From: andsol@owlnet.rice.edu (Andrew J. Solberg)
Subject: The Righteous Had To Start Somewhere
Organization: Rice University
Date: Thu, 27 Aug 1992 04:34:05 GMT

Year of Our Lord 1677, March 9
Outside the village of New Hannover, Rhode Island, Colonial America

   *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Goodman Schuyler grips his pitchfork nervously and shuffles from foot
to foot.  Pastor Browning has pinned him to his spot with that piercing
gaze, and his attempts to fade into the background of his dozen-or-so
companions fail utterly.  He mumbles something to himself.

"What be that, brother?  Didst ye say ought?"

The edgy bootmaker grows bold in his desperation.  "Reverend Sir, in
mine breast resideth doubts!  Whyfore haven we undertook this task of
thieves and jack-a-billies?  We skulk in the reed like the very 
devilkins we seek to snare!"

Browning's stare grows harsher.  "Goodman Schuyler, hast thy faith in
Our Lord waned ere we left the churchyard?  Hast thy courage gone to
smoke in thy breast?  Art ye now in our fold..... or theirn?"  The
other townsfolk murmur to themselves.  A bead of sweat rolls down
Schuyler's forehead.

"Nay, Good Preacher!  My faith in the Lamb be steely as e'er; but I
mislike our task!  Must we harm the Goodwife Frower?"

Browning speaks as to a congregation.  "Brethren, haven we not all
seen in witness the corruption that striketh the kine in the field?
Do our children not burn with a fearsome poxy?  Dursest ye deny
that the wheat grows but to our knees when it should be climbing
unto heaven?  Good folk, a blight grasps our community, and it be
the fault of Goodwife Frower and her crew!  Now, time be a-wasting!
Let us catch the Goodwife and her coven, as they meet in unholy
conference with The Dark One!  Onward!"  Reinvested with the fervor
of the righteous, the villagers determinedly forge through the brush.

They approach the house.  Creeping from tree to tree, they make their
way closer and closer to the dwelling of Goodwife Frower.  No life
can be seen through the windows, but voices from within can be heard.
When they are as close as possible, Pastor Browning raises his hand.
The villagers give a mighty shout, and they charge!

Bang! the door bursts inward!  The men, armed with farming implements
and a few muskets, scatter chickens as they storm the house!  And at
their fore is Pastor Browning, the spark of the zealot glinting in his
eye!  In the house sit Goodwife Frower and her cronies, going about 
their unspeakable rituals.  Subdued by the invaders, the women meekly
surrender.

"Hah!" shouts the pastor.  "We haven caught ye with the Paw of the
Nameless One on thy shoulder!  Confess ye now to witchcraft, and 
perhaps the Good Lord shall spare ye thy sinful life!"

"Nay, pastor!" cries the Goodwife.  "My sisters and I be innocent!"

Pastor Browning sneers.  "How ye wriggle and coil, like the snake that
spawned ye!  Ye will not confess, nay, not even with the tools of thy
evil trade before us!  See:"

"The Player's Handbook!"

"The Dungeon Master's Guide!"

"And the dreaded, polyhedral DICE!!!"

-- 
Andrew Solberg          |"If I were your wife I'd poison your tea!" 
Undying University Mooch|              Anon. Outraged British Woman
andsol@owlnet.rice.edu  |"And if I were your husband I'd drink it!"
Phone:713-529-8627      |              Winston Churchill