From: ASG102@psuvm.psu.edu (The Dreamer)
Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
Subject: [Storm] Kadrys: Home is the vampire, home from the sea...
Message-ID: <93110.091446ASG102@psuvm.psu.edu>
Date: 20 Apr 93 13:14:46 GMT

Posted on behalf of Andrea Evans

At last. Veiled by the spray cast up by the pounding waves, the coastline of
Generica rose slowly into view. Though his recent contact with the men of
the "Gentle Zephyr" had ensured that Kadrys was no longer nearing the end of
his strength, he was certainly not burning with energy as he had been when
he had set out hours ago. Instead of the exuberant, deadly swiftness of a
hunting falcon, his flight now more resembled the steady, dogged hoisting of
a raven returning to its evening roost.

He crossed the coastline well to the south of the city, careful to leave a
wide berth between himself and the storm. From afar he watched the titanic
struggle, the waterspouts and tsunami dwarfed by distance, the wall of the
Vortegei spell holding, straining, then weakened past the point of collapse
by the force of the storm. Fortunately, the effort of breaking the spell had
clearly weakened the storm in turn. Then, the beacons of the seaward towers
ignited, bursting into sudden brilliance like burning metal. But there was
one too many lights. Then he realised that the brightest blaze was coming
from the lookout atop 'Raelf and ar'Elya's home. The tower where 'Raelf had
unburdened himself to Kadrys, and where he had given the 'kan what little
comfort he could, the lookout 'Raelf had selected for its quiet and
seclusion, was now flaring like a sun fallen to earth. Kadrys looked away,
fearing for his sensitive eyes. Then, the lights reached out to each other,
forming nets to entrap and master the winds, elongating into lances to
pierce waterspouts, striking like swords into the heart of the storm. The
towering blackness screamed in stunning rage, but bit by bit it was
diminished, weakened, beaten. The rain and wind that eventually crossed the
coast were no longer beyond the bounds of the natural fury of the weather.
Kadrys sighed with relief, and began the long haul north.

As he watched the outskirts of the town rolling by far below, there seemed
little enough to be relieved about. It was staggering to see the devastation
that even a wholly natural storm could wreak upon the city. Entire swaths of
the old and rotting structures of the Low City had been levelled. Nowhere,
not even the mansions of Merchants' Hill had escaped unscathed. He wheeled
away towards the Elvish quarter, anxiously scanning the avenues littered
with fallen branches and even occasional uprooted trees. A wide white grin,
the first in what felt like days, spread itself over his bat muzzle as he
saw, perched incongruously atop an immense column of earth, a very familiar
tree. He circled once, peering into the windows to see a strange girl and
the soldierly greybeard from the party, both safe. Neither Luthor nor Serene
were anywhere in sight, and Kadrys assumed that they were helping elsewhere.
Which reminded him...

... In after years, the storm would continue to echo in the minds and words
of Generica's inhabitants, until in the end the embroidered mantle of myth
would descend, enshrouding events and concealing their jagged edges, the
dreariness and weariness and sheer hard work, from memory forever. In after
years, they would speak of the way the familiar stones of the seaward towers
had burned like coals. The way that sandbags had at a word become strong
stone walls. The way a very ordinary street, thronged with the helpless and
hopeless, had remained warm and calm and dry, safe even in the brutal eye of
the storm. The way that ships given up for lost had one by one limped home.
They would speak of the spears of light that had kept at bay the wrath of a
watery hell. Many would praise deities: Issek, Aditi, even Aspiazu. They
would speak of mages, of spirits, of powers that bore none of these names.
And some would mention a thing shaped like a man that appeared out of the
storm's darkness, clad in rags of white and dark grey as tattered as the
stormclouds, a thing with blowing black hair that shrouded its face from
sight. It cast aside wreckage with the cold efficiency of the winds,
restored those trapped within to their loved ones, and then, without a word,
was gone...

... A long time afterwards, a man sliped silently into the Dragon's Inn,
taking his usual seat at a table near the fire, a table with a seven-a-side
chessboard burned into its top. He kicked back in the chair, stretched his
limbs and spine with slow, graceful movements, and heaved a long sigh of
sheer physical relief at finally being able to relax for a moment. He stared
into the fire, his black eyes slowly losing their former glint of enjoyment,
becoming as expressionless as onyx beads as he retreated into his thoughts.

'Well, what came over me? An excess of energy? The will of the storm? Hah,
hardly that. I'm not that important. To whatever that thing was, my
destruction would've been an idle pastime. So what does that leave? A lust
for _excitement_. _Folly_! Sheer blind folly that I _should_ be old enough
to avoid...' A faint frown of distaste marked the stare, before fading away.
'...I _am_ old enough to avoid it. And what would happen if I did? If I
cling forever without rest to the logic and the caution and the coldness?
The love of life, the empathy that is the heart of wisdom, would wither and
die. Reason would certainly not last long after that. I would become that
which I loathe: a killer without conscience or cause, a mouth without a
mind, thirst made flesh. A predatory animal, to be noticed and hunted down
and destroyed sooner or later, as predators always are.'
He gave a short, sharp sigh and shook his head dismissively.
'To the pit with that! I have to stop berating myself and remember that life
_is_ risk: it can't always be avoided. Sometimes I won't even _want_ to
avoid it. It's the same old tightrope-walk: to stay sane, you just have to
know when to be crazy occasionally...' He shrugged, grinning sharply to
himself at the sarcastic mock-profundity.