YanYanGanaffi

Yan Yan, following the trail of torn paper, peeks inside. Smiling, he recognizes what is left of EBoS impaled on a dagger. "Very nice," he comments,"I would have tossed it into a wood chipper, but your way is much better at stress relief. Glad to have you back." Nodding towards the feline, Yan Yan turns around, leaving for his next adventure...

I apologize for my delay in WW activity. I have a lot of things going on in real life (and for once, it's good!). One or two already know the good news. I my post it later, but I'll have to see first. Thanks for understanding, guys! Jason

Yan Yan smiles as several sloppily throw geld land on the ground after missing the jar. Acting quickly, he picks up enough for a kiss. Smiling happily, he hands the geld to Ayshela, closes his eyes, and puckers up for his kiss.

"What in the holy hell is going on here," Benny exclaimed,"I don't know about all of you, but I'm going to start boobytrapping my tomb. This is getting out of hand." Benny starts to construct a few snares near his crypt to hopefully keep out whomever is taking the mummies. After finishing the modifications on his tomb, he angrily turns toward the others."I know one of you is trying to remove the rest of us from the tomb complex, I just don't know who yet. All I can say is that's bull*bleep*!" OOC: Khe is being accused. Sorry, bro, just got a bad feeling off of you in this game.

By the way, I feel I'm getting better with my writing skills, so feel free to set my cloths on fire over this story.

Yeah, that's be nice.

*Author's note: The events in this story; though fictionalized heavily, are based on true occurances at my place of work. Sam Hunter is a fictional version of myself. The series of adventures are taken from my few years as an amature ghost hunter and practicing student of the occult. I hope you enjoy. Jason* Sam was riding his motorized double jack loaded down with two pallets of stacked frozen food items to be loaded onto a tracker trailer. He was a selector for a large supermarket chain centered in the southeastern United States. His job involved retrieving items from the warehouse he worked in to ship to the stores in the area. Though he was normally working in the dairy department of the warehouse, today he found himself in the freezer selecting frozen foodstock because that department was short handed. His older brother, Danny, used to work in this department for years. On the night shift, he said that he and the six other selectors occasionally saw odd happenings on their shift. Sam could remember seeing on the news of an assistant contractor who killed his wife and buried her somewhere on the warehouse property. No one knew where she was buried; some speculated that he buried her in a spot that was set up to have several tons of concrete poured over it the next day, or the drainage pond behind the warehouse. From what he heard, the guy had been the first person in the state of Florida to be convicted of murder without a body. Danny believed her ghost haunted the warehouse. While stacking some frozen hashbrown boxes, Sam thought back on the ghost kit he had prepared for the upcoming Halloween. Two of his fellow ghost hunters had come across a possibly violent haunting. It seemed that a large vortex of energy was opened up inside an old Spanish graveyard near St. Augustine by some idiot teenagers that had the brilliant idea of calling some astral nasty to see if anything would happen. The resulting mess wasn't pretty, leaving two of the kids in the I.C.U. at St. Vincent's Hospital and one in police custody. As the old saying goes,' Don't call up what you can't put down.' Sam was looking at the item list when he heard the screaming coming from the icecream room. This was the coldest area of the warehouse and the center of most of the paranormal activity his brother spoke of. His head snapped to the direction of the screaming to see Fred Daniels running as fast as a three hundred pound man could run out of the icecream room. His screams where high pitched due to the panic in his voice. Crashing could be heard as several other workers stopped what they were doing to investigate. As one of them peeked in, a fifteen pound box of icecream bars smacked him in the head, knocking him out cold. The others that were there swore, dodging icecream boxes while attempting to carry the downed man out of there. Sam said a brief prayer, casting a quick protection spell before seeing what was going on. Creeping up to the doorway, he did a quick turkey peek around the corner. The aisle was a complete mess. Many boxes were busted open and icecream scattered everywhere. He didn't see what caused the mess, but felt an overwhelming, hateful presence. He had dealt with enough ghosts and spirits to know that if this was the woman that was brutally murdered then buried out here, trying to communicate with the spirit wasn't going to go well. Besides, he had to neutralize the ghost because it had already injured someone. On the floor, he drew an invisiable sigil in the doorway to prevent the ghost from escaping. As he got up, he was struck in the chest by a plastic gallon bucket of icecream. The force of the blow knocked him on his rear. Quickly, he rolled out from the front of the doorway, seeing another bucket that was meant for him sail past where he had just been. This ghost wasn't playing game, so neither was Sam. He got up and ran to the front dock area. Security had been called already. Sam knew that was just going to get more people hurt. Ignoring his supervisor's questions as to what he had seen or where he was going, the ghost hunter walked out to his van to get a large black gym bag. Inside it was his ghost hunting equipment and paranormal weaponry. The most noted of these was a short barrelled Mossberg 88 pump shotgun with shortened stock. It was loaded with modified shotgun shells specificly used for spiritual combat. Instead of the lead pellets that a normal shotgun had, these had iron filings that created a dust cloud. Ghosts and spirits are made of energy that can be disrupted and dispersed when in contact with iron or salt. Unfortunately, unless a spirit was full manifested, it was in the form of an orb; a small ball of energy the size of a tennis ball. In that form, they were extremely hard to hit. Sam came up with the idea for the dust shells some time ago, using them effectively to clean house in an abandoned school that Satanists used for animal sacrifices. The only flaw is that they were very short ranged. Sam headed back to the freezer room. Before he got inside the building, he heard sirens in the distance. It sounded like at least one ambulance and maybe a couple of police cruisers. Everyone was gathered around the enterance to the freezer. One to the security guys was lying on the floor with a big cut on his head just above his right eye. Dropping the bag, Sam took out his first aid kit and handed it to one of the frozen food selectors. The selector opened it was Sam took out the short pump shotgun, loading it with iron dust shells. Many of the worker's eyes got wide upon seeing the weapon. Before anyone could say anything, he picked up the bag, going into the freezer. Before getting to the enterance of the icecream room, he dropped the bag, taking out some holy water to anoint himself. Taking a deep breath with shotgun at the ready, he crossed the threshold. Immediately, he was set upon by the ghost in a full manifestation. Jerking the triiger in suprize, he fired at the spirit of the woman. She reeled from the hit, but it wasn't enough to discorperate her. Floating up to the ceiling near the cooling vents, Sam got a good look at her for the first time. Her head was disfigured from where her former husband had beat her to death with a hammer. The rest of her body looked as though it had been submerged in water. 'Well,' Sam thought,'that answers the question of where she's buried.' Sam took aim with the shot gun again, but the ghost went into the form of an orb. With the florecent lighting, she was literally invisiable. Thinking quickly, he looked for the power box for the lights. If he could shut it down, he could she her. As his eyes scanned the area, a huge pallet of icecream was pulled down from one of the racks above Sam. The only thing that warned him was a slight creak of wood as the wooden pallet was being forced from the metal rack twenty feet above him. It was just enough of a warning for him to leap out of the way. he fired a shot into the rack after the pallet of heavy frozen icecream; which wieghed nearly two tons, crashed to the concrete floor. Sam was hit by a few of the pint sized containers of icecream, angering him more then hurting him. By luck, he spotted the power box. Turning the shotgun toward it, he opened the casing on it. The lever to turn the power off was secured with a time out key lock. Sam didn't have time to get the key, so he blasted it at close range with the shotgun. the force of the blast shorted out the power, which shut off the lights. Quickly fishing out a few more rounds, he scanned the area as he reloaded. A high pitched shriek sounded as the ghost came into contact with the protection spell he had cast on himself earlier. The ghost tried to back peddle out of range of the shotgun, but didn't make it this time. Pumping a shell into the chamber, Sam fired a direct hit into the fully manifested ghost. With a hellish wail, she discorperated into harmless mist. Sam smiled as he unloaded the weapon. Walking back to the freezer, he collected the bag on his way out. Thankfully, he was able to walk away from this confrontation, this time... The End

Well, I have time because the holiday rush at work is over. Just let me know when you want to start writing. I'll lend a character or two if you need it. Yan Yan

I appreciate that, Salinye. It was my first poem that I posted here. Thanks for pointing out the few mistakes in the poem. Yan Yan

*Note: I'm not much of a poet. That's why i write short stories (or try to). If this was NASCAR, consider this the practice lap before qualifying (you race fans know what I'm talking about)* Walking slowly along the shoreline, On a beach far, far away, I loneliness I walk, In darkness, I stay. That first kiss from you, Had I known it's worth, I might of shied from it's cost, And chose to sleep in earth. My fingers feel the small marks you left, The price of immortality A constant and perminent reminder Of the gift you gave to me But the life you gave me It was no longer my own For I must drink the life of the living Or I wither down to bone Was it love or loneliness That drove you to make me I have asked this many a time I am at the limit of my sanity Now that you are gone, I alone remain With but memories of you I slowly go insane. As this night is now my last Before the coming of the sun I await death's final embrace My time here is done

Okay, so I won't be geld-less for long...*contemplates running a monkey-pult booth or ninja-removal services...*When is the Winter Carnival again?

I was wondering; how the hell do you earn geld? I see all sorts of Pennites with it, and since I can't mug someone for it or rob the Pennite treasury, I'm *sigh* willing to earn semi-honestly. And after I get it, how do I spend it?

If nothing else, we have a butt-kicking Gryphon. That's got to count for something.

It's pieces like this that make me wish that my peotry skills were better then what they are. Nice work, Crypt.

*slips in quietly and takes a seat near the storyteller. Giving her a 'thumbs up' to silently show his like of the story's intro, he leans back and eagerly awaits more*

*Casts an eye suspectingly at Khe* So quick to accuse...Something to hide or a guilty spirit? (OOC: Going with the flow and accusing Khe/Knight. Sorry, nothing personal, bubba!)

Benny studied the empty tomb, looking for anything unusual in the walls, on the doorway, and on the ground. He finally sees a small 'x' scratched into the door mantel with a rock. "Everyone, come and look at this," he called,"It looks as though someone marked the tomb previously."

Yan Yan stood there as the pair went off to find Pilocanci. After a moment, Yan Yan stopped one of the Sharpeins carrying what looked like a small metal tube about the size of an aluminium baseball bat. "Excuse me," Yan Yan asked. The dark brown and black striped Sharpein stopped and looked at the scout,"Yes?" "What is that you're carrying?" "It's a CX-12 Plaster rifle," the little dog like creature explained,"It fires a stream of gel that becomes rock hard on contract with the air after 30 seconds." "Really," Yan Yan smiled," I have two questions; how do you fire it, and did you bring any extra ones?"

Wow. Pwerful story. I lost my mom when I was 14, ten days before my fifteenth b-day. I guess it wouldn't have been so bad if I hadn't been there to see it happen. The ambulance seemed to take forever to get there. While my dad and step brother did what they could to save her, I flagged down the paramedics so that they wouldn't miss our house, which sits back a little from the road and blocked from view on the street because of all the trees. After the paramedics left with my mom, my dad went to the hospital to wait. We thought, or more correctly hoped, she would be alright. When my dad came back with tears in his eyes, I knew she hadn't made it. It was the first time I'd ever seen my dad cry. He had been in Vietnam and was a bootlegger before that, so he had seen death on many occasions. When my grandpa Roy (my dad's father) died, he didn't cry. But on that day in mid October, he did. I couldn't believe it at first. I suppose it was just shock, but my mind couldn't comprehend what had happened. It felt like a dream gone horridly wrong. I've been to some of the nastiest places in the world. I've seen death first hand, myself, in Afgahnistan. I was even his instrument once during that visit to that hell on earth. Even now, just thinking about it, still tears me up inside a little. Sorry to hijack your post, Regel. The story just brought back some stuff deep within myself. But thank you for sharing that story. Jason

*blushes* Well, thanks, Vanktang.

Yan Yan Ganaffi watched as more and more Sharpeins poured through the mirror gate. The one called "Mr. Pawell" had discovered that the mirror could be set to more then just one realm, including the Canine homeworld.The Sharpeins, not much bigger then large raccoons, carried an assortment of weapons and gadgets. Next to Yan Yan stood Mr. Pawell, who barked instructions to the incoming troops. Yan Yan could understand the dogs now thanks to the translator in his ear that was provided by the Sharpein scientists Pilocanci had brought with him. One grey furred Sharpein entered the room throught the mirror. He raised his paw in salute, which Mr. pawell returned. "Welcome, General Barker. We have a situation. Appearently, an army of undead are outside the humaniod compound. We haven't finished Black Star Air Base yet, but we have our vehicles and aircraft already here. We just don't have anyone other then the Presidente's cabinet to operate them. That's why we called on you." "Very well," the General replied," I have a force of two hundred infantry and twice that in support personnel. It will take time to get them all through the gate, but we're doing the best we can. Where is Presidente Pilocanci?" "He is up on the battlements demanding the enemy to stand down. Mr. Arfcroft is using a glider to buzz the enemy troops,"Pawell informed,"Most of the gliders are ready." "And the tanks?" "One is up and completely operational," Mr. Pawell continued," The others can be readied shortly. Our Flea-Hopper Transports are still in storage, however, they do have enough fuel to run the course of this engagement." "The Flea-Hoppers are not neccessary," General Barker responded," The enemy force is much to close anyway. What about them?" General Barker pointed at Yan Yan. "Well, General," Mr Pawell said," Most of them know a primative form of sub-electron manipulation that has been somewhat effective in combat so far. They call it magic. Presidente Pilocanci has limited use in non-permanent trasformation of biological masses. This one, a Mr. Yan Yan Ganaffi seems to be able to create small vacuums in the air that forces wind to shift into whatever direction is needed. From what I've seen, he can make the equiviant of a small twister." "And how, exactly, does that help," the General asked. "I don't know, sir," Yan Yan interjected," but when I added that bail of burning hay and made a fire tornado out of it, it took that demon outside down a notch." The general raised a wrinkled eyebrow,"Demon?" "I'll tell you about that later, General," Mr. Pawell assured as they went to see Pilocanci...

Benny Sandpounder watches the dancers as they twirl and sway. He occasionally steals a glance at Nahrathi as she talks to Esaneh. He had faced many a foe on the battlefield and saved the Pharoh's life twice from assassins, but he lacked the corage to tell Nahrathi how he felt. With a sigh, he goes back to watching the dancers.

I've decided to keep it as it is. It wraps up nicely and is well structured. Pilocanci

Oh, by the way, remember; you always have friends here if you need anything...And that carepackage has to wait until next Thursday. It's a little more then I thought to send that stuff to you and Gryph (I got him something too.)

Well, Mynx, I'm not the greatest person to bestow advice/opinions, but I'll see if I can help. I'm not sure how big American auto racing (NASCAR) is in New Zealand (Kiwi-ville as I call it), but there was a famous race car driver by the name of Dale Earnhart. During his lifetime, he became one of the greatest drivers ever to race in NASCAR. He lived up to his nickname; the Intimidator, because of his win-by-any-means style of racing. If you were in his way, you had to be careful he didn't put you into the wall when coming into a turn; which is dangerous enough without someone tapping the back of your car to cause you to spin out of control. Despite all his fame and success, he was one of the bitterest men to walk the earth. He was even mean to his fans who supported him his whole racing career. It wasn't until the last year of his life that he began to become happy due to his son; Dale Earnhart Jr., coming into racing for NASCAR. Unfortunately, that happiness was short-lived when Dale Earnhart Sr. spun into a wall on turn four during a race, breaking his neck. In the end, Mynx, all the success in the world won't matter a damn bit if you're not happy. "Diamonds sparkle and shine, But are cold and hard. Gold will glitter and shine, But it's cold and hard. Happiness is sometimes penniless and broke, But it is warm, loving, and kind." Jason