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From: owner-arfic-l-digest@lists.xmission.com (arfic-l-digest) To: arfic-l-digest@lists.xmission.com Subject: arfic-l-digest V1 #1 Reply-To: arfic-l-digest Sender: owner-arfic-l-digest@lists.xmission.com Errors-To: owner-arfic-l-digest@lists.xmission.com Precedence: bulk arfic-l-digest Tuesday, January 30 2001 Volume 01 : Number 001 ---------------------------------------------------------------------- Date: Tue, 30 Jan 2001 19:12:48 -0600 From: Wendy Kelley <ladyslvr@xmission.com> Subject: (arfic-l) test/teaser Wendy here. As Michele and I try to get this list all set up, there're bound to be a few test messages. This is one of them. Do not try this at home. I'm no good at archive fics, so to keep this on topic in the only way I know here, here's a very brief teaser from a Tomorrow People story that I've been working on for two years now, and which may or may not ever see the light of day. "I think it's a place to start. Where's the library?" Adam held up his hands, palms facing her. He wants to teleport there? Lisa thought. Oh, won't that be a riot . . . in more ways than one. "About two blocks from here," she answered, deliberately not matching his gesture. "but," she looked significantly at his feet on which he had slipped a pair of laceless shoes appropriate for the beach and little else, "You're going to need socks." "Socks?" "And a jacket. Remember, December in this part of the world means winter. It's cold outside. And we can't just teleport in." Off his confused look, she explained, "Finals are next week; the place is going to be packed." ... Wendy - - To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "majordomo@xmission.com" with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message. For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send "help" to the same address. Do not use quotes in your message. ------------------------------ Date: Tue, 30 Jan 2001 21:24:43 -0500 From: "Alternate Realities Archivist" <archive@alternate-realities.net> Subject: (arfic-l) This is only a test... This is a multi-part message in MIME format. - ------=_NextPart_000_00CB_01C08B03.10175060 Content-Type: text/plain; charset="iso-8859-1" Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable "We can help," Willow tapped the frustrated woman at the computer on the = shoulder. "Tara and I know a spell --" Michele whipped around and glared at the witch. "No spells. I'm going to = make this work if it's the last thing I do." "Actually, I was thinking about a spell to make sure you don't break the = keyboard the next time you pound on it like that." "Oh, you're a real riot tonight, Willow. And you're supposed to be the = computer whiz ... why aren't you whizzing?" "Maybe it's because you won't let me near *my* computer." Tara looked up, "I know a --" the blonde witch looked away at the = coldness in Michele's glare, "A good place to order pizza. This may be a = while." *** This has been a test of posting ability. I now return you to your = regularly scheduled email. Michele - ------=_NextPart_000_00CB_01C08B03.10175060 Content-Type: text/html; charset="iso-8859-1" Content-Transfer-Encoding: quoted-printable <!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.0 Transitional//EN"> <HTML><HEAD> <META http-equiv=3DContent-Type content=3D"text/html; = charset=3Diso-8859-1"> <META content=3D"MSHTML 5.50.4134.600" name=3DGENERATOR> <STYLE></STYLE> </HEAD> <BODY bgColor=3D#ffffff> <DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2>"We can help," Willow tapped the = frustrated woman=20 at the computer on the shoulder. "Tara and I know a spell = - --"</FONT></DIV> <DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2></FONT> </DIV> <DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2>Michele whipped around and glared at = the witch. "No=20 spells. I'm going to make this work if it's the last thing I = do."</FONT></DIV> <DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2></FONT> </DIV> <DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2>"Actually, I was thinking about a spell = to make=20 sure you don't break the keyboard the next time you pound on it like=20 that."</FONT></DIV> <DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2></FONT> </DIV> <DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2>"Oh, you're a real riot tonight, = Willow. And you're=20 supposed to be the computer whiz ... why aren't you = whizzing?"</FONT></DIV> <DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2></FONT> </DIV> <DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2>"Maybe it's because you won't let me = near *my*=20 computer."</FONT></DIV> <DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2></FONT> </DIV> <DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2>Tara looked up, "I know a --" the = blonde witch=20 looked away at the coldness in Michele's glare, "A good place to order = pizza.=20 This may be a while."</FONT></DIV> <DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2></FONT> </DIV> <DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2>***</FONT></DIV> <DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2></FONT> </DIV> <DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2>This has been a test of posting = ability. I now=20 return you to your regularly scheduled email.</FONT></DIV> <DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2></FONT> </DIV> <DIV><FONT face=3DArial size=3D2>Michele</FONT></DIV></BODY></HTML> - ------=_NextPart_000_00CB_01C08B03.10175060-- - - To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "majordomo@xmission.com" with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message. For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send "help" to the same address. Do not use quotes in your message. ------------------------------ Date: Tue, 30 Jan 2001 21:36:03 -0500 From: "Michele Bumbarger" <mbumbarger@neo.rr.com> Subject: (arfic-l) Another Test -- Please Ignore Foregoing cuteness, just to see if this is working. Ignore. Delete. Whatever. ******** Michele B. Author, Archivist & Webmistress a l t e r n a t e REALITIES Fan Fiction Archive http://www.alternate-realities.net ******** - - To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "majordomo@xmission.com" with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message. For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send "help" to the same address. Do not use quotes in your message. ------------------------------ Date: Tue, 30 Jan 2001 21:50:19 -0500 From: "Michele Bumbarger" <mbumbarg@pair.com> Subject: (arfic-l) FIC: Worlds Away (Part 10a/??) Title: Worlds Away (Part 10a/??) Author: M. Bumbarger Email: mbumbarg@pair.com Fandom: New Series Tomorrow People Rating: PG-13/TV-14 Summary: The Tomorrow People are swept away to a different world, where they must take up the lives of their alter-egos and try to find their way home . . . which won't be easy. Dedication: To everyone who is enjoying this madness and encouraged me to keep on writing. Disclaimer: The Tomorrow People (Adam Newman, Ami Jackson, Megabyte Damon, and Jade Weston) are the property of Roger Damon Price, Thames Television, ITV, Tetra Television and Nickelodeon. They are used here without permission, but not for profit. The lands, countries, customs, deities, and original characters are mine and mine only, springing from the depths of my imagination and should not be used anywhere else without my permission. Please do not repost this to any list or archive it anywhere else without my express permission. Previous parts at http://www.alternate-realities.net/worldsaway ***** Chapter Ten Adam didn't have that sort of luck and battle practice became the part of his day that he dreaded the most. He could not avoid Stewart, though he did try. Yet, it didn't matter what part of the Palace that he took refuge in, the man found him -- or sent word to him that he expected. It wasn't that Adam could not handle a sword, he could handle a sword passably with what he recalled from fencing and far too many Three Musketeers movies. However, what he could not handle was *his* sword and the power force that flowed through him and became one with him the moment the sword was activated. Activation was the key, although Adam hadn't realized that on the first day. In his fumbling and worry about being exposed as an imposter, he had touched the thumb impression that activated the needle barbs which he recalled biting into his hands before the world exploded in color. The needle barbs drew his blood, and it was his blood that activated the sword as a magic channel; his blood that pulled the power forth. And although he now knew that he could avoid that type of activation, it made him extremely uncomfortable to know that the sword responded to his genetic makeup as though he truly was Prince Adam Aldaric. The examination of that made his thoughts head in directions that Adam would prefer for them not to go. The sword, Adam had learned from Hagen when he poured enough ale into the man, was one of many made especially for the royal houses of Stiborn. It was the one mystery, the one legacy that tied the Fifteen Royal Houses to the Temple of Damiaren. No one knew when or how the swords had come to be commissioned - built and forged at the finest steel in the forges of Zolnar, the god of war, with the finest and purest of steels - and then imbued with the ability to channel magic at the Temple of Damiaren. Not a temple - but the High Temple that was seated in Di'alsol, the capital of Albarasque. Most who owned one of these swords, called the Swords of the Houses simply enough, did not realize what they truly held. The swords were passed from generation to generation, saw battles and wars, but a majority of the men who held them had no affinity to the magic of the world and in their hands a Sword of the Houses was simply a finely crafted heirloom and weapon. The rarest of the rare, one each generation if the fates were willing, did have an affinity for magic, enough to truly appreciate and use such a sword. The High Prince Adam Aldaric had been one of those rare individuals - and for whatever bizarre reason, Adam in his place retained that ability. But from what Adam understood his abilities, or at least those of the true prince, had gone beyond sensing the magic and learning to use it with the sword; the prince was mageborn in his own right and in his hands the sword was both a weapon that could deliver incredible destruction and a channel that could create powerful magic. It wasn't something that Adam wanted to toy with. Hence the reason that Adam had taken to abducting Hagen from whatever pretty maid caught the man's eye, and dragging him the practice grounds right after dusk and sometimes before dawn. Whatever happened, Adam did not want to activate the Sword anymore than was necessary, but in order to do that, in order to hold his own in sparring sessions against Stewart and the King's Knights and the Soldiers, he had to become familiar with basic sword fighting. When Hagen questioned him, he merely remarked that he thought he was becoming too dependent on the Sword's magic; Hagen accepted that reasoning and asked no more questions. Oddly enough, both Hagen and Stewart possessed one of these Swords of the Houses. Hagen admitted as much freely when ale and promises that he could return to his warm bed and buxom redhead-serving maid when Adam was done with him loosened his tongue. To Hagen, it was merely another sword; however, in Stewart's hands it was so much more. The man might not have been considered mageborn, and he certainly scoffed at the learnings and teachings of Damiaren and the Circle of Mages of Stiborn, but he understood the Sword; he understood the need to surrender to its will in order for two to become one. An oddity, because by all rights Stewart was neither of royal blood nor a member of any of the Fifteen Houses. In fact, it was his affinity for the magic and his ability to use the Sword of the Houses as it was meant to be used that gave Stewart his position first as Defender of the High Lady Carrina, and now as the Defender of High Prince Adam Aldaric. The illegitimate half-brother of the Queen, his presence alone, which should have been scandalous and reproachful, marked how much stake was placed in those men who had an affinity for the magic -- even if they could not fully use it. Stewart had no titles, and he did not ask for any; Adam thought that the man would actually have balked if such an offer were made. He did not refer to the man as Uncle, and Queen Carrina never referred to him as her brother, although there could be no mistaking that she had affection for the man who had been raised at her side to protect and defend her. He was simply Stewart, Defender of the High Prince, and anyone who had a problem with that . . . well, they never said so in public places. Adam was beginning to realize that the longer he remained in this world, the more deeply he became embroiled in it; so much to the point that he sometimes was beginning to forget that this was not *his world.* That attitude showed itself most prevalently when he had the opportunity to sit and sup with or go riding alongside the King, a man who was nothing like the man Adam had called father aside from the physical resemblance. He enjoyed the older man's company, enjoyed the affection and love he saw in the other's eyes, and lived for those family moments. Which Adam realized was precisely the reason that Stewart now had him pinned to the ground, the very pointy and sharp tip of Stewart's Sword pressed against Adam's throat. Lost in his thoughts, he had not seen Stewart's maneuver, had not guessed that the move was a feint until his feet were kicked from under him and both his head and his rear met loudly and harshly with the ground. "When men see their leader fall, they panic and lose all heart," Stewart lectured, pressing the Sword forward a bit more, allowing Adam to really feel the sharp bite of the steel. Stewart's lessons were never easy ones. "Your men have just been given a hard blow. How long do you think they will continue to fight?" "Until I'm dead?" "You are dead." "Not yet. There's still a chance you could be run through from behind." Where the cocky attitude came from, Adam did not know. It seemed that getting cocky with a man who had a sword to your neck wasn't a wise decision, but Stewart encouraged him to speak his mind; when Adam held back a thought or two, the man always knew it and the practice sessions became harder. Stewart snorted, the blade did not move, leaving Adam effectively pinned until the man chose to release him. "Youth thinks it will live forever. You will not, Adam, and the sooner you get that into your head, the better off you will be. Or would you give your new bride widow's black during the first year of marriage?" Now it was Adam's turn to scoff. Stewart saw conspiracy and spies in every corner; the man seemed to convince that King Palgar to the east was only lulling them into complacency so that he could strike a killing blow. "King Palgar hasn't moved in years. He isn't even preparing an army. And once this marriage . . ." Adam paused, it was still hard to think about the impending nuptials with a woman that he did not know, a woman that was in actuality meant to be the wife of the man he was only pretending to be, "Once this marriage is sealed, we'll have Albarasque and their navy as our allies." "And because of that, you think the threat is gone?" Another push with the sword. Adam had enough. Reaching up, he pushed the blade away. The metal bit into his hand, but not deeply, just deeply enough to remind him of the reason why Stewart pulled his strikes and why Adam had to do the same. These were not practice blades - but the real thing. "I think that you are going to ruin the wedding celebration with that attitude. What was that Halista says about sour milk?" The words that Stewart had been preparing to say in the face of Adam's defiance turned quickly to a scowl as Adam mentioned the name of the prince's former nurse. The woman was older than anyone Adam had ever laid eyes upon, but she was far from feeble. She had been nurse to Adam's maternal grandmother, nurse to the queen, and nurse to the prince, and fully expected to be nurse to Adam's heirs as well. She garnered great respect from all those in the Palace, and she was the only individual there who knew more about magic than Master Ilarms and Stewart combined. Rumor was that she had been allowed the pleasure that so few of those outside of Albarasque receive - as a young girl, she had studied at the Temple of Damiaren. Halista wore the silver crescent moon of Damiaren at the base of her throat, and many of her robes were embroidered with the mark of Damiaren. Her manner of dress, long veils which hid all but her pale, pale probing eyes, and dresses that were not layers of shifts and petticoats, but simple buttoned garments of light weight, worn even in the winter, seemed to give credence to the rumors of a youth spent in the desert kingdom. Stewart rolled his eyes. "That woman says more than she needs to about matters that don't concern her-" "Are you saying that the matters of the prince do not concern me, Stewart?" The gravely voice rose from the shadows, startling even the seasoned Defender. The tightness to Stewart's face showed that he did not like being caught off guard. "You're not too old to have your ears boxed by me. I haven't forgotten how, you know." "Woman, you should not sneak like that!" Stewart growled as Adam slowly picked himself up from the ground. "And you should better mind your ears and hear what can be heard," Halista waved a finger at him. "If you didn't weave those spells of silence before rudely- - -" Halista snorted and gestured towards Adam as though Stewart had not spoken. "And what manner of teaching is this? You would teach him to be afraid of the sword?" "Fear of the sword will keep him alive." Stewart stiffened as if realizing that he was on the verge of explaining himself and hurried on gruffly. "I do not tell you how to swaddle up a child, so do not tell me how to instruct in swords." "Fear will make him be stupid," Halista argued. Her eyes fell on Adam, her voice softening, "He knows what will protect him, he knows how to use the Sword. It is that he is afraid of, still. You will never be the blademaster that you can be, sweet prince, if you do not embrace it -- all of it." "Magic," Stewart shoved his Sword into its scabbard so loudly that it echoed. He gave a curt nod to Adam, "Tomorrow morning, Adam. Try to be on time for once." Adam watched him go, and then took his time sheathing his own Sword. Anything to avoid that penetrating gaze that Halista fixed upon him. If there was one person he avoided more than Stewart it was Halista. He at times felt like the woman was seeing through him, right into his very soul. She laid a hand lightly upon his arm. "Aldaric," Halista never called him Adam for reasons that he didn't even ask about, "There is so much power inside of you and so much fear. You must leave the fear behind and embrace what you can be; your wife does not fear the magic that is a part of all of us." "Bride," Adam corrected her automatically. "Semantics, but if it gives you comfort," Halista shrugged to show that it was no concern of hers. "You did not call upon the Sword today. You have not for many days, sometimes weeks, yet you will play with spells that are beyond your scope and think nothing of it. You are afraid to share yourself with the Sword. Someday, it may be the only thing that saves your life." Then she smiled and patted his arm. "I am tired now. Walk an old woman to her room, will you, sweet prince?" The change in demeanor told Adam that the conversation was ended. And for that he was glad. If there was one thing he did not want to talk about with Halista, it was about using the magic that was wrapped up in that blasted Sword. *** TBC.... - - To unsubscribe to arfic-l, send an email to "majordomo@xmission.com" with "unsubscribe arfic-l" in the body of the message. For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send "help" to the same address. Do not use quotes in your message. ------------------------------ End of arfic-l-digest V1 #1 *************************** - To unsubscribe to $LIST, send an email to "majordomo@xmission.com" with "unsubscribe $LIST" in the body of the message. For information on digests or retrieving files and old messages send "help" to the same address. Do not use quotes in your message.