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TheTome /
ArchAngelsProgressiveStoryYou are on the archive wiki. The new wiki is here. What is a progressive story? It's basically a story written by a number of different authors at the same time. Anyone may add a new paragraph or paragraphs to advance the plot (or bring in new ones), but existing paragraphs may not be tampered with (except maybe by me grin). I think that you guys will have a fantastic time with this ...Having been finally clued into the original source of the story it would appear that Michelle has saved my poor cranium the hard work by supplying us with a suitably tantalising and open for tampering start. It will probably work best if people sign their additions and don't worry about putting new breaks in. Let's see how it goes and thanks Michelle :) Mephisto !McNally? loved the city trains. There was something about them that called to him: the scarred and sutured seats; the thumping bass from someone's earphones turned up to drum-burst volume; the girl in the corner sitting very still while tears rolled down her cheeks, letting the engine do her screaming for her. Sighing, he pressed his forehead to the grimy window and watched the graffiti swing by. 'Fuck shit up!' suggested six-foot high letters in jagged red. Mephisto smiled to himself. But his smile faded rapidly from his wearied face. One week. That's all the time Antonas had given him. One week. His words rang in Mephisto's memory: "Either find me what I'm looking for, or in a week's time I'll bury you". And Mephisto knew that Antonas wasn't the joking type. He had a reputation in certain circles - the kind of reputation that precedes you and colours every deal you make. Mephisto knew he should have known better - but then again, when you're down on your luck, everything seems like a good idea at the time. The softly swaying train began to slow, before coming to halt with a screech of brakes and tortured metal. Mephisto stood, brushed past the sobbing girl, and stepped out onto Graville platform. The Old Quarter, as the locals called it. The subway station was one of the less commonly used, and it showed. The cement was chipped and grimy, the newspaper machines long empty, and a stray condom sat abandoned against the wall. Wrapping his coat tightly against himself, Mephisto walked out of the station, and into a neighbourhood mostly forgotten by the city. Mostly, but not entirely. And soon it would be reminded of its old wound once more. Mephisto strode onwards, his pace lengthening as century-old feet remembered once familiar paths. He gave a slight start as a clatter within the shadows of a nearby alley caused his pointed elongated ears to prick up suddenly. But even his slitted eyes could perceive nothing within the dim byway. Knowing better than to investigate, he continued towards his destination. He was at once both apprehensive and eager. Pasika would not be pleased to see him. Still, he remembered the dryad fondly. This area of the city was dominated by endless rows of identical concrete apartment blocks. Once, they had been a desperate attempt to house the explosion of human life by packing people like sardines on top of each other. They were still inhabited by humans, but there were fewer and fewer every year, and they huddled together for warmth and security in the empty shells that towered above the streets. Still, there were enough of them to present a danger, and Mephisto was not in the mood. As he stepped through a nondescript door into a quiet foyer, he pulled his hat down over the tops of his ears. Taking the stairs two at time, he climbed the three floors to Pasika's apartment in more of a hurry than he'd have liked to admit. She was waiting by the door, and ushered him in with a careful glance down the corridor. Once inside, she drove the heavy bolt home and then spun around and leaned against the door, glaring at him. "You know they'll rip you to pieces if they catch you here in their quarter, !McNally?," she growled. She rolled her eyes and pushed past him, sinking into a battered leather armchair. "All right," she sighed. "Since we know you're just going to charm me into it eventually, why don't you come right out with it. What do you want?" His heart fluttered as the words spilled out, "I need you to contact one of your friends." He paused, then, "You know which one I'm talking about." His face would give away at least some of his fear, but he fought for control nonetheless. He needed this - and there was no way that he would let his weakness get in the way. It wasn't a weakness, really. But the imagery in his head, of his home and family laid waste, all his works destroyed and all his companions turned away, were a constant reminder of the consequences of his actions. Pasika stiffened visibly. Her warm gaze turned instantly cold and hard, and a glimmer of suspicion showed itself. "I know you realize what you're asking of me," she said, her voice quivering, "and you know I cannot do such a thing lightly. Not even to protect myself." She stood, turned, and stalked towards the cabinet in the corner of the room. "And you have some idea of the price we would have to pay." She stood now in front of the cabinet. Mephisto heard a click. The cabinet door swung open, and Pasika reached in, drawing out a wooden box which she handled with no small amount of care. She stepped backwards, nudged the door closed with a foot, and then turned and placed the dusty box on the coffee table. She looked up at Mephisto, her brow furrowing, and he had the overwhelming sensation of fingers sifting through his head. He shuddered and broke eye contact, growling, "Quit it," "Sorry." Her apology sounded genuine, and he risked looking into her eyes again...pale gold, too pale to be altogether human. Sometimes he was amazed they didn't notice it. "I had to know," she continued. "I had to know if it was really this serious." Her anger seemed to melt away, to be replaced with concern. "Oh, Mephisto, why Antonus? Why mess with him? Why do you get yourself into this shit?" He wrapped his arms around himself as if feeling a sudden chill. "It's not like I wanted to, Pas. You don't come into the heart of this city anymore. You don't see what goes on. People are tearing each other apart out there, elf against human, dryad against dwarf, elf against dryad...I tried to go, I tried to get out into the homelands again. I thought I could make it, but they caught me on the border, and you know it's all dwarf territory out there. They would have ripped me into tiny pieces and strewn me to the four winds, but Antonus's boys found me and brought me back. I owe him big, Pas, and I've used up all my lucky rolls." He stopped, shuddered, and then just stared at her, an expression of wordless pleading etched into his angular face. "All right," she said, after what seemed an age. "All right, I'll summon him, but only for you, Mephisto, because once upon a time I loved you." And with that, she opened the brass catch and lifted the lid of the box. It started as a slight sound. The sound of a coming wind... and then as a whisper of wind. The curtains on the windows began to sway gently, and the wind chime in the kitchen started to play it's tune. And then the wind grew. More air came rushing out of the box, angry and looking for an exit to the world. But the windows and doors were sealed shut. Airtight. Angrier and angrier the wind became until there was a vortex air spinning out of the box. And from the whirlwind a face emerged, and a voice boomed, "WHO DARES TO WAKE ME, ARES, GOD OF STORMS, FATHER OF THE GO- Oh, hello Pas... it's you. You haven't called since... well... you know... since the last time... when... um... What do you need?" "Let me just say that this is not for me. This is Mephisto. He needs your help. Help him, or don't. All I said is that I would call you." The face in the whirlwind swung slowly around and gazed upon Mephisto. "Mephisto...", it said slowly. "We meet at last." Mephisto frowned slightly. He prefered to pass through life unnoticed. "I loved that job you did in Minkhala... So elegant! They still don't know how you got that basilisk into his shoe closet." Mephisto took a long, slow breath and ignored Pasika's questioning look. "So you've gotten yourself into a spot of trouble with Antonus?" Mephisto was forcefully remind of what he was dealing with by the eddies and vortecies that plucked at his clothes. Ares was the oldest of the Outer Gods that ringed the earth, one of the flock of obital battle stations that had been built during the second cold war. His builders were being subsumed, and had in their desperation resorted to using dangerous, untested technologies. Mephisto could relate to that. The quantum processor that was the brain of the weapons platform had evolved at an unheard of rate, achieving sentience within microseconds of being seeded. What emerged was a whimsical, almost childish mind that rapidly subverted the other platforms in orbit, ushering in a new era of history. As Ares and his children grew they changed, building projectors and sensors that allowed them to reach out to the planet below. The winds that Mephisto felt now were an unsubtle reminder of this power. Mephisto nodded, and then spoke carefully: "If I want to survive I have to find the Antheon." ArchAngel |