From: aaron@space.ualberta.ca (Aaron Humphrey)
Subject: Alfvaen: [East Gate->Dragon's Inn] Two Arrivals In One
Reply-To: aaron@space.ualberta.ca
Organization: University Of Alberta, Edmonton Canada
X-Newsreader: Tin 1.1 PL4
Date: Wed, 29 Jul 1992 22:01:54 GMT

Alfvaen awoke by the side of the road.  So it had worked.  As soon as
Lassiviren died, his body appeared.  Wonderful.  Now where the hell >was< he?
He fingered the amulet around his neck.  He could still feel Lassiviren inside
it.  In fact...

<You light-skinned halfbreed excuse for a living being.  If I could get at your
body I'd fill it with the most excruciating poisons known to the most sadistic
illithid torturers in the Underearth.>

<Hello?> Alfvaen tried experimentally.

The inner voice stopped for a moment, then went on, rasping in his mind like
sandpaper.  <Ah, he can hear me.  Perhaps he might be able to outwit a kobold
at that.>

This was new.  While he had been trapped inside the amulet, he had been aware
of what went on outside, but he had no idea that he could communicate with
his bearer.  Obviously Lassiviren had more experience with the device than he
did.

<Of course, pale-skinned swine.>

Oops.  He took his hand off the amulet.  Now he knew why Lassiviren had been
loath to touch it--all Alfvaen had caught was his name, during the brief
contact he'd had before.  <Do you know where we are?> he asked.

<Were you not paying attention, brainless fool?  You do not know where we are?
Then you know no more than I.  It appears that in leaving the City of The Dead
we do not always come out where we started.  I entered via the Underearth...>

<And I via the Oriental Continent.  And this would seem to be neither.>  Or so
Alfvaen gathered from the climate and the colour of the skins on the workers
in the nearby field.

<Very observant, half-elf,> Lassiviren said derisively.  <So what do you
propose to do?  I don't suppose you could get yourself killed right away, and
give me my body back.>

<Would you?>

Lassiviren sighed mentally.  <No, but you're stupid enough that I thought I'd
give it a try.>

<Look, Lassiviren.  I'm sorry that you're dead, and that your soul's locked up
in this thing.  I'm dead too, or something like that.  But I think it would be
a hell of a lot better if we could cooperate on this thing.  So don't call me
a whitebread mongrel idiot and I won't call you a slaughtering evil scumbag
with the morals of marsh slime and less brains than half-ogre feces.  Okay?>

There was a pause, then, <All right, for now.  Just don't expect me to warn you
if someone's trying to stab you in the back.>

<Thanks, Lass, you're all heart.>

<Sure thing, Alfie-boy.  Now why not ask one of those itinerant workers if
there's a town nearby?>

<Good thought.>  Alfvaen tucked the amulet inside his shirt and walked over to
the fence.  "Excuse me," he said, his voice sounding strange in his ears after
so long being taken from him, "is there a city nearby?"

The worker turned and looked at him, the look on his face signifying that
anyone who didn't know there was a city along this road had probably just
fallen out of the sky and hit his head on a big rock.  Which was not as far
from the truth as he would think.  "Generica's not far, that way."  He pointed
to the west.  "You keep going on this road, and you'll his the main trade
route.  If you hit the river, you've gone too far."  He appraised Alfvaen some
more.  "Somehow I think you'll be wanting the Dragon's Inn.  When the road
gets into town, keep following it--it'll be called Dragon's Lane.  Dragon's Inn
is just off a place called the Plaza of Glittering Steel.  You'll know it when
you see it."

"Thanks," Alfvaen called, but the other had already returned to his work.

Generica wasn't far, indeed.  It was barely an hour before they hit the main
trade route, and a brief chat with other travellers confirmed that he would
reach Generica long before nightfall.  He didn't talk with Lassiviren, being
too much inclined just to enjoy the thrill of being alive once more.  And
hoping he could get back to a place he knew, where he could find Erenthil and
Niamh and the rest.  They all thought he was dead.  If he could get some kind
of message to Niamh, and nothing else...he'd been charged with her protection,
and then he went and got himself killed.  Still, for being killed, he was in
pretty good shape.

East Gate processing was pretty much a formality.  The gateman asked where he
was bound in town, he said, "Dragon's Inn," and the gateman snorted as if he
should have known all along.  He repeated the instructions the field-worker had
given him, and sent him in so he could attend to the wagon full of dusty
travellers behind him.

He passed through the crowded and noisy Town Square, watching for cutpurses
and warning off those he could spot.  There must be a Thieves' Guild in a town
this size, he thought, but he'd had no luck with such guilds before.  He'd lay
low or work as an independent.  Or just hold off until he got his bearings and
found out how things were in this place.

He passed by a few interesting shops, including one called Miggung's Magic
Shop.  He >was< probably a bit low on materials.  Not that he used his magic
that much...but it was nice as a backup.

And then the Plaza.  It >was< made of Glittering Steel.  "Cool," he breathed,
and then looked for the Dragon's Inn.  It wasn't exactly inconspicuous.

He entered the place and appraised the clientele.  This is definitely a more
localized concentration of adventurer-types than Delta City had anywhere.  Not
even the House of Silken Whips could compare.  "Wow," he said.  He caught
enough of the conversations to note that they still spoke Common here, although
with a bit of an accent.  He checked his purse to make sure he still had some
gold--yes, some left over from Niamh's winnings of the Miss Delta Pageant--and
walked up to the bar, saying, "A room if you please, innkeep.  I have come a
long way--perhaps longer than I know."

ADMIN:  Yes, two characters--fatuous of me, isn't it?  Well, I like them both.
And Maleiu may be leaving soon--who knows...

--
---Alfvaen(a.k.a. Aaron V. Humphrey, Page of Newts)
Canadian Network For Space Research, Edmonton, Alberta, Canada
"The bullroarer churns a Moebius strip of sound..."  Anna Amabiaca
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