From alt.pub.dragons-inn Tue Feb 14 12:12:35 1995 Xref: netcom.com alt.pub.dragons-inn:8125 Path: netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!howland.reston.ans.net!news.sprintlink.net!news.bluesky.net!solaris.cc.vt.edu!server.cs.vt.edu!reaux From: reaux@sequoia.cs.vt.edu (Ray A Reaux) Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: [Article 39] An Inn and a Monkey's Uncle Date: 10 Feb 1995 18:03:15 GMT Organization: Virginia Tech, Blacksburg, VA 24061 Lines: 97 Distribution: world Message-ID: <3hg9p3$mrg@server.cs.vt.edu> Reply-To: reaux@cs.vt.edu (Ray A Reaux) NNTP-Posting-Host: sequoia.cs.vt.edu X-Newsreader: dxrn 6.18-6 [Anders is copyrighted by Ray Reaux. Permission is for Usenet/Altnet distribution and archiving. All other rights, including repost, are reserved by the author.] >>> Following the post [DOUGL] A Drink, a Cat, and a Cup <<<<< Anders pushed the door open into the Inn with some trepidation. A day and a half ago, he had made a resolution to take the place of a wounded border legion officer in whatever grand endeavor had earned the man a quarrel in the back from what had obviously been an ambush by an assassin. Since then, he had walked 30 miles, and every feet of the way, he had thought up more and more reasons why this was not a good idea. "For gods sake," his mind had screamed, "you are placing yourself into the crossbow sights of an assassin. And even if the assassin doesn't get you, the people you are going to meet, the ones mentioned in the missive, are going to recognize you as an imposter in a minute. The law is going to crucify you for impersonating a legion officer. You will be lucky if they only exhile you to a penal colony." Anders had come up with a hundred reasons why he should just turn around and walk the other way, but he didn't. He knew that if he turned back now, he would return to his pen and parchments and his dreary but comfortable life at Ailcolhavenbog. He would never experience the excitement of being a freeboater, eh, a freebooter. The sights, sound, and aroma of the Inn hit him like a sledge hammer. Among the babble of voices, he could make out at least four different languages, and those were the ones he knew. The air was heavy with the smell of exotic spices and wines from many lands, and the patrons, well Anders had never seen such a large assortment of different races or cultures at one time. Although most were human, many were not. At one corner table, he saw the slender figure of an elven woman talking to one of the little people. At another, he saw the ponderous mass of a lizardman. Although, Anders had heard about these creatures, he had never seen them, which was why he was staring and did not look where he was going. He saw enough to dodge aside the waitress with her fully loaded tray, but in doing so, his left foot came down squarely on top of the curled up tail of a simian creature who was sitting at a table and dining with two human companions. The creature let out a howl of pain and indignation, and its tail jerked out from under Ander's feet, unbalancing him. The simian sprang to his feet and whipped around, sending his stool skittering across the floor. Three knives suddenly appeared in front of the creature. Each of its long-fingered hand held blades a foot and a half long. It's tail had reached up over his shoulders and had drawn a dagger from a shoulder sheath. The creature hissed at him, showing long, filed canines. "Oops, I say old chap, sorry about that." Anders, who had fallen back against a column that supported the roof, apologized profusely. Hastily, he brought his empty hands up before him, hoping that the creature would at least understand this gesture of peace. But in so doing, his left arm knocked the bellows off of a hook on the column. The bellows, lacking momentum, fell straight onto his toes. Anders winced but tried to save his dignity by not grabbing his foot and doing a war dance. "Clumsy oaf," the simian hissed. Its raised hackles and chin fur, which had risen to give it a fiercer appearance, slowly relaxed. Although Anders was taller, the simian, with its long, gangly arms and squat muscular body outweighed Anders by at least 20 pounds. It hissed again at Anders, but this time as an after thought, and it sounded suspiciously to Anders like the creature's version of laughter. The weapons disappeared from whence they came as fast as they had appeared. It retrieved his stool, and ignoring Anders, returned to its table. Anders breathed a sigh of relief. He picked up the bellows and hung it back onto its hook. Seeing an empty corner table, he limped to it and collapsed onto the bench with relish. He massaged his aching feet until the waitress came. "What will you have?" a cheerful voice asked, distracting him from massaging his sore foot. He looked up to see a plump but pretty young woman holding a serving tray. "I say, madam could you see about getting me a glass of water, a mutton sandwhich, and uh," he searched in the cubicles of his mind for that other drink Master Tyrel, his weapons instructor, had told him about. What was it's name, ah yes, the Gargoyle Blaster. "Oh yes, I would also like a Gargoyle Blaster," he told the pretty waitress. He hoped that it didn't pack the same punch as a Dragonian Gold Brick. Master Tyrel had told him that it was a popular drink among freeboa,..uh, freebooters, and if he was to pull off the masquerade, of an experienced legionnaire, he needed to be seen drinking what they would be drinking. Besides, he intended to sip the drink this time. The waitress' eyebrows arched up, but she did not comment. Instead, she gave him a cheerful smile and headed towards the bar. Anders scanned the other patrons, wondering who were the ones he was to meet. When the woman brought his sandwhich and the shimmering, greyish liquor he had ordered, he had decided on how to approach this meeting. He brought the cup he had found in the wounded warrior's belongings out from his travel bag, and poured the Gargoyle Blaster into it. He sipped the drink, and only his desire to look seasoned kept him from gagging. The potent liquor burned in his throat, even if it was just a sip. He placed the cup in front of him for all to see, and ate his sandwhich.