From: wolf@cheshire.oxy.edu (Clinton Richard Wolf)
Subject: ADMIN: New Guide Location: The Buff'
Organization: Occidental College, Los Angeles, CA 90041 USA.
Date: Sun, 11 Oct 1992 01:55:50 GMT

ADMIN: Okay, as I promised quite a few days ago, here is the info on the Buff',
       that happenin' place which is the home of the late Freddie Phelps,
       Nirvan's squeeze (can't remember her name ;) ) and hundreds of others,
       holding fast to life, love, and sanity in the midst of chaos...


 THE BUFF': A ring shaped zone separating the human horrors of the Low City
from the unnameable ones of the Shunned Center, the Buff' is the home of Gen-
erica's poorest and most forgotten citizens. The Buff' came about as a result
of the rapid growth of Generica during the reign of the first Merchant Prince,
Horowitz the Savvy. Horowitz' driving ambition was to make Generica the largest
and most powerful port on the Great Blue, and he had more than enough brains,
money, power, and ruthlessness to make his dream a reality. Generica waxed into
a prosperous city under his rule, and remains so to this day.
            However, not everyone enjoyed the benefits of this new prosperity.
As in any rapid project, things are forgotten, or left aside to be dealt with
later. Horowitz and his fellow merchants bought up and developed huge tracts
of land to use in building their industries, squeezing out a number of the poor
farmers and fisherman who had been ekeing out a living in the largely rural
countryside. The Shunned Center was the only piece of real estate spared this
buying spree. Not because of any superstition on the merchants' parts, of
course... it was simply a bad investment. No one wanted to live there or build
a business there. And lots of accidents happened, too, making it a High Risk
zone. But where to draw the line? How to make the rich of the city feel safe?
How could the Center be used to Horowitz' advantage?
             His problem was solved when an indignant coalition of people who
had been evicted from their homes and farms showed up at his mansion, demanding
to know where they were going to live, now that textile factories were replac-
ing the houses they had dwelled in for generations...
             And Horowitz smiled...
             He offered a simple choice to the farmers. Buy a new home, leave
the city...or... There was this one plot of land. A big one. One Horowitz would
be glad to share with the poor. For free.
             Perhaps they smelled a rat. Perhaps not. Some did pack up and
leave, but most, unwilling to abandon the lands they had grown up in, took up
on the offer. Thousands of people were escorted to their new homes on the des-
ignated day. Their new homes on the rim of the Center...
             They were shocked. They were horrified. A few tried to turn back,
only to find that the City Guard had cordoned off the area, and were instructed
by Horowitz to kill anyone who tried to leave.
             The blockade lasted for three months, until the duped poor decid-
ed to make the best of their situation, and settled in. 
             Over the years, as new immigrants flooded the city, the poor sec-
tion swelled, as those without money or means quickly found themselves with no-
where else to go. Horowitz declared that the zone was made up of 'deadbeats and
criminals', and withdrew city services from it, citing an 'unneccessary drain
of resources...' With no sanitation or police, things quickly degenerated.
Crime became rampant, and the only law that of the biggest sword and the sharp-
est mind. Out of the greed and hypocrisy of an uncaring leader, the Low City
was born.
             Yet, even within the Low City, a strange heirarchy of wealth came
to be. As one got nearer and nearer to the Center, the dwellings and the people
became even poorer, and the air of hopelessness more pervasive. Eventually, one
reaches a border where the mood of the Low City disappears, to be replaced by
something else. It's not quite the Center, not just yet, but there's a definite
difference. A change of priorities. Its residents are destitute and hopeless,
yet they are some of the proudest and smartest people in Generica. Horowitz
once joked gloatingly about the 'Buffer Zone' he'd created by working them ov-
er. They adopted the term. The Buff' is their home, and no one is going to kick
them out of their home, ever again...

             Architecturally, the Buff' is a crumbling mishmash of the remains
of Old Generica and the 'new' shacks and hovels built by generations of Buff-
ers. Unlike the Center, though, there is a definite pride infused in the edif-
ices. The Buffers work hard to maintain what little they have, and cherish it
dearly. Here, there are no gang wars. There are no territorial squabbles. There
is none of the self-destruction of the Low City. The Buffers are a bonded peo-
ple. They have to be, because of the terrors they are sandwiched in between.
They are not a violent people. This is as much economic as anything. The aver-
age Buffer counts himself lucky to own a dagger, much less a sword or mace.
But the Buffers are strong, and fast, and smart. The continous challenge of
living on the Edge for hundreds of years has bred some of the toughest humans
Generica has to offer. They know everything that goes on in the Buff'. Noth-
ing escapes notice, and news is quickly spread. The average Buffer could tap
an alert elf on the shoulder as the first sign of his presence. If a Buffer
wants to hide from you, don't bother looking. If you've somehow made them ene-
mies, get the heck out of Dodge. They may not have many weapons of steel and
iron, but they are far from helpless. In the realm of Urban survival, no one
is their equal, and a falling chunk of masonry or a cleverly concealed pit can
kill you just as easily as a sword blow.
               But the Buffers are not quick to anger, and so long as outsiders
leave them alone, they reciprocate the favor. Many criminal organizations have
hideouts or headquarters here. Those that wish to stay know better than to al-
ienate the Buffers, although they would be quite surprised to know that the
Buffers know every detail of their organizations, and have secret exits and
entrances to the same. 
               And if (god help you) you need to go into the Center, or get
something out, contact a Buffer, because no human knows the unholy maze of
the Center better than the Shunrunners...

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^
ADMIN: Sorry, Aaron, I did it again. It's another big shear job for you to do,
       it seems. *sigh* I do love my little details :)
       I'm gonna split this up, because of length. Part 2 will be a description
       of the Shunrunners, and have the Buffspeak glossary. Those don't really
       fit into any guide, but I'll keep them on file in case someone wants to
       use them...