Date: Mon, 19 Feb 1996 16:10:52 -0500 Reply-To: "Sean A.Simpson" Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: "Sean A.Simpson" Subject: And So It Begins 1/2 This is my first attempt at fanfic. Be gentle. :) =============================================================================== Highlander is produced by Rysher Entertainment, and is a copyright thereof. This story is not intended as a challenge to that copyright. This story (c) 1996 Sean A. Simpson. This story may be freely distributed provided that this statement, and the above statement concerning Rysher Entertainment, is included, and that text below is complete and unedited. =============================================================================== And So It Begins by Sean A. Simpson >From the journal of Terence O' Brian, entry dated 12/18/92 (note: previous pages in this volume have been torn out; this is the first page still bound in the journal) The dark-haired stranger sat down on the couch across from me. He was unusually good-looking, but of average height. In fact, other than his unusual "aura", for lack of a better word, there was nothing that might have made him stand out in a crowd. The bullet hole in his shirt was hanging open over completely unmarred skin. He noted the direction of my gaze and smiled slightly. "You have asked me what I am. It is a fair question, after I was shot rescuing you, and now there is not so much as a scratch where the bullet penetrated my heart. Then, at least, the most difficult part is over. You have seen the extent of my recuperative powers. "I am immortal. I am Angus MacGregor of the clan MacGregor, although I am not part of the clan by blood. I was actually born in the land of Kemet, now called Egypt by most, in the year, by my reckoning, 2027 BC. Yes. I can see the shock in your eyes. I am over four thousand years old. How can I be a part of the clan MacGregor then, you ask, if I am Egyptian by birth? Four hundred years ago, when I was living in Scotland, I rescued a chieftain of the clan from a group of bandits. In doing so, I became his blood brother, and spent twenty years in the village, where I fought with them in many of their clan wars, defended their honor, and eventually, took the name MacGregor, and with it a vow that until the end of my days, I would be a MacGregor." ********* >From the journal of Terence O'Brian, dated 2/12/96 (torn out and stuck in between front cover and first page) It was three years ago that I met a mysterious man named Angus MacGregor. I saw him take a bullet in the heart and then get up, unharmed. He claimed to be immortal, unable to die, and to be over four thousand years old. Later I saw many incredible things, and learned the truth of his words. But it was not until a scant month ago that I understood why he told me these things. Perhaps an introduction is in order. My name is Terence O'Brian, called Terry by my friends, and up until a month ago, I was an independently wealthy antique weapons and armor dealer based in Albany, NY. On January 14th, 1996, I was fatally shot in a crossfire and declared legally dead. I awoke in the morgue at the hospital with Angus standing over me, and the first thing he said to me was, "Welcome to the Game." I knew then what I was. I have been training with Angus for a month. He has told me much of his incredibly long life, and I feel compelled to pass these stories on. This is the story of how I met him, and what he told me of his introduction into the world as an Immortal. ********* >From the journal of Terence O'Brian, dated 12/18/92 (continued) Angus shifted slightly and continued with his tale. "As you may have noticed, I am very fair-skinned for an Egyptian. Though this was considered by many to be some kind of mark, as they had never seen one so pale as I, it was never determined what that mark meant until I was thirty years old and one of the oldest and fighting me in the village. One of my tasks there was to train young men in the fighting arts. One day, though, a too-aggressive student made a too-strong lunge and thrust his sword into my belly, mortally wounding me. Aye, mortally, I said. For through that night my wife stood by my bed and watched my color fade to a ghostly pallor while the life seeped out of me. Yet the next morning, as they were preparing to embalm me, I walked out of my home in perfect health. This was taken as a sign that I was rejected by the gods, and that I was forever forbidden to enter the land of the dead. Never were they to know the irony of that conclusion. "After I was forced to leave the village, I wandered the desert east of Kemet, learning the hard way that I could not die of hunger, or of thirst, although I could get mighty uncomfortable. In my travels I met an Immortal man named Methos. He had already been alive over a thousand years by that time, and is still alive today. Methos taught me the rules of the Game. "The Game? It is the price of what we are. We call ourselves immortal, but there is one way we can die. If our head is removed from our bodies, then we die. If another one of us is the one who kills, then he gets the Quickening of the dead one, the life-force that makes our immortality possible. I have killed nearly seventy immortals in my four thousand years. I cannot remember the faces of most of them. But there were a few truly evil ones who make their presence felt in my nightmares. Because the Quickening is not merely a life-force, but the power, the knowledge, the experience that made the Immortal what he was." At this point Angus reached into the coat lying next to him. From it he pulled out what looked to be a priceless antique Scottish claymore. Yet there was a subtle rippling to the blade as if... "Aye, this blade is folded over five hundred times. Forged in the same method as the invaluable Japanese blades you collect so fondly," he said, indicating the display case on the wall of my living room. "I forged this sword myself in the highlands of Scotland three hundred ninety years ago when I was adopted into the clan MacGregor. Look closely, lad, at the hilt. Engraved in it is the name MacGregor. The only name that has ever had true meaning for me, and thus the only one I have ever kept. This sword has served me well since I forged it from the remains of the sword my blood-brother Iain wielded in his last battle, where he died in honor, as a warrior should. It is how I remember him. "The next question, of course, is why I carry this sword. I have already told you of the Game. This is how I stay alive, with this sword to defend myself with, and this sword to kill those who would have my head." Now I finally spoke up. "But where did you learn to forge folded steel weapons?" "In Japan, of course. I was taught by an immortal sorceror named Nakano. He was a master illusionist and master swordsmith. I trained with him in the late fifteenth century. Before that I had trained with many master artisans, craftsmen, and warriors. I even studied with an Immortal Shaolin monk named Kei Li, and an Immortal ninja whose name I never knew. But then, I don't believe even the Watchers know the identity of that one." (the Watchers? I thought, but I never had the chance to ask who they are.) "However, I did learn through an old friend that he recently died. Who took his head, he could not say for sure. But he believes it was an old enemy of ours, a Bedouin Arab whom we first encountered eight hundred years ago when we were visiting Egypt." Angus returned his sword to its hiding place and continued with his story. "After learning from Methos what it means to be Immortal, and about all our traditions and stories which have been passed down from mentor to student since our origin in the forgotten mists of time, Methos sent me to the land of Sumer, where I learned of the legends and ways of the Sumerian people, as I would do countless times over and over again as I moved from society to society to hid my immortality. It was there that I met my second teacher, Attanegeshi, who taught me how to fight. Before, I had only needed to be able to fight off the occasional bandits or thieves who would come to try to take my money or belongings, and my skills from my time in my village's militia were more than sufficient when enhanced with my Immortal speed and strength. However, he warned me, there are be those among our kind who will not await the Gathering, and that they would be after my head then and there to take it and make my Quickening their own." Again I interrupted him. "But what is this Gathering you speak of?" =============================================================================== Comments? Questions? Flames? etc.? Send to stsas02@moravian.edu. =========================================================================