From: kjc@aramis.rutgers.edu (Kelly J. Cooper) Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: [MG] Somewhere out of context Keywords: I won't use words again Message-ID: Date: 2 Jun 93 03:54:52 GMT [Admin: 3 of 3 in quick succession] "The Gods send thread for the web begun." - Leif Smith Jameson sat, her chair leaned back, her legs on the table, and slowly sipped something cold. It was early afternoon at the Inn and the Lunch crowd was just fading, most of them walking carefully, nursing the effects of post-large-party-hangovers. There was a faint sensation of being watched, then a quiet voice. "Jameson?" "Hello?" she said both vocally and mentally to no one in particular. The table to her right looked at her curiously, then returned to their discussion of charmed weapons. The voice strengthened to a conversational level. "Hi, Jaime. It's Nescie." "Nescie!" She smiled, and stayed with the mental voice, "It's been a while. How are things at the Guild?" "Well... I really shouldn't say over the link. There's no telling who might be able to listen in. But I'm doing okay, I think." His voice sounded a little strained to her. "Are you free for dinner tonight?" Jameson looked around the empty table where she sat and smiled a private smile, "Yes, I think so." "Great! I'll come find you later then, all right?" "Cool. Um, Nescie? Could you check the sigil? It picked up some kind of backlash from the Guild a few days ago, and I think it knocked me out. At least, that's what they tell me." "It did? Um. I'll look into it right away, and let you know what I find out. See you in a bit." "Bye." And the sense of presence was gone. Jameson sat up, finished her juice and stood slowly. Looking at everything and nothing, she approached the bar, set down her glass, turned and walked out of the Inn. Time to take a stroll. Somewhere within, her eternally churning mind was coming up for new specs for new spects while her conscious thoughts contemplated the slight panic attack she was experiencing. Time to do more walking, perhaps. She pulled some thread from her pocket, where she'd tangled it around her fingers, fiddling. She looked at the cross-cuts and listened to the sound of a cresting wave of something, about to break across her mind. * * * Nescie uncurled himself from his cross-legged position, yawning and stretching. His muscles felt stiff. He had no idea why he had taken up meditation. He didn't seem to get anything out of it -- no insights, no memories, nothing. Nothing at all. Peculiar pastime. Peculiar times. He crossed over to his washbasin and splashed some water on his face. He paused, examining his reflection more carefully. It looked to him exactly as if someone had sewn an irregular grid of thin black threads just underneath his skin. He touched them gingerly, feeling nothing out of the ordinary. He rubbed his eyes and looked again. They were gone. He blamed it on his overstressed, hyperactive imagination and promptly forgot all about it. There _was_ something he was supposed to remember, though. Dinner. Dinner with Jameson. He smiled to himself, checking his time-spell, and got a rude shock. By Bog -- where had the afternoon gone? It looked like he would have just enough time to prepare. Nescie hastily shrugged out of his mage's robes and took a quick shower, trying to decide what to wear. He considered changing into something more formal but discarded that idea quickly, realizing that Jameson probably wouldn't have much more than she could carry. She'd be lucky if she had more than what she was wearing. So instead, something more casual would be in order; if she wanted something formal, he could always conjure it up for them on the spot. Nescie finished his shower and dried himself. He spun his closet of attire through three and a half revolutions, opened it, and selected a plain tunic, with pants to match. He put on the new clothes, and made an effort to tame his unruly hair. When he was done, he didn't look much like an Archmage -- more like a young apprentice, or perhaps even a farmer's son. Now where would she be? He expanded his awareness along the link to seek her out, then took himself to her with a sweep of his hand. * * * Jameson was just approaching the Inn when everything began moving slowly. She felt as if she were watching herself in a show, playing out a scene. Except someone wielding a remote control had slowed everything down for a frame by frame analysis. A semi-familiar voice was calling her name again, distorted by the creeping pace of time, but no one else seemed to pay it any attention. She turned as everything slowed further. Even her thoughts moved languidly. There was a man moving towards her. His face matched an old faded image in her head -- an image that had been replaced by the comfortable features of a much older man. Her brain did a slow bit of rubber-banding while she hoped, somewhat dispassionately, that she wasn't reliving the past again. No, the context was all wrong, it was still current. She was still in Generica, still in Nexus. No layering of reality. Yet. Then a blankness slipped across the other's eyes and his face froze in a mask. Sluggish and unwilling time came to a grinding halt as she stared into these eyes. She could feel the slow constriction, the cutting pattern all over her body again. Again? The being stood in a twisted perspective that made him look gigantic, bigger than any human should be; he towered over the crowd and buildings. There was a sketch of black and white lines that outlined his entire body and flapped and fluttered like streamers in a whirlwind, and they were reaching out, reaching for her, reaching for... The thought came into her mind that it might be a good idea to say something, to let someone else know what was going on, but she couldn't move. She wasn't breathing. Her heart wasn't beating. She was ... dead? Time suddenly snapped back to normal without a sound and the vision was gone, having lasted less than an instant. Everything was normal again, the sound of her heartbeat and breathing echoing in her ears. She paused, blinked, then smiled and held out her hand to him. "Nescie. You've changed your hair?" He laughed and took her hand in both of his, and it seemed as if a wall sprang up around them that cut them off from the noises of the crowd around them. "Oh, considerably more than that -- just about everything, actually. I'm a man of twenty-some years again." Then his face grew somber. He shook his head, and sighed. "I have to tell someone about it, and you're the only one I can really talk to, Jaime. It's a real mess at the Guild." Jameson was aware of the outside world blurring as they moved to ... someplace else. They were now standing near a rather classy establishment, complete with doorman in braid and epaulets. Jameson couldn't quite see the name from where they were talking. Nescie continued without noticing that anything had changed. "Delalle, the Supreme Archmage, came back and told us what he was up to, but now he's dead, and we don't know how it happened -- he just disappeared. Urcohea, who'd normally be in charge and investigating Delalle's death, is under suspicion of trying to influence the Archmagi Council. He still has his position as Archmage of Internal Security, but he's watched at all times, and everything he does has to be approved by a second Archmage. So Dasham's in charge, because she has seniority. I think she's using it to get her pet projects more resources, but she has to hold an official election sometime soon, and I don't know what will happen then. "And, on top of it all... Jaime, it's not safe in Nexus. There's something called a Reaverschild, something with the power to make and unmake _gods_. It wants to kill _everything_, and it's loose somewhere around here. That storm that hit us so hard, so recently, was the creation of one of its minions. And I think it killed Delalle; he was researching it, and it's just too much of a coincidence for him to die right now. I'm worried, Jaime. Really worried." Jameson looked at him, the faintest hint of a smile at the corners of her lips and said softly, "Dead, did you say? Yes. Yes, you did. Dead. Hmm." Comments, compliments, and complaints can be conveyed to: Bernie Hsiung (bshsiung@eecs.umich.edu) and Kelly J. Cooper kjc@cs.rutgers.edu [Admin: I know the Party is still going on for some, but is the actual "Party" a multi-day affair? Or was it supposed to be a one-nighter? Thanks. -kjc]