Subj: [ffml] [MW] "Goodbye, and tempt not the fates...." Date: 00-03-29 02:29:21 EST From: darklord@compusmart.ab.ca (His Dark Lordship) Reply-to: ffml@onelist.com To: ffml@onelist.com (ffml) From: His Dark Lordship Mog sat back in his office. Ladice had completely lost her own will, it seemed. Mog chuckled. Maybe she'd make a good queen. Then again, Denar also was becomming a blatent fool. Mog determined that their rather faint esper genes were eating at their brains. He chuckled again. He had to take what pleasures in life he could get, since, according to the prophecy, his death was merely weeks away. Of course, the rest of the Dark Lord's prophecy turned out to be bullshit... Or had it? Despite Mog's surrender, the war technically still went on. Moogles attacked humans, and vice versa. Junior, at that time, was still a fighter. Still a warrior. And his name... was also Mog. While Bacca disapeared, Mog Junior was still fighting. Perhaps that, that, was the prophecy. Mog himself had come to conclude this, having been a bit of a pessimist for the majority of his life. Another thought came across his mind. Where the *HELL* was Junior. He had gone to battle at Doma. Mog had heard no news of him since. Mog sighed. He questioned his motives for restoring Junior to his warrior state. Perhaps it was the bout with Turan that made him realize the importance of love. Rather than welcome Junior, a child he had not seen for close to 600 years, with open arms, he shot him. He then threw him into a mech suit to defend the city in, and brainwashed him into a murderer. He then put him into a more powerful suit and uped the dose. At that time, he had Turan. He had his caring son. Now, Turan had become rather rebelious. Mog had seen him sitting in the study, late at nights, reading through a book. He always detected a second presence in the room. It gave him the chills. It was now that he realized how big of a fucking idiot he had been. It was always about the war. Mog's brides had all died, and he had not really cared. At that time, they were his bitches, despite how Aeris loved him so. He sighed. This must fit in with the prophecy. As he could remember, the Lord of Darkness stated; "And the Terror of the White Beasts shall know remorse, and then the terrible jaws of death shall pluck him away." Mog sighed again. It wasn't as if death really frightened him, hell, he was more than a bit surprised that he was still alive. Not only testing the limit of a Moogle's lifespan, but keeping in decent physical shape to boot. Battling war after war, he certain held a record or two. Now, with the eternal war calmed down, as he readied his soldiers and prepared a battalon and a strategy for Figaro, his past daemons had come to haunt him. What scared him more, though, was Turan's recent developement. If the prophecy took it's course, which Mog decided he would let happen, as he was sick of the whole mess, Turan would be king before the invasion began. He would either lead the moogles to a glorious victory or a terrible defeat. There was no middle path. Even after his and Turan's little bout, Turan had returned to the fortress, to his quarters to bathe. While Mog knew Turan would leave in the morning, taking a slowly growing group of supporters with him to take Albrook, he would attempt to stop them. Even though it was a worthless cause. Turan was Mog's counterpart. Young, fiesty, on a roll. Mog, however, had waited 680 years for revenge. He was not about to let it fall. * * * * * * Turan looked into the mirror. The fur was so short. It was a pain in the ass to shave it off. His father was a buffoon. So were the humans. Two flawed species, vying for world domination. Yet, neither could hold it. That's where he came in. The Gods had placed him on this earth for a reason. Him and Junior, but Junior had failed, and he, the backup plan, held the future of the world in his hands. Tall as a man. Pointed features. The dexterity and sexual prowess of a Moogle, and the teeth of a Moogle. The human concept of "Hair" also made it into his template. He was identical to his father when borne. Now, his human side began to stick out, although somewhat more pointed. He noted his pointed earts. All except the sides of his face, all the fur came off. He needed a new look, one that didn't remind him of his bastard father, yet still showed off his Moogle ancestry. The fur at his faces sides, his ears, his teeth and his sharp nails would hold to that. As he shaved around his legs, he looked at his genetals. After a few minutes of staring, he shaved around them. He decided he'd like to keep the fur there too. Stepping back, he examined himself. Not bad... a muscular chest, a length of fur coming from beyond his hair line down to his shoulders, a white patch above his penis, a thin layer covering his testicles, and then two thick, strong legs. Aye, now he was the handsome prince he had dreamed of. -- The eternal lord of darkness... Subj: [ffml] [MW] Coup de Grace Date: 00-03-29 02:29:35 EST From: darklord@compusmart.ab.ca (His Dark Lordship) Reply-to: ffml@onelist.com To: ffml@onelist.com (ffml) From: His Dark Lordship Mog stared outside the window. He rubbed his eyes and stared again. It was still there. He had left Turan in charge of ending the disorder in Doma, which, as he understood, Turan had achieved by killing anyone who seemed like a threat. He sighed. Turan was becoming more and more terrible by the day. But this... this just pissed him off. Turan was marching into Vector with a decent sized force, and a LOT of humans in tow, chained and whipped. Turan was swing the torn emblem of Tzen around. Mog hadn't ordered such a thing. Although Tzen was definately a strategic point, he hadn't ordered it to be taken. Tzen was too well fortefied after the last attack. It would cost too many men. And it looked like it did. Swearing, Mog stormed out of the castle and down to the parade. Turan saw him, and came down off his Chocobo to meet him. "Father! Look, I have claimed this wonderous port! It will aide us in our invasion of Figaro!" Mog stared at him long and hard. "I never ordered the occupation of Tzen. Nor have I plans laid out for a successful invasion of Figaro." "Excuse me?" asked Turan, acting as if he was indeed the King. "We just overran Doma. Not all of the soldiers have made it back yet. We can't start risking more assaults. We need to regroup before making another invasion." "Are you kidding? We clobbered Doma!" "We lost Ten Thousand people." said Mog slowly. "And, like it or not, I am still the king, I have been king for the last 680 years, and I know what the fuck I am doing." "Yeah, that's why we're not the undisputed rulers of the world right now." snorted Turan. A few soldiers behind him cheered. Several of the Palace guards had emerged and stood behind Mog. Crowds began to sneak through the alleys to catch a glimpse of this standoff. Several soldiers began barricading them, preventing sight. Mog and Turan stared at each other, each attempting to prove they had the mightier will. "People love thier freedom, son, and it's not like they're gonna lay down their lives just because we tell them to." growled Mog. "The Tzenites certainly didn't put up a fight." The soldiers behind Turan laughed. "ANd how many did you lose?" Turan chuckled. "I took 600 men. We lost 400, but the town is more important than the manpower." "Not if we're trying to hold the damn thing, you fool." growled Mog. "Yes, the port will be useful for retrieving soldiers from Doma, but the time wasn't right to take it!" "Oh yeah," snarled Turan. "And I suppose your 680s of pathetic rulership taught you that. You make me sick." Mog chuckled. "Big words for such a little boy. I am still king, and you shall do as I say." Turan's eyes flared. "Perhaps then, it is time for a new king." he said, rather aloud. All murmurs in the crowd ceased. All the moogles present knew what this meant. "Is that a challenge, little boy?" asked Mog. He was sick of Turan's attitude. "Yes, you diaper wearing old man." Turan whipped out his sword. Mog sighed. "You're under the delusion that I'm unable to fight." "You're under the delusion that you can." Mog snapped his fingers. A soldier placed his lance, the Auora Lance, into Mog's hands. The Ku-da fight had begun. Mog and Turan circled around each other. Turan quicky lunged forward, swinging his sword toward's Mog's head. Mog quickly brought his lance up, parrying the shot. Mog quickly swung the back end of the lance right at Turan's balls. Turan growled. Mog and Turan began circling again. Mog slowly began taking steps forwards and backwards. Turan made another lunge. Mog instantly spun around, swinging the lance tip up, catching Turan's blade and deflecting it. Turan regained his balance as Mog stood ready. "Damn it, you pussy assed old geezer! Fight!" Mog simply chuckled, and let out a quiet, but still hearable, "Kupo." Turan raised an eyebrow. "You should learn a bit about your heritage, my half bred son." said Mog with a chuckle. Turan felt a burning sensation in his foot. At first he attempted to ignore it, and the crowd's staring. The burning pain intensified. Finally Turan looked down. His leg was on fire. He screamed in pain. He then felt a piece of wood crash against his head. A bar like substance winded his chest, and a blade pierced the skin of his cheek. Another wooden shot to his genetals and Turan felt the dirt on his arms. The burning sensation was gone. Instead, he felt something poking at his throat. Mog had his speartip at Turan's throat. "Yield?" TUran coughed out a yes. Mog pulled the spear off him. The crowd began to disperse. Mog was still king. Turan slowly got up after the pain in his loins subsided. He looked at the blood dripping down his white fur. Running his silver hair back, he noticed something. The antennae that were there before were gone. He didn't feel any disalusioned. They must have been for simple decor. He spotted it a few feet away. Mog had sliced it off. That, was simply, a great insult from a Moogle to another, repayable only by death. Turan growled. Mog had used the Moogle's ancient Dance Majick Art, and won the fight that way. Turan could beat that. He just needed some more time. And Backing. He stared at the fortress as Mog strolled through it's gates. Soon, all this would be his. Mog's reign was coming to a close... -- The eternal lord of darkness... Subj: [ffml] [MW] Power of Attorney Clause Date: 00-03-30 19:51:20 EST From: raumkatze2@aol.com Reply-to: ffml@onelist.com To: ffml@onelist.com Turan sat in his room, Mogomra standing in front of him. Because of the Jenova in him, his wounds had not taken long to heal, but his pride was severely wounded. "You know the only way you can beat him is with your new powers," said Mogomra. "But I'm not ready yet," said Turan. "Nonsense," said Mogomra, "I've been training you in the art of majick for weeks. You've shown much progress. But now it is time for you to proove yourself in battle." "But I can't. Even though you've taught me a lot, I never seem to be able to focus my powers for a practical use." Mogomra grinned inwardly. He had been waiting for this moment. "Well, there is one thing you could do that will allow you to use your power more effectively." "And what's that?" said Turan. "You can let me into your mind," said Mogomra. "What?!" "You want to defeat your father, right? All you have to do is give me a little bit of access to your mind, and I will be able to help you cast very powerful magic, magic even more powerful than an archmage like I can use." "Alright," said Turan, "so what do I do?" "Just relax your mind. When you feel my presence, just let me inside." "Alright," said Turan. He closed his eyes, and did his best to clear his mind. Then he felt it. It was Mogomra's probing influence. Turan's instinct was to close up, not allowing Mogomra to penetrate his mind, but he resisted this reaction, and let Mogomra plant his influence deep inside of his brain.