Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
From: aaron@space.ualberta.ca (Aaron Humphrey)
Subject: [KQ] Maleiu: [The Scrappy Ram] talks to Queriche
Message-ID: <1992Jul7.172511.3041@kakwa.ucs.ualberta.ca>
Date: Tue, 7 Jul 1992 17:25:11 GMT

The main thing running through Maleiu's mind as the group enters the Scrappy
Ram is, "Who is Alphonse?"  And why did Kron call him that?  There was a Father
Alphonse among the priests that taught Maleiu's tribe, but he didn't look
anything like Maleiu, and Kron probably wouldn't have known him.

It may have been some kind of ritual invocation.  On the other hand, Kron could
just have been making a joke.  Maleiu felt that familiar gut-clenching that
always came when stalking a quarry, and thought of the kind of jokes that got
made before a big hunt.

He felt the bar sink into silence as they entered.  Like the jungle creatures
when they felt the presence of something unfamiliar and dangerous.  Low City
was more like a jungle than not, Maleiu thought, not for the first time.

His attention was caught first by the bartender, who was almost as dark as
Maleiu himself.  The first dark-skinned person Maleiu had seen since his
arrival in Generica.  His body was covered with tattoos, or at least what
Maleiu could see of it.  They looked familiar...

On Maleiu's ocean voyage from the Dark Continent, in the hold of a slaver's
ship, they had stopped at an island one day and in short order several tattooed
men were thrown down into the hold.  They had spoken a strange language, and
a broken dialect of Common.  But their language was not that strange to
Maleiu, who noticed similarities with the language of his home tribe.  They
said they were fishermen from an island called Camequeva, taken by slavers
while they fished.  They exchanged stories to pass the time, when they were not
being whipped into docility.  The bartender must be from one of those islands.
Maleiu strove to recall the language...

Verdigren showed the group to a table, and calls to the bartender for drinks.
Maleiu catches his name--Queriche.  No, he wasn't one of the ones from the
ship, but that would've been too much of a coincidence.

Verdigren seemed to be going out of his way to needle the comrades.  He was
worried about Fenris, the Barbarian, but the big man seemed to be holding his
temper.  Maleiu had learned to ignore worse in the slave pits.

Queriche laid a broadsword on top of the bar and then brought over the beer
and the tankard for Kron.  As Queriche set the mug down in front of Maleiu(who
also hated beer, but wasn't going to say anything), Maleiu said, in as close to
the dialect of Camequeva as he could manage, "Hey, mon.  Jah.  How's it
hanging?  You see many others from the island in this pit of white slime?"

Queriche paused slightly, not wanting to get undue attention from Verdigren.
Then he replied, in a low voice, "You be from the islands, mon?  You got no
tattoos, mon.  You got an accent.  But you be black.  You be a Darky?  Why
you hang out with this white slime?"

"These white slime be level, mon.  They not be slime at all.  Or, rather, they
be after whiter slime than they.  All whites slime some way, eh?"

Queriche laughed.  "My main man, here, he be level.  So watch it.  He be a bit
cookie, you know what I say?"  Then he broke off.  Verdigren was looking at him
suspiciously, and all the drinks had been brought.

"Why don't you go back to the bar, Queriche?  Didn't your mama ever tell you
not to talk to dark strangers?" Verdigren said.  Queriche nodded and did so,
making the peace sign at Maleiu as soon as Verdigren's back was turned.

ADMIN:  Whee!  That was fun.  Hopefully Queriche won't be quite so quick to put
a harpoon through Maleiu's sternum now, if the opportunity arises...


--
---Alfvaen(a.k.a. Aaron V. Humphrey, Page of Newts)
Canadian Network For Space Research, Edmonton, Alberta, Canada
"Your love is like greasy fried noodles."  --TPOH, "Food"
Current Album--Iron Maiden:Fear of The Dark