From:	mneideng@****.caltech.edu (Mark L. Neidengard)
Subject:	Wraith Astral Quest
Date:	Thu, 28 Dec 1995 05:39:58 -0800

*****PRIVATE: Shade
>>>>>[Greetings once more, in this holiday season. I am about to give you
a
transcript of the Astral Quest that Thelienista undertook, as taken from her
memory by a colleague of mine who has seen fit to alloy his magical gift with
cyberware. Given the nature of its contents, I would not disseminate it at
all but for Thel's instructions. _Be_Warned_. The intensity of the sensory
data in this file could well prove FATAL to those of less than the _most_
robust constitution. The horrors depicted herein are such as the Thaumaturgy
instructors mention in whispers as the dangers beyond the horizons of prudent
magical inquiry. I ask you in the strongest professional terms not to
disseminate this material to anyone, making mention of only what is most
essential if some explanation need be offered to others. As a longtime
acquaintance of Thel's, I would have her spared any further suffering or
persecution arising from these most regrettable events.


+++++begin simsense.feed
The first sensory impression you get is one of complete disorientation. Your
body suddenly feels weightless, no longer opposed by gravity or even air
resistance. You feel yourself beginning to rise vertically like some sort of
balloon, though your notion of buoyancy seems somehow skewed. After the
background noise of society, you seem to be hearing dead silence, though as the
moments pass you begin to acclimate to a profusion of soft, muted noises from
all around you, coming as if through a fog. In your vision, the world is
a fantastical haze, the walls of the room you arrived in seeming dim and
almost translucent. Objects outside the center of your vision are almost
incorporeal, and as you feel yourself momentarily glance downward, you realize
that only the things you concentrate on retain much clarity of detail.

As your mind begins to cope with the sensory rush, you begin to be aware of the
differences in your own body. Movements of your limbs feel swift and fluid,
far quicker than an unmodified meat body would react. Motions of your head also
make you aware of the extra mass of your long hair, stirred slightly by some
breeze, and your long ears, extending considerably beyond the side of your
head. If you concentrate, you can also feel the mass of your breasts, now
moderate in size, and the absense of external mass in the pubic region.
Glimpses of clothing from your peripheral vision show you to be attired in
some sort of dark gray longcoat, though it feels almost nonexistant over your
deep, olive-black skin. The temperature is just cool enough to be
noticeable, though not enough to be uncomfortable.

You continue your progress toward the ceiling, still gaining speed. Just as
you feel about to crash into the ceiling, you pass right through it instead!
There is a slight tingling where your body and the wall overlap, but the
effect is otherwise negligible. You come to a stop on the roof of the
building and look out over what you presume to be the Seattle skyline, now so
obscured from view that only the grossest of landmarks are recognizeable. You
take a deep breath and close your eyes, and after a moment begin to sing. If
there are words, they are meaningless to your ears, but the melody is haunting:
a deep sonorous dirge which imitates the rustling of leaves in the dark, the
flowing of water over pebbles and rocks. Still singing, you open your eyes and
begin to fly east through the city, gaining speed with each passing moment.
All around you the shapes and colors of the buildings around you begin to
blur, to run like wet paint or egg yolk. In your vision, your surroundings
grow dimmer and dimmer as the song and the motion continue to accelerate.
Just as your surroundings reach total darkness, the chant ends in a single,
shrill cry which echoes for seconds off of something in your surroundings.

You stand perfectly still for several moments, and then begin to walk forward
with a measured, even stride. Your eyes must be growing accustomed to the
dark, for you soon begin to make out the outlines of buildings around you.
Your gaze roams around in quick, precise intervals as you take in your
surroundings. The buildings are tall, measuring dozens of stories or more in
height. Everywhere you look, windows are imperfectly boarded up or broken,
resembling empty eye sockets in picked, weathered skulls. The wood and
concrete exteriors of the buildings around you are cracked and blackened,
several buildings showing signs of imminent collapse. There is rubble strewn
all over the sidewalk and into the street, though nothing remotely organic is
visible. As a fitful wind whistles through the dilapidated buildings, not a
single artificial noise can be heard.

Suddenly, you hear a voice shout from somewhere down the street, reverberation
making its range difficult to judge. "Hey!" it comes again. "C'mere! I
got
summin' ta _say_ ta ya!" Your eyes narrow as your pace slackens somewhat,
muscles tensing as you near the source. As you draw closer, you begin to
resolve some sort of humanoid shape sitting flaccidly against a building. The
figure appears to be dressed in some sort of ragged leather coat and leggings,
the coat open in front to reveal several indistinct pendants and necklaces.
The figure motions you closer with its right hand, staring at you with eyes
obscured by a mass of dredlocks. "Yes," the figure says in a broken voice.
"Come closer so I can _see_ you."

"Who are you," you hear yourself say in a soft, cold whisper.

"Wha? Don't tell me you don' remember _me_?" the figure asks incredulously.
"We go _waaayy_ back, don' we....bitch." The figure raises its head slightly
as if appraising you, and you begin to notice that the figure's jaw, covered
with a scraggly beard, isn't working properly, hanging loose as if broken.

"Maybe I help jog you _memory_. 'Member a night back in 'Frisco? Back'n
Fifty Three, huh? Jan'wary Twunty-Secund, wassn it? Fo'thirty ay-em, _wassn_
it? Seem recall I wuz walkin down 'street an' saw this bum, all boozed out'n
lying in th' alley. An I thinks to myself, 'Huh...whuz ol' bum doin' wastin'
his dough on drinkin hisself to death when _I_ could take money off's hans and
put'ta much _better_ use? Save hisself the dying?!'"

At this, your eyes widen fractionally, facial muscles tensing as you hear
yourself whisper an incredulous "You!" The figure pauses a moment, as if
savoring your response. "Yeah, _me_. I see you 'member me. 'Zsee if'n
you 'member what came nex'? See, I'z just average Joe, tryin' t'do good
_deed_ 'n'keep street clean o'rifff rafff. I didn' figger on meetin' no
fuckin' street sham'n elf _bitch_, didn' I?" The figure draws this last
syllable into a low snarl that despite its volume reverberates off of the
buildings in the vicinity, seemingly coming from everywhere at once. "An'
what happens then? I don' recognize elf _slut_ for who she be, and figger
her for ir'claim'ble drunkkard and walk off after tryin' t'wak'er up. But
_she_, in all grat'tude, does voodoo shit t'me. Made me 'nvis'ble, inaud'ble,
what have'ya, _didn'_ ya? An' wha happens?! Get up here n' _see_!" the
figure yells, and in fascination you feel yourself move slightly closer, to
where you can see his face.

It might have been a handsome face once, brutally so, with hard cheekbones
and a prominent chin. Now one of those cheeks is crushed in, along with most
of the jaw and the right side of the head. Several of the teeth have been
knocked out, and two others have punctured the upper lip, wiggling in a crust
of dried blood as the mouth moves. The eye on the right side of the face
is red from ruptured blood vessels, and almost all the visible skin is one
continuous bruise. The figure reaches up with his right hand and grabs a
windowsill, somehow pulling himself to a standing position. You realize that
his left arm is hanging totally limp, and both of his legs are dangling in
impossible positions, not supporting his weight.

The figure smiles, its mouth hanging agape as blood slowly drips onto the
pavement. "Wha' happens?" I go walkin' down street, lookin' for place to
get hot meal n' showr. An' there's this truck, rollin' far 'n'csess of
speed limit. An' poor chum dozzun see me, o'_course_, and hits me as I'z
crossin' street. Ran _right_ over. Crushed both leg, fucked up nerve
in should'r, basstr'd did. And bashed m'head into street. Gave me _brain_
damage, made me dumbshit fer rest 'life. An all...thanx...ta _you_." The
figure suddenly lets go of the windowsill and hovers upright, now facing
you directly with the same horrific smile. "An' now you come here, claimin'
you wanna do _good_ fer world. Get rid o' great big ol' evil spirit, wuzzn't
it? An why should I let'cha, _huh_? You be _real_ faithful to the Owl'z
teachin' aint'cha? Fuckin' voodoo prost'tute _bitch_?!"

Every muscle in your body is tense as you face the apparition before you.
You feel yourself clench your fist, fingernails biting into your palm, but
after a moment you relax your grasp, your face rigid with the effort of
controlling your expression. "The Owl is a seeker of wisdom," you say in a
sibilant whisper. "The Owl uses her senses to embrace her world, and uses her
mastery over that world to support herself and her children. The Owl does not
tolerate injury to those she cares for. Your..._well-intentioned_ attempt to
relieve a bum of his drinking problem was nothing more than an excuse to _rob_
him. At _gunpoint_. Do you honestly believe that was a good dead? And what
_would_ you have done with the money, had you gotten it? Poverty and misery
_are_ tragic. But those who feast off it...are worse."

The figure's smile broadens, and you hear the sickening sound of teeth being
ripped free of their roots. "Oh, so lil' Miss Smarty-Ears think she got
answer fo' everything? Gonna try tell me whaz right'n'wrong? I tell you
_what_. I don' think you know _shit_!" The figure punctuates this remark by
spitting two bloody teeth onto the pavement by your feet. "I think you
power-hungry _beeatch_ tryin' grab 'smuch power fo' herself as can. 'N I
think you gonna get yo' black ass done up real good REAL soon now. Whad'ya
thinka that? _Yuuujo-ssama_? What you parents thinka you now?"

You answer in a dead whisper, eyes narrowed to slits: "My parents are dead.
They were simple tribesmen; they wouldn't understand any of this."

"Oh, 'zat so?" the figure asks, its face composed into a hideous leer.
"Why
don' you go _ask_ them?" Your eyes snap wide open at this, your body slipping
into a fighting stance almost faster than you can follow. "Yeah, das right.
Why don' you come along then 'n get yo'ass shoved up _nice_ 'n good. 'N stone-
col' _dead_. But I gonna make it mo' intr'sting, cause I _like_ you extra
special. Follow me, 'f ya can. Oh." The figure stops and raises its right
hand to point at you. "No Levitatin'. Wouldn' be fair to poor ol' invalid like
me." The figure suddenly spins around and accelerates down the street. You
immediately begin running off after it, your breathing and heart rate
accelerating in time with your strides. The figure keeps increasing its pace,
floating smoothly over wreckage that you must dodge or jump over. As you
struggle to keep up, you begin to hear a dull roar in the distance. But you
have no energy to spare on listening as the chase drags on through block after
block of desolate buildings. Finally, the figure rounds a corner and comes to a
stop in front of an enormous expanse of asphalt. The source of the roaring
sound is now painfully clear, as you can see an innumerable stream of cars
flash by. You slacken your pace to a stiff walk, gasping for breath and
gagging in the petrol fumes. The traffic must be over fourty lanes deep,
divided by a meter-tall concrete wall topped with concertina wire. On the other
side of the freeway lies the fringes of a dense temperate forest, stretching
along the road as far as the eye can see. The noise of the cars is nearly
deafening to your ears, and the splashes of color streaking past are almost as
dizzying as the exhaust they produce.

The figure turns momentarily to face you, its expression a mask of insane
glee. "Here's what we gonna _do_. We gonna cross tha street, just like lady
'n gentl'mn. An' this time, we _both_ gonna be invis'ble! You better hurry
less'n you wanna lose ya way." Having said this, the figure steps out into the
path of traffic, cars streaking through him as though he didn't exist. "Oh,
'n watch ya step!" Laughing maniacally, the figure begins to drift leisurely
across the freeway, cars whizzing through him many times per second. "Oh
shit," you hear yourself mutter as you begin frantically taking off your coat
and scanning the traffic. Each lane seems to be moving at a different speed,
and none slower than 250 kilometers per hour. Your stomach begins to knot
painfully with cramps, but you walk anyway towards the roadside, getting as
close as you dare. You feel yourself taking in large droughts of air to slow
your breathing as you stare at the traffic, coat in hand.

Suddenly, you spring away from the roadside, filling a momentary void left by
a speeding van, all your muscles straining as you sprint across lanes of
traffic, only to dodge sideways out of the path of car after car. After perhaps
two and a half seconds of insanity, you reach the inmost lane. As a yellow
car streaks toward you, you launch into a backward flip, first hands, then feet
striking the pavement as sportscar roars past, its driver not even wavering.
You feel yourself flipping through the air with dizzying speed as your hands,
padded by the longcoat, strike the median. Even as you feel the coat snagging
on the concertina wire, your flip continues, somehow rolling in midair and
landing you on your feet on the other side. Despite the feeling of intense
vertigo you continue dodging forward, cars shrieking all around. Three lanes
away from the other side, a motorcycle with extra-wide sideview mirrors clips
your sleeve, spinning you around and into the path of some matte-black car.
You frantically jump straight up, vision becoming blurred as the burning
sensation of oxygen deprivation builds in your chest. The car is short enough
to pass right under you, with scant millimeters of clearance as you land and
pause half a second for a speeding car before diving for the curb across the
last traffic lane. You roll into a ball and away from the road, feeling pine
needles and pebbles prick you through your remaining garment, some sort of
black form-fitting bodysuit.

You roll to a stop at the foot of a tree, head spinning as you pant for breath
with all your strength. In your madly-tilting vision, you can barely make out
the apparition, regarding you from about a meter away. It seems to be
laughing, though it is difficult to hear with the pounding in your ears: the
ghastly gurgling wheeze of someone with fluid in their lungs. As your vision
begins to stabilize, it bends down toward you, reeking of alcohol and
gangrene. "Well, I does do declaare! You fuckin' made it 'cross th'street,
_bitch_! Per'fekt walk n' park, wuzzun' it? You feel sick o'summin?" it asks
with glee. "Huh. Maybe I let you get you li'l black ass get fuck'd by
someone _else_, I reckon. I know you don' think you such hot shit any mo!
But you betta get'cho ass inta that forest befo I coun' ten, o'I ain' gonna
wait fo' my ree'venge. An' give my love-love to you par'nts." The figure
grins, its face twisting into a mask of malice, and speaks clearly for the
first time since your arrival. "Demon-spawn."

With the support of the tree, you pull yourself to a standing position and
stagger off into the forest, the figure behind you counting: "Ichi...ni...san...
shi..." Your breathing is slowly returning to normal, and you stretch your
burning muscles as you walk, trying to keep from stiffening up. The light
around you is very poor, even for your vision, dim shafts of starlight filtering
between the leaves of the trees around you. There is no path to be seen, and
you pick your way ahead with care, looking before placing each step. Snatches
of birdsong come from around you, as well as brief, furtive rustling noises.
The air is cold and still, and you begin to shiver slightly, devoid of the
protection of the longcoat. The underbrush only gets denser as you proceed,
and a couple minutes later you stop at a likely-looking tree and begin to
climb. You are able to get to a height of several stories, high enough to see
past over half of the canopy. Off in the distance, there is a glow of yellow-
orange light from some sort of large clearing, and no other visible sources
of light. There is no moon. You climb down the tree again, neatly dropping
to the ground and setting off toward the light. It turns out to be a
substantial distance, and your leg muscles grow sorer and sorer as you
progress. Matters are not improved by the incessant brushing of leaves and
vines as you press on. More than once you come across a small creek, but
despite a growing thirst, you do not stop for a drink.

Suddenly, you bring your foot down on an unseen twig with a loud "crack".
Immediately, a voice from somewhere up ahead shouts "Hold! 'Oo goess there?!"
Blazes of light flare up around you in the forest on all sides, and with
bewildering speed several figures bearing torches close in on you from several
directions. Even as you tense for the assault the figures recoil when they see
you, shouting "a Demon!" and "Saints presarve us!" You turn a slow
circle,
glancing from one to another in search of possible attack, the light from their
torches hampering your night vision. There is a blur from the side and you
spring back, dodging what might be a net thrown from beside you, only to have
another fall on you from above. You frantically reach around to your waist,
where your fingers brush a knife, while trying to see your assailants through
the tangle of netting. You feel your muscles relax momentarily, followed by
a sudden rush of power. There is the sound of several bodies falling to
the ground, accompanied by more shouting, including "witchcraft!" Before
you can move to do anything else, you feel a sharp, stabbing pain in your
thigh. Even as you reach down towards it, you feel your muscles beginning to
lock. Your fingers barely wrap around some sort of feathered dart and pull
it out before you lose the ability to move entirely, limbs and back locked into
a fetal position. Your eyes still seem to function, and you can dimly see
the figures closing in slowly around you, two of them kicking you with hard,
booted feet and quickly backing off, as if to test your ability to move. Your
clothing absorbs much of the impact, but the blows still send waves of pain
through your body. The scent of damp earth and greenery filters into your
nostrils whenever you take a strangled breath.

After a few more seconds, another figure crashes up through the underbrush,
shouting for quiet over the excited chatter of the others. He seems to be a
massive man, a scar running crosswise across one cheek and into a mass of thick
black beard. He is wearing some sort of white robe outside his clothes, and a
large embroidered cross gleams golden in the wavering torchlight. He carries a
sizeable staff of some sort in hand. "What transpireth?!" he thunders, and amid
the jabber he walks slightly closer to survey your enshrouded form. Eyes
widening, he seizes a torch from one of the others and waves it closer, the
brightness of the light causing you to squint in pain. "By the Good Lord," he
whispers, and hastily crosses himself. Straightening, he shouts "We have indeed
captured a base Devil from the utmost depths of Hell! Take it back to the
village so the Lord's justice may be meet! Are any of these brethern hurt,"
he asks of one of the others. "No, milord," he stammers. "They were just
knock'd back by th'force o' ssorcerie from that foul creature." "Indeed,"
the big man mutters, eyes turning to meet yours momentarily. "Tarry not!"
he shouts, and begins tramping off into the brush. You feel your netting
being hoisted from the edges as the people, in medieval peasant dress, begin
to carry your aching form off after him.

The walk to the village is several minutes long, and none too gentle as your
inert body gets bashed against rocks and tree-stumps along the way. Every
breath is an effort as the tightness in your throat and chest threatens to
cut off your wind entirely. You can barely even blink to rid your eyes of the
dew being flicked into them by the plants you brush past. All around you are
the voices of the peasants, raised in some motley song you cannot understand.
Finally, the procession breaks out of the woods into a large clearing. You
catch glimpses of many small huts scattered throughtout the clearing, as well
as a larger building sporting a steeple and cross on its front. Your bearers
drag you toward a raised wooden platform in front of the large building, your
body scraping over each step as they ascend a wooden staircase to the top and
drop you next to some sort of wooden device. The peasants quickly unwrap you
from the nets, your muscles still frozen, and drag you toward what turns out
to be a pillory. They roughly force your hands and neck into place and slam
it shut, trapping you in a kneeling position facing a cleared patch of dirt
before the platform. By now people are emerging from the huts, all men, women,
and children beginning to crowd toward the platform. The women and children
seem to be carrying rocks and vegetables, while the men carry hoes, rakes, and
other agricultural tools. The din of their voices rises as over one hundred
fifty people, all attired in slovenly rags, crowd into the clearing. Off
to your left, you can hear the sound of a person climbing the stairs to the
platform, accompanied by the sound of creaking wood and a regular thumping
noise. The person, the white-robed man from before, walks into view with
staff in hand, raising his arms for quiet.

"Bretheren," he begins, voice carrying over the crackling of torches to the
crowd. "The Lord on High warneth to be on guard 'gainst all incursions by
the Devil! Neither the Hour, nor the Day be assured whenst Evil shall come
calling. Through vigilance and the good Lord's provenance, we hath overturn'd
calamity at the doorstep! Here," and he points at you with his staff, "is
th' very minion of eternal damnation itself! Lo! the blazing eyes, the
hell-begotten skin, the indecent form of woman! Surely this is the very agent
and messanger of Hell!" he shouts, and whirls to face you with a maniacal light
in his eyes. "Now we doth purify, not only our souls from this scourge, but
the very Earth itself! Before the holy Fire, bless thou the name of the Lord.
Do it!" he thunders, raising his staff in menace. You are trying to speak, but
cannot get the words past your throat. "DO IT!" he yells, and swings his
staff, catching you full across the face and causing your cheek to explode in
agony, teeth and jaw shattering under the force of the blow. "PRAISE THE
LORD!!", and the staff comes down on your unprotected back, flattening your
body prone against the platform. The pain is unbelievable, and were it not for
your paralysis, a scream would burst from your throat. The figure bends to
face you, your left eye nearly useless after the blow. "Unrepentent to the
end, demon," he whispers in soft malice. "Let the fire cure you of your
sin."
Standing once more and facing the crowd, he says: "See how the minions of the
Devil are unrepentent in the face of the truth! Light the pyre!" A crackling,
whooshing sound comes from your right, and you feel a wash of heat come to your
cheek through the haze of pain. You are now trying with all your might to move
your muscles, your fingers barely twitching against their rictus. "Our Father,"
the man shouts. "We humbly thanketh thee for giving your children warning of
the danger threatening their souls. Thank you for delivering, Lord, this
scourge for judgement and Your justice. Let your Glory and your Will reign
surpreme forever. Amen." He stops momentarily, and the crowd choruses
"amen"
in response. Your eyes are pressed tightly shut, straining with every muscle
against the pain until you feel ready to explode. "Now," he says softly,
"we
rid the world of sin."

Something breaks in your throat. "No," you croak, voice barely above a
whisper. The man whirls, eyes wide in excitement and astonishment. "What?"
"I...said..._no_," you manage to say, every syllable a strain as your voice
refuses to function properly. "You...will...not." Your jaw feels like
a mass of fire, and blood is in your mouth from where your teeth have cut your
tongue. "What speaks the demon?!" he shouts, and starts advancing on you with
his staff again. "Wait! Do you...fear to...hear the truth..?" you say,
desperately trying not to vomit. The man stops momentarily, the crowd
beginning to whisper among itself. "You...want to rid the...world of sin...yet
you foster...it in your own...heart. Hypocricy....just like...your
predecessors." "How DARE you profane God's Holy Church," he thunders.
"Listen to the Accusor himself come down to us!" He advances on you, staff
raised, but stops short as you spit a mouthful of blood onto the platform before
him. "You...claim to be...righteous...and yet you...murdered the prophets...
crucified the Son...killed the Apos..tles. 'Such as...ye have done for...the
least of these...you have done...for Me.' Isn't that...right?" Even through
the pain, you feel your muscles beginning to work again, slowly drawing your
legs into a kneeling position against the agony in your back. "Lo, the Devil
even quoteth Scripture!" the man shouts in amazement, the murmer of the crowd
steadily rising in volume. "You fear...the unknown...and ambush...a travler
of whom...you know _nothing_...paralyse them...and then...beat them...and
then...burn...them. How do you _know_...I am a demon, and not...an angel?"

At this, the crowd breaks into full uproar. The man spins once more to the
crowd, urgency in his voice as he tries to quiet them. "Do not be deceived...
you can see plainly before you....you felt the witchcraft..." Meanwhile, you
strain your neck sideways until you can see the lock for the pillory, in
place but not closed. You focus on the lock, gritting what remains of your
teeth against the pain as the sensation of power rises in you once more,
nearly faltering more than once. The lock begins to shift slightly, and
painstakingly slides out of the latch to fall onto the platform floor.
"Silence!" the man yells, and you turn to face him, slowly and painfully pulling
yourself to a sitting position and out of the pillory. "You know not...what you
do," you say slowly, your back ready to give way at any moment. "You demand
justice, but do not...practice it yourself. Who, I wonder, truly serves God?
You...or I?" "What?!" the man shrieks. "Let the God you serve speak
for
Himself...call down His power to smite the demon!" you shout, throat raw with
bile. "Call upon Him to serve His Justice Himself! Do it! Or shall _I_...His
messenger...do it for you?" A gasp rushes through the crowd, and people begin
to crowd away from the platform. "Wait!" the man yells, sensing the crowd's
retreat. "She speaks of _Witchcraft_, a blasphemy before the Lord!" "Then
let
the Lord stop it," you say, smiling with what remains of your face. "Do so
now. Or are you...a _CHARLATAN_?!" In time with your cry you make a throwing
motion, power surging through you as a bolt of electricity arcs between your
hand and the man's staff, blowing him back to the edge of the platform and
causing him to drop the now-burning staff near his feet. "Witness the power of
the TRUE GOD, poured out on those who _PERVERT_ His Teachings!" you cry,
stabbing your finger towards the stricken cleric. A plume of blue energy lashes
out and strikes the man, causing him to topple of the platform with a scream
and fall to the ground below, motionless. The crowd begins a full stampede,
fleeing off into the forest amid screams of fear. The fire from the staff has
begun to spread to the boards of the platform, and you begin to crawl toward the
stairs, every motion wringing pain from your body. Keeping the platform between
you and the fleeing crowd, you manage to make it to the shelter of the large
building, crawling through the heavy door and shutting it behind you. The light
of the fire through the windows vaguely illuminates rows of wooden benches
leading towards some sort of altar in front, but all details are extremely
vague in the flickering light.

Wearily, you manage to pull yourself into a sitting position, dragging your
hands to your face and back. You begin singing again, the melody distorted by
the broken jaw, this time a soft, dreamy tune without words. As you close your
eyes, you can feel a warmth coming from your hands, easing the pain and soothing
your muscles. The pain and the warmth and the singing seem to merge together
into a haze, and when you next open your eyes and cease the song, you are unsure
of how much time has passed. The light from the fire outside has mostly died
down, leaving the room shrouded in shadow. You stand slowly, the previous
pain gone from your body. Looking around swiftly, you find the room still
deserted, another door visible in the side wall. You head for it quickly,
taking care not to cause any of the boards in the floor to creak. When you
reach the door itself, you find it to be very slightly ajar. Wafting through
the crack is a faint, sickening odor, borne on a steady, light breeze. More
incongruous is a modern maglock recessed into the wood planking beside the
door, its indicator panel showing a single red LED.

Cautiously, you push the door slightly farther open, enough to see into the
space beyond. You draw in a quick breath at the sight. Beyond the plain
wooden door is a well-lit, immaculate corridor right out of an office building.
Carpet in an unobtrusive light- and charcoal-gray pattern covers the floor,
leading past featureless doors and walls into the distance. The lighting
comes mainly from fluorescent strips recessed into the ceiling tiles, but
every twenty meters in the ceiling is a red dome-light, spinning at about a
revolution every four seconds. The only sound to be heard is the soft 'swish'
of the air conditioning. When you glance back into chapel, you see that the
light from the fire has completely gone out, leaving the room entirely black and
silent. Hesitantly you open the door far enough to let you slip through and
step into the hallway. Immediately the door begins to swing shut on pneumatic
hinges, requiring pressure to keep it from closing. After a moment's glance
into the gloom of the chapel, you withdraw your hand and let the door shut.
The maglock panel on this side is lifeless, and a brief push on the door shows
that it is now locked. As you begin to walk down the corridor, you notice
that all the maglock panels are dark, and after the first dozen or so doors
do not yield to pressure, you stop trying them. The strange smell does not
seem to vary in intensity as you keep walking down the antiseptic corridor.
Your body is bent slightly in a compact crouch, proceeding down the corridor in
a series of strides, going from balanced stance to balanced stance. After
about fifty meters the corridor reaches a four-way intersection, each branch
seemingly identical as it stretches away out of sight. Everywhere are the
burgundy-colored doors, all closed in the face of the sterile fluorescents and
the pulsing red dome-lights. As you stand at the intersection, carefully
peeking around the corner, the peculiar smell seems stronger to the right,
though not by much. You quickly slip around the corner, and with periodic
glances over your shoulder begin to move down the corridor.

This time the corridor stretches nearly eighty yards before reaching a
junction, again a four-way intersection. As with the previous intersection,
all the corridors are identical and featureless. Seeing no activity in
any direction, you pause to carefully sniff the air. The difference is
subtle, but the scent seems to be somewhat stronger straight ahead. Nothing
breaks the silence of the corridors but your own footfalls, muted by the
carpeting. You furtively cross the intersection and hasten down the corridor,
gaze flickering around to catch every detail of the corridor. The process
continues for several minutes as you steal through nearly a kilometer of
featureless corridors, guideded by nothing but the peculiar stench, gradually
getting stronger along the trek under the red dome lights. At last you
arrive at a T-junction, one end of which stretches off into the distance
again. The other end leads to a heavy door with a glass window set into it.
The maglock beside it has a red light lit on it, and the door is visibly ajar.
The smell is distinctly stronger here, a mixture of death or pestilence with
some sort of chemical aroma. You feel yourself frown as you peer down the
corridor towards the door, waiting several seconds before heading toward it
down the corridor. You arrive at the door in a crouch, body shielded by
the door as you peer around it. It leads to the bottom of a stairwell, a
large flight of carpeted stairs leading up. The stench is now powerful enough
to cause your eyes to water, almost billowing out of the door. After a quick
glance back down the corridor, you slip through and into the stairwell,
looking up intently. In the confined space of the stairwell, the noise of
machinery comes echoing from somewhere above, accompanied faintly by some
sort of intermittent klaxon. A large stencil on the wall reads "B-8".

After a moment more of examination, you begin to climb the staircase, keeping
your body pressed against the wall and glancing both up and down as you
proceed. Every muscle is tense as you slowly wend your way up flight after
flight of stairs. Every door out of the stairwell shows the same sterile
hallways through the glass window, and all the maglocks are identically
lifeless. The sound of machinery grows as you climb, and the smell gets
even stronger. You reach the level labeled "B-1" without incident and
begin to ascend to the next level, only to spring back in haste against the
"B-1" door. Around the curve of the stairs was a brief glimpse of a human hand,
though what it was attached to you couldn't see. You stay rigidly still,
listening for the slightest sound of motion. All that can be heard is the noise
of machinery, coming from somewhere close, and the intermittent klaxon, its
urgent wail reverberating off of something out of sight. After about ten
seconds, you make your way once more towards the upward-going stairs, body
flattened to the ground like a cat as you inch toward the next landing. The
sight that greets you when you arrive is not a pleasant one. A black human
male, perhaps in its late thirties, lies on the landing, collapsed on one side
as if in the act of running into the staircase from beyond the door. The
man's face has been disfigured somehow, horrible chemical burns dissolving
much of one side of his face, including the eye, into an amorphous mass. He
is wearing a yellow hardhat, partially melted in the same gruesome way as his
face. His labcoat is corroded in several different spots, discolored by
blood (possibly his own) and other unidentifiable fluids. His body is
lying partially in the arc of the door, preventing it from closing completely.
The source of both the noise and the odor seems to be the door, its opening
currently at the wrong angle to see through. The man is obviously quite
dead, mouth open in a breath he will never complete. Without shifting your
position you glance up the staircase, seeing it come to an end at a hatch a
floor abouve you. Taking as deep a breath as you can with the overpowering
stench present, you inch closer to the door opening, bracing yourself against
the wall as you peek around.

The door opens into an airlock, large enough for four people. Sizeable
coathooks adorn one wall, but whatever hung there is now gone. A small hammer
lies on the ground in a shower of broken glass, evidently from a broken panel in
the wall with a metal handwheel behind it. The massive outer door is halfway
open, afording a view onto some sort of catwalk, girded on either side by waist-
height rails as it stretches off into the gloom. Flourescent light bars hang
above the path, almost all inactive. Rotating red dome lights are the only
constant source of illumination, bathing the scene in a garish glow. The
floor of the catwalk is a metal grating. Indistinct metal shapes rise up
all around the catwalk, piping and ducting running in all directions. The
scene looks like part of some heavy industry, but what kind is completely
unclear. You begin to inch through the door, looking in all directions at
the slightest odd noise. Intermittent clouds of steam make visibility even
worse as the clang and roar of factory equipment assails your ears. You
begin to creep along the catwalk, staying out of the light as much as possible.
Second after agonizing second you edge along, alert for danger from any side.
Then, the catwalk abruptly rounds some sort of metal tank, presenting you with a
strange sight. Off to the right, the catwalk overlooks the roof of a giant
tank, presumably extending many stories underground. A ragged, gaping hole
has been torn in the top, perhaps five meters in diameter. At the catwalk's
nearest approach to the tank, the railing has been twisted and torn free,
the metal grating of the floor showing signs of some set of crushing
impacts. From there on, the floor is coated with some sort of slime,
glistening in the flashes of the dome lights. It is here the stench is
strongest, the foul odor nearly making you retch. You bend down to the slime,
cautiously dipping a corner of your garment into it, and bring it close to
your face to scrutinize. Nothing happens. Glancing up again, you see the
catwalk ahead wending its way off into the labyrinth of industrial
equipment, slime adhering to the floor and the railing.

You cautiously set a foot onto the slime, testing its slickness by shifting
some of your weight forward. Though slippery, the footing is not impossible.
You resume following the catwalk, being careful not to touch anything with your
exposed skin. Your whole body is tense, your head snapping around to
follow every miniscule noise. Above you, the ceiling is lost in shadow,
occasional masses of chain or piping dangling from somewhere above. You
proceed through the wavering light without seeing a sign of another living
being. The odor dissipates somewhat the farther you go from the tank, but it
seems to cling to the slime. You break into a momentary coughing fit, muffling
it against your sleeve. The catwalk stretches for hundreds of yards, making a
gradual counterclockwise arc. Finally, it terminates at another airlock, or
what is left of one. The inner door, nearly sixteen centimeters thick, has
been wrenched nearly off its hinges, ragged gouges showing at several spots in
its outer surface, gleaming with slime. The inside of the airlock is
thoroughly splattered with blood and gore, deep scratches showing in the metal
walls. As you draw hesitantly closer, you see human remains scattered around
the inside of the airlock, a hand and part of an arm here, a rib and some
intestines there. What remains of the flesh is deep black. The door out of
the airlock has been completely torn down, massive hinges twisted and broken
from the force. Beyond the door blows a fresh breeze, heavy with the scent
of damp earth and the perfume of myriad plants.

You cautiously step through the airlock and onto a muddy path. Behind you is
an irregular embankment, sloping up to the height of perhaps two stories above
your position, covered with dense tropical foliage. The path, more like a small
road, runs along the embankment, turning a corner in either direction and
vanishing from sight. The devastated airlock is flush with the embankment, half
hidden under the fronds of surrounding plants. The darkness and damp of a
tropical night cover the terrain, with no artificial lights in sight. Opposite
the embankment, the muddy road gives way to scrubby foliage, increasing in
stature for about ten meters, up to a double chain-link fence, a meter
separating the two layers. Thick wiring of some sort is woven through the
chain links, and the fence is topped with what looks like razor wire. Directly
ahead, the foliage is smashed flat and uprooted in a slime-coated swath leading
up to the fence. A great gaping hole breaches both levels of the fence, pieces
of chain link lying strewn around the area. The path of shredded foliage
continues off beyond the outer fence, receeding into what looks like a
full-scale jungle. Except for the occasional muffled klaxon coming from the
airlock, the night is silent, not even animal noises breaking the calm.
As you take a faltering step toward the fence, a single high-pitched scream
erupts somewhere far ahead.

You break into a dead run, heart pounding in your chest. All your senses are
as sharp as you have ever felt them, and you race into the jungle without
the slightest trace of hesitation. Your footfalls are swift and sure, and you
whip past trees and shrubs with only the barest amount of room, a pace that
feels reckless in the extreme. Ahead of you, the scream comes again, shrill
and strained. Rising to meet it is a male voice, shouting in rage and fear.
A thrashing noise follows, accompanied by some extremely deep rumbling sound
that you feel more than hear. You increase your pace still more, seemingly
heedless of the branches and leaves slapping at your face and legs. A reddish
yellow glow, as if from some sort of fire, starts to become visible in the
distance. Through your panted breaths, you can taste the stench again, rising
over the odors of the jungle as you near the light. Your abdomen begins to
cramp up, and a misstep in a pool of water nearly trips you, but you push on,
bursting out of the foliage into a small sheltered meadow between four mighty
trees.

Before you is an impossibile sight. A tall black man, naked but for a necklace
and anklet, is crouched in an awkward fighting stance with a torch in hand on
the left side of the clearing. Behind him, a thin black woman cowers,
clutching some sort of blanket over her naked form. Before them towers a
monstrosity, well over three and a half meters tall. You catch a fevered
impression of slick, uneven fur covering the massive torso, of fibrous
tentacles emanating from its underside, of giant insectoid legs sprouting
in several directions, of many eyes and a horrible, mucoid mass where a mouth
might be. Before you can react, the thing lashes out with a tentacle,
knocking the man flying headfirst into one of the trees, his body crumpling at
its base, unconscious or worse. Simulataneously, the loathesome mass jumps
forward with its monstrous legs, landing directly over the woman's form. Her
scream is drowned out as the tentacles engulf her, her struggles visible only
as twiching in a foot protruding from the mass. Two of the eyes crane over
to look at you even as you draw up short at the sight, and from somewhere
in the creature's body shoots a blob of _something_, brushing your left ear
as you frantically twist out of the way. Your ear immediately begins to
burn, the pain becoming agonizing as quickly as it takes you to roll out of the
path of a second blob. As the mass shifts to face you more directly, the
woman's face is unobscured for a moment, screaming a single word before being
swallowed up again. The word is meaningless to you, but you feel your eyes
snap wide open at its utterance. In that half second of hesitation, the
monstrosity fires another gob of slime, this time catching you in the leg. You
raise your arm in an arc, driven by pure adrenaline, and a massive surge of
power flows through you toward the creature, with no visible effect. As you
duck under another blob of slime, you can feel your leg starting to tingle,
then burn like your ear. In the corner of your eye you can see the woman's
hand, grasping out of the mass of tentacles. You fluidly land in a
crouch and then jump straight toward the creature, hands outstretched and eyes
screwed tightly closed. You feel your fingers sink into its matted fur,
immediately erupting in pain as tentacles reach up to grab you. You begin to
tear at its flesh with your bare fingernails even as the creature wraps its
tentacles around your apendages, torso, and head. It begins to simultaneously
crush you and stretch your limbs, trying to tear you apart. Every square inch
of your skin is in fiery pain, and you feel your tendons being stretched toward
their snapping point. A strangled scream makes it past your throat as you feel
your nails begin to penetrate the hide. Its body rumbles in the same deep cry
you heard before, the tentacles tightening their grip further. Frantically, you
force your hands further into the wound, almost unable to feel them anymore, as
you feel your ribs begin to crack. Your mouth opens in a silent scream as
the world begins to go dim, your hands buried in the creature's body deeper
than the elbow. Then, with an incredible wrench, the creature throws you, your
body slamming sideways into a tree and sliding to the ground. Through the
haze of pain, you see the creature writhing around, edging towards you on its
insectoid legs. One of the tentacles falls across your abdomen, and lies
motionless, the creature's body seemingly slumping to the ground.

You are incapable of moving for several moments, your whole body afire. Every
attempt to breathe is met with stabs of pain from your ribs, and your eyes
will not focus properly. A soft moan from the direction of the creature
hits your ears, and you begin to move, teeth clenched against the pain as you
drag yourself on your stomach toward the creature. Blurrily, you can see what
looks like the woman's body, partially buried underneath the trailing tentacles
of the monstrosity. Every second is agony, and your progress can be measured in
millimeters as you slowly slide over the matted grasses and weeds of the
clearing. As you get closer, you can see that the woman is still alive, stark
naked and slowly curling up into a fetal position. "Mah-weh," you hear
yourself gasp. "Mah-weh." Through your clouded vision you see the woman
beginning to shiver, breathing ragged as you inch ever closer. Her skin seems
to be coated with slime, patches turning the ugly purple of bruised black
flesh. With extreme effort, you stretch out one of your hands, now little
more than a claw, and begin brushing tentacles off her, every touch bringing
a whimper of pain to your lips. "Mah-weh," you manage once more.
"Koh." At
this, her tightly closed eyes snap open for a second, meeting your own
momentarily before shutting again. "Koh," you rasp again, and the woman opens
her eyes again, pain and fear softening slightly as recognition dawns in them.
She opens her mouth, discolored like the rest of her body, and breathes the word
she used before, ending in a grimace of pain. Even as you reach out your
arm for her, her facial muscles relax and she slumps to the ground, breathing
shallowly through her nose. You slowly drag yourself away from her form, the
pain in your body starting to quiet to a tight, dull ache. Sensation is
leaving your appendages, and your arms barely move as you try to drag them up
to a position near your head. Nausea begins to build in your stomach.

As you are straining to move, a flash of motion from the direction of the
woman catches your eye. You glance over, stinging eyes widening slightly as
you see the woman's abdomen. It is distinctly larger than it was just
seconds ago, and as you watch, it continues to swell, skin stretching tight
over the growing lump. Her body begins to twitch involuntarily, spasms pulling
her back straight and her legs apart. As the abdomenal swelling slows, the
spasms become more severe, thrashing her body against the ground. As you
struggle to pull yourself into a better position to see, the body suddenly
goes rigid, a stifled groan emanating from the lips. Before your widening
eyes, a small black-skinned hand emerges from her vagina, pudgy like
a newborn's. The hand is followed by an arm, also pudgy, and then another
hand, both waving around as though struggling for purchase on the woman's
thighs and pubic mound. Reaching some sort of a hold, the hands dig in and
begin to pull, the mass in the abdomen quivering and shifting with the effort.
As blood begins to pour out of the vagina, it slowly stretches, a smooth mass
emerging a millimeter at a time. The sight is too much for you and you
throw up onto the ground, your body doubled up from the ferocity of the
cramps. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see the rest of the birth,
the diminutive form pulling itself the rest of the way free from the woman's
womb, placenta following a moment later in a mass of blood. It appears to be
a negroid female elf, pointed ears large even for its size. It crawls
uncertainly away from you, tottering to a standing position between the woman's
legs with its umbilical cord still attached. As you watch, the infant begins
to grow taller, white hair beginnging to sprout from its scalp as its
limbs and torso begin to lengthen and stretch. At a height of roughly a
meter, the figure reaches down to its stomach and makes a ripping motion,
pulling the umbilical cord free with a spray of blood. Summoning all your
strength, you raise yourself against the pain in your body to your hands and
knees, sinking back into a kneeling bow as the figure continues to grow, hair
extending well down its back around its prominent ears. Finally, the rate of
growth slows and seems to stop, leaving a fully adult figure looking away. She
seems to glance down at her body, running a slender hand through her hair, and
then turns around to face you.

At the sight, your face draws violently tight, only to recoil at the surge of
pain that follows. The elf woman's body is beautiful, perfectly balanced
breasts tapering down past a slender waist and contoured hips to slender, well-
muscled legs and delicate feet. However, it is her face that is truly
arresting: narrow, accented cheekbones; long, tapering ears; a delicate nose;
thin, sculpted lips; and deep, narrow eyes, irises colored a vivid, shimmering
red. Her expression deepens to a quiet smile at your scrutiny, eyes narrowing
to slits of glittering crimson in the light of the discarded torch. "Well,"
she speaks, a soft, sibilant whisper identical to your own, "what do you
think?" She spreads her arms slightly and arches her back slightly as though
exhibiting herself to you. "A beautiful sight, and not entirely unfamiliar,
am I? A pity," and her she glances toward the quiescent bulk of the monster,
"that our parents aren't as comely. But I suppose that comes as no surprise,
does it? Sister?" The last word is delivered with gentleness, the softness
belied by the narrow intensity of her eyes and smile. You open your mouth,
trying to force speech past the rawness in your throat. "Oh, that's right,"
she says in mock surprise, "you never knew about me. My birth happened
quite quickly after our conception, while yours waited the usual nine months.
Such a pity that our mother was burned by those savages; she would have been
used to birth many more of us before her life was over. She probably would
have even enjoyed it," she states, smile broadening slightly. "It was your
fault, you know, that they burned her. Her screams were truly horrible."

"..No..!" you manage to rasp, the remains of your hands trembling as you face
the woman. "No?" the woman asks, her smile darkening into a tight line.
"No, you say? You, the pathetic one who needed the old man's guidance to
discover your power? You, the one who clings to the false notion of your
religion as the only thing giving your life meaning? Don't make me laugh!"
she exclaims, and raises a finger to point straight at you. "More than once
I've been tempted to end your miserable life, _sister_dearest_! I've watched
you from the shadows of your world, scrambling to improve your skill by
prostituting it for the right bidder. Every spell painstaking researched,
every spirit summoned and imperiously ordered around. Every person killed
by your hand. Did you enjoy that?" she asks, shifting her finger from you
to the unconscious body of the woman next to her. "You should have! You
were meant to take life, take it without remorse and glory in the freedom of
the kill. But you, always the weaker sibling, clung to some notion of
morality as if it could save you from the world. It didn't save your
parents then!" she shouts. "And it won't save them now!" From her
outstretched finger shoots a plume of flame, striking the body and blossoming
into a giant bloom of fire. The wave of heat rekindles the pain in your skin,
causing you to shrink from the conflagration. From within the fire she
reaches out again, a jet of flame jumping to the motionless body of the man.
Both the bodies wither under the heat of the flames, flesh melting and
charring in seconds. As the flames die down, smoking mummies are all that
remain, the stench of burned flesh mingling with the odor of the monster. She
looks back at you, completely unscathed. "Look at you! Skin falling off, eyes
open at the _horror_ of it all. Weakling! I should have done this long ago!"
She turns her finger on you, the plume of fire streaking out to engulf you.
You feel some sort of power surge through you, and the flames do not touch
your skin, burning all around you for a couple seconds before dying away.
"Oh, so you would fight me instead?" she says, eyes slightly wider. "And
how
do you think you can beat me? Willpower?" She raises her hand again, this
time a plume of blue energy lashing out toward you. Again you feel the power
surge through you, only this time you feel some force from her attack, knocking
you back onto one arm. Her eyes are now glittering with fury, and she begins
stepping toward you. "You _bitch_. I'll _KILL_ you!!" she screams, aiming
a vicious kick for your body. You somehow move your other arm in the way,
partially deflecting the blow as you feel a surge of poewr flow from you to
her leg. As you are painfully knocked back by the force of the block, you see
her take two startled steps back, her kicking leg partially limp beneath her.
"So, you managed to learn that trick, you bitch," she hisses. Suddenly she
makes a throwing motion toward you, a massive force bowling you over and rolling
you back to the edge of the clearing. Against the stabbing pain in your chest,
you somehow scream "I HAVE NO SISTER!", the sound torn from your throat as you
desperately stretch a non-functional hand in her direction.

"SHINE!" she yells, and simultaneous bursts of energy spring from her hand and
yours, hers crimson, yours violet. The two spherical walls of energy collide
in the middle of the clearing in an enormous burst of multicolored light, arcs
of energy crackling off into the brush. Through the glare you can barely
see your opponent, her hand outstretched and her face a mask of hatred. Your
own face is taut, and the pains all over your body rise to a crescendo with
your exertion. Ever so slowly, your wave of energy begins to recede toward
you, a feeling of pressure threatening to tear you apart. You squeeze your
eyes shut, straining will all your remaining strength as the pressure
intensifies. Distantly you hear her laughter, echoing triumphantly in the
jungle. A deep, gurgling growl starts in your throat, rising in volume to a
shriek as the pain tears your consciousness away. "N..n..n..N..N..NNNOOOOOO!!!"
There is an almighty explosion as you feel something rupture in your body, a
wave of searing heat sweeping over you, followed by a profound silence. You
begin to taste blood, welling up from your throat and dribbling out of your
mouth. A weak cough wracks your frame, sending waves of pain through every
nerve as more blood gushes into your mouth. You crack an eye open, greeted
not by a view of the clearing, but instead by a panorama of stars extending
around you in all directions. As you pry open your other eye, strength
draining from your body, a spot about three meters distant begins to shimmer,
coalescing into something humanoid. The feeling of heat, as if from some
intense furnace, radiates from the spot.

In a few moments, the transformation is complete. Standing naked before you is
an elf with pure white skin, silky smooth over a powerfully muscled physique.
The figure's hair, waist length, is as white as the rest of him, and his eyes
are glowing with the color of burnished gold. He is over seven feet tall. He
seems to regard you for a moment, and then speaks, voice deep and resonant.
"Thelienista. You have struggled to overcome adversity, and arrived at the
center of Knowledge. Your quest is complete, but for the final guardian.
Myself." Your teeth clench at this, struggling to pull yourself into a less
vulnerable position. Another fit of coughing is triggered by your motions,
lasting for several moments as more blood bubbles up from somewhere in your
chest. The spasm ends after several moments, leaving you at the verge of
collapse. The figure continues to regard you impassively. "Do not struggle,
little one," he says gently. "You have no understanding of what you mean to
do here, or what the price would be. Any more would end your already brief
life." He walks toward you, stepping on nothing but empty space, even as your
fingers twitch with the beginnings of power. Gently he reaches down and
takes your hand in his. At his burning touch, all your muscles go limp, your
body slumping onto whatever is supporting you. The incredible feeling of power
radiating from him seems to dull the pain in your body, leaving you unable to do
anything but look into his glowing eyes. "That's right," he says softly,
"relax. All your life, you have known nothing but the striving toward your
goals, the urgent need to control your own destiny. You have never let anything
stand in your way. But it is over, little one." He bends down and places his
hands under your jaw, carefully lifting you to a vertical position before him,
even as you breathe the word "no".

Still looking in your eyes, the figure speaks again, his deep voice still
gentle and caressing. "All of your knowledge, all of the hard-won truths you
cling to, are but a fraction of the story of the universe. What do you know
of the birthingplaces of stars, of the fury attending their lives and deaths?
What do you know of the spark of life, sown on your tiny planet eons ago?
What of the ancient Powers who attended all these events, working their will
as they pleased? Child, you grasp only the tiniest fragment of your world,
bound with unbreakable chains to the body that is your mortal heritage. You
came here to destroy a minion of Chaos, a reveler in misery and despair. I
have sought this foe longer than the creatures of the Earth count time,
contending with him in a battle lasting beyond imagination. Only now has he
gained admittance into your world, seeking to grow in power without limit. And
only now do _you_...give me the means to destroy him utterly." The figure
pauses, peering deep into your eyes. "Little, masterless one. You are strong,
withstanding what would make others quail, but you are still only a child,
incomplete in your education of the world. Now, I will show you the true
meaning of 'power'". The elf bends forward as if to kiss you, your eyes wide
and your body trembling, but moving not a muscle to resist...
+++++end simsense.feed

I should mention that at this point in the inquiry, Thel's eyes snapped wide
open, somehow seizing my colleague's hand with her own in a deathly grip before
either of us could react. She said "_Never_ do that again" with an almost
inexpressible intensity, and I will admit that both my colleague and I feared
for our survival at that point. She then subsided back into the bed, and is
currently doing very little more than complete rest. As someone apparently
familiar with the shadowy side of business dealings, I'm sure you can
appreciate how Thel's whereabouts, and even identity, are scheduled for some
obfuscation in the very near future to forestall any unwarranted attention by
the corporations or military. Should any of Thel's other friends wish to know,
you can tell them that the apparent Possession she was prey to has now ended.
I am still uncertain what significance, if any, to attach to the residual traces
of the event in her Aura, but I suspect that only she, and perchance the Spirit,
know for certain.]<<<<<
-- Jason <CORRUPTED / CORRUPTED>