From: kjc@aramis.rutgers.edu (Kelly J. Cooper)
Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
Subject: Jameson W. Walker meets [Mage Guild]
Keywords: you got your JWW in my [MG]!! you got your [MG] in my JWW!!
Date: 23 Jan 93 00:15:30 GMT
Organization: LCSR @ Rutgers University



"Age appears best in four things: old wood to burn, old wine to drink, 
 old friends to trust, and old authors to read."
					- Francis Bacon


     The Archmage Nescie wandered through Generica, lost in thought.
Starting from the Mages' Guild, he first strolled absent-mindedly
north along the Arcade of Fountains to Glorshanned Keep, then turned
back at the gate and headed southward again.  A patrol of guards
riding to the Keep were startled as they and their mounts were lifted
bodily into the air and leap-frogged over Nescie.  He continued in a
straight line underneath them past the Mages' Guild and the Great
Library, muttering softly to himself.  He paused on the huge
Ceruputhon River bridge, watching the river barges, skiffs, and larger
sea-going ships going by.  Almost without thinking, Nescie created a
water elemental from the swirling current, left it a sullen snowman on
the shore, and continued across the bridge, towards the Plaza of
Glittering Steel.

     Shuffling through the crowded plaza like a sleepwalker, he was
about to turn westwards when something began to nag at the corner of
his awareness.  There was something -- no, someone familiar somewhere
nearby.  He -- no, she was...  Nescie blinked, shaking himself fully
awake.  Who...?  Wha...?  A flash of brown hair, that face... couldn't
quite tell, but a gesture, and his eyes were like those of the eagles.
Hey -- no, it couldn't be, could it?

     Then he was yelling, running through the crowd.

                      *             *               *

     Shaking more than she realized, Jameson nearly collapsed against
the bar.  Littlefair regarded her with a certain amount of alarm and
reached out a meaty hand to steady her shoulder.  Through her blurred
perceptions, a mug of something steaming suddenly appeared in his
other hand and he brought it to her face.  She drank deeply and felt
some of the cold being driven from her body.  Cold.  She was cold.
She hadn't noticed.  Abruptly she began to shiver almost
uncontrollably.  Another hot mug was pressed into her hands and she
wrapped both hands around its welcomed warmth.  Hands, warm hands,
guided her and she was soon sitting near heat.  Gradually, gradually,
the dull roaring of the fire separated itself from the quiet murmur of
the inhabitants of the inn.  Her vision resolved itself, pushing back
the unfocused blur at the edge of her sight until it was nearly gone.
She looked up into the worried gaze of a plump woman who reminded
Jameson of the inn keeper.  She decided this woman was probably his
wife.  Tears sprung up in her eyes at the thought.  Odd.  She blinked
them back and smiled.  The woman's expression immediately brightened
and she called something positive across the room.  Then she made
clucking sounds, tucked a blanket around Jameson's legs, said
something soothing and bustled off.

     After a moment, Jameson noticed the voices around her were
babbling.  Or rather, she wasn't concentrating on parsing this
particular language.  Thinking carefully, she brought it back and
suddenly could hear all the conversations at once.  Wincing, she made
another effort, this time to restore her filters.  Then, picking bits
of sentences, she could hear clearly that things were business as
usual.  One or two men at a table to her left were nursing mugs and
glancing at her covertly.  She heard words like "fading" and "flicker"
and "ghost" and realized she must have been incorporeal for a while.
How frustrating.  One of them leered at the others and stood, making
as if to come over to her.  He was pelted by a stale roll from an
anonymous patron on the other side of the room.  Distracted
immediately, he surged angrily in that direction rather than hers.
The tone of Listener's music shifted almost imperceptibly.  His
companions dragged him back down to sit on their bench and began
discussing some bets they had lodged with on a local game to take
their friend's mind off everything else.  Gradually, he acquiesced.

     Leaning forward, she carefully took her bag off her shoulders so
she could sit more comfortably.  Setting it on her lap, she leaned
back.  This was nice.  She felt herself relaxing, absorbing the heat
into numb places with a pleasant tingling feeling.  She was far enough
away from the fire that its blaze didn't parch her, yet close enough
for comfort.  How long she stayed like that, she didn't know.  When
she began to feel drowsy, she tottered to her feet, and, holding her
bag tightly in both arms, made her way slowly to her room.

     She slept like the dead and woke to bright skies.  For a while,
she lay quietly on the bed, thinking.  So far she had accomplished
nothing in this town other than discovering the high level power flux
that was woven into the fabric of reality here.  That and the fact
that she hadn't entirely resolved her own feelings about the last
death.  Sighing, she rubbed her eyes gently and ran both hands through
her hair.  It was pretty tangled.  With an impatient snort, she
decided first priority was a good cleaning.  But second?  She had
wanted to return Drummer's clubs to him.  She scowled.  Obviously fate
had something else in mind for her in that direction...  Realizing
that, she felt her forehead clear.  She was almost stunned by the
clarity of her relief.  Of course.  With power flow this strong there
was obviously going to be a variety of forces tugging each other to
play the balance in one direction or another.  Ok, something wanted
her to do ... something.  She frowned again.  Great line of thought.
Very productive.

     Swinging her legs off the bed, she decided that whatever
happened, happened.  This was all leading up to something.  Her
glimpses into that which was reality and that which was the rest of
the universe, her memories coming back with such clarity ... both
might perhaps be a way of preparing her.  She shrugged, shuffled into
her boots, leaving them unlaced, and tromped downstairs.  After a
brief wait for the washroom, she cleaned herself quickly, shouldered
her pack and left the inn.  Again, she stopped outside the doorway,
slightly to the left to be out of the way of human traffic.  This
time, she was stubbornly set against being dragged back into visions.
She turned right, slowly.  No, that felt wrong.  Strange.  She turned
back left, until she was facing straight away from the inn.  Better.
But not quite.  She began to turn left.  Much better.  She faced
directly west.  Excellent.  She continued to turn, to face the inn
itself.  No, that was definitely wrong.  She turned back to the west.
Yes.  She started walking, smiling slightly to herself and humming
softly.  The snow had mostly melted with the morning.  She had heard
it almost never snowed in Generica.  She kicked through the slush
smoothly in her well-practiced swinging walk.

     The feeling of surety left her when she reached the Plaza of
Glittering Steel.  She slowed and stopped, uncertain.  Looking around,
the slight frown returned to between her brows.  She ran a hand
through her damp hair, mildly confused.  Her abstracted mind paused
its muddle for a moment at something familiar.  Someone was calling
her name.  Here?  No one knew her name, as far as she could recall.
Odd.  There it was again.  She looked up.

     A paunchy balding man was barrelling through the crowd toward
her.  They seemed to part before him, disconcerted at having moved a
few steps without meaning to do so, but not stopping him.  Not even
really noticing him.  A cutpurse reached out, then shook his head
violently, as if a hornets' nest was suddenly awake inside his skull.

     Looking into the face of the man approaching her, she thought she
saw something familiar.  The lines of someone she'd known; in the jaw,
underneath the fleshiness; in the eyes surrounded by tiny wrinkles.
The frown between her eyes deepened slightly.  A youth.  Well, a man,
really, but he had still been awkward and gentle.  And ... and ...
brilliant?  Spoiled?  A friend.  Could this be his father?  No.
Think, Jameson, think.  How many years?  Enough time to become this?
Stars, she was feeling her age these past days.  A flood of memories
suddenly engulfed her with a rush of warm feelings.  He had been her
friend.  He had held her and helped her and ... they had traveled
together.  She almost never traveled with anyone.  How could she have
forgotten?  The frown cleared, like a bird taking flight.

     She said, firmly, "Nescie!" and smiled brilliantly, full of
remembering.

                      *             *               *

     "JAMESON!"

     Nescie couldn't remember the last time he was this happy.  She
was smiling, he was laughing, and everything was alright with the
world.  An incredibly warm feeling filled his heart and a grin split
his face as he caught Jameson in a fierce embrace, lifted her off her
feet and spun her around.  He set her down a little unevenly, holding
her gently around the waist.

     "Oooff.  Shouldn't have done that..." he gasped, catching his
breath and slipping a bit in the snow but still grinning.  Ye gods, it
looked like she hadn't changed at all in the past thirty or forty
years.  "But it's you!  It really is you!  Where have you _been_ all
this time?  When did you get here?  Where are you staying?  No, wait
-- let's go somewhere where we can talk."

     He lifted one hand above their heads and swept it in a wide
circle.  The hubbub of the plaza and the chilly gusts of winter faded
away, to be replaced by the luscious greenery of a park in springtime.
They were sitting on a bench of white marble.  Jameson looked around,
delighted; it was just like that place on the Miskatonic University
campus where they had often relaxed ...

     Nescie smiled at her, then blinked and froze, a film paused on a
single frame.  Jameson started involuntarily -- for a bare instant,
his eyes were matte black, cold and dead -- like Mazn's -- and his
smile a twisted evil thing, bitter and spiteful.

     Then it was gone and the picture moved again.  Nescie returned to
his animated chatter for a few moments, but his smile faded slightly
at her unresponsiveness, and he looked at her with concern.  "Jaime?
Is something wrong?"

     Taking a deep breath she smiled at him a bit shakily.  She must
have imagined it.  This was Nescie, full of natural talent and
gentleness.  "I -- no, it's nothing, Nescie."  Her imagination was
working overtime, obsessed with powerful world-rending forces.
Besides, it had been a long time since she'd last seen him -- all
sorts of changes might have taken place.  Then she noticed she was
shivering with a searing cold that made her bones ache and she
couldn't take her eyes from his hands.  For an irrational moment she
was desperately afraid he might touch her and make her eyes go blank
too, but she caught hold of herself and forced the panic to a halt.
Taking a deep breath, she looked tentatively into his eyes.  They were
perfectly normal.  With a slow, careful smile, she met his look of
concern and asked "It's been a long time, my friend.  What have you
been doing?"

---

Comments, compliments, and complaints can be conveyed to:
Bernie Hsiung (bshsiung@eecs.umich.edu)

and
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Kelly J. Cooper         \     Tiddly-Pom.
Tragically Hip Waif      \      Comments appreciated.
...individual at large... \       kjc@cs.rutgers.edu
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...cheers!....