Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Message-ID: <0fSmg0O00WBOQ_NJlC@andrew.cmu.edu> Date: Thu, 11 Feb 1993 23:43:44 -0500 From: "Scott T. Morgan" Subject: Rude Awakening The Drow came awake with a start. His head jerked away from the table and his hand jumped to the sword at his belt, but shifted away after taking in the surroundings. Ater a quick glance around the room, his eyes settled on the dark figure that sat besides him at the table, quietly sipping a drink that reeked of alcohol to the Drow's sensitive nose. He shifted subtly, moving his back hand (the one that wasn't totally visable to the other at the table) into the folds of his beaten piwafi, finding the hilt of one of the knives that were secreted about his person. The Drow had learned the value of being prepared for all contingencies; the rigors of the intrigue that was daily life for the Drow were hard learned, and even harder to unlearn. He softened his face and collected himself as much as possible before addressing the other. "Who are you?" the Drow asked, "And why do you do this for me, and outsider and..." The Drow's question ended in mid sentance as the other turned his head slightly and the keen eyes of the dark elf penatrated the darkness of the other's hood. "Surface Elf!" The Drow hissed and leaped to his feet, his hand clutching the dagger in his robes and moving to throw it at his drinking companion. His throw ended almost before it began, as the Drow was wracked with unbearable pain. He dropped the dagger to the floor, it's black blade shone along the point with an oily surface that was obviously a poison of some sort. "Why!?" he cried as he fell to his knees and clutched his head. His face was contorted into a grimace of exquisite agony. The Drow remained on the floor, on his knees, as the other moved to help him up. He shook off Windstalker's attempt to help him back to his seat and, with visable effort, brought himself back to his feet and back into his chair. He positioned himself as far across the table as possible from the hated surface elf and regarded him with a glare of pure hatred. He look the other in the eyes with a stare that could burn holes in adamantium and asked in a voice dripping with poison: "What have you done to me?" (Back to you Windstalker, and thanks for the drink)