From alt.pub.dragons-inn Tue Dec 5 08:48:45 1995 Xref: netcom.com alt.pub.dragons-inn:8889 Path: netcom.com!ix.netcom.com!howland.reston.ans.net!vixen.cso.uiuc.edu!newsfeed.internetmci.com!mr.net!news.mr.net!winternet.com!fury.berkshire.net!op.net!news.tcst.com!news.onramp.net!usenet From: rodney@onramp.net Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: [HAM] Economics Lesson 2 of 3, Healers get paid squat Date: 3 Dec 1995 08:52:42 GMT Organization: On-Ramp; Individual Internet Connections; Dallas/Ft Worth/Houston, TX USA Lines: 442 Message-ID: <49rogq$feb@news.onramp.net> NNTP-Posting-Host: hou05.onramp.net Mime-Version: 1.0 Content-Type: text/plain Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7bit X-Mailer: Mozilla 1.1PE (Windows; I; 16bit) --------------------------------------------------------------------- [Admin] Alan Smith has lost his account. He explicitly agreed to most of what Ja'nis has done, and implicitly the rest. He _is_ allowed to correct me, should he & she appear again later. Really it seems that no one still active claims responsibility for the church of Ilmater. I can cheerfully repost to retract or modify anything offensive to someone with a claim, but you need to be findable. I have tried to be inoffensive in use. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ At Ilmater's - Economics Lesson, part 2 (healers get paid squat) Three similarly leather clad figures wearing light beige tabards are strolling south over the Ceru river bridge. The brown haired man stops near the middle to comment to the others, "it is a shame neither of you has studied engineering. This really is a well constructed bridge, a work of craftsmanship. And it has good height so light ships can carry goods up river." The other two shake their heads at the ramble, giving a slight nod at the merchant aspect. What they _don't_ do is give him an opportunity to pontificate more. After a few moments of humoring, they continue on their way past the Dragon's Inn where they spent the night before. Being new arrivals, as they walk they try to notice land marks. This does seem to peg them as tourists, and, well, every city has those who would take advantage of others from out of town. Near a furniture store, they are stopped by a slightly scuffy young man with his hand near his short sword. He has obviously done something the previous night as there is a dark blue bruise around a cut under one eye and a bandage along his left arm. "Hey, you three. Have you paid your road tax? All non-residents of the low city have to pay toll." Somehow, despite trying to sound official, it doesn't quite sound right (maybe the tone isn't bored enough to really be a city worker). In an incredulous voice the man replies "Oh? Really? We didn't know." <<*cletus*>> Others on the street mostly ignore this interchange. Some don't want to be involved, some are amused to watch (it is a slightly different hold up) and some don't give a damn. Everyone expects the watch to break it up if it gets serious, but the three are only armed with staves. There is an unfriendly looking large, heavy set bulldog that wasn't noticed before. A small clearing developes around this confrontation as he continues "C.T., would you check our pamphlet for street fees?" <<*lev*>> The blond haired human (well it is hard to tell gender) turns this way and that. <<*odor*>> Searching inside some pockets apparently on the inside of the tabard, it swaps the staff between hands, <<*odor*>> not exactly showing signs of competence, but coming up with a cluster of small pages. The slightly thinning crowd reveals a few younger "assistants toll takers" near by. << $%@&, didn't work *lev* >> << ah >> Giving a slight cough, the red haired woman says "CT, you really have to stop eating so much quiche." (An alchemist would notice not egg decomposition but maybe stong ammonnia from near C.T. to just out of sword plunge range.) She has turned slightly and has locked eyes with one of the assistants. The three have subtly managed to twist around into a defensive stance. Some bystanders think this could get interesting. Some don't notice at all. "No, Henry I can't seem to find a road tax in here," comes from C.T. as it thumbs through the pages. The leader, the `collector' insists, "well you have to pay a silver even if you can't find it listed. Boys?" Apparently, he hasn't noticed that one of his group isn't moving, another with watering eyes doesn't really want to get near them and a third has gulped at the sight of the bulldog (two such would be an even money fight with a bull, hence the name). The onlookers know something is going to happen, real soon. They might be able to blink, but there is no time for popcorn. In a whisper meant only for the leader, Henry states "look little robber, you're floating half an inch off the ground. I could make that a hundred feet before I let go. Play along and I'll let you save face in public." Then in a voice meant to be heard, "tell you what. Since I don't have local currency, I'll fix your eye and the arm too, if you'll unwrap it." <<*heal*>> The area under the eye _is_ fixed, without even a touch, gesture or word. "Fool!" is the reply. But all _he_ can do is wave his legs and arms. "Cletus, chase!" is the counter reply with a motion toward one of those standing back. About this time, a yell is heard from another, smaller thuglet that is flying through the air with a crossbow in his hand. It doesn't look like the flight is under his control. It seems to be a wedgie with extreme prejudice, or maybe he has been drop kicked. In the direction from which he came, yet another crossbow "man" is still slumping to the ground near what looked to be, to all intents and purposes, the Prototypical Amazon Warrior. "Hmm." She remarked, "they don't make street thugs like they used to." Actually, as fights go this was rather anti-climatic. The circling one with watering eyes ... must have heard his mother calling (after noticing no other assault). This left one just standing, one in a heap on the pavement, one slumped, and a now worried leader. <<*fire*>> "Kid," says Henry as he raises him two feet off the ground and toward a six foot diameter fire that appears nearby (not so subtle, _this_ all the public notices), "you need to think more about what you do, you _could_ get hurt. I really think maybe you should *sleep* on that thought." <<*fire stop*>> <<*cletus stop*>> At this, the "toll taker" appears to faint and is slowly let down to the ground. The fire disappears, leaving a common scorch mark. "Helen, you want to mend the one over there?" points Henry at the previously flying, now unconscious form. As her eye-lock is broken, the standing ruffian realizes it is time for him to make his quick exit and does so. "And thank you!" he sends to their volunteer aid. The leader's unbandaged arm reveals a rather ugly, but superficial slash along the forearm that goes away abruptly. "You know," The Prototypical Amazon Woman said, striding over to look over Henry's shoulder, "Those sorts of things heal by themselves. Why waste magics on someone who will probably try to pull the same stunt next time they see you?" Henry and C.T. make their visible contribution to healing the fallen boy while Helen explains, "We have paid as we said we would. And we are healers. We have no intent to harm beyond defending ourselves. Maybe they have learned, maybe not." With a slight frown, then a grin she asks "is it locally acceptable to take their weapons away so they don't hurt others or themselves? These children don't seem to know how to play nice with their toys." "Good point." the strange woman replied, removing the leader's sword and placing it so it leans against the wall. At an angle like that, supported by only two points, a well made sword might survive the pressure of a person's weight leaning on the middle. This one didn't. Similarly, the crossbows, never reliable at the best of times, proved singularly amenable to a little surgery with a knife. "Look," The woman said, "you can obviously take care of yourselves, but you look _lost_, and that's a bad thing in Generica, especially Low City. Tell you what, I'm Ja'nis, owner and proprietor of FarPoint Adventures, and I'll be your guide for the day." Henry, ever merchant minded, gets to thinking "Hmmm, 'expeditions' means equip and/or guide, or is it a name for mercenary enterprize? And 'far point' is a named location or how far? We were going to Ilmater's. Perhaps we can discuss business potential along the way?" "And the more imposing, locally known escort may avert some other misunderstandings," adds Helen with a wink. "It's 'Adventures', not expeditions. You see, well...this could take some explaining. I grew up just in time to fight for Generica during the Lizardman wars, don't know if you ever heard of them," Ja'nis said, then noticing the others' look of noncomprehension, decided to push on, "Anyway, the army life has it's advantages, but I could never get the hang of being bullied around by officers, so I quit. I hung around for years, doing sword-for-hire jobs: guard the filthy rich merchant, rescue the princess, topple the principality, those sorts of things. It was real hard to get steady work, and I was getting real tired of it. Finally I picked up a commission to get this flower and when we got back, well most of us, I got a charter to open for business. The rest, as they say, is history. The work is much the same, but steadier, and I don't have to worry about winding up with an incompetent group leader." "So," Ja'nis finished, "What is it you all can do for me?" "Sorry about the company name, sometimes I hear wrong or remember things by meaning," he apologizes. "We can make a number of interesting items. Enchanted armor is our most popular item, but it could be ordinary clothes (they just don't last well). Amulets that create light. Food testers for spoilage. Food preservation boxes (I like to call them 'Enryware). Messkits that cook without fire. And wands that do a number of things like seek, purify, and even create water. You don't even have to be a mage to use them, but you can use them more if you are. And they recharge themselves from ambient mana." "We happen to be in this world by accident. We now only have 36 hours to get a boy to resurrection resources. The mage guild was going to send scouts to verify the correct world as ours from information we gave them. I wonder if you are the subcontractor?" "Subcontractor?" Ja'nis said, getting a considering look. "I didn't know the guild used them. And if they did *I* wouldn't do it. I don't trust them. The Gateway has star charts of all over, if that would help you." "Excuse me for butting in," begins red-headed Helen "but his name is Henry Mann, mine is Helen Hofstein, and this is C.T. our apprentice. We follow the Goddess Mikshall. Henry forgets to do the social niceties." Henry ignores her. C.T. remains his? her? its? quiet, shy self. "As I understand it, they are still sifting the data at the guild. Maybe the Gate records can reduce it to one or two possibles, we'd pay a bonus for timely execution. But, we would still need at least one verification run. There are risks to going someplace wrong." Ja'nis, who had reason enough to know the risks of going someplace right, pondered that statement for a while. "You all look honest enough, and someone who would heal a person who had just tried to rob them probably isn't about to betray a friend. I might be able to take on the mission, but I'll need some extra stuff." "We will pay for reasonable 'stuff' , but we don't know local prices. Could you keep your cost to say, ten limb regenerations for employees or clients? Or," Henry signifies with the proverbial other hand, "you could look at the item we used as a security deposit. It is a charged staff we call`the survivalist' that does seek, purify, and create water, purify air, and create light - all in one. We could pay the guild bill in cash, once we reconnect to our world." "Limbs??? That's good, and I think I can come up with some ideas for some other little honeys. Um... one problem. How much would such a staff set me back?" "In part our items require gems depending on, well, boring mage stuff. I can't quote silver, we don't know which local gems work, nor _their_ prices. Or evaluate other trade, which may interest you?" "Sounds like we may have the start of a good relationship here." They come to a large structure on their left. "Now _that_ looks like a temple," remarks Helen. "It is one." Ja'nis replies. "The temple of Feresha. You want Ilmater, down at the end." They pass a few more imposing buildings and come to a lesser one. "This is Ilmater's. If you aren't safe here, you're not safe anywhere. You'll want to see father Liamus Dolorus." Points out Ja'nis. "It'll take me some time to put my team together. Meet back here? Did you want to come with?" Helen smiles back. "No, we expect it might take all of us. We've allowed three or four hours, so have a nice _reasonable_ lunch, on our bill and return." She points to the tablecloth edge peeking out of C.T.'s backpack. "We brought ours." Ja'nis replied. "I'll have some questions on what to expect when I get back. Anyway, I'll be back later." And with that the woman warrior legged it back the way they'd come. They enter the church, unsure of local ritual and not wanting to offend. They spot someone puttering around and attract attention politely. "Excuse me," begins Helen "are you Father Dolorus?" "No, I'm Fred. Perhaps I can help though?". The pitted face replier looks much younger on close examination. Henry lays it out cold. "We have two matters to discuss. We are healers and were taking a boy to be resurrected, but ended up on this world. We can do it, but lack the mana. And we would maybe like to set up shop in this world as healers, but as followers of Mikshall, we may have competition/relations to discuss." Somewhat taken aback, Fred admits "you certainly need to discuss this with him. He is healing or `tending the flock' around the side of the church. I'll take you to him, but he is _very_ busy." They round the corner and spot a line of about thirty people, with evident bandages, sniffles, and such. This terminates at father Dolorus in a side room, his surgery. "Father? These people are healers and would speak with you. They are of another religeon, though." And with that he leaves. Father Dolorus looks and sees no apparent injury. "I am busy, this is the time I heal those who need it. You don't look injured, couldn't you come back in a couple hours?" Henry blurts out directly, "not to be rude, but no. We are on a very tight schedule. How about we doff our colors for the moment and assist you to create the time?" "If _they_ are tended, then I guess I have the time. By all means, demonstrate your skill," replies the kindly cleric. They take up a war production line arrangement. Helen does the triage, C.T. handles the light stuff, Henry the heavy wounds, and really bad stabbings get the attention of all three. So much for cuts, abrasions, gouges, and burns. After five minutes, there are six left that are sick. "Now that was impressive. I didn't even see you cast, except the blond ..." trails off the cleric, but then begins again "can you do that for the ill as well?" Helen discloses, "yes, we can cure them by spell, but it takes a lot longer and we have to rest afterwards. I guess what they call us around here is mana mages." "I have heard of such. I save _my_ spells for really critical cases. I suppose if you apply traditional methods to these five, as I would have done and can spell the last then I'm yours until lunch time. My supplies are in those glass cabinets, I'll watch." Helen reminds Henry, "Weren't we allowing for one limb regeneration? We could do that first and recover mana while you two talk." Experience tells, Henry has a better plan for maximizing recharge and being back up to full by after lunch, using talking time to maximum advantage. A foot rot is terminated early and five other people treated. In the ten minutes it takes for half a hand to regenerate, Henry grows pale then gets a nose bleed and faints at the conclusion. Helen also goes pale and faints. It is obviously _very_ taxing work. C.T. revives them, but they all three look weak now. While recovering over a very fine lunch (thanks to Mary Littlefair), they reveal their needs for resurrection aid, if possible, and also some background. "Son," Liamus shakes his head, "I don't know about your divinity school. Our understanding is that souls float out from their own world toward their destination. Even if I could help you, we couldn't reach the soul that far distant. A second reason is that if you had the power, there are strong disembodied souls that would push past to take the body. Another reason why we don't even try in Generica, is that there is so just much magic. That creates turbulence spoiling the delicate soul-body rejoining. I am sympathetic, but we can't help." A very chest-fallen group reflects for a few moments. C.T. says it- "Using the gate in time is his only chance. We can't do that until they pin down the location, and that waits for guild response." "We can discuss theological concerns and healing, since we all have time now," offers Liamus. They all nod, still weary. "This Mikshall, other worlds I know of have a Mishakal, a really major Goddess of healing, light and knowledge. She is concerned with non-magical healing as well." With a pensive look, the father declares, "sometimes the gods present slightly different faces, names, and abilities to the populace on different worlds, but they are the same gods. Like some offworlders claim it is Ilmat A r, a she. Some other times, if you want to talk pantheons and races, they may just use different names. Mishakal is a standard `pray, devote yourself and earn spells' god, however, not a mana one. Do you think Mikshall, could be the same one?" "Henry? you taught us of her, only you can answer that," comes from Helen. The bearded, re-tabarded, healer agrees "it sounds very like her. The world I lived on at the time I trained was of the `standard' component and memorization, split mage and cleric type magic. She _is_ very busy and wants us to handle things on our own because of the demands on Her from all worlds, so I agree on the very major status." Revealing more, he continues "I was given a two year rush through divinity school before being sent on to Loam as an evangelist. (I had started healing knowledge on the world of my origin, so everything wasn't crammed into that time.) It is possible that She was once known as Mishakal, but I didn't get to know all the ins and outs. Nor was it mentioned in the Holy Book I brought with me. She doesn't seem to be big on dogma, but cares about attitudes toward helping others and bettering their condition." "That really does sound like Mishakal." Father Dolorus suggests, "Perhaps you should accept use of that name in Generica, since it is what others know? Until such time as you learn otherwise, of course." Speaking toward compatibility, the father says "some people have come to Ilmater's asking for Mishakal by name and we have no problem with their beliefs. They are slightly different, but they are compatible. Ilmater wants crafted items sacrificed, your deity?" "To acquire skills in healing and use them." "See? Basking in craftsmanship, we're not really very different. The hands and door on your heraldry mean what?" Helen answers that easily, "the hands represent the healing, caring hands of a mother. She prefers female clerics by the way. The door is both symbolic of an opening not to be closed and to commemorate an event of astounding healing." "And Ilmater is the Goddess to mothers. Your off-white color vs our white?" "It signifies we clerics are not required to be pacifists, though some are. And enchanting armor has a measure of `elemental earth' attribute. We don't do weapons as a matter of morals." "Very like a protective mother. I have no problem with your philosopy or intent, but we have a cardinal that does not like mages," regrets the father. "If you were to set up shop as healers only there would be absolutly no problem, need far outstrips supply. You realize that the pay is very minimal and _we_ try to support the town orphanage?" Merchant abilities to the fore, Henry discusses the possibilities with interest. "We could share some healing income in exchange for some administrative support. If memory serves, limb regrowth, (even if it does take a month to be usable) pays pretty well when it works. If we can get facilities through the mage guild for enchanting, then we will have the income towards building our own church. Time involved of arranging visits, keeping an office we _don't have_ open, and general public relations would be better spent by us in either healing or enchanting. If we could take appointments at your church, we would blatantly place one of your poor boxes nearby, and we would pay for the administrative time used as well?" "Ah, I think even the cardinal could grudgingly accept that kind of arrangement," agrees the father. "Brother in healing, ... Sister, ... and, ah?" "Associate," smiles C.T. "We will talk exact arrangements later, if you decide to really stay. Generica can use you," concludes father Dolorus. ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- ----- They leave and head back to the mage guild. Suprizing to them, they are not bothered at all, but they are stared at considerably. It seems the housewife with new fingers is a gossip and had a two hour lead leaving Ilmater's. By tomorrow, half of Generica will think they do miracles. Gossip, it seems, exceeds magic in power for spreading information. ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Thanks go to Alan Smith for the loan of Ja'nis. This work is copyrighted by Rodney Taylor. http://rampages.onramp.net/~rodney