From: hutch@hutch (Stephen Hutchison)
Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
Subject: [KQ] 'Raelf et al. [Shunned Center]  Clouding Men's Minds...
Date: 4 Oct 92 05:04:35 GMT
Reply-To: hutch@ibeam.intel.com
Organization: Intel Corp., Hillsboro, Oregon

[ADMIN]
News connection to my site has been kind of strange lately.

In any case, Marcel has signalled .... here goes.
-----
The Shunned Center is a dark gloomy place, even in the cheeriest of
mornings - it was now getting to be late evening, well after dark.

'Raelf phased gently into place beside Marcel.  They were entering the
sewers, going along a twisted path with a slight beautywards antiskew.

"Bonjour.  You can arretez with the beacon," he said quietly.  The others
hadn't noticed him yet, strangely enough.  He was moving quietly, and spoke
in a low yet audible tone.  Seer was prancing in front, chanting out loud,
something incoherent about grandmother's house.

"What's the deal with the spooky dude?  He taking us to our quarry?"

Marcel did not respond.  'Raelf looked around.  There was no conversation.
Everyone was moving automatically.  Some wore expressions of anger, or
confusion.  All seemed haunted, caught up in some inner world.  Insane.
Dangerous.  Fade from view <<Air to .8, select transparency>>.

Meanwhile, Seer was burbling happily to himself.  And the AllSeeing Eyes
of the Great Mother probed around - Seer would bring Kron to her, the
others would be lost, picked off, in the passages and chasms that led
to Her Place...  She tweaked them, bits and pieces, finding a need here
and an inhibition there, a paranoia, a lust, a grudge...

'Raelf considered his predicament.  They were moving along a series of
corridors and tunnels at angles designed to disturb human psyches.  There
was something ominous, tendrils visible in the element of Void, whipping
back and forth across the group.  Something disturbingly familiar about
that energy corona, as well.  Whatever this is, it's totally beyond me.
I can screen myself well enough.  Seer doesn't even see me, and the being
hasn't noticed me yet.  First priority.  Get help, if I can.

Tiny, crystalline spheres enclosing the essence of ideas.  Grown inside him.

"Help, I need somebody,
     Help, not just anybody,
        Help, you know I need someone
           Won't you please, please help me..."
"Go ahead and hide, I'll find you,
     I'll take you there, I'll seek you out..."

A tiny silver beetle crawled out from 'Raelf's lips.  It opened its wing case,
flew off northward on a wavering track.  In time, it came to the Dragon's
Inn, and flew inside.  Avoiding the numerous hazards, not the least of these
an acquisitive mopboy with a good bug collection, it found its way to the
blue box left under the counter, where LittleFair had placed it.

It crawled inside, and (unusual for a beetle) spun a cocoon around itself.
Somewhere else, a bell rang.  But nobody answered...

And while this was happening, 'Raelf was following in the wake of the party
as they were led through the catacombs of the Shunned Center, by a giggling
and none-too-hygenic Seer.

'Raelf knew this would have to be done subtly, and with the utmost care.
The concepts were woven carefully.  The sensation of utter lassitude that
sinks into the brain after a heavy meal.  The bone-grinding disinterest that
comes when someone you dislike wants you to do something for them - something
really unpleasant, unnecessary, unwanted.  A choking wave of boredom, nothing
new to read, nothing to watch, and the old pastimes are far too tedious.
Slow, dripping rain, fogging everything, making it hard to see, and harder
to care.  Time, passing soooo sloooowly.  A single drop of water eroding at
a mountain.  Drip.  Drip Drip.  ... Drip.

And under that, a blanket of darkness, living, active, a shred of himself
providing the intelligence, the feedback mechanism, carefully presenting
precisely the best image, gauging the reaction of the pressure and increasing
those things which make it go away, and decreasing anything that incites its
interest.  Using the incoming pressure, turning and redirecting it into new
barriers.  Brain cramps.  Epilepsy.  Incomprehension.  Lethargy.

The barrier was completed.  It would feed on the mental pressure, use it as
a source of power to maintain itself.  Now, to slowly, gently, extend it to
the others...

(( Captain first.  He looks to be closest to the edge.  Gently, let the fog
move out to encompass him ... ))

Captain seethed inside.  His affection for Lady Azzar had twisted into a
pounding lust, seeing her current helpless and receptive state, and a formless
jealous hatred of anyone else who looked at her, he'd get her alone away from
these others, and lock her up and punish her for her faithless and promiscuous
ways, leading them all on, but it was really their fault, they shouldn't be
looking, she was his, only his, his, - what was he thinking?  His head felt
like it had been stuffed through a porthole.  This thing about Azzar - she
hadn't actually pledged herself to him, and their attraction, while deep and
real, had not been really formalized, beyond his extravagant vow of protection.
He paused, shaken, then realised somehow, he had been under some kind of spell,
some outside influence.  It might come back any time, though.  Beware.

(( Colin next.  His grip on his katana, much too tight, a fierce green fire
growing in his eyes.  Drifting fog. ))

The ghosts of dead trees, murdered animals, the foul stench of this place,
the degradation and misery, twisting even those few animals that did live
here into monstrous degraded things like orc-dogs and tunnel-crocs.  They
must die.  All of these despoilers .. must ? die?  What?  What was that?
Colin shook his head - he had begun to drift into the berserk fury.  But
this place was no worse than many others.  Whatever brought on the rage
wasn't natural.  Be on guard, Ranger.

(( Thk could be very hazardous - relax, breathe, extend the haze.))

Inside the brain of the Lizard Prince, cold plans were being formed.
First, Kron, and all these stinking mammals, must be captured somehow.
The ship belonging to that lovestruck Captain, perfect to send to the
bottom of the ocean, to Sssuthruuu, and Kron and all his foolish dupes
with them.  Then he would return to the sewers, get that black sword,
and go back to the swamps.  The streets here were well guarded, but
he would come in through the Gaps and the sewers.  The foolish humans
would never know what.  What?  What am I thinking?  This place is too
cold, too dry for Lizardkind to live in, and trade with the humans
was far superior to being killed by them.  Madness.  He had been in the
grip of a madness - something like that inflicted by Squid-Head.

((Now, Rhoan.  Just the slightest touch of fog, wafting.))

Rhoan beamed indulgently at Seer.  Such a nice little man.  Everyone
was nice today.  Gosh, it was too bad, what he had done before, being
so brutal to those poor afflicted guards at the drug factory.  After
all, they were just disadvantaged, victims of society, and did not
really deserve to die.  He felt ashamed, thinking how he'd wronged
them, wronged Seer, the wasters.  Well, things would be all better
now.  Kron would find his sister, they would go back to the Inn, and
everything would be fine, no more deaths, no more scary ghosts at night
to keep him from sleeping - mustn't think about THEM.  Only think the
nice happy thoughts.  Oh, there's Seer.  Imagine, an opportunity to meet
Seer's boss, she must be an interesting person, industrious too, in order
to set up the foul traffic in mind-destroying drugs, enslaving and
twisting the hearts of the people of Low City.  They were the real
victims, not scum like Seer.  Yes, the Vow was still important, not
to kill unless for survival, or to protect others from danger.  And
it looks like the kind of danger we're going to face may require
killing.  Well, I'll regret it later, if it happens.

Seer was giggling and glancing sideways at him.  What a nasty piece of
work.  Rhoan realized - the little git must have been messing with his
mind just now.  Must be careful, very careful.  Hmm.  Sound, back there.
Someone is following.  He glanced around, surreptitiously.  There, that
very dim transparency, that has to be 'Raelf.  "Company behind,"  he
whispered.  The nearly invisible mage nodded.
"I know, no hazard.  Watch 'em, got more work ..."

((Marcel now.  Difficult - two minds to shield.  Billowing cloud of fog.))

There was nothing.  No reason.  No truth.  All his life was a sham.
He had been fooling himself, worse, letting others make a fool of him.
Letting them use him as a tool, killing and butchering people in the
name of a God who was probably just another of their lies.  What a
bufoon he had become, half a machine, his humanity stripped away so
that he could do the same to others.  Like his sister.  Wait.  His
sister.  How had he forgotten her?  The foul thing which had lodged
in her soul, how it had thrown things, spewed flames and shit and
torrents of abuse, how it had blasphemed joyfully, done things to her
body, tried to do them to him, to his Mere and Pere.  Then the good
Priest had come, had bound the demon, forbade it to speak, to move,
to afflict her, had cast it out from her body, had sent it back to
hell.  That was when he knew that the power of God was real, the first
time, as he had countless times invoked it himself, felt the Spirit
blowing through him, to heal and to drive away evil.  The black
doubts he had been feeling, they must be from le diable.

[Boot.  Diagnostics - <blur> - Persona Module Active]
[Boychik!  What happened?  My clock says I've been down for at least
 half an hour.  Where are we?]

{We were assailed by the forces of Darkness.  By the grace of God and
 His holy angels we were freed from their trap.}

[Bogey at 2:00.  You suppose that's one of His holy angels?]

{Don't blaspheme, rabbi.}

He looked out, with his thermal eye, catching the wavering image of a
human, about 5'8.  There was a visual trace as well - enhanced combat
target acquisition resolved it - 'Raelf?  Why is he so transparent?

"Marcel.  Glad to see you back in the real world."  The voice was very
quiet, strangely not-echoing in these closed passageways.

"Don't talk, dude.  See milady Azzar over there?  Whatever it is that's
putting this mind game on y'all, has really done a number on her.  I put
a ward around her, but nothing happened.  She's in a slave mode, some
kind of brainwashing."

Marcel conferred for a moment with the good Rabbi, then nodded.
A fugue state, she may have been questioned - the Inquisitors did this
sometimes, he had seen; perhaps she had her own Inquisition.

"Hey, I think we can get her out of it.  She's suffering from a kind of
spiritual injury, kind of like being possessed, but without the demon
doing the work.  Can you pray healing and lay hands on her?  I'll throw
in my own kind of prayer, between us we ought to be able to bring her
out of it."

Marcel moved back to where Azzar was following Captain, four paces behind.
She acquiesced to the touch of his hands in a way that made him blush,
then flush with anger.  He began a prayer for spiritual healing, trying
not to be disturbed as beside him, 'Raelf pulled handful of what looked
to him like pure sunlight, from out of nowhere, and let it trickle onto
her brow like water.  Marcel felt the Sacred Presence, and a touch...
tiny tongues of flame danced over Azzar's body for a moment, then vanished
and her eyes cleared.  The conditioning faded, vanishing as if it hadn't
ever been there.  She shuddered, unwilling to sob, and hoped with all
her heart that it was really gone for good.

'Raelf stepped forward, next to Kron.  ((Kron.  Morning mists.))

Terry was very happy, happier than he had been for a long time.  He was
going to meet Cheyenne, at a new rendezvous site.  He had more money than
he had thought existed, and her face would really light up.  He could even
buy a treat, candies or even some fresh meats from a vendor.  They might
even be able to get out of Low Town now, set up with a farm or something,
or even get a job with the town guard.  He used to have a job with the
guard.  They'd put him on suspension, though, T. E. Kron, after only 20
years of selfless service.  Bastard Seer and his wasters had set him up,
well, now he had proof of that... 

Seer stared, horrified, at something next to Kron.  A mental bolt, painful
to look at, twisted the air from between his eyes and into the transparent
form of the mage.  It struck sparks, then evaporated.   'Raelf staggered
back, hastily rebuilding his personal wards.  That had almost reached him.

"How did you DO THAT!"  Seer shrieked, and tried to swipe with a dagger as
the figure becane solid before him.  A twist of his wrist, the dagger fell.

Kron shoved the clairvoyant Waster forward, out of 'Raelf's grasp.
"Keep leading, rat-pizzle.  Hello, 'Raelf, when did you show up?"

'Raelf started to answer, when Seer pushed a rock aside from a hole in
a wall.  A noxious light, a color reminiscent of yellow bile, but not
really yellow, glimmered within.  A thick, syrupy lapping sound was
audible through the opening.  Seer dove inside, howling like a wolf.

Kron glanced back over the others.

"I think we have arrived."  He went inside.