From: HADCRJAM@admin.uh.edu (MILLER, JIMMY A.)
Subject: [KQ] Colin [warehouse] A well-armed foe...
Organization: University of Houston Administrative Computing
Date: Thu, 13 Aug 1992 20:05:05 GMT
X-News-Reader: VMS NEWS 1.20

In <1992Aug12.231454.25557@kakwa.ucs.ualberta.ca> aaron@space.ualberta.ca writes:

> Kron murmured, "I've got a bad feeling about this..." as they stood before the
> door.  Colin turned the latch on the door and pushed it open carefully.
> 
> A huge tentacle snaked out, wrapped around Colin's waist, and pulled him into
> the room.  "Shit!" he yelled.  The rest of the party saw a large octopoid
> creature staring at them with round eyes, and more waving tentacles.  Colin 
> was lofted high into the air where the creature could study it.  The other
> tentacles wandered around lazily.
> 
> Rhoan was the first to move.  "Well, don't just stand there--let's go in there
> and do something!"  There were slightly embarrassed murmurs of assent from the
> rest of the group, and they dashed into the room.  The free tentacles, now
> given targets, lashed out with more purpose...

  Bobbing above the ground, held in a massive tentacle, jolted back and forth,
and beginning to have the life crushed out of him, Colin relected in a brief
moment of clarity that perhaps he should carry his longsword as a standard
weapon instead of his katana.  Mothmir (the name of his blade) would hurt
that beast deeply.  Unfortunately, it was pinned to his side.  Luckily, he
still had his hands free as the others began to pour into the room to attack
and be attacked.

  "Arrgghh!" he cried as the grip tightened another notch.  Time to go to work.
Reversing his grip on the oriental blade, the ranger reached up and drove it,
two-handed, deeply into the rubbery octopoid flesh.  It tightened again, even
more painfully (was that a rib?) but now he had focus.  Grimly, he began to
saw at the flesh imprisoning him.  He was all but oblivious to the shouts and 
cries of the the other questors, striking and being struck in their turn.

  The muscle was tough, but his arms were strong and the blade more than
supernaturally keen.  Blood spurted, not his own, and the arm released the
half elf, flinging him towards the wall as a last gesture of defiance.  Colin
hit and fell heavily, with only the pretense of a roll to lessen the blow.
He lies for a moment and gasps.

  With a great effort, he levers himself to his feet, and begins to draw the
great dark-gemed blade, whose jewel set in the hilts begins to glow as it
clears the scabbard...
_____________________________________________________________________________


semper fi,

Jammer Jim Miller 
Texas A&M University '89 and '91
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