From: fogelinc@pt.Cyanamid.COM (Carl Fogelin) Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: [Errol] Lost in the labyrinths called home Date: 16 Oct 1993 05:36:40 GMT Message-ID: <29o198$98@c3po.jvnc.net> Errol stood on the edge of the Arcade of Fountains looking up at the impossible structure which was the Mages' Guild. 'Whomever created this behemoth had no understanding of the beauty of pure Euclidean math' he mused, not for the first time either. It had been a long time since Errol had entered the guild, not since the Lizard Wars. Even then it had been fleeting, his role demanding secrecy. That got him thinking about Thk, that great lizardman who led his people during the conflict. He was a rare one, Thk. In some ways Errol admired him greatly. True he was from the other side, but it wasn't often that one got to meet such a charismatic leader. Maybe if Thk had been a fool the conflict would never have escalated into a war. So many lives lost on both sides. 'The guild... the Guild!!! 'You're dawdling' Errol scolded himself mentally. 'If it wasn't for this stupid test, I would never go back in there!' But it had taken Errol too long to convince the 'powers that be' in the guild that he was a competent mage. He recognized his adversion to the political games in that fortress of power and he wouldn't let something as silly as his dislikes deter him. Taking a big breath, he strode purposefully towards the revolving door and was let out into the lobby of the guild. To the uninitiated, this area emphasized the power that the guild held, with its tall white marble columns, frescoed walls, and vaulted ceiling. The floor, an alternating pattern of black, white, and tan granite, grouted with brass did nothing more than disgust Errol. He knew that this flagrant display of well-to-do splendor was intended to impress guests, but was completely ignored by its members. Such beauty should be open to public perusal. (Errol could imagine tour guides leading their groups through the hallowed halls of the guild.) Smiling at the thought, Errol looked briefly at the receptionist, but shook his head. The tests were probably given in the Education Department's work- room. He'd just go down there, take the test, and leave. With the fay creatures waking at Warwick's Manse, there was much work to do at home. Errol decided that it wouldn't look right for an ex-department head to be escorted to his old facilities, so he just strode past the receptionist. Honel was studying the chapter on extraplanar communications when he noticed the nattily dressed older gentleman enter the guild's lobby. He didn't recognise the guy, so he assumed that the fellow would stop by and register. To his surprise the fellow didn't. The regulations stated that all visitors where required to be escorted through the guild building, but Honel was a recent transfer and had yet to learn whom all the resident mages were. No need to piss off the old fellow with paperwork. 'You never know' thought Honel, 'he might be one of my teachers in the future.' As Errol passed by, Honel tried to scan him but was thwarted by Errol's personal wards. The scanning glasses could pierce most guards, so the old fellow must be powerful: at least mage level. Honel decided it was better to dig his nose into his textbook than bother a mage. Besides, if he didn't belong here, the security daemon would have block his entrance. ***** Errol, not particularly paying attention, let his feet follow a route that he hadn't taken in 47 years. Not that he was worried, he'd travelled this path for decades and the body tended to remember old daily habits. Of course old habits depend on things not changing... which is asking a lot for this mage guild. Errol rounding a corner, lost in memories, was brought up short as he found himself in a cul-de-sac. 'What the??? But my department is right down here.' Looking around he realised he did not recognise this area of the guild. "Silly old fool" he muttered, "gone and lost yourself. That's what you've done." He decided to backtrack until he found a familiar place and then pay more attention this time. Soon he found he was at an intersection which he would have sworn wasn't there a moment ago. 'Hmm... I must have missed something.' Backing slowly up one more time, he made a left down another passage which ended abruptly at a door. Feeling very embarrassed, Errol decided to knock. Maybe someone could give him directions, but there was no answer. Cautiously, Errol opened the door to find it opened on a small lab. It was dusty and covered with cob-webs, like it hadn't been used in a long time. Errol stepped into the room and tried to find a clue that would help him recognize the lab. The musty air made him cough so he covered his mouth and nose with a white silk handkerchief. There were a few empty lab animal cages and the remains of a distillation apparatus. Errol saw a lab notebook on one of the far benches, which he went over to look at. Flipping the cover open he saw the name Aelpruelusta de'Kuva written in a very eligant script. The name sounded vaguely familiar. He opened up the book and tried to read the first entry, but the text had faded with age. Sighing, he waved his fingers over the text until the writing became legible. Then, spying a stool near him, he dusted the stool off, sat down, and started reading. After skimming the first few log entries, and then skipping around some, Errol closed the book and leaned back. It seems Aelpruelusta had been studying the adverse side effects that rejuvenation spells had on animal tissue. Flipping to the last entry, he could tell that the experiment was still in an early stage when it was stopped. He wondered why? It seemed a worthy experiment. Maybe Livonius would know... Errol put the book back down on the lab bench and started wending his way through the lab equipment towards the door he had entered. That was when he first noticed there was no door. "What the hell!!!" Errol stood deathly still, and said "Something is very wrong here. Something is... oh no, I think I know where I am..." Taking some slow deep breathes to soothe his sudden anxiety, Errol calmly reached into the pocket of his waistcoat and pulled out a golden pocket watch. Tripping the hidden catch, the gold lid flipped open to reveal a beautiful timepiece with diamond markings on a mother of pearl face plate. But it wasn't the timepiece that interested Errol, but rather the compass that was fitted into the lid where most people kept pictures of loved ones. Errol placed the compass on the lab bench and watched the arrow waver, then suddenly swing towards another wall, quickly do another radical change, then just start spinning. "Damn!" said Errol, as he closed the timepiece and placed it back into his waistcoat. He obviously had wandered into one of the unstable portions of the guild building. He idly wondered what was keeping the old lab intact, but decided that the former occupant must have placed some type of stability spell on it "Well" muttered Errol, "there's no telling where this piece of floating reality really exists. I guess that means a normal exit spell is out." Back when Errol was an active member there was talk about extending pieces of the guild building not only into other dimensions, but also other planes. That meant that simple dimensional traveling would not solve his dilemma, he'd have to teleport back to a known reference point. Since his current location was unknown, that teleport spell might have to be rather powerful. ***** Now that Errol was tackling a set problem, his analytical skills kicked in at full strength. Going over to the lab's blackboard, he erased the old chalk marks and started scribbling mathematical representations of the most likely description of the lab's temporal/demensional/spacial definition. The math was interspersed with magical notation, which bound the specifica- tion. Until the diagram took on strength and clarity, Errol adjusted it here and there. ***** "There!" said Errol, as he stepped back and stretched his tired back. The blackboard was absolutely covered with arcane notation. When Errol worked, he commonly lost track of all time. Over the last quarter century he'd grown accustom to Erin interrupting him after sufficiently long stints. But she wasn't here. Errol had pressed on till the model was self-sustaining. He guessed that three days had passed by. Leaning back against the lab bench, Errol looked back at his model. He was now able to calculate the relative amount of energy he'd need to transport himself out of this locality. Transcribing the meaning of his model into symbols of power, Errol etched a torus of translocation on the floor of the lab. He activated the power collecting component of the torus, then stepped back to decide where he would teleport to. Hmm... Well, he still had to take that bloody test. While it was tempting to go home (he could use some food and rest), he decided he'd go back to the guild's lobby. This time he'd register, get himself an escort, and avoid anymore hassles. Nodding agreement to this plan, he waited until the torus started to flash, indicating it had enough energy stored to handle the model's worst case condition. Errol then took one last pass through the lab, looking for anything of inter- est. Finding nothing he grabbed Aelpruelusta's lab notebook, took one last look at his model, and gingerly stepped over the now brightly flashing torus. The lab was suddenly bathed in light, like a flash-bulb had gone off. Where Errol had been there was nothing but a small swirl of dust. ***** The silence of the reception lobby was interrupted by a loud crack, accompanied by a blinding flash. Honel bolted upright in his chair, dropping his text- book in the process. He'd reflexively started to hit the alarm button but stopped when he saw the apparition before him. Slightly dishevelled, there stood the old man who'd passed by him 45 minutes ago. Clutching a black bound book to his chest, small tendrils of smoke were rising from the fellow's doublet. Errol looked up at the lad and coughed politely. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Copyright 1993 by Carl Fogelin. All rights other than those required for electronic distribution and archiving are reserved. I'd like to thank Stephen Hutchison and Kelly J. Cooper for critiquing the content and pre- sentation of this story. --------------------------------------------------------------------------- Carl Fogelin (fogelinc@pt.cyanamid.com) "All opinions are strictly mine" Up the long ladder and down the short rope, To Hell with King Billy and God bless the Pope. -- traditional