Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn From: hutch@ibeam.intel.com (Steve Hutchison) Subject: [Fate] A disturbance in the force... Message-ID: Date: Tue, 7 Sep 1993 19:48:10 GMT [ADMIN] posted for Chris Young, who can read but not yet post. The forest is still green with the leaves of summer and the trees stretch skyward to gather in the falling sunlight from the heavens. The air is crisp and fresh with a subtle breeze that weaves between the stout trunks. The songs of birds in the boughs of the trees provide a sense of harmony and nature. Sometimes being in harmony is not being in order. An oiled leather boot trods down upon a patch of green moss that is growing on a forest floor. A pair of weathered grey rocks enclose this mossy bed and hide its contents from the trees beyond. There is the creak of leather and a dark hand reaches down to stroke the moss gently with a light inspection. Another creak of leather and the boots pair themselves in an easy stance before walking off out of the woods. It is midday and entirely too early for there to be much bustle in any of the inns and taverns within the city. A muffled cacophany surrounds the inn close to the Plaza of Glittering Steel and travellers enter and depart from there freely. It appears the inhabitants of the Dragon's Inn are not concerned with temporal issues. One of the patrons excuses himself from a table and walks out the door, which is propped open to let in the fresh air of the day. As he goes he absently pardons himself as he jostles a shorter patron entering. The new patron, a dark elf (known as drow by some), wearing a wool surcoat and knee high old leather boots surveys the inn and its patrons with half lowered lids. The elf's jaw is pointed and long silvery hair is swept back but unbound. The cloak around the elf's slim shoulders is equipped with a hood but it is not in use at the moment. Resting in the grasp of the elf's left hand is a latern painted black with four oval panes in its square sides. Both the top and bottom of the latern taper to points with the top having an iron ring fastened to it. To the ring is attached a chain that ends at a matching ring around the elf's belt. The opposite hand holds a staff, iron shod and bound. At different times, patrons in the bar look up from their conversations and note a newcomer. But it ends at that, perhaps the inhabitants of the Dragon's Inn are also not concerned with appearances. The man tending to the bar, without looking up from pulling an ale for another customer, introduces himself, "Littlefair is what most call me around here. If you thirst, then chances are you can find something hear to satiate your need." In a quiet expressionless tone the elf states, "Are there any mages of great power in the area?" Littlefair finishes sliding the tankand to the receiving customer and looks up. "That is a strange greeting you have. Maybe you are new to Generica?" A struggled grin appears on the strangers face. "Yes, that is so. Can you help me?" Littlefair flourishes at the sizeable crowd within the inn and proclaims "Take your pick. Chances are you'll get lucky." He then escapes out back as a feminine voice calls out. The grin on the elf's face flips into a frown of equal porportions. Turning to the throng of people his eyes dance among the myriads there. ADMIN: Say hello to the new guy on the block.