From: kjc@aramis.rutgers.edu (Kelly J. Cooper) Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: [Witts] Part II of IV Keywords: feedback appreciated Message-ID: Date: 20 Dec 93 17:46:49 GMT [Admin: This is Part 2 of 4 parts that have been written so far.] "I'll get by with a little help from my friends..." -The Beatles ** --- <<<< ---- >>>> --- ** Raine readjusted his posture to the lessened weight on the line and caught a hint of movement out of his left eye. Without looking, Cat said, "Good idea." But she didn't move from her braced position, either. Raine tracked the movement without moving his head until he could see Danu walking silently into his sightline. She knelt, passing out of his vision, and hammered something into the stone near the edge of the well. From the ringing sound, he knew she was pounding something metallic. There was a pause, then more hammering. Another pause, and then at the shriek of the trapdoor below, a final flurry of banging, then the soft whispering of a rope sliding across stone. In a quiet voice that carried strangely well, she called down, "Gents? I ran a second line. Secure yourselves to it as backup, please." The whisper of a distant curious voice floated back, "Who the hell was that?" Instead of answering, Danu leaned back, in a bracing posture. Raine could only see her head and shoulders. Without looking at him, she said softly to the air directly before her, "Next time, we belay." All he could do was snarl a soft agreement at the back of his throat as he leaned his weight against the line that held open their only sure way back. ** --- <<<< ---- >>> --- ** "Gravy Train," Wings chuckled, hovering easily in front of Siaran. "You look like you've been washing in the stuff." Siaran scraped a bit of slowly-hardening soft-rock from his face and flicked it at the pixie, who dodged sideways in a burst of light. The gunk splatted against the wall of the alcove, hardening instantly with a chiming sound. "Wot th'ell's Gravy Train?" He sniffed the air and frowned, the grey specks in his eyes brightening briefly to silver-blue. The stale smell in the alcove vanished and a very faint breeze began to blow. Disturbed by the breeze, more liquid rock began to drip down from the ceiling, like water sweating off a pipe, and Wings dodged sideways as it dripped past him. "Dog food, one of the gladiators in the bigfolk pits had wolfhounds, and he swore by the stuff. Always looked the same to me going in as it did comin' out." He scratched his head, and a faint sparkling dust fell onto Siaran's backpack. "C'mon, matchstick, we gotta get movin'," Wings fidgeted. "Wot's yer hurry, Wings?" "Bad feeling about this softrock." Wings flew up above Siaran and shook, spraying him with dust. Siaran winced, snorting at the clouds of falling dust. "Yurrgh, that pongs almost as bad as Tahd's old socks," Siaran growled, "Don't you ever _wash_?" "I worked up a sweat fightin' the spiders," Wings retorted. "Now think happy thoughts, you dink!" Siaran grinned and thought about gluing the pixie's butterfly wings together. At the idea he rose into the air, his pack trailing alongside him. Behind them, the walls began to slowly melt... ** --- <<<< ---- >>> --- ** "By the prophets, I can't see, Carroll--you've got to guide me." The tall Rameshander placed both feet against one wall. He leaned back across the shaft, falling slowly, and jammed his shoulders against the far wall. Another rope whispered down the smooth rock wall, and Tuek grabbed it and threw a quick loop around his waist with a bowline to secure it. The other end he threw to Carroll, who used a fisherman's bend to secure it to his belt. "Ok, the walls are fairly smooth here. Just come down slowly, that's it, you've got a yard to go. Two feet. One foot. There, brace yourself. There's a bit of a crack just below your left foot. Good. Now can you reach down--there, I've got your hand. Hold my belt, I'm going to roll to the right. On three--one, two, three." Carroll turned, awkwardly, trying to pivot on his left shoulder. He began to slide against the stone wall. His shirt pulled up across his throat, choking off a cry. Tuek slackened his grip for a second and *reached* down to twist his fist in the rope attached to Carroll's belt, then braced again with everything he had. He grunted with pain, his shoulders wedged against a sharp out crop. "Blood, Carroll, hurry!" The last slip had let the trapdoor close almost too far--the gap between it and the wall was half an agonizing inch too narrow for Carroll to reach between. _Fyrk, bite off my cuff button, then drag up my sleeve. Quick!_ It took two tries for Fyrk's pointed incisors to tear through the cotton. Tuek's strength was fading, and the pair slipped half a foot before Fyrk was out of the way. Carroll thrust his arm into the crack fast, tearing strips off his forearm, and jammed the spike in place. He took a breath, released the spike, and waited one, two, three long seconds for it to slip. It held. He breathed a silent prayer of thanks. Carefully, he pulled his arm from the crack, wincing with the pain he hadn't had time to feel going in. Once free, he rolled back over and took up his share of his own weight again. "It's secured! Take us up!" said Tuek; and the rope started pulling them up. ** --- <<<< ---- >>> --- ** The Witts' End Gang is: Archibald "Archi" Halidon (Carl Fogelin, fogelinc@pt.cyanamid.com) Carroll Jarvek (Colin Roald, colin@callisto.pas.rochester.edu) Chrainein "Raine" Hydor (Liralen Li, li@inigo.data-io.com) Danu (Kelly J. Cooper, kjc@cs.rutgers.edu) Kyle "Wings" Dorshan (Steve Hutchison, hutch@hutch.intel.com) Siaran (Andrea Evans, Andrea.Evans@orb.nashua.nh.us) Tahd Musgrave (Penny Hutchison, penny@agora.rain.com) Theodora "Cat" Rediche (Carl Fogelin, fogelinc@pt.cyanamid.com) Tuek Esmar (Alfvaen, aaron@amisk.cs.ualberta.ca) The characters above are copyright 1993 by their authors. Permission to archive this story is granted for non-commercial purposes. All other rights are reserved.