From alt.pub.dragons-inn Mon Oct 23 15:18:07 1995 Xref: netcom.com alt.pub.dragons-inn:8826 Path: netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!howland.reston.ans.net!news.sprintlink.net!in2.uu.net!caen!reeve.research.aa.wl.com!WS008013F18C2D!simonj From: simonj@rh.wl.com (Jeff Simon) Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: [Jake Shade] Chapter 3: Credit Where Credit is Due (Repost) Date: Fri, 20 Oct 1995 23:40:57 EDT Organization: Parke-Davis Rochester Lines: 330 Message-ID: NNTP-Posting-Host: 198.205.215.16 X-Newsreader: Trumpet for Windows [Version 1.0 Rev B final beta #4] ****************************************************************** What has gone before: A mysterious outlander bearing an even more mysterious unholy artifact has arrived in Generica. A somewhat grimy but not unattractive thief by the name of Yvette Anastel has accidentally come into possession of a talisman that is desired by some very nasty people. Into this mix now arrives a young student of magic, who is about to make himself a very dangerous acquaintance at the Stumble Inn. ******************************************************************* "Louis, I think this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship." - Richard Blaine Casablanca Chapter 3: Credit Where Credit is Due The outland warrior known as Jake Shade woke up shortly after dusk. He stood up stiffly, stretching to work some of the stiffness out of his spine. He rolled up his blanket from where it lay between the statues of Bradrick the Avenger and Mesner the Immense on the Avenue of Unforgotten Heroes. Shade was getting tired of sleeping on the streets. Two nights under the open sky were enough. It was time to change some of the gems in his backpack into coins or credit. The outlander checked his left side. The tunic on that side was marred by a small rent and a rust-colored stain. Beneath the tear, his flesh was unmarked.* Shade patted the protruding belly on Mesmer's statue for luck, then headed out into the streets of Generica. Although the streets were not familiar to him, he moved with the confidence of a man who has put fear aside long ago. He sampled the aromas that drifted out of numerous restaurants and cafes as he walked. He paused to watch a troupe of street actors as they capered and cavorted before a small crowd. His attention was drawn away from the performers by a grimy, dark beauty standing ten paces from him. She was perhaps twenty years of age, perhaps younger. Shade admired her figure, which was marvelous if somewhat undernourished. She wore a threadbare cloak that had obviously seen better days. As he watched, she turned away from the entertainers and walked over to a fortune teller's shop. She paused at its door, seeming to gather her courage, then went inside. As he walked along the streets, Shade decided that the women of Generica were - on the whole - unaccountably beautiful. Perhaps, he thought, that was because his own land of Aurauna was currently torn by war. The women from Aurauna were usually newly widowed, newly ravished, or newly dead. None of those three conditions was known to do much for one's appearances. His thoughts turned to the party he had attended last night. He had been invited by an auburn-haired beauty by the name of Serene. Fortunately, they had hit it off quite well. Unfortunately, Serene was married to some kind of mysterious demi-god known as'The Fog'. "It's pretty hard to compete with a demi-god." Shade groused to himself. The sword across his back stirred, whispering to him in a dead language that only he understood. It told him that together they could take care of anything that stood between Shade and his desires. All he had to do was unsheath it, and the world was theirs. Shade ignored the sword's sinister crooning. To pay heed was to embark down the path of madness and chaos. The warrior had learned that lesson long ago, to his eternal regret. After a moment, the sword subsided. Shade was suddenly overcome by the desire for a drink. He thought briefly of the Dragon's Inn, but discarded that notion after recalling his last visit. It would be wiser to let that particular incident cool for a while before popping in again. There was another bar within walking distance. He could see it up ahead of him, on the next block. A slim man with silver hair was just going in. ********************* Tadmaster raked a hand through his silvery mane, then pushed his way through the swinging doors. His eyes roamed the interior of the inn in admiration, before turning at last to the bar itself. He boldly pushed his way forward through the crowd and hooked one foot on the brass rail that ran its length. Subtly, he scanned for the dreaded sign which said 'No Credit'. Not seeing one, he relaxed. He drummed his fingers on the surface of the bar with what he imagined was the right mixture of authority and impatience. He waited for one of the exotic bartenders to take his order. He waited, and waited . . . and waited. "What can I do for you?" the bartender growled, finally making his way to Tadmaster's part of the bar. While enduring his interminable wait, the young Mage had spent the time composing a fittingly sarcastic remark to this inevitable question. But now, looking into the bar- tender's imperturbable gaze, his need to express his ire had faded. In fact, he couldn't remember what it was that he had meant to say. "I'll have... I'll have an ale." he said in what he hoped was an assured manner. The bartender remained where he was, gazing at the young Mage with those inhuman eyes. Tadmaster stared back at him, his throat tightening and his neck burning hotter and hotter. Finally he couldn't stand it any longer. "What?!?" he shouted in perplexity. "Which kind of ale would you like?" the bartender asked impassively. "Oh. Give me... a Budvaeider." The bartender turned away with what might have been a sneer, and began drawing the young Mage's drink. Tadmaster began drumming his fingers again, nervously. This wasn't going the way he had anticipated at all. Although this was his first time in a bar, he had expected a Mage to engender a little more... well, respect. He craned his neck, trying to unobtrusively see how the other patrons were acting. "That will be one," the bartender said, placing a large tankard in front of the mage. "Of course it will be one, I just got here." Tad agreed, slightly nonplussed. "No," The bartender's eyes gleamed with what might have been humor. "That's one silver piece for the ale." "Oh." Tadmaster felt a surge of panic at the mention of immediate payment. "I thought,seeing as I am a Mage," he said, "I would be entitled to... certain... well, you know... " the Mage trailed off awkwardly. The bartender stood across from the young Mage in silence, staring. "I thought that I would be entitled to run a tab!" Tadmaster blurted out. "Ah," the bartender said. "Ah," Tadmaster repeated, smiling. "So you're a Mage who rates a line of credit, eh?" the bartender mused thoughtfully. "Well, yeah." I would think so," Tadmaster's face was beginning to ache from maintaining his confident smile. "Are you a member of the Mage's Guild Governing Body?" the bartender asked suddenly. "Well... no," Tadmaster admitted, after a momentary impulse to pass himself off as Urcohea . "Are you employed by or affiliated with one of the Greater Houses of Commerce?" the bartender continued. "Er... no," Tadmaster said, his smile beginning to fade. "Are you a graduate of one of the three Greater Schools of Higher Learning?" The bartender pressed on with the merciless interrogation. "No, I am from the School of Dreamweaving." Tadmaster said, a little defensively. His confidence had completely vanished. "Have you actually graduated at all?" The bartender's eyes blazed into his. They seemed to burn into the young Mage's brain. "Well, not officially, although it's really only a matter of some formalities involving one or two final exams...." Tadmaster trailed off as the bartender pulled the tankard away from him. "No drink?" the Mage asked plaintively. "Actually, little Mageling, I think that we might be able to help you out," the bartender purred, putting a huge paw on the young man's shoulder. "Really?" ********************** THE STUMBLE INN Shade was looking up at the sign and trying to decide whether to go in or not, when something came flying out the door with great velocity. The object impacted with not incon- siderable force directly in front of him. When the cloud of dust had settled, the object turned out to be a frail and scholarly looking young man with a wild mane of silver hair. The young man got to his knees painfully, looking plaintively back at the inn he had just exited with such force. "Maybe they should rename it the Stumble Out." Shade remarked. The young man turned a wet purple gaze on the warrior and said nothing. He seemed resigned to more abuse. "That was insensitive of me," Shade said, "Please forgive my poor manners." He extended a scarred hand as he apologized, pulling the slight youth to his feet. In the process of brushing the young man off he noticed the academy robe. Shade rubbed his jaw thoughtfully and scrutinized the young man a little closer. "Not too fond of students in there, eh?" "Just one more aspect of society that refuses to recognize potential," the Mage agreed sadly, looking at his benefactor more closely. "Did you know that you have had a curse placed on you?" he asked, his voice oddly matter of fact. Shade stiffened, and although the Mage was oblivious, danger hung in the air. "I wasn't aware that other people could see it," the outlander said after a long moment. "Oh, I am sure that they can't." the young Mage said breezily as he inspected his skinned palms. "It's just that as a member of the Dreamweaver School, I have been trained to see things that are invisible to mere mortals." Shade smiled at the youth's lofty manner. If the Mage- ling's second sight was as keen as he claimed, he would probably be pounding down the street in terror. "What is your name, oh great and powerful Mage?" Shade asked. The young man stiffened, searching Shade's face for some hint of mockery. He found none, but then again, a long life had tended to make Shade a bit inscrutable. "My name is Tadmaster," the Mage finally said, extending his hand in a tenative manner. Shade enveloped the Mage's delicate hand in his own powerful one and shook it gravely. "You can call me Jake," he said, turning the Mage about and steering him up the street. "You know, I'm new in town, and it occurs to me that there is no one better qualified to answer my questions than a man who is a member of the illustrious Dreamweavers." Tadmaster felt as if he were being swept away by an irresistable tide. "I really should get back to my studies," he protested feebly. "Of course, it would probably be best if we found another inn and had our discussion over a few ales," Shade interjected smoothly. "My treat, of course." Tadmaster grinned, running his hand through his unruly silver mane. "Then again, I am acing all of my courses," the Mage amended himself hastily. "I'm sure that you are," Shade said, putting one arm about the Mage's shoulder in a comradely fashion as they walked towards the next watering hole. The warrior grinned at the young man walking next to him. "You know, Tad, you remind me of another Mage and scholar I once knew. His name was Rune . . . ." *************************************************************************** Jake Shade is a copyright of Jeff A. Simon, all rights reserved. Republication or reposting of this or any portion of the Outlander Chronicles is prohibited without the permission of the author. This story may be archived to A.P.D.I. and Games.FRP. Archives and can be distributed for private use to those who request it from the keepers of those Archives. Copyrighted 1995. Tadmaster and Mesner the Immense are copyrights of Jeff A. Simon, 1995. All rights reserved. The Stumble Inn appears courtesy of James Moore. Editing by Steve Hutchison and Kent Peterson. *************************************************************************** * See [Party] Thread Chapter 2: _Shopping for Trouble, or The Threadpenney Barons Catch the Wrong Fish_ for details. -- The opinions expressed in this message are mine alone. 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