From: andsol@arcadien.owlnet.rice.edu (Andrew J. Solberg) Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: Panarchus: [Low City]: Manana, Iguana Keywords: Panarchus, Thk, Great Mother, Kron Message-ID: <1992Jun15.191158.12833@rice.edu> Date: 15 Jun 92 19:11:58 GMT Panarchus hauls the unconscious lizardman heavily into a doorway. Standing a head or two taller than Panarchus, Thk weighs in at about one-and-a-half enslaved Watch Lieutenants. Panarchus likes to think he's in good shape, but this is a bit much. Still, he's almost there.... the lieutenant hefts the big reptile back onto his shoulders and staggers once more into the street... A few more blocks, and he's into the Low City. A number of denizens, staring balefully at the Watchman from hiding places, grumble but do not act. The word has been passed around that Panarchus is in the employ of Important Persons, and nobody wants to cross a VIP in the Low City. Panarchus stumbles on, unmolested. He makes his way through a labyrinth of alleys and crawlways until he comes out into a deserted section of the Low City. Nothing stirs here during the daylight, and the only things that stir at night do so under the orders of a certain disgusting Cthulhoid entity.... Panarchus teeters to a burnt-out shell of a building. From the outside it appears almost entirely demolished, but Panarchus has found that the cellar is almost intact. The past few days, just after his 'interview' with Great Mother, Panarchus has moved in and cleaned things up, such that the basement is now fairly inhabitable. It's still musty and uncomfortable, but being close to Mother more than compensates. Panarchus disengages the half-dozen booby-traps he has rigged to protect his new dwelling from unsolicited attentions and tromps downstairs. He throws Thk onto a sofa and collapses, exhausted, in an armchair. "Gods," he pants, "What am I going to do with you?" There's a chest of beer nearby; he helps himself and thinks awhile. Soon he has regained his energy, and Thk seems to be regaining his wits. Once again, the big lizardman seems to have the most amazing recuperative powers. Panarchus would like to delve into the mystery, but he hasn't got the time. He swiftly ropes Thk into a sturdy chair and faces him toward a blank wall. Thk comes to, hissing and cursing in his sibilant tongue: "SSSHTTKK!! THOOF....Frsstrak qufff....Uh? Shagra?" ("Damnation!! Sword.... death-blow .....Uh? Ropes?") He struggles..... From behind Thk, Panarchus stuffs a wad of cloth into the lizardman's gaping mouth. Always best to be safe with a shaman.... As the Spiritual Leader of all Lizardmen strains weakly against his bonds, Panarchus has a sudden inspiration. He delves into an old, battered chest and retrieves a small glass cylinder. Printed on the side in faded lettering is: CALAMIDRIUM Low dosages only DO NOT CONCENTRATE EXPIRES: 1003.32 Expired ten years ago, thinks Panarchus. Well, we'll just hope it still works. Still out of sight of the lizardman, he covers his nose and mouth and shatters the capsule near Thk's head. A greenish smoke wisps out. Thk inhales some of it. Almost immediately, his eyes dilate and his skin coloration darkens. Within a minute, during which time Panarchus has been holding his breath, Thk's breathing slows to half its normal rate. His eyes are slightly glazed. Panarchus notes that the ropes were fraying, and utters a low prayer to the God of Military Surplus. Thk appears almost entirely relaxed. Panarchus remembers the last time he used Calamidrium. Fifteen years ago, Generica was all but driven out of the Southern Marshes. The Powers That Be within the Generican High Council were determined that this season would yield at least one victory. Hence, Panarchus and a handful of other commandos infiltrated enemy lines and raided several villages. Calamidrium capsules were lobbed into the communities prior to attack. Helpless, torpid and suggestible, the civilian lizardmen were slaughtered. It was discovered weeks later that several villages had actually been friendly to the Generican cause, but that slight detail had been covered up. Besides, to the average Generican, all lizardmen looked the same. Now, Panarchus hopes that the suggestibility angle still works. He dredges up from his memory his knowledge of the language of the Marsh lizard people, and whispers in Thk's ear..... (translated): "Your killer! ...stalks the streets still! Killing your people! He lives, and slays your charges! The villages burn! The children...." Thk, still drugged and dull, growls and seems to come to life: "My people... my followers! Men burn the huts -- the elders inside! Vermin! Slave-eaters! Soft-skinned demons!!" Panarchus, still whispering: "Shhhhh!! quiet, my chief! Vengeance! It can be yours! Just find the man -- Kron! KRON!! and bring him here! Do you hear me? Find Kron and BRING HIM HERE... do you understand? HE killed your people, and HE must be brought to justice.... do not let him see your hatred! He does not suspect. Bring him here! Then he will pay....." "YES!! Pay -- for all the murders... the blood... Slrtak, and Trrsshk, my old friends! Dead, by HIS hand!! I'll find him, even if he crawls into a snake pit. And then .... and then we'll come back here! Yes! And then....UFFF!!!" Thk's mutterings are interupted, for Panarchus, true to form, has cold-cocked him once again. Well, that turned out quite nicely, muses Panarchus. The Calamidrium seemed to do the trick. Panarchus unties the big lizard man and, with a huge sigh, hefts him on his back once again. He gingerly tromps upstairs. Hopefully, when Thk comes to, he will have a distant, hazy memory of being tormented. He will also have a post-hypnotic suggestion operating, requiring him to seek out Kron and lead him to the Low City. Panarchus dumps Thk roughly in an alley on the edge of the deserted part of the Low City, and dusts his hands off. He smiles, thinking that if he had to have one ally in the whole city to find Kron, it would be this being. He beats feet back to his hidey- hole and waits.... Meanwhile, Thk stirs and wonders why his head hurts so much...... -- Andrew Solberg |"Moving faster than a speeding bullet isn't andsol@owlnet.rice.edu | much use if you and it are headed straight Phone:713-529-8627 | for each other." John Brunner bridge-sleep-eat-sex-bridge-sleep-eat-sex-bridge-sleep-I'M STUCK!!!!