Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
From: djb6@ellis.uchicago.edu (Dennis Brennan)
Subject: [R] Land Ho!
Message-ID: <1992Dec10.203725.21758@midway.uchicago.edu>
Date: Thu, 10 Dec 1992 20:37:25 GMT

A fly pauses from its erratic flight for a few moments, resting on a pink
dome of flesh.  Disturbed by the motion of its resting place, it resumes
buzzing at once, seeking a more stable surface.  

Irritated by the fly's ticking, Karl's hand rubs his left cheek.  Groggily
coming to his senses, Karl reluctantly opens one eye, then the other.  He
squints as the sunlight filtering through the tattered fabric canopy burns
his eyes.

Slapping his belly thoughtfully, Karl discovers his hunger and decides to
get something to eat.  Still seated, he leans forward and attempts to grab
his knees with his hands without bending his legs.  After stretching in
this manner for a new moments, Karl slides his legs to the side of the long
deck-chair and stands.

A voice from atop the cabin pierces the lazy afternoon silence in a voice
combining fatigue with relief- "Land ho!"  The sailor in the improvised
"crow's news" on the roof of the cabin (the mast had been destroyed
in the melee with the _Cote_D'Ivor_) had finally discerned the coastline.
Proucing a pear of spectacles from a vest pocket, Karl put them on and 
stared at the horizon himself, eventually locating the land himself.
To his pleasure he recognized the hilly area just to the south of Generica,
then the CIty of Fountains itself.

Time in Generica resembles not the straight flight of an arrow so much as
the erratic, unpredictable dance of the butterfly.  The time of day and
indeed of the year seem to differ from observer to observer.  At any
particular moment, the sun might be rising, or falling, or it might be
noon or the middle of the night.  For that matter, it is difficult to find
two people who agree which day of the week it is.  According to one story,
one of the founders of Generica's magic guild was chastised by Lord
Glorshanned for arriving late to an appointment and cursed the Generic
calendar forever in revenge.

Accordingly, while it had been late summer two weeks ago when Karl and
his comrades had set off aboard the _Moorglade_ for Rameshan, it was
now early winter.  Stumbling back to his cabin, Karl procured a heavier 
woolen cloak to shield himself from the chill which grew colder as the 
_Arcas_ approached Generica.  In expectation of his arrival, Karl
forgot his hunger.

The crippled passenger vessel made its way into Generica's famous harbour.
This busy port contained ships from all nations of the world- from
tall Ydionais galleys to Rameshander barges to strangely-sailed junks
from Cathay and Etarus'Ta.  Many of these vessels were preparing to leave
Generica, not wanting to be icebound when the harbour froze.  Others were
preparing to drydock for the season in their home port.  

Escorted by a pair of Seaguard patrol vessels, the _Arcas_ made its way to
one of the docks in the northern part of the port.  As the _Narwhal_ 
happened to pass, Karl saluted the proud ship in memory of its valiant
service during Dougl's rescue from the slavers.  

On the dock, there were two dockhands.  One, a preposterously tall man,
held a coil of rope, which he tossed to a crewmember of the _Arcas_ that
he might tie the ship down.  The other, a large, muscular young man, carried
a clipboard and a tall stack of papers.  Before anyone could leave the 
ship, the young man with the papers boarded the _Arcas_ and located the
captain, interrogating him and auditing the ships' contents.  At last the
dockmaster's inspection was completed and passengers began to disembark.


-- 
Dennis Brennan
djb6@midway.uchicago.edu