Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: Krupp [About Town] Faux Pas Message-ID: <1mgems$bhn@gazette.bcm.tmc.edu> From: albert@chain.ssctr.bcm.tmc.edu (Rick Jones) Date: 24 Feb 1993 18:27:40 GMT I was up all night reading the "Handbook for the Recently Deceased." It was mostly confusing doubletalk, but after a few hours, I at least had the basics. The wizards had scribbled some notes in the margins, and painted some kind of yellow marks over some passages. Do you what "stereo instructions" are? 'Raelf was constantly complaining that the book read like them. Anyway, reading took the whole night, but, as page 107 says, "ectoplasmic manifestations no longer require Morpheuic slumber. The unfettered spirit no longer requires a biologically induced somnolence." I think that means since I'm a ghost, and not a living hobbit, I don't need to nap anymore. I knew a really twisted wizard must have written it. Still, it was better than no help at all. Littlefair told me that Serene and her friend Luthor Anside were having a housewarming party. Deciding that it was too early for Farrel or my landlord to be up, I decided to poke my dead head in over there. The house was pretty. A bit much for my tastes, but it beat a hole in the ground. There was already a middling size crowd there when I arrived. Serene, her bambino, and a regal looking half-elf, who I presumed was Luthor, were greeting the arrivals. "Krupp, how are you?" asked Serene. She smiled radiantly. Motherhood suited her. "Well, for a dead guy, I'm doing okay." I noticed a pile of presents on a nearby endtable, and mentally smacked my forehead. I promised myself to get them something as soon as I could. "Dead?" asked Luthor. "According to the manual, I'm a 'Class VII ectoplasmic manifestation.' But 'ghost' will do. It hasn't slowed me down really." I've noticed that talking about being dead's a real conversation killer. "Well, I better head on in, don't want to hold up the line." Serene looked down at me with concern. "'Raelf's in there. And some others from the Inn." Oh, that's just what I needed. However, I nodded, and headed into the house. 'Raelf was demonstrating some wonderful smelling food to some of the guests out in the garden. I wandered around the house. The book was right, most people didn't notice me unless I attracted attention to myself. Like I said, it was a nice house. A bit big for two people. Well, two and a half. I guessed that a kid will eventually take up lots of space. Besides, this Luthor guy was apparently royalty or something in another dimension, and royalty in my book translates to "taking up room for thirty normal folks." The food smelled great. I wished I could eat it. I grabbed for a piece, and my hand went through it. I stopped and concentrated. It's all a matter of will, I told myself. I reached out and picked up the pastry. I could smell the confectioner's sugar glazing it. Smiling like the cat about to eat the canary, I brought it up to my face, and took a bite. Actually, I tried to take a bite. My lips and teeth went through it. Shocked, the cake fell through my fingers, landing face down on the carpet. I reached down to pick it up, and my fingers went through it again. I tried again to concentrate, but I was flustered and couldn't focus. Nobody noticed my mess. Nobody saw me. I remember as a kid, I was grousing about trying to get the attention of this cute girl. "She doesn't even known I'm alive." It had finally hit me. I was dead. Somebody murdered me. I didn't have time for parties. I scrunched my hat farther down on my head, and walked out a convenient wall. *** I high tailed it back to the Dragon's Inn to retrieve the arrow. I didn't want to bring it to a party, after all. I ran south, into Low City, towards the Arms'n'Stuf shop. Farrel made this arrow. He would damn well tell me who he sold it to. The store wasn't open yet. I started to walk through the door, but I stopped when I realized I couldn't take the arrow with me. No open windows, and the back door was closed as well. I groused to myself, and rapped on the door with the arrow. No answer. I walked around the store again. I didn't want to leave it in the street, where someone could take it. Anything not nailed down is quickly lifted in Low City. And if it's nailed down, you better hire a trustworthy guard to watch it, just in case. I had an idea. I went around back, and climbed up the back wall. I can hear you asking. "How can he climb a wall, if he's not solid. He can't grab?" Well, how come I don't fall through the ground, and how did I sit in a chair in the Inn? The Book was totally unclear on this. If you can figure it out, let me know. It talked about partial biofields and mental expectations and then might has well have been in Rameshander. Anyway, I climbed the wall, and walked on the roof over to the chimney. Holding the arrow above me, I jumped down. The coals in the fire didn't burn me, though they were warm. Nobody was there. Looking around some more I saw the door to the back room was open. I walked back and saw Farrel, sacked out on his cot. Farrel's a big cuss. Six feet tall, about two-sixty pounds, and not an ounce of it fat. Rumor had it he had some troll blood in him, and I was willing to believe it. Normally, I would never try to strong-arm someone who could squash me flat. However, I did have an ace up my sleeve. "FaaaRRReeeLLL," I moaned. I concentrated on remaining invisible, but making my voice heard. It was rather like tapping your head and rubbing your stomach, but all in your head. Farrel was having none of it. "FAAAARRRREELLLLL," I moaned, "WaaKKKEEE UUUUUUUPPPPP." Farrel drooled on his pillow, oblivious. "Oh to hell with it." I whapped him across the cheek with the arrow. He lashed out reflexively, but I had yanked the arrow back before he could break it. "Wut the 'el?" grumped Farrel. "Wake up, you lump of horse hockey," I yelled. I'd given up on spooking him. He sat up and looked at me through sleepy eyes. "Unk. Does I know you?" "Faraway," said I. "Who'd you sell this arrow to?" "You got me up for 'that'," sleepyness giving way to anger, he jumped to his feet. "Sit Down," I commanded, concentrating on making myself scary. I did it the first time accidentally. Actually doing it on demand was hard. However, it seemed to have the desired effect, as he sat back down, with a confused look on his mug. I guess if a terrier puppy had managed to scare me, I'd be confused too. "Now, who did you sell this to?" I held out the arrow. He looked at it and scratched his head a couple of tiles. "I dunno. I sells lots of pointys. Whut's innit fer me?" Think scary, I told myself. "Well, Farrel. I would be happy. And you wouldn't want me _ANGRY_ would you." He blanched a little. I felt better actually, like I'd just had a sweet piece of candy. You think it's strange seeing a ghost, try _being_ one? "It had on it. Think hard." "Umm, I sold some to the Wasters last week." He tried to paste a smile on his puss. Wasn't working. He was scared, I could tell. "No good. Had to be a month ago. Before Kron got busted." "Oooh, dose arrows. I sold 'em to Creft." "Duh. Which of Creft's goons. Dead men don't talk." Well, actually, they could. But I didn't want to confuse Farrel. "Umm, Numbers. I sold 'em to Numbers." His panic was starting to fade. I knew I better get out fast. "Thanks, Farrel. Now go back to sleep. You had a bad dream." And with that, I vanished. He blinked a few times. Scratched his head again. He found a flea that time. He stared at it. An idea pierced his thick skull, and he pinched his arm. I was trying to stifle the giggles. He shrugged his shoulders and went back to sleep. I was left with one question. How to get back out again. -- Rick Jones albert@bcm.tmc.edu "A day without sunshine is sort of like night." Systems Support Center -Mike Jittlov Voice: 713-798-7352