Journal:Astarte Townshend: Difference between revisions
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205012: Audiolog, [[User:Astarte Townshend|Astarte Townshend]] | |||
==DESCRIPTION.CAT== | |||
*Milton, Ross: The following is the data log of Astarte Shelly(?) Townshend<sup>0</sup>. "Townshend A" was apparently employed as a Research Associate at NecroTech during an as yet undefined period<sup>1</sup> preceding Dandelion<sup>2</sup>. This log was recovered from 7,7 during a recovery task. | |||
No external validative data regarding "Townshend A" has been retrieved as of this writing; this document is not intended to provide crucial information. Store in "Accounts, Self-Consistant/Unvalidated". Updates are to be posted to header file DESCRIPTION.CAT. Signature markup (author name) must be written manually. | |||
* <b>Thursday, 17 November 2005</b> | |||
I live again. Two minutes ago, I stood up and stepped out of my own grave... Hhhh... I'm shaking with adrenaline and feel sick as hell, but I'm breathing; more than may be said for the other peculiar inhabitants of this, the town of, uh... Malton. Yes. If this is, (heavy breath) useful, I was returned to, heh, rather recharged to, this mortal coil, by someone named Pyron. Or Pytro. Something like that. A firefighter, apparently (boxes falling over?). Whoever he is, he deserved- Deserves a medal. I'm currently in Houldenbank, Lucius General Hospital, with a sleeping person named Speyr and the zombies who probably want to kill him. Astarte Townshend, signed out. | |||
* <b>2nd edit: Thursday, 17 November 2005</b> | |||
It's definitely Pyron. I ran into him in a Police Station in Houldenbank. We're now sitting around a space heater in the quondam weapons lockup. There are several others survivors present; all appear to be reasonably capable... I'm going to nap here for a few hours. | |||
* <b>3rd edit: Thursday, 17 November 2005</b> | |||
I woke up about four hours later than I'd planned; a Dr. Andrew Baxter had quietly applied medical aid to my person while I rested, leaving me another thank-you to head my report. God bless the surviving contingent; they're our only hope. | |||
[[Category:Journals|Astarte Townshend]] | |||
Latest revision as of 07:48, 23 January 2012
205012: Audiolog, Astarte Townshend
DESCRIPTION.CAT
- Milton, Ross: The following is the data log of Astarte Shelly(?) Townshend0. "Townshend A" was apparently employed as a Research Associate at NecroTech during an as yet undefined period1 preceding Dandelion2. This log was recovered from 7,7 during a recovery task.
No external validative data regarding "Townshend A" has been retrieved as of this writing; this document is not intended to provide crucial information. Store in "Accounts, Self-Consistant/Unvalidated". Updates are to be posted to header file DESCRIPTION.CAT. Signature markup (author name) must be written manually.
- Thursday, 17 November 2005
I live again. Two minutes ago, I stood up and stepped out of my own grave... Hhhh... I'm shaking with adrenaline and feel sick as hell, but I'm breathing; more than may be said for the other peculiar inhabitants of this, the town of, uh... Malton. Yes. If this is, (heavy breath) useful, I was returned to, heh, rather recharged to, this mortal coil, by someone named Pyron. Or Pytro. Something like that. A firefighter, apparently (boxes falling over?). Whoever he is, he deserved- Deserves a medal. I'm currently in Houldenbank, Lucius General Hospital, with a sleeping person named Speyr and the zombies who probably want to kill him. Astarte Townshend, signed out.
- 2nd edit: Thursday, 17 November 2005
It's definitely Pyron. I ran into him in a Police Station in Houldenbank. We're now sitting around a space heater in the quondam weapons lockup. There are several others survivors present; all appear to be reasonably capable... I'm going to nap here for a few hours.
- 3rd edit: Thursday, 17 November 2005
I woke up about four hours later than I'd planned; a Dr. Andrew Baxter had quietly applied medical aid to my person while I rested, leaving me another thank-you to head my report. God bless the surviving contingent; they're our only hope.
