the newcomers. Hah."

===================================

The large wooden doors to Ten-Forward opened as Cutter approached. The supposedly obscene display carved on their fronts had been removed some time ago, after much conflict, and had been replaced with a nondescript design of curving, branching lines. The atmosphere contained within the lounge was crowded and lively. It seemed everyone was inside trying to get a moment with the Upanishad ambassadors. And they were certainly willing to fulfill all those wishes.

The air was filled with noise. A soft piano could be heard underneath all the conversation and laughing, and Cutter looked over to see his neighbor, Curtis Geluf playing the large black grand piano in the corner to the left of the door. He was surrounded by several members of the crew, who Cutter didn't recognize. It was funny how casual displays of talent in an environment that didn't call for a performance always attracted positive attention to the talented. Or, were the crew members surrounding Commander Corgan, the former interstellar rock star, who was setting up an electric guitar and an amplifier next to the piano.

In fact, many of the crewmen were not facing the piano and seemed unmoved by Geluf's music. Some of the women were clearly awaiting the beginning of Corgan's performance. It seemed as if gentle Curtis did not even notice the loss of his audience, until he finished his song and then proceeded to make a large display of coughing and throat clearing before he announced his next number.

Cutter turned and stepped inside the lounge. To his right, he noticed two crewmen dressed in formal Engineering yellow. He had never met either of them, but he recognized them as senior members of the Engineering staff, Commander Suder and Lieutenant McDowell. They stood alone, with a third person, one of the Upanishads.

He was humanoid. His head was completely hairless, and his skin was a dark caramel. He was short and slightly fat, but one could only tell by looking at his round head. Any imperfections in his body were concealed by a long, loose, reddish-brown robe, which covered his arms and torso and draped down to the floor. Folds of cloth were draped over his shoulders, a slightly golden color, which broke up the monotony of the outfit. From what Cutter could observe, the alien wore nothing else besides this long robe. No jewelry or decoration of any kind, not even shoes.

The three men appeared deep in conversation and Cutter continued past. He found an empty seat at the bar, a fortunate discovery in the crowded room. Next to him, a marine sat with a shot glass and a bottle of whiskey. After waiting a moment, the tender approached him, Erin Friel.

"What would you like?" she asked, glancing briefly at Cutter before shifting her gaze away to someone behind him. Her face suddenly grew stern and unwelcoming, and Cutter couldn't help but peer over his shoulder to try to find what had made her so cross.

He saw the Chief Helmsman, Jeremy Savoie looking in their direction. He looked very uncomfortable, and somewhat scared; a deer caught in the blaring headlights of Erin's glare. His eyes dropped to the floor, and he turned and shoved his way through a group of people behind him. The sea of people filled in quickly after his passing, hiding him from sight.

"Well, what'll you have?" Erin asked again, now that the matter had apparently been taken care of.

Cutter turned back, slightly startled, "Ohn, ih, Fruna'lin sirtorna wine, please."

She nodded and turned to fetch the drink. "You should have some of this," the Marine to his left said, "it'll some hair on your chin. My name's Jack Valhoun."

Cutter's mouth opened as he started to explain that his species didn't grow facial hair, or, technically, hair at all. But he stopped himself and merely accepted the man's offer. "What is it?" he asked, taking the small glass from the man's hand.

"Irish whiskey," he said with some amount of unexplained pride.

Cutter took the glass and tipped it back, pouring the liquid into his mouth. He swallowed quickly, only realizing the horribly bitter taste after it had passed. He gasped and coughed, and eventually squeaked out the words, "Ka! That tastes horrible."

"Have another," Jack said, taking the shot glass and filling it to its rim.

Cutter began to reject the offer, but the sudden pleasurable warmness the rose up his esophagus quelled his objections. He shrugged and took the drink once more. His reaction was the same. The marine laughed, but before he could offer a third drink, Erin arrived with Cutter's drink. He took advantage of the distraction and grabbed his drink and left before he became tempted to try Irish Whiskey one more time.

He scanned the room again as he sipped his drink, the sweet citrus alcohol washing away the bitter taste of whiskey. Suddenly, the clucking of female gossip caught his attention, and he looked over at a table of women nearby. He recognized only one of them, a security officer, Lieutenant O'Rourke. He had only met her on the Defiant, and simply that circumstance caused him to shudder at her sight.

"I can't believe he's with her," a catlike member of the group hissed. Cutter looked up in the direction of her gaze and saw a clearing in the room. Ten-Forward was packed, but no one seemed interested in filling the corner in which Lieutenant Krieghoff stood. The German stood talking to Ella Grey, who was leaning against the window of the lounge, clearly the 'her' that was being discussed. She was waving her hands about in front her, in some form of silent communication. Krieghoff stood still and spoke back to her, occasionally he would replicate her hand motions back. He was looking around the room, and his gaze passed over Cutter briefly, sending a sharp shiver down the Fruna'lin's spine. Grey was becoming visibly upset as the conversation continued. Eventually, she through her arms up in frustration and slammed herself down in a chair nearby. The two sat silently, staring out at the room.

Suddenly, two men shoved past Cutter. One, a Russian, Vladimir Malgin was shouting obscenities in his native tongue as he followed another medical officer, the German Klaus Feinburg. Cutter decided to leave the groups of negativity in search for more pleasurable conversation.

"Zap! Shink! And the Orion was down. He was like, 'No! Please have mercy.'"

"And what did you do," a female Upanishad asked Commander Hawksley, noticeably concerned. She, too, was as hairless as the male Cutter had noticed earlier, but she was thin, and coupled with her golden skin, surprisingly attractive.

"Well, I was going to let him live, but he started to reach for his blaster. I was like, 'Oh, no you don't,' and then zap! And he was dead," he said, giddy like a little boy. "So, what say we go back to my pla--."

"That's horrible!" the Upanishad exclaimed.

"What? Horrible? Why?" Hawksley asked. His giddiness had faded and now he was concerned that his heroic tale was not having the affect he wanted it to. "He's the bad guy. Bad guys are supposed to die!"

"That's enough, Commander," Kylar Curran said, approaching and placing his hands on the Upanishad's shoulders in an attempt to comfort her. "Can't you see your upsetting the ambassador? Come this way, ma'am, there are beverages for your enjoyment. And fear not, I know for a fact that Commander Hawksley took no part in the Orion battle aboard the Galaxy recently. If anything, he was hiding under the tactical arch."

"Hey! Bugger off, Curran. I was not hiding," he yelled, following after the two. The group of three ran off, as Cutter stood, but were quickly replaced by another pair, just as ridiculous.

"So, you're royalty, huh? I don't suppose you're related to THE KING?" a short, balding man asked, chasing after Commander MacAllen. He was dressed in a suede sequined jumpsuit, which was open for some length below his neck, revealing a disgustingly hairy chest. Leo Streely.

Rose turned to face the short man, "There is no king of Betazed," she spit out, frustrated that she had been chosen to be graced with the attentions of Leo Streely.

"Not the king of Betazed!" he laughed, "THE KING! You know, LIBERACE!"

Rose made some noise, on the verge of becoming a disgusted scream and turned and stormed off. Leo, of course, followed after her as he began to describe the many amazing talents of his idol.

Cutter followed the pair with his eyes. As they darted through the crowd, they passed another group of crewmen talking to one of the Upanishad delegation. One, a security officer, Ahdija D'Tinya, held a small furry spider on her finger. The Upanishad was petting it with an out reached index finger, while Adrian Anquinsos, the El Aurian counselor watched nearby. He was speaking to the other two, but Cutter could not hear the words. Naturally, the two members of the most mysterious races associated with Starfleet would be drawn to the strange newcomer.

Cutter smiled when he finally found someone he was interested in approaching, Danu. He stepped towards his friend, but he noticed that Daniel was deep in conversation with the Trill engineer, Dhanista Eshe. Cutter stopped, suspecting Daniel's goals, and smiled in pride at his colleague, despite the fact that it was his own goals that he was extending to Scarborough.

Cutter approached a group of three, as he moved through the crowd again. Two Ferengi and a security officer. "Lieutenant Marsh, if its a new pocket knife you're interested in, I would more than happy to help you find one," the short Curot said. "Its nice to see some people still see the utility of weapons. These aliens, the Upanishads, frown upon weapons of any sort. How do they defend themselves, I ask. Even if you detest using them, its important to embrace the history that's always associated with weapons, don't you think, Lieutenant? Why don't you come with me to my store, and we will see if we can set you up with what you desire," the Ferengi smiled, a large toothy grin.

Marsh took advantage of his chance to get a word in edgewise, but he had little to say. "All right, show me what you got."

The third Ferengi turned to Cutter as the two left, and smiled. "Why, Lieutenant, Kara'nin is it? Its so nice to see you again. Have you been enjoying those hologram programs you purchased?"

"Yes, but I haven't had a chance to look at them all, yet," Cutter responded. He raised the glass of wine he forgotten he held, and settled in for the long sales pitch Crom was no doubt about to start.

"Oh! Well! If you're having trouble scheduling holodeck time, you should have come straight to me. I have a few connections in OPS, you know. I can get you all the time you want, for a very modest service fee. I've just gotten a new shipment of holodeck programs you may be interested in. One lies particularly within your interests," the Ferengi said, poking Cutter in the ribs with his elbow, "if you know what I mean. 'A Stroll Through the Wonders of Known Space.' Albeit, the title is a little weak, but you could fill the environment with air and fly your way through the Orion Nebula. There are even a couple of pleasant surprises on some of the asteroids and white dwarfs I think you would especially enjoy," Crom smiled.

"Well, perhaps I'll stop by sometime," Cutter replied, feigning his interest somewhat.

"Wonderful! You know where to find me. Now, if you'll excuse me. It's my opportunity to establish trade relations with the Upanishads where my colleague Curot failed."

The small Ferengi wandered off in the crowd, leaving Cutter alone once again. He looked up, over the mob of people in the lounge. The stars were streaking by the Ten-Forward windows, indicating the Galaxy was still in warp on route to its rondevous. Salidin Bolivar and Betty Goldstien stood solemnly near the porthole. They looked slightly bored, but both of them were watching the crowd like hawks, searching for any sign of danger or any sign of information.

"So, you're people have no violence at all?" the tactical officer, Cassius Henderson asked. He was standing near his assistant, Rima Pennington, and the Vulcan T'lan. The three of them surrounded one of the Upanishads, another chubby, little man dressed in a robe.

"Well, occasional conflicts break out every now and then, but for the most part, my peoples have lived peacefully for the past three thousand years," the ambassador explained. "Most of the struggles that take place occur between long time rival family groups. It takes many generations to overcome such history, sadly."

"It seems illogical that the conflicting issues that arose between family lines several hundred years ago would have any affect on those living today," T'lan stated.

"Well, usually, the current violence and fighting occurs between those same individuals who offended each other in the past."

"How long do your people live?" Pennington asked.

"Oh, we are mortal, like yourselves. But, of course, the purusha lives forever, and remembers all," the Upanishad smiled.

"What is the purusha?"

"That which gives thought and feeling."

"You mean the mind?" Henderson asked.

"Not quite. The mind is an extension of purusha. The mind can change from body to body, but the purusha is eternal," the Upanishad explained, "the face of a stone can change in the wind, but it still remains a stone."

"Uh huh," Cassius responded. It looked as if he was confused by the explanation he had received.

"A stone is composed of oxides and silicates, that fact does not change, no matter how much erosion takes place," T'lan explained, "but no part of a person's brain chemistry is eternal. Organic material decays after death."

"Lifeforms die, but life continues," the alien replied. He bowed slightly before continuing, "If you will excuse me, my throat has become parched," he said before leaving the group and making his way towards the bar.

"His explanations are highly illogical."

"Just because you may not understand them right away, T'lan, doesn't make them wrong," Henderson said. T'lan humphed slightly and walked away. Cutter, too, left the group.

He stepped towards another circle of people centered around a few Upanishads. "Is there any end to this cycle," Karyn Dallas asked, looking up at the Upanishad female from her hover chair.

"We reach enlightenment once all purushas have blended into one. The book is not complete without all the words."

"Your planet is home to three billion people. How long does it take for two of these purushas to blend?" Rebecca von Ernst asked. She wanted parameters for the equation forming in her head.

A male Upanishad answered, "It takes a long time. We must be patient. Each of us remain separate from each other, since you see more than one of us standing before you. But we share a family bond, which is one of the first steps of the blending."

"You two are siblings then," Cutter asked. It was the first he had spoken to one of the aliens.

The two ambassadors laughed quietly. "No, I'm afraid you misunderstand. We are not, how you say, genetically related. But we are bonded to each other," the woman said, "I have known Arjun for all of my life, but we only met three years ago."

"I don't understand," Dallas said, leaning forward slightly in her seat.

"Just because you can never see your backside, does not mean it is not apart of you."

At that moment, another crewman stepped in the circle. "Hello, I'm Corran Rex," he said, grabbing one of the Upanishads hands. "I hear you supposedly experience past lives."

"In a sense," the male ambassador, Arjun, smiled.

"Fascinating. My symbiote allows me to experience the memories of ten lives," Rex boasted.

"I'm afraid that we don't have ... symbiotes. We only experience sensations and tendencies from our past lives. Only the most wise of us can remember details."

"How can you have any memories, clear or otherwise, if there are no physical connections to the past lives?" Ernst asked, becoming skeptical.

"They're referring to a connection beyond our physical universe, Commander," Dallas explained.

"That's nonsense. Nothing 'beyond' our physical universe can have any affect on us." The scientific side of Cutter tended to agree with Commander von Ernst, but he did not voice any support.

"Ignorance does not make one all knowing, Commander," Arjun said.

His companion began to explain again, "All of you are affected by your past experiences, every day. How you lived in the past, affects how you live today. This winged gentleman, here," she said, nodding towards Cutter, "Has your home always been in the sky?"

Cutter looked around a bit, confused, "I've always had wings. All members of my species do."

"You speak only of this life," Arjun corrected, "think before that."

"He can't. That's impossible," Ernst said.

"The Upanishads smiled. "Perhaps," they conceded, but continued with their explanation anyway. "Your purusha must have always been obsessed with flight. At some point, you were wholesome enough that you came back to this universe in this form. The members of my family and I have always been outgoing, eager to meet others and to explain our ways. This is why we are drawn together, this is why we have become ambassadors. For the same reasons, you all have been drawn together, to this ship."

"I don't understand," Corran said, folding his arms. He wasn't the only one, Cutter, too, was quite confounded. Commander von Ernst, who stood next to Cutter, rolled her eyes. She was both confused and stubborn.

"It is difficult to understand the concept of air until you see the branches of a tree sway from the gentle push of the wind," the female Upanishad quoted.

Arjun continued, "Perhaps we can show you. If you mind is open, the memories of your purusha can become accessible. We will show you," he said. Both he and his companion looked around the room, by some nonverbal means of communication, all the other Upanishads looked up at the same time, and by some unspoken bond, they all understood.

Cutter, Corran, Rebecca and Karyn all waited patiently for this demonstration to begin.

~There's Another Life, II~

Cutter Karan

Curtis Geluf (used without permission, I'm sure you don't mind)

In the year 815,

"Beautiful."

Cutter stared at the small bird. It couldn't have been any larger than the palm of his hand. The sedge warbler. It had landed on the branch below which Cutter hid. He had placed a small bowl of seed and oil, a perfect treat to the migrating bird, a needed energy boost out in the middle of the shrubs and crops where it only occasionally came to breed.

Placing the small stone on the paper that rested in his lap, Cutter began to furiously sketch the creature. He stopped, when it began to sing. The sedge was unique in how much effort it put into its ballad, the small bird's whole body pulsed, turning from side to side with the throat puffed out. Cutter returned to his paper and began to color in the black and white stripes on the top of the birds head, and began to shade in the detailed brown pattern on its wing.

"Excuse me."

Cutter turned, startled. He only briefly noticed the man behind him before he remembered what he was doing. His head swung back around quickly, fear holding his breath in. But, it was too late. The sedge had flown away. "You scared it away," Cutter said to the visitor. He had waited all morning to catch a glimpse of the warbler, and he had only been able to study it for less than a minute before someone scared it away.

"Scared what away. That tiny bird? Why were you hunting such a puny animal? Surely there are game hen around here, they would go much further in filling a stomach," the visitor said, in an attempt to apologize.

"It wasn't for eating. I was drawing it," Cutter explained, holding up a sheet of paper tacked to a slab of wood. His other hand held a small shard of graphite, whittled to a point. "The sedge warbler is one of the most efficient flyers in the world. It can lift practically straight up in the air."

"Oh. I'm sorry. Tell me," the visitor said, changing the subject, "what county is this?"

"Galaxia. The town for which this land is named a couple miles up the road."

"In this direction," he asked, pointing northwards.

"Yes, I can take you. That warbler isn't going to coming back anytime soon."

"I apologize, again. My name is Curtis Geluf. I am a traveling minstrel."

Cutter studied the man closely for the first time, as he made his way out of the brush. He had brown hair and eyes. His locks fell around his face, but they were disappearing near the top, forming a small bald spot. A small guitar hung from a strap around his shoulder. Cutter nodded towards the visitor, "I'm Cutter Karan. I'm the local carpenter."

"Why were you out here at such an early hour if you do not work the fields?"

"I watch birds, I study them. How they fly," Cutter explained.

"Birds fly because they are lighter than air," Curtis offered.

Cutter laughed at the visitors ignorance. He was offered this explanation at least once a week by the town villagers. "No. Birds fly because the ride on the wind. The same force the blows the leaves on a tree lift a bird upwards by its wings. There is nothing that is lighter than air."

"Smoke. Smoke from a fire rises upwards defying gravity. And the heavens remain fixed in the sky, eternally," Curtis said as the two began their trek up the road.

"The heavens are fixed, held above the earth and the air by the strength of God. They are not necessarily lighter than air. If the Adversary were ever to triumph in his never ending battle against God, the heavens could fall, crushing us to death."

"We should not speak of such blasphemy," Curtis said, dropping his eyes to the ground and passing his hand over his chest in the traditional prayer. "Tell me about your town."

"Galaxia? Oh, its a medium sized town, about one thousand five hundred people. The plains you see around you are the farms and pastures where our food is grown and raised. The town itself, like I said earlier, is about two miles away. We are home to finest craftsmen in the county. Our mason's father designed and helped build Count Bhrode's palace. Its wealth and beauty rivals that of even Dukes Hoth and Price."

"And you're weaver? Are they as good as your mason?"

"You have cloth that needs mending?" Cutter asked.

"Aye, a bit. I would like to make enough money to purchase a new blanket. Do the villagers here like music?"

Cutter laughed. "I am not certain. No minstrel has ever graced our village with their talents."

"Well, that will soon change," Curtis smiled. "Who does Galaxia support to replace the aging king?"

The levity left Cutter's frame. He ran his hand through his black hair, then scratched at the stubble that grew on his chin as he thought about the subject. "It is not a topic that is discussed frequently. I think many people are afraid to talk about it or voice their thoughts. Opinions are split, I believe, about who should be the next king and everyone is afraid of the consequences of supporting the wrong duke," Cutter explained. "Personally, I think the topic is pointless to discuss. The king only recently took ill, correct? He may recover, yet, and rule for another twenty years."

"Perhaps you are correct." Cutter and Curtis traveled silently for several minutes. "So, how far away is this village?"

Cutter laughed again. "Its about a half hours distance."

"The Webwitch of the Woods"

She kept to herself overall, staying in the small thatch of trees that were at least a day's walk away from the town of Galaxia. Rumours abounded about her.

Witch, Sorceress, Consorter with Demons.

Her appearance when any happened her way was just as much a mystery as well. She shrouded herself in layers of robes and was heavily veiled so all that was visible were her eyes. They were said to bore into a man's soul and see all.

Despite all this, few would seek out the one called the Webwitch for the aid that they couldn't find in the town proper. If she had a name, it was kept secret. But that was the wont of that ilk. She could heal with the plants, kill with them as well if the tales were true. And there were always the tales about the spiders that thrived in the tiny wood.

Only a scant few if any managed the winding paths that lead to the centre where she dwelled proper, and if those tales were true, none returned. One's best hope was to camp on the edge of the woods and wait for her. She always came when the moon was full and bright in the sky, her voice a deep and husky feminine whisper. Payment varied, but was always given. That could vary from a task, to trinkets or even some of the seeker's blood.

As always there were rumours of worse, but those stayed confined to the taverns and the ones who never dared to tread the Webwitch's way.

On this day, the Webwitch was sitting in one of the high trees near her tiny hut. She could feel it on the wind that Change was coming. Though what it was, either good or ill, she knew not. But then, that was the way of the Great Web of Life.

Silently she climbed down the tree, a slender dusky leg with a silvery anklet was bared when her garment dragged on the bark. Clearly the sign of one much younger than the age she was often speculated on. That mattered naught to her. She was who she was, and that was that.

She headed into her hut and her many familiars crawled to her, welcoming her home. The Webwitch smiled beneath her veils and pet them all, whispering soft greetings to them. Had any of the gossips actually came to see her hut, they would've been suprised at how simple it truly was.

A cook pit, a bed of assorted cloths and silks, a set of shelves that held assorted curatives and poisons. Bundles of herbs hung from the ceiling while heavy webbing covered the windows, acting as insulation. In the corners, spiders bred and eagerly spread out into the woods. Through them, the Webwitch knew who was near her home. With long time and training, they were loyal protectors and guardians.

Besides, she liked their company more than most people.

With her greetings done, the Webwitch turned her attentions to her cauldron. No witch's brew boiled away, just a simple venison stew with savoury herbs. With a soft smile, the Webwitch got herself a bowl and settled down to supper.

“A Farmer’s Life”

By:
Aileen Sheldon
Jonathan Sheldon

The Year 815:

Aileen hoed at the ground. Working her fields was something that took time, and patients, something she had plenty of. Her crops had been good this year, which mean her sales were up. Her son, and herself would be going to the town market tomorrow, to set their stand up, and sales some more corps for the week.

Aileen had saved up everything she could, and had brought her a fair amount of property, with her fathers help. It wasn’t easy for a woman to get married when she already had a child, so Aileen learned how to care for herself, and her child.

Picking up her basket full of corn, and potatoes, and she headed back towards her small house, lifting her dress slightly, making it easier for her to walk. The day was warm, and the sunny was shining bright. A nice rain would be nice, help her with tending her corps, it would also help cool things down just a little bit, but she wasn’t complaining.

“Johnny?” Aileen opened the oak door, stepping into her home. Looking around small cabin, she set the basket on their table, and moved to look up the ladder, towards the second half of her home, where the small bedroom, was located. “Baby, are you up there?”

The little, three years old, boy’s head appeared, with a large smile on his face. “Mommy! Are we going to the market now?” He started down the ladder, Aileen moving out of the way.

“Tomorrow, we shall go. Will you help me peel the corn, please?” She ran a hand through her son’s hair, and then moved over to the table to take her seat. Taking some corn out of the basket, so the little boy could peel some, she smiled at her pride and joy.

“Yes, mommy.”

While he pulled the corn apart, she started on the potatoes.

<< An hour later >>

It didn’t take too long to peel the corn, and store them for the night. Aileen had started on a stew, for the two, for supper. Jonathan played on the floor. Aileen was happy with her life, and couldn’t ask for anything better. Sighing, she moved the pot from the fire, and placed it on the table.

“Is it ready?”

“No, give it a few more minutes to cool.” Grabbing her shawl, “I’m going to check on the horses. Mommy will be right back.”

Lifting her dress, she left the house, and towards the small barn. She had only two horses, but that was all she needed. The sun was starting to set, and she wanted to make sure they were safe in their stall. Rubbing the black stallion’s noise, she gave it some feed. The horse had been a gift from a, young gentlemen, a long time ago.

Lifting her dress back up, she glanced towards the fields, looking for anything that shouldn’t be there, and then headed back towards her cabin. The wind picked up slightly, playing in her curls, sending them everywhere. Hearing the bark from her dog, she called from him, and when he didn’t show she started towards the area he was in. Spotting a coyote, her heart skipped a few beats. Remember, they’re more scared of you, than you are of them. Her father’s words filled her ears. Claiming herself down, she dropped her dress, and started to clap her hands together. With her dogs help, he had left, though Aileen knew they traveled in packs, and that she would have to keep a closer watch on her animals, and her son.

<< Back in the House >>

“Why, was Max barking?” Jonathan had seated himself at the table, waiting for his mother to say it was ok to eat.

“Oh, it was nothing sweetie.” She locked the door, hung her shawl up, and moved towards the table. “You hungry?” She smiled, filling his small bowl with stew.

"From the Trees"

Grey, the thief

She crept quietly from among the world of trees, her only home for as long as she could remember, and made her way silently towards the campfire.

Foolish men, Grey thought with disdain. Treading heavily through her little world, without thought or care to the dangers within. Only right that I should introduce them properly, she smirked as the dagger slipped easily

from sleeve to hand.

She made her way to the first one and snorted. He slept with his mouth open and his hand around an empty tankard instead of his purse. Quickly, she grabbed at his belt and cut the pouch of coins free. It was relatively light, most of his coin probably spent on the cheap drink now inside his worthless gut.

The next man was a bit trickier. She actually had to roll him over, but he was so drunk that he didn't seem to mind.

Foolish men, she thought and rolled her eyes.

Two purses, although neither of them heavy. Still better then she had done in awhile. It would be enough for Laura to buy bread, however, and that was good enough for Grey. She could mostly live off of the forest. Her old nurse could not.

But there was a third man at the campfire. He slept propped up against a

tree. Grey smirked. Where there was a sleeping man, there was something of his to steal. Maybe she would even take his shoes, she considered as she

looked down at her own dirty feet.

She snuck to the man, reaching carefully for his belt, and was shocked when he suddenly came to life and grabbed her hand. Grey gasped and quickly brought up her dagger with her other hand but he merely looked at her unflinching. They stayed with that a moment or two before he suddenly let go.

Grey blinked and then pushed away quickly, scrambling backward and then running back into the trees with her bounty.

She looked back more than once but he never followed.

"Yes, But It Isn't What You Think..."

Field Marshall Lady Irene deMercercereau,
Marquess of Breenae,
Paladin of the Crimson Banner

Major Sir Cassius Henderson,
Executive Officer,
14th Westmont Infantry,
Paladin of the Crimson Banner

Erin Thorne,
Paladin-In-Training and Page to Sir Cassius

-Encampment of Lady deMercereau, Marquess Breenae-

The border between Breenae and Kling stretched out into the twilight as the two riders approached Lady deMercereau's encampment. The Field Marshall of the 3rd Army had made her camp on the edge of the cliffs overlooking the

border with Kling, the barbaric empire that bordered on Lefedera. So far no skirmishes had broken out, but Kling firepits could be seen below. The two riders approached the camp, making no attempt to quiet their approach, and were quickly intercepted by the guards that had been posted at the entrance to the camp.

"Ho there! What business do you have at this encampment?" the guard sergeant called out at the two cloaked officers. The taller rider, seated astride a black horse, pulled his cloak aside, revealing a breastplate emblazoned with the symbol of the 14th Infantry. The sergeant nodded, and waved them through, signaling to his guards to pull their glaives out of the way.

The two riders proceeded slowly though the encampment, taking time to look over the encampment. deMercereau's soldiers were quiet, pensive, and the camp had a tension to it that came with any army encamped on it's enemy's borders. Red tuniced soldiers and yellow tuniced military engineers chattered with the far fewer blue tuniced medical corps and green tuniced riflemen and scouts. The camaraderie was commendable, but only time would tell if the forces that had occupied Breen for four years, since the last war, would be an effective fighting force.

Arriving at headquarters, the two riders dismounted and taller one spoke in quiet tones to the guard captain who had been entrusted with guarding the tent of Irene deMercereau, Marquess of Breenae and Paladin of the Crimson Banner. The white tent flew a red flag over it with a white insignia, denoting her status as a ranking member of the Paladinic Order.

As a corporal took their horsed, the captain bid them enter, and the two did so, the smaller following the taller one. As they entered the torchlight of the room, they found Irene deMercereau discussing with General Dantar Reska and General Rayna Sherman, both of whom she dismissed upon the arrival of the newcomers.

"Cassius, Erin. Welcome back," the thin whip of a woman said, raising her arms so a young soldier could help her remover her heavy armor, "How far off is the 14th?" Her pale skin glowed in the flickering candlelight, and her white hair seemed strangely out of place on so young a frame. She had been a soldier of twenty years, and her course was not yet run. Her hair and

features were the result of chemical imbalance, which, while not as debilitating as albinism, did cause some of it's side effects (and changed her blood type).

The cloaked officers removed one another's cloak and armor, carefully placing them aside in the crowded tent. The taller was a stern young man, war weary and a soldier of ten years. The other was younger still, a woman, and dressed in the garb of a page of the Order of the Crimson Banner. She stood respectfully to one side as the other two spoke.

"They'll be here dawn tommorrow. Captain Pennington intends to march them all night if she has to, and probably will, knowing her, if only to spite them," the man chucked quietly. The young woman he had left in command was a hard person to deal with, had never wanted to be a soldier, but had been forced into the service by ambitious parents.

"Good. That'll bring my army to full strength," deMercereau nodded, "Tell me, do you think Captain Pennington is capable of holding the 14th together for you for a while?" She slipped quietly into a chair, exhausted.

Sir Cassius thought for a moment, "The troops will hate it, but I know she can keep them in line."

"Good. I want you to go to John Bhrode's Earldom and keep tabs there for me. Maybe you can open a bannerhouse for the Order there," deMercereau said, taking the younger paladin by surprise.

"May I ask why, ma'am?" he asked, "Earl John's borders are relatively secure."

"It's not his borders I'm concerned about, Cass," Lady Irene replied, looking up at him, "Bad news came in from the capitol city last night. The king has taken ill, and is not expected to outlive the year. We have a short while, but Duke Jurgen has been stirring up rumors of war and agression for months. You know that. And for all Duke Robert's work, I

don't think it's helping the situation much. Truthfully, I'm not sure what will just as yet."

"By god... Is there anything yet left to us to believe in?" Cassius asked, raising one hand to his forehead and rubbing at his brow. The debates in parliament between the two rival nobles had been a horror story and had divided the nation, especially among the military men and women.

"Yes, but it's not what you think, Cassius," she replied, motioning for them both to have a seat. Erin attended to her knight's seat, then sat down beside him, "You've got to look at it objectively. The thing to believe in is your own faith. You have to remain loyal to the ideals for which you

fight as a member of our order. Honor, Virtue, Fidelity, Duty, and those sort of things. That's what has to stand up when our noble king passes.

Otherwise, Hoth will drag us into a civil war, or a war with Kling."

"As always, Lady Irene, you are the voice of reason," Cass smiled warmly, and quietly began to cut some bread for the three of them, offering first to his page, and then to his liege, "So I suppose you wish for me to look around the court of Lord Bhrode and see where he stands on the issue."

"Very good, Cass, you're catching on," deMercereau laughed, "I don't want you to spy per se. I like to think myself above it. But if worst comes to worst, having a chapterhouse of the Order in Galaxia would be favorable to me, and to the other members."

"I certainly do not debate that. I'll ride with a few of my knights to Galaxia, setting out tommorrow morning. When we arrive in Galaxia, we'll purchase a small parcel of land, provided the Order has the funds, and construct a chapterhouse," he said with a nod of his head, agreeing with the idea.

deMercereau smiled, "I knew you'd ask. Land is so hard to come by these

days. I have scraped together some funds from the treasury for just that purpose." She handed him a bag of gold coins, and stood, "I hate to send you both away right now, but I'm tired. I'll see you and your knights off tommorrow morning, and send further instructions as they come to mind."

"That should certainly be satisfactory, ma'am. Erin and I will draft a list of the knights we'd like to have as of tommorrow morning," he said, rising from the table as well. His page began to replace his armor, then slipped silently into her own leather armor.

"Go with god, Cassius," Irene deMercereau smiled, as she bid him good night.

"Go with god, Irene," he replied as was customary for two of their order. The he and Erin left her tent, returned to their horses, and head over to the officers bunks for the night, where they would draft the list of knights, have dinner, and then sleep the night away.

OOC: Things established as of this posting... -Order of the Crimson Banner (vaguely equivalent to Irene deMercereau and her officers, my characters on various other sims), an organization of Paladins, or holy knights. A rather open minded group of people, who could be said to take a rather liberal explanation of God's will. They're probably in reality more devoted to the ideals that God represents than any dogma of their church.

"The Wandering Hessians"

Klaus of Fienberg,
Middle class Traveller

Erik Stiener,
"Entrepenuer"

Location: A town of edge of Count Bhrode's domain.

When two paths converge, Travelers often times meet, and thus the hessians met.

The two converged. One in a large robe with the hood up. The other in a nonformal tunic. "My english is not so good, but It is a fine day to travel"

The hooded man turned Klaus, pulling off his hood. "Yes, especially when one find's another of the same land to travel with."

They both laughed and continued on.

The two soon arrived in a nearby town. "Tavern? Or Inn?"

Klaus looked at his friend. "Tavern."

In the tavern they sat side by side. The Barkeep recieved good business.

Erik turned to his new friend. "So my friend. What brings you so far from the Fatherland."

"You will be surprised just how far I am. I hail from Fienberg."

"My, that is a ways away. So, why?"

"Sometimes a man must begin anew. Sometimes in a new land. Thus, I came here. Why are you so far from home."

"I, well I'm an entrepenuer. I have my ways of surviving."

Several hours Later:

The two wandered drunkenly to the nearby Inn, singing a Teutonic hymn.

The next day they continued on inadvertanly toward the Encampment of Lady deMercereau

"Don't Shoot the Messenger"

Year: 815

Jeremy Savoie
Messenger and Weasely Henchman to Count Bhrode

Strands of pink still highlighted the eastern sky as the sound of galloping hoofbeats echoed into the surrounding woods. The morning dew helped keep down the dust from the road that had assaulted the messenger's eyes and throat for the past few days, a welcome relief from the endless travel over these monotonously familiar old roads. Count Bhrode demanded swiftness from his messenger; after all, information was power and the faster he could send and receive important communiqués, the more sure his grip on that power.

And so Jeremy had been up at the first sign of dawn and back on his horse, heading for Bhrode's castle, which was still a way's off in the distance, looming over the rolling green fields that surrounded Galaxia like a gray vulture perched atop the forest canopy.

His steely eyes scanned the road ahead, constantly vigilant for would-be thieves or assassins, those who would seek to intercept the Count's important messages or to exact revenge upon the man who was often responsible for heralding his decrees. Danger was his daily companion, urgency the force that forged his focus forward. Being Bhrode's messenger wasn't an easy life, but nor was it without its perks. Disliked by most, Savoie had his position as one of the Count's most important men to protect him; anyone who would dare harm him risked the Count's wrath. He had long since left behind what family he had and now spent many a day traveling, sometimes great distances, to deliver the Count's messages; in return, he lived at the Count's castle and was often able to enjoy the benefits of the nobleman's lifestyle. He was at the Count's beckon call at all times, yet otherwise he was above poverty and the law, the two great oppressors of the common peasantry. Remaining out of and apart from that class remained one of the strongest motivators in the young man's life.

Yet there was another, perhaps equally strong motivator that drove Jeremy Savoie in the life he had chosen. Ingratiating himself with the Count was about more than staying above the commoners or basking in trickle-down luxury. Indeed, the one thing that had captured Jeremy's eye was not a thing at all: it was in fact none other than the Count's own niece, the beautiful Erin of Friel, who had come to live in her uncle's castle after her father was killed in battle five years ago. Her mother having died giving birth, Erin had known no family other than her father and her uncle yet she had grown into a remarkably beautiful and intelligent woman, one that the Count protected viciously.

It was her face that filled Jeremy's mind as he pushed his horse harder, hoping to reach the castle before the evening meal. Bhrode would no doubt be impatiently awaiting his return from this latest and unusually long trip; Jeremy merely wanted to see the face of the woman he had grown to admire, and to enjoy the comfort of an indoor bed again.

However long the road remained ahead of him, nothing short of the hand of the Almighty Himself -- or perhaps someone more malevolently aligned -- would stop him from reaching his destination.

In the Year of Our Lord 815

"Of Love and Music"

By
Curtis Geluf,
Wandering Minstrel

"Splendid, simply splendid." Curtis spoe to himself, after giving himself a tour of the town of Galaxia. He had not had a chance to visit the outlying farmlands as of yet, but that would come soon enough.

"I've been on the road nearly a year now I'll wager. I think I may stay here a season or so." he said to himself.

The town was no great marvel, indeed, it wasn't much in terms of size at all. But it had everything a wandering minstrel needed: An inn, a town hall for playing and music starved villagers.

As these thoughts filled his head, Curtis did not notice a small woman in his path, and she did not notice him; that is until they collided in the street.

"Oh dear! I beg your pardon Miss. I must watch where I am...."

Curtis fell silent as he gazed upon the face of the lady. She was of fair complexion, dark hair, heavenly figure, and eyes of leafy green. He would have thought it impossible for there to be more about her that was breath-taking, but then she spoke.

"No, please sir, it is I who must apologize." she said, or rather sang.

"My Lady, your apology is mis-placed here. I am but a traveling minstrel. I am called Curtis, and my sir-name is Geluf, and I am at your service." the young man offered.

The woman blushed slightly, "I am Kiora, naught but a serving girl at the Inn."

"Then my luck is as good as ever; I shall be staying at your Inn for many months ahead. Might I look forward to your company sometime?" the Minstrel asked.

"You may, kind sir. But I must go, I can not be late. I will see you this evening then?" Kiora asked.

"Upon that, you may wager your life. Good day to you Miss Kiora." Curtis answered, then, nodding slightly, he continued down the street, humming a new tune in his head.

"My stay here may be even longer yet..."

Ethan Suder
Local Shadow

Year 815

"Under Observation"

Things had been far too quiet for some time now. It wasn't right. Suder checked the long wood he had craft himself. One end was quite sharp and pointed, the other, coated in a liquid of some kind and sharp, solid and big thornes of some kind stuck into the wood itself. It was ready for use. The end that was rather wet was a little smelly. Maybe too much of a give away, he'd find out soon enough.

Suder sat quietly in the trees above the ground. The leaves surrounding him would provide plenty of cover. Not to mention as it was getting dark, his black robe would also be effective.

He watched below at the fire he had started earlier. Created to last most of the night with obvious but too tempting objects near by. His breathing was silent and he now felt a little hungry. But he would soon eat he felt. Soon he wouldn't have to hide in the trees.

He listened to the sounds of nature. The branches of nearby trees colliding with each other as the wind moved them. Creatures of the nights howling, squeking and doing what they did.

A twig snapping alerted Suder to what he had been waiting for. He moved his head forward slightly to get a better look at the fire below. It was now silent. Obviously whoever was approaching was mentally kicking him/herself for stepping on the twig and possibly alerting anyone about that there was now another presence nearby.

Then Suder noticed a shadow move slightly. He saw a figure in the shadow looking around. The figure was male and was clothes in a dark robe. Most likely a thief, checking to see whoever had started this fire was not nearby. Even if someone were, the thief would no doubt be able to snoop around and take what was of importance and slip away without being detected.

The thief began moving forward slowly, arms raised for blance and help with the stealthy approach. Ethan continued to watch and did not move. He had to wait a few more seconds.

Suder raised his hand and flicked a stone above the thief. The stone collided with the trunk of a tree and then two other large rocks. The thief quickly turned, no doubt his heart, if he had one, pounding through his ribcage.

Suder a split second later jumped from his hiding position. As he fell, he swung his arm around and as he landed, one end of the long wood he held ignited in flames as it caught alight from the fire.

As the thief turned back towards the fire, he saw a fire only inches away from his face before impact was made. The thief fell to the ground with a hard thud after Suder's one strike with the wood-bar.

Suder looked down at the wounded thief. The man's head had been cut open and he suffered very slight burns. The man had a thin, dark beard that matched his long black hair. It was a face Suder would not forget. He raised the torch he held and glared at the thief, looking at the fire reflecting in his eyes. He then dropped the weapon on the disoriented thief.

"Hammer And Anvil"

Michael McDowell
Bladesmith

Anno Domini 815

Loud, resonant, metallic sounds went out from the small workplace as Michael used the large hammer to work the hot metal as he kept it in position on the anvil before him. It already showed the long and slender form of a sword, but it was still far from being a real sword. Shaping the metal was just the first step. The difficult part had yet to come. How long that would take depended on the kind of sword his customer wanted. A 'simple' one would take half a day or so, sometimes less, but if someone requested a sword of an unusual high quality (including any complex engravings) then it could take up to three of four days. In such cases Michael counted himself lucky that he could call in the help of his apprentice to take over some of the other jobs that had to be done.

It was a hard job, something which became painfully obvious to Michael after he'd just started out as a Bladesmith in Galaxia a few months ago. The first few days were hell. Every evening when he got home his whole body ached. His arms were numb; some days to such an extend that he found it difficult to hold his hand steady when picking up a simple thing like a tankard. The next day it was even worse; he had to struggle to even get out of bed, the muscle ache almost unbearable. But after a while, and he thanked the gods for that, things got better. His body began to adjust to the heavy workload and the muscle ache got less. He still suffered from a dull pain in his arms after a hard days work, but he expected that would get less also after a while.

Michael looked up, allowing himself a break. Beads of sweat covered his forehead and a few rolled down over his face, which gave an irritable tickling feeling. He brought his left arm up towards his head and wiped of as much of the sweat as he could. For a brief moment Michael look at himself. He shrugged slightly. It was all sweat and dirt all and Michael wouldn't be surprised if he had some black smudges on his face by now. So, it was dirty work too. All part of the job. But, it paid rather well in these times and that helped bear it all.

The evening was near, the sun had a reddish color and slowly moved to the end of the Earth. The sun was dying. Another day had passed. It was time to go home. Michael smiled. He didn't mind that. Oh no, he didn't mind that at all.

"Into The Web"

Major Sir Cassius Henderson,
Paladin of the Crimson Banner

Erin Thorne,
Page to Sir Cassius

and the other nine members of the scarlet company...

and... The Mysterious Webwitch

-Count's Road, with Count's Forrest-

Major Henderson and his knightly company were not far now, only a few days from town. But first they would first have to traverse the somewhat overgrown path that lead to the main city, though the Count's Forrest. Once again, Cassius found himself lamenting the need for a competant roads administrator. He shook his head dismissively and ordered the company to proceed into the dark woods. His three knights, four men-at-arms, two pages, and the lone strategist all steeled themselves against the eerie woodlands, and trudged onward, exhausted by a hard day of riding.

The spiders were what warned the Webwitch of strangers. The sheer volume of them crawling to her hut spoke of great numbers, and heavily armed. That raised an eyebrow and she silently darted through the woods to see who was passing.

The Webwitch watched from a distance, her robes and veils blending in with the foliage around her. Soldiers, she thought to herself, but then corrected herself.

Holy Knights. Even worse.

Those were the kind that burned those like her with no questions asked. She silently followed them through the brush, keeping her eyes on them.

It wasn't too long before those hairs on the back of Henderson's neck were tingling. They were being watched... He hated that. Why couldn't people just come out and be open with him... Sighing, he signaled a halt by holding up his hand. "All right. Five minutes people. Don't go into the woods." He'd give them the moment off their horses, and maybe that would be interpreted as a gesture of good faith by whomever was watching... or it would look stupid. Either way, Cassius probably had whoever it was outnumbered and outtrained. His page, Erin, wandered over with a jug of water from her donkey, which he took and drank appreciatively. "Thank you, Erin. Keep your eyes open," he said, not needing to tell her that they were being observed.

The call to not enter the woods raised an eyebrow for the Webwitch. That was rather respectible. As she watched them tend to their horses, one of her spiders started towards the one she assumed was the leader.

It was a good fist sized one and it just climbed on his boot, testing his leg about it being safe to climb up. The Webwitch watched with wide eyes, worried for her little one, but not wanting to be seen or these knights could burn down the woods and they'd all suffer.

Cassius looked down at the offending arachnoid, and strangely enough, smiled, "I am not a tree. I am not safe to climb," he said, then turned to Erin, "Can you fetch me a stick?" The page returned a moment later, and Cassius gently tried to place the fairly long stick between the spider and the riding boot, in the hopes that it would latch onto the stick.

The spider wasn't interested in the stick, there were plenty of those in the woods. Now an armoured leg, that was something new. It started a slow crawl, occasionally scrabbling for it's footing against the slick metal.

Cassius sighed... what was it about random lifeforms... He decided to try to pry it away a bit, "Go on, get off. No passengers."

The spider started to try to cling to his gauntletted hands. This was already turning into quite an adventure for it.

The Webwitch began to step forward, her concern for her little one outweighing her concerns for her safety.

Holding his hand out away from his body and standing up, Cassius started over toward the treeline, where he cold deposite the creature back into it's habitat. He rotated his hand so it couldn't continue up his arm.

She appeared out of the woods as if by magick and gently scooped the spider from Cassius. It happily skittered up her arm as if to tell her of it's adventure.

The Webwitch just gazed at him silently.

"Hello," Cassius said, obviously more than a little surprised.

She nodded politely at him, now gazing at Cassius' companions.

"Who are you?" Cassius asked, signaling quietly for his men to go about their business.

"I would ask the same of you.", she asked in her throaty voice, now focussing her gaze back on Cassius as if she was seeing through him.

"Just a group of knights, bound of the capitol," he said, running one hand through his brown hair, "Nothing to hard to do."

"It is only a day's walk from the edge of the woods to the city.", she said, "Your best chance of swift speed is to head down this path and take the first fork to the left. It will be rough going, but it will break into clearer ground for your mounts."

"Thank you," he nodded, "And you are?"

One could imagine her smiling beneath her veils. "I am called many things....but the Webwitch of the Wood seems most common enough.", she said as she took a small step back as a just in case.

"I may have heard of you," Henderson nodded, "The rumors are a varied lot... descriptions range from simple herbalist to black magic user to consorter with demons... The later are usually more entertaining."

"Tales of Fancy usually are.", she purred with a hint of amusement in her eyes.

"I can take that as a general denial?" Cassius said, cocking his head to one side.

"You are a free being, your opinion is your own."

"Indeed, as are you, which I suppose is why I'm not as quick to judge as some of the members of other religious orders," he said, "I'm sure that anyone of your profession and lifestyle choice would be a bit hesitant around one of mine."

The Webwitch nodded, her eyes closing as she did so. "A little caution harms none."

"Of course," he said, "I take it you'll want to be getting on with your work, whatever that may be."

"We all have our patterns to follow on our own lifewebs.", she said, "I believe mine is not as...strict as yours."

"Perhaps," he said, "Or merely different. I happen to find my path liberating. But we all make very different choices. I thank you for your aide with my path. I hope we cross pathes again."

The Webwitch nodded again. This one wasn't so bad for a holy knight. The Great Weaver of All obviously was being unique when she wove this one.

As she had pointed out the path and had still faced a holy knight and lived, service was rendered and paid in full. She melted into the woods as if by magic and the spiders in the trees and on the ground followed.

Henderson nodded as she left and went about his work.

"The Mercenaries Roam Into Town"

By
Jamison 'James' Lionel Corgan

T'lan Xilosnodel (Goldenmoon)

Exch Grayrock

Walter Marsh

Sheridan 'Shelly' O'Rourke

Location: Galaxia, The Swan and Sword Pub

The Swan and Sword. A dusty old pub like any other.

Cliché? Wait until you see the place.

The dwelling, when light wasn't shone other than the fat burning lamps that lay the filthy watering hole like brimstone straight from hell, was as dark as a reeking cave. That was all the better, considering what the Swan and Sword looked like when light shone where the sun wasn't supposed to shine. Its floorboards creaked, stank, rotted, and buckled under the weight of a bunch of shiftless, lazy peasants whom found drink to be the only solace in their miserable lives. The wall planking was old and dusty, worn away by age and thousands of riotous nights of drinking and boasting. The roof was a collection of straw thatch, graying and aged much like the walls; some say it was the first and only thatch roof in its hundred-year existence. It barely kept the weather in check, and every once in awhile, a drunken peasant dealt with the tedious smack of dirtied droplets of water ricocheting off poor wretch's skull. Decorations consisted of wooden tables and chairs, simplistic, with its polish worn off years ago by the assault of overweight bodies and thumping pewter ale mugs. In the back, besides storehouses of potatoes, turnips, cabbage, and wheat, was the boarding house, a simple, small room with bunks and questionably suitable linins.

At a not so isolated corner of the dirtiest alehouse in Galaxia, the bar was set up. A wooden bench with wooden stools, also old and dusty, stood in front of a series of shelves, housing mugs and all sorts of mysterious and dangerous spirits (one never asked for anything out of those bottles, distilled with copper and poorly stored as they were, so it was more prudent to ask for ale). An old lady, ballooned like ripe fruit from years of child rearing, spat into an empty glass through her gnarled teeth, and wiped it out with a soiled rag.

This was to be the new home of the "Brotherhood of Red".

"So, what do you guys think?" Jamison Corgan, the de facto leader of the Brotherhood of Red announced, waving his arms across the decrepit structure like a proud lord surveying his land.

The rest of the Brotherhood looked at the Swan and Sword with skepticism. "Sir... it's disgusting." Sheridan O'Rourke sighed, her arms folded across her tunic, her hands close to her twin daggers. The former thief made mercenary had more than a flophouse in mind.

"Terrible." Walter Marsh agreed. He pondered the sword at his hip and the crossbow on his back. The former militiaman made mercenary contemplated using the items on their proud leader.

"Unworthy of a proud dwarf of my status." Said the confident and boisterous Exch Grayrock. The young dwarf, with only a few decades of travel under his belt, thought he knew it all. And he knew for sure this was not worthy of the Brotherhood of Red, and he was willing to bring out his warhammer to prove it.

Seeing the skepticism in his party of vagabonds, James thought feverishly to calm his agitated mates. "T'lan?" He asked the cold, yet beautiful elf, "What do you make of this place?"

He could always depend on T'lan. If not for a great opinion, but to use logic and reasonable thinking to always justify his decisions. "Sir, this dwelling and pub will have to do. However, our probability of catching a disease is twenty four point nine six percent."

James looked at his elven cohort, "You sure about that?"

"I am Elven Uponashed, and our sciences are very exact. I am sure of it."

"Which explains why you have yet to use gunpowder?"

T'lan paused, "We choose not to use gunpowder. It would be illogical to use such a destructive force."

"We Dwarven Uponashed invented it!" Exch added in.

"It would figure, that only a people like you would invent a destructive force like gunpowder." T'lan silenced the bold dwarf, whom slinked and shed his brave image.

"AHEM!" James coughed, catching the Brotherhood of Red's attention, "Thank you. Look, I know when we first set out that we thought we would be stinking rich by the end of the year, and I know that things haven't been too good, with the Marquis rebellion quashed... the Duke of Picard winning against the forces of Shinzon the Terrible to the east, and all that sh*t, but this is the best we can afford! Until we get ourselves a decent job without being f**ked over by every potential employee that comes along, we'll have to suck it up and live like common sewer rats. Ok?"

The rest of the party begrudgingly agreed. Almost.

Sir Marsh spoke, "But sir, we have been chasing opportunity for the past three years. Every time we get a mercenary job, we either end up on the losing side, or end up being double crossed without a sixpence to show for it. When are we actually going to get some real income?"

"Methinks I'm curious about that meself." Shelly pointed at James.

James waved his hands neutrally, a calming smile (that hid his fright) across his face. "Sorry guys, but it's the best we can do. I'll go check on some leads tomorrow, ok? I promise, I'll find out all about the political situation here and pick the right side for a change."

"Sure... like the time you decided to side with the mercenaries joining the Dominion Empire's forces?" T'lan said.

Exch added, "Or the time we sided with the clockwork men of Delta?"

Shelly threw in, "Or how about the time you were absolutely sure it was one hundred percent ok to join the Wildmen of Quo'nos, until they found out we were citizens of Galaxia?"

Marsh concluded, "Only to join them anyways, when they made peace with Galaxia to fight the Dominion Empire. And you know what you did then?"

Everyone said, "We went back into the arms of the Dominion, only to be double-crossed."

It was undeniable. The Brotherhood of Red had a run in of bad luck as of late. By as of late, that meant since their formation during the wars between the Dominion Empire and the rest of the forces of light. Since then, the Brotherhood of Red has been known for being on the wrong side of every conflict they came across. Sometimes they were paid. Sometimes they weren't. Sometimes it meant taking treasure from the losers before it was taken by the victors, and running away from the territories before the victors caught wind. Sometimes it meant a stay in a dungeon and a daring escape.

The life of a wandering mercenary was an exciting one. And sometimes a dangerous one. In the case of the Brotherhood of Red, there was no time to take stock in the excitement, because there was more than enough danger and hardship to drown it all out. The past three years were disappointing. Men and women not meant to be warriors were nonetheless thrust by destiny into each other's company, and sent out into the cruel world to eke out a miserable living. Many were gone, including the monk Brinit Taro, lost tragically in the haunted woods of Del'fi. And now there was five, back in their original township. They went from being a bunch of broke, desperate peasants to being broke, desperate peasants.

"Guys. I..." James stuttered, "Lets just get a round of ales and I'll give you an important announcement."

A round of grunts and 'harumphs' went through the group. It wasn't their fault they were disillusioned, it was the results of three years of soulcrushing agony!

James led his pack of downtrodden mercenaries into the bar. When light hit the wretched souls inside, they recoiled in horror as sunlight hit bloodshot eyes, like drunken ghouls. A rather large fellow, dark skinned and with muscles considered unnatural on a human, held James Corgan by the shoulder, and pointed to the sign.

=/\=Checke weapoons at thee doore.=/\=

"Oh... who am I to argue with the rules." James snarled sarcastically, "Here are my 'we'a'poons' so you can 'check-e' them at 'thee doore'... ya big ox."

The dark haired 'oxen' scowled, down, and collected James weapons. Underneath a dark, forest green cloak, crimson tunic, and deerskin breeches was a well used broadsword, and two exotic looking weapons. They were wooden and metal fused together, a metal tube like 'barrel' and a wooden handle, or 'pistol grip' as the alchemists and weapon smiths remarked. Through some ingenious thinking, the weapons were stuffed with 'gunpowder' and a lead bullet, where then a 'trigger' was pulled. The trigger would strike a piece of flint, and ignite the 'gunpowder', hurling the lead 'bullet' with the velocity three times that of an arrow from a composite longbow. He was assured that these weapons would be the next big thing in warfare. Granted, they took minutes at a time to reload, and it was a clumsy effort to reload the pistols. The shots were not nearly as accurate as a bow or even a crossbow. In fact, when it rained, the gunpowder would be ruined and it would never ignite. But James was attracted to these strange, beautiful weapons (and they could go through a Paladin's armor like nothing else!).

He handed over the two 'muskets' to the bar bouncer, with a wary eye. "Don't drop them, they're expensive." James gave the warning. The big ox collected the Exch's hammer, T'lan's bow and sword, O'Rourke's daggers, and Marsh's sword and crossbow.

"Thank you." James didn't like the idea of the 'ox' holding two very expensive weapons. He yelled to the sea hag who passed herself off as a tavern wench, "You there! Four Ales. One Elven wine."

The tavern wench nodded, going back to 'cleaning' her mug.

The Brotherhood of Red waited for a full ten minutes before the tavern wench decided it was time to bring their drinks. By then, Exch was shaking for a tankard of ale, and T'lan waited anxiously for her wine. When the drinks came, it was like looking into a glass full of foul bilge water (save for the elven wine, sparkling as ever).

"Ummm... thanks!" James drank his, and didn't gag the least bit. Because of their constant income crisis, the Brotherhood had to make due with worse ale than this.

The rest of the group drank their first quaff, making sour, disgusted faces, but reconciled by the fact that this time, they had half decent hooch.

"Ok... group meeting is now in session!" James Lionel Corgan unfurled the mercenary banner, a tankard of ale being held by a crimson hand, enclosed in a red circle, and placed it on the table.

"Here here!" The others cheered somberly.

"Ummm... yeah." James sensed the lack of enthusiasm. Though the weeks have been tough, he thought the group had more hope for the future. He sat down calmly, and started the meeting. "Ok, the one hundred and sixty eighth meeting of the Brotherhood of Red is now in session. Of our original squad of twenty, only five of us remain, due to some deaths, but mostly desertion. I thank you all for staying with me, and hope that the years to come will be prosperous."

"Yeah, right." Marsh grumbled, taking a bitter drink of his beer.

James pretended to ignore Marsh's comment, "Tonight... will be our last meeting."

Mugs dropped. Faces were etched in surprise. Finally, James Corgan had the attention of his bedraggled, battered 'legion'. "That's right. I'm calling it quits. You know why I said we would be prosperous for years to come? That's because I meant it. We're not going to become prosperous by becoming mercenaries! Find the legendary dragon's nest of gold? HAH! Defeat the forces of good and ride the wave of Dominion dominance? HAH! Become rich out of our f**king skulls and get blitzed on the best ale in the seven kingdoms? HAH!!!!!!! What a f**king crock of sh*t!"

"Sir?" Shelly O'Rourke shakingly ventured.

"Shelly, it's true. We've had nothing but hardship. I brought you all home so that we can pick up where we left off three years ago. I'll go back being a bard, and playing at this scummy bar until I can get a better job elsewhere. T'lan, you can go back to being a bowyer. Exch, you can become a jewelsmith's apprentice again. And Marsh... dear Marsh, I'm sure Count Brhode's Militia will want you back again. And as for O'Rourke... what did you do for a living before we picked you up on Intrepidville?"

"I was a scrollkeeper for a lawman, and I didn't like it that much!" O'Rourke snapped.

"Well, I don't know... be something! Anything but a mercenary! Let's face it. We learned through the past three years that this job is the worse! Lets just cut our losses and go back to our old lives. Ok?" James reasoned sorrowfully, "Ok? Please? I don't want to lead you guys to destitution anymore."

The group looked around, seeing that James Corgan was serious. It hadn't occurred to them that there was a light at the end of the tunnel, but now that James was letting them go...

They couldn't be any happier.

"Here's to a new life!" Shelly O'Rourke raised her glass.

"Here here!" Exch cheered, raising his.

"I concur." T'lan raised her wine.

"YES!" Marsh raised his tankard

As if waiting on cue, James raised his. "Here here."

A clink of all the glasses, and a long quaff of ale (and wine), and the rest was settled. The Brotherhood of Red was no more. And everyone couldn't be happier.

Everyone, except James Corgan. He looked at the banner, now a table cloth with rings of ale on its dirty fabric, with longing.

“To the Market”

By:
Aileen Sheldon,
the farmer

The Year: 815

<< Sheldon’s Farm >>

Sheldon woke before dawn, and was dressed and making breakfast for herself, and her son by sunrise. Today, Jonathan wouldn’t go to the market with Sheldon. She would drop him off at a neighbor not far from their farm. He would spend the day there, and Sheldon would pick him up sometime this evening.

Lifting her dress slightly, she left him to eat, so she could ready the horses, and load her goods on the horses. Leading the two stallions out of the stables, she tied them to a post in front of her place. Moving back instead, “Come on, Johnny, you need to hurry up.” Pushing her hair off of her shoulders, her mass of curls tended to get on her nerves.

“Mommy, are y-you not eating?” He picked his plate up, and placed in it the bucket that Sheldon use to wash her dishes in.

“No, sweetie.” Smiling, she took him by the hand and took him outside. “Mommy doesn’t have time.” Though that wasn’t the truth, it was good enough for the little three years old.

<< Down the road >>

Sheldon dropped her son off, knowing she would travel faster, and get things done faster without him in the way. Moving down the dirt road, she kept her ears open for alarming noises, and other horses. It wasn’t easy to control two horses, being in a dress, and having to sit sidesaddle, but she managed.

Sheldon couldn’t help but let her thoughts over take her. It was about an hour to the city, being thirty miles from her farm, and being alone didn’t help the travel either. She hadn’t been selling as many goods. Her corps hadn’t been as good, as the year before last. Money was quite tight, and she had a child to feed. She hated going to the city. Seeing the ladies, all dressed in their best.

Feeling the breeze over her skin, and play with her hair, she snapped out of her pity party. This wasn’t like her, she didn’t need fine thing to live. She had made due the past few years, she and Jonathan would be just fine. Looking up at the trees overhead, she started thinking on the things she did have.

18

635