From alt.pub.dragons-inn Sun Feb 19 19:41:41 1995 Xref: netcom.com alt.pub.dragons-inn:8143 Path: netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!howland.reston.ans.net!math.ohio-state.edu!cs.utexas.edu!news.sprintlink.net!tequesta.gate.net!dworld.org!storm Subject: New Char: Dexeron (1/3) Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn From: storm@dworld.org Date: Wed, 15 Feb 95 04:59:51 EST Message-ID: <7759101051102@dworld.org> Organization: Dragon World (407) 4879355 Lines: 87 The cloaked man stood, shivering in the sudden breeze from the north. A few flurries of snow swirled down from the sky, spinning in tiny vortexes around the harbor district, and eliciting curses from the men who worked hard to load the ships at the docks. The man in the cloak stared for a long time at the dark water of the harbor, and silently mumbled an obscenity. If things had gone right, he would have already been through the pass in the High Wall, and well past Fort Cyrint. Unfortunately, the latest reports from the north said that the pass was snowed under in the sudden blizzard, and all traffic to the northlands was blocked. A sudden shout and a crash attracted the man's attention. Down by the docks, several wagons were jumbled together, each driven by a merchant frantically trying to get his wares to the northlands before the Winter Merchant's Fair. Since the roads were impassable, most merchants were booking passage on board ships in a desperate attempt to save their businesses. The annual Merchant's Fair was a very old tradition in which rich merchants from the south sold needed goods at inflated prices to people spending the long winter in the northlands. Now the sea captains were charging inflated prices, much to the chagrin of the merchants. The man found this amusing, and suppressed a chuckle. The man in question was not a merchant. His business in the north was of a much different nature, and although he was annoyed at the sudden weather, his impatience had little to do with money. "It can't wait any longer." he thought to himself, absently chewing on the fingernails of his left hand. "Might as well get it over with though." he thought. Ignoring the cries and shouts from below, he turned and entered the building marked "Harbor Master." "57 GOLD FILNIS?!? Are you insane? For 57 gold, I could buy myself a magical patent and TELEPORT myself to the northlands!" A rather large man sat behind the desk, his lips tightly set. In his left hand he held a parchment, allowing the bearer passage on board a northbound ship. His right hand was held out, palm up, waiting for the exorbitantly large fee to be deposited in it. "We have little space available sir, all of the excess room has been taken by the merchants. If you feel you must get to the northlands, you must... show us... you are more willing to get there then they are." The cloaked man looked around the small, cluttered office angrily. "Damn the bureaucracy..." the man muttered to himself. "We never meant for THIS kind to take over... I could sure use another revolution about now." The fat, balding official waited for the man to pay, or leave. "Looks like I'm going to have to pull rank on this one." thought the man. He frowned and grimaced. Reaching inside his cloak, he pulled out an amulet, and held it before the corpulent man. The official squinted at the amulet, and then his eyes widened in surprise, and terror. The... the ORDER sir?" The official finally noticed the man's clothing, a simple grey robe, with black trim at the sleeves and neck. The man's beard was close cut, and black, as was his hair. A single braid hung down from his hair, which was otherwise short. Although not overly muscular, the man was fit, more from outdoor life than from weight lifting. Most importantly, however, the official noticed the amulet... and the small green gem contained within the disk of pure silver. "Well... sir! Uh... I see you are not like the other passengers... I'm sure we can come to some sort of agreement! Let's say 41 filnis..." "Let's say you give me a ticket on the next ship leaving this cesspool you call a harbor, and you keep your job." "Uh... but sir! What about expenses... someone has to pay..." "Haven't you ever heard of charity? Consider this a tax free donation to the Order. Make the ticket out to Dexeron, would you?" The fat man merely gibbered unintelligibly. Dexeron left the office of the Harbor Master in a better mood than when he had entered. Nothing like a pleasant reaming to keep the local bureaucrats in their place. Of course, his superiors in the hierarchy of The Order would never have approved of the threats he had made (at least not officially...) but by now the stories were so confused that fact was almost indistinguishable from fiction. This allowed the "Hand of the Order of the Green Jewel," member of the group which had returned peace to the land and which abhorred all injustice, to extort a free trip on the O.S.S. Royal Phoenix. If Andrius ever found out, there would be hell to pay... {to be continued...} ============ Dexeron, the Order of the Green Jewel, and all characters herein Copyright 1995, Daniel A. Lustig. Unauthorized use is not only rude, but will be met by several large orcs and trolls visiting your home late at night. All rights reserved. Send E-mail to Dexeron@DWorld.org --- þ OLX 2.1 TD þ All hope abandon, ye who enter messages here.