From: andrea@cm.deakin.OZ.AU (Andrea Todkill)
Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
Subject: Kadrys' Tale   (Part 1 of 6)
Message-ID: <3380@sol.deakin.OZ.AU>
Date: 21 Jun 92 00:22:13 GMT

Zia looks at Kadrys expectantly and motions for him to continue with his story.

"I have no idea who my mother was, and I doubt if even she knew who sired me. 
My early life was spent in the warrens of a district very much like your Low
City, but the country is very far from here, and the city was ruins long ago. I
was raised by a vile old man named Tash, who having me young trained my muscles
and joints in acrobatic and contortionist skills, and schooled my wits in the
lesser arts of theivery: picking pockets, cutting purses, entering homes by
narrow grates. As soon as I was old enough, I fled from his service, taking
with me some of the loot he had taken from me over the years. With this I
enlisted in the Thieves' guild, gaining necessary skills with locks and traps,
and with weapons: the light crossbow, shuriken and throwing knives.
With these skills I began what seemed a promising career, specialising in
thefts requiring agility: high towers and the like. Though I had (and have)
no gift for wizardry, I did have unusual luck in sensing the presence of
magical traps, an instinct which saved my life many times.

"The course of my life changed for the first time when I was walking home near
dawn after a particularly successful night's work. My joy in my good haul was
probably the reason why the beggar attracted my attention. A shock of thick
white hair atop a form almost skeletal. As the crosslegged, tatterclad thing
turned to face me, I was surprised to see the ivory-sculpture features of a
pureblood Elf. His eyes were totally blank, as white as his hair. Blind as a
stone. "What are you doing here?" I found myself asking. "In truth, young man,
I do not belong on the streets. Once, I held the title of Curuchamion, the
cunning hand, the artificer of my people. I journeyed to buy gems from the
dwarves, and they imprisoned me, hoping to make me work for them. When I
refused, they blinded me. My own people could not cure me and in my pride I
left them rather than live with their pity. Now see where my pride has left me. 
Here where people call me mad, where no-one ever believes me. Here without even
copper to spend, let alone gold to work." I pondered this. An Elven gemworker.
Quite a prize, _if_ he could still work blind. _If_ he was speaking a word of
truth. I laughed. "Do you think me as addled as yourself? How could you
possibly work in your state?" He flung my laughter back at me. "How do I know
you are carrying gold and rubies with you now?" he whispered. I was astonished
to hear my recent haul described accurately. "Let me touch them, please..." I
extended the pouch towards him, readying a dagger should he try to steal it. He
smiled "Ah yes, fire-rubies and red gold... The third stone from the clasp is
flawed, I fear." I snatched back the bag and studied the gem, noticing a mark
within the stone for the first time. "I told you I was called the cunning hand.
Being blind for so long, I taught myself to sense precious stones and metals. I
know all their secrets when I touch them." And then he seemed to read my mind.
"Together we can prosper." he said. "You can supply me with gold and gems. I
can make them anew, into glories for which the richest buyers will clamour."

So, I took Elirivar the Curuchamion home with me, and quietly sold his wondrous
reworkings of my thefts until I had enough profits saved to buy a small store
in the most exclusive district in the city. I told the Thieves' Guild I was
going into business as a fence. Guildmembers' hauls were bought by me at a fair
price, and Elirivar's creations sold handsomely. I was a respected member of
society on both sides of the river, truly a rare achievement. In my solitary
way, I was happier than I had ever been in my life.

"Then, the course of my life changed again. Again, it started with a
chance-meeting in the street. This time, it was a woman..."

Kadrys breaks off as Zia darts out the back door. His eyes widen when Zia
puts in a brief appearance, at the other door, in her earlier guise. When
she returns, as her latter self, he arches an eyebrow at her, and pointedly
does not ask what is happening, though plainly he would like to know.
He turns briefly towards the nearest of the kitchen staff and pays for a 
refill of her soup.