From: cj841@cleveland.Freenet.Edu (Chris Steiner)
Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
Subject: [AG/BH/NL/NERC] Scatterings of what's going on over here...
Date: 29 Dec 1992 07:36:38 GMT
Organization: Case Western Reserve University, Cleveland, Ohio (USA)
NNTP-Posting-Host: hela.ins.cwru.edu


   The  newly-rebuilt door to the Drift Inn splintered, throwing scraps  of 
 rottenwood  well  into the room.  A man dressed in black silk  with  silver 
 edges walked calmly in, sweating profusely as if he'd spent the day  hiking 
 in  the  desert even as he brushed the snow from  his  shoulders.   Ghurney 
 droped  her serving tray, spilling a few glasses of watered down  ale,  and 
 walked  out of the dark half of the Inn.  The customers  nearby  scattered.  
 The  man studied the tremendous form that is barely recognisable as  female 
 as it stormed its way to him.  /What is ogre blood doing here?/ he thought.
 
    "Now  just  what do you mean by coming in here like  that?"  she  began, 
 raising an arm to swat him back out the door.  He stepped out of her way as 
 she  swung.   He caught her next swing with one hand and sent  a  serge  of 
 electricity down her arm.
 
    "Woman," he said.  "I am hot.  Bring me some ice water."
 
    She  rubbed  her  arm, nodded, and walked back into  the  darkness.   He 
 remained where he was, surveying the Inn, until she returned.  He drank the 
 mug of water she brought him and handed her a gold piece.  She stared at it 
 in awe.
 
    "Bring  a pitcher next time," he said, but she was already  non-existant 
 in  his  mind.   He traced a few intricate patterns  in  the  air,  mumbled 
 something,  and turned in a full circle.  He nodded to himself  and  traced 
 some  more  patterns  and rubbed ash over his eyes.  He  turned  again  and 
 stopped facing the fireplace.  There, under several weeks of ash and  burnt 
 wood, lay the book he was looking for.
 
    <DAMN YOU EFFANDIR> he thought.
 
                                 -     -     -
 
    Medor  hoppes out of the fireplace and lands under a table.  /Gotta  get 
 to a place where I can find him,/ he thinks.  He jumps and twists,  digging 
 his  claws  into the underside of the table and proceds to  crawl  to  it's 
 edge.  As he tries to pull himself to the top, he brushes the arm of one of 
 the rabble who was sitting there.
 
    "Auch!"  the man screames as he jerks back his arm.  "It tried  to  burn 
 me!"   He slams his fist into the table, knocking it over if  not  breaking 
 it,  and sending Medor sailing, knee high almost to the other side  of  the 
 room.
 
    Listener is already playing some relaxing music.
 
                                 -     -     -
 
    Artimian  brushes  past  this...  Arthsplunt,  almost  not  hearing  his 
 introduction.   He kneels by Miscrir, tears his shirt open, and  rests  his 
 hands  on  the  wound.  The cold blood slides through his  fingers  and  he 
 closes his eyes.  The words of a prayer in a foriegn language drift quietly 
 across Miscrir's body and the wounds begin to heal.  His breathing  becomes 
 more  natural,  but  the wound does not close and  he  remains  unconcious.  
 Artimian whispers the prayer again...
 
    And again...
 
                                 -     -     -
 
    Nercrum smiled as he saw the vampire child kill and destroy thr  remains 
 of a useless human.  /I'm getting to be like them.  But a little better,  I 
 think./   He mentally signaled for his zombies to spread out in  Low  City.  
 Certainly there would be some useful material just laying around.
 
    He  had more important things to attend to, though.  He needed  to  mark 


 his place so he would be recognised.  He purposly stepped into a darker  an 
 less  accessable alley, waiting for the two thugs he felt trying  to  sneak 
 upon  him.   Maybe this would provide a more desirable hunting  ground  for 
 those  three.   A curse, a deathwish on another human, passes  through  the 
 aether beside him, distracting him for a moment.
 
    A sword is placed at his neck close enough that any movement would slice 
 his arteries and a hand grabs his chin.  /So it begins./
 
    A  broken,  dirty voice says, "Give me-"  Nercrum whirls  in  the  man's 
 grasp  and  shoves a dagger to its hilt through the man's  heart.   As  the 
 man's  life  blood flows over Nercrum's wrist, he smiles in  near  exstacy, 
 absorbing  the  energy  from it.  His other hand flashes  and  catches  the 
 shoulder  of the second would be mugger.  He looks in horror  at  Nercrum's 
 slit  throat as his own face wrinkles, grows hard, and begins to fall  from 
 his bones.  The third man drops his sword, but is too terified to run.
 
    "Go,"  Nercrum sais.  "Tell your friends, and especially Chicele that  I 
 am  here."  The man flees at the first sound of Nercrum's  voice.   Nercrum 
 smiles,  knowing he will remember the words, probably for the rest  of  his 
 life.  Then he gestures at the two corpses and they rise to follow him.
 
                                 -     -     -
 
    Most  of  the  slaves  fled when Toscon  had  dive-bomed  Mr.  Shedrick, 
 changing  from  eagle form at the last instant to open his chest  with  his 
 short  sword.  A few loyal ones stayed to fight, but Toscon had never  been 
 the  one to remain in one place during combat.  He fought a cook  down  the 
 hallway  and  was  forced into a corner when the cook  was  joined  by  Mr. 
 Shedrick's  son.   Fortunately,  neither was experienced  in  the  ways  of 
 fighting  and the cook fell.  He chased the son up the stairs and made  the 
 mistake  of  killing  him just as Mrs. Shedrick arrived  to  see  what  the 
 commotion was...
 
    Effandir  had taken the frontal approach and had killed four  slaves  at 
 the  doorway.   He shoved the bodies out of the way and  stepped  into  the 
 house.   Toscon  was furiously warding off the lady Shedrick's  attacks  as 
 they  both  stumbled  down  the stairs.   Toscon  was  definately  loosing.  
 Effandir  quickly  walked towards them, praying, <Cyric, you  know  I  need 
 these  friends, so I choose my daily gift now!>  His hand reached  out  and 
 caught  hold of lady Shedrick's arm.  She cried out, then crumpled  at  the 
 bottom of the stairs as Effandir's wounds closed.
 
    Effandir  grinned.  "You see to what that guy that hired us  want's  now 
 and  I'll  finish whoever's in here."  Then he helped Toscon  up  from  the 
 floor and walked down the hallway.
 
    <DAMN  YOU EFFANDIR> slammed though his skull.  He staggered  against  a 
 wall,  thinking,  /Not yet... damn you back, not yet!/  Then a  heavy  hand 
 landed on the back of his neck and he slid silently down the wall.
 
    The cook smiled, a little blood trickling down his chin.
 
    Brought to you from all of me (well almost):
 "Bartender, I believe I'll have another pitcher of water..."
                                             (Artimian Yauntir of Elturel)
 Nercrum: "In the long run, we're all dead."  - John Maynard Keynes 
 Grin - Medor the Night Lizard
 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
 + Toscon- Life is to long to play it safe. +
 ++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
 Life is a swamp.  And above the swamp, there is fog.
Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn