Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Path: netcom.com!netcomsv!decwrl!wupost!howland.reston.ans.net!xlink.net!rz.uni-karlsruhe.de!stepsun.uni-kl.de!sun.rhrk.uni-kl.de!physik.uni-kl.de!kring From: kring@physik.uni-kl.de (Thomas Kettenring) Subject: Bakr's Tales: Lots Of Things Get Pinched Part 3 of 3 Message-ID: <1993Aug15.232912.14231@rhrk.uni-kl.de> Sender: news@rhrk.uni-kl.de Organization: FB Physik, Universitaet Kaiserslautern, Germany Date: Sun, 15 Aug 1993 23:29:12 GMT Lines: 225 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Bakr's Tales: Lots Of Things Get Pinched Part 3 of 3 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- The next day, criers run through the city and announced that all adventurers should gather at the Agora of Tenos before sunset. Tarik and me were improving our skills with the dagger at Xenos's house, and after finishing the training we followed the call. There was a large crowd. We had difficulties finding Ormgwen and Compass, and while searching for them I saw several people I knew: The philosopher who didn't believe in water, the Wredelin priest, the Perigeic Carpenter, and the Chief of the city guard (a fat bald man who was in almost every single crowd we encountered. Probably he was always on the streets because he thought the population felt more secure when he was present). A cart was standing in front of the Tenos statue, and that was where the adventurers accumulated and where we found our two companions. They were accompanied by the two blond barbarians, Garamas (the one with the moustache Compass regarded as a sign of his sexual preferences), and the small black-skinned lance-fighter. We had a bit of small talk with them, then Tarik pulled us three aside. "There's a real lot of adventurers here," he said, and he was right. Aside from us and the four we knew, I could see a one-legged dwarf in armor, a few rogues, a bard with a lute, several fighters, a monk, two female magic-users, a nondescript elf, and what seemed to be a druid. "We'll try to get the job, right? We have one day left on our schedule, and after that we'd better find something to do. We really need the money." We agreed. There were so many competitors though that we didn't have much hope of being the chosen ones. When the sun was about to set, a bunch of people climbed the cart and took position on it. One of them was Zondragon, and the Wredelin priest was there too. Garamas, who had been living in Mythros for a while, explained that this was the Council of Twelve. There was one woman among them, about thirty years old and black-haired, and Compass waved and grinned. She smiled back, and I was told that this was Euphrosyne, the High Priestess of Nea Dea. Then there was the High Priest of the sea god, a weathered man with lots of wrinkles and long black hair, a long beard, and thick eyebrows. One long-haired young man didn't belong to the Council. At least Garamas didn't know him. Next he pointed to someone he identified as Battos. We four exchanged a glance - so this was the man with the not-so-legal chest in his kitchen. Battos was around forty, had shoulder-length greying hair and a big mouth. Now I saw that Zondragon was shaking his stern-faced head at me. I looked askance at him, but a sour middle-aged man with a receding hairline standing at his side gave him a sharp look, so he stopped signalling whatever he wanted to signal. Another one had pointed ears, he must have had elven blood in him, but not too much, for he was too fat and ugly and had not much hair left. Garamas said he was the registrar. Then he pointed to an bald old man with a goat-like beard and said, "That is Periandros, the great philosopher. He's a son of Wredelin." "Wredelin? Isn't that your God of Wisdom?" "Right. And Periandros lives up to it. Surely you heard of his famous Proposition? - No? He found the relation between the hypotenuse and ..." In that moment the herald, a sinewy man with red eyes and also a member of the Council, blew into a horn, and the crowd was silent. "Chairman Hippotas will now speak!" ----- Hippotas was a the sour man who had silenced Zondragon - if you could silence someone who was silent at the time anyway - and he did indeed speak. Well-formed long sentences. I could never repeat it, but it was about common well-being and working together and doing one's duty to the city and the surrounding country. Half an hour it took until he came to the point: He waved his hand at the long-haired man Garamas didn't know and said, "This is Pregomachos, the son of the Mayor of Eraton. As you know, Eraton is a small village on the way to Ikonium, to which we have very good relations. Pregomachos has been sent here because the people of Eraton are plagued by a dragon." The crowd made a noise that is difficult to describe, but I think you can imagine it. The Chairman continued, "Pregomachos has come here to ask us for help, and I am sure we will do our best. With all those formidable fighters and great sorcerers, the monster won't have a chance. Please come to this end of the cart so that Kedalion, the registrar, can instruct you further." Suddenly the number of adventurers decreased considerably. Soon the only ones left were the dwarf with the wooden leg, an aging rogue smelling of anise schnapps who was somewhere between unshaved and bearded, and us. Ormgwen looked pleasantly surprised that the competitors had dropped out, but I could see that Tarik and Compass, like me, had got second thoughts. A dragon? Wasn't that a bit too much for us? But if those two wrecks were still here, we could do it too, right? If anything, they looked experienced. The rogue made the impression on me of having had more experiences than he wanted to have. "We could still bail out later if it gets too hot," I whispered in Ormgwen's ear. "Nudge nudge!" he said and grinned. "I have a heat protection pendant!" Right! We were prepared for the dragon. ----- Most of the Council disappeared too, and we found ourselves gathering around the slightly elven registrar and the Mayor's son. "Call me Preg," said the latter. "Ziemi Smeisebal at your service," the dwarf. "My name is Fulfur Worsegolf," the rogue. "Mine is Ormgwen!" "Bakr ibn Ja'far ibn Musa al Mekneshi." "I am Arasnastrar, and this is my dog Caramon." "And I am Tarik Radan. Pleased to meet you." The registrar was scribbling, but we knew him anyway. "How big is the dragon?" asked Fulfur. "About ten metres long," said Preg. "My father saw it." "Then it's a young one. We may have a chance." Ziemi the dwarf lifted a finger. "I wouldn't call that young. Five, yes. But ten?" "To peasants, monsters always look bigger than they really are. It's safe to divide by two." Compass stepped forward. "Excuse me, you two seem to be experienced dragon fighters?" The two laughed. "No, not at all!" said Fulfur. Dragons aren't that common. But you hear this and that." Ziemi nodded. "I guess six are the absolute minimum for such a party." "Oh, there will be more than six," said Preg. "Our village priest has been sent to Ikonium for more heroes, and some locals will come with you." Heroes... hmmm. Tarik asked, "When will we go?" "Tomorrow morning?" suggested Preg. "It's two days to Eraton." "Not good. Tomorrow is our last training day. Why not the day after that?" "I'd prefer to leave as soon as possible," said Fulfur. "The day after tomorrow is Myrkdag. One shouldn't be travelling on Myrkdag when evil is strong." "That's right," said Ziemi. "Why not go in two parts? We go now, and you finish your training and follow on Myrkdag, or the day after that." Preg objected. "But we can't cross the forest in the night! It's a really dangerous forest!" "Come on! We'll fight a dragon. We don't fear a forest." Ziemi seemed to grow. "Nor a day," said Tarik. Preg looked doubtful. "There are gnolls and goblins and brigands in the forest, and lots of other things. We should not sleep in the woods at night, for there are night martens who suck one's blood." Fulfur shrugged. "Then we won't sleep this night. I'm used to that." So Preg described the way to Compass, and Fulfur and Ziemi went away to get their stuff. Preg was already prepared to leave the city; he had a cage with doves, and one of them was given a letter containing our plans and sent away, back to Eraton. The others he changed for Mythros-gauged ones given to him by Kedalion, the registrar, to keep up the contact between Eraton and Mythros. ----- Preg, Fulfur and Ziemi went north a few hours later, and we met the three thieves. The inn was "as dark as the inside of an orc's butt," as my grandfather used to say, who, as I mentioned before, has been at an awful lot of places. The innkeeper was a gaunt and shady-looking fellow, but in that light one didn't have another choice than looking shady. Olior, smiling nervously and playing with the lace he used for closing his leather armor at the neck, returned a throwing star and a purse. When Ormgwen asked Stanylos, "Now I'd like to know, what *did* you want in the City Hall?" and Stanylos started to go through his repertoire of faces indicating confusion, I knew that we had hard and tiring discussions coming. We learned that the money was in a chest in the kitchen. The way there was described, and where the other doors led (Battos had a wife, five daughters, and a son-in-law, and they all lived in that house). Perieres seemed to have extraordinary inside knowledge... ----- Finally we left that hole - it was night outside but I had the impression of being slightly dazzled anyway - and sneaked to Battos's house. After we made sure that nobody was around we didn't know, Ormgwen picked the lock. Perieres waved his hands a lot, and we scattered across the vicinity. From afar I saw Ormgwen and Compass enter; Tarik stayed at the door. A few minutes later the bald guard with the big moustache arrived. He had a halberd, as guards would. Tarik could sneak inside, so at least the other two wouldn't come out and be surprised. The three Chryseian thieves and I had to play harmless passers-by, and again I thought that fewer and better burglars would have been a good idea. I walked away, turned a few corners, and came back from the other direction. Unfortunately, the guard was still there. To call the way he was gazing at me "distrustful" wouldn't give him justice. Hadn't he closed one eye, the distrust would at least have been less concentrated, but as it was, he managed to look like the impersonation of suspicion. I tried hard to avoid developing writings on my face again, and soon he ceased to fix me. The reason was not my innocent look but rather the fact that Stanylos and Olior, who had done similar waiting loops, appeared from opposite directions. The guard turned around and around. It took me a while to recognize he felt threatened. We had him encircled but for one way. Instead of using his Obilon's Horn, he started to run. Surely he'd call the other guards. We three instantly met at the place where the guard had stood. I said, "He knows us now! We'll get arrested!" Olior only reproachfully addressed Stanylos: "Here's another fine mess you've got me into!" and Stanylos started to whine. I ran to the door, and Tarik opened it. But before I could tell him to hasten and leave, a grinning Perieres came round the corner playing with a halberd. ----- The rest was easy. I mimicked the Chief of the city guard and woke the moustached guard, who had been hit on the head by Perieres with a sandbag. He was surprised to see me, and again his face reflected his feelings really well. We went to the scene of crime - nobody was there any more - and I convinced him that there was nothing suspicious going on. Convincing is rather simple when you are the Chief. All you have to do is uttering a claim, and suddenly the victim has ever been a devout follower of that particular claim. At least that was how it was with Sergeant Phinlaison. Later we sat in a back room of the dark inn and divided the contents of a chest by seven. Ormgwen and Compass related how they had found it - it was not in the kitchen where it was supposed to be but in the room next to it, where Battos or Hemithea, his wife, had been snoring. So this turned out to be a success. Battos was unlikely to inform the city guard that his (or rather, someone else's) money had been stolen, so we thought we were safe. -- Bakr ibn Ja'far ibn Musa al Mekneshi, apprentice mage aka Thomas Kettenring