From alt.pub.dragons-inn Mon Apr  3 18:31:20 1995
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From: jimmoore@eden.rutgers.edu (James Moore)
Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
Subject: darkness continued
Date: 3 Apr 1995 14:42:48 -0400
Organization: Rutgers University
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Message-ID: <3lpfj8$rd6@er7.rutgers.edu>
NNTP-Posting-Host: er7.rutgers.edu

The nine men sat and waited, taking neither food nor drink.  They were here to 
meet somone, but who?  No one in the pub even knew the purpose of these men,
let alone wished to converse with them.  The water that clung to their cloaks 
made them shine as if they glowed.  Some ventured to think that it was not the 
water that made them glow.  The men all appeared to be Human, that was 
apparent, but as to whetherthey were still Human inside no one could say.  
An hour later a lone merchant came in.  He was a jovial man and good-natured,
his plump body was bulging at the seems of a suit that no longer fit him.  Then
he looked at the nine men and a grim expression of horror crossed his face.  He
started to run for the door, but the fat merchant was no match for the group
of Hell-Spawned spectors.  The biggest of the men grabbed the poor merchant by
the shirt and with one hand lifted him into the air.  
	"Tristan, long time no see.  Look, I was going to pay you the rest, but
I was side-tracked," the merchant began, his voice pleading.  A single slap 
from the big man shut him up before he could continue his babbling.
	Then the one named Tristan spoke up, "You cheated our master,  you were
not intending to ever pay us back.  But now we are here to collect you."  His 
voice made the man, and many others in the bar, shudder.  Tristan's tone was 
calm, yet terrorfying.  The merchant was scared, and with good reason.  He was 
staring death in the face and he knew his life was about to end.  Then the big
man threw the fat little merchant out into the darkness of the street outside.
	"Don't worry, we are not going to kill you, yet.  First we are going to
collect our debt and then kill you."  The statement came from the mouth of the 
littlest man of the nine.  His tone was mocking and vicious.  "Boy, what we're
gonna do to you..."
	"Banshee, don't let him know what is in store for him," Tristan laid a 
hand on his comrade. "First we must contact the master.  Ready yourselves."
The merchant was tied to one of the dark stallions and got a first-hand view of
the ceremony that was to occur.  The nine men formed a perfact circle with each
other, rose their right arms into the circle, and took off their gloves.  Each
man had a ring, what was on those rings no one could see, but they all appeared
to be identicle.  Then they started to speak in order:
	"Tristan.  Contact."
	"Wolf.  Contact."
	"Sabrecat.  Contact."
	"Enforcer.  Contact."
	"Darkhawk.  Contact."
	"Shadowfox.  Contact."
	"Banshee.  Contact."
	"Thunder.  Contact."
	"Titan.  Contact." 
They were all speaking their names.  Apparently to activeate their rings.  The
air around them cracked, the Darkness parted, The rain no longer fell in the 
circle.  The men became oblivious to their surroundings.  Then they spoke once
more, but in a single, monotone voice, making it impossible to determine one 
from the other.  As they spoke an image appeared of a human wizard.  They spoke
in their monotone voice:  "Lord Trenner Daires, Grand Wizard of all the Lands,
we your servants bring you good news.  I have captured the merchant, Loritne,
what will you have done with him?"
	The image spoke and Lightning sliced the air as he spoke, "Kill him,
his life is forfeit, make him suffer."
	"Thy will be done," sounded the voice of the nine men.  Then the image
faded away into the darkness.  The nine became separate once more.  They 
grabbed the merchant and threw him to the ground.  The one named Banshee drew 
a knife and approached the helpless man.  Then instead of slicing his throat 
he sliced the man's bonds.  "Run," he said.  If you can escape us then we will
spare your life.  You have a head-start for as long as it takes us to eat a 
nice leisurely dinner in the pub.  So don't waste time."
	With that they shoved the man into the darkmness and then turned around
and walked back into the pub.

If any of you out there think this is an interesting story and wish to become 
involved and create a thread, then do so.  My e-mail address is:
jimmoore@eden.rutgers.edu

See you on the field of battle!

--James Moore, Master Storyteller