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June 11, 1998

He walks to the window, stops. Looks outside...

Things have quieted down considerably, Nobody muses. The night out side it still, brightly lit by a full Summer moon. The sounds of the swamp try to comfort him with their low monotonous tones.

He looks down at the messages in his hand, taken from his desk moments before. Black Ops has blossomed, nay, exploded in size, and has gone on to join the Consortium of Justice. With them are the Justice Guard and other guilds with similar interests.

Ultimax had contacted him days before, about trying to protect a new city called Avalon, located far to the North. Calvin joined him, but 'twas carnage. Evil presented itself as Noble, and Allies fought Allies. In the end, no side was victorious, as all sides ended up fighting each other. Ultimax has decided to stay in Avalon, for a time. He writes that the guards of that City of Destiny are not about, and Ultimax is going to take it upon himself to keep the peace. A one-man army corps. Nobody smiles, amused at the BS&R trainer, and silently wishes him well.

Black Widow has been gone for a very long time, and he feels her absence. Nobody continuously questions his emotions, such as his curiously unbreakable friendship with her husband, Mr. Christian. He yearns for her to return; he wishes she would never leave.... Outside, a bird wanders about, alone, lost in the dark.

New laws are about to be handed down from Lord British's Court. There is much trepidation about this new code. Nobody is concerned for the BS&R in particular. Part of the new law states that no one may collect the gear off of the dead. This is meant to dismay looting, but it will make the job of the BS&R more difficult. Ah, well. We will do what we must, he decides.

His mind wanders, to thoughts of the woman who called herself Mrs. Nobody. The guildmaster has heard from PapaMan, guild elder, and that he has seen her. She resides in Occlo, and is ever melancholy, and always seen holding a candle. A candle for him, says PapaMan.

A Wisp travels past the window. So closly and silently that Nobody is startled. He stares after it, the glowing trail as hypnotic as the song-song language of the Wisp. It seems to say something that he can't quite make out. Something...forboding.

Nobody tries to surpress a shiver, but cannot. It is though someone has walked over his grave.

He turns and returns to his work.

Posted by at June 11, 1998 12:00 PM

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