From: mar@physics.su.OZ.AU (David Mar)
Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
Subject: Del Micek: another reply to Drax
Message-ID: <1992May25.020637.10163@ucc.su.OZ.AU>
Date: 25 May 92 02:06:37 GMT
References: <1992May22.062210.3123@rat.csc.calpoly.edu>

> Drax concentrates, and seemingly sinks his elbow deep into the chest. He 
> begins to pull his arm from the chest, and seems to be having some difficulty.
> After a moment, an ivory hand emerges clasped to his.
> "Here is your gift, or your curse, Del Micek. This is the hand of your 
>  childhood love. If you take it, she will either be drawn here, or you there,
>  or perhaps something worse. The choice is your, the hand will wait here for
>  but a few moments, at best."
>  Drax seems to sigh heavily as he releases the hand from his own grip and 
> sinks into a nearby seat, his head hung low.

Del observes the hand, still protruding from the chest of Mackeldvar, and
loses himself in blind recollection of past memories. It is only when Rowan
the Bard emerges from the Royal Chambers to play her eulogy that Del realises
that Drax has died.

"And so, my friend, you leave me this," Del mutters as he stretches a hand
of his own toward the graceful hand which is slowly withdrawing back into
the chest.

Just before the hand disappears, Del takes a hold of the tip of one finger,
gently pressing it between thumb and second knuckle of forefinger.

"Bethadriel," he breathes...

Then there is a soft flash of light and the hand is gone, as is Del Micek.
His now empty seat sits by the fire, unprotected by the black cloak which
he wore and which draped over its features.

A voice, not heard, but felt, drifts through the room of Dragon's Inn.
"I shall be listening.... and I shall return...."

- Del Micek.