THE LIPAKS WAY FRPG By: Lee, aka Dr Pepper An Excerpt from "Imperial Propensity", A live Lipaks campaign currently running in Tucson.       Return to Lipaks main page

Krand shivered and wished herself back in bed. Up ahead her uncle Akril hissed at her to hurry.

Her boots squished. Like much of the Salubrium, the ground in this section was always a little damp.

It was outrageous of her uncle to demand her assistance like this, after the family had rejected her. Montir was a proud family, one of the richest in the Lower City. Her admission into the prestigious Magicians Guild had meant only one thing to them: another opening to gain status and promotion to the Upper City.

And when she had washed out, she had ceased to matter as far as they were concerned. Their contempt had washed her all the way down to the Under City.

So what gave Uncle Akril the nerve to summon her from her squalid quarters among the lunatics and charlatans of the Occultists Guild? And what had possessed her to answer that summons, crawling out of her warm bed before dawn? Perhaps it was hope, or duty, or maybe because Akril had shown her some kindness in the past.

Akril still hadn't said why they were here on the recreational grounds outside the City. The guard at the gate hadn't seemed to care but she wondered if they would get back out so easily. Their escort consisted of exactly two: Chester the shougild messenger and Daltun the docksider, read thief. A dubious entourage, more likely to provoke suspicion than provide security.

"There, look!" urged Akril in a loud whisper. They were in front of the Great Windmill, which was visible from much of the city and was used to publicize events. The first thing many city dwellers did in the morning was look over towards the Salubrium to see if the brightly colored streamers on the Windmill had been refreshed.

Just now there was a dark shape tied in place there, a shape that looked very much like a body.

There was no gentle way to get the body down. Daltun, whose skill at rope climbing was remarkable for someone whose official job was moving crates, cut it free and let it drop. "Well?" demanded Akril. After a long pause Krand answered him. "It's Uncle Trombar".