VOX
May 8, 1999 edition
Precedence is about setting new standards. If we can't do something in a new and (to our minds) better way then the task loses most of its luster. The biggest drive we have is to tackle creative challenges and to try and create new and better answers.
Well now, there's a lot of RPG's out there. And depending on your tastes there are quite a few good role playing games already on the market to chose from. So how exactly can Precedence put out an RPG line and make a difference substantial enough to take role-playing to the next level?
Well everyone involved with Immortal: Millennium has had to ask themselves that same question. As the producer of the series, I've got some definite answers and here they are:
BACKGROUND. I've always felt that the ultimate canvas for
role-playing would be a game that can take you anywhere in the universe, at any time, with
any "tech level", and provide you free reign with any weapon, tool, or
conceivable mystical power to play with. The game would also need to place you right in
the center of a universal conflict where the fate of ALL THERE IS rests right in your
hands. Well, it hard to do that and still retain a cohesive compelling "feel".
But I was so convinced that Ran Ackels' decade-long effort to produce the original
IMMORTAL background was the best shot yet at achieving this "Holy Grail" of RPG
design that I literally founded Precedence with him on that sole basis. Nothing has since
transpired to alter my conviction that the original IMMORTAL background provides the
perfect foundation for next-generation role playing. If it lacked one thing it was an
impulse to action. No More. In IMMORTAL 1st edition, players were somewhat
removed form the abyss. They knew that the Sanguinary was out there. They knew that an
ultimate conflict was brewing. But if they wanted to, they could pretty much ignore all of
that and deal with their own internal bickering. Well my friends, those days are over.
IMMORTAL: Millennium puts you right on the brink. The ultimate conflict is no longer
brewing. IT'S HAPPENING. Right in your face and its going to tear Immortal society and the
whole earth apart before it even gets into full swing. The universe IS on the line now and
its up to us to do something about it.
PEOPLE: If you want to build the best role-playing game line, get the best people. Ran Ackels is our core, the creator. Around him we have now built a cadre of developers who know role-playing system development like James Cameron knows movies. We hired in Jim Ward, the same guy who designed GAMMA WORLD before the rest of us could even spell "Apocalypse". Jim headed up TSR's development process for years, managing a 95 product per year schedule with dozens of designers, editors and graphics designers following his lead. Next we brought in Paul Beakley to re-design the core rules (four books' worth he has already written) and Steve Winter to be the final developer and editor. Both of these guys have dozens of RPG credits to their names. Steve Winter has the same responsibilities for IMMORTAL: Millennium that he had working on the AD&D 2nd Edition Game for TSR. These guys KNOW what they are doing. Establishing strategy for the line, now joining us is Greg Fountain, formerly the marketing chief for White Wolf game studio. Yes folks, we are bringing all the Big Guns online. We have to. The RPG industry is a "go big or stay home" proposition... and we are tired of playing at home.
ENTERTAINMENT. The game industry is not an island off on its own. In recent years we have become an integral part of the Entertainment industry as a whole. Accordingly we are developing Immortal not simply from the perspective of a game, but rather as a broad based entertainment property. As we speak, the very first IMMORTAL novel is on our publishing schedule. At this time the author will remain undisclosed, but it is a household name. Ultimately, we believe Immortal will find its way into Hollywood as either a TV series or feature film. In fact, a TV series treatment has already been penned by Ran Ackels and if there is enough demand, I may even be able to persuade him to post it to a future issue of VOX for the enjoyment of our core fans as well as to elicit your feedback and commentary on the development of the property. Nearly everyone knows the tragic tale of how White Wolf's Vampire fared in Hollywood. It is our sincere hope to evade the same pitfalls and ultimately foster a series both true to the original vision and at the same time accessible to a wide audience. To visibly link IMMORTAL with the broader entertainment world from day one, Precedence is hiring some of our favorite SF actors and actresses to pose as cover models for each of the books. The first release will feature one of our favorite industry beauties, Claudia Christian, in a "knock-your-eyeballs-out" provocative pose that is destined to send bible-belt buyers running for their "mature readers only" labels. This is only the beginning of media tie-ins that are destined to add entertainment values lacking in prior generation RPG lines.
CURRENT: Finally, and I am going to keep this brief as the rest of this article has waxed a bit over long, we intend to make IMMORTAL an RPG that is up-to-date with our customers lifestyles and their technology. The entire printed book will also come on CD in HTML format for easy searching and useage. In addition to the printed material there will be an extra 96 pages of material on the CD that will literally double the bang for your buck you get from every IMMORTAL product.
Can we take Role-Playing games into the next Millennium? We think so. We are certainly going to pull out all the stops trying.
Paul Brown
It never ceases to amaze me just how loyal some of the fans of Immortal are. Every day I get requests asking me about the Pantheons, players in a fan's area, and questions about 2nd Edition. I'd like to answer a few of those questions more formally.
The storyline of Immortal is making a big jump. For those of you that are unaware, 2nd Edition takes place a few years in the future, after the Prides have taken a serious beating. They are absorbed back into the Courts, the ancient alliances that once made up the legendary Pantheons of Gods that existed during the Age of Myth. The original Callings will return, and many Immortals will find the history they have taken for granted or assumed to be true will not necessarily be so. Some wondered why there were conflicts in the histories presented between the core rules, and the Pride Books Dracul and Peri. Well, they were there for a reason.
To assist 1st Edition players in making the change, Society Eternity and Precedence are crafting an adventure. This final 1st Edition adventure, along with conversion rules, will help you and your friends convert your existing campaigns over to 2nd Edition if you so choose. A Prepkit that describes the basic rules and the new world of Immortal is in the typesetting stages now, and a version of that will appear on the Society Eternity website within the next few weeks if all goes well.
Immortal Millenium is set to debut at Gen Con 1999, this August. Once the new system has come out, Society Eternity will then begin accepting applications to create Pantheons. At this time there are no Pantheons. The Pantheons are a 2nd Edition concept, and therefore we will wait until you get to see 2nd Edition before allowing the creation of these local fan clubs. We will also be asking Club Eternity members to resubmit their entries in 2nd Edition format. But don't fear, we will continue to support 1st Edition for some time to come, to help everyone make the jump to 2nd Edition as easily as possible. So don't stop your contributions to VOX and Radio Eternity!
Society Eternity intends on helping Precedence to make it worth the wait. In the next coming months you'll see brand new artwork, new information, the Official Immortal Site moving to join us here at societyeternity.com. This and much more. We will even be hosting a new look by the month's end.
As always, we need you to make it happen. The Prepkit will contain a short demo. With the Prepkit, you can host your own demos at local conventions and retail stores that carry gaming supplies, or wherever you can find people you might be able to interest in Immortal. The Prepkit will allow you to run a short demo (taking no more than roughly an hour) for 1 or more people. For those of you that require a larger demo (like those who we have set to demo Immortal at Gen Con), we will provide at the website in the next month, a larger demo that you can tailor to fill up to a four hour block, and will allow you to run for larger groups.
Again, everyone here at Society Eternity is very excited at the new edition of Immortal. Within the next few weeks, news and information should start pouring forth on a fairly regular basis. As a matter of fact, Precedence today just did a photo shoot with a Sci-Fi celebrity, and the artwork based on that should be appearing here within the next few weeks, before you see it anywhere else! So keep checking back with us, and keep lending us your support, so we can take Immortal to where the title says, into the next Millenium!
Keep the faith!
Rick Don
Director, Society Eternity
"If you're looking for an exotic place to get away from the pressures of the Perpetual Society, LaGuerro Vacations and Salvage will find it and get you there. If you've lost anything from your high-school graduation ring to a Bloodshield owned by a previous Avatar from a few millennia ago, LaGuerro Vacations and Salvage will help you find it."
The above is what LaGuerro's ads in Radio Eternity magazines read. More than a few perpetuals with little Visage or access to full Pride resources turn to LaGuerro & Co. for matters that are beneath their pride's notice. However, it is one of the most open secrets in the Perpetual Society that LaGuerro's knowledge of the Dominions and the Blue Air are second to none, and he can arrange to get a cadre of up to a dozen immortals to any Dominion he knows. (He is adamant about this limit, as he does not want to be party to transporting a strike-force as a direct part of an attempt to count coup).
Payment options are rarely material goods; LaGuerro does this deliberately, to discourage the kind of thing that drew him into 'the game' (see below). Instead, clients are usually expected to instruct at least two members of LaGuerro's team in a Legacy or Serenade of LaGuerro's choice. The training can be done personally by the client or by proxy, but it must start before the 'vacation' will commence. (He has extensive knowledge of which of his operatives know what Legacies or Serenades, as well as their degree of competence.) Once the training has begun, LaGuerro will allow the contact to begin the journey to the Dominion of choice, taking the time between the initial business contact and payment as 'research'.
LaGuerro's operatives are chosen from applicants recommended by Solitaires. He is frequently asked by one pride or another to form permanent ties, but he values his neutrality too much; "Not that I'm looking to start my own pride, I just want to run a trustworthy business." Pride-sponsored applicants receive training in the Zodiac and Ley Serenades and the Compass Legacy, but no formal position within the organization. Instead, they must repay the training by taking three of LaGuerro's operatives to Dominions that they have never visited at some point within the next decade.
LaGuerro claims that he got his start in the Dominion-travel and salvage business about five hundred years after the Banjax freed the prides from Sheol. He functioned as a librarian, assisting a now-vanished Pride in keeping track of the remnants of Immortal empires in the Dominions. His relatively quiet life ended when an immortal (whose name he never mentions and whose gender shifted fluidly) asked for his help in tracking down a particular item which the immortal claimed had been left behind during the flight to the Habitat. In return, he was promised a lump of palladium the size of his head, but he would have to follow his customer to the Dominion to claim it.
Five hundred years later, he returned to the Habitat, alone, without any palladium but carrying the item his patron had been seeking; exactly what that item was remains LaGuerro's most closely guarded secret. His return coincided with the period immediately following the appearance of the Jury, and was thus overshadowed by the momentous discussions among the prides over the then-novel idea of the Stratagem. Unable to fully trust any of the Prides he encountered (since he has mentioned that his patron had been a Drove), he became affiliated with the Solitaires and made contacts among D'Arcade's Literati and Rogues both, earning respect and forging alliances which served him well.
When the Prides announced their acceptance of the Stratagem, he saw his chance. He spoke directly to the Jury and showed them the item he had retrieved from the Dominions. He has never revealed exactly what the item was, but every perpetual who makes a habit of collecting tales about him agree that whatever it was, it was spectacular. Upon letting them see what he held, the Jury was quite willing to grant him an unheard-of amount of Visage on the spot in return for the item. LaGuerro parlayed this initial amount of Visage along with his knowledge of the Dominions into a network of favors and operatives that has kept his name off the Genocide Wall85 so far. He has not avoided acquiring enemies, however, which has encouraged him to move his base of operations from time to time, among adopting other security precautions.
LaGuerro remains an honest and discreet businessman, offering services that the Perpetual Society utilizes but will not publicly admit. If you have a question about the Dominions that your Pride won't or can't answer, he's the one to see.
The following excerpts are from 'A Guide for the Insane and Curious', a written work by Damien Brax (Solitaire rogue, and a "mote in the collective eye of the Prides" according to Pride Morrigan) which details a great many of the Dominions, published (and apparently written) post-humously. The following are presented in no particular chronological order.
Bel'al-tozzen
I am told this realm was once called "the Azure Sky" (Ah'el-es)... it is nothing of the sort now. Ravaged during the Shouting War by the enemies of the Morrigan, the whole seemingly infinite expanse is filled with black storm clouds, lashing wind and rain, blasts of lightning and deafening rolls of thunder which can last for minutes on end; all of which I experienced first hand due my accidental arrival in this realm. I was completely unprepared, leaving me with only one choice, to plummet through the sky. It would have been an exhilarating experience, if I hadn't been scared witless. Regardless, it is easy to see how the realm earned its new name: "the Endless Storm". Whether the new description is accurate, I cannot say; certainly the rather expansive areas of it I visited were. Perhaps the destruction from the War did not extend to the entire realm, but if so, none of the current residents has ever visited such a mythical "Edge of the Storm" and I am forced to conclude the entire realm is exactly as described above.
What life exists here is large, strong, carnivorous and well suited to flying, since the realm has no natural solid ground to speak of. The only piece of stable solid matter in all the cloudy realm is a great city that floats in the immense storm: "Gildahal", the last Morrigan stronghold in the Endless Storm, existing at the Jury's sufferance. Interestingly, one of the rumors floating through the city is that it stands on a mountain peak, but anyone who wants to test that theory by flying to the underside quickly finds out how wrong they are. Still, the rumor persists. I should also note that I did indeed see the underside of Gildahal after the Morrigan pitched me off the walls around the edge of the city for being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and can honestly say it does not rest on top of a mountain. For those thinking of attacking or raiding the city, note that there are powerful weapons mounted on the walls, which are quite capable of destroying anything (or anyone) that gets too close ("too close" as defined by the mystical detection grid set up around the city). They are most often used on stray meteors -- large chunks of rock or metal that scream aimlessly through the storm-black skies, the remains of Lighters, other vehicles and flying fortresses leftover from the Shouting War. Occasionally they are used on one of the large flying beasts of the realm that needs to be chased off or killed.
What, exactly, is left to fight over or even guard in this realm is a matter of speculation, though most of the others I have questioned about this say it is just Morrigan pride that refuses to allow them to dismantle their fortress and leave. The eternal avians themselves were not forthcoming with the information, stating only that the realm was Morrigan territory and that they had no intention of leaving it.
More famous is the pirate-crewed Lighter called the "Windigo's Claw", captained by a former-Terat. The pirates use this realm as a hideaway, making raids into the Habitat and nearby dominions for supplies and materials, knowing that only a fool would follow them back into the "Azure Sky." I came to know the crew of the Claw quite well, as it was they who rescued me from what I thought was going to be an eternal fall through the storm-realm. The pirates hide-out in relative safety from the Prides and the Stratagem here, most of them are Solitaires or rogue Society members looking to avoid Highbinders and Scourges, and they leave the Morrigan city alone.
Those who try to map the Dominions through dimensional-relationship charts say Bel'al-tozzen lies on the edges of both the Habitat and the Maelstrom. I noted in the charts made by the captain of the Claw that there are Na-gates leading from it to a number of other Dominions said to border on the Maelstrom, such as the fire-ravaged world of Ix'thilitl and the cold, sandy wastes of Shul'an'Gul. This may support the claim, though I cannot say for certain, and I think it is a load of hogwash, myself.
Other than the natural dangers, there is nothing to mark this realm as mystically dangerous to an Immortal. The Lash does not seem to have a presence here, and Manes are all but unheard of (those few that exist are huge, ancient flying creatures which prowl the endless storm and rarely venture near well-protected Gildahal or bother the equally well-protected Windigo's Claw). There are Lighter-wrecks drifting in the cloudbanks from the time before the Shouting War, the Windigo's Claw, in fact, spots though never boards a number them every year (I'm told, however, they do occasionally use them for target practice). I myself managed to get a clear view of an impressive old hulk of great size as we moved past it one of my first days with the crew and I've wondered at the technology that could make such a thing. It is also likely that not all the fortresses (Morrigan or other) were completely destroyed, their ruins may still float (or fall) through the storms, though neither I nor any of the crew of the Claw can verify that particular claim.
I've only one entry in the Bestiary for this realm. Though there is plenty of other life here, this creature almost devoured me during my fall (the fact that it was being hunted at the moment explains my miraculous salvation) and so deserves a mention. The Kratha - a large, reptilian creature, not unlike the pterodactyl of earth's most ancient ages, is the most fearsome of the storm-world predators. It has a long, sharp beak made of thick bone attached to a smallish head and long neck, frog-like bulging eyes that have 360-degree vision, and a long tail spiked on the tip (which produces a sleep-inducing poison), though it has no legs or lower limbs. It appears naturally able to shrug off electricity and other powerful energy surges. These creatures are not against devouring their own kind for sustenance, and the Morrigan are forced to use large ballistae when one of them approaches Gildahal looking for a meal, since their normal weapons are useless against the creatures. I assume the Windigo's Claw deals with them in a similar fashion, but I was too busy worrying at that time to recall. Luckily, though the Kratha are incredibly strong, they are as equally incredibly stupid. This, coupled with the fact that they cannot see any better within the storms than any other creature, makes it easier to sneak past one using the available cloud-cover, as well as rain and whatnot without attracting their notice (keeping in mind that they can see in all directions). If a passer-by is noticed, however, they need to move quickly, for Kratha are exceptionally fast.
Game notes:
Kratha: Red 0, Orange 5, Yellow 2, Green 6, Blue 3, Violet 4, Weight 500-1000 lbs.
Kratha Himsati: Wings, Natural Weaponry, Poison, 360-degree vision, Immunity to
Electricity, Armor.
Drakazsh'zuul
Imagine a world made wholly of the bones of the slain covered by a dreary, brown-gray sky of toxic fumes. This is Drakazsh'zuul, one of the major battle grounds of the War Against the Abzulim seven million years ago, some say it was also the last battleground in that war. "If there ever was any ground here, it is hidden under layers of bones too deep to dig through," is one of the common myths spoken about this realm among the Prides. The truth is that the ground is choked so thickly that finding it would be difficult in most places; the bones are piled into hills, mounds and bridges in some areas. However, for the most part the barren, cracked earth beneath shows where the skeletal remains are thin or where towers or cliffs of rock thrust up into the vapor-laden sky. The bones themselves range from the scattered femurs and skulls of man-sized creatures to the complete skeletons of huge, bestial creatures, likely things bred for that ancient war by the Abzulim. There are even Abzuli skeletons scattered among the bones. Few sane Perpetuals would dare venture here, for what remains living in this hellish world is as dangerous as anything elsewhere in the universe, maybe moreso.
Even the other natural terrain is deadly to the visitor. Spouts of flame roar seemingly at random from cracks or holes in the groaning ground, pools of sulfur and lava bubble and smoke while puddles of greenish acid or chlorine steam in pits, and clouds of toxic gases rising from dark chasms in various places across the landscape. Undead Primal spirits, many utterly insane, can be roused here, and the still-moving remains of Abzulim corpses linger in the darkest areas, thirsty for the ending of life85 both of which our small band of travelers discovered first-hand.
In the bestiary, I'll note the small packs of 'Bonegnawers', hyena-like creatures with a taste for blood, that roam this wasteland. These products of forced breeding or some twisted sort of evolutionary adaptation hunt one another, those that have crossed-over from the Habitat due to a Tainted halo, or those that search for the ancient mystical treasures supposedly buried and forgotten in this immense graveyard. Anything with living flesh or blood is a target; even the Droves are not safe from these creatures, wisely fearing the seemingly numberless packs. From the two encounters we had with the creatures, we discovered that they are swift, semi-intelligent predators that move and attack in small hunting packs. Anything that has blood flowing in its veins or soft flesh to gulp down is devoured (bones and all). They are savage and almost fearless (fire doesn't make them blink, we learned that the hard way), preferring to overwhelm single opponents with their sheer numbers rather than attack large groups (likely the only thing that saved us).
Game notes:
Bonegnawer: Red 1, Orange 3, Yellow 3, Green 3, Blue 2, Violet 2, Weight 100-200 lbs.
Bonegnawer Himsati: Natural Weaponry, Musk, Charge, Leap, Balance, Camouflage.
Also note that while I mention toxicity of the air, in most areas it is breathable, though the experience is not enjoyable and leads to headaches and blurred perception. Nonetheless, the poisonous atmosphere proves even more dangerous to Perpetuals than Twilights, for the after-effects of inhaling the gases can linger for days or weeks, and one's possessions (particularly clothing) often permanently carry the odor of the realm no matter how much they may be cleansed. I was forced to burn my favorite jacket after we finally escaped from Gomorrah and Bel'zul, as even trying to cleanse it with an Attention failed.
Despite all this, there are some noteworthy features in the Boneyard, beyond the lure of mystical technology and weapons far beyond the craftsmanship of those created by the Society, to whet an explorer's appetite.
An immense sea of red-glowing lava stretches for thousands of miles, like a wound in the crust of the world, with dozens of smaller tributaries branching off from it, all the molten rock still bubbling and flowing without cooling. Rocky islands of various sizes dot the sea, and the black ground for miles around it is made of cooled volcanic rock. This 'beach' holds its own dangers, as the lava crust is thin in some areas and prone to collapse when even a little weight is placed upon it, dropping any helpless creatures into lava tubes or hollowed pits that may or may not be filled with still flowing molten rock. We learned this the hard way, losing one of our over-eager companions to this horrible fate. Even when someone is lucky enough to avoid falling into an active tube, the sharp-edged volcanic rock will slice flesh as easily as any sword-blade, something I myself had the unfortunate experience of learning. I was particularly thrilled to discover after my fall that none of the larger rocks had severed my head.
Despite all of these hazards, the most worrisome dangers here are the ones that have refused to die. As I mentioned, there are undead Primals, corrupted and driven insane due its long exposure to this realm, or perhaps due the twisted mystical energies that laid waste to this world. I cannot say. The Vaporsnake is one of these, said by Bel'zul to have been a noble spirit of the Air when still alive, now little more than a collection of serpentine-appearing toxic fumes that speaks in mad, whispery phrases. Then there are those who were corrupt long before the war, such as the aforementioned Bel'zul, the assuredly insane Abzulim and self-styled lord of an immense fortress-city 'inhabited' by walking bones that drink salt (spilling it onto the ground through their empty abdomens), a place he calls Gomorrah. Whether he took the city's name in mockery from Twilight religion or the religious myth reflects some kernel of Immortal history, I do not know, and I did not ask Bel'zul for comment. As it was, two of us barely escaped to another nearby Dominion before becoming more of the Abzulim's playthings. I have nightmares still about what I glimpsed Bel'zul doing to my unfortunate companions as we leapt into the Nadir-portal.
I should mention that originally it was the Vaporsnake that chased us to the very edge of the lava sea -- and whom I consider responsible for the deaths that resulted (though I'm quite sure it doesn't care what I think) -- where we took shelter from it in a small castle. After some exploration, a few of us unwittingly took transport in a strange, self-operated, dark-metal vehicle that traveled the surface of the lava and eerily brought us to Gomorrah. I do not know what became of those we left behind, perhaps they are still alive or have fallen into Ennui, or perhaps Bel'zul discovered their presence and devoured their life-force.
My visit to this realm was one of the few times during my immortal existence that I have been frightened of something worse than death or physical injury. Any others who travel here should well remember that.
These are all just ideas by one Narrator of Immortal -- nothing suggested here is official by Ran or Precedence.
I see the Morpheum as having many levels. The first level is almost a parallel to the physical world. Have you ever lain in bed in that twilight area between sleep and wakefulness? You seem to be aware of what's around you, but it has a sort of surreal quality, almost "thick" or "more real than normal". This is what creates the basic landscape of the Morpheum. This is the area of the Morpheum where sleepwalkers exist. They are unaware of the literal reality around them, but are instead moving through a dreamscape within their own mind, based off the reality they know.
Running through this first layer of the Morpheum is The Silver Road. This is the stream of human consciousness that sustained the Morpheum before the Sanguinary infiltrated it, causing it to become a "literal" reality of its own. The Silver Road has two purposes:
Locations within the Silver Road include:
The Hush-Hush -- The Demesne of the Sanguinary, and stronghold for Silhouettes. 'Nuff said.
Pandemonia -- The source of the lighter aspects of human dreams. This is a realm of light and colors; the embodiment of heroic ideals and poetic romance. To an Immortal, the realm appears as a chaotic tangle of brightness and color, unless a Twilight Dream is somehow accompanying him -- in which case, that particular mortal's dreams will tend to solidify that area of Pandemonia, in an ideal representation of their dream.
Catharia -- The source of human nightmares and intellectual fear. This realm appears as blighted landscape, inhabited by shadowy, wraith-like "entities", the Fell Concepts. While there, an Immortal is under a constant Rank 2 Red Fear hostile, as the Fell Concepts try to assault him. The Fell Concepts cannot be attacked -- a Human's Dreams of Fear can only be combatted when the Fell Concepts actually enter a Dream Mantle, and actively attack a Human's "dream self". If a Twilight Dreamer is brought into Catharia, the Fell Concepts representing his particular fears will dog his every step, whispering fearful words in his ear. In Games terms, the Fell Concepts can perform a mental attack against the twilight. At the Narrator's discretion, the twilight can try to resist this attack, using Red Halo and Free Immaculum (or Soul). If it is successful, a Fell Concept does mental damage equal to it's Orange Halo + Net Successes (Vital Hits table can be used as well, to determine if the Concept whispers a particularly poignant or personal subject to the target). The Twilight can resist the damage with his Blue Halo. Once he has taken a Mortal Wound in this way, he falls into a Nightmare. A Dream Mantle forms around him, and the Immortal loses him. To find him, the Immortal must return to the Silver Road and make a Familiarity Hostile Roll to relocate him. Each Fell Concept can only attack in this way once every 5 minutes, and only one Fell Concept can attack a Twilight Dream each minute while in Catharia. The Narrator may decide that the twilight has some way of counter-attacking the Fell Concepts. In this way, the Concept can be defeated -- it will no longer bother that twilight during the current trip into Catharia. Any time that a Twilight Dreamer has "destroyed" a Fell Concept in mental combat in Catharia, he gains +1 to his Blue Halo to resist any and all further attacks by that particular Fell Concept on subsequent visits.
Nephrac -- This is a dream battlefield where the Sleeper Stronghold is located. Sleepers first emerge where when they enter the Morpheum by Dreaming. There are two gates -- The Horn Gate and the Ivory Gate. These each lead to the Silver Road. Sleeper Reveries who exist the Nephrac Stronghold through the Ivory Gate gain a +3 to rolls in the Morphuem involving healing and enlightening others (Nightmare gain +1). Likewise Nightmares gain a +3 to rolls involving violence and chastisement within the Morpheum (Reveries gain +1). Although Nightmares traditionally exit through the Horn Gate, and Reveries through the Ivory Gate, this can vary depending on their current mission.
Please note: everything stated here is simply the ideas of an Immortal Narrator, and are NOT official according to Ran Ackles and/or Precedence Publishing. If anyone likes these ideas, I can E-mail further details to them.
Rob Gaebel
a.k.a. Tod MacInnis, Darkeforce
FICTION PIECES:
The Next Chapter of Highway to Hell
Rocket, a Cur piece
Pathway to Hell
Chapter Three
By Jeff Seidman gavinmonorth@hotmail.com
The soft, warm bed is a most insidious trap. The silky smooth sheets and bouncy mattress make sleeping a dream, all the harder for Charlie to wake up from. Still in her medical scrubs, she stretches under a heavy woolen quilt which makes the bed into a glorious oven. If it weren't for the ache in her bladder, she would have slept much longer.
Throwing the covers off, Charlie pads on bare feet to the bathroom. Looking around at the sparse furnishings and definitely masculine décor as she moves through the place, she figures this 'Gavin' guy isn't married. After using the bathroom, she goes back to her room to look in the dresser for some other clothes, but only finds large sweaters and slacks. She returns to the bathroom to grab the white bathrobe she had noticed hanging on the door earlier, which she wraps around herself for want of anything better.
She slowly opens the door to the hallway, hoping that this 'Gavin' was on the level. She knows she trusts him, for some insane reason, but she isn't too sure that he had told her the whole truth. There was just something dangerous about his sad, gray eyes, and his cold face.
After listening to Gavin's door and not hearing any noise, she opens it up, revealing a modestly impressive set of furnishings. The bed, the dresser, the desk, and the bookshelf are all very old; very strange objects for a man still in his twenties to have. The bookshelf that lines the wall opposite the door draws her attention. It's filled mostly with mythology and philosophy books. Charlie notices some titles that she knows, like Hamlet or Canterbury Tales, and some she's never heard of before, like History of the Bete Noir and The Lower Levels of Death.
"This guy sure is weird," she mutters, pulling down Hamlet from the shelf. She opens the very worn copy, and stares at the almost indecipherable English in it. It's not at all like the copy she read in school.
The bindings on all of the books are heavily creased and bent, showing a lot of wear. Unless Gavin bought all of his books used, he has read each and every one here. Either this man is extremely intelligent, or else he has a lot of time on his hands.
She looks at the cross/ankh above Gavin's bed, and traces the highly detailed contours of them both. It almost feels like this wooden sculpture was grown into the shape instead of being cut. Her stomach growls and she decides to hold off investigating Gavin's stuff in favor of something she understands better.
The fridge is stocked, Charlie finds out when she looks into the small kitchenette. It is mostly full of junk food, instant dinners, and soda. The selection of sodas was heavy on the very sugary and full of caffeine. There were a few healthy items in there, like green apples and orange juice, which Charlie takes instead of the soda. She would rather have coffee instead of juice, but she doesn't find any.
After munching on the apple for a while, Charlie looks into the other rooms. She finds a room that is completely empty, though one whole wall is a mirror, and there are foam mats on the floor. It's pretty clean, though she can catch a whiff of old sweat here and there. She takes a moment to wonder what the room is used for before moving on.
The next room she finds is a second bathroom, though this one is a little more personalized. The bathtub has a clear shower curtain covered in multicolored fish-designs. A bottle of gel rests on its side on top of the virginal white sink, as does a bottle of mouthwash. The medicine cabinet, hidden behind the mirror over the sink, is full of bottles of medicine with names that Charlie thinks that she might have heard when she watched ER. The drawer beneath the sink is full of gauze, bandages, a sewing kit, and some hypodermic needles. Charlie thinks that this guy must be telling the truth about being a doctor, what with all this equipment; or else he is a complete whack-job.
In the room next to the bathroom are many strange items. The light is very subdued so that each item has to be looked at closely. A piece of what looks like glass in the shape of a sword is under a glass box. A tuxedo and earring rest on the same shelf, sharing a very weird swastika-design; it is etched into the earring's silvery ball, and embroidered into the tuxedo's left lapel with the tiniest stitches Charlie has ever seen. A glass box with a very ornate crystalline structure sits on another shelf. Next to that stands a single metal pedestal covered in glass displaying a few glowing green scales, which look almost like jade. There's a pack of cigarettes, a Bruce Lee airbrush, a deck of cards, and a flask sitting on another shelf, which look totally out of place in this shrine.
In the center of the room is a large sword, slightly curved and oriental, resting on a wooden stand. Its handle is made out of a single piece of ivory, carved into the shape of a coiled serpent. At the far end of the room is a desk with a single light illuminating the surface. On the desk were various papers and books. There also seemed to be some egg-shaped crystals on it.
Charlie walks over to the desk, allowing her hands to gently caress the various items on the shelves around her. She pulls out the hard, metal chair, and sits down. The paper on top is old and brown, with strange-looking writing all over it. The others look just as old, if not older, though the language is different in each one. One of them is written in a pictograph language, while another is written in a spidery scrawl. Beneath the papers is a notebook, with the words "Path to Hell" written on the cover.
Charlie opens the cover, and scans the first page: sloppy English, but English all the same. She begins to read:
A strange man ran into me today, and threw some papers at me as he ran screaming down the road. Behind him were three Nimrods, probably Scourges within the same triad, who collared him and summarily executed him. I later found out that that man's name was Origen. It seemed that he escaped from some Nimrod mantle where he was working on a project about Sheol. I did some checking and managed to gain a mote of Visage in the process, because the Nimrod were harboring a twilight who was tainted by the Sanguinary. It seems that Origen was from the 3rd century AD, who was imprisoned by the Nimrod in revenge against the Eremites.
The papers that he gave me were the notes and clues he's been gathering in an attempt to cleanse Sheol. It says that a large chunk of conundrum has intertwined with a Sunedrion right in the center of the Zuzog forest. The conundrum is actually shielding the tree from the Droves, while the Sunedrion has grown roots into the crystal. The tree has cleansed this one piece of conundrum, and could be the key to cleansing the rest of the prison. This is all crazy though; the prison cannot be purified. There are too many things that need the taint that flows inside of that place to even think about cleaning it.
Charlie puts the notebook down and steps away from the desk. She hears the rattle of someone's key entering the lock of the front door in this extremely silent apartment. She quickly turns around, nearly knocking over the small pedestal with the jade scales in it, and runs out of this strange museum.
She makes it to the hallway by the time the front door opens. Gavin walks in, looking somewhat older and more tired than he did last night. A brief smile touches his hard face as he stares at Charlie, but it quickly disappears. He walks into his kitchen, grabs a soda, and leans on the counter.
"Is there something wrong?" Charlie asks from the living room, in her high soprano voice.
"No, nothing. I'm fine," Gavin says, after taking a drink of soda. "Oh, yeah. I talked to a police friend of mine, and talked to him about what happened. I'm going to need your last name, your address, your phone number and your dress size."
"What does my dress size have to do with anything?" she asks, perplexed.
"I told you I'd get you something to wear. I mean, you can't wear that bathrobe all day," says Gavin, walking around the counter and sitting in a chair in front of the table.
"Oh, okay. Got any paper?" she says, standing up and walking over to him.
He pulls a small notebook from his breast pocket, and drops it on the table. Gavin then places a fountain pen next to it, and leans back in his chair.
"Le Roy? Huh..." Gavin mutters, as he reads her name.
"What do you mean?" she asks.
"Oh, nothing, I just think it's a pretty name. Reminds me of a play I know," Gavin relates to Charlie, finishing his soda.
He picks up the notebook, and places it back in his pocket. A strange sensation buzzes in the back of Gavin's head. Something about his apartment isn't quite right, as if someone was inside of it. He slowly turns his head towards the short corridor at the back of his room and squints. He pushes his round glasses down his nose a little bit, and puts his hand behind his back.
"Stay here," Gavin mutters, as he starts walking towards the end of the living room.
"What? What's going on? Is there something that I should know about?" Charlie asks, wrapping the robe tighter around her and taking a step closer to the kitchen.
Gavin just puts his arm behind himself, and walks into the hall. The door to his study is open. Charlie notices this too, and groans. He leans against the wall, and slowly opens the door the rest of the way.
"Wait, Gavin. I forgot to close the door when you came home. I'm sorry," Charlie yells, as Gavin walks into the room.
"You what?" Gavin says in a very flat voice.
"Well, you weren't home and I couldn't sleep anymore, and I got bored just sitting in my room. Plus when I found all those books in your room, I thought that there might be something else I could do until you got back."
"What?" Gavin says again, slowly closing the door to the hallway behind him.
"Don't give me that look. I was just curious. Besides, you didn't tell me I couldn't."
Gavin looks out the window for a long moment, then turns his head back to face Charlie. As his mouth opens a loud beeping is heard in his jacket. He takes a deep breath, pulls out his very small cellular phone, flips it open and begins to speak.
"Hello? Hello... is someone there? Hello..." Gavin pulls the phone from his ear and shakes his head. Suddenly, a voice full of bass comes across the phone's speaker. The voice is so loud that even Charlie can hear it from across the room.
"Hello, Gavin, you have something of mine. She is there in your apartment. You took her from me last night, Gavin, and I aim to get her back. This is Gavin... right? This is his phone," the voice says, and then laughs a harsh wheezing laugh.
"What the hell do you want? Who the fuck are you?" Gavin yells, dropping the phone on the ground.
"Who am I? I am Malik. What I want, Gavin, is Charlie, my sweet and royal Charlie. And please don't yell at me like that again, boy, or I will rip the skin right off your bones," the low voice threatens. "Now bring me the girl, Gavin, or I will come get her."
"If you want her, come and get her," Gavin yells again, walking closer to Charlie, whose eyes have gotten very large.
"I thought you would say that, so I have dispatched some of my associates to get you. In fact, they are already there. They won't attack, unless you don't give me my property back," says the voice.
"Oh yeah, and how do I know you are telling the truth?" Gavin asks, taking a step closer to Charlie.
"Gavin, Gavin, Gavin85 my dear, stupid perpetual. How could I know that you have dropped the phone on the ground?" the voice asks.
"You could have heard it."
"How do I know you're in your apartment?" the voice continues.
"Lucky guess, but I still don't believe you." Gavin has his arm around Charlie, though his eyes never stop moving.
"Then how could I know that Charlie is wearing the scrubs that you gave her last night, and that you have your arm around her?"
Gavin stops dead in his tracks. He stops looking around his apartment and stares intently at the phone. Charlie's hand is squeezing Gavin's arm so tightly that her blood has stopped circulating through her wrist; he doesn't notice her grip. His pupils dilate until the gray irises are not much more than thin rings.
"Are you still there, Gavin? I'll take your silence as a yes. I've decided to forego any bargaining, and instead my associates will take back what's mine, and what is, I mean, what was yours. The Cimmerian blade and your Vox will be mine. 'Bye now." The phone goes dead, and fills the room with the dial tone.
After a few seconds of waiting, Gavin shakes his head and disengages himself from Charlie. He runs down the hallway, to his room and opens his secret cache of weapons. He pulls out a large, black briefcase, and starts throwing weapons in it.
Charlie walks down the hall, into Gavin's room, and freezes. The bookshelf has been replaced with a shrine to violence. She can't believe it: her savior, the man who claimed to be a doctor, is a raving psycho. The fears that she has kept down all morning start to surface again, as the emotional pain comes to the fore in her mind.
Gavin looks back at Charlie, and stops stock-still. His eyes become shadowed with fear, regret, and sadness. The cold, hardness of his face softens for a moment, only to be replaced by the inexplicable calmness that Charlie remembers seeing in the aura of hardened soldiers. His hands start moving again, stowing weapons in a metal briefcase, but his eyes never leave Charlie's elfin form.
"I guess there's no time to explain, but right now we are in serious shit, and I will need your help if either of us are going to survive," Gavin nearly yells while strapping on his leather harness. He grabs two Browning High-Powers, and stows them in holsters under the arm, then puts two .45's in the holsters in the small of his back. He lifts his pant legs, and places a Walther PPK on each ankle, then attaches various types of spare clips and knives in small holders. Finally, he grabs the big, black sword, and puts it in the sheath that runs diagonally down his back.
"What I can tell you is that I will protect you with everything I've got. If that means that I have to take bullets for you, then so be it. But I need you to trust me. Can you do that, Charlie Le Roy, can you trust me?" Gavin asks after he walks over to where she is standing, gently holding her two hands, and staring into her eyes.
"I... I guess. What do you want me to do?" The intensity of Gavin's stare and the genuine sincerity in his voice break through Charlie's initial reaction of fear.
"Here, put this on," Gavin says, throwing a shiny black suit to Charlie.
"What is it?" she asks, perplexed at this single-piece, baggy leather suit.
"It's a form fitting, laced kevlar suit. It can take a .45 without breaking," says Gavin, throwing the last few weapons into the black suitcase. He puts a bracer on either wrist, with a small caliber pistol attached to it.
"What do you mean? It can't fit me!" Charlie says, entranced by the array of weapons that Gavin is wearing.
"Trust me. Take off your clothes, put it on, and then put the scrubs on over it," he says, turning around to face Charlie. He shrugs his black coat on, which conceals all of his weapons except for the long sword handle that protrudes over his shoulder.
Charlie takes her robe off, as Gavin blushes and turns around. He hears the rustling of clothes, and the smooth sound of the black suit sliding over skin. Gavin is severely tempted to turn around and catch the young woman before she is done changing, but he doesn't.
His fingers, on auto-pilot, brush his harness, checking to see that everything is in place and properly clasped shut. His thoughts race as he waits for Charlie to finish getting dressed. How could someone have found this apartment? He took the place because no one knew about it, and because of all the little tricks that were already installed. Gavin had even liked the architecture of this place, especially since the entire building was made from granite instead of bricks. He thought he had found a safe haven in the middle of the Stratagem, a place where he stopped being a pawn and killer, but instead he found that no sanctuary is eternal.
He was getting sloppy; something was effecting his judgement. Last night when he saved Charlie was just the start. He should never have made such a rookie mistake like getting caught with a gun in the middle of a sea of violence. He should have never killed those two men in the back of Club 88, or those students in Green Bay, or those dancers in Arizona. Gavin should never have tried to save the waitress in the diner and he shouldn't have backed down in front of Jacqueline. Something is seriously wrong.
Gavin realizes that he is tired.
A slight tap on his shoulder brings Gavin's attention back to the events at hand. Charlie is dressed in the black suit. True to what Gavin had said, the suit is form-fitting, hugging every curve of Charlie's slim figure. The flat-black suit covers everything except for her hands, feet and head. A single zipper running between her breasts from the middle of her neck was the only deviation in the combat suit.
"I didn't think this would fit. It looked so big," she says, running her fingers up and down her arms and stomach. "Where did you get this?"
"I... I'll tell you later," Gavin stammers, momentarily stunned by the sight of Charlie. He blinks a few times, and grabs a black nylon harness, and throws it to her. "This is standard SEAL webbing. It goes over your shoulders, and buckles around your stomach and thighs. Here, let me help you." Gavin walks over to Charlie, and takes the black webbing from her hand. He stands behind her, and tells her to hold her arms out so that he can get the webbing on. He draws the vest down both of her arms, slowly. His hands linger on her shoulders after the webbing is situated over her back and chest. He moves his hands down to the plastic buckle at her abdomen, and clicks it shut. Shaking his head, Gavin takes a step back and then walks over to the nearly empty weapon cache. Charlie quickly lets out a breath she was subconsciously holding. She reaches down, and buckles the two holsters on the outside of her thighs.
"Here, take these," Gavin says, handing guns to her and directing her to place them in the thigh holsters. He then hands her a couple of clips, knives, and a box of matches.
"You know how to use those?" he asks, pulling a gun from her holster. "Just pull back the hammer, sight along the barrel, and squeeze the trigger. Got it? Good."
Gavin opens a few drawers, and throws some things into a duffel bag. He pulls out numerous small crystal eggs and some other equally weird things.
"Go into that room where you found all of that weird stuff, and wait for me, okay?" Gavin says, turning around and looking deeply into Charlie's green eyes.
"Okay..." Charlie says, and walks out of Gavin's bedroom.
She can't believe it. All of the events that have occurred around her have turned into a surreal play of the impossible. Her entire life and perceptions on her reality have altered to such a degree that she is even willing to believe that vampires exist. It's almost like she is watching the things happening around her with a detached sense of an impartial viewer. Charlie doesn't feel any fear about what is happening. She doesn't feel anything. She is completely calm.
This guy Gavin is even stranger than she thought. There is definitely something wrong with a guy who keeps such an array of weapons behind a bookcase. He has the looks of a complete psychopath, which would be the truth if it weren't for his sad gray eyes. It's almost like he's seen things, experienced things, or caused things of unknown pain. She sees those eyes whenever she looks in the mirror lately.
The dark room is exactly as she left it; and the same bizarre items are still sitting in their respective places. Gavin runs in a few seconds after Charlie walked into the room. He throws a full duffel bag onto a shelf, and grabs the notebook and papers from the desk. He stows them in the long, black suitcase and looks into Charlie's eyes.
"Okay, we are going to go now. After we leave here, this apartment will cease to exist for a very long time. I need you to keep up with me until I can reach a car. Then I think I know somewhere safe that we can get to. Okay?" Gavin asks, leading Charlie out of the room and into the hall.
"Won't we look weird? I mean we are both dressed very strange." Charlie says, looking back over her shoulder at the hall.
"You got a point. Hold on."
Charlie looks back at Gavin, and sees numerous colored orbs circle around his body. She looks down at her self, and sees the same. She can see colors start to ooze around Gavin's throat, which starts to glow. His eyes start to blaze a silvery white, and the colors that she saw swirling around his mouth, shoot forth and wrap around her. The myriad of tones slowly die down from around her slim figure, and the small orbs revolving around Gavin's body disappear.
She looks astonished for a second, but shakes her head. Very weird things are happening to her, and the stress must be getting to her. In fact, she can still see those strange colored motes circling her body, though his are gone. She must be hallucinating.
"No one will notice anything weird about us. I promise." Gavin says, and tugs her towards the door.
Rocket
By Ka'thryn Alicia tessekatt@aol.com
"War hero: I've come to hate that phrase. It's what they call the dried up old men that waste away in veterans' hospitals, decorated and congratulated and then left to wither away forgotten. If you were the lucky ones there was someone waiting for you back at home. Someone who loved you. Someone who took care of you when your legs itched and twitched and you hurt too much to get out of bed in the mornings. Heck, I had a girl, Docker, but she left me long before I returned from the war and the only other gal I had I left behind in the jungles of Vietnam when they shipped me back with the wounded to the states."
"Out of all my memories I can see her the clearest. Warm brown eyes that'd melt your heart, soft brown fur, sweetest temper I've ever seen on a lady. Yea, she was a dog, but not a mutt like you. You'd never catch her lying under the bed chewing on the bed rails. Still, I'm happy for your company, girl. It's nice to know that someone still loves you. And someone'll listen to your stories even if they drool on you."
"See, I was drafted. Eighteen, scared witless, shaved, geared and loaded on a chopper with about six other guys in the same predicament. None of us knew what to expect, only the speech we were given and the quick training of point and shoot before they packed us up ad shipped us out to fill in for all the other baby-faced boys that came back home in bags that year."
"I can't tell you what it felt like when they dropped us off in that little clearing in the hot, wet night. We unloaded supplies and met up with the others before loading up all the homeward bounds. Some wounded, some catatonic, some covered in sheets. The one thing assured was that they were going home changed, 'cause those eyes weren't the eyes of boys. They were haunted, toughened, darkened. You could almost feel it, like the jungles were alive and a thousand dark eyes peered out at you. The Sarge said it was the creeps that everyone got thinkin' someone was gonna' jump out at 'em any minute to attack, but I knew it was different. There was an evil out there that wasn't man, wasn't right in any sense of the word. And it knew we were here somehow. It was coming for us."
"I don't think I slept the first few nights. Every noise startled me. Every flicker of movement had my finger on a trigger. I was a nervous wreck 'cause I could feel it hunting us. Eventually the Sarge put me on night watch because he knew I'd be up, sweatin' and cursin' and thankin' God and everyone else that Anna didn't have to ever come to some place like this. I couldn't see her delicate hands wrapped around a gun, pale skin baking in the swelterin' heat. Every time I dreamed of her I saw her lost in the jungle, wandering aimlessly only to be mowed down by man-like shapes, dark and twisted, with glowing red eyes and clawed hands gripping weapons as unnatural as they seemed. I knew I'd never see her again, but not for the reasons I thought. I didn't think I'd ever make it out of there alive, and I almost didn't. If it wasn't for Rocket I'd have never made it past the first week."
"I called her Rocket, though it wasn't her name and I knew it. Somewhere in those honey browns I knew was her true name, but it wasn't for me to tell anyone, ever. So she was Rocket to me. It had been our third day of marching to move the camp when the enemy made the jump on us. I think they were just as scared as we were, but damn were they fast. Coordinated and sharp, too, because they pegged half the team with a pepper of bullets not a second after we noticed that they were there. I don't think I was as afraid of them as the feeling in the pit of my stomach that something was more than wrong here. It wasn't the enemy, they weren't the enemy. It was something else, somethings else. Firing back would be a horrible mistake."
"The enemy scrambled as the squad opened fire, but all I could do was sit there flat-footed on my rear with the hair on the back of my neck standin' on end. That something had caught my scent like a hound on a coon and it had me in its sights. I knew it somehow. Then the next thing I knew there was a hissing behind me, then a flurry of brown fur leaping past me and the sounds of something being torn to shreds."
"By the time I convinced myself to turn around, I saw one of the locals, at least it looked like one of them. Something was wrong with what I could see of those hollow black eyes and bloodless thin lips. The boy was so pale it looked as if he had spent his life submerged crocodile-style in the rivers that ran through the area. And standing over him was my Rocket."
"She looked at me hard then moved to my side, standing next to me like a silent sentry as the rest of the troop gathered their senses and looked on to the wounded. The look in those eyes caught me. It was like an understanding, a recognition almost. I had always heard that german shepherds were supposed to be hyper-intelligent, but that didn't begin to describe the notions and ideas that I could see whirling behind long black lashes. I had the unsettling feeling that she knew me somehow and that I knew her, like a soul mate or a long lost twin that had found me and would stay with me like a guardian angel with a shaggy tail."
"With a little convincing I managed to get the guys to let me keep her and she became the mascot of our troop. Everyone found a bit of food or some extra water to give her, but she always stayed by my side, watching, waiting, vigilant over me. She slept in my bed, all curled up at my side and I could sleep easy with no bad dreams, no feelings paranoia or being watched. I was as comfortable as I had been back in my bed in my parents' home."
"Over the next two months I learned how to listen to her. The way she moved, the sounds she made, that little ghostly voice that I attributed to her speaking to me that was my consciousness getting used to the jungle around me. We moved as a couple waltzing through the world with rose-colored glasses as I no longer felt threatened with her by my side. We were invincible, inseparable. I grew to love her, as she represented the humanity85 my humanity85 that so many of the others I ran into throughout my tour had lost. She was all that was good in the world, for even on my worst days there was a warm fuzzy face thrust under my arm and the sense that it would get better, a silent promise, and I couldn't help but smile."
"Rocket led us through the pit-falls and traps that riddled the jungles, the encampments full of local people fighting to defend their homes and families. She always she seemed to provide a way to avoid hurting them, leading us on to safe spots, sometimes to those dark spots to flush out those nightmarish things that only I seemed to see that way. Afterwards, always afterwards, she would crawl up next to me, my companion, to sleep."
"It came down to a sprawl and the commands to clear it, open patty fields full of trip wires and mines that Rocket sniffed her way around. We were out there in the misty morning fields, wet and tired and cool in the open with pricklings at the back of our necks telling us that we were somehow surrounded by unseen foes. Rocket was nervous, I could feel it. Or maybe it was the way she stuck so close, walking close enough that her matted fur brushed against my side as we walked. She whimpered as we neared the line of bamboo forest that stood between us and our destination and for a moment I saw figures crouched along the border.
"She whined and took a step back, something she had only done before when we approached a pit trap, but as we turned to fall back the water seemed to boil and bubble beneath us before geysering up full of bamboo shards and bits of super hot metal. The next thing I knew it was dark around me, cool water lapped at my face and somewhere nearby I could hear Timmy Walters on the horn calling in the mayday. I could see the orangish-pink dawn sprawling out before me, but no Rocket."
"Sarge got in my face, yelling at me to get up but I couldn't. My legs were shot, shredded, useless so they had to drag me out to a pick up point where they loaded us back onto a chopper and dropped us off again. I remember calling for Rocket, begging her to come back even though they told me she was gone. She didn't feel gone."
"They shipped me back home on the next outgoing chopper to an empty life alone. My folks just didn't understand what had happened. And Anna, she was off with some banker spending his money for her love. I was alone, dreadfully alone without Rocket. I wasted away until they put me here and juiced me up with meds and a placebo mutt to fill in the blank parts of my life. Sorry to make you feel less, Docker, but you'll never be my Rocket."
" I know she's still out there somewhere feeling just as lonely as I am. You know they left all the dogs out there, all the dogs that saved our lives in Vietnam. Some five hundred of them, the records said in that newspaper article last week because the military thought they'd be to dangerous to bring back. So much for man's best friend, huh, girl?"
"All aside, you're a good mutt. You keep me company and guard your food bowl and I know you'll never take off on me for some banker or no mines, so I guess we're good together, huh?" Docker leapt up onto the bed and rested her head against shoulder for a moment or two before Charles hit his medication feed and drifted off to sleep. With a practiced eye she watched the feed, making sure that the dosage was correct and that his thumb slid off the toggle before she hopped off the bed to and made her way to the door. With clever paws she worked the door latch, sliding it open and scurrying across to the nurses' station before anyone noticed, then across to the doctor's private office in a blur.
Once inside she let a sigh and clambered up into one of the office's plush chairs. "Hard day?" Doctor Andrews asked, putting aside her paperwork.
"I guess you could say that. Charlie's reminiscing again and it drives me crazy when he does that. It turns my stomach inside out and upside-down to hear him talking about us like that. You think he'll ever know that it's me?"
Andrews shook her head. "I don't think so, Rose, he's on so much medication as it is that I'm surprised that he remembers who I am half the time. He needs it, or he wouldn't last long, you know that. You have your time with him in the Morpheum, be glad for that. If you weren't a Sleeper he wouldn't have made it this long. He knows who you are in his dreams. And he's whole and happy. Let it be at that. He's gotten old, Rose. Soon it will have to be left completely." Rose looked away.
"If it's too much you can leave, you know. Nothing's holding you here."
"You know I wouldn't do that. I'll stay with my Tamer 'til the end." She hopped out of the chair and trotted to the door, nails clicking glass-like on the linoleum. "If you'll excuse me, I'm missing some good dream time."
Back in the room Rose jumped back onto the bed, careful of the IVs and his wounded legs to curl up at his side, face pressed against his ribs until their hearts caught the same pace and the world peeled away until they were together in the Morpheum. Once again, Charles was whole with two working legs and a boyish grin on his face when his best friend came into view from the surrounding jungle foliage.
"We're on the move, girl, you ready to go?" He held out his hand until she butted her head against it and barked at the rest of the platoon to get in motion. Behind them, various other dreamers from the hospital gathered together, age and disability left behind, to fall into marching order just like old times. "Time to fight the good fight," she thought as she led them off in search of those nightmares in the dark.
Fin