From alt.pub.dragons-inn Sun Jan 23 11:47:39 1994 Path: netcom.com!netcomsv!amd!decwrl!olivea!sgigate.sgi.com!sgiblab!swrinde!emory!news-feed-1.peachnet.edu!umn.edu!gaia.ucs.orst.edu!flop.ENGR.ORST.EDU!xanth.CS.ORST.EDU!foleye From: foleye@xanth.CS.ORST.EDU (Stilt Man) Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: [DS] The Goblin Question Date: 21 Jan 1994 21:52:40 GMT Organization: Computer Science Department, Oregon State University Lines: 273 Message-ID: <2hpir8INNk7l@flop.ENGR.ORST.EDU> NNTP-Posting-Host: xanth.cs.orst.edu Summary: The [DarkSeed] thread kicks off the new year . . . Arcania Dorval appeared somewhat abruptly in the dismal catacombs. One moment, only darkness was there. The next, the Dark One stepped from the shadows and looked around. "Still evincing the morbid preferences of a true necromancer, I see," she said, with a sardonic smirk on her lips. Folding her scarlet cloak around herself, she walked in a direction she presumed to be that of some means of climbing this tower. She had not gone more than a few steps before the shadows before her warped again. She nodded, for she had made no attempts to hide her presence. She would have been disappointed if Velric had not noticed, for it would have meant she placed too much faith in him, faith he did not fully deserve. The glowing eyes of the Dark Lord glittered in the unlight, revealing a fair amount of anger at having been intruded upon. Velric did not know who it was who had dared to invade his obsidian tower, but he would see that they paid for it dearly. Upon seeing who it was, his shrivelled heart leapt as if it might again know true life. "Well, my friend, it is good to see your reflexes are not failing you," said Arcania jovially. "M-my liege, this is most fortunate . . " the necromancer stammered. He did not summon the Voice to his side to speak with her, as he did for lesser beings. To regard this one as lesser would have been to think above himself even now, he admitted. "Surprising? Unsettling, perhaps, that I see what my handiwork has wrought?" There was a certain sneer in her voice, sarcasm that Velric did not appreciate. He was not sure whether the work "handiwork" referred to the DarkSeed or himself, and he was not sure he wished to be sure. Did she now see him as a mere tool, a piece of craft fashioned for her own whims? However, he forced the glow of his eyes to subside, for to bluster and threaten with the Dark One would gain him nothing and perhaps cost him much. He had never seen evidence of her temper, but he suspected he didn't wish to, either. Thus, the tongue of the threatening dragon was stilled, to be replaced by that of the deferrent but wily serpent. "What is it you wish of me, Mistress?" was all he said. "Merely a look to see what your progress is. You have made progress, have you not?" "Indeed. This way to the stairs . . ." he gestured with a pale gray hand. He had an inkling to offer light, but he sensed that Arcania no more needed it than he did himself. She, too, was a creature of Darkness, as he was himself, despite her fair appearance. However, he was somewhat surprised to see that she regarded her surroundings with a certain distaste, one that was tempered by necessity, but distaste nonetheless. He thought it curious. A few flights, and they were in the throne room. The Voice stood there, awaiting his command, and Velric forgot him a moment; the dark elf was beneath his notice, Arcania perceived. So she was surprised that, when Velric spoke, the Voice echoed his words in perfect synchrony. "I have made considerable efforts toward my goal . . . " Velric trailed off as he realized that the Voice was speaking along with him, as was the elf's normal duty. However, Arcania's countenance reflected a bit of amusement at the elf's actions, rather than anger. "Not feeling lowly enough to speak to others directly?" Arcania observed with an innocent, wide-eyed smile. Velric shifted uncomfortably. He turned to the elf and beckoned him to leave the two of them alone. When he turned back to Arcania herself, he was not sure how to read the expression on her face. It seemed that she was amused at the Voice's presence. "Not the first time you have encountered such, is it?" asked Velric. Arcania's answer was a raised eyebrow. Velric cleared his throat as if remembering his place. "Yes, yes. I have sent the demon Adzistamn to the north, obtaining the second of three items I will need to accomplish my goal. The ritual will take a fair amount of time to complete, and already it starts," he gestured to a mirror standing at one side of the room. The glass shimmered with a faint pink light. "The third is in the possession of the Mage's Guild, in Generica." Arcania seemed to ignore the last statement. She was looking intently at the mirror, expertly examining the runic inscriptions along the bone that made up its frame. She could probably guess that the bone was that of a virgin strangled with her own hair, born to a noble house in one of the Specificas. If she recognized the spell being woven, no doubt she could ascertain this much. As such, she would also know what Velric spoke of when he referred to the other two items. "Bekdatusi Bennison Dranzotten is freed, and is currently engaging in preparations to obtain the third item, among his other usual activities in Generica." Arcania smiled in further amusement at this. "No doubt also preparing other schemes of his own, in addition to those on which his enchantment forces him to labor," Arcania observed. "Very well." Arcania wandered into the next room, which sported a window. The other mystical accoutrements she ignored. She seemed to find such things boring, mundane. Velric did not doubt that she could easily recognize any one of them she looked upon, knew their magic as well as he himself. She leaned out the window, looking out at the walls of the keep. "This tower?" "Built in but a month's time, with a combination of magic and toil." "Slave labor?" she asked, smiling in approval. "The strongest I could gather from the goblinish races in these mountains," he said proudly. To his surprise, the smile melted from her face in an instant, to be replaced by a glare that seemed to pierce his body upon its sharp blue scrutiny. The anger and hatred in those azure eyes was mind-shattering in its intensity. "You have goblins in these misbegotten hills?" --I told you so.-- The DarkSeed's remarks were needless. For some reason that escaped him, the 'Seed had counselled vehemently against using the goblinish races as slave labor in constructing this small fortress. Why not? They could work as well as any other creature. Now the reasons became more apparent. Something to do with Arcania herself. "A smattering of orcs and other such creatures, yes . . . " he said by way of explanation, at a loss for why it should upset her so. Arcania swiftly stepped forward and seized him by the throat in her right hand. The strength was more than merely human, Velric reflected somewhere in the back of his mind. He was astonished to see a glimmer of light the color of freshly-spilled blood emanating from her otherwise quite beautiful blue eyes, which were shifting in color themselves as she grew angrier. His feet dangled clear of the floor, he realized. "You have goblins in these mountains of yours, and you just permit them to thrive? To live in peace?" She fairly spat the last word. "What . . . is . . ." Velric stammered. Arcania cast him to the floor, to land in a heap. The hand that had held his throat immediately clutched into a white-knuckled fist. "You," she paused for emphasis, "will immediately cease such congenial activities, and will divert all available resources such as you possess to the active extermination of these wretched creatures. Do I make myself clear?" Her eyes narrowed in fury at this last. "Y-yes, my Mistress . . ." "Good. Let us hope nothing else I find in my tour proves quite so . . . disturbing," she said, turning her back on him as she walked from the room. And why is that disturbing, Dark One? Velric thought. What is it about goblins that has you so strongly wishing to see them destroyed? Can there be something that you fear from them? Certainly not their military strength. What can it be? The thought brought a smile to Velric's thin lips. He stood, gathered himself, brushed the dust from his ebon robes. "But first things first, Dark One," said Velric, smiling after the way she had gone. "And then, perhaps, we shall learn what it is about these creatures that has you in such a rage." =-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-= Kryalla Simuel sat in her accustomed corner table in the Dragon's Inn. A few paused to look over at her, wondering if this lonesome figure would wish to have company. They would remark about her to friends of theirs, eventually finding someone who had been around the Inn a while. Once such a person was spoken with, they immediately discarded such thoughts. Her ebon eyes smoldered with the thoughts that went on behind them. Most would have called it brooding. She did that a lot, Emrikol reflected as he watched. He walked over to her table, set his hand upon the wood. "May I join you?" She did not move her head, he heard no rustling beneath the hood of the cloak. He thought he could make out the outline of the solid pools against the lighter whites, shrouded still in shadow, turn toward him. One of her gloved hands was visible, on the table; the other was hidden beneath her Shroud. She gestured with the free hand to one of the seemingly perpetually empty chairs at her table. Emrikol nodded, folded his collar up from where it had slipped down, and sat. "Thinking of plans?" "You should be resting." "I grew weary of sitting. I wish to do something. We know the Dark One is here . . ." "We know nothing of the sort, as of yet. We only can suspect." Emrikol breathed what he refused to admit was a sigh of relief. "Then what are we to do?" "Karadin has gone to the east. His divining magicks apparently told him of something there, connected with our foes." So that's where he got to, he grunted. Kryalla had not told him of this. The man had simply not been in the hut one day when he awakened in the morning. Kryalla did not seem to confide things in more than one person at a time, he reflected. Not the worst habit in the world, if not socially endearing, Emrikol chuckled. "And of us?" "We wait for something more concrete. You have like been about. What have you heard? I have seen nothing since the wraith and the thief." Kryalla had, however, spoken to him of the battle betwixt herself, Karadin, and the wraith that had assaulted a thief in the bad areas of town, killing the man and apparently working some sort of devouring magic on his soul as well. Kryalla had been suspicious of the creature's origins, but it was only a lead. Most likely the Mages' Guild knew about it by now. Beyond that, there wasn't a whole lot going on. Wait. The creature they had been suspicious about in the marketplace. Kryalla immediately perceived that his thoughts had found something to speak of, and looked up at him even as he opened his mouth to let the words come forth. "I saw a group of merchants bantering for the city watch after seeing a creature in the marketplace. The ugly thing looked to be a tribal sort, from the various claptrap he wore. I asked why the thing would raise such a commotion. He said the thing was an orc," he spoke as if he'd never heard of the creatures before, "and that orcs usually meant trouble. They'll sometimes send scouts into cities before an attack, and interpreted this to be the meaning of the thing's appearance. Though," he remembered something else, "he did mention a rumor." Kryalla nodded, prodding him to go on. "He said that several orcs and related creatures . . . what was the word he used . . . something mythical where I come from . . ." "Goblins?" Kryalla suggested. "Goblins. That was it. We have the word in my world, but it's generally accepted as a myth that they exist. Apparently, here, they do," he shrugged. "He said that many of the creatures were turning up in the city, lacking the usual armaments that such things are wont to carry. There's a rumor that they're refugees from something or another." "Probably more tribal warfare. Such creatures are famous for fighting anything that lives that they can find to quarrel with," said Kryalla. As she finished her sentence, she was talking into her goblet, already dismissing the matter. "No, that's the strange part. He said that the rumors were that some power in the mountains was actively killing the creatures off in whole tribes, and that these individuals were fleeing this genocide," Emrikol said. "Mensch," he muttered, as an afterthought. Kryalla's head snapped back up in an instant. "Actively killing them off, you say? Listen to me, Emrikol," she added when it didn't seem he was giving any further import to the matter. "Think carefully. Did the man seem credible in what he said? Is there any truth to this, do you think?" Emrikol's eyebrows raised, and he twisted his face into a puzzled expression. At length, he shrugged. "I suppose that there's a good possibility it's true. No one else has heard any other explanation, at least." Kryalla's eyes narrowed, their gaze fixed on something distant for a moment. She was considering the matter, Emrikol thought, and after a few seconds of this, she smiled sardonically. "Subtle, Dark One. Real subtle . . . " +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+ + Kryalla Simuel the Shrouded One + +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+ + . . . scribed by the Stilt Man, + + foleye@xanth.cs.orst.edu + +=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+