From: kinsman@jupiter.sun.csd.unb.ca (Aphoriel/Kinsman)
Subject: Here comes Denner and his Toxic Train
Organization: University of New Brunswick
Distribution: alt.pub.dragons-inn
Date: Fri, 8 Jan 1993 21:55:55 GMT

It was nighttime at the Dragon's Inn.  

A small wagon, unlit by lanterns, unmarked by decoration, slowly and quietly
pulled into the inn's stables by a single small horse.  The wagon seemed
ordinary; it was made of wood with metal bindings, and in the back there
were six seemingly mundane barrels, made of hardwood with metal bindings.

Had anyone looked closely at the wagon as it passed would have noticed
something more.  The barrels were not made of typical materials, cobbled
together just well enough to hold beer or grain; they were made of solid
oak, plugged with molten lead, and wrapped three times around with binders
of solid blue steel.  Nor was the rider dressed like an ordinary traveller
of the road.  Not a single patch of skin of his body was exposed to the 
outside air.  He was wrapped in several cloaks of thick brown leather,
with pants of likewise material, save for worn patches which revealed
underleggings of fine woven iron mesh.  He wore a dark hood over his head;
for to have people see that he was wearing a leather gas mask with glass
lenses would raise questions, and defenitely not friendly ones.

Denner dismounted from his wagon and made certain he was alone in the stable.
Assured of this, he reached into a small wood box and pulled out two
white gloves, made of clothes lined with ceramic.  Pulling these on, he
reached over and checked the valves of each of his six barrels.

The contents of the first four barrels had not evaporated; he was glad
to see this.  The last time he had transported Chio-Namarus one barrel
did suffer a leak; an entire stable of horses had died after five seconds
of exposure to the fumes from the parked wagon, and he had no wish to
face such a potentially ugly situation again.  The fifth barrel he let
the valve flow ever-so-slightly to see clearly the color of the contents.
The fluid was still green.  This was also good; the arcane chemical
had not become unstable, and he wouldn't have to worry about him and his
wagon going up in a fireball without adequate warning anytime soon.
The sixth barrel he didn't bother to check; all it had was fermented
grain, and he only carted it around in case people wanted to see what
he had on his wagon.  And Denner knew nobody appreciates how careful you
are if they see you carting pure poison around the countryside.

The security of his cargo assured, Denner pulled off the majority of his
outfit and walked into the main part of the inn.  Most of the people there
were unknowns to him; that was all right, since he rarely stayed anytime
long at a city, what with the danger of his shipments and all.  He
sat down and ordered dinner and mead from a querying barmaid, and then 
carted both over towards the fireplace, dragging a chair with him so
that he could properly relax after maintaing so much alert vigilance during
the day.

He had been eating and watching the fire ten minutes before the charm on
his neck started to chill.  Denner felt an electric shock run down his spine;
someone was tampering with his chemicals!  With as much calm and reserve he
could muster, he put down his dinner and nonchalantly walked back to the 
stable.

To his horrid dismay, his horse was lying dead on the straw floor.  He had
been sniffing at the green fluid that in his inexcusable carelessness, had
left dripping from the valve.  The horse was stone dead; of course he would
have died mere seconds after sniffling something so very toxic.

Denner drew a very long sigh.  He was stuck now at this inn for Lord knows
how long, and with a wagon full of deadly brew inside the inn's stables...

-Sean Givan

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