🚀 go-pugleaf

"Well Meriden," Jester began, as he nudged the stout little necromancer
in the ribs lightly, " what say we see what kind of trouble we can scare up 
in a little desert town?" With that, Jester gestured (tongue twister there)
toward the large, ornately carved wooden door of the pub they were in.

Meriden glanced toward the door, and something quickly caught his eye.
"interesting," he mused to himself, grinning slightly at this new found
treasure. "Yes indeed." Meriden was gazing, quite intently at the oddly
embracing shapes that were carved in the dark wood. 

"What is it?" Jester glanced up at the wood above the door, obviously less
than impressed by whatever it was that had his companion so thouroughly 
captivated.

"Look at the shapes carved in the wood there." Meriden responded. "The
way they turn. The way it virtually embraces intself."

"Ya, ya, ya" Jester replied, as he gently tugged Meriden's arm, to get him to 
leave, "really beautiful. My what craftsmanship. Can we go now?"

"No, wait. Look at it. Those shapes are on the very verge of magic. Heh. The
artist probably had no idea at all of the kinds of powers he was diddling 
with. Or even that he was diddling with them. I'm sure I could correct his 
flaws." Meriden began to turn and tilt his head at odd angles, trying to 
get a better view of the carvings. " Now if I can just figure how to capture
that same effect in a fabric."

"Well," Jester sighed, quickly becoming rather bored with all this talk
of carvings, and materials. "I can see we are going to be here for a while,
so I think I'll just grab my self a seat."

As Jester made to sit down in the chair, that he was SURE was right behind him
just moments ago, he came down on the floor with a solid thump, and his head
flipped back, giving his noggen a good crack against the table top.

"Dung of a bat-wolf!" Jester cursed, as he held the back of his throbbing head.

Meriden turned around, and saw his friend on the floor, holding his head in 
pain, and a rather burly looking gentleman standing behind him, holding
the chair the Jester had expected to land on. The man was large, about 6'2",
and quite nearly 200 pounds. But that was not the most discomforting part 
of his appearance. He stood proudly in the bright chainmail, and black tunic,
that marked him as one of Argraba's many city guards.

"What did you call me little man?!" The guard screamed in outrage, as he 
looked down at the stunned Jester.

Meriden stepped in quickly, "He was addressing me sir. Indeed, he was asking
fo my aid in rising from his most fortunate accident. Come sheep-bladder
", Meriden told Jester as he pulled him carefully to his feet, " It's me,
Dung of bat-wolf. Are you okay?"

Jester's head was spinning. He had no idea where he was, how he got there, 
or who in the hell made ants black anyway. All he knew was that his head
hurt, and he needed air. So he and the odd little weaver stepped out of the inn,
and into the cool night air, before the guard had a chance to think of
some other reason for a fight.


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| It's the sputter of a raindrop. It's the sunlight on my face |
| My mind's eye into other realms. It's my paradise escape.    |
| Steve Spencer	SLC, Utah 	stv@unislc.slc.unisys.com      |
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