From alt.pub.dragons-inn Thu Apr 14 09:31:03 1994 Xref: netcom.com alt.pub.dragons-inn:7204 Path: netcom.com!netcomsv!netcomsv!amd!amdahl!pacbell.com!sgiblab!swrinde!cs.utexas.edu!howland.reston.ans.net!vixen.cso.uiuc.edu!news.uoregon.edu!gaia.ucs.orst.edu!flop.ENGR.ORST.EDU!storm.cs.orst.edu!foleye From: foleye@storm.cs.orst.edu (Stilt Man) Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: [DS] Emotions Date: 14 Apr 1994 06:40:41 GMT Organization: Computer Science Department, Oregon State University Lines: 247 Message-ID: <2oioh9INN5e5@flop.ENGR.ORST.EDU> NNTP-Posting-Host: storm.cs.orst.edu [ADMIN: This story was almost entirely written by Corey Venour. It *was* entirely written in the spirit of the plot by Corey Venour; all I've done is embellish a few sections from his original piece. I am posting it at his request, something about troubles getting global posts to work from his end of the planet . . .] Emrikol looked up from staring at his feet. Kryalla had moved off and was sitting on a rock facing away from him. He hadn't meant to hurt her feelings. "But how are you going to tell her that? You're not very good at expressing your feelings, are you?" The last time he had heard those thoughts was just before he lost Syrelle to the Labyrinth. -=-=-=-=-=- Emrikol hurled the throwing dagger at the wizard. As it flew, the steel began to glitter, until flames burst forth as it reached his enemy. But the masked one simply watched him. The flaming dagger struck an invisible wall before reaching him, and vanished into nothingness. Emrikol snarled in anger. The flames he launched at the other now were less subtle, not as quick as the hurled dagger, but Emrikol was growing frustrated. He could sense the other's inner calm and confidence even as he battled the wizard. It mocked him, and that made him angry. But at least the other's magic seemed equally useless against his own defenses. They were battling in the other's quarters, deep within the masked one's tower. Emrikol had heard of this one's magical prowess, his knowledge. He also had heard of the cattle in the duchy that had been stolen by this man's spells for his experiments. The peasants had been complaining, but not until it actually affected his tax collections had he bothered to do anything. The masked man raised his hands, and twin balls of fire answered Emrikol's strike. Emrikol took the blows on his defenses . . . and pitched backwards as they struck. Emrikol's eyes narrowed, until he saw the man's arms fold in complacency. How can he think he's won? This attack hadn't killed him. He began to slide backwards on the floor. His eyes widened in shock, and he turned to see a great gaping circle of faint gray light before him. Ripples of energy pulsated through the disc, as he slowly slid along the floor toward it. "Damn!" cursed Emrikol. The spell was one a child of twelve could have conjured! The other had kept him distracted just long enough. He flew through the disc, and the wizard's quarters vanished. He felt himself falling, falling, falling . . . into nothingness . . . The breath was knocked from his lungs as he landed on something solid. He found himself face down in rocky depression. He moved into a sitting position, and found himself almost face-to-face with three vaguely canine creatures. The look on their faces clearly said that he was lunch. When he stopped moving, the creatures sat back on their haunches, and stared at him, almost wanting him to make another move. But he was not afraid while he could still use his magic! He tried using his magic, but found himself blocked from the source of his power. Now he was worried. A human head poked over the top of the depression, and motioned for him to remain still. As he wasn't planning on moving anyway, he stayed put. The three creatures started to rise into the air, and by the time they were aware of it, they were quickly accelerating towards the horizon. The human head became a human body. A female human body. She was dressed in a loosely fitting shirt, with long billowing sleeves, and pants that split down the outside. Her face was angular, like the hawks he used to keep, and she had long black hair, that was braided down her back. In her right hand she held a long bladed knife. She stared warily at him as she spoke. "I do not recognise you. How did you get here?" She looked closely at him. "You bear no runes. Do you invite death to visit?" He realised what she meant when his eyes moved up her body. All of the flesh exposed by the loose pants and billowing shirt, were covered in intricate patterns. When he concentrated, he could almost feel the power radiating from her body. "I am Emrikol, Wizard of Toreel, and Duke of the Realm thereof. I don't know where I am, or how I came to be here, and I don't know anything about runes. Where I come from, magic does not require symbols such as those." He gestured towards her. "I am not meant to be here." "Wherever here is," he muttered to himself, as an afterthought. "I am Syrelle," she proudly said. "I am the last of my clan, and I travel to the Nexus." The Nexus? He had heard that phrase before, but he couldn't place where. "What is this place?" he asked. "I will answer you shortly, but first we must move," she gathered up a pack pack from the ground. "Where there are three Wyrds, there will be more." He found that he still carried his pouches, and his short sword. The rules stated that wizards were not allowed to carry weapons, but he was never one to follow rules that could endanger his life. He stood and collected his gear. She was already walking away. He couldn't tell which direction, as there was no reference point. The sky seemed uniformly grey, and while it was light, there was no apparent light source. He caught up to her after a couple of minutes, and they walked side-by-side for several miles, until she decided to stop. They were standing on a small rise. Three sides of it were steep, and the side they approached on, was quite narrow. "This will suffice as a camp." She dropped her pack onto the ground, and gathered a number of rocks into a pyramidal pile. She drew back her left sleeve, and touched a patter of runes with her right hand, while staring at the pile of rocks. The rocks started to glow softly from within, providing warmth, without too much light. She unrolled her pack to reveal two creatures that resembled rabbits, except with long claws, and what appeared to be poisonous fangs. She draped the creatures over the pile of rocks and then sat back. "You are in the Labyrinth." She almost spat the last word. "This is our punishment for opposing our masters. And it appears that you are to be imprisoned here with us." "Is it possible to escape?" he asked her anxiously. "The only way out is through the Nexus. And that is where I am going." She gestured in the direction they had been walking all day. "If you wish to join me on my trek, you will need the runes, and the protection they provide. I know you could use them, as I have felt the ability in you." He had lost one form of magic, but he was about to gain a second, it seemed. "What is involved in using the runes?" he asked. He supposed he was soon to find out. -=-=-=-=-=- The first part was painful. She tattooed a rune upon his chest, over his heart. Then came others, covering his chest. After he had been given the source runes, it was up to him to develop the flows of power himself. Syrelle helped him to understand what could be done, and what was impossible. The latter category did not contain much; the runes were vessels for altering the very scope of reality. Reality, she told him, was simply a web woven from the infinite threads of the possibilities conceivable by a mortal's mind. Shift the web, weave different threads, and reality changes. Syrelle was more than teacher. She was his constant companion for the next five years. They walked together, they fought together, and they slept together. But he never told her what he felt about her. He thought that he had all the time in the world. It was night, and the two of them were huddled around the fire stones. He had caught two of the creatures that he called devil-bunnies, and they lay across the stones cooking. She had been speaking of the pair-bonding rituals that were peculiar to her clan (even after three years he still had difficulty trying to work out half of the clan relations and rituals), as she ate some of the tuberous vegetables that were the only non-violent inhabitants of this part of the Labyrinth. Her story of how the first pair-bonding between her clan and an outside clan caused his thoughts to return to a subject he kept avoiding. He loved her. He knew that. And he thought she knew that too. But he could not tell her. He kept his emotions under tight control. Emotions gave others an advantage. And he could ill afford to give away any advantage. But this was Syrelle. He had spent half a decade with this woman. Some of the most memorable times of his long life. Yet he could not tell her how he felt. Something prevented him. But he had to tell her, he couldn't go on ... His thoughts were interupted by the distinctive sound of the feline voroth, screaming in pain. There were few ways that a voroth could be hurt - through the use of rune magic, or by an even larger creature. One such larger creature was the jalkuur. Unfortunately the jalkuur was one of the rare creatures that were naturally immune to the probability-effecting runes. Syrelle had explained it to him once. She had said that the adult jalkuur generated a field that stopped changes in their surrounding reality. The field reached about two meters away from them, and within that field the runes that Syrelle and he used were ineffective. She stopped speaking to listen to the sounds of the voroth. "They are close. We should not stay here too long." And although they both badly needed sleep, he agreed. "We will leave after the devil-bunnies are cooked." She smiled at his joke, even though he knew she didn't understand it. They ate the meat in silence, afraid to draw attention to themselves. But they were already the subject of unwanted attention. After the meal they stood, and Emrikol cancelled the heat spell on the rocks. They gathered their gear, and set off in the direction he had dubbed `north', or `out'. They had only been walking for a short time when movement ahead of them caused them to stop. Whatever was out there was large and loud, and it was moving towards them. They prepared their runes, and assumed their normal back-to-back defensive position, but they were unprepared for the sight they beheld. Before them was one of the dragon-kin, a creature rarely seen in the Labyrinth. These were the ancient ancestors of the dragons found in several universes, and they were far worse than any of their descendants. Their breath was deadly flames that burned the soul and spirit as well as the flesh, and their rune magic predated that of Syrelle's people. It was far more powerful as well. Powerful enough, they knew, that battle would be quite futile with their lesser magic. They turned and ran. Emrikol did not see the dragon-kin coming; he only heard the swooping of wings and Syrelle's scream. He turned, and watched in horror as her body was scooped up in the creature's jaws and devoured whole. He could remember little after that. He knew only that he had been running for days when he next had a conscious thought. His only awareness for all that time had been the continual echo of Syrelle's scream. -=-=-=-=-=- Emrikol felt the touch on his hand. Instantly he shifted into a defensive position. It was reflex, ingrained from the hard world of the Labyrinth. Kryalla reared back, but remained on her knees beside him. He thought he saw a touch of concern in her eyes, but was not certain. With those pools so dark that pupil and iris appeared as one, little view into the woman within was given to the outside. "You were talking in your sleep," she said. \\// Emrikol of the Bandaged Hands \\// XX Seemingly returned from the dead! XX //\\ cvenour@cit.gu.edu.au //\\