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From: foleye@viper.CS.ORST.EDU (Stilt Man)
Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
Subject: [Tor] Contracts, Plots and a Light Meal . . .
Date: 10 Oct 1994 05:23:39 GMT
Organization: Computer Science Department, Oregon State University
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[ADMIN:  Corey Venour gets even more insulting credit than usual, what with
not only providing the original trash which evolved into this :), as well as
bailing me out when I was doing a grep to the title and accidentally
redirected the output back to the file I was trying to check the title of,
thus nuking it utterly by mistake.  Hey, it was late.  I've done worse late
at night.  :)  At any rate, Corey's got laughing rights on this story for the
most part, and gives himself permission to put this on his web page, but
reserves all other rights to himself.  Or maybe he's reserving them to me.
Maybe we need to talk . . . :)  ]

[ADMIN2:  At any rate, I wrote the bits with Kronos, Thrull, and Talan, and
Corey wrote the bits (with a little help from myself on Kryalla as usual) on
Tor'el proper.  All characters are the property of their authors and are used
with permission by the authors.  That permission was express and written from
the authors to themselves, so don't get any ideas like we're running a loose
ship or anything . . . ^_^ ]


The man was very large.  That much, Kronos could immediately see, even though
the other was seated at a table and as such his full size was not in view.
But the frame was that of a tall man, and much bulk was laid upon it.  At
one time, it appeared, that bulk had nearly all been muscle.  His arms,
shoulders, and neck still were.  But his torso had filled out with the gut
of one who has gone some to drink.  Not in an extreme, Kronos had to admit,
but he knew a beer gut when he saw one.

When Kronos looked into the black eyes with their red flecks, he could
understand some of what may have driven this man to drink, and found himself
surprised that the man's gut was not far larger.  The flecks were still,
the look in the eyes one of despair, of a man broken within.  There was
still a fierce and feral look to him, though, such that his despair looked
as though it would readily turn to rage, should the opportunity strike him.

The blade he had leaned against his chair, within easy reach, was strange
and terrible.  It was heavy of an extreme in appearance, the hilt of the
sword wrought in the shape of a horned skull with a pair of eyesockets on
both sides of the head.  The skull's horns formed the handguard of the hilt,
and rubies filled the four eyes.  Along the metal of the blade near the hilt
were etched runes of magic, that struck an angry and harsh chord to the eye.
The sword stood unsheathed, for it had two large barbs sticking out from either
edge, pointed back towards the grip, and as such fashioning a sheath for it
would have been improbable.  And, given what he knew of this blade, Kronos
felt it most likely would have been needless, for the blade was of a sort that
was used often.

The other man looked up, his eyes set deep into his bald, lined head, and the
lines formed themselves into a scowl at the dark-armored knight that strode
towards him.  He saw the multiple skulls worked into the man's armor, the
black crescent emblem in the crimson circular field, and knew who this man
served.  If, indeed, the visitor could be termed as human.  The skull-like
mask that covered his face showed no signs of eyes behind it, no flesh.  He
could hear breathing, a wheezing sort that seemed to indicate that the process
was difficult for the warrior.  The grip of a katana blade jutted from a
scabbard at the man's left hip.  The armor suit was of black plates and dark
grey mail.  The plates looked so well-polished that an insect landing upon
them would likely slip to fall to the floor.  The man's helmet covered his
entire head and the back of his neck, to where his black cape with grey
lining flowed down his back.

"I am Lord Kronos," said the knight to him.  "I serve the Empire."

"I can see that," said the other irritably.

"I seek Thrull of Kulzaria," said Kronos.

"What purpose would you have of a weapon and its man?" asked the other.

"Methinks I have found him," said Kronos in his deep, quiet voice, and began
to sit with the other.

Thrull immediately reached for his weapon, a rage causing the red flecks to
dance within his eyes.  Kronos sat, staring at Thrull, and immediately all
the fears the man had ever known went coursing through him, detailing in
no uncertain manner the fate of those who defied this invincible warrior
before him.  Thrull's hand froze, and slowly rose to rest upon the table,
once more within the view of Kronos.

"I am not amused by your sorcery," said Thrull unevenly.

"More amused than you are by that of Aldorshennibon, no doubt," answered
Kronos.

"The sword?" acknowledged Thrull.  "I pray every day that it should tire of
me and find a new owner."

"A prayer the gods do not dare brave to answer, I have no doubt," said Kronos,
with not the slightest trace of irony in his voice.  "I have a task I think you
may find pleasing to take.  One that will make good work for a man of your
skills and the powerful weapon he owns."

"So what task does this powerful weapon and the skillful man it owns need to
undertake?" asked Thrull.

"I have a pair of enemies I seek," said Kronos.

"Who does not," said Thrull drily.

"One of these, I think, is one you would most certainly wish to see dead."

"And that may be?" asked Thrull.

"She who foisted that demon-wrought blade upon you," said Kronos, pointing
at the sword Aldorshennibon at the other's side.  "She who afflicted you with
it and its deadly curse.  Kryalla Simuel, the Shrouded One."

Thrull's eyes lit up in feral joy a moment, before resuming a rather saddened
look within them.  "You know of how I came by this weapon, then?"

"Indeed, for it was for safekeeping from my Master that it was given you,"
said Kronos.

"Yes, along with that accursed Necklace," affirmed Thrull.  "I wish she had
taken the blade along with the bauble, and spared me the fate it has brought
me to."

"Alas, she has little wish for the price it exacts," Kronos shrugged.  "A
decision with which you can find little fault, having experienced it yourself."

Thrull only nodded grimly.

"This Shrouded One and her acquaintance, one Emrikol of the Bandaged Hands,
have returned to the homeworld of the latter, Tor'el by name," explained
Kronos.  "I wish to follow them there, and wish to have your capable skills
accompany me on my journey.  Emrikol I care little for, but Kryalla is to
be taken alive."

"So that your Master can inflict a suitably agonizing death upon her for the
crimes her witchery has visited upon us both," predicted Thrull.  "What is to
be my payment?"

Kronos drew a sack from his belt, laid it on the table.  There was no clink
of coins, rather the soft sound of gems flowing amongst one another within.
"Any three stones from this sack now.  The remainder when we have our quarry."

"Done," said Thrull, reaching his hand for the sack.  Kronos watched carefully
as he withdrew three of the largest emeralds from within the bag, and made
them disappear within his own pouch at his belt.  Kronos nodded in approval
of the pact, deigning not to bother with a warning of what would befall Thrull
if he perpetrated any treachery.  Thrull already knew such, making it
superfluous to speak the words.

The two large men stood from the table and left the inn, Thrull taking notice
of several others joining them once they had stepped through the door.  He
should have known better than to expect that Kronos had come alone, he thought
with a smile.

			=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

Kryalla and Emrikol followed Rejak into the Main Hall of the castle. Emrikol
remembered this place well - he had played near the north fireplace during 
his childhood; sat next to his father at the main table during meals and
audiences; and he had sat in the Duke's chair, his father's chair, after his
father's death. The room was still filled with the sounds of people, yet they
seemed subdued, almost frightened. 

Emrikol's anger began to increase - no one had the right to make his subjects,
his friends afraid to be in their own castle! Kryalla also felt the fear in 
the room, and she gently placed her hand on Emrikol's arm and gently shook
her head when he turned to look at her.

"You accomplish naught with anger." Her voice was like soothing balm to his
inner fire. "Our need is for information, not tension."

Emrikol sighed, expelling the breath that he had not realised he was holding.

"You are right. As always." He smiled sheepishly at her. But sometimes I wish
you couldn't read my mind, he added silently.

They were approaching the main table, and Emrikol was surprised to see his
mother in the Duke's chair.

"Mother! When I witnessed what had been wrought of our world I felt sure you
would be dead." Emrikol glanced around to see if any of his other family
remained alive.

"I alone remain. K'al murdered all members of our family with any amount of 
power. As I have little control over the font, he deigned to let me live."
Her voice carried her anguish over K'al's oversight. "But time passes, and
wounds become less painful."

She became thoughtful as she looked upon her son and his cowled companion.

"Forgive me mother. May I present Kryalla Simuel, the Shrouded One. She and I 
have been travelling together for the last few years. It has been only
recently that I have remembered Tor'el, and Kryalla offered to accompany me." 

"Welcome, Lady Kryalla, I am Syandria, husband of Grendik, and mother of
Emrikol.  Welcome to Tor'el."  

Kryalla made a small nod of respect to Syandria.

"We had not expected to see you again, my son. All of the other dukes were 
either murdered or executed by K'al."

Emrikol could see the tears glistening in her eyes. "K'al did worse than kill
me, mother.  He banished me to a place where death is the only peace . . ."

			=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

"You are certain that we will not be intruded upon here?" asked the sibilant
voice of Talan.  "It would be quite awkward if any were to learn of what we
speak."

"Have no worries, lad!" grumbled the dwarf-king Shorag, as he looked
admiringly through the quite dull cave.  "Few even know all the caves up
here, and what few do would not be searching through this remote one high
up in the hills.  My guards know you're trustworthy, and that I like to
go alone into these hills.  That was dangerous, when the goblinkind used
to dwell here.  Arcania Dorval managed to accomplish at least one thing
that was good.  We're as alone as can be."

"Good," said Talan.  "Then there is that matter of which I requested to
discuss."

"And that would be?" asked Shorag.

"You know of the relationship our peoples have with the Empire," began Talan.

"You mean, where she treats us publicly like allies and best of friends, and
behind it all orders us about as though we were her slaves?" said Shorag
bluntly.

"Something to that effect, yes," said Talan.  "I would speak on the future
of this relationship.  In the time we have known one another, there has been
a very consistent variable in the equation."

"The Empress," said Shorag.  "That bitch controls too much power for us to
openly defy her."

"Indeed," said Talan.  "However, you may know that there has been a . . .
difficulty that has befallen our beloved ruler.  One that may allow us some
time to devise our means of securing a pittance of autonomy."

"What do you mean?" asked Shorag.

"We have much to gain by combining our powers towards a common end.  Your
soldiery is very fierce and capable, much like my own people," said Talan.

"Your people!" snorted Shorag in the green-eyed face of the other.  "Your
people have been engaged in picking mine's bones clean for centuries!  You
expect them to just cast that all aside because you promise to play nice
all of a sudden?!"

"Never one for subtlety in your words, are you?" observed Talan.  He found
a rock lying on the floor of the dry cave and sat upon it.  "In a word, yes."

Shorag sighed.  "It won't be a popular move amongst many of them.  If it meant
freedom, many would go for it.  But there are those amongst my people who hate
yours too much to take that as the price."

"Yes," Talan nodded, running a hand through his golden hair.  "There are some
rather untractable sorts on the subject amongst mine as well.  They must be
dealt with."

"Absolutely not!  I will not murder my people and divide the dwarven nation!"

"I suggested nothing of the sort," Talan reminded him.  "There are those of
both our kind that would resist this sort of move.  I would suggest that they
get together and have a party."

Shorag was struck silent by this statement.  He stroked his grey beard
thoughtfully, mulling it over in his mind.  He was a shrewd dwarf, despite
the reputation of his kind for being rather dull-witted and direct, and he
had grown to be good friends with Talan due to a certain kinship of the
spirit he could sense with the new High Lord of Dragons.  Talan's travels
amongst the peoples of the Empire had largely been focused upon the dwarves
of the hills north of the ringing mountain range known as the Dragon's Teeth.
Now, it became somewhat clear, that Talan had had something in mind for the
end of all these travels, Shorag thought.

"It might work," said Shorag.  "There is the risk that our people would be
angered into a full-scale war by it, however."

"As well as the risk that Arcania might well sense what we were doing,"
agreed Talan.  "I have received word that she is indeed expected to return
to the Empire.  She will quickly learn of my successful challenge to Kollain,
and will be expecting homage from me shortly after her arrival.  She will
call the other vassals of the Empire together at the same time, to witness
to swearing.  I will make a request of her."

"Which would be?" asked Shorag.

"There will be many different vassals or allies there.  The Duchess of Qaz --
who is it now?  Jhryll Dorval was there, but then those crusaders from Mithras
marched through.  Jhryll had run out of favor with Arcania, it seemed, for
the Empress wept little when the Duchess was slain by the wizards that came
with that lot."

"Illura, I believe.  I am not certain what branch of the Empire spawned
her," said Shorag.  "It was hardly unexpected, after Arcania had to depose
Jhryll as the figurehead empress a few years back.  I was waiting for Jhryll
to die, either by assassination or when the Empress cast her to the wolves
when the next invader cruised through, just like what happened with those
Archon-Lords of Mithras."

"And the God-Kings and all the rest of the self-righteous lot," smirked
Talan in amusement.  "I pray I never have to deal with those narrow-minded
zealots in my time.  Of course, that is probably wishful thinking."

"The request of Arcania," Shorag reminded Talan.

"Ah, yes.  There will be many vassals.  Duchess Illura of Qaz will be there.
Lord Kronos may or may not be there; it is said he is chasing after a few folks
who might have had something to do with the disappearance of Arcania."

"Good riddance to him.  I'd as lief never have to deal with him in my life,"
murmured Shorag.

Talan shrugged.  "Mithrandantilus the Silver Eagle will likely be there."

"The head of the Fellowship of Wizards?  You know the Shrouded One, I have
heard," said Shorag.  "I would wager she'll have an apoplexy over him
showing up, for all the time it seems she's been setting him and his up
as opposition to the Dark One," he chortled.

"Perhaps," mused Talan.  "The Shrouded One keeps her own counsel on such
things, even from me."

"She trusts no one," muttered Shorag.  "And I trust her not."

"But I thought she trusted me!" said Talan in mock horror.  "I am wounded
to hear such . . . will you please stop it?"

Shorag paused in his laughter a moment to bow in apology to the High Dragon
Lord, despite the fact that Talan was smiling widely.

"Yes, Mithrandantilus will be there.  Lastly, you and I will both be there,"
said Talan.  "As this will be my first such council, I will need to establish
my position with the Dark One swiftly if I am to establish it at all."  His
green eyes fixed upon the stone-grey ones of the dwarf.  "I will ask her for
formal control of our lands as a Duchy, in exchange for bringing your nation
to heel fully."

Shorag stood rigid, the color draining from his face.  "You had best explain
yourself."

Talan gestured, half sad that he was misunderstood.  "Think on it.  I will
promise to bring your people under my dominion -- and, indirectly, hers.  You
are now only a vassal in the loosest sense of the word.  It is left for the
rest of us to believe that you are, in fact, an independent nation.  It is
also well-known that Arcania has little liking for dwarves, ever since that
unpleasant foray with that God-Prince of Mithras."

"The one that killed Jhryll, or the one before?"  Shorag asked.  "Ah, yes,
the slayer of the Duchess was merely an `Archon-Lord,' not as lofty as a
`God-Prince.'  The War of the Signet, no?"

"The same," Talan affirmed.  "Since dwarven soldiers made up much of the
armies of that God-Prince that engaged in the War of the Signet against
the Empire, Arcania has been rather prejudiced against your kind.  Thus,
the chance to make an example of your people will be something she cannot
publicly pass up, despite the fact that it merely states in the open what
is already the truth."

"And then we will arrange the meetings of our less amiable citizens to
satisfy the Dark One that a war is indeed taking place, then sign some sort
of armistice that will acknowledge the dwarves as your servants, when in
truth we simply have joined in an alliance under your Dukeness," said Shorag.
"Now it begins to become clear to me.  My apologies for doubting you."

"Accepted," Talan acknowledged.  "As a Duke, I will hold full autonomy over
our lands, and through me, we will have increased the measure of our freedom
from Dabar Roc.  Hopefully, the word will pass through our kind that we
intend a peaceful enough merging of our peoples, and will be prepared to
make any demonstration the agents of Arcania may need to assure her that
we are still only barely restraining our hostilities towards one another."

"She is not stupid," said Shorag.  "She will divine the truth of the matter
ere much time has passed."

Talan sighed.  "I realize that.  But by that time, we will hopefully be
prepared to fight, if need be, as a united people to win our freedom from
her."

"You are gambling that we will present a formidable enough front that she
will not think it worth the trouble to break us," guessed Shorag.

"Quite.  We both know that Mithrandantilus, for all the appearances of this
non-aggression oath, loses no love for the Dark One.  His power is far from
trivial, as is ours.  Should the possibility of an alliance against her
arise . . ."

"I see," said Shorag, nodding in approval.  "It may well work.  Can we
count upon the help of Aglarand as well, as the Fellowship did during the
matter of the Diadems?"

"I think not," said Talan.  "Their defeat by Arcania in that war has given
rise to the more conservative elements of Aglarandi society, those that see
little profit in wars far from their shores.  True, we will provide more
powerful allies with those two mighty powers than the sun-priests did in
that conflict, but the opinion in Aglarand is strongly against wars across
the sea."

"A pity that they do not realize their own existence is owed to such
vigilance against far-off powers."

"I know," said Talan.  "But the days in which they had to struggle for their
lives against all the powers of their continent across the sea are dim in
their memories, and the heady lure of isolation from all us foreign knaves
and the problems we heap upon their heads is too strong for them just now."

"Indeed," Shorag reflected bitterly.  "However, the possibility that the
Dark One might have to deal with such a battle . . . without the aid of
Lord Kronos as a general . . . it might well affright her into giving us
what we wish.  If you are wrong . . ."

"I will give you half my share of paradise," Talan smiled at him.

"If indeed we make it that far," said Shorag.

			=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=

". . . and we decided that here would be the best place to discover what has
occured." Kryalla, Emrikol, and his mother were now seated around the duke's 
table eating from the small selection of plates in the centre. "I can't help
thinking that, if I had been here, I might have been able to stop him," Emrikol
whispered to his mother as he viciously stabbed a piece of meat with his
knife. 

"No. If you had been here you would be dead. K'al fought seven dukes at the 
same time, and all died quickly. The same would have been true of you." His 
mother looked towards Kryalla. "Anyway, you are both welcome. Emrikol your 
room was left untouched, and I'm sure we can find Lady Kryalla lodgings...." 
The rising blush in Emrikol's cheeks was all the answer Syandria needed, "Or
perhaps not."

Kryalla saw the amused gleam in her eye and glared at Emrikol with the silent
"request" in her eyes to keep his features under control.

Emrikol shifted uncomfortably, trying to find a way to change the subject
before she became still more wroth with him. "Mother, we do not really need
rest. We came here to get information in order to stop K'al. We need to know
all about that rift, and why K'al is so powerful."

Syandria deferred to Kryalla's obvious wish to keep private mattters precisely
that, nodded, and said, "You always did come straight to the point." She moved
towards one of the doors behind the main table. "Come, it is easier to show
you than to tell you."

Emrikol and Kryalla moved to follow Syandria, and Rejak brought up the rear.

"Where does she lead us?" Kryalla quietly asked.

"Probably to the Font Chamber. It's a room deep beneath the castle, in the
caverns in which my ancestors lived. It is the source of our power, and the
storeplace for our history." Emrikol motioned to a door ahead of them, "The
door ahead of us is made of a metal that we have no name for. All of the walls
of the old caverns are lined with it."

Kryalla slowly nodded, and followed Emrikol down the passage, a look of
foreboding clearly etched on her brow.

+=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+
+       Kryalla Simuel the Shrouded One                   +
+=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+
+       . . . scribed by the Stilt Man,                   +
+               foleye@viper.cs.orst.edu                  +
+=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=+

				and

       \\//    Emrikol of the (not so) Bandaged Hands     \\//
        XX      Back in the pink and homeward bound.       XX
       //\\             cvenour@cit.gu.edu.au             //\\