Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
From: mwasson@nyx.cs.du.edu (Gecko-boy)
Subject: [Edwin] Preliminary ponderings
Message-ID: <1993Jul8.025758.5654@mnemosyne.cs.du.edu>
Date: Thu, 8 Jul 93 02:57:58 GMT


Edwin chose a table near the wall and sat down. He took a long draught
of mead, wiping the flecks of foam from his beard with the back of his
hand. It was decently good -- not like back home, but full-bodied with
a distinct flavor, a hint of bitter under the fermented honey. He could
grow to like this city, leagues from home though it be.

He settled back in his chair and eyed the crowd. The Dragon's Inn was
full that evening, or so it seemed to Edwin, and the customers were as
varied as they were numerous. He was having trouble adjusting to this
feature of Generica. Everything -- and everyone -- seemed so foreign.
At the table directly before his sat a man draped in scarlet robes,
his face shadowed ominously within a cowl. He matched Edwin's
conception of how a Saracen might look, although Edwin had never
actually seen a Saracen. 

Nearby sat a group of five extremely short men, all of whom could have
been twins of the others, with identical beards that reached to their
laps. They sat on tall chairs and were shouting boisterously, all at
once. Edwin realized with a start that these were dwarves, exactly of
the sort one heard about in fairy tales.

At another table sat a man with a ledger opened before him. Next to
the ledger stood a wooden frame, about a hand's breadth wide and twice
that in height, with a cross piece dividing it into two unequal 
sections. Small beads were strung in rows across each of the two
sections. The man would shuttle the beads back and forth, then scratch
something into the ledger with his quill, and he did this over and
over, very fast. He wore a look of intense concentration. Edwin tried
to think of a rational explanation for what the man was doing, and failed, 
mystified.

There were other patrons who struck Edwin as equally peculiar. A man
dressed in leather armor, with a long sword sheathed at his belt, and
jet-black hair falling in curls to his shoulders -- who turned out, on
closer look, to be a woman. A group of pale, slender folk chattering
together in a language that sounded like nothing so much as birdsong. 
A woman who held a mechanical device of some sort, like a music box.
She appeared to be whispering into it.

Edwin drained the tankard of mead, set it down on the table. He was
exhausted. The flight from Avelard had been grueling. The memory of
it, now, was a blur of days: driving his horse over snow drifts,
pressing onward, always, to the next town, the next country estate,
till finally he had reached Generica, this strange bustling city.
The next step was to find allies. He needed to establish himself;
the best way, it seemed, would be through feat of arms.

[Admin: This will merge with the Roger thread. Much thanks to Brian,
and to Liralen (hi Lir'!)]

--
| Mike Wasson (mwasson@uhunix.uhcc.hawaii.edu -or- @nile.ics.hawaii.edu)    |
| University of Hawai'i at Manoa / Software Engineering Research Lab (SERL) |
| (setq *standard-disclaimer* t)  ;;  "I'm not angry, just sleepy."         |