Date: Wed, 27 Sep 1995 09:02:11 -0400 Reply-To: Andrew Duty Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Andrew Duty Subject: War of Ages Part 1 OK here's the deal. This was actually finished a couple of nights ago and through a misfortunate accident was deleted. I'm not going through this again so I am going to post this as I go. The story centers around Methos. I doubt it will be finished by the con so there might be a lag between posts. I will try my best to get most of it through by before the con. War of Ages by Andrew Duty ________________________________________________________________________________ Methos emptied the cardboard box and placed the books onto the coffee table. He had been unpacking all day but the living room was still littered with the boxes and crates of his recent move. He was a Watcher. A title given to the members of a secret society that studied and recorded the actions of an ancient race of immortals who had battled through out the centuries. What the Watchers did not know was Methos too was an immortal though they did not know his real name. For centuries Methos bided his time for opportune moment where he could arrange to be inducted into the organization. Now they knew him as Adam Pierson, a college student who helped catalogue and study the old chronicles the Watchers had accumulated over the years. Methos groaned as he lifted another box down from the others it had been piled on to. He had spent two days getting his new home organized but he still had much too do. He decided to take a break and headed to the kitchen, right by the entrance and across from the stairs leading to the second floor. The distinct whistle of steam escaping from his kettle alerted him the water was ready for his tea. He grabbed an old china cup and saucer from the cabinet, dropped in a tea bag then poured the water. He then leisurely returned to the living room and sat down on the plush brown sofa recently delivered. He kicked his feet up on the coffee table and slowly began sipping the tea. He let his mind wander a bit and took in the room around him and watching the sun set through the glass door. The Watcher extraction team did a wonderful job clearing out his old place but they never did get the knack of putting it all back together again. Chairs were scattered about haphazardly along with his bookcase tables and many sculptures. It would take a week just to arrange them to his liking. The boxes contained many books and manuscripts necessary for his post but unfortunately had to be sorted through again and placed back in order. Luckily he had the time to get his personal items transferred before the team had noticed. He felt it would be difficult to explain why he had ancient manuscripts and journals in centuries dead languages or why he felt the need to own a sword. He chuckled at the last thought. It was a good house though. He would miss the old town house it was much more bright and the overhead windows allowed much more light but he felt with a little work his new home would be as nice. Maybe if he painted the walls a lighter shade of white and brightened up the living rooms vaulted ceiling with a skylight. As he drank he thought of what had brought him to this. Days before an immortal named Kalas had launched an investigation on his whereabouts in the hopes of taking his head. Fortunately another immortal named MacLeod found him first and alerted him of Kalas's intentions. The warning aside, Methos still had to face him and it was only his quick thinking that saved his head. Methos had arranged for Kalas to be imprisoned for the murders he had committed during his search and though he posed no physical threat Methos was still in danger. For centuries he had depended on being nothing more than a myth to both the immortals and the Watchers. Playing the two against one another had proved quite an easy way to stay alive. While he searched for the mythical Methos he could make sure he was never discovered while at the same time making sure he was never near other immortals. Safely entrenched in the organization he could insure his safety. Now that Kalas and MacLeod knew of him that safety was jeopardized. He knew he could depend on MacLeod to honor his privacy but he couldn't guess at what Kalas would do. He doubted he would tell anyone else about him. Kalas had virtually no friends and wouldn't risk someone else getting his quickening. Still he could make things inconvenient. Methos decided to stay with the watchers. It had taken almost a century to worm his way back into the organization and he didn't want to waste the fifty or sixty years he would have to lie low before he could start laying the foundation to once again be inducted into the Watchers. He spent too much time just getting to where he was now. As the soft red rays of the setting sun slowly faded on the horizon Methos decided to call it a day. He had spent most of the night and all of the day getting his house together and hoped a good nights sleep would be enough to give him the energy to finish the job in the morning. He dropped the cup and saucer down with a clatter onto the glass coffee table. He stood and straighten out to the full length of his body stretching his arms out high then wide letting out a long low groan. The moving had been quite exhausting and the oversized tan knit shirt he wore smelled of sweat. He pulled it off then headed up the stairs and entered the bathroom adjacent to the staircase. He threw his shirt in the hamper then turned the water of the shower on letting it warm up. He then headed down the hall to the bedroom on the left and grabbed a travel bed by the king sized bed. He fished through it for his razor soap and shaving cream. Then grabbed a towel from the boxes by his closet. As he left the bed room a strange feeling overcame him. He felt a slight nausea that tingled. He knew in an instant another immortal was near. He headed back into his room opened the closet and reached in behind the closes and grabbed the cross hilt broadsword that hung behind them. He cautiously entered the hall all he could hear was the water ricocheting off the shower tile. Shadows filled the hallway and the staircase descended into an inky abyss. Methos held the sword before him like a talisman warding off evil. MacLeod wouldn't disturb him it wasn't in his character. Kalas was in jail so this meant a third immortal had discovered him. He couldn't believe it, for years he had remained undisturbed now he had three visitors in one week! He slowly descended the stairs keeping his back to the wall conscious of the areas that were best for ambush. He stood by the front door for a moment and debated running but his curiosity got the better of him and he proceeded to do a quick check of the kitchen. The room was deathly quiet. All that could be heard was the faint sound of running water from the shower above. A sudden movement from the living room caught his eye and he immediately rushed back to the hall way. He took a good look into the living room letting his eyes adjust to the darkness. A brief flash of fire and the sound of matchstrike came from a huge bankers chair by the glass door. Methos could barely make out anyone sitting in it at all. All he could see was the light orange glow of the cigarette seemingly hanging in air like a firefly. He reached over to the lightswitch and flipped it. Light flooded the room from the overhead lamp. As his eyes focused his mouth dropped as he realized who was sitting there in his living room. A man was sitting there in his early thirties dressed in a gray brooks brothers suit black shoes and a long blue overcoat. He stood to his full height and brought the cigarette down from his lips. He was a little taller than average height just around six feet tall. His thick brown hair was cut short and thin strands of whitish gray ran through them. His face was round and down cast and his gray eyes seemed focused with super human intensity. "Hello Methos",the man said. "Culo.....", was all Methos could reply. =============================================================================== The Dawn of Time =============================================================================== Methos exited the forest carrying a stag over his shoulders. The hunt had gone well and the people of the camp before him would eat well this night. Snow crunched under his feet as he made his way towards the small camp of wooden huts. Small fires dotted through out the camp and small children huddled around them for warmth. As he approached mothers came out of their huts and called their children inside. The children looked at him with fear in their eyes and he could hear the bitter harsh words they spoke. It wouldn't be long now until he had to leave. To the camp he had always been Methos the Provider. Now he was Methos the cursed. Methos the different. He was starting to develop a feeling for when this would happen. He didn't think it would happen this soon here but it always happened where ever he went. For some reason Methos stayed after all the others had left. He had become quite accustomed to it and it all seemed quite natural and he still never understood why the others chose to leave. He had encountered many camps and tribes in his journeys. Some were vicious and would stab him with spears or pelt him with rocks while others, like this one, would accept him and take him into their camp. He would always work hard for them. He would hunt animals the bravest of the tribe feared and he could usually bring them back. Most of the furs that covered the huts and warmed the children were gifts from Methos. But always they turned on him. The friends that had so readily accepted him always withered and grayed or were cut down by the forest creatures and refused to heal. If he was cursed it was the curse of children who were never as open and loving to him as their parents. It would be soon now. Very shortly they would try and cut him down or burn him or stone him. He had decided this was his last hunt. In the morning he would have to seek out another tribe and a warmer climate. He passed the few outer perimeter huts and made his way towards the hut of Miga the Preparer. He dropped the stag down on its back and pulled it by its legs. He pulled back the flap of the entrance and went in. Bones and animal skin lie everywhere. A fur was pulled taught by a fire in the center of the hut. Black smoke billowing up to the hole in the roof. A small rabbit was cooking and an old woman skeleton thin with long gray strands of hair flowing to her knees stood by it turning it every few minutes. "I have a gift for you.",Methos said dragging the stag in by the fire. The old woman snorted in disgust then threw him an animal skin and some cooked meat. Methos left the woman to her business then went around to the back of the hut sat and tore into the meal she had provided. The meal was wonderful. He loved the feeling of warm food in his stomach he couldn't imagine how he could have ever eaten it any other way. As he ate he pulled the new fur blanket around him with his back to the wall of the warm hut. He hated the cold but he couldn't remember it ever being any different. He longed for a place where it was as warm as a well heated hut but he doubted he would ever see it. As he slowly drifted towards sleep he felt a slight rumbling beneath him. His senses began to sharpen and focus the sound was getting louder. As he stood he could see the men of the tribe break from their huts with spear and bow. He grabbed the spear beside him and followed the men towards the sound of the shaking. Just behind the low hill that led towards the camp the form of men rose. As their bodies came in to view something amazing could be seen. They were riding horses! Methos couldn't believe it. He had hunted the beasts on several occasions but he could never imagine riding on top of one. He couldn't understand how they could do it. It must have taken them ages to force those wild monsters into submission. As the men drew closer a sudden terrible feeling of nausea overcame Methos. A sharp distinct tingling sensation ran through his entire body. Never had he experienced such a feeling. He had been scared before a long time ago but it was never like this. First he thought it was the shock of seeing men riding horses but it wouldn't go away. After the initial surprise he thought it felt a little pleasant. Then as the men grew closer another shock came over him. In the lead a huge giant of a man dressed in the skins of many varied animals charged forth carrying a huge black flaked obsidian ax supported by a huge bone handle. He wore a the skin and bone of a stag over his head and a thick mane of brown and gray hair flowed down his back with two thick strands falling down his chest. Some of the camp broke ranks and ran for dear life. A few brave warriors charged and were quickly cut down. Most, like Methos, stood in quiet awe of the force coming down apon them. Methos was transfixed on the lead rider. He couldn't take his eyes off of him even as he closed and buried his ax deep inside Methos's chest. Much later Methos woke. He was freezing cold most of the skins had been stripped from him. The events behind him seemed like a wondrous dream. Never in his life had he experienced some many confusing and amazing things. The tingling feeling had left him and the only reminder of the night before were the bodies and burnt remains of the camp before him. He scavenged through the camp for anything the invaders might have missed. He found enough fur and kindling to keep warm for the night. He looked around at the bodies. He couldn't leave them all for animals of the forest even though they were going to banish him. He couldn't let that happen to anyone. As the last body was buried a sudden sadness came over him. Why did they all have to leave him? Couldn't just one of them stay behind,just once? He was so alone and no one would accept him. He couldn't understand why anyone would choose the earth over staying with him. =========================================================== =========================================================================