From: bradkwillis@aol.com (BKWillis) Date: 10 Nov 2001 22:16:45 GMT Subject: Re: A story we can all create.. Atop an eroded hillock, a lone woman stood watching the fleeing bird- riders with a half-amused, half-annoyed smirk, her long blonde braids swaying in the grit-laden breeze. She was clad in a tight-fitting bodysuit of a vaguely grayish non-color that accentuated her lean, pantherish build. A thin- bladed dagger rode in a sheath on her left thigh, while a holstered machine pistol hung on her right. One hand lightly gripped the reins of a huge, scale- backed gurvuk that snorted and clawed impatiently at the sand behind her. "All right, big and ugly," she sighed in a pleasant, musical voice, giving the gurvuk an unaffectionate glance, "let's go see what our buddies found for us." She tugged at the reins, causing the huge creature to droop its head, and vaulted easily into the saddle some seven feet above. The gurvuk hissed and bared its fangs, but quickly set off at a lope to meet the onrushing Servii horde. The woman rode easily down the hill, then pulled her hissing mount up short as the thundering mass of mounted Servii warriors began reining in around her, their own gurvuks spitting and snarling the endless grumbles of cavalry mounts. "Success, Overworlder!" bellowed an armor-clad Servii as he dismounted and strode over to the blonde, sweeping off his crested helmet. Like all Servii, he was a huge slab of green-tinged muscle and coarse hair nearly as broad as he was tall, wrapped up in a clattering, creaking array of leather and steel. Three reddish, narrow eyes glared out over a massive prognathous jaw and blunt, piggish nose. He nodded deferentially to the woman and motioned for the gurvuk bearing their plunder to be brought forward. "And just what have you brought me, War Captain Rahaaz?" she asked ritualistically, careful to enunciate the full title. "I know not, Overworlder," Rahaaz replied, slightly more subdued. "We simply rode to the place thy master bid thee have us go and scattered the Wing- Born who sought to defend, using the new muskets thou hast provided to drive them off from beyond reach of their retribution." "As I saw, War Captain. You did well. Now let's see what you've brought me." With a kick, she urged her mount forward to get a closer view as a huge, grunting gurvuk was led forward, a dull blue boxlike structure lashed to its back. She eyed the thing for a moment, reading the words on its side. "Police... Public Call...?" "Thou knowest the runes, Overworlder?" Rahaaz asked from where he stood at her knee. An impressed murmur ran through the surrounding Servii. "I know them, but they don't make much sense in this context," the blonde replied distractedly. "Doesn't matter, though. This is the real test." She pulled a small, cardlike device from a pocket of her bodysuit and held it against the side of the box. Instantly, a light on the device began to glow. "The ways of sorcerors pass all wonder," muttered the War Captain, shaking his head. The blonde swore softly and jammed the card back into her pocket, then pulled out a small headset communicator. "Babydoll to Cain. Babydoll to Cain," she said into the mouthpiece, until after a moment someone answered. "Hey, guess what? You were right. It's a TARDIS..." ---- In the depths of the Cyclopean stone fortress of the Servii, a man swore blasphemously as he tossed his headset down onto the table, the two Servii across from him exchanging a glance at his tone. "Thy mate doth bring ill tiding, Overworlder?" the larger and more ornately-armored Servii asked. The man grinned a little in spite of himself. The Servii had a hard time grasping the concept of men and women as friends and equals, so they tended to refer to his associates as 'mates' or occasionally 'servants', the latter of which terms would often provoke him to outright laughter. "Minor problems," the man replied, "but only for me, War Chief. I'll still have those rifled musket barrels for your armorers by tomorrow, no sweat. Go ahead and continue the patrols toward World's Edge and get those stockpiles ready for our raid on the Vale." "It shall be as thou sayest, Overworlder," the two Servii intoned, rising. "Victory to the Sacred Land!" "Victory," the man replied as the two turned to file out. The War Chief paused at the door, a slightly nervous look on his face. "Ah, if I might enquire of thee...?" he asked. "I see not thy other mate, the small, pale one. Be she well this day?" "She's fine, Ghorlok. The sun's just a little too much for her today. She'll be around after dark." "It is well," the Servii grunted, casting a few nervous glances into the shadowy corners of the room before departing. With a growl, the man sank back into his chair and poured himself a mug of something orange and foamy, then downed most of it in one gulp. He was a large man, nearly as tall as the Servii, and heavily muscled, with a long mass of graying straw-colored hair and a black patch over his left eye. He leaned back and propped his booted feet on the rough table. "Hast thou worries, noble Time Lord?" whispered a feather-soft voice from behind him. "Nothing we can't handle, babe," he grunted back. "And lay off the formal stuff. It's bad enough when these Servii do it." "As thou wishest, oh mighty and fearsome Overworld sorceror Cain," came the light, laughing reply as cloth rustled in the dark. Cain rolled his eye. "Hah. You're the one they fear, not me and Babydoll. I though poor old Ghorlok was going to wet himself for fear you were lurking in the corners just now." The soft, charming voice sounded faintly offended. "Feh. I've been the soul of decorum to these poor brutes. Why should they fear me?" Cain shrugged. "You biting that gurvuk and drinking its blood when we got here probably has a lot to do with it," he said nonchalantly. "That's _not_ my fault," the voice replied, now sounding both angry and hurt. "You know I'm still only half-cured--" "I know, I know," the Time Lord soothed, contrite. "Tasteless of me to remind you." "Very. Now, what are you brooding about? Isn't the plan going well?" "Jack-dandy. But there may be a snag. I picked up a temporal disruption on the scanner and had Babydoll's patrol go have a look." Cain paused to pour some more of the vile orange brew. "And...?" "It's a TARDIS, all right. Blasted Gallifreyan busybodies." The voice now sounded worried. "Is it the Regulators, do you think? Or a renegade, like the Master?" The name came out as a loathing-filled hiss that made even Cain's spine chill a bit. "Don't know yet," the one-eyed man answered, shrugging. "We'll just have to wait and see. All we know is that it looks like a blue box." "A blue... box?" asked the voice, a bit shakily. There was a soft rustle of cloth as the speaker stepped out into the pale lamplight. It was a woman, wrapped in the folds of a dark hooded cloak, with only her milky-pale face and delicate hands showing, trembling slightly. A few stray brown curls tumbled from under her hood as she leaned against the back of Cain's chair, frowning. "Babe? You okay?" he asked worriedly, looking around at her. The woman ignored him, lost in her own thoughts. "Doctor?" she mumbled. "What could you be doing here, of all places? Oh, dear." She sighed and grimaced, two long fangs just visible against her lips.