From: hutch@ibeam.intel.com (Steve Hutchison) Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: [DQ] Week 13 - William: Pastorale Message-ID: Date: 8 Nov 92 08:03:39 GMT [ADMIN] For some reason I'm the only one with posting access this week. So here's another one. This is posted for Cameron Neylon. --- The scene: A quiet rural setting, birds in the trees and flowers out. A farmer rested against a tree, exhausted in the midday sun, a bottle of wine by his side, a pasty-cake half eaten. The bottle is full, but open, the fields around him green with tall plants. He mumbled briefly as if stirring, and then fell back to sleep again. William stood above him cursing silently. Then said again; "Errmmm? Excuse me?", he coughed. "What? Ho?", the farmer awakened briefly, "Hmmm? Yes?" "Oh sorry to wake you." replied William, "I was wondering whether you . . ." A snore emanated slowly from the man's mouth, rising like a puff of smoke from his lips. "SIR!" "Oh, What?, Oh yes, what was it you wanted?" "I was wondering if you'd seen someone I'm looking for, an Elven woman . . ." "Haha, And what would you be wanting an _elven_ woman for then? Got a rampant unicorn in your forest have ye?" "Armmm . . no. I'm not sure I see what you mean." "You don't want no truck with those elven lasses, son, they'll steal your soul, soon as let you kiss em, you want a nice homely girl a nice boy like you." "No no, you don't understand. I have to find her!" "I know of course you do, but its a bad thing, you be better off just going home while you're still alive, and whole. Look son, I know best, believe me." "I _want to know where she is_", Williams voice rose slightly, gaining an edge that he didn't remember it having. " . . look, I know how you feel, but you should just go . . " "_TELL ME WHERE SHE IS_" " Alrightalright already. Keep yer shoes on, son. Yes I saw an elven woman about three days ago" "WHERE DID SHE GO?" William's hands clenched convulsively, of their own accord, and his head swam in the heat. "She was run out of town, just as she should be, just as all witches ar . .", now the farmer's voice had the edge, but a different edge, an edge of fear. Arggghh! Suddenly the farmer's throat was slit, the blood spreading quickly over his shirt and over the knife and over William's hands and . . . and . . . ... (and it felt good) ... The birds settled to the ground next to the farmer, resting motionless against the tree. A bottle of wine, half full, spilled over his lap, and the purple mixed with the red cascade from his throat. The birds hopped closer, and began to steal bits from the pasty-cake. << MemoryTrace Rewind. Load. Run. >> The scene: A quiet rural setting, birds in the trees and flowers out. A farmer rested against a tree, exhausted in the midday sun, a bottle of wine by his side, a pasty-cake half eaten. The bottle is full, but open, the fields around him green with tall plants....