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--- In TheGothHouse@yahoogroups.com, Jennifer Hallam <horrorvenus@...> wrote:
>
> >Instead of a Yahoo group, I may soon be making a forum to archive and
hopefully
> >continue our story from here. Thoughts?
>
> Sounds like a good idea.
> Been missing you all :o)

In a day or so, I'll be registering the forum and making the new skin.

>Instead of a Yahoo group, I may soon be making a forum to archive and hopefully
>continue our story from here. Thoughts?

Sounds like a good idea.
Been missing you all :o)

Jennifer

>Instead of a Yahoo group, I may soon be making a forum to archive and
>hopefully continue our story from here. Thoughts?

You just let me know where the bar is and I'll glady keep tending it.


Winter

Good to hear from you, here and LJ.

Other thoughts? Um, I've been more inactive than most, so I don't know what
I can contribute to an ongoing story...if you wanna try to sweep it into a
coherent pile,  I'll try to re-enter the thread.

Gavin

----- Original Message -----
From: "Thom Truelove" <majormagik@...>
To: <TheGothHouse@yahoogroups.com>
Sent: Wednesday, February 08, 2006 9:33 PM
Subject: [The Goth House] OOC - Plans to make a forum


> Instead of a Yahoo group, I may soon be making a forum to archive and
hopefully
> continue our story from here. Thoughts?
>
>
>
>
>
>
> THE GOTH HOUSE
> 88 Arcadia Street
> Yahoo! Groups Links
>
>
>
>
>
>
>

Instead of a Yahoo group, I may soon be making a forum to archive and hopefully
continue our story from here. Thoughts?

Until then, Season's Greetings to all.

The door opens with a long shuddering creaking, protesting the use
after such time. Slow treads of old leather shoes disturb the thick
dust, causing the play of small devils among the boards. A man with an
old tweed jacket, one that speak the word professor in many, many
languages, a terror only to those who forget some ridiculous agenda
called assignments, moves with a weary stride into the Ardcadia House.
Lines beneath his eyes ran down to play a riot among among the black and
gray of his beard. He looks and sees many fading ghosts, the image of
two old enemies, so long at the throat they have become friends, playing
a strange game with unmentionable stakes  with a faded star of the
silver screen. A bartender who had seen better day and would yet seen
better still serving his last drink. Angels and devils twirling their
magic dance of damnation and blessing, and the strange beings who danced
in there presence for lack of better music... the place was thick of
sorrowful ghosts and lost tales.

     He sighed. His eye were still heavy but there was a game to be
played. From a faded leather vest he drew a polished ebony cup and
placed into upon the bar. His left hand suddenly drew high a with a pair
of polished bone dice a flung them into the yawning rafters. The echoes
of the rolling bone stalked obscene whispers as they bounced on the
dusty mahogany bar, leaving strange runes in the wastes of time. The
right hand moved with old practiced speed to catch the die, one, two,
under the muffled ebony cage. He drew back the old cup in a long
polished ritual to reveal a pair of unblinking eyes the peered back.

One-and-one. the devil's gift, a losing  bet.

A beginning, of sorts.

Off Topic://Goody, I've missed people. And I have time now,
as I've still got a few months before I have to seriously
get down to the business of embalming and stuff.

Oh, and another thing...

HELLO ALL YOU PEOPLES IN BALTIMORE!!!!!!!

I will gracing your fair city on the evenings of July 15th
and 16th along with the ever so luscious DJ Kantrip
(Calhoun on here) who will be DJing somewheres in the city.
So, all y'all that live in Baltimore that I've been wanting
to meet (*coughPOEcough*) and everyone should come out to
the night and lets get wasted in the name of literature!!

//:On Topic


Rhio stretched and yawned, dislodging some of the books
that were piled on top of her. As she sat up, the books
began to shift and whisper, some of them flying back to
thier accustomed spots on the shelves, the smaller lighter
volumes of poetry burrowing into her arms as if frightened.
The Library seemed to breathe a sigh of relief now that the
caretaker had awoken once more. No matter that the Library
was in The House, as far as the books were concerned they
belonged to themselves and Rhio belonged to them.

Rhio realized that the books had been sheltering her,
protecting her from something. Some of the ones that
remained in her arms and around her feet had cracked
bindings, gashed covers, and bent pages. The volumes of
philosophy seemed to have taken the worst of it. She
gathered the battered tomes in her arms and took them over
to the repair desk. One of them was a small almanac, which
obligingly showed her the date and relevant information
about what to plant at this time of year.

Rhio stopped dead. 'A year?' She thought...'I've been
passed out for a year? Holy shit, what happened here?' She
knew that the books would have kept her in the Limbo as
long as was necessary for the danger to pass, and obviously
they had taken heavy damage so something terribel had
happened. She laid the abused books on the desk and made
her way slowly to the beautifully carved hemlock doors that
were The House entrance into the Library. She slowly opened
the door, disloging dust and cobwens onto her hair. As she
slowly took in the view that presented itself to her, she
began to cry.

The House looked, smelled, sounded abandoned. There was no
music and clinking barware coming from the bar, there were
no tromping feet upstairs, there was no noise at all. She
looked at the windows, half expecting to see them covered
in Blackthorn roses, but they were open, with a slight
breeze coming in, and looked out on nothing more severe
than an extremely neglected rose garden.

She made her way back into the Library, to the desk, where
she turned on the in-House DJ system and programmed some
Dead Can Dance to listen to. That way, she thought, people
will know that SOMEONE is in here.

After that some of the Library cats come out of volumes and
arranged themselves in the windowsills and on the less
damaged volumes, purring like mad hatters, looking for all
the world like nothing out of the ordinary happened.

Rhio began to repair the cracked spine on a treatise of
Neitchse's religious beliefs, but after a few minutes she
put the glue down and looked at the ceiling.

"This is too much for me to do alone.." she muttered... "I
need to get some help in here. Not just for myself, but for
the whole house." She thought for a minute, and then
grabbed the hockey stick she kept near the desk for
protection from some of the more vehement books, a lantern,
and began making her way into the stacks. Her footsteps
echoed long after the boundaries of the Library had been
reached. After a while, they faded. The cats seemed
unconcerned as usual, but the books began to read to
eachother of thier worry. They had just gotten their
Librarian back, and now she had disappeared into L-Space!

Hours passed, then a night. At dawn of the second day, the
cats and books heard footsteps coming in from the stacks,
along with a noise that sounded like someone padding
barefoot. They heard Rhio's voice just as she came into
view in the main section of the room.

"As you can see, something really bad as happened here. I'm
not sure if this is a Sleeping Beauty thing, but there are
no roses, and it seems like only the human occupants of The
House were attacked, at least, that's what the books are
telling me. They can't describe what it was though."

Her companion, looking like a large pile of orange rugs,
was knuckling along on preposterously long arms and not
really responding to her discourse.

They reached the repair table, and Rhio gestured at the
distressed tomes that lay on it.

"This is why I came and found you. Some of these, I just
don't have the skill to repair. But I have read of you, and
I knew that you were the man..er... Librarian for the job."
The carpeting shrugged, and turned towards the door. He
knuckled over, peeked out, and came back to the center of
the room. The books began rustling, and Rhio clapped her
hands to get thier attention.

"I would like you to meet the Librarian!" she said "He's
been at this much longer than I have and he will be helping
me get things back in order."

The books began to rustle louder when the Librarian raised
a face like an old boot to the stacks.

"OOK!" he said, then turned to Rhio. "Oook ook oook eek ook
ook." He explained, pointing at the door, and then at the
table.

"Oh sure, no problem." Rhio said. She then walked over to
the doors and pulled them open wide, letting the rooms air
out a little. On her way back to the table, she grabbed
some bananas from the fridge, marveling that they were
still fresh as they day she put them in there for Julian.
When she reached the table, the Librarian was deep in the
middle of an appendectomy. She put the bananas on the
table, and sitting next to him began repairing the torn
cover of a C.S. Lewis novel, listening to the music coming
over the com system and the quiet ooking from her companion
as he soothed the frightened volumes.

--- Thom Truelove <majormagik@...> wrote:

> I plan to return to posting here. I used to post at least
> something every day.
>
>
>
>


The Problem with defending the purity of the English language is that the
English language is as pure as a crib-house whore.  It not only borrows
words from other languages; it has on occasion chased other languages down
dark alley-ways, clubbed them unconscious and rifled their pockets for new
vocabulary. - James Nicoll

Check out my neato keen new website!!!!  http://www.morriganstears.com

New episode of Mope Opera coming soon...I swear!!!!

__________________________________________________
Do You Yahoo!?
Tired of spam?  Yahoo! Mail has the best spam protection around
http://mail.yahoo.com

I plan to return to posting here. I used to post at least something every day.

The lord of Nightmare emerged from the silent Cloister, his passing
shadow barely a whisper through the heavy curtain that hid the
entrance.  The Ravenlord cast his fiery gaze across the breadth of the
main hall of the Goth House, taking in the measure of its emptiness.
The floor was thick with dust, and the cobwebs -- lately numerous and
large -- had grown ponderous with time and inattention.

The Ravenlord heard snoring from behind the grand bar.  Moving closer,
he noted that the bar was the only structure in the hall that had
managed to elude the pervading neglect evident all around it.  He
found the source of the snoring proved to be the burly bartender,
Winter, asleep on a cot behind the shelves, bar rag clenched in his
large hand.  Shaking his head slowly, the Ravenlord turned and swept
towards the door leading to the garden.  It opened for him, and in his
passing, closed silently behind him.

Outside, a light rain fell in the dark.  With deliberate pace, the
Ravenlord wound his way along the path past ivy and topiary, statues
and shrubs, to the circle of thirteen sycamore trees in the center of
the garden.  In the burning glow of the Ravenlord's eye, the obsidian
skin of the trees glistened as though sprayed with blood.  Bound to
one of the trees by its toes, dangling from a branch, arms lashed
behind its back, was the Scarlet One.  Its robe was soaked and
tattered from exposure, butits face held its signature grin -- a grin
that bent like a crescent moon ready to devour the unwary.  Its cold,
jade eyes fell on the Ravenlord.  The Ravenlord spoke, and his voice
was like an autumn wind.

*We are leaving ...*

The measured, irrefutable delivery of these words wiped the grin from
the Scarlet One's face, replacing it with an expression of both shock
and relief.

"It's over, then?" it whispered.

*It remains as it is ... Unfinished ...* the Ravenlord replied, then
reached into a nook of the tree and pulled forth a staff.  It was
tall, and capped with a raven's head made of a substance similar to
the trees.  This staff he touched to the tethers that bound the
Scarlet One, and it was released.  The Scarlet One hung in the air for
a moment longer, then righting itself, drifted slowly to the ground.
Now, its face held a questioning look of disapproval.

"So, you're quitting?" it asked, incredulous.  "You're just letting it
go?  Letting him go?"

*No ...* stated the Ravenlord.  *I have left Nightmare unattended for
too long ... And the air of this place is stale ...*

The Ravenlord moved to the center of the ring and stood by the small
pond.  The Scarlet One followed him.  A harbinger's call from the roof
of the House drew their attention.

There perched Berenice -- the Ravenlord's most devout familiar -- atop
the massive, granite head of one of the House's gargoyles.  As
Berenice took wing and glided down to the Ravenlord's waiting
shoulder, three more gargoyles joined the first at the ledge.  Each of
them in its turn lowered its head, slowly, bowing to the Nightmare
monarch.  The Ravenlord nodded to each of them in turn, and said,
*Flow swift, strong and deep ...*

The gargoyles let out a gurgling growl in response, then stalked back
to the duty for which they were charged.  The Ravenlord watched them,
and did not move.

The Scarlet One, tapping its foot, broke into the reverie with another
question, "What about Rhiobhan?"

Very slowly, the Ravenlord turned and bent his burning eye upon the
scarlet clad imp.  His pale face held no expression.  He stared at the
Scarlet One, and was silent.  The silence grew palpable until it was
almost a presence.  The Scarlet One shifted from one foot to another,
and looked away.

"Right," it said, quietly.  "The choice.  Forget I asked."

With that, the Ravenlord lifted his gaze to the House once more.
Softly, he intoned,

*"To everything there is a season ..."*

Then, he raised his staff and swung it over his head, thricely,
widdershins.  He brought the third swing down into the pond, and a
stroke of lightning exploded into the garden of the Goth House.  The
ring of obsidian sycamore trees shattered, splintered, disintegrated
and were no more.

The Ravenlord, and his companions, were gone.


Poe

--- In TheGothHouse@yahoogroups.com, "Thom Truelove"
<majormagik@e...> wrote:
> This House had ever been intended as the refuge of Hope. And
> Zophiel's had just been restored. He stood, saying only,
>
> "Ravenlord."

	 The name echoed to the angel from the darkened corners of
the Cloister, and with each reflection back on Zophiel, it darkened
more.  The sound of his voice began to shred at the edges; began to
scratch and bite at his ears.  It cut into his skin with cold Autumn
wind.  The sound diminished to a whisper, then was gone.  Shadows
grew in the Cloister, in the House, in the quiet.
	 Zophiel felt something tighten in his chest, felt something
like a wave of fever wash over him for a moment, then recede.  The
water splashing in the fountain was distant, as though deep and far
away.  That was how Zophiel felt as the shadows stretched out to
him: very deep, and very far away -- a single flame in a limitless,
black void.
	 And then, he felt he wasn't alone.
	 The angel turned towards the slithering, wind-stretched
sound of shadows sliding aside for their master's entrance.  The
darkest shadow emerged, fixing its scarlet, burning eye on Zophiel.
The sanguine glow of the eye lit upon the shadows so that the angel
seemed to be standing knee-deep in dark, roiling blood.
         Zophiel focused on its pale, inscrutable face as he felt the
Ravenlord's hollow voice fill his mind.
	 *For Thought and Memory, you have had time enough and I have
dismissed them ... Have you enough to remember, angel?  Have you
need for more?*


Poe

>Rarely.
>Angels do sleep.

>Zophiel's head snapped up from his desk. He remembered
>working - rather diligently, in fact - on a very significant and ,
>lengthy project. For moments after waking, however, he could not
>deduce from the notes before him precisely what had been
>occupying his thoughts and time.

>This House had ever been intended as the refuge of Hope. And
>Zophiel's had just been restored. He stood, saying only,

>"Ravenlord."

Rarely.
Does the innkeeper of Arcadia sleep.

But I was catching a few winks in my little room in the attic of
The House when I felt a stirring in the air.  I sat up and looked
around in confusion, took a drink from the glass of water by my
cot.  I splashed some water on my face, pulled on my boots, headed
down to the bar feeling a bit confused.

Someone raised an eyebrow in my direction.  Asked if I was allright.

"Yeah...yeah, I'm okay.  Did you folks hear something?"

Blank looks.  I asked a shade for coffee, wondered again where He
had gone.




Winter

Rarely…
Angels do sleep.

And when they do, it can be for quite a long time. There are those
who say, particularly now, that it was for this reason that The
Goth House chose Arcadia as its home.

Zophiel's head snapped up from his desk. He remembered
working — rather diligently, in fact — on a very significant and
lengthy project. For moments after waking, however, he could not
deduce from the notes before him precisely what had been
occupying his thoughts and time.

And something else was missing.

"Hmm."

The angel stood and moved to the center of his study — glancing
from volume to ornament to implement. Nothing seemed out of
place. And as if it might be for want of a sound, Zophiel laughed.

"It's that damned skull. Those damned imps. Why bring it to me
so often and not lately?"

"Because, Spy, you've lost that keen perception." came a voice,
or perhaps two.

"Sigron… or Pihon?" said the master of The Goth House. "Or
both?"

"We are here."

"Then this must be the end."

"No." they may have said twice.

"Why visit me if this is not over?"

"There is a choice you must make before we'll know the answer
to that question. If it were truly ended, we would be here is out
other role. Or you would not be here at all."

"Where would I be?"

Zophiel had learned from long history never to attempt a glimpse
of the pair of angels who now addressed him. They were of the
highest order and madness could be the result of seeing their
forms. Still, their words often had the same effect.
The half-fallen angel concentrated as they spoke.

"It is because He loves you that you are a spy. What other reason
could there be for Him to employ such an agent?"

Zophiel returned to his desk. The space the skull most often
occupied, when not enigmatically in the possession of the imps,
was uncluttered — even free of dust.

"This is not my study."

"Then where would you be?"

Perception.

Very often the most obvious truth is so large that it cannot fully be
seen. Or, at least, not all at once. Zophiel's head snapped up
and he realized he had been napping in the Cloister. As this
reverie subsided, however, he could not remember the last time
he'd visited this part of The Goth House.

This House had ever been intended as the refuge of Hope. And
Zophiel's had just been restored. He stood, saying only,

"Ravenlord."

--- In TheGothHouse@yahoogroups.com, Bantrobel <bantrobel@y...> wrote:
>
At one point she turned back to the RavenLord, touched his
> hand briefly, and smiled up into his eye.
>
> "Merry Christmas love."


Smiling back, the Ravenlord took Rhiobhan's hand and kissed it.

*And to you, beloved ...* he said.


Poe

--- ravnlord <ravnlord@...> wrote:
> *Will you join me in drawing light into this darkened
> place?*
> asked the Ravenlord.  He started lighting candles along
> the bar.

Rhio smiled and snapped her fingers. Rowan bounded out of
the wall and started bouncing around the bar, barking and
licking everyone.

Rhio followed along behind, lighting candled and righting
whatever had been knocked over by the enthusiastic dog. At
one point she turned back to the RavenLord, touched his
hand briefly, and smiled up into his eye.

"Merry Christmas love."

^*^Rhiobhan^*^

=====
The Problem with defending the purity of the English language is that the
English language is as pure as a crib-house whore.  It not only borrows
words from other languages; it has on occasion chased other languages down
dark alley-ways, clubbed them unconscious and rifled their pockets for new
vocabulary. - James Nicoll

Check out my neato keen new website!!!!  http://www.morriganstears.com

New episode of Mope Opera coming soon...I swear!!!!

__________________________________
Do you Yahoo!?
New Yahoo! Photos - easier uploading and sharing.
http://photos.yahoo.com/

>  *Will you join me in drawing light into this darkened place?*
> asked the Ravenlord.  He started lighting candles along the bar.

I'd been lost in a deep reverie for a good while and the Ravenlord's request
jarred me out.  I shook my head and took notice of my surroundings again,
thinking that too many paying customers had been ignored while I thought of
the dreamworld.

"Keep a hold of that candle for just one more minute," I said.  I poured myself
a pinky of Irish whiskey and downed it.  The burn woke me up.

"All right, I'm back, I'll take care of lighting up the bar.  Sorry, folks, I
don't
know what came over me."

I went around creating light and asking, "Who needs a good, hot drink to drive
away the chill of the evening, eh?  And who's willing to give this poor
bartender a hug?"

Chance passed by and I whispered to her "I think I might want to go on that
trip, still game?"


W.

"Of course" Chance replies with twinkling eyes, and begins lighting a candleabra
helpfully lowered by one of the shades, while Winter lights the candles
surrounding the bar. "This is a busy time of year for me" Chance explained, "but
it's one of my favourites." The Ravenlord and Rhiobahn looked closely- around
Chance images seemed to flicker. Places that looked like Florida, New York,
small towns, empty flats. A used bookstore where two people purchase the same
book. A tenner on the ground brightens a worn face. A woman born on christmas
passes on before she can celebrate her birthday. But overall there is light,
surprise, and joy.

The first white flakes began to settle outside.

Chance smiles.

---

Joyous Yule everyone,

~elisabeth

In a message dated 12/24/2003 10:52:22 AM Eastern Standard Time,
ravnlord@... writes:

>
>     Leaving Winter and Chance to ponder the onset of a new
> adventure, the Ravenlord drifted over to the large fireplace.  The
> hearth was cold and dark.  He lifted a hefty log from the bin and
> tossed it onto the grate, then gathered some kindling beneath it.
> The Ravenlord took a long match from a box on the wall, struck it,
> and set the flame to the kindling.  Soon, he had a cheery blaze
> going, and warmth and light began to fill the empty hall.
>     Tossing what was left of the match into the flames, the
> Ravenlord stood back from the hearth and stared into the fire.  The
> flickering glow mingled with the Ravenlord's fiery gaze, and he let
> out a long, heavy sigh.  The shadows swirling around him subsided in
> their riotous dance, and stole away to remote corners of the hall.
> The Ravenlord spoke into the flames: *In the darkest time of year,
> Nightmare grants a reprieve to all ...*
>     With that, he reached out with one hand.  It disappeared into
> a void beyond sight and reason.  The Ravenlord stepped back from this
> void, and his hand emerged from nothingness, holding onto someone
> else's hand.  As the Ravenlord moved further back, a slender,
> tattooed arm emerged, followed by the rest of a somewhat disoriented
> Rhiobhan.  She looked around, confusion twitching on her face.  Her
> eyes were bloodshot from tears lately shed.  The Ravenlord touched
> his slender hand to her cheek, and she looked up into his single,
> burning eye.  He spoke again: *The Scarlet One overestimates
> himself ... You are never hidden from me ... All I need to find you
> is to look into my heart ...*
>     Rhiobhan smiled and rested her head on his chest.  With one
> arm wrapped around her, the Ravenlord reached up to the mantle and
> removed two tapers from their holders.  One he handed to her, the
> other he held into the fire to light.  This one he held to
> Rhiobhan's, so that her candle flamed into light and life.  He took
> two more tapers from the mantle and walked over to Chance and
> Winter.  He handed one to both and, in turn, lit them from his own.
>     *Will you join me in drawing light into this darkened place?*
> asked the Ravenlord.  He started lighting candles along the bar.
>
>
>
> <OCC: What can I say, I get wistful and nostalgic around
> Yule-time.
> Happy holidays, to one and all.>
>
> Poe
>
>
>
> THE GOTH HOUSE
> 88 Arcadia Street
>
> Yahoo! Groups Links
>
> To visit your group on the web, go to:
>  http://groups.yahoo.com/group/TheGothHouse/
>
> To unsubscribe from this group, send an email to:
>  TheGothHouse-unsubscribe@yahoogroups.com
>
> Your use of Yahoo! Groups is subject to:
>  http://docs.yahoo.com/info/terms/
>
>
>
>
>

Leaving Winter and Chance to ponder the onset of a new
adventure, the Ravenlord drifted over to the large fireplace.  The
hearth was cold and dark.  He lifted a hefty log from the bin and
tossed it onto the grate, then gathered some kindling beneath it.
The Ravenlord took a long match from a box on the wall, struck it,
and set the flame to the kindling.  Soon, he had a cheery blaze
going, and warmth and light began to fill the empty hall.
	 Tossing what was left of the match into the flames, the
Ravenlord stood back from the hearth and stared into the fire.  The
flickering glow mingled with the Ravenlord's fiery gaze, and he let
out a long, heavy sigh.  The shadows swirling around him subsided in
their riotous dance, and stole away to remote corners of the hall.
The Ravenlord spoke into the flames: *In the darkest time of year,
Nightmare grants a reprieve to all ...*
	 With that, he reached out with one hand.  It disappeared into
a void beyond sight and reason.  The Ravenlord stepped back from this
void, and his hand emerged from nothingness, holding onto someone
else's hand.  As the Ravenlord moved further back, a slender,
tattooed arm emerged, followed by the rest of a somewhat disoriented
Rhiobhan.  She looked around, confusion twitching on her face.  Her
eyes were bloodshot from tears lately shed.  The Ravenlord touched
his slender hand to her cheek, and she looked up into his single,
burning eye.  He spoke again: *The Scarlet One overestimates
himself ... You are never hidden from me ... All I need to find you
is to look into my heart ...*
	 Rhiobhan smiled and rested her head on his chest.  With one
arm wrapped around her, the Ravenlord reached up to the mantle and
removed two tapers from their holders.  One he handed to her, the
other he held into the fire to light.  This one he held to
Rhiobhan's, so that her candle flamed into light and life.  He took
two more tapers from the mantle and walked over to Chance and
Winter.  He handed one to both and, in turn, lit them from his own.
	 *Will you join me in drawing light into this darkened place?*
asked the Ravenlord.  He started lighting candles along the bar.



<OCC: What can I say, I get wistful and nostalgic around Yule-time.
Happy holidays, to one and all.>

Poe

In TheGothHouse@yahoogroups.com, Winter <bridgewalker@e...> wrote:
>I turned to the Ravenlord, "How do I know that I might not set foot
off the train and vanish into some sort of limbo? Chance would
probably be protected by her power or skill or curse or whatever
you want to call it."

Then, In TheGothHouse@yahoogroups.com, bitogoth@a... wrote:
>Chance paused a moment and turned her eyes to the RavenLord as she
continued, "Friends are rare in any World, especially for those who
travel Between."
--------------------------------------------------------------------

The Ravenlord regarded them in silence.  He lifted the orchid goblet
to his lips and, slowly, drained the last of his drink.  As the final
drop passed into his mouth, the living vessel wilted, then cracked,
then crumbled away into dust.  The Ravenlord rose from the barstool
and he turned his singular, burning eye on Winter.  Winter felt the
Ravenlord's voice form in his mind.

*You must weigh if the price you might pay is worth the truth
you gain ... It is not for me to answer ... I can tell you this ...
If Chance had not smiled upon you with favor, I would have gone with
you, and gladly ... But she has, and I have another path to
travel ...*

Then the Ravenlord turned to Chance, and she felt the voice.

*Indeed, a friend is a rare and precious thing for those such as
we ... To be sure, it is not familiar in Nightmare ...*

The Ravenlord shook his head, slowly, as he continued:

*So much has changed since I came here ...*


Poe

In a message dated 11/11/2003 5:33:19 PM Eastern Standard Time,
bridgewalker@... writes:

> "Chance, you honor me.  Are you certain you'd want to go on such
> a journey?  Especially since where we'd go might not exist?"

Chance's eyes twinkled, but she responded somberly enough: "I have Traveled far
less pleasant places than this House, and seen, and been, Things that few here
have imagined or Dreamed. My presence may not been the boon that you see it, but
I offer it to you gladly." Chance paused a moment and turned her eyes to the
RavenLord as she continued, "Friends are rare in any World, especially for those
who travel Between."

> "And, I..I.." I looked away from the RavenLord's eyes in shame,
  "I'm afraid
  > to travel alone."

  A cool hand reached out and laid itself lightly on the barkeep's.
  Chance had been sitting nearby, her conversation with Samantha long
  over. Things had been flickering behind her eyes: Atlanta, Seattle,
  Vancouver, Victoria, Tacoma. Chance didn't even need to leave the
  house any more- her awareness was split between the worlds she
  traveled. And maybe it was time to get out of the House for a bit.

  "I will Travel with you, if you Choose to go."

_____________________________________________________

I covered the small hand of the lovely Chance with one of mine.
My admiriation for her was deep...she'd traveled so far and seen
many things and still graced my bar with grace and charm and wit.

Hah.  My bar.  Sometimes I'd forget that I was merely a caretaker, that
the House belonged to a remote and mighty force.  A force that had
vanished and left me to bumble along and make sure the place kept
running.

Patrons like Chance would come along and make it all worthwhile.

"Chance, you honor me.  Are you certain you'd want to go on such
a journey?  Especially since where we'd go might not exist?"

I turned to the Ravenlord, "How do I know that I might not set foot
off the train and vanish into some sort of limbo?  Chance would
probably be protected by her power or skill or curse or whatever
you want to call it."

I felt like a coward.  Yet it's one thing to face death, another to face
complete nullification.

"Someone would have to take over the bar...and perhaps a third
companion...and I'd want to talk to Rhioban before I left."

Chance squeezed my arm and I loved her.



W.

Screaming.

Not just one, but a multi-toned eldritch banshee howl of
grief and despair rends the stories into pieces and
dissolves them in a wash of pain.

Rhio appears in the bar, freed from her story temporarily,
the cataclysmic noise emenating from her throat. She drops
to the middle of the dance floor, sobbing. The wail goes on
long after her mouth is closed, finally spiraling in on her
shaking form.

In her hands she holds a blue embroidered collar and some
dog tags.

Slowly, a silver nimbus appears around her, then swirls
into a shape that gradually becomes recognizable as that of
a fuzzy medium-sized dog. The dog becomes solid, some last
sparkles in her fur, as she reaches out her muzzle and
nudges Rhio's arm, then licks it in a hopeful way. The rest
of the story hear, in a way, 'mom? S'ok mom. 'm here now.'

Rhio looks up, then throws her arms around the dog and
begins sobbing again. The two fade from view, back into her
story. But now, and forever, she is not alone.


^*^Rhio^*^

For my darling muppy.
Rowan - 1995-2003
Forever With Me.


=====
The Problem with defending the purity of the English language is that the
English language is as pure as a crib-house whore.  It not only borrows
words from other languages; it has on occasion chased other languages down
dark alley-ways, clubbed them unconscious and rifled their pockets for new
vocabulary. - James Nicoll

Check out my neato keen new website!!!!  http://www.morriganstears.com

New episode of Mope Opera coming soon...I swear!!!!

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> "And, I..I.."  I looked away from the RavenLord's eyes in shame,
"I'm afraid
> to travel alone."

A cool hand reached out and laid itself lightly on the barkeep's.
Chance had been sitting nearby, her conversation with Samantha long
over. Things had been flickering behind her eyes: Atlanta, Seattle,
Vancouver,  Victoria, Tacoma. Chance didn't even need to leave the
house any more- her awareness was split between the worlds she
traveled. And maybe it was time to get out of the House for a bit.

"I will Travel with you, if you Choose to go."

> *The choice is yours ... You have it, with my thanks ...*

I hesitated for a moment.  Aye, indeed I had always believed that I was
nothing more than someone else's dream.  Years ago I had stumbled into
Arcadia from a door in another world...a world that I could no longer
find and no other patron had ever crossed.

Rhioban the librarian had no book, the wandering Chance had never seen it,
the Magician John Taney knew of no such place.

5 years in this House and I'd never left by the front door.  I was afraid,
afraid that if I opened that door I would vanish back into the dreaming.  So
I came and went by the service entrance or my bedroom window.

I took the coin, unsure if I would spend it.

"Ravenlord, how do I know that I wouldn't meet oblivion?"

I drank a glass of cool water.

"And, I..I.."  I looked away from the RavenLord's eyes in shame, "I'm afraid
to travel alone."




W.