From alt.pub.dragons-inn Wed Mar 15 09:02:00 1995 Xref: netcom.com alt.pub.dragons-inn:8194 Path: netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!howland.reston.ans.net!news.sprintlink.net!uunet!olivea!hal.COM!decwrl!tribune.usask.ca!news.sasknet.sk.ca!rover.ucs.ualberta.ca!alberta!aaron From: aaron@amisk.cs.ualberta.ca (Aaron V. Humphrey) Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: [MI] What Is Behind That Curtain? Date: 13 Mar 1995 20:33:17 GMT Organization: The Anna Amabiaca Fan Club Lines: 197 Message-ID: <3k2a6d$ir0@scapa.cs.ualberta.ca> Reply-To: aaron@amisk.cs.ualberta.ca NNTP-Posting-Host: cab119.cs.ualberta.ca Originator: aaron@cab119.cs.ualberta.ca The Cast: Lassiviren, Alfvaen, Elstree, and Azpiazu--drow assassin, half-elven thief, priestess of Aditi, and(somewhat weakened)God of Chaos, all sharing one body(in time-slices)in lieu of being dead. [In our last installment, Elstree had made her way across the web to beneath the crystal that was siphoning Azpiazu's power, and Alfvaen had climbed up to within reach of it.] >"So how does this work?" he gasped. "Do you take over now, or when >I've actually touched the thing?" >--Well, that's tricky,-- Azpiazu rumbled. --If I manifest too soon, >then that thing can just suck me in wholesale. On the other hand, I'm >not sure what would happen if you touched it.-- > Lassiviren >explained. >"Look, I'll reach and you manifest at just the right moment," Alfvaen >said. And he reached. "I see red, and it hurts my head." --Rush, "Red Lenses" "It was a large room, full of people, all kinds. And they had all arrived at the same place at more or less the same time. And they were all free. And they were all asking themselves the same question: What is behind that curtain?" --Laurie Anderson, "Born, Never Asked" Red. Red curtains. Curtains? "This is not the restaurant," said a somewhat distorted voice. He had reached. He remembered that. And then-- The others. There were others. They were with him, but not the way they usually were. She was sitting on something soft. And red. She couldn't see it, but it _felt_ red. The flash. It hadn't really been light, and it hadn't really been a colour, but he couldn't see. Neither could she. "There are no moving pictures here," the voice said, somewhat higher this time. There was the sound of fingers snapping, but in the wrong order. What did that mean? Their vision was clearing. Red curtains. Black and white zigzagged floor. Red velvet couch. Green formica table. Red velvet chairs. A white marble statue with a woman's face and three arms. Seven white ceramic cups full of dark liquid. The statue spoke. "The wilderness writhes beneath their horses." In the chairs sat two figures. A dwarf. No beard. Bright red lips. A woman. Black dress. Blonde hair. On the couch sat three figures. A half-elf. A dagger. A crystal amulet. A quill. A woman. White robes. A crystal amulet. A silken whip. A dark elf. Gloves. A crystal amulet. Daggers. "Like a tiger's garden, the emptiness falls," the dwarf said. His was the first voice they had heard. Alfvaen blinked. It felt like a thick fog had lifted. It was no longer impossible to think clearly, but he still felt like he did waking up after staying up too long and then sleeping too long. He wondered if hangovers were like this. Elstree had tried to brace herself, but it had been worse than walking the web. She had heard a soft, murmuring voice, and had felt like a boat at the end of an anchor chain in a strong current. And now she was sitting on a couch. The transition was unclear. Lassiviren had heard the tales of the Demon Queen's realm. A minor priestess had once taken him for a lover, and she had told him about the ordeals they were put through. That was the first thing he thought about when he regained himself. But he did not feel any of the things he would have associated with Her. "The storm is an expression of welcome," the girl said. "There can be nothing better than smoked trout." The three looked at each other. The same thing occurred to them all at the same time, and as they spoke their words crashed into each other and tumbled to the floor. They lay there, a tanglement of ink lines, curled bits of string, sound waves, brain cells, pools of blood, and hand gestures. The dwarf made an odd noise, almost like a tongue-clicking. "The teevee personalities are calling attention to themselves." One of the statue's arms reached out. Through an impossible shift of perspective, it grabbed one of the cups from the green table and upended it over the tangle on the floor. A few drops of the black liquid--more brownish, now that they saw it closer--dripped out, and then suddenly a big clump of what looked like molasses. A smell wafted towards them that eased a little of their difficulty in thinking. The liquid steamed and bubbled as it dealt with the words, and then settled back into a pool of what looked like ink. Alfvaen remembered his quill. He plucked it out of his pocket and stared at it for a moment. It had been his prize for winning the Limerick Contest of Mandywindain. It hadn't been an original limerick, but the grey elves hadn't heard it before. He'd put it on the coat of arms they'd awarded him after he helped rescue the Queen. He knew for a fact he hadn't brought it with him. He glanced at his companions to make sure there wouldn't be a repeat of the prior mass confusion. Leaning forward, he dipped the quill into the ink, lifted it up, and wrote, "Are you Azpiazu?" in elven script, in midair. The letters shimmered and wavered after the quill left them, changing colours and shapes--but never meanings, he was sure--but they remained in the air. The girl made a gesture with her arms that brought them at right angles to each other. "You are not on jeopardy. I think everything is in order." Alfvaen thought. The amulet link was still there, though none of them had thought to use it before. He bent to dip his quill again, but the girl made an odd keening noise and said, menacingly, "Meanwhile..." He sat back hurriedly. Elstree said. After thinking a moment, she uncoiled the silken whip from around her waist. She flicked the tip experimentally towards the pool of ink, but it became farther away. The whip itself left white streaks in the air, though. As she formed the question in her mind, her wrist twitched semi- involuntarily and the whip wrote, in long curved strokes in the air, "So we succeeded in our task?" "Checkpoint Charlie," the dwarf said, twitching his ears. Now it was obviously Lassiviren's turn. He lifted up his hands. The gloves were blacker than usual, without even the normal glossiness of skin that he took care to leave in them. They were like holes in the light of the room. Carefully he signed in the Silentspeech, "Because we succeeded, it is difficult for us to communicate?" The statue belt all of its arms backwards at the elbow. "You look just like my cousin," it said approvingly. A form started to rise out of the pool of ink. The dwarf's face contorted in what could have been concern. All three spoke in unison, and dissonance, "Linear independence in three-space. That poisons you all. Leaflets will also be delivered separately. The orders have already been sent in." The upper part of the form was starting to resemble a head. It shook itself, revealing long greasy greyish hair, and opened a mouth full of teeth like an animal's. "Marry a model!" the girl shouted. She screamed, and it emerged in a gust of wind which sent the couch tumbling off backwards into the curtains. When it made contact, it lost all its solidity, and the three of them were washed away in a red tide. *** Alfvaen rolled to a stop on old paving stones. He heard no immediate traffic, so took the opportunity to lay there and gasp for a while, and try to reorient himself. They had been in the tunnels...and then...a red room. The Temple of Azpiazu, obviously. All three of them had been there in the Temple, he recalled vaguely. Each with an amulet. Well, he supposed that that was possible there, at least... Then he heard a muffled female groan from nearby, and raised his head. Elstree lay there, her white robes somewhat soiled from the street. And, beyond her, a form in black robes. "Oh, boy," Alfvaen said. -- --Alfvaen(Web page: http://ugweb.cs.ualberta.ca/~aaron/) Current Album--Depeche Mode:People Are People Current Read--James Joyce:A Portrait of The Artist As A Young Man Song In My Head--Depeche Mode:Get The Balance Right