I had this little Harry Potter altiverse idea not long ago, and in recently thinking about it, I thought I would use it as the basis of an experiment. The idea is a mere seed, a "what if" that dates back to some of the oldest scenes we see in the books -- what I'd like to do is throw it out, and let people develop the course of the alternate history it spawns, by suggestion, debate and consensus. And maybe along the way we can find a story to tell in that altiverse.

Sound interesting or fun? Good.

Okay, here's the seed:

Young Severus Snape falls in love with Petunia Dursley, not Lily.
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.

Not content with proclaiming that if aliens existed, they would have souls, the Vatican Astronomer has now proclaimed that it is in fact possible, and not
contradictory to scripture, for aliens to exist.

Quote: The Pope's chief astronomer says that life on Mars cannot be ruled out.

Writing in the Vatican newspaper, the astronomer, Father Gabriel Funes, said intelligent beings created by God could exist in outer space.

Father Funes, director of the Vatican Observatory near Rome, is a respected scientist who collaborates with universities around the world.

The search for forms of extraterrestrial life, he says, does not contradict belief in God.

The official Vatican newspaper headlines his article 'Aliens Are My Brother'.

'Free from sin'

Just as there are multiple forms of life on earth, so there could exist intelligent beings in outer space created by God. And some aliens could even be
free from original sin, he speculates.

Asked about the Catholic Church's condemnation four centuries ago of the Italian astronomer and physicist, Galileo, Father Funes diplomatically says
mistakes were made, but it is time to turn the page and look towards the future.

Science and religion need each other, and many astronomers believe in God, he assures readers.

To strengthen its scientific credentials, the Vatican is organising a conference next year to mark the 200th anniversary of the birth of the author of the
Origin of Species, Charles Darwin.

I just ran across this and couldn't help but think that it might come in handy as a reference for you in some story or other....

http://home.nc.rr.com/tuco/looney/tunes.html - Looney Laughs, Lists & Lyrics. Includes the complete Acme catalog and the lyrics to all the songs featured
in the Warner cartoons.
-Z, Post-reader at Medium
----
If architects built buildings the way programmers write programs, the first woodpecker to come along would destroy civilization.

Not quite Legendary, but IST
Paragon is affiliated with the East Coast Legendary on Infinity.



For those who haven't read
the Thibor stories, Lieutenant Simon Bitterbuck is an Aide to Lieutenant Colonel Hoyle. He is a computer expert with a
mutation that allows him to analyze disparate data in a manner that computers cannot. Currently he has accompanied
Major Sawchyk to Paragon City, and against his wishes, and better judgment, taken part in field operations.



When it came time to choose his
travel power, I opted for flight (I built Simon as an Archer/Device blaster); I wanted an excuse for it, and the idea for this story has being floating in my
mind since I saw the Learning To Fly video by Pink Floyd. (Simon's grandfather has been mentioned before in the
Thibor stories, specifically in regards to the old man owning every issue of Playboy since its inception.) I don't
know if that story (incomplete as it is) has ever made it onto the board.



Learning to
Fly.



Simon Bitterbuck hated
nature.



That wasn't exactly
true. Nature had its place, was fun to visit, occasionally provided some excellent food if one was willing to jump
through several manner of indignities to get it from kicking and screaming to on a plate with a variety of side dishes.
Nature was just better when viewed from behind a pane of weatherproof glass, in a warm room with good ventilation and high speed internet
access.



The last week had not been the
sort of nature that Simon normally enjoyed. It was the sort of nature he abhorred.
A week of precious leave spent living in what could, if one was feeling generous, be called a cabin. Simon was
not currently inclined to generosity. It was not a cabin, not even a shack, could probably pass in bad light for a
hovel, and was about as far from a Northern Canadian Club Med as Simon was from a good coffee shop; several hundred kilometers, minimum.



A week of living in his
grandfather's 'fishing cabin'. A week of living off the land. A
week that would have been far better spent on a beach, in the city, or anywhere else with the possible exceptions of unprotected in the vacuum of space, the
Antarctic circle, and Detroit.



Perhaps I am just wingeing,
Simon mused to himself, and then corrected the thought. He was wingeing. With
several good reasons. It was not the coldest he had ever been; he had spent far more time in far less comfortable
places. It was not the hungriest. He was eating regularly, perhaps not with the
variety he was used to; and he hadn't had to feed Naoko at any time. A small victory, but he clung to it
anyway. Someone was trying to kill him; again nothing unique, except that it was his grandfather instead of a
malicious, criminal, lunatic. Grandfather wasn't criminal; but two out of three wasn't bad; or
unusual. That also was unfair. Grandfather was normally sane, rational, and
effortlessly cool; this just wasn't one of those times. He was playing the shaman, and that required him to be
nuttier than squirrel droppings.



Grandfather Bitterbuck was at
the stone fireplace, crouched next to the embers of the fire, singing in a low, monotonous voice. Perhaps he was
communicating with the spirits of the land. Simon hoped that the spirits of the land were partial to an off-key,
half-remembered, version of Van Morrison's Brown Eyed Girl; or at least more partial to it than he was. Simon was
supposed to be communing with the spirits to. On the table in front of him, a long black feather and a bare, white,
bird skull were laid out. The rest of the bird, or at least a small portion of it, was currently roiling through
Simon's digestive track. It was deeply upset at the indignity of the journey and was letting Simon know with each
inch of intestine it traversed.



It was the first, and if he had
his say, the last turkey vulture he had ever eaten. The bird had been taken with a single arrow that had passed through
the tiny, bald, red, head. Unfortunately the bird had, as it crashed towards earth, been caught in the limbs of a tall
tree. Simon had been forced to climb up to retrieve it. He had just gotten the
filthy thing by the legs when he heard the chainsaw.



Grandfather had cut the tree out
from under him. Two days previous grandfather had pushed him off a cliff to fall into the lake some 80 feet
below. In the bird incident he had made it to the ground, ungracefully, by jumping off the falling tree into an
evergreen. The cliff had required nothing more than gravity and a brief, uncomfortable, swim back to
land.



Grandfather was trying to teach
him how to fly.



Perhaps the old man's mind
had finally been thrown out of gear. He truly believed his grandson could be taught to fly. He said that the soil, the rain, and the wind had told him. Simon wondered why he
hadn't received the message, and had even double checked his spam filter to ensure the messages had not been dumped.
Nothing from the rain, the soil, or the wind, but a minister from Uganda had wanted his help in laundering funds from the late Idi
Amin.



Simon picked up the
feather. He had already steamed it over the kettle, so it was unlikely that it was bearing any vermin. Remembering his grandfather's instructions, he raised it above the table, held it for a moment and then dropped
it. The feather settled back down onto the table. Rinse, lather and then
repeat. Simon would have killed, or at the very least maimed for a hot shower.
The lake was still very cold, and bathing was an exercise to see if you could get the dirt off before it began to clash with the blue of your skin. With his dark complexion, Simon tended more towards a blotchy purplish. The feather
dropped again. A Japanese bath; that would be good. Hot enough to cook you like
a lobster, without the indignities of rubber bands on your hands. Like the one they had visited in Osaka. Naoko shyly holding the towel in front of her body as she dropped into the water, only letting it slip away at the last possible
moment… Simon dropped the feather again, his mind still caught up in the remembered vision.



The feather seemed to hang in
the air for the barest second before settling back down to the table.



Grandfather's song had
changed. The voice rang out in a strange, ululating flow, it was both familiar and strangely alien. It was of the world, but not the world Simon knew. The cabin was melting around him, he
could see stars above his head, feel the wind stirring his long braids. His stomache, thankfully, kept him grounded in
reality, as it churned around the lumps of turkey vulture and…



What had grandfather spiced the
bird with? Simon was familiar with the taste and texture of pretty much everything edible in the woods, but the bird
had been dotted with bits of something he hadn't recognized. A mushroom? A
root sliced to within a pico-meter or transparency. Had he been drugged? He
dropped the feather again and watched it fall. It didn't fall. It was like
it slid, the currents of air in the room danced around it, it was caught by one and then the next, some forcing it up, most pushing it down. The feather hit the table like a roar of thunder.



Definitely drugged. Simon blinked his eyes and pulled off his glasses. He took a half staggering step away
from the table, half turned and crashed towards the floor, thankfully blacking out before his nose made contact with the rough wood.



He was above the
lake. The wind whistling through his hair. Was he falling again? All evidence seemed to be pointing that way. Was the lake getting closer? Yes. Was the lake moving towards him?
No. That meant he was heading towards the lake. Check. Simon tried to turn his body in the air, to get his feet under him in preparation for impact.
His body rebelled with the same uncomfortable obstinacy of the turkey vulture in his GI tract. The water got
closer. The air seemed thick around him. Simon blinked again, wishing his dream
self had kept his glasses, things were blurry. The rapidly diminishing space between him and the lake was full of…
something. The movement of air? Visible?
Not visible, but etched on his awareness. Simon shifted his body imperceptivity. Laying himself onto the upward currents, avoiding the downward ones. He
swooped. The lake falling away beneath him. He chose another current,
shouldered into it and found himself propelled forward, the lake flashing under him, quickly replaced by trees. He
could see the cabin far below him. It would be simple to float down to it.



No. Screw that.



Simon turned in the air and
oriented himself by the stars. The nearest real hotel was only 200 or so kilometers away, as the turkey vulture
flies. If he was going to dream, it would be of clean sheets, a hot shower, a meal he didn't have to kill himself
and a real cup of coffee.





* * *



Simon woke up and instantly
regretted the necessity of it. His head was pounding; his stomach was knotting itself and the turkey vulture was
pounding vigorously on the back door asking to be let out. To stay still would be to invite disaster from multiple
directions. Simon rolled off the bed, nearly tripped over the blankets and staggered to the well lit
bathroom. He emerged half an hour later, feeling almost human as he rubbed the soft towel over his
hair.



It was a very nice hotel; not
extravagant, but after the recent week, an oasis of luxury.



Simon let a rarely used
profanity pass his lips. Considered it for a moment, and then gave it some company.
He located his boots and looked them over. He certainly hadn't walked 200 kilometers cross country in
them.



There was a rational explanation
for all of this; Simon was an expert at rational explanations; his mind finely attuned to shifting mountains of raw data into a sane, comprehensible
form. Unfortunately all the explanations it was throwing at him included the small, but ever important detail that he
had flown here. Simon threw open the door to the room.



"You forgot
these." Grandfather was standing in the hall, extending Simon's glasses to him. Simon considered the options, take the glasses or punch the old man. He took the glasses,
grandfather was a dirty fighter, and while Simon could probably beat him down, it would not be easy, and he would end up almost as badly
hurt.



"Thanks." Simon settled the glasses comfortably. "Do they serve breakfast
here?"



"No, and the stuff in the
vending machines is suspect." The old man shrugged. "There's a
place across the street that's pretty good though."



"Sold. I'll even buy." Simon headed towards the stairs.
"And don't bother pushing me."



"Why
bother?" Grandfather fell in beside him. "It wouldn't do any
good, would it?"



"What did you put on that
bird?" Simon asked as they stepped outside. The day was bright, the sun
warm, and across the road there was a source of eggs, bacon and toast. Things could be much worse. The air was fresh, the sort of fresh you never got in the city. Simon frowned and
concentrated. Then he swore again, considering appending several highly unlikely things to his grandfather's
lineage, realized they would also end up in his, and then gave up on the idea completely. The air was rife with
currents of air; visible and invisible. He could reach out and ride any of them, with no more effort than
walking. Perhaps less.



"Nothing, I probably could
have plucked it more carefully." The old man admitted. "I just needed
you thinking about something else to get you ready for your first spirit walk; in my experience, nothing distracts a man like eating a turkey
vulture."



"The voice of
experience?" Simon said with remarkably good cheer. The mental distraction
had been something, or rather two delightful somethings, considerably more poetic than a turkey vulture.



"Well
observation." Grandfather admitted. "Can't say that I'd eat
one of the filthy buggers."



* * *



"It's good to have you
back Chief." Naoko was enthusiastic about his return. Simon considered
this. Simon's return to the IST Paragon offices had been just before lunch and accompanied by two huge Styrofoam
containers carrying Chicken Tikka Masala from Cumin and Goan, an excellent Indian restaurant in the good, or at least passable, part of King's
Row. As good as the food was, Naoko had not been quite so mercenary. She had
greeted him with a hug, as heady a kiss as the office environment allowed for, and had remained pressed against him long enough to remind him in no uncertain
terms, how nice it was to be back. It was only after all of this that she appropriated the bag he was carrying and
rooted through it with the furious intensity of an amphetamine crazed weasel to get to lunch. Now with the contents of
her container reduced to half their original volume, she was giving him a thorough once over.



"I think the woods agree
with you." She finally said after careful consideration. "There
something slightly different about you."



"Maybe." Simon pushed his lunch aside, knowing Naoko would scavenge what he didn't finish. He
fired up his workstation, paused for a moment, savoring the coming sensation, and threw himself into the data that had accumulated in his absence. This was something he understood, cool, rational, and for the most part, safe. Naoko spun
in her chair, pushed off her desk and rolled over next to him, snagging his leftovers as she did so.



"Was it a good trip?"
She asked, staring at him as she forked up another mouthful of chicken and rice.



"No, but Grandfather sends
his love, and a few pounds of venison sausages." Simon noted as Naoko let out a delighted squee. "He promised to bring some more when he returns my jeep."



"He's still got your
jeep?" Naoko looked puzzled. "How did you get
back?"



"Oh…" Simon shrugged. "I flew in."

I don't remember who suggested that Bob adopt Kevin Gillis, Jon Stroll, and Stephen Lunt's Run With Us as performed by Lisa Lougheed for the Girls' theme song, but whoever it was didn't have a copy of it.

http://www.gilsinan.com/raccoons/songs/run_with_us.mp3]I found one.

I'd forgotten just how good Ms. Lougheed's cover of the song is. (Especially compared to http://www.gilsinan.com/raccoons/songs/run_with_us1.mp3]the first season's version.)

http://www.gilsinan.com/raccoons/songs/ ... s_nous.mp3]What little I could find of the French version sounds like it might be almost as good as Ms. Lougheed's cover... I'm going to have to keep looking.

Oh, right - http://www.gilsinan.com/raccoons/songs/]Here's the page where I found the song - note the links to the lyrics and the guitar tablature.
--
Rob Kelk
"Governments have no right to question the loyalty of those who oppose
them. Adversaries remain citizens of the same state, common subjects of
the same sovereign, servants of the same law."

- Michael Ignatieff, addressing Stanford University in 2012

http://lifehacker.com/software/geek-to- ... 299809.php

I've got an Xbox and an Action Replay dongle, so I ordered a Splinter Cell game for 12$ (shipped) from Amazon, and when it shows up, we'll see what
happens.

This is intriguing to me, since it will provide a nice front end for the many many gigs of media I have on my fileserver.
"No can brain today. Want cheezeburger."
From NGE: Nobody Dies, by Gregg Landsman
http://www.fanfiction.net/s/5579457/1/NGE_Nobody_Dies

Just as a heads up to everyone... I've been dragged kicking and screaming summoned for jury duty. It messes with my work and home
schedule something awful, with the result that I don't know how much time I'll have to play, or when I'll have it to play with, for this week and
next.

And, thanks to the laws in the county and/or state that I live in... even this first trial finishes up tomorrow, I'm still in the pool for further trials,
for the full two weeks. Arrgh.

So, anyway, if you don't see me around, this is why.

--sofaspud
--"Listening to your kid is the audio equivalent of a Salvador Dali painting, Spud." --OpMegs

First off, I just want to say that this is ALL YOUR FAULT! Yes, you, who keep writing these wonderful Tales, and have made my muse drag me kicking and
screaming into writing this.

Secondly, this has not been proofed, and is, most like, riddled with errors. Especially tense errors. I've never, ever, gotten the hang of those, and this
being written in but an hour and a half, its probably rife with them.

Anywhen.....

Tales of the Legendary: Duty to the Innocent

Its been a couple of months since then, but I can still remember it pretty well.

It was a normal day at Uni for me, my friends and I had just gotten out of Rethinking Philosophical Connections (an unfortunate requirement for my English
major), and were heading towards lunch at the cafeteria. Maria and Jennifer were laughing about one of the questions James (who was slinking behind us,
mumbling something to Rick) had answered in class.

My hearing wasn't as good as some (Hell, Space and Reyshal beat me on hearing tests hands down, pointy ears and all), but it was good enough to hear James
and Rick discussing bets... about my supposed Heroing career. This was something of a sore subject for me. For the two years I'd been going to Paragon U,
there'd been bets and gambling about 'Who' I was. Heroside, that is.

I'd registered by my birth name: Elizabeth Glorien Jr. (Why Junior, Mom? Really, couldn't I have been the 2nd or something completely different?)
Between that and my appearance had led to the school community deciding that I had to be a Hero of some sort and immediately betting pools started to pop up
regarding my Hero Name, powers, even what my costume was like (Some of the more perverted artists tried drawing me in a 'costume' once. Once Admin got
word of it he stopped. I'm pretty certain he never started again.)

Needless to say, I wasn't really happy about two of the people I actually considered friends discussing something I really wished didn't exist. When
confronted them about it, Maria and Jennifer stopped laughing and glared at the two, who just withered and admitted to joking about it themselves, but not
participating, either in bets or info. At that point I just put my hands on my hips and looked up into their eyes (it really, *really* sucks being stuck in a
13 year old body), and said, "I still don't get why everyone thinks I'm a Hero anyway. There's gotta be people out there affected by a spell,
or mutants, or genengineered that choose not ta go the Vig or Vil route. Stars Above, guys! Its pretty much statistically impossible f'r every possible
Hero to be one! Jeez." After that, I just turned away and started walking again.

The four of them had cringed from me and then followed. I still just about heard the lightbulb go off above Rick's head. "Hey, E," he called,
"You didn't just say that you *weren't* a Hero."

I had stopped and mentally smacked my head a few times. We had been standing on one of the covered bridges between buildings with a good view from the front
lawn down the streets all the way to Founder's Square (Some of the engineering students took potshots over this bridge when they did their yearly trebuchet
competition.)

Jennifer had been the first to see it, her head turning and her mouth opening in shock, the rest of us following her gaze to see a sight not welcomed on the
campus (or anywhere really): A full bore Zeus Malta Titan. This particular specimen had been chasing two Heroes, each of them noticeably unwounded, but still
running as fast as they could towards the Uni, as if trying to get the police drones to eliminate the Titan. It might even have worked, had not recent City
budget reshuffling had deemed the University Campus' as 'Low Risk Zones' and taken away all but a few of the drones, which were stationed at the
major entrances and exits to the campus. The Heroes (and the Titan following them), were running straight across the front lawn, bypassing the normal entry
points and well out of the range of the police drones.

If the Titan had gotten to the buildings, it was likely that it could not have identified Hero from student. A massacre could have occurred. At least,
that's how the press put the spin on it, after the fact.

At the time, I wasn't thinking in those terms. I just knew that the killing machine would reap a swath through my fellow students, Innocent of wronging it.
And I knew with every fiber of my being that it was my Duty to protect them.

I had gestured to my friends, and commanded them to stay down (I don't remember the exact words, the adrenaline had burst into my veins), then I
teleported, landing perhaps thirty feet forward on the ground, and about a hundred and fifty feet in front of the Titan. I gathered my Fire, and took aim with
my arm, fueling the blast recklessly with magic before I let it go.

A solid beam of ignited air linked us for a breath, then all was silent for a moment. The Titan's chest armor had been slagged, but from what I knew of
them, it was far from dead. One of the Heroes took aim with her rifle and let off a short burst, the other fell to the ground and activated his Emergency
Medical Recall. I don't remember what the rifle-girl did after that, I was focused too much on the Titan itself.

As it raised its arms to fire at me, I teleported again, landing behind it. I focused my Ice, and touched the machine's feet, causing a cascade of ice to
form around them, encasing them in shards of ice and freezing it to the ground. As the Titan pivoted its upper half on its torso to attack me, again I
teleported, this time to its side, so that it's weaponry would be facing directly away from me. A quickly gathered and released blast of fire hit the back
of its head, not doing more than heating the armor there to a brilliant cherry red, before I teleported one final time, some fifteen feet above it.

As I hung in the air for a moment, I saw it pivoting around again, obviously searching for me. When the last of my spell let me drop, I positioned my hands and
formed my favorite weapon.

The spear of ice impacted directly on the heated metal behind the Titan's head, and with my own weight and strength behind it, shattered the armor there.
The spear kept going, deep into the machine's more delicate components. When I had judged that the point was in the middle of its torso, I sent another
focused burst of magic down the spear.

I'm told that from an outside view, my final attack appeared as if I had dropped out of the sky with my spear in my hands, impaled the Titan cleanly, then
caused the tip of the spear to explode in all directions, piercing the machine like it had swallowed a porcupine of ice.

At that point, my feet touched down on the Titan's back, and through my shoes I could feel the inner workings of it cease the hum of its electronics
breaking up, the whir of its machinery slow and halt.

And, as anyone knows, that's when the real pandemonium began.

If I ever feel like reliving that abominable circus again, I'll write it down, but for now I'll close this little tale. I know it isn't really
required for members to put their experiences on file at the base, and I doubt anyone really reads them over, anyway (I mean, who would really believe that
Space Mage can get her best powers from Myspace?)

But on the subject of Space, I'm stealing her little title, as so many others have done. This is just my little tale of the Duty that calls me, and that
called me back to being a Hero.

* * * * *

So, the way I see it, Brahela, the writer here, sees the repository of stories by other members of the Legendary as sort of a mission and joining summaries.
and doesn't quite understand why others would read them for entertainment. Meta-gaming wise, its my little way of rationalizing where all these stories are
going to, in game. Lora'lai likely has a small section of the computers set up to archive these as a sort of 'Living History' of the Legendary.

Of course, that's how I see it. Bob, Logan, feel free to reprimand and state the truth of the matter if you feel nessesary.

The Typical Fen Hodgpodge spacestation courtesy of PS-238.

The launch pod from the previous page seems typical of Fentech as well.

Because I bore easily, here's a all-up report (generated by http://www.nbos.com/products/astro/astro.htm]Astrosynthesis 2.0) on what the Solar System looks like around the end of the Boskone War, give or take a few things:

http://fnord.sandwich.net/fenspace/solsystem.html]Sol System 2015

Note that this particular report is not 100% complete - there's always something going on, and while I bore easily, I don't bore so easily that I'm willing to plot orbital elements for every single fen outpost in the system. Nor do I actually *know* what all the fen outposts are.

Comments, quibbles, etc.
Mr. Fnord interdimensional man of mystery

FenWiki - Your One-Stop Shop for Fenspace Information

"I. Drink. Your. NERDRAGE!"