Ace High: Brought to you by SBN & Darg.

[Soldier By Name]

Ace High: Brought to you by SBN & Darg.

Ok, this is the story that Darg and I have been writing over the past couple weeks. We're currently working on more chapters, and have talked about making this a graphic novel. I started with the first two chapters, and Darg did the second two, then next few will be a mixture of both our styles. You can vote on our story at the link below.

http://forums.projectego.net/sbn-darg-9722/


CHAPTER 1

"An old coyote went runnin' out one dark and windy day
Upon a ridge he rested as he went along his way
When all at once a mighty herd of red eyed cows he saw
A-plowing through the ragged sky and up the cloudy draw

Their brands were still on fire and their hooves were made of steel
Their horns were black and shiny and their hot breath he could feel
A bolt of fear went through him as they thundered through the sky
For he saw the Runners coming hard and he heard their mournful cry

Yippie yi Ohhhhh
Yippie yi yaaaaay
Ghost Runners in the sky

Their faces gaunt, their eyes were blurred, their coats all soaked with sweat
He's runnin' hard to catch that herd, but he ain't caught 'em yet
'Cause he's got to run forever on that range up in the sky
Doomed to breathin' fire
As he flies on hear his cry


As the runners loped on by him he heard one call his name
If you want to save your soul from Hell and runnin' on our range
Then coyote change your ways today or with us you will run
Trying to catch the Devil's herd, a feat that can't be done

Yippie yi Ohhhhh
Yippie yi Yaaaaay
Ghost Runners in the sky"

"So the story goes" said Sixgun as he looked out over the russet colored range. "You can never be too sure of what you'll find out there, as far as a coyote can see on the range, there are just some things you won't see 'till they hit you." Four coyotes walked along the ridge behind Sixgun as he sang. One of them, just as old as the the graying coyote and twice as mangy, spoke to his companions. "Too true, that bit of advice. You youngsters might want to listen up, for an old coyotes word out here on the range could very well save your hides one day." Red said as he swatted flies with his tail, which was far from it's former glory. "Damned flies. If there was one thing I missed about being young, it was being able to catch those damned flies." Red snorted as he snapped at the pests. A larger coyote walked beside Red. "Here old timer, I'm still young enough to help." Whiskey, who was big enough to be mistaken for a large wolf said as he snapped up several flies gleefully. Red spoke again "Thank you son, you do an old timer a great help." One of the younger coyotes, by the name of Quickdraw, spoke up. "Grandsire, where did you hear that song?" He waited a moment before Sixgun said anything. "Well son, when I was a young runner out on the range, herding for my father, my grandsire sang that just before every storm, when the thunder would cackle and the clouds were movin' along. He said it brought good luck, said that there was somethin' about that old howl that made the ghost runners acknowlege that we feared and respected 'em." The old coyote paused for a moment. "My grandsire was a very wise old coyote, and told me stories about times before those blasted land owners and their army came here, mind you not all them city folk are bad, but this was back before we halfbreeds were made. Said his sire was the son of a native brave, and that the natives swore there were spirits in the sky, and many said they'd seen 'em with their own eyes." He paused again for a moment and took a deep breath. "Have to excuse me, I'm not as young as I used to be." He laughed, a sound somewhat like a bark, that still held traces of his youth. "For all we old coyotes know, them spirits, they actually exist. No matter if they do or don't I'm not about to go darin' somethin' to skin my sorry old hide." He laughed again. "Why do you ask son?" Quickdraw's faded blue eyes lit up, as he pawed the dirt in front of him. "Well sir, I was thinking about how fast and hard a coyote would have to run to catch that Devil's herd." When he finished speaking his face pulled back into a grin, a sight both friendly and frightening at the same time. The last in the line of coyotes, whose fur was a jet black, spoke slowly and softly. "Like you'd be able to catch 'em Quickdraw, you're slower than a three legged jackass." The blue eyed coyote spun in a circle to face his shadow colored companion. "Well if you think you can out run me Slade, let's settle this!" Quickdraw barked playfully. Slade thought about it for a moment before streaking off across the range. "Catch me if you can pale-tail!" Quickdraw sneezed from the dust cloud Slade kicked up before disappearing in a flash of red and gold fur. "There's a reason you're the same color as a shadow, Slade." The red-gold coyote yipped as he gained on his companion. "Because you're meant to be in mine forever." He barked as he flew past his friend. The three older coyotes that remained on the ridge howled with laughter, and then Whiskey spoke. "I've got to admit, Slade may have the advantage when it comes to hunting with that shadow coat, but I've never met a coyote alive who could outrun Quickdraw." Sixgun now spoke up softly. "Maybe he is fast enough to catch the Devil's herd." Red nodded along. "Remember how pop used to talk about the blue eyed beast that the natives said would save us all? Wouldn't it be somethin' if the youngin' had it in him?"

CHAPTER 2

Two coyotes ran here and there trying to box in the herd, yipping and snapping at the stragglers and the wanderers, while a third stood on a hill watching. It wasn't easy doing the job, but someone had to do it. If even a single season of harvest didn't go as planned, the whole area could lose food. Quickdraw and Slade had been doing this for several seasons now, under the leadership of Whiskey, who had been doing it for several years. He was still very much young and alive, unlike Red and Sixgun who were old enough to retire from the job. Ofcourse that was pack law, run steer for half your life and make it out alive, and you were taken care of for the next half. Whiskey snorted. "Three more years." he thought. He looked out over the herd once more as the two youngsters pushed them up the hillside he was standing on. "Make sure they graze on the good stuff and not them briars and thorns!" He yelled out. Quickdraw looked in Whiskey's direction, and nodded. Whiskey looked to the other coyote, almost nothing more than a shadow next to the herd. "Slade, move those two stragglers a little farther up." Slade vanished for a moment before Whiskey saw that the two cows started moving up towards the rest of the herd. Whiskey looked the herd over once again. "Good job boys, you can leave 'em there, and take a breather." He said, and saw thankful looks on the youngsters faces. The two coyotes sprawled out in the lush spring grass thankful for it's cushion like effect. Quickdraw looked up at the sky before speaking. "What do you think it's like up there?" Slade thought for a minute before he said anything. "Well I'd imagine it's like here, but better. Kinda like the great range in the sky they say it is." Quickdraw rolled onto his paws. "I guess we better get a drink while we can, I saw a stream out about a mile out to the north." Slade tilted his head in query. Quickdraw looked out towards a sloping hillside. "It's over there. We'd better hurry so Whiskey doesn't chew our heads off." While they walked through a valley filled with spring flowers and tall grass, Quickdraw hummed the song his grandsire had sang almost a year ago. It haunted his waking moments, thinking of what the song said about the Devil's herd being impossible to catch. "Wish I could try My paw at it." He thought. Slade looked over at his companion. "It bothers you doesn't it." He said softly. Quickdraw kept looking straight ahead, even though he spoke. "To be honest with you Slade, it's all I ever think about. I keep having this dream that our pack is up there on the sky-range, chasing that herd, but we can't catch 'em, they just keep pulling farther and farther away." Slade sniffed the air while replying. "Well not much you can do about a dream, just be satisfied being able to catch everything else on earth." He yipped merrily. The two youngsters stopped in their tracks. Quickdraw spoke first. "Foxes! I bet uncle Red is somewhere round here, trying to get some more of those plains rabbits for supper!" Slade chimed in a second later. "Red has to be the slyest old bastard I ever did meet." The two rushed down the hill into the fox encampment, looking here and there at the marvels that the gypsie folk usually had in tow, tents of tanned cow hide with colorful markings telling passerby who owned the wares they were viewing, and painted stones representing the differing aisles were strown about everywhere. Slade was eyeing one of the amberstone fox figures when Red came from out behind a huge log near the river. "Hello sons, and may an old coyote ask why you aren't tendin' the herd?" Quickdraw and Slade looked abashed for a moment, until Red laughed. "Don't worry you pups, I know a coyotes gotta have a drink every now and again, bet it was a bit of a suprise to see these folks way out here." Quickdraw looked from Slade to Red before speaking. "Yes sir, we came out here to get a drink before Whiskey made us run the herd back to the stead." Slade looked at Red quizzically. "You out here gettin' rabbits, eh old timer?" Red's eyes narrowed as he spoke. "You better be glad I can't tan your hide any darker than it is son. Yes I'm out here gettin' rabbits as you so rudely put it, tell that brute Whiskey that I've got some extra ones to fill that enormous gullet of his, and tell him I need to speak with him as soon as yall get back from grazin' them cows, somethin's come up with the gypsies and he needs to know, now git!" The two youngsters started to head towards the river with haste, as Red mumbled something that sounded like "Old timer, I'll give him an old timer..."

 

[Soldier By Name]

Re: Ace High: Brought to you by SBN & Darg.

CHAPTER 3

Crazy. That was the word Uncle Davide always used to describe the gypsies when he spoke to Corsky. Weird animals that roved the plains aimlessly, carrying loads of junk and wearing gaudy jewelry, they were constantly on the move. They were crafty beasts though, always looking for a good bargain and knowing it when they saw it. "They may be crazy," Davide had said at one point, "but in a good way." Corsky never truly knew the truth this statement carried until he himself was, heart and soul, a gypsy. At age 2, he had already sealed his first deal and joined the main caravan with a silver tongue and an eye for business. A protégé? Most gathered that it was his heritage. After all, the kit’s father and his father before him at one time or another ran a caravan. Corsky, however, had something neither of them ever had: brains. He was methodical, calculating, and more than often, deeply fascinated with the next new thing. Mostly, his interest lie in legends and tales of the past, in that certain spoken power that was just within the threshold of every great gypsy’s creative mind. Most of the stories he’d learned were his uncle’s telling. Perhaps one of his favorites was of the great capital to the East, Tarquin, and therein, the palace of Rongraar Var built into the cliffs. His ears pricked up at the slightest mention of the eastlands, and the glorious things that lay beyond. Corsky’s uncle spoke in great length especially of the land’s most noble ruler, the Great Dane Apollo and his power unfazed and just. The eastlands were a place of might, and where prosperity flowed like a gold river into the lives of many. Some said there dwelt the fabled hound clans within its sanctuary, but few gypsies other than the head caravaners had ever been to Tarquin in the first place. Corsky had always thought it’d be miraculous. But as time wore on in young Corsky’s life, priorities changed from learning the old tales to more or less living them, venturing across the land dealing with all manner of buyers and never staying in one place for more than a few days. He was generally at his happiest whenever the gypsy trail crossed paths with the coyotes of the west, a motley and hearty lot. For the most part, they were a good lot to be surrounded with, and brought with them some of the best goods seen in the marketplace. One of them especially, an older coyote by the name of Red, was their chief contact for sales in the west. Corsky never spoke with him directly, but he knew that the caravan heads did, and that was saying something. It was about the time Red came, when the gypsy camp was at its peak for the day and bartering was going on as scheduled. Corsky was in the pup’s tent, looking after some of the little ones of the camp with Raven, one of his closest friends. It was one of the less exciting times of the day. The suffocating heat of the tent and the crushing boredom was enough to drive anyone, fox, coyote or wolf mad. What was worse was knowing that on the outside, everything and anything was going on. It was a labor of sacrifice, but worth it, Corsky supposed. He sat licking his dark paws absent-mindedly while Raven swatted at the flies diving into his fur. Much unlike Raven, Corsky was a small but eager-looking fox, with sizeable ears pierced with small stone circlets and an uncannily wild appearance due to his mess of tangled fur. Raven, on the other hand, was slick, robust, with fur the color of the midnight sky and an appearance defined by wide, expressive eyes and a laughable grin like no other. The two of them made the strangest pair of the gypsy camp, but they were nonetheless recognized as gypsies… even if that meant doing nothing all day long like today. Sure, it wasn’t always that way. Oftentimes, they managed the bartering process with practiced ease, but without them, someone else would have to do the grunt work. Someone more important. However, an unexpected break took the both of them away from their work soon enough. The tent flaps burst open, scaring a few of the pups, and Murrow, a tall, gangly (but not overly bright) fox from the caravan’s inner circle of officers strode in, looking self-important and vaguely worried. "Ay, you two!" he said, bringing his face close to Corsky’s where he could smell the stink of a fresh kill on his breath, "Red’s ‘ere in the camp doin’ business. It’d behoove you whelps to go present yourself fireside by the caravan elders for when they talk business with ‘im. Hop to it!" "Wait, who’s going to watch the young ones while we’re-" Raven’s thoughts were instantly interrupted by Murrow and his overwhelming impatience. "Already taken care of. Rainier said she’d tend to ‘em. She’s ‘round here somewhere. Best scoot. Hate to keep the camp elders waitin’, wouldn’t ya?" And with that, Murrow pushed them out the tent door into the bright daylight of the camp, just like that reemployed to another task. "Well, that was sudden," Corsky said as they made their way through the rough lower end of the camp, passing a number of crude displays set up for barter, "what do you think they want us there for?" "No telling," said Raven, eyeing a particularly impressive-looking group of clay figurines, "but I suppose it’s something good, if Blacktooth and the rest of them called for us specifically. Hey, it might be a chance to get in good with them, you know. Everyone wants to get to know the camp elder, am I right?" "You’re right, but for a dealing with the coyotes? Not like we’ve ever needed to attend for one of those before. Something’s strange about it but I just can’t put my paw on it…" Just as he finished the sentence, a gypsy came out of nowhere in a hurry, a frantic expression on his face, headed straight towards Corsky and Raven. Corsky recognized him from somewhere but couldn’t put a name with the fox’s light brown face and dark eyes. Gus? Russ? Something like that, thought Corsky. But names didn’t matter at the moment, because something was obviously wrong. "Corsky, Raven, something’s happened nearby the main tent! Come quick!" the fox spouted out in a hurry before turning and starting into a run before Raven caught him by his neck and hauled him back. "What is it?" Corsky and Raven said almost in unison. The fox, still frantic, blinked and said, "You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. It’s best you come while we can still do something. Hurry!" In the distance, Corsky could see a crowd gathering. He could smell blood. They started running, and just like that, priorities shifted in an instant.

 

[Soldier By Name]

Re: Ace High: Brought to you by SBN & Darg.

CHAPTER 4

It was a familiar feeling, Corsky decided. The blood rushing through his veins at a hundred miles an hour, clouding every other thought in the world other than the possibility of danger for another member of the caravan, that feeling he knew. He could recall a time long ago as a kit when Raven was in trouble, under attack by the now all-but-forgotten ocelots of Delta’s Crossing. He’d come and fought the beasts off, dragging Raven, a soaked bloody mess, back and barely making it to the encampment before losing consciousness himself. That same power of urgency shot like a lightning bolt through every ounce of his spirit as he raced Raven to the ringside shortly behind the fox whose name he could never remember. Russ? Rash? He didn’t particularly care given their current state of affairs. A sizeable crowd had gathered within a few feet of the small stone circle, so much that Corsky couldn’t see the commotion over the many nervous onlookers. He turned to Raven, who had an equally tense look crossing his smoky features. "What the hell’s going on down there?" Corsky almost yelled over a rising chorus of worried questions in the crowd. "Only one way to find out." Raven butted Corsky into the throng of gypsies and followed after him, essentially mowing his way through the crowd. They both landed on the other side within a few short feet of the circle, but it was there that they witnessed an ominous event in progress. Blacktooth was there, with his private guard Peregrine and Corsky’s Uncle Davide, but both the guard and Davide were pinned to the ground. Towering above them, muscular brute dogs snarled and repressed their every struggle with the ease of the most powerful warbeasts Corsky had ever seen. But that was not the half of it. Another pair of the dogs flanked what looked to be their leader, a tall, pompous and smirking German Sheppard who stared into Blacktooth’s eyes and spoke with an overconfident zeal to his commanding voice. He was large, important-looking and adorned with a strange sort of emerald cloak that flowed from his shoulders where it was tied across his broad neck with a golden rope. He had the image of a monarch but the presence of a dictator. Corsky listened to him speak for a moment or two, not knowing what to do. "Gypsies, comrades, peons of the woodlands," the leader spoke with a conniving flourish to his accent, "your claims are forfeit. As the new proprietor and therefore militant commander of the landownership regime, I, Jakob, have little tolerance for your kind. In fact, zero tolerance. While in past ages, your prosperity has found its meandering way in these very woods, I seek to end this tired shenanigan. These woods are the property of the landowners and the landowners alone. But fear not. I offer you all positions in the new order of the seat of Tarquin in valid exchange for your liberties," he cast a daring gaze at the surrounding gypsies, "and your lives. It would be most unwise for you to reject this proposal." Blacktooth was seething. From where Corsky stood, anxiously waiting for something to give, he could feel the gypsy leader’s anger. Imposing and motley, the gypsy caravan’s leader and mastermind, Blacktooth was a living legend. In his eyes swirled the green mist of many a dark storm weathered and in the deep scars he wore, the proof of the battles he’d fought and won. On his black coat, he valiantly sported golden streaks of paint flailing around in intricate designs and bold patterns. Both of his ears were pierced with jade jewelry that shone the same deep color as his eyes, especially in the light of the sun as it shone down on the strange scene that day. Living up to his given name, he bore fangs as black as midnight and just as profound, teeth that some said could poison if bitten with them. He was no one to be trifled with. Blacktooth’s fur stuck up on the back of his neck as he snarled, "And by what rights do you make this decree, mongrel? Apollo is the leader of the landownership regime, and he has had dealings with our kind for decades. He would never allow this." Jakob grinned, showing his contrasting set of white, sharp teeth as he said, "Of course he wouldn’t. It was foolish of him, really. And as we all know," he brushed something indiscriminate from one shoulder, "fools don’t last all that long, now do they?" Corsky swallowed hard. Apollo? Dead? If Apollo was dead, and this dog was who he said he was… Corsky shuddered at the thought. The German Sheppard continued confidently. "But you’d hate to prove me wrong that gypsies aren’t fools, wouldn’t you? Of course you would. Disband your futile little caravan right now and surrender your freelancers to the glory of Tarquin or be prepared to face the consequences. I am not above tearing this camp to the ground. Do not force me to demonstrate, worthless wildbreeders." This almost pushed Blacktooth too far. He readied to pounce, claws already extended, but something held him back. That something was Red, coming from behind with a strong nudge at the gypsy’s shoulder. "Not yet, old friend" he said quietly, "this pup's not worth half the trouble." Jakob lifted his head. "What did you just say? You, yes you! Coyote, are you?" Red looked indifferent, and Jakob glared, "Your rabble is nothing but further hindrance to Tarquin’s glorious expansion. Do yourself a favor, won’t you? Leave or be crushed underfoot, old timer." Red merely blinked, but inside felt like tearing the mutt’s throat out. Red stepped forward. "My bones may be old, but I can still tan your sorry hide. It’s just too bad my nephew will get there first." Jakob at first disregarded this remark, up until a piercing and almost comical sound broke the short silence. "Yeeeeeeeeehhhaaaaaaww!!!" came the rowdy voice of Quickdraw, moving faster than anything the gypsies and appearently Jakob had ever seen. As he rushed from the edge of the crowd and bowled the German Shepard over, the shadow that was Slade jumped over several smaller foxes and pinned the large dog to the ground by the throat. He fell to the ground instantly, an oddly shocked gurgling noise coming from his breathless mouth. This was almost like a cue, and the rest of the surrounding gypsies that were capable descended on Jakob’s guards, pinning them to the ground and releasing Peregrine and Davide with sheer force of numbers. It was a struggle, no doubt, and Corsky nearly found himself struggling against the sheer weight of the Sheppard’s henchmen, but they managed to wrestle them to the ground nonetheless. This time, it was Blacktooth who grinned in satisfaction, showing his darkened rows of teeth. Things usually went his way, and when they didn’t, he always had an Ace in the hole, so to speak. This was no exception. Jakob coughed and groaned, Quickdraw and Slade bearing down on either side of him to keep him immobile. He shouted hoarsely, "Bloodlines damn you! Damn you all! Your incompliance is the first step. Only the first step. I have offered you a chance to serve me, but as I can see, you are all barbarians. I have no further use of you." Blacktooth stepped forward, "I’d quiet that slick tongue of yours, city-dweller, unless you want it ripped out." "Fools don’t last that long, do they, Blackie?" Red mocked the Sheppard’s insulting words, nearly howling with laughter. Jakob had had enough. He flung Quickdraw and Slade off in a vicious surge of energy, bearing his white fangs like the open gates of a fortress, and a fortress he was indeed. For a dog, Jakob looked particularly dangerous now, and most of the gypsies shied away save for Blacktooth and Red, who didn’t even flinch. "Mark my words," Jakob hissed, slowly backing away, "coyotes and gypsies alike have broken this land’s vows too many times to count. Perhaps it is time I break a few of my own. Prepare for your downfall. It may come sooner than planned." With that, the once rock-solid leader fled in a hurry, his torn emerald cloak trailing after him. No one bothered to follow him. "That’s enough excitement for today," Red sighed warily. Peregrine and a few of the other gypsy guards led Jakob’s remaining henchmen away as prisoners, and Blacktooth gave a stern stare that would’ve frozen blood in their veins if they would have seen it. The crowds still did not move. Blacktooth was about to speak. Corsky and Raven sat nearby Uncle Davide, who stood like a giant above them, aware and vigilant. He put his paw on Corsky’s as if to thank him for coming to help. Corsky knew he didn’t have to say it for him to mean it. Across the ringside, a similar exchange took place. Red ruffled one battered paw across Quickdraw’s coat and gave a brief grin. The flipside, Corsky thought. He looked at Quickdraw for a moment, recalling the wild pup he’d been in his youth, sometimes visiting the camps with Red or another coyote he didn’t recognize. He was far from that now, still wild, but a bold and fearless fighter among coyotes and foxes alike. Corsky had always looked up to him, but now it seemed more so. Blacktooth paced around the ringside pensively, looking into the eyes of everyone in the crowds, gypsies and even a few coyotes that had showed up just a few moments late. He finally spoke. "This was a victory today, friends and allies. This was indeed a day won, but I can feel we have hard times on the horizon. Never has it happened before outside of barbarian skirmishes, that an outside force has invaded the camp, let alone the landowners of Tarquin. It has come to my attention that there’s been a shift in power. Apollo is no more. The chief head of the landowners is one that I know, this Jakob, once an affiliate of Apollo’s proprietary rule, but a jealous one at that. I suspect this sudden shift in power is not the cause of an accident. Foul things stir in the east, and we must be ever wary of what lies ahead. The new army of Tarquin under Jakob threatens to infringe on our territory, decimating the woods to little less than a private grounds for excavation. This must not happen. Be cautious. Tarquin is no small investiture. Its fighting hounds are perhaps the best to be found, and their numbers are far superior even to coyotes and gypsies combined. I have seen the forces of the landowner militant once in action, back when Apollo was in power. It is something to be feared. But as I have seen today, my doubts are partially assuaged. We are a strong unity and a powerful alliance. Let there be no mistake though, in darker times we have prevailed. I only hope this new shadow does not blot us out permanently. Let us be mighty in our defense and kin in our bonds. Coyotes and gypsies." A rowdy cheer rose up from the crowd. Red stepped forward. With a wide herder’s grin, the rugged old coyote yelled, "And if they ever come back, kick their sorry purebred hides back to pansyland! This is our land and we aim to keep it that way." Amen to that, Corsky thought, joining in the second, louder round of cheering, Amen to that.

 

[Ahmad Abu-Gdairi]

Re: Ace High: Brought to you by SBN & Darg.

:w00t:I think it is wonderfull!!!!:w00t:

 

[Darg]

Re: Ace High: Brought to you by SBN & Darg.

Whadda ya know? One day you just log on and like magic, your writing's out in the open! Bonus points for putting it up, SBN. Hope the public eye sees it in the same way that ahmad does.

 

[Porcelain_Doll]

Re: Ace High: Brought to you by SBN & Darg.

Wow....
This is really good.
You guys should def get it published.
I love a good western.

 

[Soldier By Name]

Re: Ace High: Brought to you by SBN & Darg.

Well that's good, glad we got a couple of you looking in our direction.

 

[Sunshine<3]

Re: Ace High: Brought to you by SBN &amp; Darg.

Nice work, mah cutes.
Keep it up. Bring on the next chapter already!
I'm wwaaaaaittiiinng haha. Just teasin.

 

[led_zepp123]

Re: Ace High: Brought to you by SBN &amp; Darg.

yer guys this is really good, im a close follower of dargs work, an i have to say this rivals a certain story that iv been hasseling darg to finish for some time now, and now i find out where hes been. an when i found out what he was up to was a little dissapointed but iv been turned this is one good story. keep up the good work.

 

[Soldier By Name]

Re: Ace High: Brought to you by SBN &amp; Darg.

Well Led, he hasn't been working on this long, we've only been at this for maybe 3 weeks or so. Week one was all planning and talking about what we were gonna go for, so it hasn't been his full attention. Besides, I've heard him talking about EOTP while we we're working out kinks for this story. But rest assured, Darg has enough talent to work on both, and that's why I went to him to begin with and asked him to be My wing man on this project. But I'm glad you like our work, it has been a labor of love for both of us, you should see our IM sessions, we sound like little kids, "Ooh that sounds soo badass, and what if this happened!" lol. Just keep watching and you should be rewarded.

 

[Darg]

Re: Ace High: Brought to you by SBN &amp; Darg.

True dat! This story has become a recent interest of mine, and lemme tell ya, some of Soldier's ideas have rubbed off on me and hopefully vice versa. Expect lots more, people- We're like the diarrhea of story writing- the gift that keeps on giving as far as writin' this stuff goes... or something like that.

 

[Angel]

Re: Ace High: Brought to you by SBN &amp; Darg.

Diarrhea aside, (ew!), this is great sutff as to be expected so keep crapping it out or whatever the term ought to be

 

[Darg]

Re: Ace High: Brought to you by SBN &amp; Darg.

Indeed we will! But sort of untasty crap metaphors aside, we may be going on hiatus here for a week at the most. Even writers need breaks! But I assure you, it won't be long. Look out for more in the near future.