From alt.pub.dragons-inn Thu Nov 2 07:39:38 1995 Xref: netcom.com alt.pub.dragons-inn:8848 Path: netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!howland.reston.ans.net!EU.net!Austria.EU.net!newsfeed.ACO.net!swidir.switch.ch!in2p3.fr!univ-lyon1.fr!jussieu.fr!math.ohio-state.edu!uwm.edu!caen!reeve.research.aa.wl.com!WS008013F18C2D!slaterh From: slaterh@rh.wl.com (Hondra Slater) Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: [Death Choir] Prologue The beginning of a new, multi-author thread Date: Wed, 1 Nov 1995 00:15:46 EDT Organization: Parke-Davis Rochester Lines: 226 Message-ID: NNTP-Posting-Host: 198.205.215.16 X-Newsreader: Trumpet for Windows [Version 1.0 Rev B final beta #4] DEATH CHOIR Prologue: The End of Autumn, the Coming of Winter The sound of childish laughter rang inside the walls of the small cottage. Within the kitchen, Molly panotimed rage as her baby brother tried to dodge her grasping arms. "Give me back my smock, you little wretch!" she cried in mock ire. Little Mikki just giggled and ran faster, nearly tripping when he stepped on the trailing end of the smock he was clutching so tightly. With cunning disconcerting in one so small, he ducked under her hands and scampered under the dining table. Crawling out the other side, the young tyke kept the large wooden construct squarely between himself and his sister. "Oh, you wretched little beast!" Molly shouted, her anger no longer an act. Fun and games was all and well most of the time, but if she didn't make it to the Castle on time and in proper attire, she could kiss the position she had worked so hard for goodbye. A laggard would never be kept on the Castle's staff, and the money that Molly's job brought in was the only thing that kept her family going in these hard times, what with her mother in bed with the fever and her father out of work. Molly was just about to burst into tears when she was suddenly rescued. "Well now, my little troll!" Molly's father shouted as he appeared from nowhere, snatching Mikki up with his huge hands and hoisting the little boy into the air. "What have we here?" Mikki shouted in glee, clasping his arms around the big man's neck with great affection. "Have you been plaguing helpless damsels again, little monster?" Molly's father asked sternly, winking at his daughter over Mikki's tousled head. Unsure of himself, Mikki put his fingers in his mouth and managed a tenative nod. "You don't want Melwis to send his knights down here to the Low City looking for you the next time they go monster hunting, do you?" Father asked, a smile tugging at his lips. Head down, Mikki shook his head negatively. "Well then, give your sister back her smock and tell her you are sorry," their father instructed as he set the child down. Mikki trailed over where Molly waited for him, holding out the smock in one pudgy hand. "Thorry," he lisped, head down, close to tears. Molly looked sternly down at him, then relented. "It's okay, Mikki," she whispered, kneeling down and giving him a kiss. Instantly reanimated, Mikki smiled up at her and returned her hug. As soon as she let him go however, he reared back and kicked her a good one across the shins. The little boy raced away, shriek- ing with laughter. "Och," Molly grumbled, "That one really is a monster." "Now lass," her father admonished, "I've seen another monster from this family grow up to become the prettiest girl in Generica, so don't you be giving up on your brother just yet." Smiling, he opened the door for her. Placing her shawl around her shoulders, she gave him a warm kiss on the cheek. "Thank you, papa," she said as she bustled out the door. "Make sure Moira sends you home before dark!" her father shouted after her, before closing the door to the cottage. Molly stomped her foot in indignation, quickly glancing around to see if any of the neighborhood boys had heard her father's admon- ishment. Did her father think that she was some sort of senseless bairn, unable to take care of herself? She sighed in exasperation. Molly hurried up the street, heading towards the Castle. In her haste, she collided with a begger as the man emerged from a nearby alley. Expecting a blow, the begger quailed away from the girl, whimpering apologies even as he cringed in fear. Dressed in stained robes that at one time might have been red, the man looked close to eighty years old. His hair was a yellowish white, and his eyes were of mismatched colors. "Excuse me, sir." Molly felt terrible as she helped the ancient looking wretch to his feet. Her apology seemed to reassure the man, and he clambered to his feet. "No harm done, missus," he simpered in an oddly high-pitched voice. "No harm done at all, I say." With a strange laugh, the man scuttled away and disappeared. Molly sighed, then realized with horror that she was going to be late reporting for work. Avoiding the pools of dirty water scattered about the cobbled streets, she rushed up the hill towards the Lord's Stair. Mhorec, the guard on duty at the gate, winked sympathetically as she flew by him. It wasn't just the cleaning staff that caught hell when they were late. Once inside the gate, Molly slowed and crept quietly down the hallway, hoping against hope that she would not be detected. Molly hoped in vain. "You there!" a stern voice bellowed. Molly quailed at the sound of that familiar voice. Turning, she beheld a beefy, middle-aged woman striding down the hall towards her. "I am so sorry Miss Moira, really I am-" Molly's apology was swiftly and brutally cut off. "Save your excuses young lady," Moira hissed, "and get down to the lower levels right away." The older woman pushed a lock of gray hair away from her reddened face and glowered at Molly. "Honestly, girl, you'd think it was too much to ask just to get you here on time, let alone get any work out of you." Molly fumed silently, tempted to retort that Moira knew full well that Molly was the best worker in the castle. The young woman bit her tongue instead. Moira was a friend of her father's, but it was never wise to cross her. "Well . . ." Moira glared at her menacingly. "What are you waiting for?" Molly fled down the hall as fast as her legs would carry her. Once out of sight around a corner, she leaned against a stone wall and caught her breath. Moira always acted the part of an iron-fisted tyrant, but Molly doubted that she was really in real trouble. Still, it would probably be best not to find out for certain. Molly headed for the lower levels, cheering herself with thoughts of the upcoming Autumn Festival, and Thom the blacksmith's son, who would doubtlessly invite her to accompany him. These thoughts cheered her immediately, and by the time Molly arrived at the stairs leading to the lower levels, she was fairly skipping. She moved first to one of the guard barracks. Opening the door, she poked her head in and peered about cautiously. The guards were usually all on duty at this time, but it was best to make certain. The barracks was no place for a girl of good character to be found when it was occupied. Satisfied that the large chamber was empty, the freckled lass entered and began stripping the sheets from the straw ticks that the guards used as mattresses. As she worked, she hummed a lively little tune that she had heard her mother sing in the days before she had fallen ill. Her voice trilled sweetly, rising and falling as she ran through the notes. The sounds of her singing echoed faintly in the empty corridors outside the room. A harsh, grinding sound intruded upon the girl's perception. The notes died in her throat as swiftly as if a block of granite had been dropped upon a wren. She straightened up and looked around, but there was no one around who might have caused the noise. Shrugging, the girl went back to work; resuming her song in a halting sort of way. Moments later, the sound came again. At the same instant, she became aware of a sudden sensation of extreme cold. She whirled and found that the torches in the passageway outside the room had been extinguished, leaving the hallway com- pletely black. The only source of illumination at all was the small, flickering lamp which lit the room she was in. Molly backed against the wall furthest from the doorway, pressing her trembling hands against her heaving chest. Again the sound came, as if some giant stone was being dragged across the floor just outside the half-opened door to the room. The cold became even more bitter, and Molly could feel it beginning to bite deep into her bones. With a shivering creak, the door slowly swung completely open. She was just working up the strength to scream when the lamp went out, plunging the room into complete darkness. Fear drained all the strength from her limbs and Molly slid slowly down the wall until she collapsed upon the floor in a huddled mass of trembling flesh and disheveled skirts. She could hear something moving towards her in the darkness, but the freezing cold and her paralyzing fear had turned her into a statue. When hands cold and dry as bone closed about her arms, she suddenly rediscovered her missing strength. Throwing her head back, Molly screamed as she had never screamed before. There was no one around to hear that heart-wrenching wail, and the freckled lass with auburn hair and teasing eyes was never seen again inthe city of Generica. *************************************************************************** This story and the characters within are copyrights of the author, 1995. All rights reserved. Stay tuned for chapter one of Death Choir, _Stalking the Radj^o Man_, written by Jeff A. Simon. *************************************************************************** -- The opinions expressed in this message are mine alone. This message does not necessarily reflect the positions or opinions of my company or organization.