http://www.nzhistory.net.nz/politics/treaty/read-the-treaty/english-text
Friday, February 27, 2009
On assignment: Chasing the Sun
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Pencil note, written as if in a cramped space, like the storage compartment of an airplane, dated 26/2/2009
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Ka mate, ka mate! ka ora! ka ora!
Pencil note, written as if in a cramped space, like the storage compartment of an airplane, dated 26/2/2009
===================================
Ka mate, ka mate! ka ora! ka ora!
Ka mate! ka mate! ka ora! ka ora!
Tēnei te tangata pūhuruhuru
Nāna nei i tiki mai whakawhiti te rā
Ā, upane! ka upane!
Ā, upane, ka upane, whiti te ra!
’Tis death! ‘tis death! ’Tis life! ‘tis life!
’Tis death! ‘tis death! ’Tis life! ‘tis life!
This the hairy man that stands here...
…who brought the sun and caused it to shine
A step upward, another step upward!
A step upward, another... the Sun shines!
Tuesday, February 17, 2009
Madness
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Pencil entry, dated 16/2/2009
===================================
Three things, all connected, all feedin off each other, all separate. Havin one, is bad, each time ya add another, it makes both worse.
Darkness and Madness, thats two.
There are things that mortal minds just ain't meant ta know. Tha terrible will and thoughts of tha gods are two. There are some sights what will do same thing. Some folks will snap at things other folks do fer fun. Some folks will bear all kind of punishment and die before crackin. In tha 7RAR-L the taught us, and trained us how ta resist and how inflict. Madness is a weapon if ya know how ta wield it. A deep trap, I know.
I know real fuckin good. I've been there twice now, in Toxia. First time was after a dose of Blue-Shadow's blood. Three days of halucinatin I was back in Timor, tha nights leadin up ta me getting shelled and blown ta shit. Then there was tha Horsemen. I lost my marbles good when I lost first Spirit Gal, then Her Ladyship to them. Her Ladyship goin to them, of Her own free will, goin ta War, what She opposed most, conflict and violence. Tha things i've struggled so much ta grow from, in Her service. It broke me as sure as Her fist did as she grieved tha Huntress, and put me down as easy as Her sleeper hold did.
But both thes were just mortal trauma. Tha madness that comes from tha Wet Sleepin God, that's somethin else entirely. Madness and terror are its servants. Call it instinct, backed by some fast readin. There is a reason tha dark of deep water fills me with tha fear. Things live there. Put me in a river or a lake, or even a bay, I’m right. I can swim ok, its nice even. I've hunted salt water croc's bare pawed. Not my cup of tea, I respect those buggers.
I guess if I saw a shark comin fer me I could fuck it up too, if I didn't loose a limb to quick. That’s tha thing though, things from tha Deep, they come from below. They lurk and slither, and slink in. There is a reason tha Wet Sleepin God, his fuckin minions like Dagon and even tha writins about them lead ta madness and terror. Because they are things that no one who walks on land should ever have ta fuckin know. N o wonder tha Navy is full of bloody nut-jobs. A critter needs dirt under his paws.
Pencil entry, dated 16/2/2009
===================================
Three things, all connected, all feedin off each other, all separate. Havin one, is bad, each time ya add another, it makes both worse.
Darkness and Madness, thats two.
There are things that mortal minds just ain't meant ta know. Tha terrible will and thoughts of tha gods are two. There are some sights what will do same thing. Some folks will snap at things other folks do fer fun. Some folks will bear all kind of punishment and die before crackin. In tha 7RAR-L the taught us, and trained us how ta resist and how inflict. Madness is a weapon if ya know how ta wield it. A deep trap, I know.
I know real fuckin good. I've been there twice now, in Toxia. First time was after a dose of Blue-Shadow's blood. Three days of halucinatin I was back in Timor, tha nights leadin up ta me getting shelled and blown ta shit. Then there was tha Horsemen. I lost my marbles good when I lost first Spirit Gal, then Her Ladyship to them. Her Ladyship goin to them, of Her own free will, goin ta War, what She opposed most, conflict and violence. Tha things i've struggled so much ta grow from, in Her service. It broke me as sure as Her fist did as she grieved tha Huntress, and put me down as easy as Her sleeper hold did.
But both thes were just mortal trauma. Tha madness that comes from tha Wet Sleepin God, that's somethin else entirely. Madness and terror are its servants. Call it instinct, backed by some fast readin. There is a reason tha dark of deep water fills me with tha fear. Things live there. Put me in a river or a lake, or even a bay, I’m right. I can swim ok, its nice even. I've hunted salt water croc's bare pawed. Not my cup of tea, I respect those buggers.
I guess if I saw a shark comin fer me I could fuck it up too, if I didn't loose a limb to quick. That’s tha thing though, things from tha Deep, they come from below. They lurk and slither, and slink in. There is a reason tha Wet Sleepin God, his fuckin minions like Dagon and even tha writins about them lead ta madness and terror. Because they are things that no one who walks on land should ever have ta fuckin know. N o wonder tha Navy is full of bloody nut-jobs. A critter needs dirt under his paws.
Friday, February 13, 2009
Darkness
=========================================
Pencil note, dated 10/2/2009, written in a messy, shaky scrawl
=========================================
Three things, all connected, all feedin off each other, all separate. Havin one, is bad, each time ya add another, it makes both worse.
Tha Messenger is beset by Darkness, tha Devourer that she struggled with in her dreams has broken free, after weeks of personal battlin, it broke free. We had been seein tha wounds she woke with, tha haggard looks, tha drinkin ta passin out, all tha signs, and there was so little we could do. I made her a dream-shield, kinda spiritual armour fer her, but, too little, too late. It came through, and weíve all but lonst hope that we can bring tha Messenger back. Tha Devourer ambushed Featherpants, and took his white wing, and left him fer dead.
Tha Spook, Dee and tha Tonkster were there in a jiffy ta medi-evac him outta tha hot zone, and leter on, it was on them that it Dropped his gnawed on wing as a psych shock. Good tactic, that, but they had me ta turn to, and I donít take layin down.
Thing is, if it could down Featherpants, millennia old Angel, Darkstorm and ya ya ya . . . what tha fuck was I gunna do ta beat it. That worried me tha most. How ta fight a monster of tha Darkness. How ta gain tha tactical advantage. That was my best hope. I went to tha weapons locker and checked my options.
Now, tha Library donít approve of weapons, firearms tha least, so we keep them under lock and key. I had ta keep in mind what we knew. It was an ephemeral thing, but could go solid. It was made up of darkness, but hungered for tha physical worldís pain. It held tha Messenger within it, and was usin her as a gateway, but it couldnít do it without her. Alive, I figured, but weak. Non-lethal means then. I settled on tha Telsa Mace, a lightin caster, bright, pure, ephemeral and if used right, non-lethal. I backed that up with some flare-torches I rigged up takin apart magnesium flares, tracer rounds and tha like. Wanted ta leave tha Willy Peteís fer last line of defence work. Ordered some spares, just in case.
I patrolled and made it always out front oi Fishco before I got contact. I was makin tactical advances on alley ways, havin reports thatís where it hit most often. I've seen it in a few too. There's a long tunnel alley between tha arena and Fishco, wrecked residential on one side, tha old Vet Clinic on tha other. It was in there, chitterin away. Feedin on some poor bastard. It knew I was there, so I unslung tha lightnin rod.
Alley-Furf and tha Spook happened by and I gave them each a flare. It hates light, Scale Lady worked that out with her M-38 flare rounds. Tactical advantage. We harried it, I challenged it ta come to us, no way I was gunna get riled inta chargin inta its home ground if I didn't need ta. Thatís a green move. Folks get dead in war if they take it personal. Tha mission, always tha mission. Our tactical advantage seemed sound, and we put it to good test. Tha combined effects of tha pure brightness of tha lightnin, my magnesium and tracer round phosphorus torch, and tha flares tha gals had seemed ta work good.
We had waited till it had decided we were too cowardly ta come in after it, and it sure wasn't comin out in a hurry. So it laughed and turned its back on us and went back ta savage tha faceless wonder it had snagged. Thatís when we hit it, when it wasn't lookin and had discounted us. In war, there aint no honour. Honour is fer after. Durrin, ya do what ever ya gotta ta win. It really didn't like tha lightnin. My prayers and such didn't amuse it much neither. Tha combination of sparks and fire, well, we almost broke it, but it did somethin tellin. Somethin usefull ta know.
It grabbed my lightnin rod and held on as I zapped it. I was doin it harm, and I let it, till it faded out, but it took tha shock. Why? Ta hurt tha Messenger, I expect. Maybe test my nerve. Well, I might not have done tha same with a auto-shotgun, or a chainsaw, but tha lightnin stick I knew what I was dishin out. It needed her hurt, weak, but not dead.
Small victory on tha field, big victory fer tha intel. Job well done.
Pencil note, dated 10/2/2009, written in a messy, shaky scrawl
=========================================
Three things, all connected, all feedin off each other, all separate. Havin one, is bad, each time ya add another, it makes both worse.
Tha Messenger is beset by Darkness, tha Devourer that she struggled with in her dreams has broken free, after weeks of personal battlin, it broke free. We had been seein tha wounds she woke with, tha haggard looks, tha drinkin ta passin out, all tha signs, and there was so little we could do. I made her a dream-shield, kinda spiritual armour fer her, but, too little, too late. It came through, and weíve all but lonst hope that we can bring tha Messenger back. Tha Devourer ambushed Featherpants, and took his white wing, and left him fer dead.
Tha Spook, Dee and tha Tonkster were there in a jiffy ta medi-evac him outta tha hot zone, and leter on, it was on them that it Dropped his gnawed on wing as a psych shock. Good tactic, that, but they had me ta turn to, and I donít take layin down.
Thing is, if it could down Featherpants, millennia old Angel, Darkstorm and ya ya ya . . . what tha fuck was I gunna do ta beat it. That worried me tha most. How ta fight a monster of tha Darkness. How ta gain tha tactical advantage. That was my best hope. I went to tha weapons locker and checked my options.
Now, tha Library donít approve of weapons, firearms tha least, so we keep them under lock and key. I had ta keep in mind what we knew. It was an ephemeral thing, but could go solid. It was made up of darkness, but hungered for tha physical worldís pain. It held tha Messenger within it, and was usin her as a gateway, but it couldnít do it without her. Alive, I figured, but weak. Non-lethal means then. I settled on tha Telsa Mace, a lightin caster, bright, pure, ephemeral and if used right, non-lethal. I backed that up with some flare-torches I rigged up takin apart magnesium flares, tracer rounds and tha like. Wanted ta leave tha Willy Peteís fer last line of defence work. Ordered some spares, just in case.
I patrolled and made it always out front oi Fishco before I got contact. I was makin tactical advances on alley ways, havin reports thatís where it hit most often. I've seen it in a few too. There's a long tunnel alley between tha arena and Fishco, wrecked residential on one side, tha old Vet Clinic on tha other. It was in there, chitterin away. Feedin on some poor bastard. It knew I was there, so I unslung tha lightnin rod.
Alley-Furf and tha Spook happened by and I gave them each a flare. It hates light, Scale Lady worked that out with her M-38 flare rounds. Tactical advantage. We harried it, I challenged it ta come to us, no way I was gunna get riled inta chargin inta its home ground if I didn't need ta. Thatís a green move. Folks get dead in war if they take it personal. Tha mission, always tha mission. Our tactical advantage seemed sound, and we put it to good test. Tha combined effects of tha pure brightness of tha lightnin, my magnesium and tracer round phosphorus torch, and tha flares tha gals had seemed ta work good.
We had waited till it had decided we were too cowardly ta come in after it, and it sure wasn't comin out in a hurry. So it laughed and turned its back on us and went back ta savage tha faceless wonder it had snagged. Thatís when we hit it, when it wasn't lookin and had discounted us. In war, there aint no honour. Honour is fer after. Durrin, ya do what ever ya gotta ta win. It really didn't like tha lightnin. My prayers and such didn't amuse it much neither. Tha combination of sparks and fire, well, we almost broke it, but it did somethin tellin. Somethin usefull ta know.
It grabbed my lightnin rod and held on as I zapped it. I was doin it harm, and I let it, till it faded out, but it took tha shock. Why? Ta hurt tha Messenger, I expect. Maybe test my nerve. Well, I might not have done tha same with a auto-shotgun, or a chainsaw, but tha lightnin stick I knew what I was dishin out. It needed her hurt, weak, but not dead.
Small victory on tha field, big victory fer tha intel. Job well done.
Thursday, February 5, 2009
War and tha Blood-Song
==================================
Pencil entry, dated 30/1/2009, it is messy, as if written balanced on a thigh
==================================
Not a real war, more like a border skirmish, folks still die though, no matter what they call it. Tha Pack called an end of peace on tha K.A. Tha K.A. seemed ta launch a preemtive strike on tha Pack. As we had been expectin, it was revolvin around tha two sets of "cures" we been hearin about. Tha very idea that someone was makin "cures" ta both tha fanger HVV or tha lycan genes creeps tha fuck outta me.
I get that some folks don’t wanna take tha Embrace, or tha Gift. I get that folks on either side wanna have tha ability ta take out tha other, its a weapon whether ya think it if or not. Unmaking someones race by injectin them is a bio-weapon, especially in an evironment where lead flys as much as it does in Tox. I sure as fuck don’t want anyone un-makin ME. Cause bein a lycan lets me talk and walk in two legs. That's assumin that’s how it works. I guess it would be even worse if it took away tha canine in me. Bad enough three of four days a moon.
So it was war. Not the pissy street scuffles where one heavy faces off against another where all can see, but proper war. Ambushes, sniper coverage, wave assaults and bombardments. Tha Pack put a satchel charge up at the K.A. HQ and set it off, takin out a whole wall, their theumaturgical library, and generally upsettin tha aesthetic. At least this time none of them wanted ta come after me fer my pelt. Seemed it was fairly clear that it was a Faction War, rather than a race one, Tha Continuum signed up with tha Pack and I think tha Ryders might have signed on with tha K.A. but that’s just a rumour. Tha Righteous and Shadows stayed out of it, this time.
Whether it was just tha smell of blood and cordite, or maybe tha spray of “cured” blood in tha air, but I felt my hackles raising all week, building up. I could hear the blood song, tha Hunt, and tha drums of War beatin in my head and chest. Always building, building. My temper got shorter and tha length of reactions got longer. Tha others in tha Institute couldn’t see it, couldn’t feel it, it was just something affectin tha Shifters. Pensive felt it, but didn’t know what it was, but I did, and I knew what was comin. It was always building, building. Tha thing that cut me deepest, was Spirit Gal. She has been starving, starving herself and lookin to tha needs of others, Nareth Realmwalker mostly.
Starvin herself like tha Maker does. And here was me, brimming with power, brimming with life and tha blood-song singin in my head. I was so full, I thought I’d burst. I needed to let it out, or I’d explode. So I channelled it at her, givin up my all, or at least opening tha door so she would take, and use, and grow, and feed. She is Family, She is Sister-Lover. I will not see my Family starve when game is abundant, and tha plentiful game fer her, right now, is me. Except it ain’t. She spurned it, and me, I think I scared her, so I ran, I ran and raged and ran some more.
I came back to tha Library, and tried ta keep control, I stayed away from folks, and tried not to break anything. Quillis found me, and Spirit Gal did too, and they backed me into a corner, up against tha window, I could see tha marks I put in tha wall of tha Library, tha marks I inscribed with my own blood, imbued with Dimentox’s power, to offer my respects to tha Library, and return its protection with my own. They came, and they started fightin over who got to deal with me. Quillis grabbed me just as I was boltin fer tha Great Forest. So she came too. She’d never been. Figures, it’s a scared place, and she’s, well, old but hardly what I’d call devout, or even a believer.
Tha very purity of tha place repelled her, and she started pukin up black muck, and leakin. Purgin. We couldn’t stay long, too much, too soon. But I took tha time to show it to her, from tha Clearin, and went, and found my sword, which was still there, in the leaf litter, where I dropped it, slowly getting buried and removed from tha place, it was marin its purity, bein a thing made by hands and not by wind and water, rock and fire. I took it, and Quillis, and returned. Spirit Gal looked at me with burnin hatred, so I cleared out. As Featherpants says “let them hate, as long as they fear”. I will not abandon my Family, I will not see them starve.
Not that I needed to worry. Nareth came, and Spirit Gal went to her. Went to her and later, after, when they both smelt of each other, of sex and blood, Spirit Gal had fed, as had Nareth. My Family would not starve. I was not needed for that. Not what she wanted, tha Crystal Coyote, too delicate ta touch, too fragile ta use or drink from, better to leave on display, and look at from afar. Tha useless vessel, too brittle, too wild, too jagged ta drink from. But I could still guard, and Watch. So guard and Watch I will do. I tracked Spirit Gal to tha place of dead and stone, and Watch. This I can do, at least.
Pencil entry, dated 30/1/2009, it is messy, as if written balanced on a thigh
==================================
Not a real war, more like a border skirmish, folks still die though, no matter what they call it. Tha Pack called an end of peace on tha K.A. Tha K.A. seemed ta launch a preemtive strike on tha Pack. As we had been expectin, it was revolvin around tha two sets of "cures" we been hearin about. Tha very idea that someone was makin "cures" ta both tha fanger HVV or tha lycan genes creeps tha fuck outta me.
I get that some folks don’t wanna take tha Embrace, or tha Gift. I get that folks on either side wanna have tha ability ta take out tha other, its a weapon whether ya think it if or not. Unmaking someones race by injectin them is a bio-weapon, especially in an evironment where lead flys as much as it does in Tox. I sure as fuck don’t want anyone un-makin ME. Cause bein a lycan lets me talk and walk in two legs. That's assumin that’s how it works. I guess it would be even worse if it took away tha canine in me. Bad enough three of four days a moon.
So it was war. Not the pissy street scuffles where one heavy faces off against another where all can see, but proper war. Ambushes, sniper coverage, wave assaults and bombardments. Tha Pack put a satchel charge up at the K.A. HQ and set it off, takin out a whole wall, their theumaturgical library, and generally upsettin tha aesthetic. At least this time none of them wanted ta come after me fer my pelt. Seemed it was fairly clear that it was a Faction War, rather than a race one, Tha Continuum signed up with tha Pack and I think tha Ryders might have signed on with tha K.A. but that’s just a rumour. Tha Righteous and Shadows stayed out of it, this time.
Whether it was just tha smell of blood and cordite, or maybe tha spray of “cured” blood in tha air, but I felt my hackles raising all week, building up. I could hear the blood song, tha Hunt, and tha drums of War beatin in my head and chest. Always building, building. My temper got shorter and tha length of reactions got longer. Tha others in tha Institute couldn’t see it, couldn’t feel it, it was just something affectin tha Shifters. Pensive felt it, but didn’t know what it was, but I did, and I knew what was comin. It was always building, building. Tha thing that cut me deepest, was Spirit Gal. She has been starving, starving herself and lookin to tha needs of others, Nareth Realmwalker mostly.
Starvin herself like tha Maker does. And here was me, brimming with power, brimming with life and tha blood-song singin in my head. I was so full, I thought I’d burst. I needed to let it out, or I’d explode. So I channelled it at her, givin up my all, or at least opening tha door so she would take, and use, and grow, and feed. She is Family, She is Sister-Lover. I will not see my Family starve when game is abundant, and tha plentiful game fer her, right now, is me. Except it ain’t. She spurned it, and me, I think I scared her, so I ran, I ran and raged and ran some more.
I came back to tha Library, and tried ta keep control, I stayed away from folks, and tried not to break anything. Quillis found me, and Spirit Gal did too, and they backed me into a corner, up against tha window, I could see tha marks I put in tha wall of tha Library, tha marks I inscribed with my own blood, imbued with Dimentox’s power, to offer my respects to tha Library, and return its protection with my own. They came, and they started fightin over who got to deal with me. Quillis grabbed me just as I was boltin fer tha Great Forest. So she came too. She’d never been. Figures, it’s a scared place, and she’s, well, old but hardly what I’d call devout, or even a believer.
Tha very purity of tha place repelled her, and she started pukin up black muck, and leakin. Purgin. We couldn’t stay long, too much, too soon. But I took tha time to show it to her, from tha Clearin, and went, and found my sword, which was still there, in the leaf litter, where I dropped it, slowly getting buried and removed from tha place, it was marin its purity, bein a thing made by hands and not by wind and water, rock and fire. I took it, and Quillis, and returned. Spirit Gal looked at me with burnin hatred, so I cleared out. As Featherpants says “let them hate, as long as they fear”. I will not abandon my Family, I will not see them starve.
Not that I needed to worry. Nareth came, and Spirit Gal went to her. Went to her and later, after, when they both smelt of each other, of sex and blood, Spirit Gal had fed, as had Nareth. My Family would not starve. I was not needed for that. Not what she wanted, tha Crystal Coyote, too delicate ta touch, too fragile ta use or drink from, better to leave on display, and look at from afar. Tha useless vessel, too brittle, too wild, too jagged ta drink from. But I could still guard, and Watch. So guard and Watch I will do. I tracked Spirit Gal to tha place of dead and stone, and Watch. This I can do, at least.
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