From alt.pub.dragons-inn Wed Aug 2 07:24:25 1995 Xref: netcom.com alt.pub.dragons-inn:8594 Path: netcom.com!csus.edu!news.ucdavis.edu!agate!howland.reston.ans.net!swrinde!cs.utexas.edu!news.unt.edu!jove!afj0001 From: afj0001@jove.acs.unt.edu (Aaron F Johnson) Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: [NIX]The Packrat Date: 2 Aug 1995 03:36:20 GMT Organization: University of North Texas Lines: 491 Distribution: inet Message-ID: <3vmrrk$919@hermes.acs.unt.edu> NNTP-Posting-Host: jove.acs.unt.edu X-Newsreader: TIN [version 1.2 PL2] [ADMIN: Sorry about the length, but it kind of got away from me, and I wanted to get it all down. Tukla, like Darius, is currently in some development, and I would appreciate anyone who wishes to use him to contact me at afj0001@jove.acs.unt.edu. Thanks.] The clock tower clicked and chimed five, its mellow tones echoing across the Artisan's District of Generica. Wilfred Brooks, Guardsman, wiped his chin and contemplated the tattered ruins of his dinner, a slice of meatloaf between two pieces of bread. The missus sure makes good meatloaf, he thought, and she does know that I enjoy it. She was spoiling him, he knew, making his favorite dish. But after his brush with that sorceror-thief three nights ago, both he and his wife felt like he needed a little spoiling. The Watch Captain had been truly sympathetic, and had given Brooks the next day off. Most of the men on the Watch had encountered the crippled beggars of the city, and none of them fancied joining them in their homeless existence. When Brooks had related the story, and the others had backed him up, the Captain had nodded sympathetically, and sent Brooks home for some rest. The shock of the experience had evidently shown itself in his face. Truth be told, Brooks felt fine now. After a day off, and a good night's sleep, the entire experience seemed like a distant dream. But, Brooks had been keeping his eye out for any black-cloaks in and about his patrol route. That was one thief that would not get away so easily next time. He had also been keeping his promise to that curious priest by sending many of the beggars and homeless towards the Temple of Nix. Some seemed to ignore him, thinking that the Town Watch simply wanted them to move along. Others had gone as he had directed, and when their fellows saw that they were indeed getting fed and slept with a roof over their heads, the news spread quickly. Within the past two nights, near suppertime, Brooks had seen a crowd of beggars moving towards the skiffleway that linked the temple with the rest of the city. Evidently, the priest had been sincere in his desire to help the less-fortunate. "Good day, Guardsman Brooks." Brooks looked up at the cloaked figure that stood over him. It took him a moment, but he recognized the priest that had helped him several nights before. "Good evening, Father." The priest smiled. "I trust that you are feeling better?" "Oh yes," said Brooks, "And I'd like to thank you once again for your help the other night." "Not a problem, Guardsman. Nix watches over those that move about a night, and Her servants are always willing to help those in need. Has anyone reported finding the thief?" Brooks shook his head. "No sir, but several of the pieces stolen from the silversmith have turned up. I think we'll find the goods before we get the thief." Darius nodded. "Such is the way of things sometimes." "Most of the time, sir. We just can't find most of the thieves in this city. Too many of them, and too few of us. But, hope springs eternal from the human heart, as the Captain says. So, we keep trying." "A favorably optimistic outlook," said Darius. "I will speak a prayer this evening for you and your fellow Guardsmen. Perhaps Nix will smile upon you, and you will find a thief or two." "That's kind of you, Father," said Brooks. He paused momentarily, studying the priest. Winterglen couldn't be more than six feet tall, with pale skin and dark hair. His youthful appearance was countered by the slight point to his ears and the undeniable inhuman quality of his eyes. Both of these characteristics told Brooks that this thin priest had elven blood as well as human flowing through his veins. Brooks' eyes drifted down to Winterglen's belt, where a long dagger was slung. "I've never seen a priest carry a blade," he observed. Darius glanced down, his hand going to the blade momentarily. The hilt was wrapped in black leather, but the pommel and crosspiece were both a gleaming silver against his dark clothes. "You are familiar with Cuthbert's priests," he said, "and their preference for the cudgel and mace. Nix wishes Her servants to carry a different variety of weapons. Edged weapons included. This one was a gift from the Keeper of the Nocturnal Veil, my superior, when I was given the task of reopening the temple here in Generica." Brooks was about to ask what the "Keeper of the Nocturnal Veil" did, and where he resided, when he heard his name being called. He looked about and spied his partner, Tom, running up the street towards him. Tom came to a stop, panting for breath, in front of Brooks, and said, "Cully needs us. The Packrat's been spotted lifting stuff from the stalls in Market Square again!" "Right. One moment," said Brooks, folding up his napkin and stowing it inside his shirt. He was grabbing for his halberd, when Darius asked, "Who is the Packrat?" Tom, who had apparently not seen the dark figure of the priest standing there, yelped in surprise. Brooks smiled briefly, and then answered, "A thief. A young one, but a very good one. He likes to run snatch-n-grabs on the Market stalls. He's called the Packrat, because he grabs whatever happens to suit his fancy at the time. Marbles, cheese, jewelry, cigars, whatever. But he's fast, and he's smart, and the Captain wants his hide. So, if you'll excuse us, Father...." "Of course," said Darius. "Good hunting." As he watched the two Watch trot off down the street, an idea began to formulate in Darius' mind. It had taken him half the night to find a fence for those pieces he had taken from the whitesmith's shop, and the dealer had offered him a pittance for the goods. It had been obvious that the fence did not want to deal with a freelancer. The Guild, or whatever it called itself in Generica, obviously had quite a bit of pull on the streets. And while the Keeper had taught him much of the metaphysics and magick of the world and of Nix, Everyman had taught him a bit of the more practical skills of urban survival. And what Everyman had managed to drum into his head first and foremost was that it was good to have friends with pull, especially the Guild. Perhaps this "Packrat" could lead him towards making an arrangement with these powerful friends. With but a moment's delay to pull the edge of his hood farther down over his eyes, shielding them from the persistent light of the setting sun, Darius briskly strode down the street in the direction that the guards had gone. * * * From a corner of the square, concealed partially by his dark cloak, and partially by the deepening shadows of the fading dusk, Darius watched as Brooks, Tom, Cully and several other Town Guard stampeded between the stalls in pursuit of the young thief that they called the "Packrat". The thief was a young boy, no older than thirteen, and he moved with an agility born of skill and survival instinct. His small size and nimble reflexes made it easy for him to cut through the stalls, and he did so with great alacrity, leaping fruit vendors' tables, laden with the summer crop, and ducking through the dressmakers' display racks, sending fabrics swirling. The merchants berated the young thief loudly as he disrupted the end of the day's business, but they did little to stop him, and their cries grew louder and more indignant as the Guardsman brought tents and stalls crashing down as they attempted to duplicate the urchin's passage with their larger, clumsier bodies. Brooks and Cully, the older and more experienced guards, sent the younger men in pursuit of the thief and circled around, seeking to cut off the Packrat's escape. As the young boy came out of the back of a woodcarver's stall, his hand clutching a large nutcracker that he had grabbed from within, Brooks intercepted his flight. The guard's well-muscled arms reached out and latched onto the thief's shoulders. Darius could hear the cry of "Gotcha!" from where he stood. The Packrat squirmed, protesting, and attempting to get free of Brooks' iron grip. As Cully moved up to grab the young urchin's feet, the hand gripping the nutcracker whipped up and caught Brooks on the side of the head. With a cry of pain and rage, Brooks let go off the boy, who went low and shot through Cully's legs and took off in a run. He darted through a crowd of people near the exit that Darius stood at, and the guards followed. When they cleared the crowd, which included a drover and his belligerent mule, the thief had vanished. Darius watched the guards search the area around the Market's exit, and then looked down the street where the drover was whipping his mule. A small figure was jumping down from out of the cart that the mule was pulling, and had darted into the shadows of the alley. The Packrat had escaped. Nodding to himself, Darius turned and made his way back towards the Temple. It was getting close to suppertime, and his charges would be arriving soon. But, this youngster would do nicely, he thought. Smart, fast, resourceful. Not unlike a certain urchin who had grown up on Specifica of the Spices some twenty-five years ago. They'd called that one the Ghost, because of his pale skin and nocturnal tendencies. He would have stayed there too, this Ghost, had it not been for the intervention of a certain goddess.... * * * Tukla sat atop the old building and watched the moon rise above the smoke of the city. It had been an artisan's shop, when he had been very young, but the man had gone out of business, and hung himself in disgrace. Later it was a brothel and casino, and the walls still smelled faintly of perfumes and alcohol and other, less acceptable, odors. But the Watch had shut it down, claiming that it did not have the proper licenses and that it was fleecing its customers. Which meant that the madam had not been paying enough protection money to someone, and they had ratted her out. But that was a few years ago. Since then, it had stood empty, serving as a haven for rats, both rodent and otherwise. Tukla was one of the latter. They even called him the Packrat. The others of the 'ven laughed at him, saying that he couldn't discriminate between real value and shiny dross. But Tukla knew better; he knew that everything had value, that everything could be used, eventually. So, he kept taking those things that he took, and ignored the laughter and reveled in the nickname. Tukla did not know why or how things would be useful sometimes. Sometimes it was obvious, like the nutcracker that he had grabbed this afternoon. It had been heavy and solid in his hand, and made a fine weapon. He'd given it to Ash, as a gift, rather than turn it in as loot. The big man liked toys like the nutcracker, and had given Tukla two apples in exchange. So, it had been useful twice. But there were times when he did not understand why he grabbed an object. He had, in the past, stolen things that seemed to have no use to him, either as a possession or as trade. He had just seen them, and known that they would be useful. It was most puzzling, but he contented himself with the knowledge that everything that he stole was useful, sooner or later. Sometimes it just took longer to find out how. The dead rat that he'd grabbed once, for example. It had been two weeks before he'd used it to get a free lunch. How those fancy people had screamed when it floated to the top of the soup bowl! The mere sight of it had sent all of them running off to the healers for a cure to whatever diseases that rat had had. And while they were gone, he'd helped himself to the food, and took plenty for several other meals back to his 'ven, along with some silver forks. Adam had been pleased with that job, and had actually told Tukla that he'd done a good job. Tukla smiled at the memory, as he fished into his shirt and pulled forth a short cigar. He'd stolen it a few days ago, and had been saving it for a quiet moment. He bit the end off and spit it off the edge of the roof, and then hunted about for a suitable lantern to light it off of. The closest lit one was down near the street level, which meant he'd have to climb down and hang off of the side of the building. He sighed, and made to get to his feet. There was a noise behind him, and a voice spoke, in a quiet, but odd-sounding, voice, saying, "*Ignite.*" The end of the cigar flared with flame for a moment, and then subsided into a glowing ember. With a cry of surprise, Tukla whirled around and backed against the wall, his hand pulling a small knife from under the tail of his shirt. The speaker stood about fifteen feet away from him, next to the chimney of the building. About six feet in height, and thin, he wore a dark hooded cloak that covered most of his body and face. That which was visible was one hand, covered in a dark glove, and the lower half of the face, which was quirked into a slight smile. The figure let his hand drop beneath his cloak, releasing a pendant that Tukla could only make out as a flash of silver in the moonlight. "Be careful, young thief," the figure said, in a calm even voice. "You might fall, and that would make this a pointless errand." "Never fallen off a roof'n me life," said Tukla in response. It was a lie, of course, as all thieves purposely fell from buildings at least once in their training, so that they knew how to fall if they did it by accident. But it was intended as a bluff, and moreso as a bolster to Tukla's bravery. Few thieves could sneak up on a street rat like him, and this man, if he was a man, had made no sound. Every sense he had was screaming about the danger of the situation. "Who are you?" he demanded. The cloaked figure reached up and pulled off his hood, revealing the youthful face of a young half-elf. His pale skin was contrasted with his dark hair and eyes. The expression on his face was friendly. "My name is Darius Winterglen. I am a priest of Nix. I run the temple near the Silver Wheel tavern." Tukla's eyes narrowed. "You mingle with ghosts then? Every fool knows that place is haunted!" Darius shook his head. "Not true. The building makes many noises, and is the home of many bats, but it is not haunted. Ask the people who have been fed there for the past few nights." "What do you want?" "To offer you a meal, if you need one. I feed those that come to the Temple, twice a night. Once at seven, and again at two. You are welcome to come and join us. There is no charge." Tukla sneered. "What's the catch, priest? Nobody offers nothing for free." Darius smiled. "Only the pleasure of your company, young man. Nothing else, I assure you." At least, he added silently, not yet. "And why me? What made you climb up here and ask me?" "I was already up here," replied Darius, "when I spied you enjoying the view. Many of those that have no home save the streets use the rooftops as their lodgings. I was seeking out any that would desire a hot meal. Are you interested?" Tukla looked the priest over. He didn't appear particularly dangerous, but appearances can be deceiving. Still, the idea of a free meal was tempting. Apples were tasty and all, but a body needed more than apples to keep going. A little meat and maybe some potatoes might be a pretty good addition. But, it wasn't good to reveal one's intentions without reservations. "Maybe," he said, "I'll have to think about it." "Suit yourself," was Darius' reply. "The food will be served in a little while, however, and it goes quickly once the second bell has rung. If you find you wish to join us, I would advise that you hurry. Good evening to you, young man, and enjoy your cigar." Darius turned and walked away, pulling his hood up as he went. He made a short leap across an alley to the next building, and then disappeared into the shadows. Tukla looked down at the cigar that he still held in his hand. The tip was lit, and had burned down about a quarter inch during the conversation. He flicked it away and watched it sail off the roof into the street below. Free dinner or not, that priest was eerie. But the offer had been made, he thought, and he could hear no malice in the man. Perhaps a visit to the Temple of Nix was in order, to scout out the area, before going in to eat. * * * Tukla peered through the open doors of the shadowy temple that he had found off the street near the Silver Wheel. The courtyard was illuminated by several lanterns that flanked the open doors. He had cased the temple and its surroundings and knew that the exits were few, but he had seen more than one of the numerous street beggars enter, and leave with contented smiles on their faces. So he'd decided to take a look inside. He stepped past the doors nervously, ready to bolt at the sign of any sort of spirit, ghost, or monster. Looking around, he saw no sign of any people, only pews. Through the shadows, he could make out the altar, and a statue of some sort that stood atop it. The candles burning on either side of it showed it to be dark wood of some sort, but the actual figure was indistinct at this distance. Curious, he stepped forward, down the center aisle, and made his way towards the front of the sanctuary. Halfway down the aisle, his attention was drawn by a persistent noise of squeaking and rustling. He turned about, seeking to identify the sounds, but, try as he might, he could not find a source. Until he looked up. There, he saw the rafters of the room were covered with small dark shapes that looked down upon him. Tukla watched the small bodies, unafraid, but cautious. In some of the older buildings of Low City, there were basements that the vermin found extraordinarily appealing, and they laired there in the hundreds. Tukla had stumbled across these lairs before, places where the sheer numbers of rats formed a living carpet that would tear a beggar to pieces if they were hungry enough. Tukla was therefore prepared for the incredible number of rodent-like shapes, but until one leapt away from the rafters and flew across the hall to cling to a pillar, he hadn't considered that they might be bats. Turning back to look at the altar again, he continued towards it. With each step, the rustling intensified briefly, then faded. Tukla glanced up, and found that with each step, the swarm of bats turned slightly. Their little heads followed his movements, and he got the strange feeling that they were watching him. The young thief felt other eyes upon him and turned to look back at the altar. Perched on the two front pews, flanking the aisle, were two huge owls. Easily larger than cats, they watched him approach; their orange eyes unblinking. Neither made a sound as he moved towards them. Tukla stopped as he got between them and studied both of the birds for a moment. Both of the birds were fixated on him, and a glance towards the ceiling confirmed that the bats were still following his movements. He looked forward again, at the altar, and saw that the statue clearly. It was a woman, carved of dark wood. She wore little, just an outfit that covered enough to be considered decent. It was painted on with silver and gold pigments, and revealed a very beautiful figure. The posture was that of a dance, it seemed, with one leg off the ground in mid-step and the other firmly planted on the ground. One arm was held away from her side, and the other was held up in front of her face. Both hands had real knives held in them, made of silver, and silver bracelets hung from all four limbs. Ordinarily, the large amount of precious metal would have immediately galvanized Tukla into action, and he would have been out the door and heading towards Adam's place to hand over the silver for resale. But, this time, he stood where he was, transfixed. His eyes were locked on the woman's head and face, which had caught his gaze and mind the minute he had been able to see the full idol. The facial features of the idol were not human, but, at the same time, there were human qualities to them. The face was vaguely rodentine, with a short snout, but the nose was much wider than most rats or mice. The teeth that could be seen in the carved smile were needle-like, and seemed to be made of silver as well. The ears grew tall and flared, over the top of the head and out away from the sides, like a cat's but larger. It was a face that was very similar to the countless numbers that watched Tukla from above. It was the face of a bat. Tukla stepped forward, entranced, and walked between the two avian sentinels that perched atop the pews. In the shadows of the face, he could not see the eyes of the statue, and, for some reason, he desperately wanted to see them. Something deep inside him felt a longing, a need, to gaze this curious statue in the face. As he approached he noticed that the statue had a pair of wings as well; huge black wings that flared away from the shoulders and provided a backdrop for the altar. But Tukla was primarily interested in the eyes. He moved forward, stepping up onto the altar base, and placed his hands on either side of the carved feet of the statue. Peering through the shadows, he gazed up at the face of the strange, and yet attractive, woman, trying to see what sort of gaze she might return. The eyes were closed. The entire face was composed as if the statue were in mid-dance, with the expression on her face as if she were counting off the rhythm in her head. Tukla looked away, relieved for some reason that he hadn't seen the eyes, but also curiously disappointed. "Fascinating, isn't she?" The voice came from behind him. Tukla whirled, startled, and stumbled. He slipped off the altar base and almost fell. The owls, spooked by the sudden movement, sprang into the air and took flight, disappearing into the rafters. Darius, who had spoken, chuckled, and said, "Careful. If you crack your head open on my altar, I'll have a hell of a lot of cleaning to do." Tukla recovered, and, in a nervous voice that gained strength as he spoke, said, "I came to see if there was any grub left." "Well, as I said, it is first come, first serve," replied Darius, "and I am afraid that the stew has all been eaten." Tukla's face fell, but he recovered quickly. "'Sno big deal," he said, hurrying down the aisle towards the doors, "I wasn't really hungry anyw--" Darius interrupted, "However, I haven't eaten my supper yet, and I couldn't possibly eat everything I've set aside. Courtesy dictated that I sit with my guests, and, as my teacher once said, 'A man cannot sit at a table of hungry men without feeling a bit hungry himself.' I've nibbled all night. Come, eat with me." He turned and walked towards a single door that was set in the side of the sanctuary. When he reached it, he turned and beckoned to Tukla, who followed. Tukla was expecting a meager fare when Darius opened the door to the dining area. A pot of soup, maybe a loaf of bread, simple and bland, just what he imagined a priest might eat. He was quite surprised when he saw, amidst the clutter of stew bowls and bread crusts from his fellow street residents, there sat a platter with a large baked fish, doused in tomatoes, olives, and mushrooms. Darius walked to the head of the table, pulled off his cloak, folded it carefully and placed it on the bench next to his chair. He sat down, and motioned to the young boy to join him. Tukla, mouth watering at the smell of the fish, hastened to join him. Darius took a knife and cut off a sizable portion of the fish, transferred it to an empty plate, and placed it in front of Tukla. Tukla immediately grabbed a piece of the fish and brought it towards his mouth. Halfway there, he paused, and looked at the priest. Darius was eating, and clearly enjoying himself. "Ain't you supposed to say a blessing or something?" he asked. Darius looked up, surprised. He swallowed, took a sip from the tankard of water that sat next to his plate, and said, "I already have." "When?" "When you came in the door. I thanked Nix for depositing you safely on my doorstep and bringing me company for dinner." "What about the food?" Darius folded his hands across the table in front of him, and said, "Nix does not provide nourishment regularly, unless you hunt at night. Plentiful harvests are the influence of Gaia, the Earth Mother, and fish are Oceanus' Children. They have already been thanked, by the farmers and fishermen. Let us not annoy them with unnecessary words. The true appreciation of food is more often heard in the noises made while eating, rather than in rote recitation of a few words beforehand." And with that said, he went back to eating. Tukla considered this for a moment, found the reasoning sound, and went back to eating. The fish was absolutely heavenly, well-cooked and seasoned. There was bread, but it was not bland, but nutty and rich in texture. It was one of the finest meals that Tukla had ever had. As he ate, Tukla studied the priest. Without his cloak, he appeared quite normal. He was average in appearance, for a half-elf, if overly pale. His clothes were well-made, but utilitarian. Darius wore a a shirt, pants, boots, and vest. Hanging from his belt was a long knife, with a silver handle bound in black leather. In fact, most of Darius was white, black and silver, from his clothes to the knife to his pale skin and dark hair. "Find anything interesting?" inquired Darius mildly, not looking up from his food. Tukla's eyebrows shot up in surprise, and he snapped his gaze to the food. Darius laughed, and said, "Relax. Once upon a time there was a boy like you, except the Town Watch called him Ghost, for his pale skin and nighttime lifestyle. He was a street thief as well and knew how to size up a mark without being noticed. Although, you are a better thief than he was, I think." Tukla glowed under the praise. He looked up, and met Darius' gaze. The silvery-grey irises that looked at him gave away the priest's heritage even moreso than his ears. "What happened to him?" asked Tukla. "He met a Lady, who changed his life." "A Lady? Like one of them highborn types in the High City?" Darius nodded. "Only this one he met on a rooftop, on a moonless night." Darius' eyes lost their focus for a moment, as he focused on a memory. "She showed him the power and glory of the Night, and how it protected and helped people. And how it wasn't to be feared, but to reveled in, like Day was. And then she left." He looked back at Tukla, and smiled. "He became a priest." Realization dawned on Tukla. "Yer talking about yerself, ain't ya?" Darius nodded, and Tukla asked, "Who was the Lady?" "Who do you think it was?" Darius asked quietly. "How should I kn--," Tukla bit back the retort and was silent, thinking. Slowly, he looked over his shoulder at the door to the sanctuary. He looked back over at Darius, who nodded. Remembering the strange experience with the statue, he went back to his meal, eating in thoughtful silence. When they were done, Darius leaned back, and let forth a belch. "Ah, a good meal," he said. Tukla couldn't help but agree. He reached into his shirt, and pulled out his other cigar. He expected Darius to do his magick again, but when he saw it, Darius merely stood and retrieved a taper from one of the candlesticks in the room. He lit the cigar for Tukla, then returned it to its home. "Do you have someplace to sleep?" he asked, moving from the candlestick to a small cabinet at one end of the room. From it, he took a bottle and a small glass. He motioned to it, indicating a question, but Tukla, busy with the cigar, declined. Darius nodded, and poured a single glass of a dark purple wine, and returned to the table. "I can find someplace to crash," was Tukla's response, when Darius sat down. "Why do you want to know?" Darius sipped the wine before responding. "Well, this is a big building, capable of housing a half dozen priests and an equal number of acolytes." He swirled the purple liquor in his glass, before adding, "Currently the staff includes only myself. Lots of room, if anyone wanted a real bed with a roof over it for a night or two." Tukla frowned. "What's the catch? And don't give me that 'pleasure of your company' crap again. That may do for a meal, but for a bed it don't wash. What do you want?" Darius stopped swirling and looked at the young boy. "I want to help you. That's all. But you are right; there is a catch. None of the silver or other valuables must leave this building. You must also not enter my rooms without invitation. I prefer a certain amount of privacy." Tukla considered it. A bed, with a roof over it, was more than he was going to get at this hour of the night. At most, he might find a hay wagon or a comfortable spot in the rafters of a building where he could bed down for a few hours, before the Town Watch or someone else rousted him out. And it sounded like this priest was offering him a room by himself. Even in the best of conditions, if he slept with the other 'ven members, he would invariably end up in the same room with Ash, who snored. It was pretty sweet. "Okay," he said, "but just for tonight. Tomorrow, I'm gone." "As you wish," replied Darius. He swallowed the last of the wine, and stood. "Now, if you don't mind, I could use some assistance carrying all these dishes to the kitchen. I have had a very busy day, and by the time I get these cleaned up, it will be false dawn. Which is when I sleep. If you could get the bowls on that side, I'll get these." "Sure." Tukla stood and began to stack the stew bowls on the side of the table he was sitting on. Darius did the same on the other side. After a few moments, he paused. "You know, I don't think I know your name." He smiled, and added, "Isn't that strange? We've been sitting here, eating and talking, and I don't know what to call you." The boy smiled. "Tukla. But people call me the Packrat." "A pleasure to meet you. And I, as you know, am Darius Winterglen." Darius sketched a brief bow, and then continued gathering dishes. As the night moved towards dawn, and the Lady Nix began to slowly pull her dark wings away from the sky, the young thief and the priest cleaned up the dishes and then went to bed. -- ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Aaron F. Johnson |"Do not meddle in the affairs of aka Draco Draconis Eboni | Dragons, for you are chewy aka Ebony the Black Dragon | and taste good dipped in afj0001@jove.acs.unt.edu | chocolate." ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- "I'm a Black Dragon trapped in a White Man's Body! YARK!!!" ----------------------------------------------------------------------------- Nobody WANTS my opinions!