From alt.pub.dragons-inn Wed Feb 2 13:06:26 1994 Path: netcom.com!netcomsv!decwrl!elroy.jpl.nasa.gov!usc!sol.ctr.columbia.edu!news.kei.com!eff!usenet.ins.cwru.edu!agate!msuinfo!harbinger.cc.monash.edu.au!giaec.cc.monash.edu.au!s1372917 From: s1372917@giaec.cc.monash.edu.au (Ceri.B - DEVIOUS) Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: NEWCOMMER: Parting mists Date: 2 Feb 1994 05:49:20 GMT Organization: Monash University Lines: 53 Message-ID: <2inet0$jmh@harbinger.cc.monash.edu.au> NNTP-Posting-Host: giaec.cc.monash.edu.au Keywords: newcommer X-Newsreader: NN version 6.5.0 #4 (NOV) The door is opened quietly by a short figure. The cloaked woman turns and closes it behind her, each movement charged with at once a peculiar tension and enforced calm. She ignores any looks in her direction as she moves further into the inn, but not, it would seem, consciously, but more because she is too exhausted to be aware of them. Trails of mist lap at her ankles, disappating sluggishly in the warmth of the common-room. The fog seems to leave behind a faint resonance of unease. She is obviously some form of warrior, wearing scale mail armour of a silvery sheen under a rich wine coloured cloak. All accents are of black or silver, and as she turns to sit in a free chair, yet more mist escapes the confines of her cloak to hiss to nothingness in the air. The woman has not chosen a corner, nor an unoccupied table. She seems not to notice where she is as she looks up. She is apparently human, little more than five feet in height, maybe two or three inches more. Her skin seems to have a faint tan, one which appears unnaturally pale from some unwanted excitement. Her eyes are a fragile blue, her hair long and brown, large curls escaping from under a silver and black unicorn helm. Each time she turns to watch a movement, her eyes take a little too long to focus, there might be something wrong with her vision. A longsword with its pommel tooled to resemble a unicorn's head hangs from her belt by a dark red scabbard. Again, it is traced in silver and black, the pattern echoed all about the fighter's form. Celtic interlocking circles that go nowhereoud noise, the woman's hands flinch towards her sword. At the same time each sound causes the exhaustion to turn into a desperate hatred in her eyes. When one patron chances to drop his mug particularly close to her, her lips curl back from her gums in a near snarl. She almost quivers with the desire to act...and then the weariness returns. She blinks, then rises heavily up to walk to the bar. She orders in a low voice, and pays in coinage not normally seen outside of a particular demi- plane. The silver, stamped with a bird, is recognised by the barkeep, who sees much pass through the Dragons-Inn. "Ravenloft?" he says, almost suspiciously. The woman's blue eyes go flat "Yes," she says simply in a heavily accented voice "I come from Ravenloft." She turns to look more clearly at the room, and those watching now know, there *is* something wrong with her vision. She seems to recognise one or two others, and she looks at them most carefully. "Alf...Alfvaen?" she says under her breath, then shakes her head. She takes her drink back to the table and closes her eyes. So tired. A single last tendril of white edges out and vanishes. At your service...The Devious Paladin. ______________________________________________________________________ / \ "DA data, DA dayadhvam, DA damyata. Listen. Thunder." \ | |___________________________________________________________________| | Devious says "Do not question my mask but your own. Mine has been| ___| painted with silverblue, and I cannot see *your* colour." | | | E-mail: s1372917@giaeb.CC.monash.edu.au (Ceredwyn) | | \__/____________________________________________________________________/