I was able to get Outlaws to run in linux (mandrake 9.1) I used a DirectX emulator called WineX which is based off the popular Windows Emulator WINE. Anyway, surprisingly the game ran as fast as it does in Windows. Direct3D didnt work. Im guessing this is because Linux didnt install any 3D drivers for my video card, it told me i had to download them from nvidia's website. The only problem i had with it was the same problems that we all get in Windows XP. The backspace key didnt work.

    But, astute as she was in reading the minds of those whose secrets she wished to discover, this time she found her victim so impassive that her scrutiny revealed nothing. The officer was about twenty-five, pale, and with light-blue, rather deep-set eyes. His mouth was sensitive and well-formed, his jaw determined, his forehead the high forehead of poets and visionaries, his hair close-cropped and, like his beard and moustache, chestnut-coloured.
 

Alexandre Dumas, The Three Musketeers
translated by Lord Sudley

     'Fiend!' she shrieked. 'You've played a vile trick on me and you know my secret! You shall die!'
     She ran over to her dressing-table, half naked as she was, and with trembling hands opened a marquetry jewel-case, took out a little gold-hilted dagger with a thin, pointed blade and with one bound was back at d'Artagnan's side.
     Brave as he was the young man flinched and shrank back at the sight of her. Her face was transformed. The pupils of her eyes were horribly dilated, her cheeks deathly pale, her teeth bared in a snarl. He backed away from her as far as the alcove, eyeing her warily like a wild beast, and when his hand, damp with sweat, accidentally touched his sword he clutched hold of it and drew it from its scabbard.
 

Alexandre Dumas, The Three Musketeers
translated by Lord Sudley

     'I've got that ring, dear heart. You see it was I who was here on Thursday night . . . not de Wardes!'
     The rash young fellow expected nothing more from his mistress than surprise and mortification, a petulant storm which would resolve itself in tears. But he was very much mistaken and was soon to discover his mistake.
     Milady started up wild and pale. She forced d'Artagnan away with all her strength and sprang out of bed.
     It was now almost daylight.
     D'Artagnan caught hold of her flimsy crèpe-de-Chine nightdress and held her back, meaning to coax her into forgiving him. As she tried to jerk herself free the cambric of the dress tore, leaving her beautiful white shoulders bare. And on her left shoulder d'Artagnan saw to his horror the fleur-de-lis, the mark of the criminal. Milady was branded!
     The young man let go of her nightdress and lay there motionless, paralyzed with fear.
     'God in Heaven!' he whispered.
 

Alexandre Dumas, The Three Musketeers
translated by Lord Sudley

     Having reached the man he had two courses open to him: either to search him on the spot or to carry him back, making a shield of his body, and search him in the trench. D'Artagnan chose the second course. He had just lifted the man on to his back when the enemy opened fire. D'Artagnan felt the man's body jolt against his shoulder, heard him scream and give a final shudder of agony. The man had achieved the very opposite of what he had intended; he had shielded his victim and instead of killing him had saved his life. D'Artagnan jumped back into the trench and threw the corpse down beside the wounded man, who was almost as pale as his dead comrade.
 

Alexandre Dumas, The Three Musketeers
translated by Lord Sudley

TKM's HomeBase The "Team Killing Machines'" site by TheClown sports details on each member of the posse, a few pertinent links, some handy utilities for OL players, info on the gang and a few screenshots, all in a large, fast, flaming goth style (those offended by an animated burning cross had best avoid).

Snipers HeadQuarters Fast site of the Snipers posse has info on the members, how to join, a few handy links, and so forth.

     'Impossible,' said Milady. 'No gentleman would write a woman a letter like that.'
     Then she suddenly cried out:
     'Good God! Could he have seen . . .?'
     She stopped. Her teeth were chattering, her face ashen pale. She now turned and tried to walk over to the window to get air, but could only raise her arms; her legs gave way under her and she collapsed into an armchair.
 

Alexandre Dumas, The Three Musketeers
translated by Lord Sudley

     The shutter swung back again slowly on its hinges and the old man's head and shoulders appeared in the opening; he was very pale and seemed panic-stricken. He stood in silence in the window while d'Artagnan explained to him what he had come for, what he had discovered and what he suspected. The old man listened attentively, nodding his head from time to time to corroborate certain details in d'Artagnan's narrative. when the young man had finished his tale the old man remained standing in the window, saying nothing but shaking his head lugubriously.
     'Why are you shaking your head like that?' cried d'Artagnan. 'For Heaven's sake speak! Tell me what's been happening here!'
     'Don't question me, Sir, please,' answered the old man. 'If I told you what I'd seen no good would come of it.'
 

Alexandre Dumas, The Three Musketeers
translated by Lord Sudley

Team MaD Sort of a visual patchwork but fast and sporting consistent navigation, the MaD posse site offers posse news, a message board, member list, info on joining the team, downloads of member-made maps and some handy links and files. I'm not sure why there's a big banner/logo link to my site at the top of the page layouts, but I guess I'm not one to complain.

     The answer was indeed a shattering one. Anne of Austria imagined that the King knew everything and that the Cardinal had persuaded him to feign ignorance during the past week, in order to lull her into a false sense of security. This was one of his favourite tricks. She went very pale, leant her lovely hand, now waxen-coloured, against a little table to support herself, and stood staring at the King, speechless with terror.
     'I hope you heard what I said, Ma'am,' repeated the King.
     He stood watching the Queen, thoroughly enjoying her discomfiture, without, of course, guessing the reason for it.
     'Yes, Sire, I heard you,' stammered the Queen.
     'You'll come to the ball?'
     'Yes.'
     'Wearing the diamonds?'
     'Yes.'
     Her Majesty was now so deathly white that she appeared about to faint. The King noticed her perturbation and rejoiced at it. There was a streak of cruelty deep down in him, which sometimes came uppermost.
 

Alexandre Dumas, The Three Musketeers
translated by Lord Sudley

	BaD Ass Mofos Feisty message boards run by the BaD posse, including a board for sign ups and challenges in their Outlaws Ladder.
	BaD Ladder Standings in the ladder run by the BaD posse. See their "BaD Ass Mofos" posse site for sign-ups.

     Anne of Austria backed away in horror. Her face was deathly pale and she was trembling so much that she had to rest her left arm against a table to support herself. With her right hand she took the letter out of her dress and handed it to the Keeper of the Seals.
     'Here's your letter, Sir!' she cried, her voice harsh with rage. 'Take it and remove your odious presence from my sight.'
 

Alexandre Dumas, The Three Musketeers
translated by Lord Sudley

It is almost impossible to describe the effect produced on Louis XIII by the Cardinal's words. First he flushed scarlet, then he went very pale, and the Cardinal saw at a glance that with one stroke he had regained all the territory he had lost.
 

Alexandre Dumas, The Three Musketeers
translated by Lord Sudley

    Aramis, seeing that Monsieur de Tréville was calming down and wishing to put in a plea for his friend, said: 'Please, Sir, don't let it get around that Athos has been wounded. It would break his heart if the King got to hear of it. And his wound's really very serious; he was run through the shoulder and the point of the blade went into his chest. We're afraid...'
     At that moment the curtain of the door was drawn aside and a man appeared. He was strikingly handsome but desperately pale.
     'Athos!' cried the two musketeers in chorus.
     'Athos!' echoed Monsieur de Tréville.
     'You sent for me, Sir,' said Athos to his officer in a calm but rather weak voice. 'The fellows outside told me you wanted me. So I've come to report. At your service, Sir, now as always!'
     With these words the musketeer stepped smartly into the room. He was, as usual, faultlessly turned out and showed no sign of having been in the wars. Monsieur de Tréville, moved by this soldierly display of courage, rushed towards him.
     'I was just telling these gentlemen,' said he, 'that I won't have my musketeers risking their lives unnecessarily. The King rates courage very high and he knows his musketeers are the bravest fellows in the world. Athos, give me your hand!'
     And before Athos had time to reply to this affectionate welcome Monsieur de Tréville took hold of his right hand and gripped it hard, not noticing the pain he was causing the young man, who, for all his self-control, winced a little and grew, if possible, even paler than before.
 

Alexandre Dumas, The Three Musketeers
translated by Lord Sudley

Only this lady's head and shoulders were visible through the coach window. She was between twenty and twenty-two years old. We have already stated d'Artagnan's capacity to take in at a glance every detail of a person's appearance. He therefore noticed at once that the woman was young and beautiful. And her looks struck him more forcibly because they were of a kind entirely foreign to the southern provinces where he was born and bred. The lady was fair and pale, with long, golden ringlets which fell to her shoulders, large, blue, languishing eyes, rose-red lips and hands as white as alabaster. She was talking eagerly to the stranger.
 

Alexandre Dumas, The Three Musketeers
translated by Lord Sudley

But d'Artagnan decided first to take stock of this insolent stranger's appearance. He looked at him haughtily and observed that he was a man of forty to forty-five, with shrewd dark eyes, a pale skin, a pronounced nose and a well-trimmed, black moustache, and that he wore a violet doublet and hose with auguillettes of the same colour, with no trimmings except the usual slashes through which his shirt appeared. The doublet and hose, though new, appeared creased, like travelling clothes which had long been carried about in a valise. D'Artagnan took in all these details with the speed of an acute observer, and his instincts told him that the stranger was destined to play a big part in his life.
 

Alexandre Dumas, The Three Musketeers
translated by Lord Sudley

No! Know the gallant monarch is in arms,
And like an eagle o'er his aery tow'rs,
To souse annoyance that comes near his nest;
And you degenerate, you ingrate revolts,
You bloody Neroes, ripping up the womb
Of your dear mother England, blush for shame;
For your own ladies and pale-visag'd maids
Like Amazons come tripping after drums,
Their thimbles into armed gauntlets change,
Their needl's to lances, and their gentle hearts
To fierce and bloody inclination.
 

William Shakespeare, King John
from "The Riverside Shakespeare"

Gravez Domain Gravez' maps and info on the MaD posse. Shocking color scheme but loads quickly and has consistent navigation. Also links to a forum.

Upon this cheek lay I this zealous kiss
As seal to this indenture of my love:
That to my home I will no more return
Till Angiers, and the right thou hast in France,
Together with that pale, that white-fac'd shore,
Whose foot spurs back the ocean's roaring tides
And coops from other lands her islanders,
Even till that England, hedg'd in with the main,
That water-walled bulwark, still secure
And confident from foreign purposes,
Even till that utmost corner of the west
Salute thee for her king; till then, fair boy,
Will I not think of home, but follow arms.
 

William Shakespeare, King John
from "The Riverside Shakespeare"

Kuz'ma pale and dishevelled had his feet firmly planted on the ground, and being deprived of the use of his arms, butted at his adversaries with his large head.
 

Anton Chekhov, The Shooting Party
translated by A. E. Chamot

The perplexing and ambiguous situation in which they found themselves in a strange house in which a corpse was lying, the uncertainty as to when they could get away, and the damp melancholy weather had driven the gipsies, both men and women, into such a state of distress that in one night they had become thin and pale.
 

Anton Chekhov, The Shooting Party
translated by A. E. Chamot

It was Pëtr Egorych Urbenin, the Count's former bailiff and Olga's husband. At first the company heard heavy footsteps and the cracking of brushwood. . . . It seemed as if a bear was making his way from the forest to the clearing. Then the heavy form of the unfortunate Pëtr Egorych came in sight. When he came out of the forest and saw the company assembled on the clearing, he stepped back and stopped as if her were rooted to the ground. For some while he remained silent and motionless, and in this way gave people time to examine him properly. He had his usual grey jacket on and trousers that were already well worn. He was without a hat, and his matted hair stuck to his sweaty brown and temples. . . . His face, which was usually purple and often almost blue, was now quite pale. . . . His eyes looked around senselessly, staring wildly. . . . His hands and lips trembled. . . .
 

Anton Chekhov, The Shooting Party
translated by A. E. Chamot

It goes without saying that I found the Count with entirely shattered nerves. This puny and flabby man looked thinner and more dejected than ever. . . . He was pale, and his lips trembled as if with ague. His head was tied up in a white pocket-handkerchief, which exhaled a strong odour of vinegar that filled the whole room. When I entered the room he jumped up from the sofa, on which he was lying, and rushed towards me wrapped up in the folds of his dressing-gown.
 

Anton Chekhov, The Shooting Party
translated by A. E. Chamot

"How sweetly and tranquilly he sleeps! When one gazes on this pale, tired face, on this childishly innocent smile, and listens to this regular breathing, one might think that it is not a magistrate who is lying here, but the personification of a quiet conscience! One might think that Count Karnéev had not yet arrived, that there had been neither drunkenness nor gipsies, nor trips on the lake. . . . Get up, you wretched man! You don't deserve such a blessing as peaceful sleep! Get up!"
 

Anton Chekhov, The Shooting Party
translated by A. E. Chamot

One eye short, Reverend Devlin was not exactly what you’d expect from your regular kind of preacher. The years had not been his friend; wrinkles creased his scarred face and cracked his pale skin alongside his hard grey eyes. Most people would have mistaken him for the devil himself, were it not for the white priest collar encompassing his neck while adding credibility to his appearance.

Tina stands there, pale as death, but proud and determined; she has pressed her lips tightly together so as not to betray by a single sound the fear she feels. We fly ever higher and higher, and. . . I can't remember how it ended. Then there follows a walk with Tina in a distant avenue of the park, with green vaults above that protect it from the sun. A poetical twilight, black tresses, luscious lips, whispers. . . . Then the little contralto is walking beside me, a fair-haired girl with a sharp little nose, childlike eyes and a small waist. I walk about with her until Tina, having followed us, makes a scene. . . . The gipsy is pale and furious. . . . She calls me 'accursed', and, much offended, prepares to return to town. The Count, also pale and with trembling hands, runs along beside us, and, as usual, can't find the proper words to persuade Tina to remain. . . . In the end she boxes my ears. . . . Strange!
 

Anton Chekhov, The Shooting Party
translated by A. E. Chamot

Outlaws real Msg Board Well-trafficked board run Mista featuring all the usual bells and whistles of modern mass-hosted message boards, plus discussions about weird OL stuff. I couldn't find any actual MSG, however.

    'Consequently, you will not honour me with your conversation?' I continued to worry him as I emptied another glass and laughed.
    'Do you know my real reason for coming here?' the Count broke in, desirous of changing the conversation. 'I haven't told you as yet? In Petersburg I went to the doctor who has always treated me, to consult him about my health. He listened to my chest, knocked and pressed me everywhere, and said: "You're not a coward!" Well, you know, though I'm no coward, I grew pale. "I'm not a coward," I replied.'
     'Cut it short, brother. . . . This is tiresome.'
 

Anton Chekhov, The Shooting Party
translated by A. E. Chamot

The New Outlaws Message Board Various message boards in the past have held the quasi-official-sounding title of "The Outlaws Message Board." This new one from TheRock seems to work well enough (registration required) and has some additional specialty boards such as a Troubleshooting board and a Tips and Tricks board.

He was dressed in the same many-coloured dressing-gown in which I had seen him two years before, and he wore a straw hat. His face had a troubled, concentrated expression, and it was very wrinkled, so that a man not acquianted with him might have imagined he was troubled at that moment by some serious thought or anxiety.... The Count had not changed at all in appearance during the two years since last we met. He had the same small thin body, as frail and wizened as the body of a corncrake. He had the same narrow, consumptive shoulders, surmounted by a small red-haired head. His small nose was as red as formerly, and his cheeks were flabby and hanging like rags, as they had been two years before. On his face there was nothing of boldness, strength or manliness.... All was weak, apathetic and languid. The only imposing thing about him was his long, drooping moustache. Somebody had told my friend that a long moustache was very becoming to him. He believed it, and every morning since then he had measured how much longer the growth on his pale lips had become. With this moustache he reminded you of a moustached but very young and puny kitten.
 

Anton Chekhov, The Shooting Party
translated by A. E. Chamot

Help, hold his brows, he'll sound! Why look you pale? Sea-sick I think, coming from Muscovy.
 

William Shakespeare, Love's Labor's Lost
from "The Riverside Shakespeare"

You may have your wish: my will is even this,
That presently you hie you home to bed.
Thou subtile, perjur'd, false, disloyal man,
Think'st thou that I am so shallow, so conceitless,
To be seduced by thy flattery,
That has deceiv'd so many with thy vows?
Return, return, and make thy love amends.
For me (by this pale queen of night I swear),
I am so far from granting thy request,
That I despise thee for thy wrongful suit,
And by and by intend to chide myself
Even for this time I spend in talking to thee.
 

William Shakespeare, The Two Gentlemen of Verona
from "The Riverside Shakespeare"

	Santa Monica Airlines Nothing much Outlaws-specific on this multi-game posse site by NotUsCopeUs but at least it's got some nice flash and the Beach Boys to keep you entertained.
	Quiet Killers HQ Another style-over-substance posse site design by NotUsCopeUs, but it's SUPAH STYLISH 2 TEH MAXXX! Yep.

Assertion failed!
 
Program: D:\OUTLAWS\OLWIN.EXE
File: C:\proj\db\src\actor.c
Line: 1241
 
Expression: (((INT)(pSector) & 0xffff) + 0x0002000) == ((pSector)->address)

No—every minute to see you;
follow you everywhere;
the smile of your lips, movement of your eyes,
to try to capture with enamored eyes;
to hearken long to you, to comprehend
all your perfection with one's soul;
to melt in agonies before you,
grow pale and waste away... that's bliss!
 

Aleksandr Pushkin, Eugene Onegin
translated by Vladimir Nabokov

Mr. Bone's Headquarters Active site with spiffy buttons and news, a great map collection, a cool "featured map" page, and more yet to come by the resurgent Mr. Bone.

Master_X11's Outlaws Page Simple, highly-readable and fast-loading page from this LawMaker with downloads of his maps, a choice selection of a few other maps, and a couple map-related linkies. Special bonus: don't miss the Outlaws-unrelated "Zombie Threat Analysis."

She does not notice him,
no matter how he strives—even to death;
receives him freely at her house;
elsewhere two or three words with him exchanges;
sometimes welcomes with a mere bow,
sometimes does not take any notice:
there's not a drop of coquetry in her,
the high world does not tolerate it.
Onegin is beginning to grow pale;
she does not see or does not care;
Onegin droops—and almost,
in fact, is phthisical.
All send Onegin to physicians;
in chorus these send him to spas.
 

Aleksandr Pushkin, Eugene Onegin
translated by Vladimir Nabokov

Outlaws Game Players Page by Vin_Egar which may become the home base for two regular Outlaws game "servers." He's currently investigating network setup and interest level.

Tatiana wishes to make out
the colloquies, the general conversation;
but there engages everybody in the drawing room
such incoherent, banal rot;
all about them is so pale, neutral;
they even slander dully.
In this sterile aridity of speeches,
interrogations, talebearing, and news,
not once does thought flash forth in a whole day and night,
even by chance, even at random;
the languid mind won't smile,
the heart won't start even in jest,
and even some droll foolishness
in you one will not meet with, hollow monde!
 

Aleksandr Pushkin, Eugene Onegin
translated by Vladimir Nabokov

Her walks last longer.
At present, here a hillock, there a brook,
cannot help stopping
Tatiana with their charm.
She, as with ancient friends,
with her groves, meadows,
still hastens to converse.
But the fast summer flies.
The golden autumn has arrived.
Nature, tremulous, pale,
is like a victim sumptuously decked....
Now, driving clouds along, the North
has blown, has howled, and now herself
Winter the sorceress comes.
 

Aleksandr Pushkin, Eugene Onegin
translated by Vladimir Nabokov

Alas, Tatiana fades away,
grows pale, is wasting, and is silent!
Nothing interests her
or stirs her soul.
Shaking gravely their heads,
among themselves the neighbors whisper:
Time, time she married!...
But that will do. I must make haste
to cheer up the imagination
with the picture of happy love.
Involuntarily, my dears,
pity constrains me;
forgive me: I do love so much
my dear Tatiana!
 

Aleksandr Pushkin, Eugene Onegin
translated by Vladimir Nabokov

Greetings Zone.com Member,
 
Thank you for contacting MSN Games by Zone.com.
 
Based on the feedback from players like you and the responses from the game lobbies, we have decided to create an Outlaws lobby in our directplay area. Here is where you can find the lobby:
 
URL: http://zone.msn.com/directplay
Lobby: Outlaws - High Noon
 
This lobby is not a standard DPlay lobby, but is a recreation of the lobby that existed on the Outlaws game page so it will support the game the same as before.
 
Thank you for your feedback and playing on the Zone. Have a good day and we hope you enjoy the Outlaws lobby.
 
Regards,
 
ZoneMaster

But the day lapsed, and no reply.
Another came up; nothing yet.
Pale as a shade, since morning dressed,
Tatiana waits: when is it coming, the reply?
Olga's adorer drove up.
"Tell me, where's your companion?"
was the chatelaine's question to him;
"He seems to have forgotten us entirely."
Tatiana, flushing, quivered.
"He promised he would be today,"
Lenski replied to the old dame,
"but evidently the mail has detained him."
Tatiana dropped her gaze
as if hearing an unkind rebuke.
 

Aleksandr Pushkin, Eugene Onegin
translated by Vladimir Nabokov