---

The highly unclassified material you are about to read is...

...the editorial of our sixth edition of BEHOLD! (Cheers, crowd roaring sounds)

Right, to begin with, the major highlight of February was, without a doubt, the Oriental Afternoon. (Don't worry Tristan, maybe you just weren't cut out to use chopsticks.)

The second highlight was the infamous QUESTIONNAIRE (Aarrrgghhh - Ass. Ed), a.k.a. Sir Ferdinand (OBE) for which the results will hopefully be released soon. (P.S. Would the above mentioned, please report to the nearest confession booth for immediate shred - debriefing.)

And following third, by an extremely long way, came G&G's Tournament played on Sunday the 23rd. For those fortunate enough not to be there, either by divine will or otherwise, you did not miss much -- pizza parlour excluded.

Introducing BEHOLD!'s second competition. You, the reader, are asked to submit creative wonders in the form of Fiction Features (short stories) set in any roleplaying game world. These stories will be published in the next few issues of BEHOLD!. All our readers will then be asked to vote on the best story, and the winner will receive a complete full-sized set of BEHOLD! cover art. More details of the competition can be found inside.

The Rotan News has, owing to the over-enthusiasm of last issue's typesetter, had to be postponed. (How was I supposed to know we only had one copy? - Ass. Ed.) We are, however, able to bring you the latest in the line of Game Guides -- a reminder of the past when young heroes, not quite so experienced, were allowed to run loose across the continent (Havoc One!). This issue also has the next part of the Euvgeni series.

Well, that just about wraps it up -- so read forth and tally-ho!

Simon McQuade

P.S. More rights for mice. Abolish cottage pie. (Bring back national slug day. - Ed.)

Back Cover: On the back of this month's magazine is a treat for all comic fans. Written and illustrated by Donn Ingle, Tyrannosaurus-Ex is a five-part series exclusive to BEHOLD!

Cover: The cover for this BEHOLD! was inked by Donn Ingle, and is called An Air-ship. Look out for more artwork from this talented artist soon.

2    Editorial

4    Portrait of a Would-be Knight  by Geva Patz

If you though that just anybody could be a knight, think again. Many skills and abilities are needed to aspire to such a rank. Geva takes a look at some of them in this special case study.

The technology behind the Star Wars setting is one of the most thorough of any roleplaying system. The latest Star Wars supplement Cracken's Field Guide expands the range of devices and gadgets even more.

As we approach the end of the Euvgeni saga, Euvgeni is trapped by his enemy Alachrinn, and accused of murder...

Travel once again to the universe of the Renegade Legions and the mighty Terran Overlord Government. In this article André gives valuable hints on how to survive and what to do if you get hurt.

The Torg system boasts a multitude of genres all in one game system. Chip X-2234 is the first in a set of interconnecting stories designed to explore the Torg world. This issue's story is set in the religious, hi-tech jungle of the Cyberpapacy.

With the arrival of the Mighty Empires board game, Warhammer Fantasy Battles can now be enjoyed by more players. Keith has written this introduction to some of the Warhammer armies.

There are no newspapers in the Shadowrun world. Instead, news is transmitted electronically, straight through the Matrix. This makes is easy to keep up with the very latest events. Such as the freak storm in San Francisco, for example...

When monster meets machine, the results are likely to be somewhat unusual. Just imagine, for example, how a dragon might fare against a Cheetah from the Interceptor board game...

With the addition of a third person to the Game Guide writing team, the guide gets better still. Join Souriin, Tekuna and friends on more of their exciting adventures.

Tristan took some time off from his chopstick lessons to write this article about life after the COMPUTER in Alpha Complex.

Finally, in its usual place, is this month's In Character. In this edition we examine the delicate intricacies of Wookiee unarmed combat, as well as the many other skills this Star Wars character has.

Behold the brave knight-in-training as he proceeds through the forest: he cuts quite a dash with his heraldic arms blazoned on his shield and his almost-gentlemanly bearing; and it is clear that he could cut quite a gash with the fine weapon he carries by his side. Hear him now as he blazes his trail through the forest to the sound of galloping hooves.

If you expect to see a man banging two coconuts together bringing up the rear, you've got the wrong film. The period, though, is the same; for this is the time of King Arthur Pendragon -- a time when honour, bravery and chivalry flourished as never before; a time when a man could swiftly wander the length and breadth of the country in search of adventure with only his fine steed for transport; a time when all subjects, from the lowliest knave to the finest nobleman, felt safe in the hands of leaders who knew what they were doing. Yes -- this was Britain before the M25.

As the brave adventurer leaves the forest, we see that perhaps he would have been better off with a pair of coconuts. His fine steed turns out to be little more than a Rouncy that has seen better days. Even a used horse dealer could do little more than sell it off for spare parts. But, nonetheless, the bond between man and horse is a deep and tender one that transcends mere physical imperfections.

"Whoa, Mangy Git!" he whispers, tenderly. This is not cruel verbal abuse, however, but simply the horse's name, chosen so that he can insult it without hurting its feelings too much.

"Sure and you're a foine horse," he says, his stereotyped phraseology betraying both his Irish origins and the author's inability to indicate this more subtly in print. These words of praise were, however, not addressed to his own miserable mount, but rather to his companion's horse, as fine an Andalusian Charger as one could hope to meet.

The companion is altogether more elegant. His clothes are finer, his shield is bigger, his sword is sharper and he has a proper suit of armour. The Irishman looks at this, and then looks at his own shabby shield; his pair of run-down nags; his blunt and slightly rusty blade; and his boiled leather "armour" that can barely stop a dirty look. He scowls, wishing that they'd hurry up and invent the Super Tax.

But then our hero brightens up a bit; after all, this is Arthurian Britain, and there is more to life than libra alone (all right, not much more...) There's ... um ... um ... oh yes, there's breeding, for a start (of which our hero has none); then there's an inheritance (for which he stands seventh in line); social standing (currently somewhere in between a common peasant and a newt); a good wife (not particularly likely for someone who's almost bald at 19); and a line of proud descendants to perpetuate one's good name (even less likely).

Wait -- there's also glory. Now there's something he has in abundance. Everyone agrees that he is by far the most glorious member of the party (or else). Admittedly, most of this is reflected glory from his father; but "take credit where credit is due" is always a good motto to live by; even if the credit is due to someone else.

You may get the impression from the foregoing that our Irish friend has quite a way to go before attaining the perfect knightly character. It's bad enough that he has been called wilful, cruel, ill-tempered, hot-headed and selfish. What's worse is that he's taken these epithets as compliments. But, to use a modern argument, he's really no more than a victim of society. What else does one expect from an Irish lad from an underprivileged social background, growing up in a predominantly Saxon (ptui!) culture? That's just the way he is -- for better or for Erse.

One day, however, he will no doubt mature into a model knight. There's nothing like a few good adventures to build a man's character. Before you know it, he'll be a fine, upstanding member of society; with glorious deeds that more than match his father's, and the honourable and chivalrous personality that most becomes a knight-to-be. If he doesn't get killed first.

So let us leave him now as he dismounts, climbs onto a fresh steed, and prepares to ride off into the setting sun; on to great and glorious adventures, heroic quests, and noble deeds...

"Hi ho, Daft Bugger; Awayyyyyyy......."

BEHOLD! invites all its readers to submit a short story for publication.

We would like stories of between 400 and 900 words, set in one of our current roleplaying worlds. Entrants are welcome to submit more than one story. The closing date for entries is the 10th of April. We will print a selection of the best stories in future issues of BEHOLD! and will ask all our readers to vote for the story they enjoyed the most. The prize for the winning story will be a complete full-sized set (A3) of BEHOLD! cover art.

May the best author win.

Have you ever been in a situation where just a little bit of extra firepower would have been so handy. Have you ever found yourself wishing you could improve the odds just a bit? Or perhaps you could have really used one extra action, or a safe place to hide a sensitive bit of information. Have you ever needed your vehicle to go just a little bit faster so that you could outrun the bad guys.

Well, rejoice, for now you can. The latest Star Wars supplement from West End Games combines some ingenious game ideas with innovative play. Those who have read Cracken's Rebel Field Guide will agree that it has the potential to add a great deal of roleplaying fun to any Star Wars game. Just what can be done with this amazing guide? Here are a few examples:

Retnette is smuggling valuable information for the Rebellion. He must get it through the Imperial check point or all is lost. Security is tight and he needs a good plan and an excellent hiding place for the data. A brain wave hits him and for a while he stumbles from the impact. Why not use one of his twin blasters? Hollowing out the handle will provide an excellent place to hide the mem-stick. Hooking it up to the blaster's power would keep the stick viable. Perfect.

But now he can't use both his blasters in a fire-fight. He decides to rig his blaster's energy converter valve to open and shut twice in a single trigger pull. A few minute wires from a mini-computer and some tricky work and this is done. Now each shot will release two laser bolts.

But what about the stormtroopers? If anything goes wrong, he knows nothing about their guard patterns or numbers. Since this whole thing is a gamble, he decides to rig up a channel scanner. This presents a problem as stormtroopers use continually changing frequencies. He smiles as he pulls out his Sabacc "cheater chip" and starts to fiddle with a newly acquired stormtrooper helmet. Within minutes he is monitoring all of their broadcasts and is ready to go...

As you can see all of these new jury-rigging rules can change normal equipment and otherwise useless junk into real lifesavers. This is quite good as they taste rather nice. But the rules extend beyond normal equipment and into the realms of repulsorlifts, starships and even prosthetics.

What are my criticisms about this supplement? The rules could be used for number crunching instead of adding to the enjoyment of the Star Wars space opera. This is unlikely to happen in our campaign but is a distinct possibility in younger ones.

All in all, I foresee many hours of improved Star Wars roleplaying  with the effective use of this supplement by both the players and NPC's.

When we last left Euvgeni, he had brought down the mysterious man-thing. Unfortunately he was then attacked by the nefarious Alachrinn and knocked out by a strange drug...

"Uh, ooh, ouch!" Euvgeni groans as he returns to consciousness. He looks round, the man-thing is lying face down on the ground behind him. As he approaches the creature, some primeval force warns him of immediate peril to himself and his village if this creature is given half a chance. Instinctively he hits the creature on the head making sure it is very unconscious. Euvgeni then picks it up and moves towards the village. As he reaches the outer limits of the village he notices that things have been happening while he was in the forest.

Euvgeni starts moving towards the "Horse's Mouth." He notices that people are beginning to look at him with consternation. There is a commotion outside the Inn. As Euvgeni rounds the corner of the building, a crowd of men see him and rush towards him.
"There he is."  "Get him!"  "Thief!"  "Murderer!"

"Stop!" One voice shouts above the rest, and all the men are compelled to listen to the voice. It is Euvgeni's mother. "If you deal out punishment before a trial, then you are as guilty as the perpetrator of the deeds." Her words seem to calm the crowd down, and Euvgeni is instead taken to the village court. As Euvgeni enters, the room becomes silent. Euvgeni gives a gasp as he sees the president. It is Alachrinn. Suddenly Euvgeni remembers Alachrinn's last words in the forest.

"The court is waiting." Alachrinn's voice is ominous.
"If it pleases the court, I would like to defend myself." Euvgeni musters enough courage to say these words without displaying his turbulent emotions.
"The prosecution accepts." The words come from Alachrinn's mouth. The audience gasps as they realize the full implications of the words.
"Yes, Maryamitrevnavich. I am your judge and jury, and soon I will also be your executioner."
 "No!" The voice cuts the air like a knife. "This is preposterous, I cannot accept this." An old senator stands up and shouts out.
"Sit down or I will have you removed from the court." Alachrinn barks. His voice is uncompromising, and there is a deeper meaning to the words "removed from the court".
"The court will now hear your defence."
Euvgeni suddenly remembers the creature, but it is not anywhere to be seen.
"Ahh, what are the charges?"
"Bailiff, read the charges!" Alachrinn's voice is knife-edged.
"Euvgeni Maryamitrevnavich is charged with the murder of the President and the illegal sale of diamonds to foreign sources."
"Thank you. Now, begin your defence."
Euvgeni looks into the audience and sees the strained faces of his family. He smiles wanly at them and begins his defence....

The guard turned to heed the call of mother nature, while the others chatted softly.

Nothing ever happened here, at least until now. If perhaps the guards had been more observant (and had had a higher Luck) they might have seen the shadows that flitted by.

All went well, as a horde of creatures (enough to make a xenophobic person feel ill) slipped through the shadows leaving barely a ripple behind -- at least until one walking tank tripped over another.

"Who's there?" called out one of the guards and wished that he had never opened his mouth as a high-speed projectile removed one of his limbs to decorate the wall behind him. The guard fell, screaming and clutching what remained of his leg. Instinctively another guard fell to the ground and pulled the trigger in the direction of the sound. In the same instant a small round object hit the wall and the world exploded into light.

Booommm! Booommmm! Thunderous detonations sent polymer blocks the size of deodorant lids into the now panicking guards.
"Mummy..." said the remaining guard as he tried to hobble away. "Base do you read? We are being att...". He went no further as a slug tore into his lower torso, depriving him of consciousness...

So started the first game proper game of Legionnaire -- with screams, howls, shouts, a lot of ingenuity and even more luck.

As promised in the last article, here is a bit about weapons, wounds and cybernetics in Legionnaire. Legionnaire is not like Shadowrun when it comes to the details behind cybernetics. Boosted reflexes and datajack links have not yet been invented, but body parts such as arms, legs and all the major organs save the brain have a cybernetic equivalent.

There are three major problems with cybernetic limbs and organs:

• They cost you an arm and a leg.
• They require a monthly payment of 500 talents and one day in hospital to refill them with power and chemicals.
• They more often than not give you a penalty to your attributes.

In Legionnaire, cybernetics is a temporary solution. Instead something called budding has been developed. Arms, legs, eyes and even some of the neural tissue of the brain can be regrown either in an outside medium, or in the case of a limb actually on the person as he wanders around. Either way it takes about 10 months to grow a single item and the price can vary from about 40,000 talents to 7,500,000 talents.

While on the subject of bodies, let's examine healing. This occurs naturally at about one point per hour if you are slightly wounded or at one point per day if you are critically wounded. Healing can only occur naturally in a badly wounded character if the character has been stabilized. To stabilize a character, a roll is required against meditech, using modifiers given by skills such as xenobiology or by equipment like medkits.

If stabilization fails, then the best strategy is to get the patient to a hospital ASAP. Alternatively, another roll can be attempted but with a d10 penalty, and so it continues.

Wounds will often set you back a limb or two, not to mention some of your vital organs. To determine exactly what happens when you are hit, divide your constitution (CN) by the number of limbs that you have, tail included. The result is how many points of damage you can withstand to each individual limb (up to a maximum of four points per limb). If you take two points of damage to your left arm then your linked attributes drop by two temporarily until you are healed.

Linked attributes are the attributes that depend on your body, such as dexterity (DX), constitution and even intelligence. The head (the most vital area) quite obviously has intelligence (IQ) and charisma (CH) as its linked attributes, while the upper torso has constitution (CN) and strength (ST). Damage to the lower torso influences constitution (CN) and land-based speed (SP) while damaged legs affect your SP and, if you have a tail, your agility (AG). Wounded upper arms limits your DX and ST. Skills drop at a rate equal to the amount of damage taken, as demonstrated above.

When damage has been ascertained, a d10 is rolled against your wound intensity to see if you remain conscious. Wound intensity (WI) is a rating from 0 to 3. If you have taken one or two points of damage then you are considered WI 0 but if you are at negative double your hit points then you are WI 3. In this sense the weapon damage in Legionnaire is very realistic, and thus drastic. Characters are unable to sustain more than about 2 or 3 wounds.

Despite the introduction, weapons in Legionnaire are deadly not only for NPCs, but also for the player characters. A single shot from a Terere Assault Rifle will pluck the life away from any character, player or NPC.

Because of this, something called armour was invented to protect individuals from shocking damage. There are effectively five types of armour ranging from armour factor (AF) 2 through to AF 12. To determine exactly how much damage is done with a single shot, all the damage done is divided by the AF rating of the armour. Thus a character wearing AF 12 armour would take only four points of damage from a Terere Heavy Assault Rifle (damage rating 48).

With this in mind, a lot of people jump to the conclusion that AF 12 armour is the best, this is untrue as:

• It costs a fair penny, and
• It places a -4 penalty on linked attributes save when worn on the head and torso.

The kid flipped back the neuraskin, pulled out the dodge chip and inserted the new chip into the ChipHolder. He felt a surge pass through him, heading for his brain. It struck home. His eyes watered and a surprised look crossed his face.
"What's going on?" The voice was inside his head. The kid spun around but the alley was deserted.
"I said 'What's going on?' jumble-brain," the voice said again. "Hell, what a mess. You call this a brain? You're in real trouble if you ever try to use it for thinking."

"Who are you? Where'd you come from?"
"Hell, I got a right one here," the voice replied. "Listen up, dung-brain. You in the habit of plugging random chips in? Aw, never mind. I'm X-2234, but you can call me George -- George Martell. I'm the chip you plugged into that grease-box you call a ChipHolder. I'm what's known as a spirit chip. I was once human. That was until the chrome domes got their hands on me. Tried for heresy, then they chipped me into the GodNet. I spent what felt like centuries in the endless plain of Purgatory, until they decided I was ready to come out. Stuck me into this chip. They gave me to this pious shmuck so that I could act as his advisor on an expedition he was planning. Come to think of it, I ain't been on line for three days. What's been going on, dung-brain?"
"Er, dunno." the kid replied. "I thought you were a language chip. I got you from a guy in a bar."
"Well you're not a chrome dome, so I guess you'll do. Look, what I want is a decker to recover me some data on that pious shmuck. D'you think you can get me a decker, bud? If you promise to get me a decker, I'll help you out. Mind you, I want a decent cracker not a juiced up one, they're too psycho. Do we have a deal?"
"Er, I need to think about it."
"Okay, but don't take too long, dung-brain, that expedition took off two days ago." The chip began to ramble so the kid pulled the plug. "I think it wa-"

The kid searched the alley and plugged in his dodge chip. He ran off down the alley, reached the main road, looked left and right and sprinted off into the shadows of a run-down old tenement. The tall shadow of the Eiffel tower loomed large over the New Paris of the Cyberpapacy...

The kid ran up the dilapidated stairs to the third floor. As he reached the landing, his skin began to crawl. He dived to the floor. At the same time the wall in front of the kid began to fly apart as high-calibre bullets impacted into the surface. The kid whipped out a hand weapon with strange nose protrusions. He took a quick look around the corner, amid more gun fire, this time much nearer the mark. He smiled to himself. "These church police are so sure of themselves." He took another look and again more bullets hit the wall. Cement and brick shards sprayed all over the place. A shout came from below. "Surrender heretic! You are in the possession of heretical material. Surrender now and we shall kill you mercifully!" The voice had amplitude augmentation -- a favourite of the church police.
"I'll see you in hell!" The kid stepped out and fired the weapon at the armoured figure. A grapple, attached by thin cable, flew forwards and struck the chest plate. Sparks erupted all over the place, as the grapple sent a few megawatts of power through the armoured figure. The figure jerked and thrashed about, his weapon spurting bullets into the floor, walls and roof. He crashed through the banisters and fell three stories, bouncing off the railings on the lower landings. The kid walked up to the edge and looked down. "Too bad you can't sky dive." He pressed a button on his gun and the power grapple released its steaming victim and shot back up as the return cable rewound. The kid reloaded the power grapple and felt the hum of the mega-batteries as they charged the device. He stalked along the floor, waiting for further contact. His skin calmed down, and the kid relaxed and went into his apartment.

The walked into his data commissioning room and dialled in. The phone was promptly answered on the other side.
"Wad da hell you want!" A rough voice screamed down the line. "Sorry Bitter, I need to call in a favour."
"Oh it's you. How's tricks?" The voice calmed down.
"It's on the system. I need some data out of Babel Central."
"What's the ride?"
"An expedition left C. Red Advisor cardinal went with it."
"Tricky. Got a key?"
"Let me check." The kid yanked the dodge chip out and inserted X-2234.
"-s his own party, no strings from upstairs -- Huh? What did you do dung-brain? I was just telling you who this shmuck is. He's a cardinal, one of the advisors to Jean Malraux. Come to think of it, this party he's gone on must be pretty important. Can't see why he needed me, I was just a run of the mill- "
"Sorry to keep you waiting Bitter, er, this is a bit stickier than I thought. The chrome dome dude you're after wears red robes and sits on the Cyber P.'s shoulder."
"Hmm. Gonna need Booster on this one, kid. Comm ya later. I gotta lot of distance links to make. Chow." The line went dead and the kid sat back in his chair. He pulled out a syringe and plunged it into his arm. Soon, he began to float...

...The phone broke the kid's revelry. He snatched it up.
"Yeah." He rubbed his arm.
"Kidder? Get out of the building. You've been tagged, dude. Comm later."
The kid sat up and grabbed his jazz pack. Raw jazz is the most dangerous drug on the street and is not used by many punks. The main advantage is the enhanced perception abilities the drug gives its user. The kid heard noises coming up the stairs way before he should have done. He ran towards his window and jumped into the glass. He flew through the air and stretched his hands out. The neighbouring building's outer stairwell shot towards his outstretched hands. His left hand felt the metal crossbar and he grabbed it. He crashed into the metal casing and gasped, fighting against the nausea and pain. Slowly, he pulled himself over the railing, then fell to the metal grating.

The sound of muffled gunfire emanated from above as the church police entered the abandoned apartment. The kid gasped in air and began to lose consciousness. He rolled onto his side. "Wow! This spirit chip must have some info. I have to get it to Liberté!"

To be continued...

In the dark realms of Warhammer Fantasy Battles all fight a continual struggle against the ravages of Chaos. Some, however, have long ceased to struggle and have given their souls to the dark gods of Chaos. Some depravities of humanity even worship them, their blessed bodies slowly becoming things of horror. It is amidst this turmoil of war that the Mighty Empires campaign game takes place.

Just who lives in such a world and what armies are there to control? Carry on reading to find out.

Wood Elves: This race dwells within the vast trackless forests of the Old World. They live in small scattered enclaves. They shun contact with humans but are most wary of the dwarves. Their real foes are the goblins and servants of Chaos. When defending their homelands they are tenacious and ruthless fighters. The core of the army are their archers armed with famed elven longbows. Others train beasts and birds of prey as living weapons. Their woodland attire is always elegant and robust and their banners of war exquisitely decorated.

Chaos: Seeping through the ruptured gateways of the Old Slann, the power of Chaos permeates the entire world. It corrupts and changes all living things, polluting the minds and bodies of men and beasts. Deep in the chaos wastes, the Powers of Chaos play a continual game of war. Warriors of Chaos and mutant beastmen form the bulk of Chaos armies, but hideous and disgusting creatures are also employed by the Powers. Their banners are hideously perverse renditions of Chaos art.

Skaven: Once infesting rats that consumed warpstone, the stuff of Chaos, skaven evolved to spread throughout the world. Warpstone is still used to make awesome weapons and to fuel skaven sorcerers with arcane energy. As the children of Chaos, skaven spread their corrupting influence via a world-spanning web of burrows known as the Under Empire. They have created a sprawling metropolis, Skavenblight. Their deity is the Horned Rat, served by the Thirteen Lords of Decay. Skaven standards take Chaotic art to new depths of depravity, their twisting images rendered from pigments of distilled blood and warpstone.

Dwarves: Once the empire of this proud race spanned the entire World's Edge Mountains. Now dwarves live in isolated holds and among the cities of men. Their decline can be traced back to their war with the elves and the orc and goblin invasion from the Dark Lands. Dwarves are renowned for their stubbornness and love of gold. The dwarves show the greatest aptitude for science and technology and the dwarven engineers’ guild produces the finest engines of war and machines of destruction in the world. Dwarves love regalia and their shields, standards and surcoats bear all sorts of clan motifs.

Look out for more details of Warhammer armies in future issues of BEHOLD!

>I have the files you requested, my prince.< [Msg 021MORD]
Tell 021MORD “Excellent, Mordred. Feed them into my deck.”
File “SAN-FRAN SCRIPT” received from 021MORD;
Display SAN-FRAN SCRIPT… working…

Tom's radar screen blooped with boredom. He took a swig from the half empty brandy bottle and rested it back on the dashboard of his Cheetah. Tom had flown his light fighter for the Renegades only twice before but he had found its superior manoeuvrability invaluable against his enemies. He pictured the kill markers on his bow armour. He had found them easy and he longed for a challenge.

Ramardigan was confused. Being a red dragon, he was not used to stratospheric conditions -- flapping his wings did little but agitate him in the near airless conditions of the upper atmosphere. He would get that stupid mage for this one. Ramardigan was in a bad mood and just longing to destroy something.

A dull green dot appeared on Tom's radar. "Unidentified heat source detected," said the computer. Tom perked up. He doubted that it would be an enemy craft -- the dot was too dim, but even a weather balloon would ease his trigger finger. He banked and headed towards the spot.

Ramardigan looked over his left shoulder. He had noticed something strange. A bright shiny object was heading towards him. He couldn't hear it but it looked somewhat gnomish in design. Besides, he had nothing else to do, so why not investigate.

Tom released the trigger lock and focused the object in his sights.
"WHAT, BY THE NAME OF THE 31st WING, IS THAT!?" Tom exclaimed. Then it vanished from his sights. Ramardigan had decided to approach the gnomish machine invisibly. After a quick assessment of the situation Tom realised that he was hallucinating. Dragons did not exist -- he took another guzzle of brandy.

Ramardigan was shocked at the speed of the gnomish mechanism, maybe he would have some fun after all.

Tom noticed that the dull green glow remained on the radar screen. What WAS it? He decided that one quick fly-past-and-blast would reveal all. He shoved the Cheetah into full throttle and rocketed towards the glow. Estimating its position, he opened fire.

Ramardigan was not prepared for this attack. It came quickly and suddenly. A burning red flame seared through the sky and walloped into his side and neck. The blow was enough to obliterate any normal creature, but Ramardigan was far from normal. The glow of the laser beam subsided.

Where a groove of seared flesh should have been was undamaged scaly red hide. Ramardigan sighed -- it was typical of such lacking brains to attack him with fire. Deciding that the invisibility was useless, he dispelled it. He glared at the metallic craft and cast.

Tom was sweating. The hallucination had returned. Not only that, but the internal temperature of his craft was rising incredibly. The thermometer read 319 Kelvin... 320... 321... He had to do something fast or he would cook. Outside he could see the armour flaking off like the skin on a roasted marshmallow. 330 K. Tom was on the verge of fainting.

"Darn, out of range," muttered Ramardigan. "Such a lovely spell heat metal is. Must use it more often."

The temperature was returning to normal. Tom was fatigued and desperately wanted to escape the nightmare. He gasped, took a long swig of brandy and pulled throttle. Nothing happened. He gulped at the velocity gauge -- he was slowing down. Internal damage control showed that intense heat had destroyed his thrusters. He could feel the red monstrosity peering in at him from outside.

Ramardigan was curious. What was this thing? He looked at the shape inside the lump of metal, and saw what seemed to be a human. A lovely thought came to mind. He would make this snivelling wimp tremble with fear.

As the red shape moved into view, Tom realised that it was a dragon. There was no doubt about it. As this thought locked into his mind, he started to panic. He began to shake, the scaly fiery-eyed monster seemed to be enjoying itself. Tom had never been in the losing position before and he felt bad. The dragon opened its mouth. Glistening white teeth dripped with saliva. Tom's hand leapt uncontrollably for the eject lever and he yanked.

Experts of the 31st wing believe that the charred remains of Tom's Cheetah were the result of a failed re-entry, perhaps caused by impaired judgement. But nobody will ever know for sure what really happened that fateful day -- Tom's body was never found.

Ramardigan picked his teeth with a piece of ejector seat. It had been a most delightful little snack, the ancient dragon smirked. He had always had a taste for liquor.

Game 17: IC
On the next stage of their journey, the group headed south towards Pirs. With them were Bolyan and his niece and nephew-in-law-to-be. They also brought along Ush, their completely trustworthy hireling (the fools...). Ush often demonstrated his skill at sneaking around in dark clothes just for fun. On the way to Pirs, the group was ambushed by a group of eel-riding water men, who sunk Bolyan's boat. The heroes bravely rescued everyone from the boat, making a special trip to go back for Ush, who had been left stranded. Leaving the crew, the band began to explore the surrounds. Having wandered all day with few interesting results, the group was heartened to hear the sound of sheep in the distance. Little did they know that this would lead them to the den of a huge cyclops, who was on the look out for a good dinner. Smelling the delectable heroes, the cyclops charged wildly at them, flailing an enormous club. In one blow, he felled Slyoak, who lay on the ground, at Death's very door. Tekuna ran forward and spirited Slyoak away by activating the Rod of Time. Haste, however, impaired her accuracy, and the other heroes were "accidentally" drawn through the portal after Slyoak. Inside the portal, the heroes were given more details of their quest by a group of beings known only as "the Council". With the aid of the Council, and some spectacular illusions, they returned to triumph over the cyclops and then began to explore his cave.

Game 18: Eensy Weensy Spider
As the band of adventurers finished exploring the cave, Ush "accidentally" stumbled upon a hidden door in the back. The door slid open, and Alti Shann emerged. He gave strict instructions to Casoe to remain behind, and told the rest of the group to follow (and they believed him). Ush had lead the adventurers straight into a trap (surprise, surprise) -- Alti Shann was really a time rider in disguise, who proceeded to trap the heroes in a nest of spiders' webs. To repay Ush for his loyal services, the time rider FIRED him. The time rider then left the group to the mercy of a horde of enormous spiders, and returned to deal with Casoe on a personal level. Aided by his cat, Boris, and Gnurr's invisibility ring, Casoe managed to defeat the time rider (well, actually he pushed the time rider off balance and ran away). He rushed to the aid of his struggling companions and the group managed to get free from the webs. However the ordeal was not over, since the group was now trapped in the secret passage behind the cave. After much exploration, the group finally entered the lair of the spider queen herself. Casoe eventually stuck a secret deal with the evil creature, and the heroes were released from the underground maze. They dashed back to the boat and were just in time to stop a pack of scrags from killing Bolyan's crew.

Game 19: Return to Rotan
The group soon realised than Bolyan himself was missing, together with his niece and potential nephew. They frantically searched the rocky hills, but found only a badly decomposed body holding a silver whistle. Fearing the body to be one of Bolyan's party, the heroes intensified their search. Scouring the area, they eventually found Bolyan and his relatives trapped in a pit. Once Bolyan had been rescued, Souriin decided to blow the whistle. Nothing happened so the adventurers returned to the boat and spent an uneventful night there. Two days later, however, mysterious dark spots appeared in the sky. As the spots drew nearer, our heroes saw that they were in fact a train of wizards on flying carpets sent from Rotan. The head wizard, Erodnic Gitibane, asked the heroes to return to Rotan urgently, to help break the spell cloaking the druids' conclave. Upon their return to Rotan, all the heroes had a strange dream in which the time riders changed the flow of time...they awoke to the sound of breaking glass.

Game 20: Free Falling
About to embark upon an expedition to the conclave to break the spell, the heroes found themselves charged with murder. In an effort to frame them, Arilon Kaylar had made it seem as if they had killed Rouloc Wersheb, the owner of the Inn of New Dawn. Shadow Kaylar was taken prisoner by the guards, and the remaining adventurers were given one day to prove their innocence. After much detective work, the group managed to track down Arilon and, with the aid of some of Tekuna's "friends", an elaborate trap for Arilon was set. Late that night, Arilon arrived in a quiet alley to pay one of his hirelings. Hidden in sacks, on roof-tops and in doorways, the heroes watched the pay-off taking place. They leapt out, taking Arilon completely by surprise, and captured the evil assassin.

Game 21: Investigations
After handing Arilon over to the guards and releasing Shadow, the heroes spent quite a long time organizing their business in Rotan. Finally they felt ready to investigate the cloaking spell imprisoning the Druids in the conclave. They set off fairly late into the day, and stopped at nightfall to rest. The next day, the party became aware of much animal activity in the region, including a rare treant. Reaching the edge of the spell, they were confronted by a strange pair of owls who gave strange hints about the barrier, but would not say more.

Game 22: Conclusions
Relying on the few hints they had from the owls and with nothing better to do, the heroes decided to return to Rotan. On their way, they co-opted the hill giant, Fred, to assist them on their journey, and were able to return to Rotan extremely swiftly. Once there, the group were ushered into the temple of Artafor, where the trial of Arilon Kaylar had begun. However, Arilon still had a trump card to play and was able to summon Korpath the time rider lord to his aid. Alti Shann assisted the heroes in keeping Korpath at bay until the phoenix arrived. Despite the heroes' best efforts, Shadow, Tekuna and Opand were slain. Finally the magical phoenix arrived and dismissed Korpath's evil form. With the phoenix was Gnurr, restored to life by the powers of the magical bird. By now, much of the temple had been destroyed or damaged, and many lay dead. The phoenix was able, with the help of Artafor's priests, to bring the slain heroes back from the dead. Happily reunited, everyone hurried to the conclave to see the phoenix attack the barrier. The barrier was shattered into many indistinguishable pieces, but not before Tekuna, in a fit of curiosity, placed her hand on the barrier. So, while everyone else celebrated, Tekuna deliberated over what she should do with the crystal eye stuck to her hand. The druids had all been freed and Egreera herself was called forth by the archdruid. She rewarded the valiant heroes with magnificent treasures and after she had withdrawn, a magnificent feast was laid out that lasted well into the night. Rotan had been saved.
 

Creatures encountered: Game 17: A lone Mongrelman, numerous Locathah riding Giant Eels and a cyclops. Game 18: Hordes of Large Spiders and a group of Trolls (Saltwater Scrags). Game 21: A Treant and two Talking Owls. Game 22: A Hill Giant (Fred), the Phoenix and Egreera.

Game dates: Game 17: 25/1/93 - 26/1/93 Game 18: 26/1/93 Game 19: 26/1/93 - 1/2/93 Game 20: 1/2/93 Game 21: 1/2/93 - 3/2/93 Game 22: 3/2/93

"F-R-END-1... F-R-END-1... how do you feel?"
"Why, I feel marvelous!" replied F-R-END-1 with a forced grin. After all, he was standing before a superior officer. "What exactly happened, er..ah..sir?" he asked. "I feel terrible."
"You were shot in the head. Fatal, of course."
"No don't call the docbot! I feel fine! Really! Look, I can still walk! Here, let me show you."
"I'm sorry?"
"Er..um..did you say fatal?" asked F-R-END-1, quickly changing the subject.

"Yes, fatal." replied the officer happily. "Isn't that wonderful?"
"Wonderful" was not one of the many words that F-R-END-1 would have used to describe his own death. Maybe "^%$^%#$*"or perhaps even "$#@!$" but certainly not "wonderful".
"Well then were am I?" he asked carefully, wondering whether or not such information was beyond his security clearance.
"You're in Heaven... the place where all is well and people are always happy."
"You mean I'm still in Alpha Complex... I didn't know it was also called Heaven."
"This isn't Alpha Complex!"
"You just said it was!"
"I didn't! I said you were in Heaven... the place where all is well and people are always happy."
"Exactly!"
"But..." stuttered the officer weakly. "Oh, never mind. Just go through those white gates over there."
"Much as I would LOVE to..er..sir, I er..um..can't."
"What do you mean can't? I just told you to!"
"We..eee..ell I AM only red security clearance. If you accept responsibility, I'll go through."
"Alright! Alright! Just get through the dam... OOh.. er.. I mean wonderfully holy and delightful... did I mention well designed? er..."
"JUST GET ON WITH IT! THERE ARE OTHERS WAITING YOU KNOW!!" boomed a voice from nowhere in particular.
"Sorry Lord! er.. where was I? Oh yes. Just pass through the gates." apologised the officer.
"Thank you so much sir. So you're sure you'll accept responsibility then?"
"Yes. Yes. Just GO!"

Gathering his wits about him, F-R-END-1 casually sauntered toward the gates, his hand closing slowly about the hilt of his laser. Suddenly he spun around, triggering a searing bolt of thundering red light.

"Why?... Why?" groaned the officer, looking incredulously at the gaping hole in his chest before slumping to the ground.
"Traitor." replied F-R-END-1, calmly etching a notch on his barrel. "I don't suppose you'd tell me where I could find a confession booth around here?"

The earth shook as the lights went out.

In the darkness a voice cried out "WOULD ST. PET-U-ERR-2 PLEASE REPORT TO ARRIVALS... WOULD ST. PET-U-ERR-2 PLEASE REPORT TO ARRIVALS..."

The world seemed to fall apart...

F-R-END-1 woke in a small, intolerably hot, red room. Must be home again. Same air conditioner (see issue #5). Wait a minute. Who's that red chap? He looks like a mutant...

Character: Karancha Waba
Race: Wookiee
Character Type: Wookiee technician

Game Statistics: DEX 2D+2, PER 2D, STR 5D, KNOW 2D, TECH 3D+1, MECH 3D.

"Just knock him out Karancha!"... SPLAT!
"Wrrarauug, rraaawr." (Sorry, I tried.)

"Don't provoke him -- the consequences could be serious." -- Ronan Tomsett

"BASH! BASH! CRUNCH! CRUNCH! SMASH! Calmly." -- Karancha, prior to using a force point in combat.

"Whhoarr grwaaarg." (I'll subdue him, softly.)
SPLAT!