From: albert@bcm.tmc.edu (Rick Jones)
Date: 4 Sep 1992 20:40:20 GMT
Newsgroups: alt.pub.dragons-inn
Subject: [KQ] Marcel [Warehouse Lab] Toccata and Fugue in A-Positive


	Marcel and Arvor hack away at each other.  Marcel without any
style or cunning, in a berserk fury brought on accidentally be Quruuminias
the illithid.  Arvor is taking his time, and waiting for the
berserk fury to end.  When his opponent tires, he shall taste Arvor's  
blade, magic (actually nysteel) armor or not.  And he's also going
to kill that stupid mage-thing for those looney illusions.

	/HACK.  KILL.  BLOOD. DEATH./

	Crowds of toon gladiators place bets on the two.
In another time and place, crowds are cheering for something else.  
Someone burning.  Marcel watched on, sickened by the crowd's actions,
grateful that his visor hid his tears.

	/BEND.  FOLD.  SPINDLE.  MUTILATE./

	What was it he was watching?   Smoke?  Fire.  Burning.
Oh yes, the witches were burning.  They are servants of the Evil One.
They should burn now as they will in Hell.  

	/SLASH.  PARRY.  STRIKE.  CUT./
	
	No, wait.  She wasn't a witch.  He saw her once playing with the 
village children.  There was no evil in her.  A pious fishwife accused her of 
witchcraft.  The Inquistion tried her.  But Father Bertrand said she was
a witch.  The Papacy is never wrong (but are you sure?).  

	/SMOKE.  FIRE.  ASH.  CHAR./

	She's not a witch.  But she's burning!  Now, on another crusade,
to another cosm-world of sinners.  The (Cyber)Pope announces the Mircale of 
Cybertechnology.  Knives in his brain.  Another burning.  Flight.
Falling though space.  Through time.  What's that smell?  Sewer? 
No, smoke.  What's burning?   FRIEND'RAELF!!!

	[Booting......
	 Self test complete.  WARNING: Biosystems approaching
redline.  Reccomend shutdown.]

	"'Raelf!!" screamed Marcel.  The glaze retreated from his 
eyes, to be replaced by confusion.  Arvor saw his chance, and delivered
a devistating chop to Marcel's wrist.  Stung, Marcel instinctively 
dropped his sword.  Arvor then pivoted and delivered a roundhouse 
kick to Marcel's head.  Little tweeting toon-birds started flying
around his head, and he dropped to the ground.  Arvor reversed his
grip and prepared to deliver a deathblow to the unconscious knight.

[ADMIN: "Now would be good Mister Scott!" - Chekov, ST5]
-- 
Rick Jones				Systems Support Center
albert@bcm.tmc.edu			Baylor College of Medicine
Voice: 713-798-7352			standard disclaimers apply
"I'm the Chosen One.  And I choose to go shopping."-Buffy the Vampire Slayer