From: cgirard@neumann.une.edu.au (The Blade of Malchrntyne)
Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
Subject: [T&R]20: Hallucinations & memories
Date: 7 Sep 92 04:26:41 GMT


>	His breathing was very loud in his ears.  "Blood loss," he murmured
>to himself, "need to rest, need to..."
>	He slowly slumped to the floor.  One last thought went through his
>mind before he lost consciousness.
>	"Poison......"
				********

	He felt as though he was drowning from within, his mind sinking
deeper and deeper into the mire that was his memories.  Strange images
flashed across his tortured brain as his body reacted violently to the 
poison in his system.
	At first they made no sense at all; just surges of colour with
no true, recognisable form.  Strange cries seemed to be involved as well;
sometimes shrieks, at other times sighing, at still others sounds that
came from unearthly creatures.
	Then he suddenly slipped deeper into his own consciousness, and
his breathing, although he was unaware of it, dropped to only a few breaths
every minute.  The images, so unclear previously, resolved into clear
pictures, though they came in no obvious order.
	He saw two children playing, tossing a ball as they ran across
a green field, laughing.  The image faded, to be replaced by a sword flashing
before his eyes, and another reaching out, meeting it in a shower of sparks.
	He watched the sparks fall, only they were now Lilly petals, falling
softly onto the hair of an almond-eyed beauty, who suddenly changed into 
a charging warrior, screaming war cries in some strange language.
	Then this, too faded, leaving a darkness, a sense of isolation, and
the sound of water dripping.  The dripping increased in speed, until it
became a steady stream of perfumed water running down his back, as he bathed
with concubines and the man he once called lord and master.
	He tried to pull himself out of the morass he called his mind; but
struggling only pulled him deeper.
	He could smell smoke, and all around was a tumult of running men,
crying women, and the shrill whinny of horses.  He turned around and round,
but couldn't find his parents.  Where were they?  Why didn't they come and
get him?  
	The small boy sat down and cried, even as the sounds of panic and
war grew closer.
	Still he sat, but this time his eyes were dry, and things were
very different.  He was on a smooth floor, not sitting but kneeling, a
bare katana across the backs of his hands.  He had finally been accepted,
proven worthy by combat, and was ready to join the ranks of the elite.
	Then he was running, hand pressed to his side, with fear in his heart.
The forest floor was cool; he did not remember falling.
	Then hands were on him, not intent of death but healing.
	(His breathing was down to one breath every two minutes; but the 
memories drew him on.)
	A new training, a new master; a new revelation of guilt so painful
his mind shied away from it.
	Journeying.  A travelling from land to land, never being whole,
always searching but never finding.
	Arrival.  Suspicion. (The images were coming faster and faster now).
A final acceptance.  Friends gone, young turned to old, his childhood
playmate now a nobleman, a dashing figure.
	Nothing left, but to leave.  No, he is recognised by the nobleman;
friendships renewed.  A pledge is made; the adventuring begins.
	Pain arched though his body as he lay on the floor just outside the
acid pit chamber.  His breathing, which had nearly ceased, suddenly picked
up with a gasping breath.  He lay there for a while, not really knowing 
what had happened.  There was pain in his leg, and his head ached fiercely.
	He sat up slowly, and opened his eyes.  The world seemed distorted,
as if the walls had suddenly become fluid.
	Staggering to his feet and leaning heavily on the wall, Timelord 
slowly made his way down the corridor, unaware of time, unaware of almost
everything except the need to leave that place where so many buried memories
had been painfully resurrected.	



 The Blade of Malchrntyne (CJ)| There comes a time when the jewels cease to
 Drummond College A100        | sparkle, and the gold loses its lustre, and
 x 3069                       | the throne room becomes a prison - and all
 There can be only one.       | that remains is a father's love for his child