From: albert@chain.ssctr.bcm.tmc.edu (Rick Jones) Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: [GATM/STORM] Krupp [Low City]Talking Heads_and_Burning Down the House Date: 4 May 1993 16:50:44 GMT Message-ID: <1s66t4$9dl@gazette.bcm.tmc.edu> [ADMIN: For Krupp, the STORM is just making landfall.] What Has Gone Before: Krupp Faraway, Halfling PI was murdered. In Generica, however, that's not always a problem. Krupp's a ghost now, searching for his murderer. The murder weapon, an arrow, led him to the underworld accountant, Numbers, on the night of the worst Storm to hit Generica. He was about to find out the name he's been looking for, when Numbers is suddenly assassinated in front of him by one of his "loyal" guards. > "It was-" Numbers stopped, and looked down at his chest, which > had just grown a crossbow bolt. I whirled to see Mick, holding a two > shot crossbow and smiling a grin of pure malice. > He looked at me in shock. "Krupp?" he muttered. "But that's > impossible." He pointed the crossbow at me, and fired. I reflexively dove out of the way, even though a bolt isn't doing to do diddly to a ghost. I landed silently on the floor and rolled behind the desk. Mentally, kicking myself, I bounced back to my feet, to see Mick's retreating form. I shouted, "Stop, dammit," and ran after him. I caught up to him in the hallway. Glancing over his shoulder, he drew a dagger from his belt and threw it at me with deadly accuracy. Except, I was already dead, so it passed through me. Mick, still looking over his shoulder, raised an eyebrow, and bolted through an open doorway at the other end of the hall. I sped up, and zipped through after him. It was dark, my "eyes" instantly adjusted. It was a huge natural cave. Everywhere there were chests, and crates, and piles of all kinds of loot. There was more stuff here than all of Merchant's Hill. Heck, a dragon might look at this place and decide to move in. I cursed, knowing Mick could hide in a zillion places. "Mick," I shouted. "There's no use hiding." I breathed in deeply, trying to smell whatever emotions I could pick up. Nothing. Guy must have been a real iceman. "That so, Mister Faraway?" Mick's voice echoed strangely in cavern. "You think you can find me? You're wrong, shorty. Dead," he stopped and giggled in a high pitched voice, "dead wrong." I slowly walked forward, listening intently. I could see in the dark, but how could he, I wondered. "You think you're so hot. Mister Bigshot Flatfoot." The giggle again. It sounded familiar. I wracked my brain, but I knew I had never seen Mick before in my life. "Well, let me tell you a story about Creft. You're looking at his main hideyhole. His best loot is hid here." I looked around. Nothing. The voice was slowly changing, becoming higher, and a hysteric edge laced his words. I made a wild guess, "Shapechanger, show yourself." The voice giggled, becoming more manic. "Shows what you know." He paused for a moment. He sounded tired when he continued. "Did you know that Creft booby trapped this place. In case the Guilds ever raided the place. Fire charms all over the place. Not that it should bother you, _shorty_." What the heck was this guy, I wondered. I turned a corner, and found Mick slumped over on the ground. I rolled him over, and found he had cut his own throat. "Oops, left a clue for you, flatfoot. Oh well, better figure it out quick," I spun around, trying to find the source of the voice when my eyes were momentarily dazzled by a sudden brightness. When they cleared, I was standing in the middle of an inferno. The fire didn't burn me, which was good. On the other hand, due to the flames and smoke, I couldn't see, which was bad. So, I looked around, trying to see some landmark I could use to get out. Nothing. So, I picked an arbitrary direction and started walking. My life had gotten really surreal since I died, I thought. Shapechanging catman wizards. Sorceresses with twenty different bodies. Friendly vampires. And now, I was walking through a fire without getting burned. Nuts. I had made little progress through the fire, when I heard a creaking sound. I looked up to see the ceiling coming down, along with a zillion gallons of water. Great. Just great. It took a while for all the debris to settle, and then I started climbing up from the bottom of the pile. Eventually, I got to the top. The storm had gotten worse. Much worse. In fact, in sixty years, I had never seen a storm so awful. The rain was coming down like a waterfall. Of course, thanks to the winds, the waterfall was almost hitting you straight on. Even better, if the fire didn't destroy all the evidence, the water would. Actually, most of the fire had gone out by then, thanks to the deluge. I slumped down on a smoldering timber, and thought about what to do next. The deluge passed through me, as did the wind. I looked down at the sinkhole that used to be the Twinfish Warehouse, and wondered what the heck I was dealing with here. This was not normal. Betrayal, intrigue and murder were normal. Heck, a magically assisted hit was normal. But live talking body, that becomes a dead body, with someone talking; that's not normal. My reverie was disturbed by a gout of water spurting up from the sewer grate. Then another down the street became a fountain. I sat up, and started heading inland. I didn't want to watch a flood. I got up and started to walk away when I heard a familiar, high pitched voice. "Hey, mac. Wait up." On the ground, stuck in the grate was the bottle with the imp from Numbers' office. I walked through the water to it, and squatted down on to take a look at it. "Hey buddy, give a guy a break." "What do you want?" I asked. This could be helpful, I thought. "Let me out, pal. Next surge and my bottle gets washed out, and probably will end up at the bottom of the sea." It was getting anxious and was looking down into the sewer nervously. "So what do I do?" "Pull the cork, and let me out." I was torn, I didn't want to just let it go. It had information about Numbers that I could use. Then I thought of those hazy months of being bound to the alleyway. "Tell you what, answer me some questions and I'll pop the cork." "Sure, sure, anything." I reached for the cork, when I had a thought. "Swear by something important that you won't bail on me." "Okay. I swear on the Eternal Compact. Section 6, paragraph 32-Zed." I knew zip about imps, but I figured that even if it bailed, I was no worse off than I was before. I concentrated, and pulled on the cork. It wiggled free, and shouted "FREE." It hopped onto my hand. "You can touch me," I said, shocked. "Hey, you're a spook. I'm a daemon. Let's blow this pop stand, I hate water." I stood up and started walking back towards the Inn. "What was your name again?" "Lotus." "Krupp Faraway. Lotus, my friend, I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship." -- Rick Jones "Irving? You can't name a magic sword IRVING!" albert@bcm.tmc.edu "But I LIKE the name Irving." Systems Support Center -Joe the Barbarian, to Marge the Sorceress Voice: 713-798-7352 (River of the Dancing Gods, by Jack Chalker)