From: caz@owlnet.rice.edu (H.W.R.N.M.N.B.S.O.L.)
Subject: [KQ] Kron [Low City] You Are Here
Organization: Rice University
Date: Sat, 26 Sep 1992 06:38:14 GMT

[Kron and Company move through the Low City in search of the Wasters' HQ:]

HADCRJAM@admin.uh.edu (MILLER, JIMMY A.) writes:

>   Well, for good or ill, he suspected he would soon get one.  The night had 
> that feeling to it, one of things hidden to be revealed, revelations, and
> journeys ending.
>
>  They seemed to be approaching something...

It is a building.  Its stone-and-brick edifice looms up out of the night.
"This is it.  I don't know how I know it, but it is.  Damn all Mind Flayers
and their psionic tricks."  Kron is angry, not for the first time tonight.

The sun's sleep always heralds meteorological change in Generica.
A seaside city, Generica is subject to constant moisture and chill from the
neighboring ocean.  As a result, only a few hours after nightfall, a heavy
and cloaking mist rolls in off the docks and sweeps over the streets and
roofs like a shroud.  It is through just such a fog that the party gains
their first view of the den of those fiends called the Wasters.  Moisture
beads on Kron's eyebrows and drips down onto the rest of his face as he
looks up to gaze at the imposing structure.

It is, at first glance, a beautiful building.  It stands fully five stories
high, tall for Generica, and is decorated with fine detailwork of marble
and pink granite.  Statues of white marble festoon the ledges and collumns
of the exterior and lend an air of the grandiose to this relic of days gone
by.  Its archaic ornamentation date this building back at least a century
or two.

Kron is a trained observer, and his eyes miss little.  Only a moment of
viewing is sufficient for the ex-sergeant to determine that the building
is an uncared-for ruin.  Dark stains run down several walls, clearly etching
the paths of flow of Generica's frequent rainstorms.  A number of the statues
are incomplete or chipped, and the paint of the once-elegant wood framework
surrounding the windows has flaked off long since.  The windows themselves
lack glass -- ages ago broken out or stolen by enterprising thieves -- and
faint air currents can be seen to disturb plush but tattered curtains within.
"If this place were a person," muses Kron to himself, "it would be an aged,
dying whore -- an empty husk, but still possessing traces of its original
grace and beauty."  He wonders what hotel, or pleasure house, or wealthy-
man's mansion this building was in a previous incarnation.

Now, of course, it's a threat.  There are no lights visible from the outside,
and the bright but diffused light of the moon is sufficient to see the broad
mahogany doors of the structure, standing wide open.  However, Kron is too
canny to be gulled by the appearance of dereliction.  "Caution, friends," says
Kron, "this seems like a textbook trap."  The others nod; Kron has echoed
their thoughts in words.

Maleiu takes the fore, for it is in darkness and danger that the noble savage
from the Dark Continent thrives.  His eyes are used to viewing in low-light
conditions, and he appears ready for any threat to appear.  He his followed
hard upon by Colin, whose elvish blood supplies the infravisual capability
to see where Maleiu cannot.  Rhoan and Thk, the fighting bulwarks of the
party, are next; Rhoan's polearm and Thk's...thing....are fearsome weapons,
and both warriors are spoiling for a fight in any case.  Captain and Kron
take the middle position; Kron in particular is perturbed by this arrangement,
yet he sees the logic behind placing the older and less-armored in the center.
Marcel, still seeming shaken by this evening's ordeal, follows behind; cat-
footed Azzar guards the rear.  As a body, the group cautiously scouts out and
enters the main doorway. 

The huge rotting portals open up onto a large foyer and ruined foyer -- a
monument to lost opulence.  Twisted portrait frames and mirror shards 
litter the floor, along with several scores of soggy playbills that seem
to have blown through the doorway.  Tattered carpets and tapestries; rotten
furniture; the faint smell of something deceased -- this is a place of decay
and corruption, Kron is sure of it.  It doesn't look like a mock-up, either --
somebody has genuinely let this place go to the dumps.  Whoever the Wasters
are, they are crappy housekeepers.  Even the crystal chandelier looks like
it needs some serious polishing.

There are a plethora of exits, large and small, leaving the foyer, but they
are dominated by a broad and sweeping balustraded staircase leading up to
a balcony.  With no discussion, the party moves up the staircase.  They are
keenly aware that their exposed position on the airy staircase makes them
vulnerable to ambush, so they take extra caution to remain alert on their
way up.  Their care pays off.

Maleiu and Colin are relatively light in overall weight, so the staircase
bears their load with relatively no complaints.  However, the tired and
wormeaten beams simply cannot withstand the bulk of a gigantic lizardman.
With a sound of splintering wood, Thk's left leg sinks into the plush carpet
up to his calf.  The party freezes, but too little, too late -- with a loud
groan, the stairway begins its slow collapse.  The front rank springs free
onto the landing, but the others are caught in the fall.  

Azzar has fantastic acrobatic reflexes, and as her footing becomes unstable
she leaps from the stairs.  She lands on her feet at the base of the stairs,
entirely unharmed.

Marcel thanks his lucky stars that he wore his CyberArmor today, for it 
cushions the impact of the fall.  He also gives his thanks to God, but He
does not answer..... what could have gone wrong?

Rhoan leaps desperately forward as the stairs go.  His left hand catches 
the railing of the balcony, and he clings to that support as his footing
falls away from him.  The old and cracked wood makes complaining noises,
but it holds until Maleiu and Colin can help him to safety.

Thk just falls.  The ground hurts when it rises up to meet him, as do the
pieces of falling timber and steel, but his native toughness and magic ring
allow him to shrug it off.  It does annoy him, though.

Kron grabs Captain's arm and leaps off into space.  There are a few heart-
stopping moments of freefall, and then his hand grabs something.  It is
the bottommost layer of the chandelier.  Kron clutches it for all he is
worth.  He feels his grip on Captain's arm fall away as the sailor weighs
down, and then feels a sudden pain in his ankle.  Looking down, Kron sees
Captain latched on for dear life to his left leg.  Kron reaches up and
grasps the chandelier with both hands as Captain readjusts his own 
precarious position.  Kron hooks an elbow over the crystal loop and says:

"Hey.  Captain."

"....what?!"

"We're adventuring with real, live explorers, right?"

"....yeah? So?"

"....so where's the fabulous treasure, and why are we hanging from a
     chandelier?"

"Dunno.  Kron?"

"Yeah?"

"Shut up."

On the floor, Marcel finds the suspending chain and unlimbers it.  The 
chandelier slides downward.  At the terminus of its path stands Thk, who
deftly snags the two hapless warriors on the downslide.  He deposits them
roughly on the floor and grins a toothy grin.  Kron and Captain regain
their breath.  Kron, panting, holds up a finger.

"Well...<huff>....I guess we <puff> know something now."

"What?"

"If there was anybody here who wanted to ambush us, they would have done
so while we were in that fix.  I don't think anybody's home.  I can't think
why, though."  

Rhoan gets out his grapnel line and hooks the tines in the sturdy floor of
the balcony.  He throws down the line, and Azzar deftly scampers up the
rope.  The rest of the party follow, and the company is rejoined.  They
continue to make their way deeper in the building, puzzled at the 
unexpected lack of resistence to their intrusion.....

****************************************************************************

                          H.W.R.N.M.N.B.S.O.L.