From: u9044140@cs.uow.edu.au (Outsider)
Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
Subject: Outsider - Bearer of Sorrows is freed.
Keywords: Outsider
Message-ID: <1992May20.232700.26002@cs.uow.edu.au>
Date: 20 May 92 23:27:00 GMT


	A gasp is heard, by people at nearby tables. An unknown person,
some unmentionable, a ne'er-do-well, gets up and leaves in a flurry. His
silken clothes rustle as he jumps away from the table, knocking someone else
over, and disturbing the inhabitants of a nearby table. His face is obscured
and leaves without stopping and talking to anyone.

	However, left at the table he was at, is a small pouchy-like bag, its
crackled/gnarled cloth like surface is bound up at one end, with what appears
to be a braid of five different colour hairs. Or rather was bound up, as the
bag lies on its side , its contents spilling of the table...

	Sand. Sand spills from the bag, each glittering golden sand, falling
like sand in an hourglass, slowly hitting the growing pile at the bottom. Each
grain 'plinks' down onto the growin pile. Slowly the pile grows, and then 
changes. It forms into the shape of feet. Still the torrent of sand comes
from the bag , the grains of sand, arcing to fill them manshape forming
before you eyes. The figure takes shape, its outlines obscurred by the
changing nature of the sand, but still it is recognisable at a man, somewhat
splenic and thin, a wiry type of man, with thin whipcorded muscles.

	The sand stops spilling from the bag, and the very nature of the sand
in the figure changes. It starts to melt together, to form old, dry skin, and
other parts form grey clothes, old worn clothes of trousers, and shirts. The
figure appears to be in a wind as the sand left on it, in it's greyed hair,
the sand unformed into skin, trails behind him to form a cloak, that twists
in the wind, snapping and 'billowing' like an old burial wrap.

	The figure's mouth works. No sounds come out. A tongue licks the dry
lips on the mouth and a voice is heard, "Free, I'm free from that curse..."
He turns and looks at you all, slowly spinning around, with his eyes closed
tightly. He slowly opens one eye, his grey eye quizzing you, till he
suddenly opens the other one, making you jump, as it is light blue. A small
smile creeps across his face, as he croaks,
	" I am Outsider. I bear the Sorrows of those who not be damned.
	  I am Outsider. I have no family, no heritage, no past.
	  I am Outsider. I exist for all, I merit suffering and punishment.
          I am Outsider. I adjudicate. I judge. I know. I am impartial.
          I am here. "

	He stands upstraight. He is not physically threatining or striking,
but he stands with a prescence, like an old grandfather clock. He turns his
head to one side. 
	" Generica. Oh Chaos. 
	  Time to raise the Ziggaraut.
	  Must find those chosen..."
	He turns to you, staring into you, staring down into you, like a
psychic on a mission, searching you..
	" And for what purposes do you appear at this place?"

-- 
Forthright, does Winter's cruel edge of death crawl,
The days are ever dying,
Bare Trees , leaveless, shall cast their pall,             
And in my love's arms I will be crying.              - Outsider