Patrick

After looking into it here's the reply from IPS:

Thanks Katz.

Away the faint drizzle of rain as your blood drains - drains away thunder is near pounding in your ears - pounding away prospects are slim as your vision dims -going away

Jennifer West smoothed her short skirt on the elevator ride to the fifth floor interrogation room. She hadn't had time to iron it this morning and small things like this always annoyed her. The call had came just as she was having breakfast, a good friend of hers from the police department tipping her off that they were interrogating a suspect without a lawyer present in some rural village up north, hundreds of kilometers from Stockholm. She had finished her breakfast on the flight to Umeå furiously reading through all the information she could find on the case. The police would certainly not get away with bullying her client! Even if he could not pay, the case was way too interesting to pass up. A bumpy flight and an even bumpier taxi ride later she had arrived grumpy from the trip and determined to make things right. Just as she stepped from the elevator her phone rang. "Hi honey," the voice on the other end of the line said in broken English. Johan was the typical tall, blond, Scandinavian charmer and had swept her off her feet fifteen years ago. He had even made her move to Sweden from her native California. He still loved to tease her with the bad English he had known when they first met. "How was the trip?" "Crap," she answered, holding the phone between shoulder and ear, while she shuffled papers, looking for just the right one. "Call you back in a bit, I'm heading in." The door was open when she reached interrogation room two, a police sergeant poking his head in. With a quick "excuse me" she was past him, not even giving him time to get past his surprise. "Mister Amundsen," she started in her own accented, but otherwise perfect Swedish, "I would like to inform you that you have a right not to answer any questions these gentlemen may ask you. You also have a right to have a lawyer present during questioning. Actually," she shot a venomous glance at the inspector, "a lawyer should have been present right from the start." She did not pause, not giving anyone a chance to reply. "Now, if I might have a while alone with my client?"

...Torben interrupted him. "I'm sorry, I know this isn't really helping", he said before suddenly breaking into German. "Sind alle tot...alle tot."1 "What was that?" the psychiatrist asked. "I guess I just said that everyone is dead. No idea what I was talking about. I hate not remembering!" He smashed his fists on the table in frustration. "I want to help, believe me when I say so. I just don't..." He seemed lost in thought for a long moment and the psychiatrist was just about to interrupt when he continued. "But if I really killed someone...I...wouldn't I be better off not knowing?" 1: They are all dead...all dead.

It was a beautiful spring morning when Torben Amundsen strolled into the small police station in rural Sweden, still fresh blood covering his hands and staining his shirt. He was not surprised at the interest the on-duty officer showed in him. He did not object to being handcuffed, seated next to a featureless table with just a glass of water and being made to wait for a detective to arrive. He did not ask for a lawyer and wanted to answer the questions he was being asked. The trouble was, he did not remember anything that had happened. He did not know why his hands were covered in blood. He did not know why he had chosen to walk into a police station. He didn't even remember that his name was Torben Amundsen. The wallet police had taken from his jeans had contained identification for Torben Amundsen, a couple norwegian coins and some british pound notes and a scribbled message of "I love you xoxo" signed by 'Lily'. The picture had been scraped off the identity card, so he couldn't even know for sure that he was Torben Amundsen. He knew what year and what month it was, he knew who was the President of the United States, who had won the Premier League and could apparently sing a couple pop hits from the last year. He also apparently spoke perfect Swedish, Norwegian, German, English and French, with some notions of Spanish and Russian. "What's the last thing you remember?" - the police psychiatrist asked him on the second day of his interrogation. "Bretzels. I remember buying bretzels at a small cart. It's just a flash...but it must have been cold, I think I remember wearing gloves." "When was this?" - the psychiatrist asked gently. "I...I don't know...", he tried to remember, he tried really hard...

(hah! a poem with a title!) Inspiration like a single thought lifted on a fickle breeze a spark gives newfound life to a soaring flame but without wood to burn it silently sputters out

silence a light breath shatters darkness a lone flame pierces a defiant thought in the void beauty

thunder again the sound rolls by lightning strikes far in the eastern sky -smells of rain

Well, I happen to be Hungarian so you might say that I've heard of the language...

Still around...not much time to read, even less to post. I can be reached for technical issues though...

Day 9 We stayed huddled in a rice field the whole day, briskly sent there by the sergeant and his men before the sun rose. I think Tanya has caught a cold. She kept shivering the whole day. She did not want to talk about it. Haven't seen the sergeant since dawn, he said he'd be watching over us though. There is a glow to the south as though the whole horizon were on fire.

*grin* That was fun to watch/listen to.

If anyone wants to help with skins you're more than welcome...I don't have much time to tinker lately...

Hehehe...have to say that I love the post. Detailed answers to come later, when I am not supposed to be working.

Day 8 Today was a mad dash. Every man for himself. I...helped Tanya along. I've grown fond of her. In the morning the sergeant sent us along the road, saying that if we reached Quorl we'd find shelter there. The whole day riders flitted across the horizon, but none came near us. We passed the burnt remains of farmsteads and scorched fields. Quorl was no better. Once a thriving town, it has been burned down to the ground. No shelter, no food, no water, nothing useful can be found among the ruins. We made a small camp at the base of one of the broken guard towers and hoped to see the morrow. Sergeant reached us well after nightfall, coming with just two of his men. They look to have gone through battle and don't seem in a good shape. They're keeping to themselves though.

Scene 6 They had repulsed three assaults during the night, only giving up a few feet of ground. Those few feet were soaked in the blood of hundreds of fallen and wounded and as the sun slowly rose to the east the medics were crawling among the bodies, helping those who could still be held. Snipers occasionally fired, but until nightfall the battle was mostly over and everyone had retreated to their trenches. Several people standing next to him had fallen asleep where they stood, the constant fighting taking its toll. Trench warfare had become a thing of the past, or so all the military textbooks said. In the age of spacecraft and precision bombs, sitting in a trench was invitation to suicide they went on. Yet here they all were, more than three million soldiers along a meandering frontline from jungle to high mountain terrain, desperately defending against an enemy who shrugged off their air superiority with ease, who did not care about bombs ripping apart trenches and killing thousands. Who for each man who fell brought ten more. A relentless enemy, unmindful of their own losses and with only one intent, the destruction of all that stood between them and their goal. When the revolt had broken out on the planet Achilles VI seventeen years earlier, as standard procedure called for it a standard imperial army of one hundred thousand soldiers and associated equipment had been sent to put the rebellion down. Nine million imperial soldiers had since been killed in the fighthing, with many more injured. On the rebels's side losses were even worse. They only had numbers to counter the imperial superiority in weaponry and a moral they seemed to have an endless supply of. They were fighting for their homeland after all and victory was close. The presence of imperial troops on the ground had been pushed back to an area the size of ancient England on the archeological planet of Terra and each day the Empire lost more and more ground. The constant pounding of the planets surface by the Imperial Space Force did nothing to stop the slowly crumbling defences. High on a ridge exposed to the elements and sniper fire from the opposing ridge Sergeant Paul Edgethorn and the other soldiers from the third squad of the nineteenth company of the fifty third imperial army huddled in the shelter given by the weather-worn rocks. The wind still howled over the ridge, chilling everyone to the bone, bringing the snow in sheets. And still the enemy came, continuing its attack well into the day here, aiming to win the ridge by any means, even exhaustion of the opposing soldiers. And it looked like they were succeeding. Not many from Paul's squad still could stand and most were catching precious seconds of sleep between pressing the trigger twice. Paul himself had found he was dozing off as an enemy soldier wondered across the sights of his rifle. The wind picked up a notch and the snow thickened even more, making any shots fired a waste of bullets. Surely they would cease their assault under such conditions? They did not. They kept coming for twenty seven more hours before finally withdrawing back to the opposing ridge.

Day 7 Old Pete never reappeared. He's been written off by the sergeant. Poor sod. He had been a good man, over forty when I first met him. He should never have come along with us on this mad dash to...where the hell is it that we're going anyway? I think it is time to ask the sergeant... Four hours have passed since I have written the above lines. Just as I was about to ask the sergeant, a hail of arrows out of nowhere fell among our sorry procession. The soldiers responded immediately, but after an hour they all returned, having found no trace of the attackers. We travelled on for several hours in the night, stopping only when the oxen were ready to fall from exhaustion. I only hope that we shall live to see the morning. Five peasants and a soldier had died in the ambush back at our previous camp. A heavy toll. I have to go comfort Tanya. She's not taking this mortal danger too well.

"Speaking of Wyvern, where is that geld-loving lizard? We might need to trim some off from his stock of monies for the current refitting. Taxation of the rich you see. Making everything brown again can have a certain cost," Patham said in one breath as he entered the Recruiter's Office. "Nice to see you here," he called to the new arrival, "our almost dragon should be along soon enough. Unless a get rich quick scheme keeps him that is..."

Day 6 Riders to the south were shadowing us the best part of the day and today the sergeant showed us that he could be a much better slave driver than yesterday. My exploits during the night had tired me out and I had trouble following the marching soldiers, but others fared even worse. Old Pete fell behind around midday and still hasn't gotten to our camp three hours after we have stopped. I fear the worst for him. Sergeant called me over after nightfall and asked to see what I had written so far. Had no choice but to show him. I'll have to watch what I write about him in the future. Tanya, for what is how the innkeep's daughter is called, actually seems to genuinely like me. Had she just wanted to get away from her father and slip away, she would have had more than one chance today. We went past two villages today and while one of them seemed to be completely deserted, the other was teeming with life. But she chose to stay. I won't complain...

Day 5 A blackened eye and a bruised ego. That is what the innkeep now has. He left first thing in the morning. But it's not me who gave them to him, but his own daughter! She's a feisty little thing, though my bruised thights have already experienced that. The sergeant felt almost like a slave-driver today, driving us very hard. I think he fears that someone might be following us. The guard has been doubled tonight, but he hasn't told us anything about it. Lack of alcohol has started showing tonight and some of the peasants are getting disgruntled. They are starting to realise what they might have gotten into now that their thoughts are clearing. I guess they'll be a showdown tomorrow.

Thanks for your comments Wyv. It's just a semi-tongue-in-cheek story that I came up with, and apart from having fun with it, I don't really see where it will be going apart from the next few posts. We'll just have to see what I can come up with.

Day 4 Stinking smoke greeted us this morning, rising in several columns off the East. The village of Heather. Sacked by bandits some said, burnt to the ground by a noble's army others added. The soldiers said nothing, but two of them have been gone since the morning, along with the two horses the soldiers had with them. No one else seems to have noticed and I'm keeping it to myself. Oh wait, one of them just got back... ...well, we still don't know who had sacked Heather. But one thing I overheard the soldier reporting in private to his captain was that all of the villagers were put to the sword. Apparently it had been a gruesome sight. Again something I should keep to myself, don't want the others to panic. The innkeep leaves tomorrow morning with the empty barrels. He wants to take his daughter with him. We'll see about that...

Explore, tinker around, and don't mind the blue paint. Work on your well-loved and well-known tan skin shall be ongoing. Please pm me with any issues that you find.

Expect it soon...very soon. Also expect the associated downtime.