From: alaric@sti.com (Alaric Tekiahyn)
Newsgroups: alt.pub.cloven-shield
Subject: REPOST: [Chalamar]  The journey begins
Date: 18 Dec 1992 21:15:52 GMT
Organization: Software Transformation, Inc.
Distribution: world
NNTP-Posting-Host: smurf.sti.com


[ADMIN:  This article is a repost, since it apparently didn't make it out
the first time.  Hopefully, this time it'll get out one way or the other...
If you see this post, PARTICULARLY if you are taking part in the Chalamar
thread, please respond via EMAIL and let me know it reached you.
Thanks...]


[Real post begins here.  Since no-one responded with special input,
 I'm posting it as-is.]


In response to Alaric's question, Nutsy indicates that both she and
Dafyd are, indeed, coming along.

"We are nine, then," he pronounces, "counting Juel."

He looks around at the assembled members of the party.

"Windwalker," he says, "portal, please.  The plain of B'Niriath
 would be a good starting point."

The tall horse rears and paws at the air, and there is a burst of
polychromatic light in front of the group.  It condenses into a
slightly oval ring.  In the center of the ring is shadowy gloom...
"Show-off," Alaric mutters aside to his mount.
"This method is simpler, and in some ways safer, than taking you
 all into Shadow one at a time," he explains to the group.
"Windwalker, is it clear?"  The horse whinnies once and tosses its
head.

"Please step through the portal," Alaric instructs the party members.
"I must follow you through, for the portal will close after Windwalker
 and I pass through it.  He has already checked that the far side is
 clear."

As the party members step through, they find themselves on a dimly-lit
gray plain.  Overhead, the sky is a rolling sea of inky black; only
along the horizon is there light - an eldritch glow that fails to
lighten the dark sky for any significant distance.  The glow is not
perceptibly brighter in one direction than any other.
moments after the last party member steps through the portal, Alaric
and Windwalker follow.  Behind them, the portal collapses like a
pricked soap-bubble.

"Welcome to the plane of Shadow," he says.  "I will call mounts for
 those who need them.  Dint," turning to the dwarf, "I advise you
 keep Juel close to you.  Explain to him - her?  I cannot tell -
 that the dark region of the sky is dangerous.  Should he rise into
 the blackness, he may be unable to return.  Few creatures on this
 plane ever travel more than a few hundred feet from the ground."

As their eyes begin to adjust to the gloom, the travellers can soon
see a dark river some distance away, winding leadenly across the
plain.  Beyond it, the land rises into rolling, eroded hills.  In
the opposite direction, the plain stretches as far as the eye can
see.

After several minutes, the sharper-eyed members of the party are able
to discern movement out on the plain.  Whatever it is that is moving,
it is approaching rapidly.
Another minute or so, and the movement can be seen to be a group of a
dozen or so creatures; then after that, it seems almost no time at all
before they reach the party.  The party members are suddenly surrounded
by what appear to be powerful, dark grayish horses.  Their manes and tails
are jet, their hooves smoky black, and they move in startling near-silence.
No dust rises at their steps.  Most appear to be mares, though there are
four stallions among the group, and several yearlings.  They circle the
party several times, before coming to a stop facing Alaric.

"These," he says as a bried aside to the party members, "are the
 destriers I spoke of."  He then turns to the new arrivals.

"I thank you for answering my call, brothers of the plain," he says.
"My companions require mounts for an urgent errand.  We must travel
 far, and fast.  Will any of your number consent to bear us?"

After a moment, several of the destriers approach, investigating the
party members, many of whom become aware of a wash of curiosity
emanating from them.  To the surprise of some, Ilure is the first to
be approached by one of the destriers.  A medium-sized mare ambles up
to him, radiating curiosity and friendship, and nuzzles his shoulder
gently.  Urkrea is the next to be chosen, and a smallish, young-looking
mare soon picks out Nutsy.

Another surprise comes when the largest of the four stallions comes
forward to F'nordren, radiating not so much friendship as respect.

"You have been honored, friend," Alaric says softly to F'nordren.
"It is not every day that a herd stallion offers to bear a human
 rider, believe me.  Particularly when there is no shortage of
 other mounts."
He scrutinizes F'nordren intently.
"You must have some... interesting... events in your past."


Before too long, the entire party is mounted, Juel crouching in front of
Dint.  Alaric gives a few final words.

"Trust your mounts," he says.  "They will do their best not to let you
 fall, and they will keep track of one another even in the deep polar
 regions when most of you will be blind.  Do not try to guide them;
 they know their way here better than you.
"Those of you who use magic, heed this warning well:  Cast no lightning
 or weather-controlling spells, unless I specifically ask it.  They can
 be extremely hazardous here.  Spells of light you cast will have reduced
 effects; conversely, darkness spells will be intensified, but use them
 with great care.  Be wary, too, of illusionary magic; you may get more
 than you bargain for.
"If you see anything, alive or not, that you do not recognize or do not
 understand, assume that it is dangerous.  Particularly if whatever it
 is, is alive.  For those not born to this plane, *most* things that you
 may meet are dangerous."

He pauses.

"Dint, one more thing:  Your vision will probably be affected the least
 of any besides myself.  I propose to make you our rearguard, if you do
 not object.
"Now, let us be on our way.  We shall start out easily at first..."

He leans low to speak to Windwalker, then raises his arm and gestures
toward the hills.  Windwalker starts off at a gentle canter, and the
destriers with riders fall into line behind, F'nordren's stallion
taking the lead almost beside Windwalker.  The riderless destriers fall
into a loose group on either side and to the rear of the party.

The ride is, as Alaric promised, extremely smooth.  In fact, it is
scarcely possible to feel the hoofbeats.  Once the loose congregation
has more or less assembled, the destriers begin to pick up speed.

By the time half the distance to the river is gone, the destriers are
already travelling faster than any horse, and their gait is still a
gentle, rocking canter when Alaric raises his arm again.  Half-rising
in the saddle, he points toward the hills and cries, "We ride!"

Almost as one, Windwalker and the destriers change gait, and immediately
begin to surge forward.  In moments, they reach a rapid, coursing pace
which would very clearly leave any horse hopelessly behind...  and they
continue to accelerate.  They sweep over the dark river like an express
train, the faintest mist of spray rising from the surface.  Covering
close to a league a minute, they race on toward and into the hills
that rise raggedly from the dark land, roaring in the gale of their
passage.


			[To be continued...]

-- 
      "Eternal vigilance is the price of freedom."  --  Thomas Jefferson
    ......................................................................
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