From alt.pub.dragons-inn Mon Sep 5 10:41:38 1994 Xref: netcom.com alt.pub.dragons-inn:7636 Path: netcom.com!netcomsv!decwrl!pa.dec.com!nntpd.lkg.dec.com!jac.zko.dec.com!leggy.zk3.dec.com!orb!not-for-mail From: hutch@ibeam.jf.intel.com (Steve Hutchison) Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: [CIA] histories Date: 4 Sep 1994 17:11:26 -0000 Organization: Duchy of Wabesylvan Obspauk Lines: 56 Sender: news@Orb.Nashua.NH.US Message-ID: X-Mailer: ELM [version 2.4 PL11] Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain; charset=US-ASCII Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit Grays .......... c9412707@alinga.newcastle.edu.au (Stride) Rathan .......... swv3752@ritvax.isc.rit.edu (Morning Reaper) +Grays looks startled. +"Unh... Sorry what did you say?" Miro almost chokes on his whiskey and when he catches his breath, he repeats his question. "I asked after what was bringing ye tae Generica." He listens to Grays description of his nomadic lifestyle and nods politely, his ears twitching sharply at one point. "Grays, lad," he says when that worthy finishes his highly edited history, "I dinna ken what ye mean about a net. Did ye find a way here by way o' someone's virtuality pit? I canna prove it o' course, but this is no illusion for hire. If ye die here, tis as real as anywhere." The elf returns to his whiskey, and smiles when the new Glenfiddich comes to the table. "Thanks, darlin'," he says to Grays, "Me liver goes out tae ye." He looks in the same direction that the others are staring, making his eyes both focus at the same time. Rathan swims into focus. +"Hey why are all of you loking at me for? I'm just a hired lackey." +Everyone just waits. +"Oh, all right. I'm a surfer. You want MORE!?!" Miro grins and hiccups. He notices that he's drunk, and dips a finger in his glass. He sketches a rune on the table, which glows faintly then fades. He listens as Rathan relates his ancestry, twitching when the man mentions Ravenloft. A slyness creeps into his smile and his eyes unfocus for a moment, flickering dark then back to their usual deep green almost too quickly to be seen. He pulls a transparent sphere from the air with a conjurer's gesture, but he does it casually, and times it for the moment that Rathan looks away. +The Barbarian surfer sits back and signals +one of the barmaids over, "I'll have an Amber Gold Light Ice Draft, +please." Turning back to the table, "Next." Miro waits until the drinks come, and then, when a break comes in the conversation, he reaches over (sphere palmed) and touches Rathan on the hand that holds his Ice Draft. "Rathan, ye didna hear me earlier. Your board is ready, stop by the lighthouse and pick it up sometime today." As he speaks, he rolls the sphere underhand to touch against Rathan's drink, and it vanishes without a sound.