From: rigler@galileo.ifa.hawaii.edu (Michael A. Rigler) Date: Sat, 15 Aug 1992 12:02:31 GMT Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn Subject: [KQ] Thk [Factory] Come On Baby Light My Fire IN THE BASEMENT (Level 1) OF THE JOYSTIX FACTORY: * plip * The scribe hunches over his desk, squinting at the figures for last week. He nervously wipes and replaces his eyeglasses, and absent- mindedly fingers a small ornamental letter opener. * ploop * He glances around. All is quiet. Snoozing sounds from the barracks down the hall. The bookkeeper shivvers at the dampness and, for the thousandth time, curses his luck at drawing the quarters nearest the sewer grating. Ah well, why worry about that when there's gold to embezel? He turns back to his desk, slides open a secret door, and lovingly scoops out a velvet pouch. He shakes the pouch. * jingle * jingle * jingle * blorp * jingle * jingle * He stops shaking the pouch and turns around again, this time finger- ing the broach at his throat. It is in the form of a turtle. He depresses a jade button, and the shell section detaches into the palm of his hand. A drop of clear blue liquid sparkles on the tip of a tiny recessed needle. * Skretch * Skretch * Plup! * SanGosti swallows, stands up, and silently crosses the room to the open door. He slows his heart beat and listens... * plip * Breathing a swift prayer to the Lord of Death, he pounces through the door- way and comes face to face with that which can only be the Great Reaver Himself: A red and green monstrosity dripping sewer slime and grinning down at him from a height of seven feet. A webbed hand reaches for his face before he can cry out. He struggles breifly, before the other webbed hand swings down on his skull. * THUD * Thk drags the unconscious scribe back into the room from which he emerged. The lizardman had been hoping to bide his time until his friends arrived. Maybe he still can. The scribe went down without a sound, leaving only a scratch on Thk's arm, and the level is still silent. The lizardman's eyes spot the spilled pile of gold pieces on the desk. "Sss...coinsss for Lady Azzar." He reaches for them... Something is wrong. He holds his hand up and looks closely. Definitely six fingers. No...seven. There is a sound like ocean surf. The room tilts ninety degrees and he finds himself laying next to the scribe. Maybe there is still time... "SSss...sss...sss...sss-T'Chak-pul Rizzathrah Shazzath iv'n T'chpull!" His vision slowly clears. He climbs to his feet. The scribe is gone. The gold, however, is still there. He strides out into the hallway and is joined by his Trident. A shouting starts up. He crosses swiftly and enters the dark doorway directly opposite the scribe's. He crosses the large room swiftly, and freezes when he hears a fearful gasp. His eyes can only dimly make out the shape of a row of cages-- with human occupants. He lurches into a slab-like table and skirts around it for the door opposite. It opens readily and he steps through -- * WHOOSH !!! * Thk blinks and coughs. A cloud of white powder has been sprayed into his face. More poison? No noticeable effect. The shouting from the hallway grows louder. He continues further into the room. What is this place? Test tubes, scrolls, bunsen burners...and a tickle at the base of his brain. "Thk, skree-ack. Flezeth'n iv'n Zizziroth." says a calm sardonic voice. Thk whirls to see a creature uglier than himself: Under a white stained lab jacket, its nauseous mauve-colored skin glistens with slime. It's white pupil-less eyes glare at him from a head which reminds Thk of noth- ing less than a diseased squid, complete with tentacles. It's hands are raised, and it's six red, long, jointless fingers wriggle at Thk menacingly. "Sweet Prince," the Illythid continues, in perfect Lizardspeak. "You seem completely impervious to the effects of CyanoAminoacetyl-3-Oxybuta- hydroxothenic Acid, otherwise commonly referred to as 'Joystix,' and, as such, you shall make an ideal specimen for my experimentation. Oh what fun we shall have, you and I. Now be a good reptile and put down your Trident..." Thk's eyes narrow slightly. "I will let you live, Squid Face, if you tell me --" "Yes, yes, you've come here hunting that mute dunderhead, Blink. Not much of a conversationalist is he? But your pathetic plans are of no consequence to me -- WAIT! Not in my lab!" Thk levels the Trident, when suddenly, he feels a gut wrenching sensation as the walls of the lab erupt in flames. The entire lab complex is ins- tantly replaced by a landscape of brass. To one side, a sea of oil burns black clouds into a reddish orange sky. To the other side lies a city, the like of which Thk has never seen...a City of Brass! "Oops! I didn't mean to bring us _here_, Thk! Good thing you possess a ring of fire resistance, as I do." The Illythid holds up a finger, showing a black ring with glowing runes, very similar to the one on the lizardman's own right hand. Thk levels the Trident again. Its tines begin to glow. "Ah ah ah!" The Illythid wags a finger. "If you zap me, how will you get back to Generica?" "Sssuthru blast you, you slimy spat of a geoduck! Take me back before I get dehydrated!" "My my. How like a reptile to resort to name calling. NOW DROP YOUR TRIDENT!" The psionic appeal of the mind flayer goes straight to Thk's fingers, which open to drop the Trident onto a scorched bed of volcanic dirt. The Illythid grins. Nearby a fiery vent opens up and belches lava and sulphur dioxide. As the Illythid approaches confidently, Thk breaks free of the mental domination, shouting "If we were on the Plane of Water I would kick your ass." The Illythid stops in amazement. In one smooth motion the lizardman shrugs the Net of Casting off his shoulders and flings it in an low arc. Quruuminias looks up in dismay as the weighted, barbed net descends on his head. He struggles for a moment, then falls to the ground, yelping in pain. Thk runs to his side and jabs the tines gently into his cartilagenous ribcage. "Take us back, Tentacle Lips!" "No way, Lizard Breath, I think I'm beginning to enjoy the climate here!" * TCH-ZAPP! * The Illythid jerks convulsively with the moderate electrical shock. "Arrgh! Oh oh...now your pissing me off, Thk..." From within the folds of the net, the six red fingers emerge, twitching with fury. Thk raises his Trident to stab and -- 011010101011010101010110101101011010110110101 010110100001101101111011001011011010110101010101001111100001101101110010 011101101000011011011110110010110110101101010101010011111000011011011111 110100001101101111011001011011010110101010101001111100001101101110110001 010110100001101101111011001011011010110101010101001111100001101101110000 11010000110110111101100101101101011 SERVER E> -=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=- The Illythid gates back into the lab room bringing a whiff of brimstone and an unconscious lizardman. There are sounds of fighting from the level above. The shrill voice of Werhner can be heard, shouting instruc- tions to his men over the ringing of the alarm bell. Elstrek dashes up the staircase from the lower level where he has been taking inventory, closely followed by his helmeted bodyguard, Arvor. "Quruuminias! What's going on upstairs? Is it serious?" "Perhaps. I have taken one of them captive. They are primarily after information. If they penetrate to this level, perhaps we can reason with them..." [ ADMIN: When the rest of you arrive, you will observe that Thk is bound and suspended from the ceiling over the giant cauldron of boiling fluid. Two guards are standing by on a catwalk to cut the rope on Quruuminias's signal, if it becomes necessary. Elstrek hides with his bodyguard behind some crates near the stairway to the lower level ] \========C\ Rigler... \\ <===========C ]==|[///////////////////]|==========|[////////////]D> // /========C/ ...Thk --