---

Welcome to another late issue of BEHOLD!

Don't worry, with me back from Verwoerdburg, we should have February's issue ready by the 28th. We hope that for most of 1992, BEHOLD! will be released on the last Friday of each month.

Those of you going to Wits this year may notice that the cover of WARP's first term Battle Axe magazine is taken from our second issue's cover. Battle Axe is worth taking a look at, and covers a whole variety of roleplaying games.

Onto events... Heroes Inc. is proud to present our first ten-player game. This Paranoia special will be the largest game ever run by anyone at Heroes Inc. and should be tremendous fun -- read the article Another Beautiful Morning for details of the mission.

Look out for other events from Heroes Inc. during 1992. We are currently discussing a Heroes Inc. "Weekend of Horror", as well as a film festival for later in the year. Keep your ears open.

You may notice the absence of an AD&D Game Guide in this issue. The Game Guide will be back next month, with two pages of past adventures for you to reminisce over. We can fit more games on one two-page Game Guide than on two one-page articles, so from now on, you can expect to see a Game Guide every second issue. In the meantime, we have a Rotan News special in the centre pages.

Jonathan disappears off down to UCT some time next week, so he will be out of the action for a while. We'll look forward to seeing you again in June, Jonathan. Also, this month is Simon's birthday. Best wishes, and we hope you have many more.

Finally, you may remember the article Computing in a Dream World from BEHOLD #3, which discussed the concept of "virtual reality" computer games. Well, virtual reality fans will be interested to hear of the film Lawnmower Man. Lawnmower Man should be released sometime in 1992 and will feature some of Hollywood's first virtual reality scenes. While I remember, 1992 should also see the release of Robocop 3, just to keep you informed.

Best wishes to everyone for 1992,

Anthony Brooks

2    Editorial

4     Tarquin's Raiders by Antony Pautz

Tarquin is back in the second part of our Tarquin's Raiders mini-series. This time the raiders get more than they bargain for, when they attack an Imperial base.

Pay attention everyone. It seems that something has gone missing in Alpha Complex. Guess who has to find it...

Our first Fiction Feature set in Middle-earth, And the Shadows Deepened... is the also the first part of a new BEHOLD! mini-series.

The Gnomish Bureau is back with a boom. This month, the main focus is on the Fall of Rotan and the Battle of Dragondale, but there are a few other bits that might be of interest...

For those of you who struggle with the Shadowrun spell system, Keith throws a bit of light on the subject.

Continuing the adventurers of Mask, Cyclone and the rest of the Shadowrunners, this issue's Into the Shadows is based on the first part of a two part game involving the enigmatic Rin Tin Tin.

Most people know that multi-user computer adventure games exist, but how many people know what playing one of these games is actually like? Geva, a veteran network gamer, explains.

After a particularly harrowing game of Interceptor recently, Matthew felt compelled to write about life in the ranks of the Renegade Legions.

This edition's In Character is the first to give details of an NPC. Athalar is one of Rotan's most mysterious characters. Turn to page eighteen, and you might learn a bit more about him...

Fillers: The Pendragon excerpt on page 19, Order of Red Knights was penned by Christopher Brooks. The Last Word and ... were written by Anthony Brooks.

Cover: This month's cover was based on a scene from a recent AD&D game. It is called Behold, the Beholder and was drawn by regular artist Dominik Wysocki.

Back Cover: The back cover picture is called The Summoning, and is also by Dominik. Three Amerindian shamans from the Shadowrun setting are conjuring up a rather evil-looking spirit. Definitely Universal Brotherhood material, this is.

INTERDEPARTMENTAL MEMO            
Transcript No. 454ccx634

FROM: Moff Thalus

TO: All commanders in the Norad sector

Imperial intelligence reports Rebel troop movements in the adjoining sector.
Be alert for possible Rebel attacks. In the event of an attack ensure that
maximum damage is inflicted on the Rebel scum.

Congratulations to Ewan Dalror and Eren Smul, who have both been
promoted to the rank of Commander. Hopefully they will do better then their
predecessors, who were relieved of duty for failing to capture or destroy the
bandits.

NOTE: We have learned that the bandits are lead by a man called Tarquin.
See accompanying identkit.

Yours in the Emperor

Moff Thalus

---

"You all know your jobs so I'm not going to go through them again. We move out at nine hundred hours."

Imperial base, Altior Minor, 09H15

Two tramp freighters dropped out of light speed dangerously close to the planet of Altior Minor and landed, equally dangerously, at the Imperial base. The stunned sentries barely had time to react and bring their blasters up before they were hit by well-aimed blasts from the freighter's gun turrets. The stormtroopers immediately realised that they were dead and their blasters fell from limp hands as they dropped to the floor.

As soon as the sentries were dealt with, the raiders disembarked and dashed across the landing pad to the doors which had shut as the first sentry died. Needless to say, they were now locked.

With the efficiency of a well-oiled machine, one of the raiders had the door open. Because of countless drills and exercises, each raider knew his job inside out, so there were hardly ever any hiccups. As they made their way through the base, they encountered unusually little resistance.
"Tarquin!" Malrias shouted , "This is too easy. It could be a trap."
"I know, but if it is, we're already in it." Tarquin replied. As they rounded the corner and entered the empty supply room their suspicions were confirmed.
"Everybody back to the ship!"

"I'm afraid not!" A voice rang out across the room, as wall panels slid back to reveal numerous well-armed Imperial troopers all around them.
"Drop your weapons. You have been a thorn in the Empire's side for too long now. But thanks to a little help from one of your companions, we were able to arrange this welcoming party in your honour." Moff Thalus laughed.

Tarquin was just beginning to realise that Kaldor had sold them out when he noticed that Malrias still had his weapons
in his hands.

"Yes, Tarquin" Malrias said as he walked over to where Moff Thalus was standing, "I'm responsible for your downfall. But you must understand, it's nothing personal. I was just doing my job. KILL THEM!!"

The sound of the stormtroopers raising their weapons was drowned out by an explosion which shook the entire base and destroyed most of the entrance. Not knowing what was going on, but realising that this could be their only chance at survival, Tarquin dived for his blaster and, with one well-aimed shot separated Malrias' head from his shoulders. Following Tarquin's lead, the rest of the raiders reacted and dived towards the closest stormtroopers. The stormtroopers, still stunned by the unexpected explosion, were slow in moving but still they managed to cut down many of the raiders.

The raiders were fighting like men possessed, but they were hopelessly outnumbered by the stormtroopers and once the initial surprise had worn off, the stormtroopers began to gain the upper hand.

From behind the troopers came the sounds of more fighting and Tarquin found himself hoping that this was the cavalry, because otherwise this might be his last stand. His worries, however, soon faded as the number of stormtroopers began to fall rapidly. Spurred on by this, the raiders renewed their efforts, which convinced the remaining stormtroopers to retreat as quickly as they could.

The raiders were cautiously emerging from what little protection they had managed to find, when Kaldor strolled into the room. On seeing Kaldor, every raider's blaster was immediately focused on him.

"Is this the thanks the Rebellion gets for saving your sorry butts?" Kaldor grinned.
"The Rebellion?!?"
"Yes."
"But you wanted us to attack Rebel targets."
"That was just a ruse to find out where your sympathies lie. You and your raiders were doing massive damage to the Imperials and we couldn't afford it if you did the same to us. Had you agreed to attack the target we would have been forced to wipe you out. Instead, I've been authorised by the Rebel high command to offer you a post in the Rebel Alliance. Will you accept it?"
"I don't know. I'll need to think about it."
"How does 'General Tarquin' sound? We need you to train a crack raiding squad to harass the Imperials so you will still be doing the same thing as always."
"O.K. I'll do it."

INTERDEPARTMENTAL MEMO            
Transcript No. 454ccx651

FROM: Governor Espliades

TO: All Imperials in the Norad Sector

Owing to incompetence above and beyond the call of duty, Andar Thalus no
longer holds the rank of Moff. He has been transferred to a more appropriate
position on the mining planet Nimros IV.

Congratulations to Desim Otobol who has been promoted to the rank of
Moff.

REMEMBER: FAILING THE EMPEROR HAS A HIGH PRICE!!!

Yours in the emperor

Governor Espliades

The Monday morning was unbearably hot (the air conditioner was not working again). The light outside was very bright. (In order to make it look as if the weather was indeed as it should have been, the main headlight was brightened to uncomfortable levels.) DUB-I-OUS 3 put on his uniform, revelling in the smooth velvet feel of the material. (Hello underworld! This is REPO-R-TER 3, ready to comment on the current story line. Would you just look at this? They get to dress in velvet, while we wear rags! Hang on - what IS velvet?) He had received his promotion just yesterday, and already he had received a death threat, a mail-bomb and congratulations from his superior who was cleaning his gun when it "went off", narrowly missing him. (He thinks that is dangerous. Ha! Just yesterday... KNOCK, KNOCK... damn, Insec. Catch you later.) The whizzing sound of the printer broke his concentration:

LERT! ALERT! ALERT! ALERT! ALERT! ALERT! ALERT! ALERT! ALERT! ALERT! ALERT! AL

This is your friend the COMPUTER speaking! Please report to the nearest 
debriefing cubicle and type in the randomly scrambled code 123456789. 
Do not forget this highly classified number! Do not reveal it to anyone! 
Remember, be on your guard! Everyone could be a traitor! Don't forget your 
daily dosage of medicine-saturated "Crunchem Algae Chips". Trust the 
Computer!

ERT! ALERT! ALERT! ALERT! ALERT! ALERT! ALERT! ALERT! ALERT! ALERT! ALERT! ALE

Deep in thought, DUB-I-OUS 3 arrived at his destination. He put in the code and opened the door. The vid-screen was already on.
"Good morning," said the man on the screen, "we had to contact you about a matter of utmost urgency."
"Then, umm, shouldn't this be private?" asked DUB-I.
"Of course. That is why R&D is scrambling the signal even as we speak."
"Then how come every vid-screen outside is displaying our conversation?"
"Uh, I'm not too certain." BANG, BANG. "And now?"
"It's gone now. I sure hope you didn't hurt yourself banging that mechanism with that pole. Wow, I can hardly see you past that smoke."
"Yes, onto the - cough, cough - matter at hand. Someone stole one of our tac-nuke warheads, and we have reason to believe he will try to explode it in a few days. We have traced ten people who could have come in contact with the bomb, and I'm afraid you are one of them."
"Now hold on a minute..."
"Do not worry. We trust you. That's why we are assigning the other nine people to you on a small mission. Their priority will be to complete the mission. Yours is to find the bomb and defuse it. By all means tell them you are looking for AN object that one of them has, but do not tell them it is a bomb. Some of them would kill just to detonate it. Look to your wrist-printer for details of the other mission."
"But, but, but..." CLICK. The screen had gone blank.

(Thiss iss REPO-R-TER-4 back fffrom the "Docbot Training SSSurgery CCentre". I am transssmitting this conversssation to every sssecret sssociety I can contact. I hhhope everyone of the nine people involved in the mmmission recieves thisss.)

Dusk, deepening to full night, and the shadows deepened...

A wan moon rose slowly above the jagged, brooding shape of Aberen, ancient sentry-post of Khazad-Dûm, now home to several of Sauron's dark contingents.

Beneath a bush a shadow stood out at an unlikely angle, as it had for the last several hours, defying the light of the moon as it had the sun. With an abruptness that would have been shocking if there had been anyone around to be shocked, the elf stepped out from the bush, releasing his cloaking spell as he did so.

"Thanar, I sense orcs nearby. Perhaps the guard schedule has been changed." The voice spoke silently, in the elf's mind, and Thanar grinned. Berenost had always been the nervous, and formal, type, but was the only companion willing to assist Thanar in a quest of such danger, albeit of momentous importance. Indeed, few even knew of his quest, but those who did felt that no better a protector would be found or even needed.

For the elf was Thanar of Rivendell, Archdruid of the Ninth Circle, holder of the Druidstaff True and friend to Berenost Direblade, Paladin and wielder of the Sword of Justice.

For four days the pair had scouted the citadel Aberen, gathering information about its orc garrison and surrounding terrain. At last, judging that all had been gained that could be from the outside, Thanar had resolved to attempt an entry. Berenost had, of course, advised against such actions, but accepted that the recovery of the Mithendilar, the secret of Aberen, justified a few risks.

Watching the turrets, Thanar saw the orcs Berenost had mentioned; a pair of guards, slightly earlier than expected, starting their routine patrol of the ancient parapets. Concentrating, Thanar quickly built the complex structure of forces that constituted a spell inside his mind, made a slight adjustment, then tested it with a well-trained inner eye, probing for weaknesses. Satisfied, he released it, feeling the brief backlash stab against the back of his eyes, and the spell formed around his body with an arcane beauty that amazed him even after all his centuries of channelling.

Thanar sprinted from cover, his footfalls silent, his black, hooded cloak silent, the dead leaves underfoot were silent, even the brambles against the wall which caught at his feet were silent, embraced in the silence spell. Taking up position just behind the two guards, Thanar paced along in the blackness under the wall. He concealed a snort of derision at the obvious ineptitude of the orcs; a guard who follows a pattern repeats himself and becomes predictable, as all patterns do to those who have studied them. Such repetition begs for infiltration, and the druids, most puissant of the rangers, were masters of the art...

The tower stood proud from the wall, within, a dozen goblins laughed raucously, playing some game of luck, and just beside the arrow-slit, the elf hung from his padded grapnel, peering in.   Berenost, eager for action, hung beside him, muttering to himself.

A young orc, obviously a servant of some kind, finished swilling some of the more repulsively coated dishes and came over to the window to empty the gunk out of a large tin pot. Leaning out of the embrasure, he failed to see Thanar and Berenost, who had prudently taken up position just above the lintel. As the goblin withdrew his head, Thanar dripped a small quantity of thurviik-impregnated water into the slime at the bottom of the cauldron; the orc, predictably, noticed nothing.

Two hours passed, and the orcs hungrily consumed their unspeakable stew and swiftly fell into a deep slumber. Thanar passed through the embrasure, curbing Berenost's desire to attack the fell creatures. He dropped through a hatchway in the floor and rolled desperately to one side as an immense axe cleaft the air next to his ear. The Sword of Justice made a steely slither as Thanar drew the blade from the ornate scabbard at his side and turned to face the shadowy creature before him.

The wight; no lesser creature, Thanar could see that, swung the axe at the elf's unprotected left side, and, as the glowing white sword that Berenost wielded swept around to parry, clutched at Thanar's now exposed face with a claw-like hand...

...and grabbed the stylised tree held in Thanar's left hand, the holy symbol of his chosen goddess.

The shadow creature screamed, and Berenost came round in an unstoppable strike that cleft the wight in half, and dispelled the essence of evil constituting the undead creature in a brief, bright flash.

Unfortunately Thanar hadn't the time to seek out the grave of origin of the wight, obviously emanating from the corpse of a fallen hero or mighty lord, and unless the grave was opened and the contents spread out, the wight would, in time, reform and quite likely be waiting for him on his way out.

Berenost sheathed the Sword of Justice he had forged more than three millennia past and, with Thanar in the lead, stealthily headed down a slanting, narrow tunnel heading into the living rock of the mountain itself, gaining ever nearer to his twin goal; the Mithendilar, legendary guardian of the Earthblood of Moria, and the forgotten Earthnode of Khazad-Dûm...

(This version of the Rotan News contains several articles not included in the original BEHOLD! #5 for space reasons -- On-line Ed, January 1999)

The Shadowrun system is a personal favourite of mine. I love the intrigue and mystery involved in an awakened world where the megacorps cast long shadows in which the SINless run (SIN is an abbreviation for System Identification Number. - Ed). I thrill when thinking about magic and the wonders of awakened creatures. Still, the system is complicated and difficult for beginners to grasp.

We have played ten games of Shadowrun to date and many players are still confused as to how some of the rules work, especially those concerning magic (Yep. - Ed). In this article I will endeavour to simplify the rules and explain the mechanics of magic.

Very simply put, a mage is someone able to draw energy from the astral plane. He is able to do this through an inherited genetic code, which gives his mind the ability to form a link with the astral and to channel energies, in some form or other, into this world through his body. This takes great control and strength of will to perform. Failure has resulted in mages boiling their brains and in other equally unpleasant deaths. The process of gathering and forming this energy is known as sorcery.

Hermetic mages tend to be stronger sorcerers than shamans as they can enlist elementals to help channel spell energy. Each elemental aids in different schools of spells: fire -- combat; earth -- manipulation; water -- illusion; air -- detection. The greater the elemental's force (EF), the more powerful the spell is when cast. Shamans, who follow the mind set of their totems, gain totem modifiers (TM). For example, Eagle, the watcher, aids his shamans in casting detection spells.

A mage controls and shapes these energies using his sorcery skill. This is equal to his magic pool (MP) in the game. Mages can also use specially enchanted items to aid them in channelling these energies. These are called focuses and have a focus rating (FR).

The final determinant of a spell's power is the force (F) at which it is cast. This may be any value from one to the maximum force at which the mage has learnt the spell.

All of these different factors now come together in a very simple formula that provides the number of variable dice that a mage has with which to cast a spell. Note that some of the magic pool dice may be kept back to help resist drain instead.

For wizards the number of dice is equal to F + MP + EF + FR.
For shamans the number of dice is equal to F + MP + TM + FR.

I would dearly love to bombard your now feverishly working mind with rules on determining and resisting drain and the conjuring of nature spirits and elementals, as well as how the six metamagical disciplines play a role in this and how spell defence works, but I'll leave that until another time.

Cyclone, a well respected bodyguard, and his mage counterpart Mask, were hired to protect the daughter of the Chief of the Crow while she was visiting Seattle. Being an easy but important job they recruited some help in the form of the shaman Walks-with-the-wind and the mage detective Ram. All went well on the Amerindian part of Seattle, Council Island, until the gala event was held. Dignitaries from all over North America were attending the event.

All too late did the team realize that the princess's tiara was floating several feet above her head. It then drifted across the ball room, into the hands of a very elegantly dressed elven gentlemen. By now the princess had fainted and all the other guests were gasping in awe while the team raced through the hall after the thief. Again too late, they arrived at the window through which he had fled. All there was to be seen was a rumpled tuxedo and a business card with the signature "Rin Tin Tin" next to a badger's paw print. Outside, bearing the tiara, a small nightingale flew into the night.

Using the sight that Eagle had given him, Walks-with-the-wind followed the bird into the woods. The nightingale landed and remarkably transformed back into the form of the elven thief. Chasing the naked elf through the woods was not an easy task since he was aided by powerful nature spirits. Upon reaching the lake surrounding Council Island, the elf known as Rin Tin Tin made good his escape by conjuring a lake spirit and running across the water at great speed. In their wisdom, the team decided not to follow.

(Ram is played by Warren Johnson and Walks-with-the-wind is played by Anthony Brooks.)

Erratum: In BEHOLD! issue #2, Mask and Cyclone investigated a gang called the Toxic Acids. The gang is actually called the Lake Acids. Sorry.

It's four o'clock on a Sunday morning, and Raoul Player in New York wants to play a roleplaying game. He turns on his computer and taps in an access code, and within seconds he is connected to a global information network. Meanwhile, in Newcastle, Roland Dyce has just finished breakfast and is looking for something to do. He, too, turns to his computer. He and Raoul join a group of roleplayers from around the world, separated by thousands of miles, but brought together by the magic of digital communications. With the computer as their GM this disparate group can participate in exciting, ever-changing adventurers top their hearts' content (or at least until the network bill bankrupts them...)

Although the events depicted above are clearly fictional, there is nothing fictional about the vast international roleplaying network. Several such services exist today, and anyone with a computer, a modem and enough money can access them. To give you a taste of what's available, I will describe the Island of Kesmai multi-user roleplaying game, offered through the CompuServe information service in America.

At first glance, Island of Kesmai would look very familiar to those used to playing computer adventure games. The computer "rolls" a character for each user. The user can then wander through the adventure world by issuing commands such as "GO NORTH" or "DRINK THE PURPLE POTION". As the user moves about, the computer provides a verbal description of his current location, along with a map of the surrounding area.

The main difference between Island of Kesmai and other computer adventure games is that is run on a huge, internationally accessible information service with some 500,000 registered users. Now, although few of those half million people are keen roleplayers, it is not unusual to find from five to fifty players playing Kesmai at any time of the day or night.

There are also computer-generated NPCs. These can interact with human players: trading goods, offering information or even joining an adventuring party. Since the NPCs are computer-controlled, their conversation is rather limited, which can lead to situations like this:

> TELL FAFNIR "HELLO"
Fafnir: Hello
> TELL FAFNIR "WHERE ARE YOU FROM?"
Fafnir: I am from the high mountains
> TELL FAFNIR "NOT IN THE GAME; IN REAL LIFE."
Fafnir: Hello
> TELL FAFNIR "WHAT KIND OF ANSWER IS THAT?"
Fafnir: Hello
> TELL FAFNIR "YOU'RE A COMPUTER, AREN'T YOU?"
Fafnir: Hello

Terrain description is also far from ideal. Short, single-paragraph descriptions are the norm, and these are often written in far from gripping prose. Until recently, maps were limited by the fact that they had to be transmitted using computer characters. For example, the map below is Kesmai's idea of a forest with a river running through it (the letters at the bottom are players). It's clearly not good for much except as an inkblot test*. Fortunately, modern computers are capable of somewhat more impressive graphics, so the game designers have developed ways of transferring more complex maps over the 'phone. These days, IBM PC users can play Island of Kesmai and enjoy full-colour three-dimensional maps, accompanied by digitised sound.

^^^^^ 333 ^^^^^^^^
^^^^^ 333 ^^^^^^^
^^^^^ 333 ^^^^^^
^^^^^ 333 ^^^^^^
^^^^^ 333 ^^^^^
^^^^^ 333 ^^^   C    B
^^^^^ 333 ^       A

A Kesmai forest -- you can't see the wood for the threes...

It is not wonderful graphics or detailed storylines that make Island of Kesmai worthwhile, however. Instead, the fun of Kesmai comes from interacting with these other players. There are almost no restrictions on how players can relate to each other. Players may adventure alone, but they generally choose to form parties and alliances with (and against) each other. You can talk to other players, or you can "whisper" to them when you don't want others  to hear you. As a result, Kesmai has all the elements of personal interaction that make RPGs fun -- alliances, backstabbing, agreements, backstabbing, trade, backstabbing, combat and, of course, backstabbing.

In this respect, Kesmai is much more of a roleplaying game than a computer game. Unlike more traditional RPGs, however, you don't have to go to all the trouble of convincing a GM to run a game, rounding up several other keen players, and finding a venue. Instead, all you need to do is fire up your computer...

We should have known better than to take a mission where some sort of secret weapon was involved. Luckily, it was a passive device, but it was active enough to nearly get me killed.

We were on an interceptive course with the convoy of fighters which had among them the secret weapon. There were five of us. Two pilots with a couple of kills between them (flying Cheetahs of course), and three rookies, who totalled one Cheetah and two Guardians between them.

On time they appeared on our scanners. My experienced partner, Trigger, broke right, so I went left, with two of the rookies following me. The heavier Verutums went after my partner, the lightly armed Pilums came for me. I chuckled to myself, knowing that this would be one battle where my partner would get more damage than me.

We were hailed by the enemy flight leader, and informed that we were trespassing, and would we please disperse. A lively banter followed from our side in which we assured them that we were friendly. They seemed to take us seriously, although I will never know how. Still, they told us (politely of course) to go away. Thinking that either the secret weapon was a corpse (sic) of incredibly thick pilots, or something that infected their scanners, I blithely said "We are TOG craft!!!"*, fully intending to inform them otherwise, should they believe me.

I changed my opinion to partially thick enemy pilots when they proceeded to shoot at me. I promptly restructured this opinion as the little laser bolts from the Pilums instantly whittled away most of my front armour, destroying my life support system and my left shield.

This put me into a really bad mood. I whipped around behind one of the Pilums, and gave it everything I had. One five point laser hit the craft, the other three were just bright flashes of light energy going wild. This was because I had taken a little time (actually a lot of time) moving my eyes down to my computer screen, up to the craft in front of me, back to the screen, then to the aircraft, down, up, down, up, down, up, down... up.... down.....

Uh Oh!

There was definitely a discrepancy between what my computer said the plane was, and what reality said it was. I pulled into a tight anti-spatial manoeuvre to avoid the nameless craft as they turned in a manner said that they definitely were not Pilums, and that they were about to enforce that fact. At the same time as the G-forces pulled the blood from my head, the ancient memory banks came up with a pessimistic bit of data about these craft, and it was not good.

Someone transmitted data about the craft to home base. It might have even been me, but I was too worried at that point to notice. The nameless craft vectored in on the two rookies who had been following me. At the same time, screams for help erupted from the other rookie, saying how much of his armour had been shot off. A quick calculation revealed he had about 80% of his armour left on his Guardian. Considering my situation, I did not feel sorry for him.

I chased after one of the craft, when suddenly the information on my computer screen changed. The image of the craft in front of me looked very much like the real thing. I glanced at the statistics, and fired at a star in the distance as I realised that these craft were more dangerous than any other I had ever fought before. The screen called them Martiobarbaluses, but I renamed them Trouble.

A bit more wheeling around, as my front got hit again, and I was on the tail of another Martiobarbalus, with two partners. Altogether we managed to do less damage than we could have done with a pea shooter. (Consider a pea moving with a relative velocity of below 0.0000003c, and you will know what I mean.)

At this point, we reluctantly decided to leave. Even though we were so close to beating them, reinforcements couldn't have been far away.

The five of us arrived safely, although one of the rookies had no spacecraft left, and had literally to be towed back to base. As usual, I had more damage than Trigger. The base technicians informed me that I had had so little armour left on the front of my craft that it would not have stopped the aforementioned pea.

We thought we had been lucky enough to get away without any casualties. Unfortunately, one of the rookies lost most of his senses when we were informed by higher-ups that we would only receive credit for the mission if we followed up on the secret weapon with yet another mission. And to the best of my knowledge that same rookie is quietly sitting on his bed, drooling out his final days, after losing the last of his senses when presented with the repair bill for his craft.

And that, my friends, is what can happen in ten minutes, in the life of a Renegade Pilot.

"But Grandfather, didn't they get any reward?"
"Yes, my dear, of course they did. Some of them were..."
"What, Grandfather?"
"They were true heroes."
"True heroes?"
"Yes, my dear. If a truly brave person gives up everything he has for nothing in return, then -- and only then, my dear, can that person call himself a true hero. These people were true heroes."
"What happened to the heroes after the battle, Grandfather?"
"They lived happily ever after."
"Really?"
"Well, not quite, they lived... interestingly ever after. Go to sleep now my dear. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Grandfather."

Character: Athalar
Race: Human (although we all suspect otherwise, don't we Beloni?)
Alignment: Something Neutral
Class: Wizard (Meddler)
Level: Think of a number, then add 4, multiply by three, subtract 17, divide by five, add two, multiply by ten, add 3, and subtract six times the number you first thought of.

Alternate Identities: Seth Benturu, "%&#$@&!, not you again!".
Family: Areena. It is rumoured he also has a poodle.
Enemies: He doesn't seem to have any real ones, not even Ayak!

Game Statistics: Currently he has three eights, a twelve and two sixteens. One of these is his wisdom, one his charisma, one his strength, one his dexterity and one his constitution. His intelligence is 18. We don't have enough space to print his hit points.

"He's tall, dark and handsome, as well as being generous and noble of spirit. He's really just an all round nice guy." -- Areena

"It's not important."

"I find spells of mass destruction too mundane for the sophisticated, well-trained mind."

Athalar has several very useful magical items. Among his vast collection, Athalar's Boots of Speed and Robe of Blending have played the most prominent part in his adventures. He had a crystal ball which he dropped after being frightened by a bard. (Mutter mutter. - Ed) He also has a thingy-whatsit and a doo-dah.

"Is this guy involved in everything?" -- Souriin Draco

The Red Knights? Why do you want to know about them? Fine, a denarius will do. Well, Sir Ironside founded that bunch of ruffians. Always disturbing the peace they are, the indulgent pigs. You've got to admire their courage though, attacking Knights of the Round Table. That's probably the only reason the group hasn't spread. "Might makes right" that's their motto -- ridiculous if you ask me.

What do you mean, "What religion are they?" Pah! They don't bother their simple minds with religion. They're less trustworthy than assassins. I know someone who was fool enough to joust with one of them, the red rascal speared his horse right in the neck. A ghastly sight it was, filthy cheating swine. Well, that's all I can tell you about those bloodthirsty maniacs, but by the Holy Face of Lucca they're not people I'd like as neighbours.

EVENTS - EVENTS - EVENTS - EVENTS - EVENTS - EVENTS – EVENTS

Watch out for an exciting AD&D and Shadowrun tournament coming your way at the end of the month.

Sponsored by Goblins & Gargoyles, the tournament will be held at the Parkhurst Recreation Centre, on Sunday February 23.

For more details, and a tournament entry form, see WARP’s Battle AXE magazine, next week.