From: mozart@altair.dartmouth.edu (Sting)
Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
Subject: Cragin falls
Message-ID: <1992Oct19.163549.26437@dartvax.dartmouth.edu>
Date: 19 Oct 92 16:35:49 GMT


[ADMIN:  A few hours ago, Cragin was hurled down into the Inn from above, ]
[        driving a hole in the ceiling.  He then managed to scrabble his  ]
[        way to a table and cry for Littlefair or Serene, neither of whom ]
[        has responded...                                                 ]

Hours pass.  He lay crumpled over the table, his black clothing torn and
matted with clotted blood, his body bruised and broken, breathing raggedly
and muttering incoherent bits of sentences; disconnected phrases, lost
thoughts ... others move away to nearby tables, away from his.

At last, his shaking hands slow, his speech slurs and stops, and a last
breath catches in his lungs before he loses his grip on the table and slides
down to the floor with a thump.  His hand relaxes, revealing a deep, 
burgundy coloured gemstone with countless light-catching facets buried
deep in his palm.  As he collapses, it glows once briefly, then goes
dark.


Cragin von Pfeffenhausen
Minstrel for Dragon Clan
Sting@Dartmouth.EDU / mozart@coos.dartmouth.edu / (603) 643-5716
  all requests granted!