This story was originally serialized on an Internet Daggerfall
mail group

  The Coming of the Harpies (or, Daggerfall meets Rincewind) :)

                 by Linflas aka Dave Booth

Partus Once

Upon the battlement, in the dark night, slept Aloysius.  This was
not in the Guard's Manual, because he was a Guard, and on night
duty.  He dozed, standing up like a tired horse, clutching his
pikestaff.  The trusty staff, held at just the right angle, held
him vertical whilst allowing him to nap peacefully.  In modern
times, this wonder of co-ordination and geometry would earn, if
not a Nobel, at least a set of impressive letters after your name,
and possibly a Chair at a prestigious University.  For Aloysius
however, it was a prop to hold him up while he snoozed.

He stood guard, or rather pretended to stand guard, over the
Castle Necromoghan.  So did twenty-nine of his compatriots.  Some
of them had also mastered the art of the midnight slouch.  Most
could not, to the delight of the Guards-who-can-do-it-nah-nah (an
unofficial Guild in the Castle).  These poor wretches lay with
heads slumped over the parapet, scaring the occasional vampire bat
with a menacing growl that was in fact a half-choked snore.  It
was a good arrangement; most vampire bats kept away, and the bite
they left didn't half itch otherwise.

Now, this scene should not have happened at Necromoghan.  The
Sergeants and NCOs (yes, they have them in other dimensions)
should have been alert and checking their subordinates.  But they
were a lazy bunch as well.

Of course it was no big deal to be a Necro-Sarge or Necro
Commissioned Officer.  All it took was a Sertifikit from the
College of Slicing 'n Dicing, which as everyone knew, was a
business run by Greesie in Wayrest.  Let's face it, with the
potential horrors running, flying, and occasionally if they felt
silly dancing, around the Iliac Bay, anyone daft enough to
volunteer for the post should be given it.  All it offered was
more cash and a better uniform (consisting of a tunic, grey as per
usual but with some blood, as they all were... since horsehair was
in short supply, and most tunics were recycled), with an emblem on
it.  The emblem was shaped as three concentric circles in white,
blue and red, and positioned *just* on the chest over the heart,
so they were not in much demand.  The cash would come in handy,
but the half-life of an eager Sarge or NCO was of the order of 20
minutes, so there was little time to make a nestegg for
retirement.

So where were these brave people?  Sleeping off the beer of
course.  Once the (about 25 second) thrill of superiority had worn
off, they were consumed by a dread of imminent death, and spent
all their spare time in the Inns.  And all their working time, in
fact.  Because, when you look at their situation, they
collectively had nothing to gain from standing in front of a body
of soldiers, getting shot at by archers with a keen eye for a
bullseye.

Come to that, the slumbering body of men (body is too broad a
term, 'corpse' would be more appropriate) on the parapets
contributed to the Officers' inactivity. They plied them with ale.
Most of the gaffers were half-cut on duty, and since life in
Necroboro (as it was in-affectionately known) was dishwater dull,
tended to bully their subs for amusement.  Easier then, to buy
the Boss a few heavy-duty swigs to keep him out of the way.

So; the guards slept, the Officers blanked out while developing
liver failure, and all was quiet.  Just a normal night in
Necromoghan.

Aloysius was dreaming contentedly of that serving wench.  The one
who had given him the eye in the Aggravated Rottweiler.  He
enjoyed it while it lasted, but had given her eye back, as a one-
eyed barmaid does nothing for business.  Nice workmanship though,
you don't get glass eyes with sparkly bits that often.  But she
did seem interested, though when he moved that sheathed dagger out
of his lap towards his thigh, she had moved on to another table.

------------ OUCH! What was that?

He half awoke, and felt the sting on his head.  Bloody lice, I'll
never have a public bath in the Rotting Turtle again, he thought.
Never know where folk have been.  He looked for the dead insect in
his hand, and instead found.... blood!

Aloysius snapped awake.  Actually he didn't snap, his pike
snapped, and he fell on his face onto the stony battlement.  Now,
he had a bleeding head, and in all likelihood a broken jaw.  To
use the contemporary vernacular, he "evinced a sharp exclamation"
(Actually he said "Bucking hebb! By Jawb!")

Now he WAS awake.  And as such, so was his hearing, and his next
sensation was hearing the "Eeek! Eeeek! Eeeek!" from above.

He looked up. Silly sod.

Above him, there was the Harpy.

Now, dear readers and devotees of Daggerfall, you know what a
Harpy looks like.  It has a face reminiscent of an early 1970s
hippy (probably where the name came from), a weeny body, wings,
and a couple of pretty scary looking bird's legs, ending in enough
talons to dissect a dead rabbit before you can say "Biology
lesson"?

This wasn't that type of Harpy.

It was a big one.

A DAMN big one.

It was at least four hundred miles across (or so it looked to
Aloysius, though that was more likely his sudden and quite
expected terrorific reaction.  It was actually twelve feet tip to
tip.  Still too big to have in a cage at home.)


Its head wasn't a hippie's.  At least hippies are relatively
harmless, since they're usually too high or too depressed to be
menacing.  This bird-man-whatever-thing's head was an ORC'S.
Huge.  Red.  Full of teeth.  Dribbling : because Orcs dribble, you
know, as their language consists mostly of 'Gragg-hawk-spit-
graaag'. This one had an 'Eek' though.  Probably a mutant.

It had talons.  They weren't your standard, everyday talons, like
you see on an animal program showing eagles or pigeons or such.
These were steak knives on feet.  Six of the sodding things.

When it "eeked" at Al (as our protagonist will now be called), it
wasn't the high-pitched squeak that you may mistake for a small
mammal that's gotten into your house while you were playing
Daggerfall.  Oh no. This was a huge EEEEEEEEK, an Eek that said
'Gotcha sonny boy, now I'm gonna rip off your head and use your
neck as a hatstand, got me?' Yep, THAT sort of EEEEEK.

Al's response can be gauged from one of the following
possibilities. Can you guess which it was?

(A) He grasped and brought up his trusty pikestaff to the
vulnerable underbelly of the assailant, and speared the hapless
opponent on its razor-sharp tip.

(B) He ran like hell to get away before he was ripped to bits.

(C) He stood transfixed whilst the horror ripped him to shreds and
then did unspeakable things to his inner wiggly bits.

Depending on YOUR choice, the story will continue.  Will Al
survive? Will he have Harpy steak'n'beans for tomorrow's dinner?
Or will he end up looking like an over-pocketed leather jacket?
Select and vote... it's all to play for.

On that note - end of Part One! :D

Linflas

PS CHEAT FOLLOWS.......

.... try (B).  Otherwise the Rincewind reference won't work :D

@~Parte Diem will be in Issue 52















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