From alt.pub.dragons-inn Wed Aug 24 10:11:23 1994 Xref: netcom.com alt.pub.dragons-inn:7552 Path: netcom.com!netcomsv!decwrl!olivea!charnel.ecst.csuchico.edu!psgrain!ticsa.com!orion.didata.co.za!ric From: ric@orion.didata.co.za (Richard Pruss) Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: [CIA ][Guldur] Counsel for International Aid Date: 20 Aug 1994 15:18:47 GMT Organization: The Internetworking Company of Southern Africa Lines: 32 Message-ID: <3356sn$n1s@ticsa.com> NNTP-Posting-Host: orion.didata.co.za X-Newsreader: TIN [version 1.2 PL2] Guldur notes that quiet rapidly the table had filled up. At Grays rather disapproving look he tries to neaten himself up. This is totally of no avail, mearly showing up other areas of disrepair. "Mighty fine of you to get us a room Mr Jones." says Guldur gulping back the last of his beer. He stands up and bowing, rather clumsily, to the now quiet sizable gathering; "So, if you would all excuse me. I think I will drop my pack in the room." He gathers up a pack and second sword from under the nearby table, where he originally been sleeping. A young, beaming boy moves over rapidly mops up the area. From his look at Guldur most can see the young boy momentarily considers mopping the man, but then coninues with the task a hand. The pack, he gathers is quiet large and rune covered, with many pockets. More in keeping with a mage, than a fighter. Although from Guldur's general appereance one would not trust him to conjure up a dim glow, never mind anything usefull. The second sword on the other hand is clearly his main weapon. A four and a half foot long clamour, emaculate and very well looked after. Possibly his only item that is in good repair. As he moves away it can be seen that Guldur is about six-two feet tall, well built but like most proffesional adventures, slighty undernourished. He wears rusty, chain armour over what once may have been a jerkin but is now just a collection of patches. He has a short sword in a sheath attached to his belt. The sheath was definitly not made by a armourer, its leather being uncured and the stiching as haphassard as those of the patches. He winds his way out inn proper, on to his private room.