From alt.pub.dragons-inn Tue Oct 10 08:16:49 1995 Xref: netcom.com alt.pub.dragons-inn:8774 Path: netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!howland.reston.ans.net!math.ohio-state.edu!uwm.edu!chi-news.cic.net!news.uiowa.edu!uunet!in1.uu.net!csn!nntp-xfer-2.csn.net!yuma!holly.ACNS.ColoState.EDU!not-for-mail From: arsmith@holly.ACNS.ColoState.EDU (Alan Smith) Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: [LDR] Part One, Part I. Date: 9 Oct 1995 18:11:23 -0600 Organization: Colorado State University, Fort Collins, CO 80523 Lines: 80 Message-ID: <45cdnb$4k4s@holly.ACNS.ColoState.EDU> NNTP-Posting-Host: holly.acns.colostate.edu ADMIN: This is the kickoff post for the LDR thread. I'm not especially looking for coauthors, but my stories are generally better with them than without, so... All characters and most of the places are copyright yours truly, all rights reserved, tho I'll probably let you use a place or two if you ask nice. This is fiction. Any semblance of the characters and places in this to other characters and places, living or dead, is purely coincidental, or at least not intended to be mocking or insulting. ======================================================================= The foothills of the Mysty mountains are a largely rural place, where most of the people inhabit sprawled manors and farms, or dwarven mining colonies. There, where the powder river (which feeds into The Great Heath) intersects the Old Conqueror's trading road that runs north and south along the plains at the mountains' very base is a town known as Horsetooth. It is smaller than most of the Specificas, but larger than the villiages that surround it for many miles, and so it has become the seat of the county's Lord Sherrif. It is a clean villiage, with well paved roads and houses spread out along the outskirts of town. In the center is the Bridge Market, an arcade of shops, museums, civic centers, inns, and public statuary built on several bridges over the powder river. To the north of town is the castle and keep, where the citizenry flees to should marauding bands of orcs attack. This is somewhat rare, though, and the keep hasn't seen a refugee or a sword flash in anger for decades. In fact, the Lord Sherrif's job is extremely easy: the populace is small, well ordered and kindly, the overlord's duties are not exacting, the neighbors are friendly, orcs rare and seclusive, and the few dragons limit themselves to snacking on the odd cow and starting forest fires. There is more than the usual quota of mages in the county, which coupled with the trading road and the proximity to Stifer and bottleneck pass give it more prosperity than it really should have a right to. The tendancy, not only on the part of the dragons but also of the thunderstorms and a few (though folly or unscrupulousness) people to start uncotrolled fires in the wilds of the county's vast area is the reason why we are here. For here are the Air Boats, and it is to here that several members of that small fraternity of Rangers that make the wildfire their especial enemy travel when the snow melts and the flora spring up out of their hiding over the winter. The usual way of fighting a wildfire involves an official wandering into the nearest tavern, choosing a couple dozen men who are too drunk not to know better but not so drunk that they're about to pass out, and marching them off. This works, provided that the fire is small, easily accessable, and doesn't present any technical problems a substandard woodcutter can't handle. On the other hand, if you intend to avail yourself of a local water source, or to defend a villiage, or your area is large and mostly unroaded you need to invest in the more advanced tools of the craftsman and the mage, and in the people who know the fire and the tools to work it. A good number of these people, both those experienced in the equipment of the Air Boats and those who wished to become so, were gathered together in the town hall, listening to the sherrif's deputies giving their orientation speech. "Okay, listen up people!" said Griffin, the sherrif's deputy in charge of the ranger squad. "Make SURE you sign the roster that's being passed around. If you've never done this it's okay, we'll get you trained. We have positions in the search team, the backup crew, the initial attack crew, and the loaner crew. Any questions?" There were several. Yes, the backup crew only works part time. Other jobs are encouraged, yes. No, the inital attack crew isn't open to new firefighters. Try the loaner or backup crews. No, the search team will not be sent out on fires, or vice versa. The pay rate is two sheckels an hour. Yes, you may get paid more if you go outside the county. No, I don't know how much more... "So what did you sign up for?" G'Mei the Etarus'tan asked his companion. "Initial attack." Racoon replied, staring at his beer and pondering it's philisophical implications. "Yourself?" "Initial attack too. Hey, drink that." Racoon, who tended to nurse his drinks, took a pull and was pleasantly surprised by the taste. "Good hops this year. Who else do you think went in for it?" "Don't know." G'Mei said. "Hey, over here!" A few other members of the crews walked over, some trainees worried about the exams ("don't." all the veterans advised, "it's ridiculously easy."), some other veterans going for the various crews, and maybe a romantic interest or two, who tended to keep quiet as the others swapped stories. Finally, drunker than he had a right to be, Racoon staggered home, drank lots of water, did some other bodily functions which we won't go into here, and fell asleep.