-uddy," I told the lumbering neo-Nazi, as we wrapped our arms around each other in a Czech nightclub where ABBA played in the background. I turned my head to the side, trying desperately to avoid the boozy breath I squeezed out of him. A few seconds later, he gave one last 80 proof wheeze and passed out. "You smell pretty strong, yo, but not strong enough." The dancing crowd didn't notice a thing as I let him slide to the floor.

With the defeat of their strongman, the other bigots decided to retire to the far end of the club, to resume headbanging to disco karaoke, and leave the Asian and the black American alone.

"I'm glad I took Bert's advice," I said, "If we'd gotten kicked out, your guy wouldn't know where to find us." Speak of the devil and there he is -- no sooner did I get the words out, an olive dude that looked like a basketball player came up to our table. Musta been seven feet tall.

"Lo Fung, my ancient friend," said Basketball, bowing in respect. Turning to me, he reached out to shake hands, "I'm Mark Skellian."

"Willie Long," I said. I noticed something on the inside of his wrist, and turned his hand to the side. It was a tattoo of a heart pierced by a wooden staked. "Nice tat."

"My heritage," Mark said with a shrug. As he did, I saw a flaming sword tattoo on his other wrist. He sat down with us, hunched low to the table and speaking quietly. "Lo Li has heard rumors of strange things in Egypt. And strange times."

"Lo Li hears many things," Lo Fung said, his expression unreadable.

"I went there to investigate. One of those things sent assassins after me."

"How do you know they weren't just angry husbands?"

"Angry husbands don't use RUNE SWORDS!"

Fung slumped back in his chair, all traces of humor wiped from his face. Mark looked tired, like he'd been hunted too long, and I guess he had. I tried to remember what GhostSpider had told me about rune swords, but I came up blank. A subdued Fung asked, "Where is the blade now?"

"My hotel room."

"Let's go."

We went.

No, I wish I had.

Hannah wrote:I'm glad you are doing okay, I haven't heard from you in a long time.

I'm sorry, I'll try and visit again soon.

*Lo Fung is Victor Lazlo's friend. He and Robert Mach run the Lazlo Agency. Mr. Lo mostly works with agents in Asia and Africa.

*I'm guessing that Lo Li is his cousin; he said he hadn't seen him in a while.

*Maybe all the Skellions get tattoos when they come of age? I didn't ask him.

*This sword was short, made of some bluish metal, and had lots of curves and points. Kinda like this drawing I found. Ghost Spider knows more about them than I do, but they're supposedly very rare, very well crafted weapons.

*This was back in November. It's why I had to leave all of a sudden.

GhostSpider wrote:I think I'll make a post on Rune weapons in KT's magic thread in the Philo area.

I may not practice anymore, but I should get back to updating that thread, someday soon...

Mark rushed us inside, not relaxing until he'd shut the door and soundly thrown the deadbolt. "I hid it under the sink." He went into the bathroom and came out with a flower box. He opened it, and we looked in. The sword was short, made of some bluish metal, and had lots of curves and points. I reached for it, but Fung grabbed my wrist and shook his head.

"Better not. It could be dangerous." He took the box from Mark, carried it into the bathroom, and dumped the sword into the tub. He knelt down and began to examine it.

"You want a flashlight? It's pretty dark in here."

"To read these runes, I will need it darker still. You two can go watch T.V. while I do this, just turn out the bathroom light and shut the door. Oh, toss me a towel."

I did. He wrapped it around his hand and used it like an oven mitt to turn over the blade. Mark and I left him to his work, watched some U.F.C. knock-off while we talked. I learned that he's Greek, from the isle of Santorini. He is sort of a scout for the Agency, infiltrating groups that claim to have supernatural powers.

"How do you know Lo Fung?"

"He's an old family friend."

"Willie, Mark," Lo Fung said, "Get everything packed up. We need to leave tonight."

That's when the fire started.

Hannah: Believe it or not, there're Nazis here in the States, as well... Most of us aren't happy about it, but there's nothing we can do about it. Except kick their butts when they cause problems in clubs.

Willie: I wish I could've been in a state to help you through all of this... Sounds like one helluvan adventure, though, just from the way it's starting.

I need to talk to you, and soon, since you're back around... Gimme a call sometime.

Without a doubt.

KonThaak wrote:Sounds like one helluvan adventure, though, just from the way it's starting.

Nah, nothin' but a thing. 'least, that's what I told Mark when the dead Japanese ape-man with a giant head tried to kill us.

I tossed a suitcase to Mark, kept two for myself, and Fung had the box. As we headed for the door, I heard someone curse in English. Turning back, I saw a dude in a ski mask standing in the doorway on the balcony. I threw one suitcase at him, and knocked him over the railing. Outside, a female voice cried out in French, and I decided that it was past time to go.

The hallway was a riot of babbling guests dragging too much luggage. I took the lead and pushed through the sea, with Fung and Mark following in my wake. We made it downstairs, and observed the chaos filling the main lobby.

"I think I'll use their online check-out," Mark said, gesturing with his Blackberry. We headed outside and walked a few blocks to get away from the smoke.

Mark took out his P.D.A. and started working on travel arrangements.

Lo Fung turned to me and said, "I think we -- LOOK OUT!" He threw me to the ground as something whistled right where my head was. What the hell. I thought I was supposed to be HIS bodyguard. I turned around and he was fighting with someone I couldn't see.

Mark cried out and dropped his computer, shaking his hands like it had zapped him. Before he could pick it up, Ski Mask dashed out from a side street and kicked him in the head.

The box was no longer lying in the street where Fung dropped it. It had started to drift upward like it was caught in a dustdevil.

I jumped up and snatched it down, and was rewarded by a clap of thunder against my ears that rattled me to the bone. It was like I'd been hit by lightning; almost as loud as a car stereo system. Sometimes I hate this job.

The walls around Lo Fung were sprinkled with blood, but it didn't look like it was his. Dawg be hardcore. The invisible man picked on the wrong dude.

Mark had rolled away from the hit and was on his feet in a low wrestling stance, absent-mindedly rubbing his tattooed wrists against each other. Ski Mask was slowly whirling his nunchucks, confident because Mark was unarmed.

"We just want the souldrinker, mate," said Ski Mask as I approached the two.

Smiling, holding out the box as an offering, I beckoned to him with my other hand. "Come get it."

I don't know -- we never used it. Lo Fung seemed afraid to touch it; are they really that sharp?

We kept it wrapped in a towel and carried it inside a cardboard box.

That answer all your rune sword questions, Hannah?

Ski Mask seemed in no hurry to start a fair fight, so I glanced back to see Fung get struck by a bolt of lightning that staggered him.

Mark yelled to warn me as Ski Mask lunged forward to clobber me with his nunchucks. I had already started moving, so it only grazed the outside of my arm. I countered with a snap kick that he blocked, but he wasn't fast enough to avoid Mark's thrust kick, too. It caught him in the calf and Ski Mask stumbled to one knee. I followed up with a crescent kick that had him sprawled across the street. Mark kicked the nunchucks into a storm drain and picked up his computer.

There was an angry scream from the top of the building next to us. I couldn't see anybody, but Lo Fung evidently could, because he started to climb up the brick wall after it.

"Wait for us!"

He paused, looking first at us, then up at the roof. His mind made up, he crawled back down the wall. There was blood on his clothes and his hands.

"You a'ight, yo?"

"I will be. I didn't realize my presence would energize them."

"I'll pretend that made sense."

"Mark, you said they started hunting you in Egypt?" A nod. "That's where we need to go. But first we have to get rid of that thing," he said, pointing at the box I was holding.

At that point I realized two things. First, he'd already planned exactly how to go about it, probably even before we left the hotel. Second, his plan was going to be more complicated than, "put it in the dumpster."

Well, I guess it could be considered a work of really ugly art.

Hannah, there are pros and cons to any weapon you pick up and use... Guns are limited by the ammunition a person carries. You can't retract or reverse an attack made by a gun--once you pull the trigger while pointing it, you can't take it back, no matter how much you may want to after seeing what/who you've shot. Guns can only puncture, which, depending on what you're up against, could be good or bad.

Other weapons have more versatility, but rely on the skill and strength of the wielder to have any kind of real effect. When these other weapons have magical properties, they can sometimes have greater effect than a gun, even if there is the limitation that one must get in close to have that effect. In the case of this weapon, it can destroy more than a body: it can destroy a soul, which is much more of an effect than any gun I've ever heard of.

GS: What do you mean "alignment"? I read your post, and the first thought in my head was:

Dude: *picks up sword* Hey, cool!
Rune Weapon: AAARRRGGGHHH, YOUR TIRES ARE OUT OF ALIGNMENT I KILLZ J000000!!!!
Dude: BLAARRRGGGGHHH! *dies*

Good and evil, huh... In my experience, there are no such things as universal truths, even in extremes. What is good for one group is evil to another. It is a matter of perspective... Even philosophers have debated issues of morality, what constitutes morality, what is immoral, and so forth, since the birth of philosophy itself.

But when you say the weapon looks for a holder who has a similar moral code... *That* at least makes sense.

KonThaak wrote:But when you say the weapon looks for a holder who has a similar moral code...

I doubt it will find one of those at the bottom of the sea.

****
When our ship reached Alexandria, we disembarked and Mark took us to Misr Station to catch a train. A nice, comfortable, assassin-free train. He was only one-third successful. It was cramped and grungy.

Eventually we reached Ramses Station in Cairo and took a bus to the Oasis Hotel. It was like a piece of Florida -- palm trees, ponds, topless Germans, armies of giant mosquitoes.

It was a lousy day, and I was looking forward to dinner. We went to the lobby restaurant buffet, where there were countless fruits and vegetables I had no name for -- it was beautiful.

Mark stopped flirting with the hostess to tell me, "You can't eat those."

"Watch me, dawg!"

"I'm serious, Willie. You don't realize what filth they're grown in. It'll make you sick. Maybe Fung could eat them, but we can't"

"So what is safe?"

. . . I picked up my plate of pita bread and can of Coke, trudged out to the poolside tables and sat down. Took a bite of bread, slapped a mosquito, sipped my soda. "Well, it could be worse," I thought. Then I heard machine gun fire.

Willie Long wrote:"Well, it could be worse,"

This. It's worse than "I'm bored", I swear...

I never did find out who was doing the shooting. The bellydancer's musicians just played louder to drown out the gunfire and sirens. The food improved later on -- white rice and tea -- but that first night was pretty rough.

Afterward we went back to our rooms, and got down to business. Mark said, "Before I left him in Israel, Lo Li warned me that 'Great things have their fanged eye upon Giza, Skellian.'"

I asked Lo Fung, "Does he always talk like that?"

"Only after too many beers," he said, but he looked worried.

"I kept watch over the necropolis, but it was quiet until the end of September when several people were arrested for trying to enter the Great Pyramid. I struck up a friendship with one of their grad students to learn more. She told me they were rogue scholars of archaeology and theology who believed the pyramid would give them the power to speak with God's angels."

"Couldn't they do that in a church -- er, mosque, I guess -- like everyone else?"

"Sure, but they thought the pyramid would let them hear the answer, or visit heaven, maybe. She realized how bizarre their plan sounded, so it took a while to finesse the information out of her."

Fung asked, "Did she tell you anything else?"

"Yes. The night I left, she called me, telling me that George had given Hussein another way to call the angels.

"I didn't get to his flat in time to stop them. One of his eyes was sitting in the middle of the floor, surrounded by his teeth, with a series of lines radiating outward painted in blood. His body was lying against the couch, one hand holding the pliers he used, the other hand missing a finger."

I shook my head in sympathy, "Was your other friend okay?"

"Not really. She tried to kill me with the rune sword."

I could understand how that might strain a friendship.

"George had to be behind it, but I didn't know what was behind him, so I fled the country and waited for help."

"Whoomp, here it is."

Eilonwy Solstice wrote:Sifu, honestly . . . if I didn’t know you better, I’d say you liked that sort of thing.

Don't be ridiculous -- I'm a martial artist, not a fashion consultant. It's these darn Europeans I keep getting involved with: first Montague, then Skellian. Are they using radar for that kind of thing or something?