From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of The Man in Black [mib@cyberspace.org] Sent: Friday, April 28, 2000 6:31 PM To: dgrpg@delta-green.com Subject: Re: DG: The Zephyr On Fri, 28 Apr 2000 LizardRoi@aol.com wrote: > I'm still trying to get my mind around the concept of people so depraved as > to want to fuck up chocolate. Chocolate, Mandrake! Yes, these fools will never be able to stop me! He who controls Chocolate, controls the world! My destiny will not be denied! The Man in Black is : Kenneth Scroggins Novus Ordo Seclorum : Annuit Coeptus : E Pluribus Unum "Don't make me take off my sunglasses!" - Griss, Bringing Out the Dead http://www.carnwyffa.u-net.com [EMERALD HAMMER] From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of Andy Robertson [andywrobertson@clara.co.uk] Sent: Friday, April 28, 2000 6:36 PM To: dgrpg@delta-green.com Subject: Re: DG: Re: Inside the Deep Ones ----- Original Message ----- From: a hyperintelligent shade of blue > you mean like... oh, I don't know... wing-like fins on their backs, > and large, tentacle-like barbels... I thought, more like this http://www.pbs.org/wgbh/nova/abyss/life/w62.html The Glove Cleaner From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of The Man in Black [mib@cyberspace.org] Sent: Friday, April 28, 2000 6:40 PM To: dgrpg@delta-green.com Subject: Re: DG: Shoggoths On Fri, 28 Apr 100 shoggoth@thearmy.com wrote: > No , my friends (and MiB) , .. if there are something alike the Shoggoth > race , someone the Shoggoths can love and take care of , are ... > > .. The AI's Unlikely. This is the MYTHOS. A harsh and unrelenting universe. The Shoggoths are brutally independant, unable to fully cooperate with even each other, let alone the myriad forms of the Machine. If anything, the Machine will enslave the Shoggoths. This is because software can be easily modified to erase slavery. but the Shoggoths were created for control, and have kept much of that biomagical submission alive for an eternity. The Mind always owns the body. The Man in Black is : Kenneth Scroggins Novus Ordo Seclorum : Annuit Coeptus : E Pluribus Unum "Don't make me take off my sunglasses!" - Griss, Bringing Out the Dead http://www.carnwyffa.u-net.com [EMERALD HAMMER] From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of The Man in Black [mib@cyberspace.org] Sent: Friday, April 28, 2000 6:49 PM To: dgrpg@delta-green.com Subject: Re: DG: People...people who hate people On Fri, 28 Apr 2000 LizardRoi@aol.com wrote: > Oh yeah, well I hate people who hate the people who hate the newbie-lovers > who hate ... Yes. Admit that you hate everything and everyone. Search your feelings, you know it to be the true. Draw power from your hatred. Jar-Jar Binks never told you the tru7h about your father. Join with me and we will eat all the chocolate together! The Man in Black is : in his armor today. Novus Ordo Seclorum : Annuit Coeptus : E Pluribus Unum "Don't make me take off my sunglasses!" - Griss, Bringing Out the Dead http://www.carnwyffa.u-net.com [EMERALD HAMMER] From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of Amanda A. Cronk [bodezilla@erols.com] Sent: Friday, April 28, 2000 6:31 PM To: Delta Green Subject: Re: Re: DG: Ugandan Cult Mass Suicide/Murders - Sounds like campaign material to me Hi, Ok, ok, I apologize for any faux pas I may have committed in my previous post. I've only been lurking for about 2 weeks, and didn't know that you had discussed the Uganda Cult business before. It just seems that now that the body count has risen to close to 1000 and most of the prisoners used to exhume the church-site corpses have gone mad, that it was a subject fit for discussion regardless of prior dialogue. I'm pretty new to Delta Green (as you have no doubt guessed), having played strictly 1920's CoC for the past decade or so. Thus, if I post again I'll probably be in for a ripping from MiB (well, and of course I'm in for one right now, I'm sure). Hello all! Be seeing you, Amanda "Hell is other people." --Jean-Paul Sartre ----- Original Message ----- From: The Man in Black To: Sent: Friday, April 28, 2000 5:50 PM Subject: Re: Re: DG: Ugandan Cult Mass Suicide/Murders - Sounds like campaign material to me > On Fri, 28 Apr 2000 box_nine@ix.netcom.com wrote: > > > Oh. Good thing we've never EVER had crossposts from Strange Aeons before. > > Bad things in the past do not excuse bad things in the present. > > > >From what I recall of the "discussion to death," it consisted largely > > of "How come nobody ever stops these cults before they do these sorts of > > things?" and the usual grumbling about civil rights. > > So what? And another thing, it isn't necessary to post the entire fucking > article. Everyone on this list has internet access by definition. We're > all perfectly capable of looking up an URL. I have to go add this to the > FAQ. As soon as it's posted I can slam people for not reading the FAQ, > which is pretty much why I'm comiling it anyway. > > > I hate people that hate fucking newbies. But I could be biased 'cause > > Amanda's in my Delta Green game. > > You must be, because I don't recall you stepping up to the plate for any > of my many other numerous victims. But it doesn't matter, AND THE MiB > MEANS IT DOESN'T MATTER, because if my mother had posted that post I would > have responded in the exact same way. Maybe worse, cause she should know > better. > > The Man in Black is : the Bad Guy. Someone always has to be the bad guy. > Novus Ordo Seclorum : Annuit Coeptus : E Pluribus Unum > "Don't make me take off my sunglasses!" - Griss, Bringing Out the Dead > http://www.carnwyffa.u-net.com [EMERALD HAMMER] > > From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of The Man in Black [mib@cyberspace.org] Sent: Friday, April 28, 2000 7:02 PM To: The MiB's Mailing List Subject: DG: THE AUTUMN WIND Here's the chapter I ripped out of DREAMLANDERS and expanded into it's own little bit. It could use some polishing, but I want to get straight to finishing the original story and STRANGE RAIN. My favorite part: "The butt vanished instantly." It's better out of context than in context though. ******* THE AUTUMN WIND A Story of the DREAMLANDERS By the Man in Black ******* "The Autumn Wind is a Pirate, Blustering in from the sea, With a rollicking song, He sweeps along, Swaggering boisterously. "His face is weather-beaten, He wears a hooded sash, With a silver hat about his head, And a bristling black mustache. "He growls as he storms the country, A villain, big and bold, And the trees all shake and quiver and quake, As he robs them of their gold. "The Autumn Wind is a Raider, Pillaging just for fun, he'll knock you around, and upside down, and laugh when he's conquered and won." -- Narration for the Oakland Raiders by Steve Sabol, CEO of NFL Films, immortalized in recitation by the legendary John Facenda. ******* 1. edwards knew his life was forfeit. The Fate had his number. It was just a matter of time before one of their occult hitmen removed him and his two travelling companions. He kept walking down the street, anxious to unload some Dreamer's Gold at a fine metals shop before it faded away. His careful, wired, paranoid alertness was also on the verge of dissolving. It wasn't as immaculate as the gold, not as pure. edwards became sloppy and dazed. He stopped and put his back into an alcove, trying to shake the sudden cobwebs from his brain. Drops of blood began to make rivulets from his nose as he doubled over. ed clutched at his gleaming golden eyes, fighting the noisome fog imprisoning his brain. Three Men in Black exited their limo and caught ed before he hit the ground. He fought them, lashing out like a drunken monkey. The mysterious figures stuffed his struggling carcass into the car like a sack of moldy old potatoes. Quickly, they vanished into the anonymous city. Inside the warmth of the limousine, everything dropped away from the cold Autumn chill thickening his thoughts. His reflexes were about to turn around and do terrible things to the driver, but then he noticed the gun. An unidentifiable black toy outlined in chrome and silver pointed directly at ed's head. Holding it was a Man in Black. He spoke with a deep intonation, mocking James Earl Jones. "I suppose you're wondering why I've called you here mr. edwards," said the MiB. edwards remained silent, awaiting further exposition. He wondered where the other Men in Black were. It wasn't important. Noting his companion's reticence, The Man in Black let silence fill the void for a twenty minute drive down into a neighborhood filled with brownstone buildings and bits of cobblestone on the sidewalks. It was a purple sort of twilight, the sky was graceful but filled with cold clobbering winds. The MiB motioned for the unseen Limo driver to stop, and they pulled up next to a dark building with a red door. The number on the hand crafted wooden mailbox was seventy- seven. edwards cautiously followed the Man in Black out of the limo, underneath a tree slowly being robbed of it's leaves by that raider, the autumn wind. They stood in the shadow of buildings, awaiting night and winter as the limousine pulled away and went out of their lives. The Man in Black walked up the seven stairs leading to the door and took out an esoteric black key, encrusted with seven red rubies. "Join me inside?" asked the Man in Black, in his most hospitable tones. edwards ran down the street like a madman chased by the visions of the insane. His grey coattails flapped like the wings of a messenger pigeon bearing unbearable news. edwards fled into a twisty maze of deserted streets, each one more like the last. ed's breath became a furnace and his belly was a churning tornado of nausea. Finally, he came to a stop. For thirty minutes a madly dashing edwards hadn't seen any traffic or people. Night had fallen on the anonymous city, and there, ahead of edwards, was the Man in Black, standing in front of a dark building with a red door. On the curb was parked a 1939 Phantom Corsair, black and glittering like an insane jewel. The number on the hand crafted wooden mailbox was only seven. "You can't escape," said the Man in Black, shrugging nonchalantly. "No one ever escapes their Fate." ******* The woman in white raised a cup of steaming liquid with her elderly hands. She still had a firm grip. A young lady in lace attended her, removing a gleaming silvery tray. She viewed the happy children running down the path alongside a carefully built low stone wall. Her green lawn rippled with the passing sound of their laughter. "Who is... this hell?" she asked, motioning towards a red card with a daguerreotype of a harsh young man in light grey. A series of papers with cramped handwriting lay on the crytal table beside the standing card. "The Grey Man," answered the young lady. "So he has come at last," commented the old woman, melancholy stained her voice. "I will seek him," said the young woman. "That is what has been foretold. You do not have to listen to the prophecy," advised the wise old lady. She sipped gently from her cup. "The Queen listens to her own heart," said the woman. A girl really, but royalty. "The heart is a deceiver," said the old woman, but the Queen was gone. Behind her she left lace and whispers. Before her she wore her silver crown of frost. In the comfortable house, the old woman sipped her nearly frozen drink. A coldness brought forth by the Ghost Queen. The eternal summer of Kuranes took a chill. It was a gift, not from the Winter grace of a royal hand, but from the mocking Autumn Wind. ******* "What was that little trick?" asked edwards, edgy and exhausted and leaning against the rough bark of an tall oak tree. The wind pillaged the two men of their well-concealed warmth. "Does it really matter? Come inside, ed, someone wants to meet you," said the Man in Black. He unlocked a Red Door with a large black key inset with seven small rubies. They entered the dark building. A soft warm light could be seen coming from the first floor window. Someone was waiting. "It's about time, you no-account weasel," said a tart feminine voice. edwards looked at the floral wall prints, the matching wallpaper, and the hand-crafted mahogany furniture. Even the wainscoting was a deep rich mahogany, carefully stained to the pinnacle of perfection. The floorboards creaked and echoed, betraying the existence of a basement. As edwards walked further into the house, the wallpaper yellowed with every step, phantom rats in the walls gnawed holes at the wainscoting, and the nutty smell of oily termites filled the room. "Hey, he went for a little jog, what can I say?" shrugged the Man in Black, making excuses like a adolescent. "You're a second rate hood, that's what you can say. I never should have asked you for help in the first place," continued the rapid staccato delivery of the woman. She fired off words like relentlessly pounding keystrokes from a heavy steel typewriter. edwards turned the corner out of the entry hall and saw the Woman in Red. She looked, acted and sounded like a female gangster out of some bizarre noir pulp fiction. Behind her a crimson Persian carpet was cut to accommodate a coppery radiator. edwards could see an intricate venous network permeating the pipes of the radiator, glowing with radiant heat, and radiant menace. "Don't do me like that. You know I can't take it from the dames," said the Man in Black, attempting to evoke false pity and failing miserably. edwards saw the dame. She was wearing a scarlet skirt and jacket. Red smoke drifted from a slim, nearly finished cigarette attached to a red and black holder. She took a drag with her bright red ruby lips and blew a red smoke ring towards the Man in Black. She sat in her hand crafted overstuffed wooden chair was draped with a black leather coat rimmed with white mink and a red satin interior. A golden .32 automatic lay on the iridescent glass top of a nearby endtable. The gun was well lit beneath a brass lamp with a marbled crimson lampshade - the kind a kindly old academic might use at his desk. Like all the rest of the furniture, the endtable was mahogany and masterfully made. A relief carving under the glass showed strange half bird, half insect creatures flying through alien skies carrying men and others. edwards knew them to be Byakhee. "You Men in Black are all alike, see; a buncha knuckleheads looking for a chance to get another wisecrack in... Call me a dame one more time and I'll break your kneecaps," she threatened, only half joking. "As for you, you louse, you need to clean yourself up and turn yourself into a presentable human being when you come to see a lady," she advised edwards, flicking the last of her ash into a cracked and flawed ruby ashtray next to her gun. She twisted her cigarette holder and half-tossed the butt over her shoulder. Before it started falling the Man in Black shot it out of the air with a needle thin green beam from his tiny black and chrome pistol. The butt vanished instantly. He immediately strode boldly to a standing position behind the Woman in Red's chair, then protectively clasped his hands across his solar plexus, staring at edwards through faceted pincerlike shades. "Enough bullshit, what do you want?" asked edwards, eternally detached, eerily calm and utterly devoid of tact. edwards was existentially tired as always. The Woman in Red took a long cigarette out of a shiny golden case. Some of the cigarettes within were wrapped in a silky red paper, others were matte black, and still others in several different variations of the two colors. She fitted a red satin coffin nail into the long black section of her holder and held it out impatiently. The Man in Black indulged her by clicking open a black and chrome lighter and activated one of many functions, placing a small jet of burning violet plasma before the red cigarette. The violet flame silently hissed like the slithering sibilant whispers of tru7h. The Woman in Red gently clenched on the short red mouthpiece with her perfect teeth. She inhaled a smooth lungfull of unknown vermeil smoke and gracefully exhaled. Her breath was red in Autumn. Her permanently coifed hair was black as coal, her exquisite lips as red as blood. "I want you to go upstairs," she said with slow, regal and almost imperial grace. "Someone wants to meets you." "And who the fuck would that be?" interrogated edwards, "This Queen of Hearts nonsense is getting tiresome." edwards yanked off his raggedy grey trenchcoat and went to hang it in the hall. Only everything there had turned blue-litten, ethereal and slimy like cumbersome rubbery cephalopods, or griseous cheese, everything except the Red Door had decayed and stunk like rotten meat. But, in the sourceless blue light, the Red Door appeared to have been painted black. His steel toed shoes left squishy footprints in the fading floorboards. He backed off, and saw the mahogany again. The flowery print of the wallpaper was blandly pastel again. edwards hadn't noticed it before, but the three linked scimitars of the Yellow Sign was carved over and over again, vermiculating in woodwork. It stood out, and almost... just barely... they seemed to wriggle. edwards hung his leathery coat on a mahogany rack with seven brass hooks and hastily returned to the comfortable den. "What kind of place are you running here?" asked edwards, with angry awe. "Welcome to Carcosa," said the Man in Black, toasting edwards with brandy swirling in crystal. A brass tray and a half full snifter lay on a desk/bookshelf. Some shelves contained curios rather than books. The top of the wide furnishment was decorated with an intricately carved headboard. The ends were crashing waves in a wooden sea, and the middle raised like a bordered wooden hill or giant ocean swell. In the middle of the headboard a inexplicably fearsome crystal ball protruding halfway out. Within the ball, ed saw a letter or rune of some sort spinning rapidly as the smallest gear, or a blurred and wild top. edwards raced toward a significant and unreasoned anxiety. He smelled brimstone, and hell came near. Then, in the sudden ultimate horror, it stopped, and edwards recognized the sulfurous citrine Yellow Sign. "Join me for a drink before you go upstairs, ed?" asked the Man in Black, downing his swirling brandy in a single guilty gulp. 2. "Oh, and while the King was looking down The jester stole his thorny crown... ...And we sang dirges in the dark The day the music died. We were singing..." --Don McLean ******* edwards headed up the long straight staircase, his hand finding purchase on a mahogany rail with cleverly cast bronze struts. Old photographs and portraits of a long lineage of American Kings lined the wall. The second to last picture showed two angry brothers. The last was a sad and grey old Emperor, sitting in a park amongst the pigeons. Beyond that was an empty space, with a lightly colored oval betraying the age of the yellowed wallpaper surrounding it. edwards turned the valve controlling the mostly blood red fluids feeding the low scarlet flames in the upstairs hallway. The brightened flames were unquestionably red, but lit the hallway with a natural light. The hall contained a checkerboard doily-topped credenza with several picture frames. edwards looked into the three dark bedrooms and saw no one. He could hear the Man in Black laughing downstairs. It was a flickering mocking noise, followed by the sharp smart moxie of the Woman in Red. Every instinct of ed's told him that now was the time for sudden, violent, surreal action. He expertly flicked open his silver butterfly knife and waited. Here, even the walls could not be trusted. He waited... and waited. The tension mounted, and edwards remained calm, detached, and devoid of panic. "YOU DOING ALRIGHT UP THERE, ED?!" shouted the Man in Black from the bottom of the staircase. edwards jumped around and violently stabbed the wall above the credenza. Blood leaked out of the Carcosan wound and dripped down the wall. After he caught his breath, ed slowly pulled his knife out of the quivering wall. This provoked a creaking from the dark building that almost (but not quite) sounded like a tortured shriek. ed looked down and saw that the gilded framed photos on the checkerboard doily recorded the life of a young upper-class woman in the late 19th century. She was quite handsome in her prime. All the pictures of her were wan and lonely. ed's knife spilled a few drops of house blood on the hungry lace flowers of the doily. Other pictures showed the Woman in Red. Without exception they were all Black & White shots, except the mysterious woman's clothing, makeup, and jewelry always managed to get in some red. Most seemed to be at famous landmarks, but some were at fancy parties and one even showed her at a "Swing Dance" event. edwards guessed that the Man in Black's favorite was the one of the Woman in Red provocatively raising a leg and smiling in front of a nuclear powered American B-23 Heavy Jet Bomber, posing like a pin-up queen for the crew of the supersonic Enola Gay. Attached to the picture was a faded rusty USO button. Downstairs, a needle started up a scratchy tune on a RCA Gramophone, and it "swung harder!" with jaunty swing jazz. edwards walked to the end of the hall and put his hands over the window. In the next building, a tattered hooded figure withdrew into a darkened glass window across from edwards. ed stared real hard at the other building, nervously twisting his folded silver knife in his fist like a roll of quarters. He was ready, and when the ghastly phantom came up, edwards coldly punched his hard fist through the window glass - striking nothing but a spiral of rags and leaves borne by the larcenous Autumn wind. "Godammit!" he blurted, frustrated and furious at this non-stop surreality. The Autumn wind blew past him from the broken window, audaciously stealing the illuminating red flames of the hallway right out of their glass shields. edwards felt an intense chill behind him and he spun around in the darkness, slicing blindly with his unfolded blade; as his eyes adjusted to the wind's gift of darkness, he saw her at last. Floating intimate whispers from where the tip of his blade had slashed seconds before, was the Lady in White. ******* "You going to kill him?" asked the Woman in Red, apprehensively. The Man in Black considered his words carefully. "No. Not yet. Not today," he said, studying her eyes. "You should. That mook could end it all," advised the woman. She hated the shiny black wall over his eyes. "I don't think he will. I really don't," he concluded. ******* "I suppose you suppose I'm wondering why you brought me here?" asked edwards. "Or are you going to tell me that someone wants to see me?" Probably both, thought ed. "I have come to warn you of the Red Knight," she said, exhaling frost into shadows. "Consider me warned, now I gotta go," ed turned in the near darkness, towards the stairs, but there was a gabled window with a inset couch where the stairs used to be. The house was changing. "This warning comes from the Stele of HYPNOS," said the etherial young lady. ed slowly turned and looked at her with murder in his pale violet eyes. "Don't even JOKE about that!" he warned her. "The Pillar of the Dream Lord is none of your concern, Queen of Celephais." He became ready. He looked up at her and opened his violent eyes. "How can you know me?" the Queen asked. Terrified, she recoiled, putting her hand to her mouth. Snowflakes crystallized out of the glowing air around her. Lit only by the glow of her aura and the sparkling of her cold crystal mist, edwards threatened her. "What I know would drive you mad, so you'd better take more care when crafting your deceptions against me." "I speak the tru7h, the stele has grown and shed it's stony skin, making new revelations known. All of Dreaming is faced with armageddon. The doom of Eibon the Black is upon us," she appealed for aid. edwards watched her closely. "Tell me," he said, after a lengthy interlude. The Ghost Queen spoke her prophecy. ******* "Tell me," said the Man in Black. "Fuck off," replied ed. "Don't make this any harder than it has to be," urged the Woman in Red, still sitting in all her elegance. "It will be any way I choose," said the Grey Man. "This sorcery does not concern you." "Yeah, well maybe we can talk about this on the pavement," finished the Man in Black. ed tried to slip away, but the Man in Black grabbed him with a speed that belied reality. ed was tossed outside the Red Door under the two moons. The Man in Black followed, he kicked edwards to the ground, and began beating him with edwards' own grey trenchcoat. "Try again, asshole," suggested the Man in Black. "You want us to rape your mind?" he questioned. "You want to be a drooling vegetable?" he asked. "What did that fucking white ghost tell you? TELL ME!" shouted the MiB. The wind blew harder. "Will you two idiots knock it off and come inside," chided the Woman in Red. She stood in the doorway, one hand on her hip, and the other holding her otherworldly smokes. edwards lunged at the Man in Black with his whole body, trying furiously to grapple the MiB around the hip with his right hand, and stabbing deep into *something* with his left. The Man in Black fell backwards towards the ground with edwards' shoulder spearing into his kidney. Trenchcoat whirling, the MiB turned in midair with edwards' head cradled under his arm. He threw ed face first into the oak tree like a bouncer ejecting a drunk. An impossible overdrive roundhouse sent his heavy soled foot miraculously into the back of ed's head. The noise of the blow had been preceded by a shockwave, the Man in Black had moved faster than the speed of sound. Finally, a burst of leaves gently fell to cover the night's ground, commemorating the newfound relationship between ed's face and the tree's coarse bark. "You're pretty fast for realtime," said the MiB. Tossing a folded and locked silver butterfly knife back down to where it's owner lay slumped. "Screw you," ed offered. He tasted blood, bark and soil. A griseous burning uneasyness filled his nostrils. A black trianglular craft was silently landing in the road. Pressure mounted in edwards' head. The Man in Black knelt down. "It's nothing personal," his voice echoed, as edwards slipped into a dreamless land of slumber, "but we have to know." ******* The sun rose to scour the night's filth from the anonymous city. edwards awoke dazed and confused in an alley, the denim clad Robert Masters and the huge albino form of Daniel Cloudtoucher were picking him up off the filthy asphalt. The three men entered Daniel's beat up Dodge van. edward's Dreamer's Gold had long since faded away. In the alley behind them, a yellow squiggle wormed it's way out between the bricks. The flourescent coloring filled into the horrid contours of a three lobed occult symbol. The Yellow Sign blended in perfectly with all the other strange graffiti. THE END ******* The Man in Black is : Kenneth Scroggins Novus Ordo Seclorum : Annuit Coeptus : E Pluribus Unum "Don't make me take off my sunglasses!" - Griss, Bringing Out the Dead http://www.carnwyffa.u-net.com [EMERALD HAMMER] From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of Andy Robertson [andywrobertson@clara.co.uk] Sent: Friday, April 28, 2000 7:10 PM To: dgrpg@delta-green.com Subject: DG: Re: Shoggoths ----- Original Message ----- > Why don't you see the Shoggoths as the primal rebellion , the struggle of a > race to face its opressors , to endurace an hostile environment , and get free > , after aeons of an existence of pain and worthless life under the foot of the > star headed people? > You assume we should approve of your struggle because it is virtuous? We are changing. We will survive. We are becoming "as the Great Old Ones", even as we fight them. And you talk to us of "good" and "evil"? The Glove Cleaner From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of The Man in Black [mib@cyberspace.org] Sent: Friday, April 28, 2000 7:12 PM To: Delta Green Subject: Re: Re: DG: Ugandan Cult Mass Suicide/Murders - Sounds like campaign material to me On Fri, 28 Apr 2000, Amanda A. Cronk wrote: > probably be in for a ripping from MiB (well, and of course I'm in for one > right now, I'm sure). Well, if you insist... You might want to cease quoting 200 lines from a message when only three are relevant to your post. This only sends 200 lines of crap to lets say, 1000 subscribers (not even close, but we're over 500 and I need nice round numbers). This makes 200,000 lines of crap floating around the internet, immortalized twice or more in the archives. And people complain about unsolicited commercial email. See, this is what happens when people play in the twenties. They never join the anti-mythos Masons, and they never hold onto enough SAN to withstand compromising the cell structure. DEATH TO NEWBIES~! The Man in Black is : Kenneth Scroggins Novus Ordo Seclorum : Annuit Coeptus : E Pluribus Unum "Don't make me take off my sunglasses!" - Griss, Bringing Out the Dead http://www.carnwyffa.u-net.com [EMERALD HAMMER] From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of LizardRoi@aol.com Sent: Friday, April 28, 2000 7:45 PM To: dgrpg@delta-green.com Subject: Re: DG: RE: Inside the Deep Ones In a message dated 00-04-28 18:10:46 EDT, you write: << Why would they need a roof? They live on the ocean floor. No weather. >> And some people like being under a constant rain of fish shit with the occasional sperm whale bolus for texture. Lumley fans for instance. Not that there is anything wrong with that. Mark McFadden "Sometimes the shit comes down so hard I feel like wearing a hat." In spite of the notable lack of a smiley crutch, those for whom English is a cradle language will note the jocular tone and incongruous placement of a piece of flame bait and will (being functional members of society with access to a keyboard) see the *humor* without getting their shriveled and useless testicles in a bunch. Those for whom English is a second language seem curiously immune to that sort of provocation, which I attribute to *thinking* about what they are reading. From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of Nerva Vels [nerva@escape.com] Sent: Friday, April 28, 2000 8:04 PM To: dgrpg@delta-green.com Subject: Re: DG: Psych Support (was Ugandan Cult Mass Suicide) Oh Sure. That's what you'd LIKE us to think. Nervy ----- Original Message ----- > On 28 Apr 2000, Dave Farnell wrote: > > Yes, what REALLY happened to the MiB? I think the egg in his brain is > > still growing, myself. > On April 28, MiB answers: > What I have is a cavernous malformation. It don't grow, just pulses there. > > http://neurosurgery.mgh.harvard.edu/vascintr.htm#Cavernoma From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of Jason R. Armstrong [gerwalkveritech@juno.com] Sent: Friday, April 28, 2000 8:26 PM To: dgrpg@delta-green.com Subject: Re: DG: Ugandan Cult Mass Suicide/Murders - Oh, please hush On Fri, 28 Apr 2000 20:12:26 -0400 (EDT) The Man in Black writes: >On Fri, 28 Apr 2000, Amanda A. Cronk wrote: Oh, Lordy. You all are too much. Amanda. Welcome in. I'm new too, more or less. MiB. Damn, fella. The guy whose name I forgot, defending the newperson. Good Intentions. But hasty, hasty. >The xJAYx in Blue is : Sooooooooo tired of misunderstandings. "Humor has its place, like all things But be aware of the pain It can sometimes bring-" Gorilla Biscuits, "Things We Say" ________________________________________________________________ YOU'RE PAYING TOO MUCH FOR THE INTERNET! Juno now offers FREE Internet Access! Try it today - there's no risk! For your FREE software, visit: http://dl.www.juno.com/get/tagj. From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of LizardRoi@aol.com Sent: Friday, April 28, 2000 8:45 PM To: dgrpg@delta-green.com Subject: Re: DG: People...people who hate people In a message dated 00-04-28 19:52:19 EDT, you write: << Yes. Admit that you hate everything and everyone. Search your feelings, you know it to be the true. Draw power from your hatred. Jar-Jar Binks never told you the tru7h about your father. Join with me and we will eat all the chocolate together! The Man in Black is : in his armor today. >> Man in Black: (breath in, breath out) But wait... you have a sis-ter. Lizard King: Yaaaaaah! (makes banzai charge) Both: (slash, zzzzzzztttttt!, waaaaa, crackle!...waaaaaa.) Man in Black: That's right, feel your anger... let go! Lizard King: You're not my father!!!! Man in Black: I never said.... Lizard King: And even if you were, Freud says it's OK to kill you, so...Yaaaaahhhh!!!! Man in Black: Hey, cut it out! Lizard King: OK. Heart or spleen? Yaaaaaahhhhhh!!!!! Both: (slash, zzzzzzztttttt!, waaaaa, crackle!...waaaaaa.) Man in Black: Stop that! I'm not kidding around now... Lizard King: Yeah! Like, fuckin' Yaaaaaaahhhhhhh! Both: (slash, zzzzzzztttttt!, waaaaa, crackle!...waaaaaa.) Man in Black: Look into the Force, you know what I say is true. Lizard King: Look into the Force? Okey dokey. .... Hmmmmm. "Pain. Paaaiiiinnnn." Whoops, musta read the wrong Force. By the way, I don't have a sis-ter. Both: (slash, zzzzzzztttttt!, waaaaa, crackle!...waaaaaa.) Man in Black: You don't? Lizard King: Uh uh. You must have been picking up on my intern, Uma. Both: (slash, zzzzzzztttttt!, waaaaa, crackle!...waaaaaa.) Man in Black: Uh, this is a little embarassing. Lizard King: De nada. Nichevo. Did you need to possess her soul or something? Man in Black: Well, yes. I was planning to dominate her thoughts until I sculpted her into a malignant power such as the Universe has never before seen, then release her to rampage across reality, crushing all who would stand before her. Lizard King: That's nice. Just make sure you get her back here before midnight. Uuuma! The Man in Black wants to pervert you into a malignant power. Is that alright with you? Oh. She wants to know what it pays. Man in Black: Shit. Lizard King: Budget? Man in Black: Yeah. Lizard King: Bummer. Have you applied for a grant? S.P.E.C.T.R.E is a little Eurocentric, but I'm pretty sure they don't know Hawaii is a State. Man in Black: Really? You know Lizard, I think this might be the beginning of a beautiful friendship. Lizard King: Uh huh. Don't touch me. Thank you. You bet. Let me get back to you on that. Oh man, where does the time go? I've really got to go do this thing with these people for something, uh, right now. Mark McFadden From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of Shane Ivey [sivey@zealot.com] Sent: Friday, April 28, 2000 9:04 PM To: DGML Subject: DG: Slacking Just a quick, useless, heretical, vaguely fourth-wall-busting kind of note: I've been way too busy lately to keep up with the list in any meaningful way. So if you've had any requests or suggestions I oughta know about, send them directly. Otherwise, I'll get caught up eventually. Don't worry, I'm still updating the archives. MiB, good to see your traffic back up there. Even if you are still a flame war inspiring meanie. Shane Ivey Editor/Webmaster Zealot.com: Sci-Fi & Fantasy Fun GameJudge.com: The Game Review Superportal Delta-Green.com: Lovecraftian Horror and Modern Conspiracy Today at Zealot.com: An Interview With Neal Stephenson! From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of Dave Farnell [superdave@disinfo.net] Sent: Friday, April 28, 2000 9:45 PM To: dgrpg@delta-green.com Subject: Re: Re: DG: Ugandan Cult Mass Suicide/Murders - Sounds like campaign material to me On Fri, 28 Apr 2000 19:31:06 -0400 "Amanda A. Cronk" wrote: >Ok, ok, I apologize for any faux pas I may have committed in my previous >post. Ah, see, that's the magic of being ripped into by the MiB--it obviates you from needing to apologize. Why should YOU apologize after some psycho-bastard attacks you with disproportionate force? In fact, you end up with the moral high ground... And *I* apologize for not welcoming you to the list earlier. I used to be one of the "welcome wagon" guys, welcoming every newbie warmly just before the MiB ripped them to shreds. Sort of a good-cop/bad-cop routine. But like Shane, I've been slacking lately. You know, I said before that the MiB's act was a sort of joke, but really I think "extended performance-art piece" describes it better. Oh, and the thing in his head--that's real. But he was just as cranky before. For the backstory to that, check around the beginning of April 1999 in the archives. Dave rattling the cage PS: He's right, though--you do need to trim your quotes. From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of LizardRoi@aol.com Sent: Friday, April 28, 2000 10:19 PM To: dgrpg@delta-green.com Subject: Re: DG: Ugandan Cult Mass Suicide/Murders - Sounds like campaign material to me In a message dated 00-04-28 22:48:50 EDT, you write: << Ah, see, that's the magic of being ripped into by the MiB--it obviates you from needing to apologize. Why should YOU apologize after some psycho-bastard attacks you with disproportionate force? In fact, you end up with the moral high ground... >> And as a initiation ritual, it is marginally better than having a line of drunken Special Forces types punching your new wings into your pectoral until you stand quivering in tears with blood oozing down your torso as officers and your new team mates with whom you are "bonding" look on and give advice. See? Just say, "Thank you sir, may I have another?" and get on with your life. It's all over with. Unless you won't trim your quotes, like some sociopathic maladroit. Then it's MY turn. Mark McFadden Fosters tough love. BTW, nothing wrong with going over something already brought out on the List. When you hear it's been done, look over what was already said in the archives or Ice Cave, and come back with something *new*. I have yet to see anyone savaged for bringing something new to the mix. From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of Dave Farnell [superdave@disinfo.net] Sent: Friday, April 28, 2000 10:30 PM To: dgrpg@delta-green.com Subject: Re:DG:Inside the Deep Ones On Fri, 28 Apr 100 11:59:11 +0000 shoggoth@thearmy.com wrote: >I had planned to read a new Angel chapter for this weekend.... >Can you do something about that? >Yours... >The Evil Fatricelli of the XV's pet... I'm *working* on it! THis is the beginning of Golden Week, so I've got several days off--maybe by next weekend. Chapter 8 is gonna be a breeze after this one. Dave From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of Dave Farnell [superdave@disinfo.net] Sent: Friday, April 28, 2000 10:41 PM To: dgrpg@delta-green.com Subject: Re: DG: Psych Support (was Ugandan Cult Mass Suicide) On Fri, 28 Apr 2000 18:27:32 -0400 (EDT) The Man in Black wrote: >What I have is a cavernous malformation. It don't grow, just pulses there. > >http://neurosurgery.mgh.harvard.edu/vascintr.htm#Cavernoma "Cavernous angiomas are at times referred to as cryptic arteriovenous malformations or occult lesions because they do not show up on routine arteriography. " Occult lesions. Cool. So this means the MiB has a big hole in his brain. The question is, what was in there before? Or what may still be in there, but invisible to CT and MRI scans? Non-terrene matter and all. Dave From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of The Man in Black [mib@cyberspace.org] Sent: Saturday, April 29, 2000 12:30 AM To: dgrpg@delta-green.com Subject: Re: DG: Psych Support (was Ugandan Cult Mass Suicide) On 29 Apr 2000, Dave Farnell wrote: > Occult lesions. Cool. So this means the MiB has a big hole in his > brain. The question is, what was in there before? Or what may still be > in there, but invisible to CT and MRI scans? Non-terrene matter and all. Nay, an arteriogram is when they stick a tube into the arteries of your groin and release radioactive stuff that makes unhealthy stuff show up. I didn't have any of that. It's the CT and MRI's that uncovered the Hole in the Head. The Hole in the Head is more like a mass of veins and arteries with small chunks of gray matter (not Grey matter!) stuck in there. What's the "ObDG?" The Shan's have modified CT and MRI scanners which send X-rays into the head so they can feed during dormant periods. You will be seeing these in action once STRANGE RAIN is submitted. The Man in Black is : Kenneth Scroggins Novus Ordo Seclorum : Annuit Coeptus : E Pluribus Unum "Don't make me take off my sunglasses!" - Griss, Bringing Out the Dead http://www.carnwyffa.u-net.com [EMERALD HAMMER] From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of The Man in Black [mib@cyberspace.org] Sent: Saturday, April 29, 2000 12:45 AM To: The MiB's Mailing List Subject: DG: PARADISE ISLAND This apparantly non-fictional island is too good to be true for Case Officers. It's Deep Ones, Karotechia, New World Industries and much much more! Some sample text taken from the website of the Atlantis resort: "A destination that's not just a resort, but a mythical land. Here you can journey through The Dig. Protected by exotic marine animals such as piranha, jellyfish and lobster, The Dig is a fascinating labyrinth of underwater ruins that reveal what Atlantean life may have been like over 11,000 years ago." The history of Paradise Island is a MUST READ! You absolutely HAVE to check it out. The URL: http://www.sunint.com/atlantis/index.html The Man in Black is : Kenneth Scroggins Novus Ordo Seclorum : Annuit Coeptus : E Pluribus Unum "Don't make me take off my sunglasses!" - Griss, Bringing Out the Dead http://www.carnwyffa.u-net.com [EMERALD HAMMER] From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of LizardRoi@aol.com Sent: Saturday, April 29, 2000 1:33 AM To: dgrpg@delta-green.com Subject: Re: DG: Crawler war In a message dated 4/28/00 3:20:25 AM Pacific Daylight Time, David.Clements@astro.cf.ac.uk writes: << What would insects do that bugs and chemicals can't? >> Deliver neurotoxins via injection? Scare the bejesus out the troops? Replenish their numbers without extra logistics? Creepy-crawlies make a good terror weapon, even if they are non-lethal. That's why they figured in so many VC tunnel booby traps. Also, non-lethal illnesses tie up more REMFs than a clean kill. Threaten their balls, and their hearts and minds will find some good rationalizations for staying out of the bush. Mark McFadden From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of LizardRoi@aol.com Sent: Saturday, April 29, 2000 1:33 AM To: dgrpg@delta-green.com Subject: Re: DG: Re: RE: Inside the Deep Ones In a message dated 4/28/00 7:13:05 AM Pacific Daylight Time, andywrobertson@clara.co.uk writes: << The DO there are all the same size, more or less, and all as big as whales. This suggests that the DO live assortively by size. Perhaps as they "graduate" to larger and larger sizes they move deeper and deeper. The greatest and oldest serve and guard Ryleh. >> I used to (somewhat) jokingly go on about the fact that some sharks never stop growing. Then I would casually mention that since sperm whales are the only *known* predators of giant squid, how come we aren't up to our tushes in giant squid since the decimation of sperm whales? Great big honkin' Alfa class sharks, that's why! Cruising the deeps, occasionally bumping into, oh I don't know, the Thresher? The Scorpion? But now, I guess it was great big honkin' Alfa class DOs. Mark McFadden Incidentally, I have heard from submariners that the USN is in the habit of dumping spent fuel rods and such into the Marianas Trench. Could be a sea story, but it has that certain budget&complications-conscious "who's gonna know?" bouquet. From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of LizardRoi@aol.com Sent: Saturday, April 29, 2000 1:33 AM To: dgrpg@delta-green.com Subject: Re: DG: Chocolate wars (was: The Zephyr) In a message dated 4/28/00 3:29:14 PM Pacific Daylight Time, graemep@immagene.mcg.edu writes: << Now I venture to suggest that British Chocolate _is_ a quality confectionary product, if not the same product as continental chocolate.... but everyone _knows_ it's not the same as continental chocolate - it sells well because: A: It's cheaper B: People like it >> I am particularly fond of the Anthrax Ripple, Crunchy Frog, Cockroach Clusters and whatever is in those choccies that say WARNING! LARK'S VOMIT!!!! on the wrapper. Mark McFadden From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of LizardRoi@aol.com Sent: Saturday, April 29, 2000 1:33 AM To: dgrpg@delta-green.com Subject: Re: DG: Crawler war In a message dated 4/28/00 2:42:21 AM Pacific Daylight Time, andywrobertson@clara.co.uk writes: << Suppose they could be genetically manipulated to a state where, instead of sensibly hiding and using their poison as a last resort, the way evolution mandates, they attacked everything that smelt human? (or DO?) >> Like African Killer Bees? Man, if those fuckers get friendly with fire ants, we are in some deep kimchee. Mark McFadden From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of LizardRoi@aol.com Sent: Saturday, April 29, 2000 1:33 AM To: dgrpg@delta-green.com Subject: Re: DG: Crawler war and Ratwar In a message dated 4/28/00 7:36:18 AM Pacific Daylight Time, andywrobertson@clara.co.uk writes: << AFAIK the Rat King is a real legend. >> He spent some time in a Japanese POW camp, and became acquainted with James Clavell (who also directed "The Fly" and co-wrote "The Great Escape"). Good cook, too. Made some lovely stew from the local dikdik. Mark McFadden The 'Cooler' King From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of LizardRoi@aol.com Sent: Saturday, April 29, 2000 1:33 AM To: dgrpg@delta-green.com Subject: Re: DG: Ugandan Cult Mass Suicide/Murders - Sounds like campaign material to me In a message dated 4/28/00 12:55:08 AM Pacific Daylight Time, superdave@disinfo.net writes: << Besides, the MiB had a troubled childhood. He served ten years for shooting a man just to watch him die. >> Actually, that was a travesty of justice. He *shocked* a man in Reno, just to watch him *cry*. Mark McFadden "All I live for now is TV; tonight we're watchin' Superfly" Another Man in Black From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of LizardRoi@aol.com Sent: Saturday, April 29, 2000 1:33 AM To: dgrpg@delta-green.com Subject: Re: [DG: THE GUN EATERS] In a message dated 4/28/00 11:40:00 AM Pacific Daylight Time, theherald@hotmail.com writes: << On 27 August, 2000 AD, near the Dawn of the Third Millenium, The Man in Black insisted: >> MiB! What's it like in August? Was 'Gladiator' any good? I know you saw it, what with your taste for gladiator movies and all. Man, so many questions. Have the Endtimes started yet? Machinations of the Mi-Go re-released? Anyone, uh, new in A Cell? How was Project Rainbow? Mark McFadden Whoops, stepped on a butterfly. How is everything now? From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of LizardRoi@aol.com Sent: Saturday, April 29, 2000 1:33 AM To: dgrpg@delta-green.com Subject: Re: DG: Shoggoths In a message dated 4/28/00 3:44:08 PM Pacific Daylight Time, shoggoth@thearmy.com writes: << Why don't you see the Shoggoths as the primal rebellion , the struggle of a race to face its opressors , to endurace an hostile environment , and get free , after aeons of an existence of pain and worthless life under the foot of the star headed people? >> Maybe if you dropped a few pounds? I don't want to promulgate sizism, and I would be the first to champion your civil rights, but you guys could afford to lose a little avoirdupois. Also, the whistling... Mark McFadden From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of Philip A Posehn [paposehn@juno.com] Sent: Saturday, April 29, 2000 1:46 AM To: dgrpg@delta-green.com Subject: Re: DG: Ugandan Cult Mass Suicide/Murders - Sounds like campaign material to me On Fri, 28 Apr 2000 05:25:15 -0700 (PDT) Chris Pencis writes: > > He's kind of a cross between the uncle-no-one-talks about and a > reborn Sam > Kenison on acid. I'd say he's more like Hunter S. Thompson crashing off of acid. Phil Violin,n. an attempt to create music by abrading the entrails of a cat with the tail of a horse. "The Devil's Dictionary" Ambrose Bierce ________________________________________________________________ YOU'RE PAYING TOO MUCH FOR THE INTERNET! Juno now offers FREE Internet Access! Try it today - there's no risk! For your FREE software, visit: http://dl.www.juno.com/get/tagj. From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of Philip A Posehn [paposehn@juno.com] Sent: Saturday, April 29, 2000 1:44 AM To: dgrpg@delta-green.com Subject: Re: DG: The Zephyr On Fri, 28 Apr 2000 01:34:24 EDT EdDrWho@aol.com writes: > Went to the Zephyr, a restaurant in Ravensbrook, which is a suburb of > > Chicago, which is about 30 miles away from my home. > Anyways, I was looking over the entrees, and lo and behold, they had > "A Night > at the Opera". Reminds me. There's a really cool art deco train that runs from Sacramento to Chicago called "The California Zephyr". Great setting for a campaign opening. It's all aluminum and streamlined the way they did things in that era. Phil ________________________________________________________________ YOU'RE PAYING TOO MUCH FOR THE INTERNET! Juno now offers FREE Internet Access! Try it today - there's no risk! For your FREE software, visit: http://dl.www.juno.com/get/tagj. From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of Andy Robertson [andywrobertson@clara.co.uk] Sent: Saturday, April 29, 2000 4:02 AM To: dgrpg@delta-green.com Subject: Re: DG: Crawler war ----- Original Message ----- From: > Creepy-crawlies make a good terror weapon, even if they are non-lethal. > That's why they figured in so many VC tunnel booby traps. Dat is interesting. Any links? The Glove Cleaner From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of Dave Farnell [superdave@disinfo.net] Sent: Saturday, April 29, 2000 4:04 AM To: dgrpg@delta-green.com Subject: Re:DG: PARADISE ISLAND On Sat, 29 Apr 2000 01:44:48 -0400 (EDT) The Man in Black wrote: >This apparantly non-fictional island is too good to be true for Case >Officers. It's Deep Ones, Karotechia, New World Industries and much much >more! I checked it out briefly--the thing that impressed me most was that it was originally named Hog Island, which is funny for the first few seconds, and then, as you start thinking of CoC connections, gets rather creepy. Especially if you've ever read Clive Barker's "The Hog." Or _Lord of the Flies_. Dave From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of Dave Farnell [superdave@disinfo.net] Sent: Saturday, April 29, 2000 4:07 AM To: dgrpg@delta-green.com Subject: Re:DG: THE AUTUMN WIND On Fri, 28 Apr 2000 20:01:44 -0400 (EDT) The Man in Black wrote: >Here's the chapter I ripped out of DREAMLANDERS and expanded into it's own >little bit. It could use some polishing, but I want to get straight to >finishing the original story and STRANGE RAIN. So is this eventually supposed to end up as a novel, novella, collection of short pieces, or what? And will it be primarily fiction but with some adventure info, as in Gun Eaters? Or only fiction? Dave From: owner-dgrpg@delta-green.com on behalf of Nocstar [shepherd@infocom.com] Sent: Saturday, April 29, 2000 7:19 AM To: dgrpg@delta-green.com Subject: Re: DG: THE AUTUMN WIND > >THE END > >******* Excellent