From: rigler@galileo.ifa.hawaii.edu (Minister of Marqaha)
Subject: [KQ] Thk [ScrRam] Headache / sees Marcell
Keywords: *Gong*
Organization: Low End of the Bell Curve
Date: Sun, 26 Jul 1992 09:33:25 GMT

Aftermath, at the Scrappy Ram:

<poit>  <poit>  <poit>  <poit>  <poit>  <poit>  <poit>  <poit>  <poit>  

"Ssss...knock it off Silliith!"  Thk comes fully awake.

<poit>  <poit>  <poit>  <poit>  <poit>  <poit>  <poit>  <poit>  <poit>  

Beer is dripping on his head from a cracked ale cask.  He extends his
tongue to catch the stream.  His tongue feels swollen.  His head feels
numb.  His limbs feel like rubber plants.  He hears voices from far away, 
as though they are being piped down a long tunnel.  Human voices.

There is another voice:  "You have been captured.  You were ambushed.
You fell into a trap.  Don't worry, you've been here before.  The vermin
have never defeated you and this time it will be no different.  You
will wreak a Holy Vengeance.  The lung-breathers will know the Wrath of 
Sssuthru..."

The voice seems familiar.  Abruptly, Thk realizes it is his own voice, 
and with a will he manages to clamp his jaw shut.  Then the last few
moments of the battle come back to him:  How the Beer Elemental caught 
him in the head with a right cross haymaker.  But for the grace of 
Sssuthru, he would be food for fish.

He opens his eyes.  Big mistake.  His head seems to explode in a kaleid-
oscope of jagged flashing colors.  "GGLLEAAARGH!!!"

"Enough of this.  Are you vermin or lizard?"  Now he's talking to him-
self again.

With a supreme effort he surges upwards, and with a noisy scattering 
of wood, he emerges from beneath the pile of broken ale casks.  Maleiu
notices this from his position in the doorway to the back room, where 
the other Kron Questors are poking around.

"Ah!  Good to have you back in the land of the living, Thk"  Maleiu
calls out, in fluent lizardspeak.  "Come here and see what we've --
hey!  Lie back down, Thk!  One of your eyes is dialated!  Thk!  Where
are you going?!?"

Thk lurches towards the door on unsteady legs.  The need to puke has
become paramount, and no lizardmen will vomit in the house of his 
enemy (out of superstition).  When he is halfway there, the Silver 
Trident dis-embeds itself from the stone wall ** SSHRAAK!! ** and 
whistles across the room and into his waiting hand.  He uses it as a 
crutch.

At the threshold, he gathers himself to hurl.  Then freezes.  Across
the street from the Scrappy Ram stands not one but six human knights
in plate mail, each of them holding carbon copies of the same sword.
Thk groans in horror as all six knights flip open their visors and
say, "Sacre Bleu!"  The knights begin to spin around each other, slowly 
at first, then faster and faster until they are just a blur of steel 
and moonlight.  It must be some infernal spell.  "Ssss....No!  Anything 
but thissss."  He makes several feeble attempts to aim his Trident and 
fails miserably.

Marcell watches as the lizardman's eyes roll up and back into his head, 
and, one by one, the multiple eyelids close.  The lizardman collapses 
back into the arms of a dark-skinned human.

------
Rigler   (aka 'Thk')
--
            there is no comparison between things about to happen --E&B
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