# The Road to our Dreams (A tale of the Continuum)



## Henry (May 6, 2003)

Hello, everyone! It’s my first try at a story hour, so all I ask is patience, honest criticism, and large fistfuls of money.

In the event the latter is not forthcoming, I am still posting this for two reasons. This is a recounting of the first few sessions of the continuum RPG from Aetherco that my gaming group and I ran in late early 2002. I wish to expose this wonderful game to more people, and at the same time work on my writing skills.

The game system is a marvel, allowing for in-depth roleplay, and handling the subject of time-travelling heroes in a brilliant manner. In the desire to spark interest in this game system, I plan to put up a post a day, detailing the “invitation to dance” of two junior time-travelers, and their first experiences in traversing space and time.

Hopefully, it will be an entertaining read, being posted once per day through the week, and any questions posed can be answered, probably in the same order in which my players had them answered.

*One word of warning: there is some mild profanity used herein.*

Without further ado, begins the tale of Richard Gardner, young trail lawyer...


The Road to our Dreams (A tale of the Continuum)

_3rd June 1998 10:12 a.m._

"Damn you."

Richard saw his target now, stalking up the hall with a queer determination on his face, like the sick freak knew him or something. It was too late to change plans, too late to run.

It was either his life or the killer's.

"Damn you."

All his life flushed and rearranged, all for the convenience of some sick Asian bastard. 

"Damn you."

He fired, cooly.


_3rd June 1998 7:58 a.m._

The sky set emerald over Northland Business Center as Richard Gardner pulled up in his 96 Pontiac to begin his day. The Haslin and Dustin Law firm in Northern Chicago, where Richard has recently taken a position, was not his optimal choice; with Richard's bar exam, he could actually afford to be a little picky. However, Mr. Haslin offered him one thing he wanted very much, which many other firms would not give the new Bar graduate: a chance to take cases against corporations who grossly abused ecological regulations.

One private passion of Richard's was the environment, and corporations who abused their privileges made his blood boil. He took satisfaction in any time he could come up with grounds for an police investigation, or a class-action suit against someone who had played with others' lives, so as to give to them as little of what they have given to others.

Richard Gardner, so often alone in his life, has found purpose in a small law firm, with people to call friends, and an office from which to fight his own small battles to alter the world.


_3rd June 1998 9:53 a.m._

"...and Bob replied, 'I guess you give it a radar gun and stick it on the end of a bridge!'"

Richard groaned, smiled, shook his head. "David, I KNEW I was gonna regret setting you up with that 'joke of the day' web site."

Alice laughed and smiled, as usual. David, caught up in being the center of the lounge at the moment, tried to offer another of his jokes whether anyone would hear or not, centering on Alice as she listened. Richard caught that. He liked Alice; she was a nice lady, and they got along well together. He noticed her in other ways, too. What was it? The sound of her voice; the way she handled irate clients for Haslin when he was not in; the way she called the boss a rather unprofessional name during his first day here, to cheer him up over a stupid blunder he had made; the curve of her neckline...

He snapped back, thinking about his next appointment. Braxton, 10:15 a.m.? He had to get ready, or he would regret it when the client got here. He excused himself from everyone, passing by them with the barest brush of clothing. Later in reflection, he realized just how precious moments were, when things happen. Even if given all the time in the world, the moments spent with the people we care about will never come again; when it will be the last time to excuse oneself from their company, and never again to do so...


_3rd June 1998 10:10 a.m._

Gunshots are not heard easily, especially when not expecting to hear one. Richard heard the backfire of a car in the parking lot, but his perception quickly changed when he heard a scream immediately following. Time slowed down for him; the scream was chilling, but even worse - it was familiar. Alice? Alice. Alice!

A second shot. The scream replaced by silence, then the patter of several feet on carpet in the hall. Richard raised up from his desk in slow motion. Time got even slower. His feet were lead bricks, just like he always felt in dreams where he was running away from something. He walked a few steps outside his office; peered into the hallway. David, the joker David, laughing David, crept out into the hallway. A large handle protruding from his back. An absurd thought - when did David ever have a handle on anything?

He skirted backward to his office. A quick bound, and his .357 revolver is there - the one that security and his boss do not know about, but he carries because of horror stories he hears. The horror stories of irate clients, of gangs moving from Chicago proper into this neighborhood, of employees losing their minds and killing everyone they know. How much scarier than any story - when it is happening RIGHT DAMNED NOW.

He picked up the phone, dialed the numbers - a quick message for the 911 operator. He checked out into the hall; He saw him. He saw his future stalking calmly straight for him, and the closing of his life. Or was it the opening?

A heavy-set, yet athletic, man, in his late twenties, with Asian features, wearing nothing more elaborate than jeans, a gray shirt, and a windbreaker. Black parted hair and a slightly rough face made him think in a way of Samo Hung – if Samo Hung were a young mass murderer.

A small revolver was in the killer’s left hand, and oddly, a brace of throwing knives adorned his left leg. He stalked up the hall, for all the world looking like the next replacement for the Terminator movie.

Blood on the carpet. Blood on the jeans. Alice is gone. Her killer - now wants HIM.

All his life gone, his friends, and his work in building something that wouldn't be taken away.

"Damn You."

*To be continued...*


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## Henry (May 7, 2003)

_3rd June 1998 10:12 a.m._

The psychotic attacker aimed, fired at Richard, but poorly. Richard was better at his shot.

The killer made a sudden snort, and dropped abruptly. Blood everywhere. The killer had been stopped.

Richard advanced cautiously. The killer tried to raise his weapon, with feeble fingers, but Richard kicked the pistol, making the killer's fingers go numb, and removing the gun from his grasp. Richard didn't think; he acted. He disarmed the killer, and stood  to go check on David. 

David. Poor David.

Alice? Alice! Rounding the hallway, Richard saw his nightmare in full color. Alice reached out, unmoving. Blood was all. Blood was everywhere, and Alice had nothing more to say, nothing more to BE.

Richard reached out, and stopped short of touching her. He ran back to his office. He will call, get help - maybe Alice wasn't gone, maybe a paramedic can tell him what to do ---

And he saw the killer. Yet again.

To his right, down the "L" shaped hall which his office is located in, strode the killer. The psycho he just killed! Thoughts race like light: What the hell? Who was he? Was he a twin? What the hell?

Hugging the door with speed he never thought possible, he then lurched out into the hallway, catching the second killer – the first killer – the twin – whatever! - off his guard. _(Good goddess, what am I doing?)_ Two more quick shots, and his luck held yet again: The man reeled backward, sprawled unmoving in the hall.

Richard moved quickly, not wasting another second, sealing his door and barricading it with his desk. His phone hit the floor, starting him, and for just an instant, Richard lost all consciousness. He zoned back in, his heart restarting, and he sprang to work, grabbing his phone, his pistol, and crawling under his desk for protection. He once again frantically dialed 911, hoping against hope the police would be nearby to respond quickly.

It wasn’t until the line went suddenly dead when he realized he was not alone.

*To Be Continued...*


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## Plane Sailing (May 7, 2003)

Hi Henry,

Nice to see you joining the storyhour crowd. I can't promise that I'll stop by often, because this isn't the style of storyhour that I personally like to read, but I wanted to give you some encouragement (because I know how nice it is to hear *any* kind of feedback!)

I like storyhours which post in short segments (bite sized, yummy!) although I tend to read ones which are more like accounts of an adventure rather than a story per se; hopefully someone with more experience in this kind of story-writing will chime in with lots of helpful comments for you.

At the moment I feel a little "lost" - obviously that is the situation for poor Richard (!) but I could do with a little more about the situation to draw me in. At the moment I know it is "about time travel" to some extent, but I want more! Give me a hook!

Cheers


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## Henry (May 8, 2003)

Plane Sailing said:
			
		

> *At the moment I feel a little "lost" - obviously that is the situation for poor Richard (!) but I could do with a little more about the situation to draw me in. At the moment I know it is "about time travel" to some extent, but I want more! Give me a hook!*




Hi, Planesailing! thanks for dropping in.

The "hook" should be coming up within the next post. The goal here is to deliver an entrance into the world the same way "Richard" received it. In this way, the harder questions should be answered more clearly. The hardest part about following a Continuum adventure (and the hardest thing about writing it up) is making it make sense sequentially, hence the time stamps. I promise, however, that it will make far more sense the further it unravels.

Right now, Richard is a target. He has no clue why. He's about to find out, at least in part.


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## greycastle (May 8, 2003)

I'm loving this already ^_^

Keep up the great work henry. Very impressive. I love the way it's in Bite size form, and you get a grasp of the urgency and yet total bewilderment of Richard.

Brilliant


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## Henry (May 8, 2003)

_3rd June 1998 10:13 a.m._

“You can come out. I promise I’m here to help.”

A voice, quite reassuring and very West Coast _(Californian?)_ in accent, greeted Richard from inside his own office. _OK, first, that’s impossible,_ Richard decided. _Second, I’m so screwed. He going to kill me._

Richard’s hesitations were obviously noted by the stranger. “Richard, I’m not here to hurt you, and I’m not him. You can come out.”

“OK,” Richard offered calmly, and slowly eased up from under the desk, pistol-first. Standing before him, in a quite sharp-looking smoke-grey business suit, was a thin man, Dark-haired and with muted Asian features – possibly Japanese? But at least it was not his psycho-of-the-day. The newcomer gave him a disappointing glance, as if her were expecting Richard to draw down upon him as he did, but still disappointed to see that it had actually happened.

Richard wasted a quick glance back at the slim window beside his office door, then back to the stranger. “Who-”

He was gone! In one second, he had vanished! Richard panicked, scanning the window to the outside, then turning back to the hallway.

“It’s OK, he’s-”

Richard recoiled backwards as he whirled and fired. He realized in horror he had fired straight at his nonviolent newcomer, who had suddenly reappeared.

Mild shock set in when the lamp behind the man exploded, leaving him unharmed! He reacted as if Richard had sneezed on him.

“Just as jumpy as ever.”

Silence for several seconds. “All right, WHO THE HELL ARE YOU!??!” 

The man smiled, a wide smile that spoke mischief as much as sincerity. “Call me Roger. All questions can come later. For now, we need to get you out of here safely. Your assassin is still hunting YOU, and we still have some work to do to get out of here. I can help you; but you’ve gotta trust me. Deal?”

Roger spread his hands open, showing no weapons or tricks of any kind. Any kind Richard could SEE, that is. The whole popping around and letting bullets pass through him was a wholly different story altogether.

Richard’s mind raced as he cycled back and forth between the door and Roger. Roger offered him absolutely nothing. Just trust in him, he whom Richard knew for less than two minutes, versus death at the hands of a bunch of psycho-killers who all looked alike. His life was shattered; the only people he remotely called friends were now dead; his bosses, the damned cowards, were probably gone by now, or the scared bastards probably locked themselves in their offices and dialed 911 when the shooting started – kind of like what he himself was going to do.

Alternately, lots of questions to be directed his way, about whether he knew the assassin – assassins? - and why they, he, IT, wanted him dead.

_Curiosity is not always good to indulge. But... Damn._

He lowers his gun. “What do we do?”

*To Be Continued...*


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## Piratecat (May 8, 2003)

Fistfulls of money on their way.  

Time travel games are _hard_.  I always loved Timemaster, but dang, it's tough to prepare for!

You were running this game, right? How many players?


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## Henry (May 8, 2003)

> Time travel games are hard. I always loved Timemaster, but dang, it's tough to prepare for!
> 
> You were running this game, right? How many players?




Correct. I started with two players, to get a better feel for the system before charging in headlong. When I started running it, I feared that it would be more difficult the more players you had. It turns out that once you get a feel for the game, GM duties are almost independent of the number of players, because of the way the rules work.

Eventually, a third joined before the game went on hiatus; however, due to the nature of the game, we can pick up any time (pun intended) and resume.

One of the marvels of the Continuum RPG is that the core conventions of the game are written in such a way to give the players awesome amounts of freedom, but at the same time they allow the DM to come up with challenges and have a stronger hand in event outcomes if he really feels the need to.

As you'll see, the DM can create an entire evening's worth of adventure just from the placement of one item. The Continuum's "Maxims" are at the heart of the game, but you'll see more about that in a future post.


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## Drawmack (May 8, 2003)

Henry - If you'd be interested we'd love to have your updates to this story hour listed at http://www.suryvial.com


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## Henry (May 8, 2003)

Surely, if you don't mind your calendar having five updates of it per week. The current plan is one update per day, for the next several weeks.


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## Henry (May 9, 2003)

_3rd June 1998 10:15 a.m._

_I sure hope my 10:15 client was running late,_ Richard added as an absurd thought.

Richard stalked down the hall carefully, led by Roger in his immaculate suit, Richard looking by contrast like he had been butchering swine. They crept down hallways, following some odd plan of Roger’s that involved doubling back, stopping and starting when he signaled, and following steps that reminded him of the games young children would play when having grand adventures in a back yard. _Great. I’m being led by a goofball in a child’s tag game, in my place of work that is shot to hell. I’m probably the one who’s gone crazy, and all this is in my head._

Roger’s abrupt stop snapped him to attention, though. Roger mouthed two words: “Stay Here.” He then crept off as silently as death around the corner before them. Four seconds later, a series of suppressed shots rang out, followed by the sound of a body on carpet. Before Richard could react, Roger reappeared.

Looking younger. Wearing a black skin-tight infiltration outfit. Possessing a silenced pistol.

“It’s safe now. All clear.”

_Riiight._

Curiously, despite the New Roger’s caution, they encountered nothing else the entire way out of the office complex. They finally skulked out a back exit, and into the waiting caress of a Mazda RX7 coupe. Roger offered Richard a ride; at first, he declined, but overwhelming curiosity got the better of him. All discussion of police response, dead coworkers, and the absolute sweeping away of his life were somewhat moot to Richard at this point.

A half-hour later (and riding uncomfortably on the plastic sheeting that Roger made him sit on during the drive) Richard found himself at a stylish apartment in the Lincoln Park neighborhood – a place where he aspired to live one day, but not for some time to come. Roger had expensive tastes, to be sure – assuming this was his place – but some sights baffled him. Post-modernistic metal sculpture stood adjacent to Monet Prints; pottery that looked as if fashioned by a 3rd-grade child stood proudly displayed beside a small delicate cobalt-flowered vase that looked very Ming, and very expensive.

When Richard focused on Roger again, he found himself being handed a small tumbler of club soda. “Nothing alcoholic, but I thought something to drink might help.” Roger had changed clothes again – and bodies too, apparently, being a little older looking now – and was back in his sharp grey suit.

Richard put the drink down slowly, dumping himself into the nearest sofa and screwing his palms into his eyes until his vision went white. “I wish it was alcoholic - I could definitely use a shot of something right now.”

Sorry, champ. Maybe later. You need a clear head right now.”

Richard’s curiosity, already in overdrive, promptly went through the roof. When his sight returned, he was still right where he was, so he sighed, and decided to get some answers. “All right, Roger. First of all, thank you for rescuing me, from WHATEVER the hell that was. But I really need some help here.

“WHO the heck are you? And more importantly, who the hell was that headcase trying to kill me? I don’t know him, and no offense, but I don’t know YOU, either. But I’m getting the feeling I’m supposed to.”

Roger neatly deposited himself in the opposite sofa. “I have answers for you. But they aren’t ones that will make your life any easier. In fact, they might make things a lot more complicated.

“More complicated than _WHAT?_”

Roger again smirked. “Let me take this from the top.” He leaned forward, his hands steepling as he spoke, his concentration fully focused on the young lawyer.

“I am part of an organization. A community, if you will. We have the gift to travel through time, to roam all of space and time. We fix the things that should be fixed, and leave the rest alone. We are scattered throughout history, in locales all over the world, and we ensure that the universe _*is.*_ More importantly, we are extending an invitation to you, to become one of us.”

At first, Richard’s mind blanked as he considered Roger’s words. The story was pure and utter garbage. The man was either insane, or covering up some kind of government consipiracy, or both. However, he then stopped a second, and thought for another second, recalling something very vague from before.

“How do I get proof of this?”

“Care for a dollar?” Roger asked quite innocently. In his hand, extended to Richard, was a one-dollar bill. Carefully, Richard checked the minting date, which was from the year 2002. He slowly lowered the bills. “Cute trick. How about, oh, say, December’s Newspaper?” he asked wryly.

“Check under the couch cushion,” was Roger’s reply between sips of his beverage. Damned if there wasn’t a Monday edition of the December 1998 Chicago Tribune. _Too damned freaky,_ Richard thought.

“Hey, you want a really good one? Take a dollar from your wallet.”

Richard did as instructed.

“Now, tear it in two. You can afford it,” Roger joked.

Richard blanched. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna try the old magician’s trick.”

“Nope – one better. Just do it.” Richard tore the bill.

Roger’s form shimmered, just ever so imperceptibly, and then jumped back into clarity, like a hologram that was out of focus.

“Hey! You’re some kind of hologram, aren’t you?” Richard started.

“No – and quit reading all those ‘Trek books. I was just taking care of some business.” Roger handed him a dollar bill. “Here.”

Richard held HIS OWN dollar bill in his hands. More correctly, he held them _both_ – in one hand, his ripped bill, in the other, the same bill, serial number and all – whole. He stared for the longest time.

“OK, let’s say... I believe you. What if I say yes? What if I say no?”

Roger returned to his chair, swirling his drink with a stick. “If you say no, then tomorrow, everything goes back to the way it is. I remove everything that you know from about 10:00 today onward, you go back to work tomorrow morning, Alice, is there, David, the Haslin and Dustin duo, all of them. Blood’s gone, no shots fired, it’s all back to normal – and you never met me.”

“If you say yes... then you become one of us. You begin the journey to being far more important than you’ve ever been in your life. You will learn to be a guardian, and a citizen of the world in a way you never knew possible. But, and I stress this, it’s your choice. You can go back to the life you knew, and be perfectly comfortable and happy.”

“What do you say?”

Richard thought about it for a few moments. _He could do that? Change everything back? Yes, I suppose he could. But do I pass this up? Do I leave everything I have now, and change my whole life?_

He stared at Roger long and hard.

*To Be Continued...*


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## Drawmack (May 9, 2003)

Henry said:
			
		

> *Surely, if you don't mind your calendar having five updates of it per week. The current plan is one update per day, for the next several weeks. *




fine by me


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## Henry (May 12, 2003)

_3rd June 1998 11:35 a.m._

“Yes.”

“Yes?”

“Yes, because I already have.”

“HUH?” For the first time in the hour since he knew him, the perfectly skilled and collected Roger looked totally thrown.

“I realized a few things about what you said. First, when you met me, you said something about me being jumpy as ever. You know me. Or, you WILL know me. Which means I must know you - but later.

“Second, you’ve been expecting damn-near everything that’s been happening. The shooters, the shot I accidentally took at you, every twist and turn so far – it’s like you read the script – only there isn’t any script. You’ve been here before.”

Roger’s oval gasp quickly became a twisted smirk. “No wonder you were invited. I swear, you scare me sometimes. Even as a leveller, in the middle of a firefight, you’re piecing things together.”

Roger extended a hand. “Welcome to the community.”

“Wait a minute... Can you still fix what happened at the office? I’m not going anywhere unless you swear to me that Alice, David, all of them are put right back where they were...”

Roger smiled reassuringly. “I promise all will be put right. No one will even know YOU’RE different, much less them. It’s part of what we do.”

This reassured Richard somewhat. He cautiously took Roger’s hand. “If I’m joining this ‘community,’ what’s it called?”

Roger ushered Richard to sit across from him, on the opposite couch again. “We go by several names, depending on who asks, and when they ask. We ensure the continuity of what is, through all times and places. The elders call us the Continuum. Beings who don’t like us call us the Swarm. Why, I’m not sure – there aren’t that many of us, compared to the rest of humanity. But Continuum will do for now.”

“Are you ready?”

Richard picked up his glass, and raised it in a mock toast to Roger. 

It was the last thing he remembered from before...

*To Be Continued...*


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## Henry (May 13, 2003)

_4th September, 1984 9:32 a.m._

_“Fear not - Ranger... Barbarian...”_

Richard’s eyes began to focus, vaguely at first, then more clearly, as he began to take in his surroundings.

_“Magician... Thief...”_

He was sitting – he thought – on a very plush couch, in the middle of a living room of some sort. The large television before him showed a cartoon – some people interacting with a stunted balding figure in red robes.

_“Cavalier... and Acrobat!”_

It slowly dawned on him what he was watching.

“Hey, you really watching this?” a deep voice uttered to his left. Richard slowly turned.

Just to his right, on the opposite end of the plush couch, sat his would-be killer.

A low growl became a roar. *“YOU SON OF A...”* Richard leapt at him, bare handed, spilling a bowl of pretzels between them.

The killer barely blinked, and had Richard on the floor in a head-lock before Richard could think. “What the Hell are you doing?” He casually asked.

Richard, quickly beginning to lose blood to his brain, couldn’t answer. He only ran over in his mind the possible answers to why he was in a living room, and why he put himself into the situation in which he was going to die.

As the gray began to set in around the edge of his vision, he was suddenly let go. He knelt on the floor, recovering his balance and his consciousness. 

“Thanks.”

“No problem.” The killer replied. “Now, what – “

_“DIE!”_ Richard spat, and lunged again.

This time, his arm and chest went numb. He crashed down on the couch like a limp laundry sack. His prey returned to his reclining position. “Now SIDDOWN,” he finished.

A voice from the kitchen interrupted. “Richard, glad to see you awake.”

Richard breathed once. Breathed twice. The numbness left. He turned, to see Roger entering the family room. It was definitely Roger, but he had changed.

Goddess, had he changed! Roger was, indeed the same person, perhaps younger – again - but had stepped from an era left forgotten 15 years ago. He sported a silver leisure suit, if such a thing was even available any more; the bright purple shirt, coupled with the silver chains, and enhanced by silver shoes, somehow filled Richard with shock and awe simultaneously. Then again, Roger’s long-grown, bright blond hair, with its highly-coiffured “Flock of Seagulls” hairstyle, perhaps caused the most spectacular failure of words in Richard’s life.

If Roger’s look was a scene unto itself, he seemed not to notice. He nonchalantly strolled in, toting a wooden kitchen chair, and spun it around, sitting down on it backwards.

“I see you’ve met John. John Sato, meet Richard Gardner.” Richard stared daggers into John. John raised an eyebrow.

“The good news is, you’re both time travelers, just like me. The even better news is, you’ll be living here together!”

Both stared at Roger.

“Gentlemen, you are in the location known as your first Corner. Here, you will learn to work, play, BE to the fullest extent of your potential. Welcome to the *Road to our Dreams!*” Roger spread his arms wide in a grandiose gesture.

Both stared at Roger for a long, long time.

“What?”

*To Be Continued...*


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## Particle_Man (Aug 17, 2004)

Cool!  So what happened next?


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