Date: Monday, 7 Jun 1993 17:20:47 EDT
From: Michael Sander <344LWKC@CMUVM.CSV.CMICH.EDU>
Message-ID: <93158.172047344LWKC@CMUVM.CSV.CMICH.EDU>
Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
Subject: [BBD] The Waiting Game

[ADMIN: Well, I'm back from vacation, if you could call it that, and finally
 ready to contribute again. The TWIR should be restarting tomorrow (I hope),
 and things may actually get back to normal for me this week. Anyway, _much_
 thanks to the Dreamer and Stilt Man for their input/corrections in this...]

The Gutt Man paced back and forth along the room, taking in its sights for
the umpteenth time. As rooms go, it was large, but otherwise rather
unnoteworthy, with walls of well-masoned and undecorated stone. There were
boxes and other containers in stacks and piles all around, serving as the
only sort of furniture, and allowing the light overhead to produce shadowy
areas all around.

But it wasn't the shadows or lack of comforts that bothered Gutt Man -- he
like the former and had never really had the latter --, it was the lack of
activity, and the somewhat close spaces, even in this warehouse BBD had
stationed them in. Finally, he had had enough, and walked up to a group
poised over diagrams that he didn't care to look at. "Pars," he demanded,
"_when_ are we gonna face them? They must _pay_ for messing up my plans."
His voice hollowed a bit, sounding a bit robotic, as he added. "And those
of BBD."

Parsephulas looked up from his rough sketches, and sighed. Now had he to
deal with a claustrophic maniac. As if it wasn't bad enough that he was
lucky Arcania hadn't killed him yet. Or that he was still basically
surrounded by her Thurlans -- who seemed particularly vicious tonight, in
what he hoped was just his imagination. Or that he was far from in good
standing with BBD.

"Patience, Gutt Man." He finally answered. "From what I know of Kryalla
Simuel, they will come to us, she not being able to resist the opportunity
to free another rebel." he pointed to Yosef, still bound, and slumped in a
corner. "In the meanwhile, we can prepare for their arrival. For example,
using these crates as an unexpected weapon." he smiled at that facet of his
plan. "Why don't you go practice or something?"

The Gutt Man's eyes glimmered at this, as if Pars had had the absolutely
best idea in the world, and he scampered off to his "practice area." Within,
there was a machine that could produce reasonable images, though it could not
move or otherwise enhance them. It had been found among the storage, and
mainly used to familiarize the Thurlans with their enemy, or at least their
looks. But Gutt Man had become quite partial to it, his warped mind liking the
idea of cutting people up, making it more real somehow. It had become one of
his favorite activities, right up there with seeing how long he could torture
a rat before its heart exploded.

Parsephulas tolerated it kept Gutt Man out of his hair. He had gotten the
impression that the child-killer would have by now attacked one of the
daemons or he if it were not for the machine and the bracelet BBD collared
him with. In fact, it had almost proven useful in a way. Yosef had been
forced to watch the first few sessions, the savagery of Gutt Man's attacks
intended to put fear into the rebel. But that ended when after such a
session, Pars stopped to see the reaction, and found only a strange,
nearly appreciative smile.

* * * *
Gutt Man wracked his brain in order to decide who he wanted to kill today, and
how. Besides the pleasure he felt, it was also the best way to practice using
his weapons -- the knife that he had found oh so long ago, and its complement
that had been given to him by Velric.

The first image was of a child -- a little girl, dressed in rags from head to
toe, an expression that one only can get from the hard life on the street
etched on her face. "Little Rat, you little brat." Gutt Man said. "Hit _me_,
will ya? For dat, your death will come slowly... painfully..."
The first word was emphasized by the left knife hitting the left lung area,
and the second by a shot to the groin. As he twisted the bottom blade, and
drew the top slowly from left to right, he added "So in the end you'll _beg_
me for release... da cleansing that is death." And with that, the left blade
sliced thru what would have been the heart, while the right was yanked out
with a grunt of content.

The image shifted. It remained a girl, but became an older one, taller, with
different facial features and better clothes. "Lissa. Fate took ya from me
once, and my... benefactor did another time. But now all that's wanted is
your blood!" He stuck one knife in the middle of her developing bosom. Then,
as if expecting a scream, the other knife immediately cut into the throat, a
blow that among other things would have severed the vocal cords.

The Gutt Man turned away for a second, staring at his blades with glee. Then
he realized they had no actual blood on them, and was anguished that he hadn't
inflicted any real pain. Not only that, but the image had faded when his
concentration had. Cursing some, he decided practice wasn't over yet, and
thought up a final image.

This one was of a man, appromixately six feet tall, with red hair, a dark
green tunic, and a weapon on each side. "Lancos. I hate dat mage, Darvos, you
was with too, but to me you're worse. Try to use two weppons on me? -- I can
match dat now! Try to best me; stop my divine mission? Well then, dere's only
one fate for you..." He stuck both knives into the gut -- still his favorite
target -- and sliced a blade in each direction. As he imagined the man's
intestines falling out, he did a mockery of a dance upon where he perceived
them, and issued a hysterical laugh that even the Thurlans might have
shuddered at.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------
Michael Sander 344lwkc@cmuvm.csv.cmich.edu
AKA Lancos Erredan
SAQ: "The waiting game sucks!"-Homer Simpson