Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
From: andsol@is.rice.edu (Andrew J. Solberg)
Subject: [KQ]: Kron [ScrRam] Back To Back, Belly To Belly
Message-ID: <1992Jul17.203835.16776@rice.edu>
Date: Fri, 17 Jul 1992 20:38:35 GMT

The Scrappy Ram erupts into a flailing miasma of activity.  A few 
patrons have fled out the doors, but the majority have drawns knives,
clubs and swords and are closing on the heroes.  Verdigren is whooping
up a storm down at the bar, and the nearby PC's are not making life fun
for him.  HighFlyer is jumped by a crowd of heavy drinkers who bear him
to the floor and wrestle with him beneath the tables.  Locally, Colin
has put some pain on the Bannery Brothers and turned the tables on the
closest of the patrons.  Colin and Kron go back to back to fight off
the crush of opponents.

Kron has selected the weaker side -- this style of fighting may be ideal
for the well-armed and -armored Colin, but Kron's thing is speed and
maneuverability -- those stick-things that the Bannery Boys have could
hurt if they land, and those knives look damned painful too....

Two patrons close from either side.  Kron grabs one's shoulders and uses
him as a platform to kick the other in the face.  That one goes does
bleeding from nose and mouth, but the other brings a bottle down hard
on Kron's neck.  He twists his head so it catches only his shoulder,
but it still hurts.  Kron pretends to collapse, but as he sags to the
floor he leans hard on his opponent's knee.  There is a sharp crack as
the leg bones break near the joint; the patron yelps shrilly and tries
to ooze out of Kron's grip.  Kron bangs his head on a table leg and 
returns to guard Colin's back just as a few more combatants try to sneak
in.  He holds them at bay as Colin does his stuff.

The next wave is a little more clever.  They do not close withing striking
distance, but throw bottles and mugs at Kron.  Kron ducks most of them,
but a few land and hurt like hell.  Then they grab an oil lamp and a torch.
"Oh, hells," mutters Kron.

A dark shape boils out of the entryway and engulfs the lamp-bearer.  He
screams and drops the lamp as he is dragged off into the shadows.  As his
mates turn to look, Kron brains one with his sword pommel and kicks the 
others into oblivion.  The dark form reemerges from the shadows and 
moves to hover passively before Kron.

"SERVANT!" Kron shouts.  "Where the HELL have you been?!  Didn't your
master say that you were to help us out?  What have you been doing?"

The servant of ...sage replies in its mechanical, matter-of-fact voice:
"I have been using my limited autonomy.  I performed actions that were in
your best interest.  As you can see, you are none the worse for the wear."

Kron stares daggers.  "I don't know WHY your master programmed you to be
a smart-ass.  No time to bitch, though, because.....Gods, what the HELL
is that ?!"

Moriarty's first incantation is complete.  A mist rises from the floor-
boards, forming itself into a collumnar shape.  It rises to almost ten
feet in height, its top touching the ceiling of the tavern.  It solidifies
completely -- a glistening pillar of greyish-green amorphous protoplasm,
topped with a single reddish eyeball.  It makes a bizarre keening noise
and bends down to stare Kron straight in the face.  It oozes forward, its
shadow falling across Kron's gaping visage.

"Uh-oh," he says.
-- 
Andrew Solberg          |"If I were your wife I'd poison your tea!" 
Undying University Mooch|              Anon. Outraged British Woman
andsol@owlnet.rice.edu  |"And if I were your husband I'd drink it!"
Phone:713-529-8627      |              Winston Churchill