ftp.ee.pdx.edu/2014.02.ftp.ee.pdx.edu.tar/ftp.ee.pdx.edu/pub/frp/Archives/1109

Text File | 1995-09-21 | 24KB | 698 lines

Path: usenet.ee.pdx.edu!news.reed.edu!nntp.teleport.com!psgrain!usenet.eel.ufl.edu!gatech!newsxfer.itd.umich.edu!gumby!newspump.wustl.edu!simtel!news.sprintlink.net!in2.uu.net!not-for-mail
From: [e-mail] (Eric T. Simon)
Newsgroups: rec.games.frp.archives
Subject: Story:  The Outlander  Chapter 6
Followup-To: rec.games.frp.misc
Date: 19 Sep 1995 13:18:49 -0400
Organization: General Motors Corporation
Lines: 683
Sender: [e-mail]
Approved: [e-mail]
Distribution: world
Message-ID: <43mu1p$[e-mail]>
NNTP-Posting-Host: rodan.uu.net


!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Due to current problems with my newsserver not
updating certain user groups, my brother has
generously agreed to post these stories until my
problem is resolved.  If you have any comments,
please eMAIL them to me at [e-mail]
If you have negative comments, it is all right to
send them to the poster rather than subjecting me
to them.
!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!




**********************************************************
What has gone before:  A mysterious outlander calling
himself Jake Shade has arrived in Generica.  A young
female thief by the name of Yvette Anastel has acci-
dentally come into the possession of a mysterious
talisman.  This talisman is desired by a host of
frightening people, not the least menacing of whom is
a corrupt officer in the Watch known as Grace. Yvette
was captured by Grace while returning from the shop of
a Fortune Teller.  With the help of Jake Shade, she
has temporarily escaped. Still, the young woman can
sense her hunters growing ever nearer.
**********************************************************




         Chapter 6:  Grace Under Pressure







    Yvette slipped quietly into the ruined bakery, careful
not to awaken Winder.  Her carefulness went for naught; their
two years of life on the streets had sharpened her brother's
senses to a fine edge.  Winder sat up and watched her as she
changed out of her torn street clothes.

"Where've you been?" he asked.

    Yvette felt a twinge of annoyance at having her where-
abouts questioned by a sibling four years her junior, but
she knew Winder was just concerned about her. She removed
an old nightgown from its hiding place, and smoothed it
out as best she could.  At one time the garment might have
been a pretty color or adorned with ribbons or lace.  Now
it was featureless and faded to a dull white.  She pulled
it over her head and then slipped into her hammock before
she replied to her brother's query.

"I went uptown and had my future read.  I thought maybe a
seer could tell me where we should go from here."

"Did it work?" Winder inquired after a moment.

"No.  All it did was screw up my head."  Yvette sighed.

"Well, easy come, easy go." Winder said, referring to the
silver he had stolen from a merchant earlier in the day.

"It was only one coin.  The worst part was that on the way
home I ran into Grace."

    Yvette heard Winder sit up on his cot.  Although she was
looking at the ceiling, she could feel him staring at her
from across the room.  She had never told Winder about the
first time Grace had caught her, but deep inside she was
wise enough to know that he had suspicions.

"I take it that you got away okay."  Winder's tone betrayed
only the idlest of curiosity.

"I had a little help," Yvette told him. "After Grace grabbed
me, a pair of outlanders came over and started hassling him.
One of them got Grace so mad he forgot all about me. I
slipped away while he was busy threatening them."

"You're lucky they were outlanders," Winder told her.  "If
they'd known who Grace was they probably would've looked the
other way."

    Yvette's eyes were open, but she was seeing the rugged
features of the man who's intervention had spared her from
Grace's ministrations. The man's features had been fairly
young, but his eyes . . . something about those green eyes
hinted of great age.  They had touched something inside her.
They whispered to her of wonders she had never seen and
places she had never heard of.  Yvette knew she would not
soon forget those eyes; nor the man they belonged to.

"I think that he wouldn't have cared even if he had known
who Grace was." Yvette told her brother quietly before roll-
ing over and closing her eyelids.

     Puzzled, Winder lay back down.  He was used to Yvette's
odd mood swings and had ceased trying to figure them out.
He felt his side gingerly, where bandages covered a slash
across his ribs.  Luckily, he had arrived home first, saving
himself the problem of concealing the wound from his sister.

"Goodnight, Yvette."

     Yvette did not answer. She was already asleep, dreaming
of far off places and legendary heroes. In her dreams, a man
of great wisdom and sadness rode against evil warriors of
chilling countenance.  In that dream world, children were
never orphaned and the honor of women was never violated.

Winder watched his sister sleep for a moment, then sighed
and closed his eyes.




          *********************






    Miracek winced as Grace entered the Watchpost, slamming
the door behind him violently. Everything about the tall
man reeked of violence, the captain mused to himself.  That
in itself was not an altogether bad thing.  Miracek needed
warriors in the Watch, not diplomats. Still, Grace required
delicate handling. He made a habit of keeping Grace posted
in the Low City, as far away from people of importance as
possible.

"Grace, I need a moment of your time," Miracek called out.

     The tall Lieutenant stalked over to Miracek's office,
every pore in his body exuding resentment.  Grace had not
yet learned that it took more than a talent for mayhem to
earn the right to command men.  If Miracek had his way,
Grace would still be a sergeant in the Watch and not an
officer.  Still, talent was capable of carrying a man far,
and there was no one more talented with a blade than Grace.

"Grace, I have received another series of complaints about
you," the captain said blandly, his expression betraying
nothing.

"Who is it this time?" Grace sneered, "the pimps down at the
harbor, or the loansharks down in the Low City?

     Miracek had swallowed enough of the Lieutenant's surly
attitude.

"Actually, these complaints are being made by the merchants
running the caravans," Miracek informed him.  "You remember
what a merchant is, don't you Grace?"

    Grace drew himself up stiffly and stood at attention in
front of the captain's desk.  His gray eyes blazed angrily,
but he made no reply to Miracek's question.

"Then let me refresh your memory, Lieutenant.  A merchant
is someone who brings goods, taxes and revenue into the
city of Generica.  Melwise, the man who runs Generica, is
also a merchant. The guild which happens to pay your humble
salary along with mine also happens to be called . . . THE
MERCHANT'S GUILD!"

     Miracek slammed a hand down on his desk.  Grace contin-
ued to look at a spot six inches above the captain's burly
shoulders.  The Watch Captain sighed in frustration.

"I want you to go down to the caravan area and smooth this
over, Grace.  I don't want to hear another complaint from
any merchants about your behavior.  Is that understood?"

    The tall Lieutenant saluted crisply. "I guarantee that
you will not hear another complaint from those merchants,
sir!" he pledged.

    He spun on his heels and marched out the door, closing
it quietly behind him.

     Miracek let out a sigh of relief. "Well, that didn't go
too badly," he told himself.





          ************************





"Gak!  The smell of him!" Ghirken complained, his voice
muffled behind one hand.  He drew a disapproving glance
from the priestess tending the catatonic form of Jacobius
Bunggarelli

"Shut up, weebo." Falchion ordered quietly, looking at the
bedridden man with disbelieving eyes.

     Just two weeks ago, Bungg had been a figure that
commanded respect. Well over six feet tall, muscled like
an ox from three years in the Middle Marches, few men would
have wanted to tangle with Bungg. Yet here he was, lying
in filth, unable to control even his own bowels.

"His hair is white as a ghost!" Ghirken said in an awed
voice.  Falchion pretended to be unimpressed but inside,
he too marveled.  Bungg's thick black hair had indeed gone
completely, shockingly white, seemingly overnight.

"What happened to him?" Falchion asked the priestess quietly.

"No one knows," the priestess said, shrugging.  "Someone
found him like this out on the streets and brought him here."
She wiped Bungg's sweating brow with a damp cloth. "He hasn't
spoken a word since he got here."

     Falchion watched as Bungg thrashed feebly on the bed,
his wide eyes staring unseeingly at the ceiling above them.
'What could have done this to such a dangerous man?'
Falchion wondered.

He paced the small room nervously.  The sight and smell of
his incapacitated friend made the close confines of the
chamber all but unbearable.  A few more minutes in the room
were all that he could stand before he had to leave.

"Take good care of him." Falchion told the priestess and
pressed several gold coins into her hands.  The woman's
eyes lit up when she saw the gold.

  A lifelong criminal, Falchion recognized greed when he
saw it.  Although he was a ruthless businessman who made
his living exploiting that greed in others, for some
reason the sight of avarice in a priestess angered him.

     Falchion retained his grip on the woman's hands.
Looking into her eyes, he tightened his fists slowly,
inexorably.  The woman's face turned white; she began to
thrash in his grip.  Falchion smiled a thin, cruel smile,
and leaned close to the woman.

"I'll be checking up on him.  If I don't like what I find,
I'll be back to pay you a visit."

    Ghirken moved up behind Falchion, his considerable mass
adding an even more threatening note to an already intim-
idating situation.

"I understand." the priestess managed to gasp out, her
teeth gritted in pain.  Falchion gave her hand a final
squeeze before releasing her.  He took one more look at
Bungg, then headed for the door.

    Out on the street, Falchion filled his lugns with the
relatively untainted night air.  The sight of Bungg lying
there, stripped of all dignity, had shaken him deeply.
'I'll die before I let that happen to me,' he vowed
silently.

"Boss, why we wastin' time on a drain-brain like dat when
we still ain't found the talisman?" Ghirken wanted to know.

     Falchion stared at his underling coldly, until the
brutish enforcer dropped his eyes.  "I wasn't questioning
you or nothin'," Ghirken said, shuffling his feet, "It's
just dat I thought we had more important t'ings to do."

"Don't think, Ghirken. It's not your strong suit."  Falchion
bit back further words as he struggled to control his anger.

   Despite the fact that Ghirken was by far the larger man,
the enforcer trembled with barely suppressed fear. He knew
that he had crossed some invisible line.  He had not been
with Falchion long enough to voice his opinions. Now there
was nothing for him to do but wait and see whether he had
gone too far.

     Falchion stared at some invisible object in the sky,
rubbing his temples as if they pained him.  The Crime Lord
knew that his ties with Bunggarelli were not known to his
hired muscle.  Ghirken could not be expected to understand.

"Forget it, Cha-head.  Let's find that talisman."



          *************************








"It wasn't me Grace, I swear it!"

    The merchant squealed in pain as Grace twisted his arm
further out of its normal range. The tall swordsman had the
fat little man pinned across a sturdy table, all his weight
on the knee placed squarely across the man's back.  Grace
grinned savagely, exerting more pressure.

"I know you think I'm stupid, Rothgup, but now isn't the
time to be playing me for a fool."

"I'm not Grace, I swear on my mother's grave!"  The fat man
shrieked again as the Lieutenant twisted his arm even higher
behind his back.

      Panarchus, who was standing in the doorway of the
merchant's tent, turned and pulled the flap down behind him.
Assured of their privacy, he added his own voice to the
conversation.

"Your mother's grave isn't the one you should be concerned
with right now," Panarchus told the little merchant.

"Right now you ought to be concerned with the shallow grave
we dug about three miles outside the city limits.  You ought
to be concerned with the fact that - for now - it's empty.
You ought to be concerned with how you are going to keep us
from using your corpulent little body to fill it.

     Rothgup's teary eyes widened as he realized for the
first time how dire his situation really was.  Grace eased
the pressure on the merchant's shoulder, letting him regain
his breath.  It didn't take Rothgup very long to arrive at
the only option truly open to him.

"It was the others.  They put me up to it.  I didn't want
to go to Miracek, they made me do it."

    Grace shifted his weight slightly, rocking his knee up
higher into Rothgup's spine.

"We need a name, little weebo.  Who's idea was it?"

     Rothgup stalled, loyalty to his peers warring briefly
with his instinct for self-preservation.  Grace tightened
his hold on Rothgup's shoulder in a manner that hinted of
previously unexplored frontiers in the realm of pain.
Loyalty never had a chance.

"It was Bahrageus.  He's the one who came up with the idea."

     Grace and Panarchus exchanged knowing glances.  It was
what they had suspected.  Panarchus lifted up the tent flap
and stepped outside. Grace straightened up, pulling Rothgup
to his feet as he did so.  The tall Lieutenant brushed the
fat merchant's tunic off, patting him almost tenderly on
one fleshy cheek.

"No warning next time, little man." Grace told him.

     Rothgup did not breath again until the tall swordsman
had departed.

     Outside the tent, the two Watch Lieutenants consulted
with each other.  As they spoke, a large black bird swooped
down and landed on the taller man's shoulder. Panarchus was
startled, but Grace was accustomed to this occurrence.

"Malfaedor wants to see you, Grace," the raven squawked in
a scratchy voice.

"Tell him I have some business to take care of first,"
Grace instructed the bird.

    The bird flapped its wings impatiently. "Right now
Grace, right now!" the raven insisted.

     The tall Lieutenant turned his head, staring directly
into the raven's beady black eye.  With a squawk, the bird
took flight.  It circled the mercantile compound with heavy
wingbeats before soaring away. Grace looked at his partner.

"Let's go turn up the heat on Bahrageus."





          ************************




    Grace strode across the bridge that spanned Malfaedor's
fetid swamp of a moat. The tall Lieutenant hated the fact
that an occasional visit to the necromancer was necessary.
Hated it with a passion.  Malfaedor loved to play the role
of evil sorcerer to the hilt, meaning that the archmage
made sure his stronghold's atmosphere matched that of his
own black nature.

    A man-sized creature of reptilian nature dragged itself
onto the bridge ahead of Grace.  It looked something like
the mutant offspring of an albino scorpion and a crazed
alligator.  It hissed venomously at the Lieutenant, lunging
at him with jaws snapping.

    Grace barely broke his stride, stomping on the reptile's
neck savagely.  Cartilage crackled as he ground his heel
down viciously before lifting his boot.  He continued on,
leaving the creature behind to thrash out the last moments
of its life in agony behind him.

     Two skeletal warriors stood at the entrance to Mal-
faedor's tower, one to either side of the massive port-
cullis.  Whatever intelligence they still retained after
their ghastly resurrection; it was enough for them to
recognize the tall swordsman.  They moved their rusty
pikes aside as he stomped past, not even sparing them a
glance.

     Malfaedor was feeding what looked like a baby mouse
to his raven when Grace walked in. The bird hissed angrily
at the Lieutenant from the safety of the Archmage's shoulder.
Malfaedor chuckled softly.

"You have a certain charm about you, Grace. Animals seem to
sense it right away."

    Grace did not reply to the Archmage's jibe.  He glanced
about the huge antechamber for a moment, deciding which of
the ornate rugs covering the floor was likely to be the
most valuable.  Finding it, he walked over and began wiping
his boot on it. If Malfaedor was displeased by this behavior
he gave no sign of it.

     Instead the necromancer sniffed the air, cocking his
head curiously.  He sniffed again and looked at Grace with
a quizzical air.

"Have you been sleeping with gypsies?" he asked Grace.
"You smell like a campfire."


"There was a fire down at the mercantile compound earlier
this morning," Grace told him.  "Tragically, a merchant was
killed and all his worldly possessions destroyed."

"And you just happened to be there."

   Malfaedor laid a finger alongside his nose mischievously,
on the side of his blind eye.  Grace looked at him blankly.
Malfaedor knew no answer would be forthcoming.

"Has Falchion located the talisman yet?" the necromancer
asked, tossing another squirming morsel to the raven.

Grace snorted. "Falchion claims that he knows where it is.
He says that he'll have it to us by tomorrow night."

"Let's hope he makes good on his promise," Malfaedor told
him.

"If he fails, it won't matter." Grace assured the Archmage.

"Oh? Why is that?" Malfaedor asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Last night I ran into . . . an old acquaintance of mine. It
turns out that she has the talisman.  A couple of outlanders
prevented me from recovering it, but I know where to locate
her if Falchion fails us again."

"Well, well, well."  Malfaedor chuckled to himself.  "The
mighty Grace, foiled by a pair of mere outlanders."

"They had help," Grace snarled, "One of them dragged that
crowd from the Dragon's Inn into the matter.  There was
nothing I could do with so many witnesses in the area."

"Oh, I believe you Grace, really I do." Malfaedor said in
a mocking tone.  Grace ignored it and took a seat.

"I think that one of the outlanders is the one who knocked
Bungarelli out of commission," he told the necromancer.

"Jacobius Bunggarelli.  Wasn't he the one who was originally
supposed to pick up the talisman from the Dothasians?"
Malfaedor asked.

"Yeah, he's the one.  I told you we shouldn't have put that
group of Middle Marches momma's boys in charge."  Grace had
never ceased reminding Malfaedor of that particular point.

"I'm more interested in this outlander.  If he is the same
one that melted Bunggarelli's brain, that's twice that he's
come between us and the Aroch Talisman."  Malfaedor left
off feeding his familiar, and began pacing the chamber
thoughtfully.

"I'm sure that it's just a coincidence," Grace told
Malfaedor.  "If that crowd of Dragon's Inn flitboys hadn't
shown up, I would have taken the outlander out of the
equation permanently last night."

"I am not so sure," Malfaedor mused quietly.  "When you
are dealing with arcane matters such as the talisman, it's
best not to make assumptions."

     Grace rolled his eyes as he always did when Malfaedor
began talking about 'Wizardly matters' and climbed to his
feet.  He flexed his long legs as he did so, working out
the kinks. He spared a glance for his boot, checking to
make sure he had gotten all the moat-creature's blood off
of it.

"If you're so worried about the outlander, I'll kill him.
It shouldn't be that hard to locate him.  He doesn't seem
to be the type to keep a low profile."

"No Grace," Malfaedor ordered. "I want you to stay on top
of Falchion and the recovery of the talisman.  I'll send
one of my other agents to deal with the outlander."







          **************************






"What'd he say?" Panarchus asked, eyeing the reptilian
monstrosity nervously.

     Grace booted the broken thing over the side of the
bridge, where it was seized and devoured by other, larger
things.  The two men walked off the bridge and out of the
wizard's compound.

"He said to forget about the talisman and to concentrate
on the outlander and the girl," Grace lied, checking to
see if he had gotten more ichor on his boots.

"Well, that sucks," Panarchus bitched.  "He's the wizard,
not us. How the hell does he expect us to find these people
without a crystal ball?"

     Grace chuckled and tapped his friend on the arm.

"It just so happens that I saw the girl coming out of a
Fortune Teller's shop last night.  Let's go see what he
told her.  It might give us some leads."

"Sounds like you're grasping at straws to me," Panarchus
told him.

"Could be, Panarchus ol' buddy, could be.  Regardless, we
better get a move on."

"To the Fortune Teller's?" Panarchus asked.

"No, I need to get my boots shined first."

     Panarchus sighed.





          *********************






"They're gone," Winder told Yvette.

     Startled, she wiped sleep out of her eyes and looked
out the window.  It was after dusk.  Winder had packed all
of their stuff while she had been out.

"Why'd you get all our stuff together?" she asked her
brother groggily.

"We're getting out of here, that's why."


    Yvette snarled and began checking her gear.  Winder had
missed a few things.  She went and got them, then busied
herself repacking her bag.  It was pitifully small when she
was done.

"This is just typical, Winder.  Where the Grauna are we
supposed to go?  Just because you saw -"

"I've got a place for us to go," Winder cut his older sister
off.  "A safe place."

    Yvette caught Winder's eye and glared.  His gaze didn't
flicker, so she knew that he was on the level.  That left
her even more puzzled.

"What was that?" she asked suddenly, heart beginning to
race.

"What was what?" Winder asked.  "I didn't hear anything."

     Yvette bit back a scream as the inside of the bakery
shook with the sounds of a tremendous impact on the front
door.  The sounds of wood splintering followed.  She cursed,
realizing that her stiletto had been lost during the alter-
cation with Grace the night before.  Winder grabbed her hand
and dragged her towards the back of the bakery.

     Lacing her fingers together, Yvette boosted Winder to
the top of one of the ruined ovens.  Winder reached down
and helped her scramble up beside him.  Yvette felt even
more adrenaline flood her system as the back door also
shook under an impact, the door rattling in its frame.

     Out of the corner of her eye, she thought she saw a
shadow moving in one of the high windows.  She did not have
time to look as she and Winder frantically cleared their
makeshift patch from a jagged hole in the roof.

     Once the hole was clear, Winder shimmied through.
Yvette heard something moving on the floor below her, but
before she could turn her head to look, Winder's pale arm
reached down for her.  She grabbed it and swung herself to
the roof.

     She got to her feet, meeting Winder's gaze across the
hole.  Below them, the front door finally gave and crashed
loudly as it fell into the bakery.  Winder motioned for
her to follow and took off over the rooftops.  It was a
long time before the pair stopped for breath.

"Where are you taking us Winder?" Yvette asked him, gasping
for air.

     Winder was not much better off.  He had to suck in a
few breaths himself before he could answer.

"We're going deeper into the Low City. Closer to the
Shunned Center."

     Yvette looked at her younger brother with wide eyes.
Winder could see that she was thinking of bolting in the
other direction.  He put out his hand and after a moment,
she took it.

"I have some friends there.  Trust me."







***************************************************************
All the characters appearing in this Jake Shade story
are copyrights of Jeff A. Simon, 1995, all rights reserved,
with the exception of Lt. Panarchus and Cpt. Miracek of the
Watch.  They appear courtesy of someone else.  Helpful
suggestions were made by Kent Peterson.  The reprinting of
this or any other Jake Shade story is prohibited without the
express permission of the author.
***************************************************************