Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
From: foleye@storm.CS.ORST.EDU (Stilt Man)
Subject: Acrisorphulous enters the Inn
Message-ID: <1992May21.174956.3977@CS.ORST.EDU>
Date: Thu, 21 May 1992 17:49:56 GMT

The door of the inn crashes open, and two individuals step through.  One
is a shrunken old man in an impossibly bright pink robe, and the other
is a giant hulk of a man wearing a fur loincloth, carrying a gigantic
battle axe over one shoulder.  He wears a helmet with two large horns on
it and there is a vacant look to his eyes.  The robed man carries a
crooked staff of wood, and wears a hat that seems tilted at a very
precarious angle on the side of his head.  He takes two steps through the
door, and then manages to trip over his staff.  The next few seconds are
spent looking for all the world like trying to decide which limb goes
where, and making mistakes as he goes along.

The hulk stands over his smaller compatriot, one fingertip in his mouth,
not at all certain what to do.  "Well don't just stand there, Thrud, do
something!  Or I'll turn you into a blob of green slime!  Hctlig thak . . .
no, wait, that turns ME into a blob of green slime.  Oh where is that
spellbook."  Thrud reaches down, grabs the smaller man by the scruff of
the neck, and sets him on his feet.  No sooner is he up than he has
drawn a huge book out of a huger sack he had been carrying, and starts
perusing the pages.  He sticks his tongue out one side of his mouth and
stares at the letters on the pages as if they are far too small without
putting your head right next to the paper to read.

He suddenly seems to realize that he is in a public place.  "Oh!  Hello
there!  My name is . . . my name is . . . I knew it yesterday.  Or was
it next week?"  His whole face seems to crinkle up in confusion, and his
goatee gray beard gets too close to his nose, causing him to sneeze
violently.  "Oh, yes!  My name is Acripheosr. . . Acristeph . . . well,
d@mn it, I can't pronounce it even when I do remember it.  Ac-ri-sorph-u-
lous!  That's it!  Call me Acris for short though.  That way, you don't
trip over it."  He makes his way to the bar, crashing to the ground in
another pathetic heap along the way.  Thrud grunts in confusion, and
sets him back on his feet a second time.  "Any drone or a fink . . .
I mean, any one for a drink?"

+=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+
+ Acrisorphulous the Awesome and his sidekick, Thrud	  +
+=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+
+	foleye@storm.cs.orst.edu			  +
+=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+