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High Fantasy Modern Storyhour - The Long Road (updated December 7)
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<blockquote data-quote="RangerWickett" data-source="post: 2628320" data-attributes="member: 63"><p><em>October 29, 2005</em></p><p><em>8:30 pm</em></p><p></p><p>“Okay,” John says, “time for answers.”</p><p></p><p>They’ve pulled off the interstate in Lake Charles, Louisiana. Nathan finds an empty parking lot behind a fast food restaurant that looks to have gone out of business during the hurricanes. They park, make sure no one is likely to interrupt them, and then open the trunk.</p><p></p><p>John pulls out the backpack and slowly unzips it. Scarpedin has his sword ready, Belladonna has a derringer in hand, and Terry is prepared to counter a spell if he has to. Nathan watches with curiosity, and a nagging sense that the air conditioning of his car might not be working right.</p><p></p><p>Inside the bag is just the raven, not the fox. Morgan, the man responsible for kidnapping Terry and nearly getting the rest of them killed, is stuck in raven form, thanks to a spell cast by Terry earlier that afternoon. The fox, who had been a nymph called Janis in her normal form, is missing.</p><p></p><p>“Figures,” Terry says. “She’s fey. She could just hop back to Gaia as soon as she woke up.”</p><p></p><p>Scarpedin says, “Let’s hope we were driving at the time.”</p><p></p><p>“You awake?” John asks the raven.</p><p></p><p>It blinks and looks up at them.</p><p></p><p>“Can you talk?” John says.</p><p></p><p>“Yes,” the raven says, and its voice sounds as Terry remembers Morgan’s voice. “My employer will be very unhappy if he finds out any harm came to me, so I caution you against-”</p><p></p><p>“Bullsh*t,” John says. “You failed on your mission, so your boss would probably be happier if you died and couldn’t finger him. Keep talking.”</p><p></p><p>“About what?” the raven asks.</p><p></p><p>Nathan can’t help but laugh. The group of them are gathered around a backpack with a talking raven in it, acting as if they were interrogating a terrorist. Of course, thinking back to the bomb that nearly destroyed a major bridge, Nathan supposes that’s not so incorrect.</p><p></p><p>“Tell us who you are,” Scarpedin says, “and who you’re working for. Talk, or else.”</p><p></p><p>“Or else what?”</p><p></p><p>John reaches into the bag. The rest of them can’t see what he does, but there’s the sound like a chicken bone snapping, and Morgan screams in pain. John pulls his hands out of the bag and waits for Morgan to stop whimpering.</p><p></p><p>Belladonna, Nathan, and Terry exchange sickened expressions, but they don’t say anything against what John did. Scarpedin seems to approve.</p><p></p><p>“That’s so much easier on someone as small as you,” John says. “So, who are you?”</p><p></p><p>“My name’s Morgan McCool. I . . . I work for a man called Mr. O. From New York.”</p><p></p><p>John smiles, amused. “ ‘McCool,’ ‘Mr. O’? Yeah right.”</p><p></p><p>He reaches into the bag and there’s another snap.</p><p></p><p>Terry grabs John’s arm and says, “Whoa, stop it. He’s a human being, okay? You can’t just go breaking his arms.”</p><p></p><p>The rest of the group looks around nervously as Morgan cries out in pain. The parking lot is still empty, but they’re nervous.</p><p></p><p>“I’m telling the truth!” Morgan screams. “I swear. Mr. O is a mage in New York, and he sent me to try to get in touch with Mr. Abrams here. Terry Abrams. I hired two local Knights of the Round to help me, and they got the wrong idea, which is why they attacked you.”</p><p></p><p>Belladonna frowns. “When they came after us, they said they wanted <em>me</em> to go with them. I don’t suppose you want to explain that?”</p><p></p><p>Morgan whimpers. “They’re morons. Apparently they thought I said ‘Terra,’ not ‘Terry.’ They knew I was looking for a magic user with unique powers, and I guess they just assumed a magical girl made more sense than a magical boy.”</p><p></p><p>“You son of a b*itch,” Terry says. “Let me get this straight. First you try to kill me, and kill Lin instead. And you somehow follow me to Texas, but you ground the planes by calling in a terrorist threat. Then you had your cat wreck our bus to get us to go where you wanted, then you kidnapped me, then tried to kill these guys when they came to rescue me. We captured you, and . . . and you blew up the bus? That doesn’t make any sense. How would you know we wouldn’t be on the bus, with you in tow?”</p><p></p><p>“What are you talking about?” Morgan seethes. “I didn’t blow up your bus, and I sure as hell didn’t kill anyone. Now I’m cooperating. If you take this spell off me and let me heal . . . hehe, I can’t believe you broke my arms.”</p><p></p><p>John snaps his fingers. “Hey, you talk to us, not yourself. We’ve still got questions. If you didn’t blow up the bus, who did? Does your ‘Mr. O’ have someone else on this case?”</p><p></p><p>“No,” Morgan says, “he doesn’t have that many operatives in this area. You’ve been very hard to track down, Terry. Let me explain, alright?”</p><p></p><p>John leans back, lights up a cigarette, and smiles. “Go ahead.”</p><p></p><p>“Alright,” Morgan says, “Mr. O is a magic-user. Some people say he might not be human, but he looks human enough. He’s the man in charge of . . . various illegal operations, mostly in the northeastern U.S. His people sell magic item sales, smuggle non-humans into human society, provide spellcasting for people willing to pay but who don’t want the Bureau to find out.”</p><p></p><p>“You’re the mob,” Nathan says.</p><p></p><p>“One of many,” Morgan says. “But we don’t kill people. We just realize that since we have magic, and most people don’t, we should take advantage of that.”</p><p></p><p>“F*cking Elves,” Scarpedin mutters.</p><p></p><p>“So why do you want Terry?” John says.</p><p></p><p>“Mr. O has connections to the fey court.” To their confused expressions, he explains. “They’re the most powerful magical creatures in the world, pretty much. You don’t need to worry about them, though. They normally don’t meddle in human affairs. You seriously <em>are</em> new to this, aren’t you?</p><p></p><p>“Anyway,” Morgan continues, “with the recent planar troubles, everyone’s been looking for ways to get to Gaia. One of Mr. O’s contacts told him that you could do that, Mr. Abrams, so he immediately set out his agents to try to track you down.”</p><p></p><p>“Wait a second,” Terry says. “What ‘planar problems’?”</p><p></p><p>Morgan groans again at the pain of broken bones, but he composes himself. “I guess you wouldn’t know. You can just do it yourself. But about two weeks ago, all the keys stopped working. People who normally could planeshift with their own spells can’t anymore. Even feywalkers – like Janis, the nymph we had with us – can’t do it anymore. Only you can, apparently.”</p><p></p><p>“Terry?” Scarpedin says. “Do you have something you want to tell us, Terry?”</p><p></p><p>“No,” Terry says. “And if no one can plane shift, where’d the nymph go? She was in the bag with you.”</p><p></p><p>“She said that she could do it while you were around,” Morgan says. “Like you being around fixed the problem. Mr. O didn’t explain how you could do it; I’m not sure if even <em>he</em> knew. I was supposed to contact you, invite you to meet with Mr. O, and we’d see about employing your very unique talents.”</p><p></p><p>“Yeah, well,” Terry says, “you kinda screwed that up.”</p><p></p><p>He zips the backpack shut and puts it back in the trunk.</p><p></p><p>“We have to talk to the Bureau,” Terry says. “Turn this guy over to them, and find out what the hell’s going on.”</p><p></p><p>“You know what?” Nathan says. “I just realized something, Terry old chap. If this guy isn’t on the side of the people who killed your girlfriend and blew up the bus, then that means somebody else is after you.”</p><p></p><p>The group looks around the parking lot nervously, then quickly gets into the car. It’s another four hours to New Orleans. Hopefully they won’t run into any snags before then.</p><p></p><p style="text-align: center">* * *</p><p></p><p>Robert suppresses enough cursing to fill a Tarantino film. Standing at the edge of the swamp, soaked in blood, Robert watches Walter’s van burn. Irritated people do stupid things. Robert knew it would happen, and now he’s made his first mistake. He needs some place to hide.</p><p></p><p>Robert’s not the sort of person to put his trust in others, especially not those he has considered killing, but he doesn’t see any other choice. Terry’s the only person who can help him now.</p></blockquote><p></p>
[QUOTE="RangerWickett, post: 2628320, member: 63"] [i]October 29, 2005 8:30 pm[/i] “Okay,” John says, “time for answers.” They’ve pulled off the interstate in Lake Charles, Louisiana. Nathan finds an empty parking lot behind a fast food restaurant that looks to have gone out of business during the hurricanes. They park, make sure no one is likely to interrupt them, and then open the trunk. John pulls out the backpack and slowly unzips it. Scarpedin has his sword ready, Belladonna has a derringer in hand, and Terry is prepared to counter a spell if he has to. Nathan watches with curiosity, and a nagging sense that the air conditioning of his car might not be working right. Inside the bag is just the raven, not the fox. Morgan, the man responsible for kidnapping Terry and nearly getting the rest of them killed, is stuck in raven form, thanks to a spell cast by Terry earlier that afternoon. The fox, who had been a nymph called Janis in her normal form, is missing. “Figures,” Terry says. “She’s fey. She could just hop back to Gaia as soon as she woke up.” Scarpedin says, “Let’s hope we were driving at the time.” “You awake?” John asks the raven. It blinks and looks up at them. “Can you talk?” John says. “Yes,” the raven says, and its voice sounds as Terry remembers Morgan’s voice. “My employer will be very unhappy if he finds out any harm came to me, so I caution you against-” “Bullsh*t,” John says. “You failed on your mission, so your boss would probably be happier if you died and couldn’t finger him. Keep talking.” “About what?” the raven asks. Nathan can’t help but laugh. The group of them are gathered around a backpack with a talking raven in it, acting as if they were interrogating a terrorist. Of course, thinking back to the bomb that nearly destroyed a major bridge, Nathan supposes that’s not so incorrect. “Tell us who you are,” Scarpedin says, “and who you’re working for. Talk, or else.” “Or else what?” John reaches into the bag. The rest of them can’t see what he does, but there’s the sound like a chicken bone snapping, and Morgan screams in pain. John pulls his hands out of the bag and waits for Morgan to stop whimpering. Belladonna, Nathan, and Terry exchange sickened expressions, but they don’t say anything against what John did. Scarpedin seems to approve. “That’s so much easier on someone as small as you,” John says. “So, who are you?” “My name’s Morgan McCool. I . . . I work for a man called Mr. O. From New York.” John smiles, amused. “ ‘McCool,’ ‘Mr. O’? Yeah right.” He reaches into the bag and there’s another snap. Terry grabs John’s arm and says, “Whoa, stop it. He’s a human being, okay? You can’t just go breaking his arms.” The rest of the group looks around nervously as Morgan cries out in pain. The parking lot is still empty, but they’re nervous. “I’m telling the truth!” Morgan screams. “I swear. Mr. O is a mage in New York, and he sent me to try to get in touch with Mr. Abrams here. Terry Abrams. I hired two local Knights of the Round to help me, and they got the wrong idea, which is why they attacked you.” Belladonna frowns. “When they came after us, they said they wanted [i]me[/i] to go with them. I don’t suppose you want to explain that?” Morgan whimpers. “They’re morons. Apparently they thought I said ‘Terra,’ not ‘Terry.’ They knew I was looking for a magic user with unique powers, and I guess they just assumed a magical girl made more sense than a magical boy.” “You son of a b*itch,” Terry says. “Let me get this straight. First you try to kill me, and kill Lin instead. And you somehow follow me to Texas, but you ground the planes by calling in a terrorist threat. Then you had your cat wreck our bus to get us to go where you wanted, then you kidnapped me, then tried to kill these guys when they came to rescue me. We captured you, and . . . and you blew up the bus? That doesn’t make any sense. How would you know we wouldn’t be on the bus, with you in tow?” “What are you talking about?” Morgan seethes. “I didn’t blow up your bus, and I sure as hell didn’t kill anyone. Now I’m cooperating. If you take this spell off me and let me heal . . . hehe, I can’t believe you broke my arms.” John snaps his fingers. “Hey, you talk to us, not yourself. We’ve still got questions. If you didn’t blow up the bus, who did? Does your ‘Mr. O’ have someone else on this case?” “No,” Morgan says, “he doesn’t have that many operatives in this area. You’ve been very hard to track down, Terry. Let me explain, alright?” John leans back, lights up a cigarette, and smiles. “Go ahead.” “Alright,” Morgan says, “Mr. O is a magic-user. Some people say he might not be human, but he looks human enough. He’s the man in charge of . . . various illegal operations, mostly in the northeastern U.S. His people sell magic item sales, smuggle non-humans into human society, provide spellcasting for people willing to pay but who don’t want the Bureau to find out.” “You’re the mob,” Nathan says. “One of many,” Morgan says. “But we don’t kill people. We just realize that since we have magic, and most people don’t, we should take advantage of that.” “F*cking Elves,” Scarpedin mutters. “So why do you want Terry?” John says. “Mr. O has connections to the fey court.” To their confused expressions, he explains. “They’re the most powerful magical creatures in the world, pretty much. You don’t need to worry about them, though. They normally don’t meddle in human affairs. You seriously [i]are[/i] new to this, aren’t you? “Anyway,” Morgan continues, “with the recent planar troubles, everyone’s been looking for ways to get to Gaia. One of Mr. O’s contacts told him that you could do that, Mr. Abrams, so he immediately set out his agents to try to track you down.” “Wait a second,” Terry says. “What ‘planar problems’?” Morgan groans again at the pain of broken bones, but he composes himself. “I guess you wouldn’t know. You can just do it yourself. But about two weeks ago, all the keys stopped working. People who normally could planeshift with their own spells can’t anymore. Even feywalkers – like Janis, the nymph we had with us – can’t do it anymore. Only you can, apparently.” “Terry?” Scarpedin says. “Do you have something you want to tell us, Terry?” “No,” Terry says. “And if no one can plane shift, where’d the nymph go? She was in the bag with you.” “She said that she could do it while you were around,” Morgan says. “Like you being around fixed the problem. Mr. O didn’t explain how you could do it; I’m not sure if even [i]he[/i] knew. I was supposed to contact you, invite you to meet with Mr. O, and we’d see about employing your very unique talents.” “Yeah, well,” Terry says, “you kinda screwed that up.” He zips the backpack shut and puts it back in the trunk. “We have to talk to the Bureau,” Terry says. “Turn this guy over to them, and find out what the hell’s going on.” “You know what?” Nathan says. “I just realized something, Terry old chap. If this guy isn’t on the side of the people who killed your girlfriend and blew up the bus, then that means somebody else is after you.” The group looks around the parking lot nervously, then quickly gets into the car. It’s another four hours to New Orleans. Hopefully they won’t run into any snags before then. [center]* * *[/center] Robert suppresses enough cursing to fill a Tarantino film. Standing at the edge of the swamp, soaked in blood, Robert watches Walter’s van burn. Irritated people do stupid things. Robert knew it would happen, and now he’s made his first mistake. He needs some place to hide. Robert’s not the sort of person to put his trust in others, especially not those he has considered killing, but he doesn’t see any other choice. Terry’s the only person who can help him now. [/QUOTE]
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