AzariahWolf

He is based on me, though not a direct parallel. Thank you for reading. As much as anything, this was just written as a reminder to me that God's plans don't fail. I think a lot of people here need to remember that. We do go to these conventions for fun, but at the same time I feel like we need to be more incident and willing to approach others with the Gospel, regardless.

I like the con, I just think that it's due for something like this. As for who the demon is, he's an unnamed demon. He isn't any human, nor is he possessing anyone. He's just tasked with holding down the position.

A pair of men walked through the double doors into the large, high ceiling hall. The men at the door, dressed in red shirts with white paw prints on the back, ignored them entirely, even as they checked the badges of the people stepping in behind them. The men were dressed in the fashion of another century, and even then there was no direct parallel in history to what they were wearing. Heavy cloth robes, clearly having seen a good bit of action, covered worn leather armor. The armor showed its wear even more openly, and the wide gap of age between two adjacent straps showed clearly in several places. Even had anyone else seen them, however, it wouldn’t have turned many heads. There were enough other strange fashions being worn openly at this point to cover them, even as they stepped out into the wide maze of tables. Before they could begin to mingle with the rest of the anxious crowd, however, they were headed off by another who walked unseen among the tables. He stood in a wide stance, holding a wicked-looking polearm across their path. He wore armor as well, the harsh angles and scratches on its surface suggesting stone more than they did metal. His face was covered by an ornate helm, shaped like the skull of some fantastic beast. He looked like a good match for both of the men, and like he could deliver a painful thrashing to either one if they tried to face him alone. He seemed ready to deliver an ultimatum, but before he could speak he was interrupted. “Let them enter. These two are guests in this camp.” The speaker approached from behind the massive guard. He wore a fine white cloak about his shoulders, the pure color contrasting with the pitchlike color of his underlying armor. It looked far better than that of the men he had called his guests moments before. His face was of a thin, sallow complexion that made his piercing, unnaturally blue eyes stick out all the more, and his black hair, tied behind his head, caused yet more contrast to the man’s appearance. His smile was a thin, mocking expression that seemed at once scheming and polite. “HE sends word for you,” one of the men said quietly. The man who had just appeared soured somewhat, expression shifting to a completely flat, nearly disinterested look. “HE.” The word as repeated with equal emphasis, but none of the reverence, that the original speakers had used. “If HE wishes to make his point, HE should send more than you.” He turned to the man on the right. “Did I not withstand you and yours for days when you sought passage to Babylon? Only when HE dispatched another to aid you could you deliver HIS message, and even then my Legion was on your heels every step of the way.” “It is not by might, nor by power…” “Enough!” The man snarled this word, a lock of his hair pulling free from its binding and falling before his face. He took a moment to compose himself, brushing the hair behind a pointed ear as he stood back to his full, not insubstantial, height. “Before you deliver HIS message, I want you to see what you are dealing with.” He stepped away from them, leaving understood that he meant for them to follow after. They did so, stepping past the massive guard at the entrance, and into the oblivious crowds. “This is no small encampment,” their host said over his shoulder. He waved an arm widely through the air, showing all of the men standing around. They stood about in clusters, some speaking among themselves, some guarding specific positions, and some watching every move their visitors made. All of them went unnoticed by the thronging visitors that came to buy, sell, and look at the art displayed throughout the room. “My own Legion is here, as well as two others, all of them answering to me by Lucifer’s direct orders. We hold this position every year, as we have for years past, and as we will for years to come. It is one of our most solid footholds, and only a fool would seek to break our grip here.” He whirled, his cloak tugging at the clasp as it whipped about behind him. He seemed quite pleased with himself as he watched them. “Would you like to see just how strong our hold is here?” The two men looked to each other, but neither said a word before the man stalked away, again drawing the loose lock of hair away from his face. They followed in his wake, looking about the room with some interest, but neither reacting with emotion nor disinterest. They simply observed, until they stopped behind the man who was their guide. They stood before one of the tables, a modest line extending from the artist’s chair back towards another table, stopping just before it reached the end. “This artist is a new one this year. Young, but very talented.” The man was smiling, talking to one of his customers amicably and utterly ignoring all three of them. The white-cloaked man tapped the binder on the left side of the table. It was a thick three-ring binder, with a censored image on the front and a content warning for minors. “On last count, he has created more than two thousand objectionable images, with content ranging from the lewd to the blasphemous. Yes, blasphemous; this man used to stake a claim to HIS sacrifice. When he left, he decided that he should do so in a strong, symbolic way. So, he began to draw lewd imaged involving anthropomorphized versions of HIM, engaged in… unspeakable acts with his other characters.” The man’s sneer seemed to simmer from its intensity. He was clearly quite pleased with himself, even as the two men did no more than exchange glances the one with the other. There was some sorrow, perhaps disappointment, behind those eyes, but they did not speak with the man, even as he stood there, taunting them to respond. When they refused, he stalked away, waving for them to follow. Several more times he showed them the depths of sin that each of the people were guilty of. They ranged from homosexuality, to pornography, frequent assertions of unfaithfulness, even pedophilia. After every stop the man would seek a reaction, and after every one the two men would look to each other, but say nothing to him. Finally, he reached his last target. “Ah, yes. Perhaps in this tour you thought that there were no true men of the Way to be found. Here is one, sure enough.” The man stalked up to him, placed an unseen hand on his shoulder. The young man had a boyish face, eyes that avoided direct contact with those of anyone else in the area, a quick apology ready on his lips for any perceived offense rendered. His eyes darted around the dealer’s room, seeing more than many others who walked there. His hands fidgeted nervously, and he clearly had his eyes on one of the dealers. “This young man is our star subject. He has been a Follower of the Way for years, and yet he never ceases to amuse us. He comes here, enjoys the convention to be certain, but leaves without even the barest attempt at approaching anyone with his faith. Now, this would not be near as funny if he didn’t so often consider it.” The man stepped around so he could look at the young man’s face, the eyes still darting about to be sure no one thought he was staring at them. “He met this artist earlier recognizes her, hopes that she might be comfortable enough for him to approach her on the subject soon. Always there is an excuse though; she is busy, too many customer. He ignores the fact that she has not had anyone at her table for an hour, that her commissions are all labeled closed. Another excuse; perhaps someone else will take that risk. Another thought; if I don’t try, no one can ever accuse me of failing.” The man turned to his guests, his expression something between a smile and a snarl. “He could not be more spineless if he were an octopus! Wolf indeed!” The two men exchanged their customary glance, and finally one of them spoke. “Is the tour concluded?” he asked. It was the man who had earlier been challenged about the earlier engagement on the road to Babylon. He tugged one sleeve of his cloak, shrugging his shoulders to loosen them. The man in black armor stalked towards them, hunched over and sneering wildly, like some feral animal. Another few hairs had been shaken loose in his sharp monologue, and he now looked like a man in need of several hours of rest. “What do you think? I have shown you how hopeless this situation is, and you have stood about like you have no sense! HE may have sent you here, but two of you cannot hope to contend with three Legions!” “Then let me deliver HIS message.” For the first time since they had arrived, the black-haired man did not speak. He waved for him to continue, although he turned his back dismissively. “My message, sir, was to be delivered when we arrived. It was to tell you that HE has dispatched all of the combined forces under the command of four High Angels to strike this position in ten minutes. Surrender, or this battlefield will be wrested from you forcibly. As you saw fit to ignore HIS message until you had gloated before us, let me alter the message slightly; four Centuries of Angels are on the march. Fall back, or be removed.” The man turned about, his face fully revealed in a snarling, bestial rage. “You have deceived me! As guests of my camp, you are prohibited from acts of war!” “I never asked you for parlay, neither did I comment on you calling us guests. I came here to deliver the terms of surrender, and you delayed me until you have no chance of surrender before the coming storm. Your foolish pride has undone you.” The Angel drew his sword, casting aside his cloak and preparing for combat. His fellow did the same. “Cast away your weapon, and I will not strike you down.” The Demon growled as he cast his own cloak aside and drew a massive two-handed weapon of his own. “I will not surrender! This position is secure!” “Then tell me, why did you have dozens of your men guarding each of the people you showed to me? If they are so beyond hope, you would have left them, but you didn’t. They were under guard, as though any small chink in your defenses would cause you to lose the battle for their souls. HE has told us HIS plans for this place. All of the people you showed to us are Chosen by HIM, and many more. Fear, for thus saith the LORD: I have many people in this place. HIS Spirit goes before us; HE as spoken to HIS own in this place, and HE has moved in the heart of HIS Child, whom you called weak. The excuses remain, but his fear is being quenched. Your hold here is ended.” In a rage, the demon leaped at the two angels, but the speaker skillfully parried the massive blade, pulling it about to strike skillfully through his opponent’s defenses. The demon staggered, injured. Around them all, the sounds of battle started their chaotic roar. The first day of the battle for Anthrocon’s soul had begun. And HIS will never fails.

Thanks! I was just looking for something to do on the plane, and ended up writing this. It was short, but fun to write.

Just got back from AC, and wrote this little story on the flight back. It's based on real events; I'll leave it up to you to figure out what happened and what was imagination on my part. _________________ This is a story about me, and what it was that broke me out of the shell in which I used to hide. You see, there was a time when I wouldn't dare mention the concept of being furry to anyone outside of the fandom. Now the only reason I would avoid mentioning it is because it isn't immediately important. What happened, exactly, and when exactly did this change take place? It was my second time at Anthrocon, and after my first year's experience, I wanted to get things moving right from the start. I didn't have too much memorabilia from my first year, so I didn't look much like a furry on my first day. Determined to change this, I went hunting for a tail to match my fursona on the first day. I was disappointed for the first day. Between the ubiquitous fox tails, competing cat tails, and numerous rainbow-colored tails of all descriptions, I had no success in my search for a wolf tail that matched my style. The second day started much the same; I searched throughout the Dealer's Den for someone who was selling the kind of tail I wanted. Finally, I found a new table that had opened sometime during the day. Their tails were significantly more varied than those that were being sold elsewhere, and one of the tails was the perfect color for me. It was long and fluffy, a light brown on top with a white bottom. "How much is that tail?" I asked the dealer, pointing to the one I had spotted. He gave me the price and took it down from the rack so I could see it closer. "This is one of our better tails," he told me. "And all of our tails squeak when you squeeze them." He demonstrated, then handed me the tail so I could look it over. Now, I have no problem with furs who go around with squeaking tails, noses, or even entire suits, but it wasn't exactly my style, as I tend to be just a bit more restrained. Still, the tail was perfect, and there was no outward indication that it would squeak, so I decided to purchase it. Before long, I was walking about the convention center, wearing my tail proudly. The fact that it squeaked was rapidly forgotten as I managed to learn how to work with it rather quickly. Sitting was an interesting exercise, but certainly did not cause too many complications. At any rate, wearing the tail was a bit of novelty, and I was enjoying every minute of it. All the while, no one who saw me wearing the tail suspected it of being anything more than a cool looking tail. I was quite pleased with it, and never thought twice about wearing it to the con on the third day. It wasn't until I went to lunch that anything noteworthy happened. I was standing in line to order my lunch, when I felt a tug from behind and heard a squeak from my tail. I turned to see a border collie fursuiter behind me, acting embarrassed as he hid his face behind large, cartoony paws. I grinned. While I had not intended for anyone to find out about it, I wasn't about to spoil the fun. I tapped him on the shoulder, causing him to peek between his fingers at me. I held my arms wide, and he gave me a hug with little hesitation. My grin remained in place all the way through the line, and I waved to the suiter as I took my food to my table. As I sat down, I easily move my tail out of the way without even using my hands. I was starting to get used to having a tail, and was feeling quite accomplished for it. As I considered this, I felt my tail swinging back and forth. I looked back, expecting to see another fur batting at it, but was surprised to see it moving of its own accord. I jumped up, forgetting my food, and walked quickly to the restroom. I found it empty, and so stood in front of the mirror, turning awkwardly so I could see my tail. The first thing I noticed was that, not only did it still effectively obscure the place where it was strapped to my belt, but the way it sat now made it definite that it could not possibly be attached in that manner. Perhaps it could have been cleverly attached to my jeans, but the fact that it flicked back and forth in response to my thoughts destroyed that idea entirely. It couldn't be; my tail was now a part of me! It did not take me long to realize that, although it reacted as though it was real, it was still clearly a fake tail. While it had been designed well, it was, perhaps, a bit too perfect to be real, and the fur fibers were still just clever imitations. I gave it a tentative squeeze, and felt a tug at my back, but no sensation from the tail itself. The squeeze also activated the squeaker, and it sounded again, confirming once and for all that it was fake. As I squeezed, though, I felt a strange warmth around my feet. Looking down, I saw a pair of large, cartoony paws instead of my walking shoes. I lifted each of them, and found as I set them down that I felt again that they were just imitations, with some muffled sensation coming from my real feet. Still, their sudden appearance tipped me off to the cause of the changes. I grabbed my tail, looked in the mirror, and squeezed again. As the squeak sounded in my ears, the touch of my tail's fur became muffled, and I saw a pair of paw gloves appear from nowhere on my hands. They had only four digits, but my hands fit them perfectly, almost as though my real hands now only possessed four fingers. I waved to myself, and saw the pads on the gloves, designed to my own preferences. Shock had given away to happiness and curiosity. I gave my tail another squeeze, and the body of my suit appeared from nowhere, suddenly taking the place of my regular clothing. It was designed to match my fursona, with perhaps a bit more of a cartoony appearance than I usually envisioned, but that consideration was hardly an issue with me. I wanted to see the full effect, so I gave my tail several more squeezes in quick succession. Instantaneously, a fursuit head had replaced my own in the mirror. I looked and felt like I was wearing a high-quality cartoon wolf fursuit, except my vision was unhindered, and I didn't feel an uncomfortable amount of heat. I tried to say something, but covered my mouth with large paws when I heard a familiar squeaking noise. Instead of speaking, it sounded as though I had squeezed my tail again, except this came from the mouth of the suit. It took me a moment to realize that I had expressed my shock in a manner very similar to many fursuiters, by pantomiming a gasp into my paws. Rather than feeling any more shock or surprise, however, I let loose a few quick, squeaking laughs, still accompanying them with a natural pantomime. I felt great! Being at Anthrocon had already been a great experience, but this was altogether different, an even fuller feeling of happiness than I had ever felt before. I felt much more free, almost as if my change had gotten rid of my usual calm stoicism and replaced it with an almost giddy excitement. I wanted to share this with someone somehow; even if they could not experience the same change, I wanted to share how much I enjoyed it. I came out of the restroom, waving to everyone that I passed. My food was left on the table as I made my way back to the convention center. Partway there, I ran into a familiar suiter, the same who had squeezed my tail to begin with. I offered him another hug, and he again obliged without hesitation. As we stepped back from it, he grabbed his own tail and squeezed it. As it gave a familiar sort of squeak, he pointed to me. I knew what he meant; he had changed the same way, and wanted to know if I had done the same. I nodded enthusiastically, and he gave his own squeaky laugh. The two of us spent much of the rest of the con hanging out together, letting people take our pictures, offering free hugs, and generally doing things I never would have been willing to do before I changed. It was as though the suit that I now occupied had also changed my personality to be more happy-go-lucky. It was no dramatic mental change, no animal mind replacing my human one, and nothing that I would have resisted given the chance. I simply felt more free, more alive, than I ever had felt before. The things I was now willing to do were nothing more than the things I wished I could bring myself to do before, but had been too withdrawn to try. The last two days of the con passed in a blur. Late the first evening, I discovered that squeezing the tail reverted my form back to normal at will, and just as easily changed me into my fully suited form. The knowledge of how to change back was helpful, but rarely used. Only when I slept and at the end of the con did I change back. Just before I left, I exchanged email addresses with my border collie friend, and we both agreed that we had to do it again as soon as possible. The day after the con, I stood outside of my gate at the airport, waiting for my flight to leave. Exhilaration and happiness had given way to exhaustion and regret for the end of a great con. I had two more hours to wait, and everyone around me looked as exhausted as I felt. I sighed, thinking of ways I could brighten everyone's day, but was still too shy to do anything myself. A now-familiar tug from behind caused me to turn around and look at the young girl who had curiously pulled on my tail. She couldn't have been more than three years old, and her bright, curious eyes seemed to carry a certainty that my tail was real. Instead of releasing it as I turned around, the girl hesitated a moment, before giving it another firm tug. This one was strong enough to squeak it, and I felt the sensation of change once more as my body was overtaken by the fantastic costume. The girl stepped away, wide-eyed as I changed, but no one else noticed me until the change was finished. I squeaked a laugh, and knelt down with my arms held wide for the girl. She hesitated only a moment, then jumped into the hug with a happy giggle. Two hours seemed like far too short a time now as I went about the gate area, doing what I could to entertain my fellow travelers. By the time the gate had opened for boarding, I had gathered quite a following of children, none of whom could get enough of my antics. As I reverted to my normal form, no one seemed to notice anything wrong with the sudden change, although everyone knew I had been the man in the suit. Several parents thanked me for keeping their rowdy children busy, and even though some grumbled about me being too odd for their liking, I couldn't have been happier. As far as I'm concerned, if I'm odd, then the problem with the world today is that it isn't odd enough.

Prat 2! Finally... _____________________ It was not long until I was able to return to that dream world. That evening, I found myself once again immersed in that same dreamworld. Rather than having a dream that followed a similar pattern, or even repeated as my dreams had done before, it was as though I had never left. When I entered the dream, I was just about to climb out of the flight simulator with Jason in tow. The antigravity devices deactivated just as the simulation ended, and we were both left standing in our changed forms for a few moments before we began to revert. The change seemed faster now; I was used to it; it flowed, and I let it. We both finished about the same time. I readjusted my suit to fit my human form better, while Jason switched back to his gunner's uniform. I didn't know why he didn't always wear it; it didn't seem like we were short of the suits, and we might sometime need extra pilots in an emergency. Still, I accepted it without hesitation. I was afraid that questioning the logic of the dream would just make me wake up. As we entered the hall, I noticed that the ship I now occupied seemed to have become even more vivid. The walls, for one, had never been noteworthy at all. Asked to describe them in real life, I would likely had ventured to guess that they were made of some sort of metal. Really, I would honesty have to admit that I didn't know. Now, I saw that they were actually paneled along their full lengths with something more resembling concrete, but with a distinctly different feel to them than any wall I had ever felt. They were primarily white, but stripes of various colors showed the way to various locations, aiding navigation without necessitating expensive equipment. Memories from my dream self told me that these stripes would be lit on the event of an emergency, while their labels would remain dark and visible against the background. I noticed that Jason was watching me as I ran a hand along the wall, and so nonchalantly dropped my hand as we rounded a corner. Following instinct, I followed the stripe leading to the training deck lifts. About halfway, Jason broke off and went left where I went straight. We exchanged farewells, and I was left to head to my duties. I spent the rest of the journey running through my mind and trying to remember all I could about n duties. All the while, I exchanged greetings with people I had never met, but was nevertheless able to remember perfectly. Finally, when I reached the lift, the details of my duties came back to me, and I found myself smiling at the prospect. I was going to the training deck to supervise new pilots as they tested their wings. "Welcome to the training deck, Commander Reynolds," the computer announced as I entered the chamber. Several of the recruits were already present, and they quickly stood and saluted as they heard the announcement. The guards at the door performed their own stiff salutes, and I stopped before giving them leave to be at ease. "I don't recall ordering statues at the door, soldier. At ease." As the entire room relaxed, I smiled despite myself. I could get used to this. The training deck was divided into sections. My own charges were located in a chamber two doors away, through two nearly silent automatic doors. The strange, white walls were replaced by a material that disappeared into the background under the deck's low lighting. The floor was metal, although all sound of movement was muted masterfully. In every room, several rows of simulation spheres were arranged, each hooked into the same, synchronized simulation. I was a few minutes early, so I kept myself busy for a few moments by looking logging into the room's main computer terminal and looking up some data. I wanted to make sure that my memories of this duty were complete. I didn't want to disrupt the dream by teaching something I had already covered, after all. As it turned out, my memories again proved to be startlingly correct. It was as if I had been living through a reality in my dreams at the same time that I had been doing the same while awake. It was an interesting idea, and one that I filed away for further consideration. Perhaps I had been having these dreams all the time, and I just now remembered them. The only reason I doubted this was because I thought they has always been the same before. Checking the clock on the computer terminal, I realized that I only had a few more moments until I was supposed to begin my lesson. Calmly, I closed the terminal and turned to face the class. A dozen cadets stood at attention in front of me already. Seeing no reason to delay, I launched into an impromptu lesson that sounded as well rehearsed as though I had practiced to a mirror twenty times the night before. "Welcome back, gentlemen. We've got a lot to do today. I want you all to get into your simulators and initiate the sequence. Further instructions will be given once you're in." Well, perhaps only two or three times. It wasn't that hard; once they were in the simulation I would continue to give them basic instructions, and otherwise just had to adlib when something important or unexpected happened. Because of the nature of our starcraft, the students I was currently teaching were instructed first regarding unassisted flight in the hybrid forms. Flying would come naturally for them, so we could focus on maneuvers, formations, and other, more difficult aspects of military flight. Once we had them comfortable on their wings and familiar with their training squadron, we would move the simulation up to give them a taste of the differences in technique piloting a ship would require. My classes followed a pattern similar to a workday on Earth; days on duty were kept to a twenty-four hour pattern for the sake of the crew, and I would work from eight to ten of those hours training new pilots of various skill levels in the simulators. My first class of the day already possessed most of the basic skills. I was tasked with familiarizing them with formations; actually, we had been dealing with it for several weeks. Each formation took far less time than it would have when teaching regular pilots, but the added maneuverability of the flight units had filled the book of tricks with a number of other formations and procedures. We worked the rest of the class period of three or four specific formations, learning how to safely assume them, clarifying how the chain of command functioned within the formations, and explaining how to react if a certain member of the formation was eliminated. The group reacted well most of the time; still, I threw them a curveball every now and then, just to make sure that they weren't just lucky. Throughout, I marveled at how naturally everything came to me. It was becoming easier and easier for me to remember how this dream world worked; at the same time, the novelty of everything that I did was still vividly felt. I never once felt like it was normal, and that was comforting in a way. I didn't want to be dragged into the dream in a way that would rob me of my waking life, even if this new life had its wonders. The rest of my day of teaching passed in a blur, to the point that I was unsure if I had actually passed through it, or if perhaps the dream had skipped forward without my realizing it. One way or the other, I found myself on the exit lift, heading back to main living deck for pilots. Jason was waiting for me when I arrived on the deck. He asked me a few questions about my day, and I gave him a few vague answers. He seemed satisfied enough, and proceeded to tell me a little bit about his day. He didn't have enough experience to take his own class; in fact, he was still working in an advanced piloting course, and that had taken up a small part of his day. The rest was used putting his weapons skills to use by running maintenance on the main ship's guns. We had dinner together, the details of which seemed to fade much like my classes had. I assumed that meant that I couldn't dream up anything interesting for that half hour of time, so I subconsciously switched gears. When next I noticed, we were in the hallway, discussing what to do with what little free time we had. "I can think of several things we could do. There's the weight room; we need to stay in shape, after all..." I gave him a look, and he caught the drift quickly. "Of course, we get plenty of exercise in a regular day anyway. We could go to one of the game rooms, shoot some pool..." "I stink at pool." "All the more reason to play you," he quipped, grinning. "But I can see I'm getting nowhere there. The other option was going for another spin in the flight simulator." I suppose the grin on my face was plenty enough answer for him. "The simulator it is!" he said almost in mock celebration. And so we set off down the hall, making for the simulator. It was a longer walk from the dining area, so it was a relief when I found myself right beside the simulator a moment after our decision. I looked over at Jason, expecting him to be walking along beside me as calmly as ever, only to find him looking around as though he were somewhat confused. Something didn't click. Had he noticed the sudden jump? Why? There was no reason for anyone else to react to what had happened. They were all part of m dream, weren't they? Jason noticed me staring at him, and finally started walking again, muttering some sort of an apology. I followed him closely, trying to sort things out in my mind. We were soon standing just outside another pair of simulation spheres, preparing to enter. Jason still seemed a bit confused, and that just made me even more uneasy. Finally, I couldn't keep from doing something anymore. I had to find out what was going on, and I had one idea of how to do it. "Jason?" He looked at me, pausing in his preparation for a moment. "Yes, you need something?" "What's your name?" He looked at me like I was crazy. Since I had just addressed him, it wasn't hard to see why he would react that way. "My name is Jason, and you know that quite well." "No; I meant what is your waking name." His quizzical look was quickly replaced by an expression of shock and surprise. I crossed my fingers; hopefully this meant that I had been right. "My name is Jared," he responded. "This... This is your dream too?"

I;ll be continuing this story eventually. Right now, I'm trying to finish a longer story prior to Anthrocon. I might write some more of this this afternoon; we'll see.

I have enough people telling me about it that it may as well be a rule. People keep on telling me about it, so I just keep on telling them that I'm tired of hearing it. I have only run a typo check on this so far. If I ever want to go somewhere more with this, and I might, I'll work on adverbs. At this point, I'm much more concerned about passive verbs, being verbs, and other trash. As much as anything else, that's one in the morning for you. I appreciate that, because it's trashy. Adverbs aren't precise, true, but at this point that's the idea. Note after his first dream, he realizes that he can't remember details of the world. He can tell you what happened, but he can't describe it because he doesn't remember how it was. The next time through, he had a much better idea, mostly because he's looking for details. Going on with the story, he gets more and more detailed in his surroundings. That's what I mean by style. As for who he is, what his room looks like, and whatever this is about school and whatever, it is currently inconsequential. Depending on which way I decide to go with this, they may become important; they will be dealt with appropriately then. Thanks for the concern; I do want to get something published eventually, but paying attention to adverb killing kills momentum as well. I'll take care of adverbs during the editing stage.

To clarify, foxbunny, I have nothing against critique. I just do not recognize the adverb rule as a valid critique. As for the rest of what you said, I would mind having it around for future reference.

I've heard of the adverb rule, and I will say I don't give a **** about that stupid rule. This story is told in first person, and so I tell it like someone is talking. I'm not going to remove the adverbs in my story, just because some person whose nose trends upwards at the slightest mention of my style says so (this is referring to whoever decided they had the right to make writing rules for others, not you). Adverbs sound like I'm speaking to the reader naturally, which is exactly what I'm going for in first person. I wouldn't waste time trimming out adverbs if I was narrating, so I won't do it here.

This is the beginning of a new story I'm doing. It's the first time I've ever featured an avian character, and I'm actually enjoying it. Enjoy! ________________________ My name is James Anders. I used to think that I was an insomniac. I would spend hours at night, tossing and turning in my bed. I would fall asleep for a few moments, jerk awake, and look at my alarm clock to realize it had been less than ten minutes. This would go on for days, until exhaustion dropped me into a deep, dreamless sleep. Only recently did I come to understand how mistaken I was about my condition. During the times I dropped off to sleep, I slowly became aware of the fact that I was dreaming. Snippets of the dream would remain in my memory just long enough to verify their existence, but the content of these dreams was invariably lost. At first, I could remember nothing but the fact that I had been dreaming, but I eventually got the distinct impression that these dreams were always the same. This intrigued me, and for months on end I tried everything to try to remember, from dream journals to recording my voice during sleep to try to trigger memories. In the end, it was all to naught, and the pursuit of this dream was almost forgotten, although, like the dreams themselves, the pursuit always remained at the back of my mind. College came, and I suddenly had much less trouble being exhausted before I went to sleep. Nights began to pass comfortably for me, in that I never even had the impression of a dream remaining in my mind. After a school year on a hectic schedule, I went home believing that my mysterious dreams were at an end. In fact, the mystery waited for my first night home before immediately appearing again. My eyes snapped open to the sound of klaxons sounding nearby. I reached for my iPod, only to have my hand nearly missed by the occupant of the top bunk as he vaulted out of his bed. "All flights scramble, we are on high alert!" The voice on the speakers drew my mind back to reality, and I catapulted myself from the bunk inches away from my partner. He was already in his basic jumpsuit, and was buckling on his sidearm when I jumped both legs into my own outfit. It was pretty basic, but with the hulls of the Defender class ships built like they were, any more equipment was just dead weight. I pulled my sidearm from its home in the equipment vault across the hall, and turned to move toward the hangar just as my partner did the same. We matched our paces until we reached the security airlock, where one of the superior officers quickly checked for valid ID. My partner was before me, so he spoke first. "Jason Dawes, gunner," he said, verifying his words with a flick of his jumpsuit's badge. For the first time since I had looked for my mp3 player on waking up, something seemed wrong. I had not known my partner's name until he said it. What was going on? "Sir, identification?" The more concerning issue was that I had to grope for my name. "James..." My eyes snapped open, and I found myself breathing heavily, sweating like I was in an oven. My hands shaking, I groped around my dark room for a light, finally resorted to pulling out my cell phone. With no idea where to find a notebook, and memories of my dream fresh in my mind, I had to do something. I opened a text message, and began to type out briefly what had happened. I stared at the screen once I had finished. I read my own account through several times. The scene had been so vivid, and yet so nebulous. I knew what had happened in the dream, but I could not remember at all what anything had looked like. My mind could reconstruct the entire sequence of events in painstaking detail, but it could not tell me so much as the color of the weapons locker in the hall. My heart rate slowed, until I was finally certain that I had remembered my dream. In a flash of inspiration, I deactivated my iPod's klaxon alarm, and lay back down on my normal, single decker bed. No distractions; I would be ready if the dream came again. I knew it would not be for a while, as my adrenaline was still pumping, but... The klaxons sounded, and I jerked from my bed. No thought of alarms on my mind, I pulled myself from my bunk using the supports of the second bunk. Jason was right behind me, leaping over my head completely from his bed. I barely gave him a second glance. I was more concerned with my own equipment. As I pulled on the green jumpsuit that functioned as my on-duty uniform, I gave it a once over. Just like Jason's, it had a nametag bearing an unfamiliar name and rank. I committed them both to memory as I pulled on the upper section of the suit. As I did, I noticed that the sleeves were secured along their length by weak snap buttons. They were done for the time being, and a quick glance at Jason revealed that he lacked this feature. The chest and legs of my jumpsuit both seemed loose on me, even after I secured the former with the zipper. Whatever the reason for these oddities, it mattered little in light of the scramble order. I retrieved my sidearm and again found myself keeping pace just behind Jason as before. As soon as he had entered the hangar, I was ready. "David Reynolds, senior pilot," I recited the name from the badge. I was motioned forward into the hangar. I found myself moving on instinct, and had soon arrived with my gunner beside the Defender class ship. It was built low to the ground, barely large enough to allow room for a standing person inside, but its appearance was sleek, suggesting a metal bird of prey. Jason entered the gun bay at the front of the craft, and I quickly entered the cockpit from a rear bay door. I tried to fight the sense or wrongness as I stepped in; after all, it had preceded my waking the last time. I could not help but be surprised at the cockpit, however. Rather than a board full of controls I didn't recognize, the cockpit was a room well wide and long enough for me to lay down spread eagle in any direction. Spread eagle... "Computer, initiate launch sequence." The words flowed as though I had said them every day of my life. I began to loosen my muscles for a reason I couldn't remember. Then the computer recognized me. "Commander Reynolds, voice accepted. Applying flight preferences." Several thin beams of light were projected from all sides of the cockpit for a moment, and I found myself standing with my arms spread out and my feet at shoulder's width. The beams moved until they were centered on me on all sides, and then they seemed to bend until I was cocooned in silvery light. The antigravity kicked in then, and I found myself suspended a few inches from the ground. I was suddenly rotated face down, and them brought to about the middle of the room's height. "Setting pilot configuration Alpha-9." I suddenly remembered why my suit was different. With only the computer's announcement as warning, I began to feel m body changing within my uniform. First, it began to feel warmer. Discipline kept me from breaking my stance to gawk, but somehow I had memories that told me that a thin coat of downy feathers was beginning to grow on my skin, causing a feeling not unlike goose bumps. I admitted it to myself now; this was a dream. Still, I did not wake up, and found he changes spreading rapidly as I lay there suspended in midair. My waking mind regarded all that happened with disbelieving wonder, but my memory of the dream world, hidden before in the fog of a sleep-starved mind, assured me that this was not the first time this had happened. This was how all the craft on this Carrier vessel worked. What better way to have pilots become more effective than by giving them a form used to flight, and using a motion capture chamber to project their movements onto their ship? My rational mind calmed down as I realized that this was nothing out of the ordinary for my dream self. Meanwhile, the feathers had covered everything but my arms and legs, and I could feel them becoming harder, taking on a different texture and changing hue to a faded, yellowish orange. Both looked like bird talons, a fact that seems odd to me at first. I had never seen a bird with hands. My dream memories again reassured me; this form was a hybrid, and as such had both hands and wings. Wings... I couldn't wait to try those out. Longer feathers had begun to grow in, forming a lair over the softer, downy feathers that had grown originally. At the same time, I could feel my anatomy beginning to change. Joints creaked and popped, and muscles moved and reformed as my body became more airworthy. While I could not feel the effect in zero gravity, my memories assured me that my body was becoming much lighter, bones developing air pockets and body slimming so that I could fly without the aid of additional equipment. I wish I could see myself, but found I had memories of similar changes that I had watched, and I tried to remember what each feeling meant as it happened. By now, my underbelly had been covered in soft, tan feathers. On my chest, which had begun to fill the suit as it changed, there were several black feathers, forming a pattern that stood in contrast to its background. On my back, red-brown feathers had sprouted. As I thought through these memories, I sudden felt some discomfort behind me, until a long, beautiful tail grew behind me, finding the hole built specifically for that purpose without issue. In lieu of the ability to see myself, I thought until I located the muscles in charge of controlling the tail feathers and began to maneuver them around, marveling at how different it felt. Different, but amazing. By now, my body had been almost full altered. Feathers covered everything except my arms and legs, and they had altered, losing fingers a toes while maneuvering the remaining ones into new positions and lengthening them into talons. A curious thought occurred to me; I could now grasp items in both my hands and my feet. My face began to change. First, in between blinks, I could see that my eyes had changed. The darkness around me suddenly seemed much less dense, and I could see the silvery lines around me in startling clarity. As I looked at this, a sudden ache overtook the whole of my face. I worked my jaw for a moment, and felt it changing drastically. I was moving differently somehow; my beak was growing in, I realized. It felt backwards at first; my mouth was now in front of my face. Still, memories came to me, and as my beak finalized I found that I was comfortable moving it about. With a hooked, black beak in place of articulate lips, I was worried that I might not be able to express myself as much. I tried a few expressions, and found to my surprise that I could express myself just as well with a beak as with a mouth. The expressions looked completely different, but they communicated the same feelings. Thinking through the change, I realized that I was almost done changing. Only one thing remained, and I flexed my arms in anticipation. My wings wasted no time growing in; they grew out, first connected to my arms, but extending away from my arm in an impressive wingspan. My sleeves could not contain them; the snap-away buttons were all released in a moment. I experimentally spread my wings to their full lengths. Because they were attached until my elbows, both arms and wings had some degree of independent movement, which would be helpful if I ever wanted to use one without interference from the other. Overall, the change had taken only a few seconds, but unfamiliarity made it seem like several minutes. I was ready now, physically that is. Mentally, I was still freaking out. I had just changed into a hawk-man of some sort! It wasn't exactly something I did every day at college. In this dream world, however, I apparently did this as part of my job as a pilot. Suddenly, a display panel started up directly on front of me. I found that turning my neck so I could look straight forward was now natural. I also found out that I knew exactly what all the displays were trying to communicate. "You set?" Jason asked. His face was displayed to the right and below the main view panel. His normal, human face. I nodded, then spoke to the computer. "Initiate takeoff sequence." There was a bit of what could best be described as an accent added to my voice, but it was still quite intelligible. I could hear the engines roar to life, and the ship lifted from the ground. With little more than an adjustment of my wings in my suspended state, I spun the ship to face the open airlock doors. I settled myself a moment, then set off towards the vast arena of space beyond. I could already see the periodic flashes that signified a space battle, and I would be in that fray before too long. The flight was amazing. Our enemies, using crude spacecraft a century old, fought to maneuver around floating debris, and were useless against precisely aimed laser fire. I guided the ship expertly through the battle, setting up shots for Jason and avoiding enemy fire with ease. All it took was a turn of the wing, and we glided through the maze of debris without once taking a hit. We were one of the last to reenter the hangar. My change from my half-hawk form to human was equally as enthralling as the experience had been in reverse. I was still snapping the buttons back into place for my sleeves as I exited the ship. Jason patted me on the back as we left. "Good flying out there. I thought you might be rusty after a few empty months, but you flew as well as ever." "Well, you know. Flying is natural in that form. Once you've done it for a while, the skills just never leave you." It was true, though I only had my dream memories to go by. The memories told me something else, though, something that I wanted to try. "Say, I don't think I'll be getting back to sleep after this," I commented "We've got a few hours before our regular duties start. Want to join me for a spin in the flight chamber?" "Why not? Maybe I'll learn some of your tricks; can't help my case for pilot at all." I walked to the chamber as though I had done it every day of the voyage. If my memories of the dream were correct, that was very nearly correct. In fact, it seemed that I spent much of my time off duty in that chamber. After my experience in the Defender, I had no question as to why. "I want to try one I found three days ago." We had arrived at the door to the chamber on our deck, and I tapped out a combination of characters on the keypad by the door. Once I finished typing my password in, the door opened, and revealed row upon row of simulation spheres. In these spheres, various people, some in hybrid form, and some even in full form, lay suspended in the same antigravity matrix that was used in the cockpit of my Defender. I found a couple free spheres adjacent to each other, and quickly used the computer to synchronize them so that I would share the same simulation with Jason. The two of us stepped into our spheres, and the antigrav matrix initialized immediately. I felt the wave of feathers beginning again, and it was not long before I had resumed my hawk form. Beside me, dressed in his own flight suit, Jason's form changed as well, until he had become a bald eagle. The simulation began as soon as we were both changed. At first, it was an obvious projection. After a few moments, however, we were fully immersed in a new world. We stood together on a green plain, looking about at rolling hills and green forests, and feeling simulated gusts of warm air ruffling our feathers. I pointed at the top of a nearby mountain. "The view is best from right up there," I said. "Not to mention, it gives us both a chance to spread our wings." The flight I had charted was by no means a short one, but neither of us cared. We loved catching the currents of air in our wings, gliding effortlessly through the air high above the earth, and watching the world go by beneath us. Once we arrived, I was completely taken aback. My recommendation of the view was merited completely. The view we had seen from the ground was completely dwarfed by the magnitude of beauty we saw from here. Even the thought that I wasn't really there could not spoil it for me. After all, we were looking at a real spot on Earth. We might not really be there, but we would be able to see the same view once our voyage had ended. I knew the place was real, because I had been there in my waking life once, on a rock climbing venture with some fraternity guys. The view I saw then was not even comparable. As a hawk, my eyes were several orders of magnitude better than my human eyes. I could see the details of the landscape in impeccable detail. I could very nearly discern individual blades of grass hundreds of feet below me, and was able to track the movement of several creatures that also occupied the slopes. "When we get back to Earth, I think I'll apply for a long-term change. There are so many places I actually want to be able to see like this," I admitted, nearly breathless from the view. "I'm not sure I'd take it that far, but this is a view I would not mind seeing for real." Jason's gaze took in every detail, and his beak was cracked in an avian smile. "If I ever did go on a flying vacation, though, I would want you as my travel guide. You have impeccable taste in great views." We spent almost an hour just taking in the sights, and spent our remaining time before active duty soaring lazily through the air. I had thought that my earlier comment about wanting to keep the form longer had been exclusively from my dream self, but I found myself agreeing more and more with the sentiment. If it was ever possible to take on such a form in my waking reality, I would be sorely tempted. I woke, startled not from any occurrence in my dream, but from the fact that I had woken without warning, right in the middle of my flight. I looked at my clock; it was well past noon, thanks to me deactivating my alarm. I wouldn't call the day wasted, though. The vivid beauty and excitement of the dream stayed with me when I woke, and I longed to experience more. I found a notebook and set my pen down to write out what I had seen. Words seemed so worthless to describe the experience. Still, I could not risk losing the memory, especially if I was unable to return. My story written, I went about my day. On my mind a question nagged; would I be returning to that strange world in my dreams? It was a question that would have to wait for the night. For now, I went about my life, unable to shake the daydreams of flight, andhoping I would live that vivid dream again.

Preloaded Portal 2. Now I just need to escape for a few minutes tomorrow to unlock the game.

An Alienware can take what you dish out, but I wouldn't be so inclined to test it. It costs a nice price for the speed it gives you.

The one of those i remember was called "Math Castle" and featured you using math to defend a castle from aliens. No idea who came up with that idea.

Old Laptop: Dell Latitude D620 CPU: Dual core Celeron 1.8GHz Memory: 3GB DDR2 GPU: Horrible Intel video card HDD: 70GB Display: 14" 1280x1024 OS: Windows 7 Professional New Laptop: Alienware Area-51 M17x CPU: Core 2 Duo dual core 2.8GHz Memory: 4GB DDR2 (looking to go to 8GB) GPU: Dual nVidia GeForce 8700M GT (512MB each, running SLI) HDD: 256GB Display: 17.3" 1920x1200 native OS: Windows 7 Professional 64-bit Other: Optical audio out to Dolby 7.1 surround, HDMI out port, MMC, SD, MS/PRO combo card reader, Blu-Ray disc drive (untested since the unholy discs are banned on campus), Firewire A&B ports, AlienFX customizable back-lit keyboard/media buttons, 2.0MP webcam w/stereo microphones.