|| -------- -- -----  A E R I E   O B L I V I A N A . singular book of text wandertainment by Frank Edward Nora ------------------- ----------- CLOWN CENTAUR ARCHITECT--CUP 9--"BROADCASTING" <-------  ||  Severe Repair  ||  Clown Centaur Architect  ||  -------> (Cup SRcc009, Created v2 (6/7/99), Copyright 1999) = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = = Thalerdrad began to wake up, and was in that state where dream is not yet sorted out from reality, where you might think you've been sleeping where you're used to, instead of a strange place. Curled up in a heavy blanket, the Triltan could feel the chilly air on his nose. He huddled up into a fetal position, savoring the warmth he had built up under the blanket. He had been dreaming, and it was a dream of his mission to Darthule, with Thirk and Gorblame. At one point, Gorblame started complaining about the "wrong kind of sky" on the highway--and soon, the mystical road started to slant downward. Gorblame said this was very bad. Thirk stated that he like the new downhill highway, because he liked danger. Soon the road's angle passed 45 degrees, and the three stopped. "What can we do?" Thalerdrad asked. "We can't go back--you know what'll happen. But it we keep going forward..." "Eh," Gorblame said in his monstrous voice, "if your suggestin' we stand still..." "No, but what else can we do? Look down there--you can't see much road--that means it must slope down further." "Your father would have the answer." Gorblame said. Thalerdrad became enraged. "What the hell do you mean? What answer could HE possibly have? Why does everyone... line me up... with my father?" "Cool it Thalerdrad!" Thirk chimed in. "We'll find a way out... as adventurers!" Suddenly the three heard a feral roar from behind them, and they turned to see the giant head of Felptash the Highwayist, the bright purple bear-man. He looked angry. "Stand still on the highway... hurts the one who made it!" Gorblame thundered. In a blind frenzy of hatred, Thalerdrad unsheathed his sword and, with both hands, threw it with all his might at the image of Felptash. It flew straight, and then hit what looked like a mirror, shattering Felptash's image. The dream fell into nebulosity then, but there was definitely a scene where Thalerdrad sat naked in a field of grass and flowers with a strange, alien woman. She looked similar to a Kiplaft, or monkey-person, but her features were much sharper, and her skin was furless. He felt both great attraction and repulsion toward her at the same time. This was the dream receding in Thalerdrad's mind as his consciousness began to kick in. For a few moments, he thought he was in the royal guestroom in Palace Thartos. Where he'd been staying for a few days before his mission. But something about the ambient sound and smell of the place, to Thalerdrad's keen senses, told him he was someplace else before he opened his eyes a few moments later. The image that struck him sent a jolt of pure shock through him. Whiteness with huge black dots. Indistinct. Taking a sharp intake of breath, Thalerdrad sat up and soaked up more of the situation. He was on a blue futon in the center of a huge black circle. All around him was white, with various formations of black circles. There was no horizon, no sky, nothing he could use to orient himself. The smell--there was no smell, and somehow it smelled wrong. The sound--nothing audible, but he was sure there was something bad making noise out there. Death, he thought. This is the place. Did Xonzeft rip me apart, and now am I damned? No memory of that. Just of the highway and dreams about the highway. And cowardice. And blaspheming. Suddenly, a crackling sound filled the air, followed by a female voice shot through with static. "This is Walter Mota, speaking from the body of Mildred, broadcasting from Thatterine College into the great unknown. Using nothing-band transmitter/receiver bought in Felptash yesterday. Seeking all and any replies. If you are hearing this, please reply." Felptash? Thalerdrad cocked his head and considered the situation for a few moments. Then he spoke, tentatively. "Hello?" His voice sounded strange--very pure and very strong. The voice continued. "Repeat--this is Walter Mota broadcasting from Thatterine--what? You heard something?" -------> ------------------- ----------- -------- -- -----