From: lzurawsk@ux4.cso.uiuc.edu (Hal Jordan)
Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
Subject: Re: Twas a Dead & Dreary Knight [New Character]
Date: 5 Oct 92 22:18:48 GMT
Organization: University of Illinois at Urbana


  Sliding his frosted ebon blade back into its sheath, Greysdale looked about
  himself for someone to take his order, and registered a sensation something
  akin to mild annoyance at the lack of service. A man with less patience might   have been actively miffed at being ignored after having made his presence so
  obvious, but several lifetimes of such inconveniences had tempered his will  
  (or resigned him to his fate). Greysdale, as his condition implied, had never
  been a lucky man.

  The most blaringly obvious example that his existence was a celestial joke,
  in his eyes, was his single misfortune to be born in the cesspool of a town,
  Rottelburg. Rottelburg, it seemed to Greysdale, existed solely to put his life  in grave danger. Not only was he required to enter the town guard at 14 (town   records listed him as 18) but, when a foul warrior rode into town declaring     that his forces would invade unless he was met in mortal combat by the town's
  champion (Greysdale never knew quite why this was so important to the man),  
  Greysdale managed to "win" the lottery held among the guard to choose said 
  champion. After an epic battle (ask any bard) Greydale managed to defeat his 
  foe (due mostly to the fact that the vastly better weapons and armor of the 
  foul warrior made him sink when Greysdale, in desperation, dive-tackled him
  into the lake). Greysdale was then declared "Champion of Rottelburg" and    
  spent the next 12 years fighting epic battles and recovering from epic bat-
  tles, until finally he was "asked" to stop an advancing army, or at least re-
  rout it before it hit town. He managed to remove its front line, discovering 
  it to consist entirely of zombies and skeletons. He then engaged a more pow-
  erful unit, barely defeated it due to a cold caused by inclement weather, and
  stepped into a puddle that turned out to be a flooded sinkhole. The unit's      mage attempted to fire a lightning bolt into the puddle, but a sword broke  
  the surface of the water, slaying him. Then an actual bolt of lightning hit
  the sword, slaying Greysdale. The necromancer in charge of the army then 
  attempted to raise Greysdale as a general for his forces, but...

  "Hey you" a voice snapped Greysdale's mind back off of the road it had taken
  so many times.

  "Yes?"
  "Take yer fights outside!" The voice's owner was a large individual, and his
  (no, Greysdale realized, HER) tone meant business. 
  
  Greysdale rose to his feet. "I was merely defending myself" he rasped.

  A hand that could have crushed a normal man without actually touching him 
  slammed onto Greysdale's shoulder. "Just get out"

  The hand tugged with enough force to dislodge a tectonic plate.

  Greysdale didn't budge.

  "I have no desire for further violence," he began, "but..."

  The hand lifted. 

  Strong as he was, Greysdale had no real grip on the ground at the time.
  He bugded.
  And flew.
  And landed in the street.

  "Take that kinda stuff to the Spitting Cobra" he heard as he sailed through
  the sky on the third bounce.

  "Better avoid the Spitting Cobra" offered an individaul on the street where
  he landed, "too violent for my tastes. Try the Dragon's Inn instead."

  "Right," wheezed Greysdale, wondering why the man had volunteered this in-  
  formation, "maybe I will." 

			    So continues the tale of Greysdale Ravenstone,
			    Champion of Rottelburg, Warrior of the Iceblade,
			    Dead Guy.
				      
				      -lzurawsk@ux4.cso.uiuc.edu