NRPG:  James Tate(Renfield) asked me to send this out for him.

NRPG:  Several days after talking with the King, the word is out that 
the "Angel" is in town.

Renfield:

Condemn that King!  Renfield had devoted years of foolish pride into his 
plan, but now it was obvious it was out of his hands.  Either the King 
himself would use the idea, or he had merely been humoring Ren.  This 
bothered him to no end.

Now he was walking toward the third inn of his search, looking for 'an 
oldman staring at his beer'.  This man was supposed to be some kind of 
contact for someone who could handle the issue of killing Duke Redigund, 
namely by killing him.  Renfield did not want a man of such low 
standards to be even remotely involved with this, though.  But the King 
had insisted and Renfield was not about to let someone else handle this.

"Codrick!  Codrick!" Someone was shouting among the few people out in 
the evening hours.

Renfield continued walking, but the man kept calling.  Finally, turning, 
Renfield saw the man was looking at him.  An older, bald man with a few 
extra pounds about the midsection.  He stopped and stared at Ren.  

"Oh, I'm sorry sir.  I thought...You looked...From the back you resemble 
a friend of mine whose due soon to visit.  You're clothing resembles 
his.  Especially the purple scarf, those are rare my good man."

A slight rise in tension.

NRPG:  By the way, my name is James and not John, I'm just a spud yet 
who hasn't moved out.  Sorry for the confusion, both ways.

RPG:

"Indeed," Renfield began, "they are.  I apologize for the confusion,"
hopefully that was all that would be said.

"No worry.  Good day, sir."

Renfield nodded vaguely, which takes some doing, turned abruptly and 
walked off, taking long strides as was his habit.  There was another Inn 
within sight, a low class establishment by outward appearance, but 
Renfield was not able to make that distinction, it didn't even occur to 
him to try for one.

Upon entering, Renfield noted the dim haze that accompanied a building 
with fires burning and a lack of chimney.  An open windows let some 
smoke escape, but not too much.  Looking around, he noted one distinct 
older looking man, who was, as luck would have it, staring at a drink.  
Renfield himself attracted some stares, his expensive clothing did
not fit here, and looking ill couldn't help.  Indeed, three larger men 
stood from a table and their drinks, and slowly began to work their way 
toward him.  Renfield walked quickly to the old man's table, pulled out 
the opposing chair and sat down.  As soon as he had done so the three 
half-drunks turned around and quietly sat back at their table, hoping no 
one had noticed.
  
The old man looked up, surprised.  A raised eyebrow did well to
express this.  Renfield stared back.  

"What do you want?

Now there's blunt and there's blunt, Renfield had never known the 
difference.

"Are you the contact for the one known as the Angel of Death?"

Taken aback, the usual customer had a tendency to be vague and dance 
around the issue, the old man looked suspiciously at Renfield.  He 
wasn't entirely sure that he wanted to be known that way, especially by 
this pale, mumbling, richly dressed...maybe it wasn't so bad.

"Depends.  Who's asking and why?"

Ordinarily someone seeking the services of an assassin will be hesitant 
to repond to certain questions, especially without even knowing the name 
of the one whom they're talking through.  Once again, Renfield was 
oblivious to that particular social taboo.

"Renfield.  I want him to kill Duke Redigund.  How soon can it be done?"

More surprise, a moment of hesitation, "I can't say right out, I shall 
have to arrange a meeting.  This could take time..."

"I can wait.  Bring him here."

"Heh, I'm afraid it don't work like that.  The Angel chooses his own 
meetings."

At this point bribery may have succeeded in getting the man to acquiese, 
but for Ren the conversation was over.

"Very well," stood up and left.  Walking quickly he exited the tavern, 
not noticing three men who were all very assuredly not looking at him.

***
NRPG:  Later, at night.

Renfield was still walking the town, afraid to admit that he had gotten 
lost, and now there was no one out to ask.  Not that he would have 
asked, which was obviously what put him there to begin with.  Ordinarily 
one wouldn't think that someone could lose sight of a several floor 
stone building, but Renfield prided himself on not being ordinary, 
usually at least but not this time.

He occupied his thoughts with his life long goal which now had been 
abruptly shattered by reality.  For being a man of his age, he knew now 
that he'd been a fool to entertain such wild fantasies.  If only...

A tall, to Renfield, and darkly dressed man stepped from out of an alley 
to block Renfield's path.

"Mr. Field I presume?"

Field?  Renfield?  Ren...Field?  Had that been his name?  No, that's 
wrong.

"No, that's wrong.  My name is Renfield."

"Ahhh, my apologies sir.  I heard that you wish a meeting."

The man raised his eyebrows in an expression of innocence, Renfield
immedietly detested him.  This must be the assassin.

"What do you want?"

"Rumor has it that you wish the noble Duke Redigund's death.  I am the 
Angel of Death, as you know me."

Renfield was less than impressed by the name, 

"I am less than impressed by the name.  You can kill the Duke if you 
wish, I have no money to pay you."

"Even with the King's gold?"

"The King will not pay for your use."

Smile.  Wicked, teeth smile.

"Too bad the King doesn't seem to share that view.  As it happens, I 
spoke with the King today, and we've come to an agreement."

Renfield had learned that Almaren held a personal grudge against 
Redigund, doubtless what he had intended all along.

"Then why speak with me?"

"Because I was on my way back and I noticed you were lost ... the castle 
is that way," pointing.

"What if I hired you to eliminate the King?"

"But you have no money to pay me with.  Good Evening, Renfield."

NRPG:

Sorry about that last post.  Taylor, what's the address of the second
archive?  The one off of the Dragonlands homepage isn't updated, and I 
seem to have lost the e-mail that contained the other website address.


"The best conversation I had was forty million years ago, and that was 
with a coffee machine."     -Marvin The Paranoid Android

James Tate
-Renfield

















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