meta-info dump

[sneakyonfoota]

Soliloquys that are passed off as RP posts is a form of masturbation.

For the courtesy of the people I RP with I'll be shunting all extraneous narrative into this thread to act as supplementary material. Due to thier dubious worth to the RP they're connected to at large, they're worthy of omission in the In-Character thread.

I want to have neat, tight little text blocks that go straight to the point when I'm RPing. No frills. No dancing with myself. All interaction or nothing.

[sneakyonfoota]

For Three Kingdoms (http://www.role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=2659)

Hidden beneath the dunes and parched ground of that covered much of Damascus were precious resources that accounted for prosperity and strength of its people: petrol, coal and ore. Oil to turn the Damascus night into day, fuel to beat back the wintry chill of the desert wind and iron to make steel for sword and shield. The horsemen of Damascus were the fiercest overland force of the alliance during the Ogre Rebellion, sweeping like a fierce tide of muscle and metal, swinging their swords, axes and hammers, cracking the limbs and skulls of the invading hordes. This martial tradition was refined and tempered during those three years, and had yet to leave the hearts of those who fought in that time twenty years later.

[sneakyonfoota]

For Three Kingdoms (http://www.role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=2659)



"Ogres," said the Grand Duke, echoing Lieutenant General Deacon Cross' suggestion.

"Aye, Field Marshal," said Prince Siegart.

The Grand Duke tented his fingers. "I see." He sighed and placed large tokens representing ogres on the map grid. "Well, I'll leave the task of procurement to you, then, Colonel General."

The prince saluted. "The light of Providence shines on the blessed," he said before exiting the war room.

The prince's brow was knitted, though he wore a grin on his face.

Ogres. Filthy brutes. Savages that were all brawn and by no stretch of the imagination even a decimal of a fraction brain; a bitter mockery of the nobler races. It sickened him how they scratched their meagre living amongst the rocks down south in that wretched country. Dirty cannibals sacrificing to their heathen gods--pah!

The orcs were little better. It pained him inside knowing that they lived amongst his people and grimaced at the ones who hailed his father as their king. Perhaps that unfounded devotion was their only saving grace, if such clemency were to be granted.

Despite his immense distaste for those green skins, they weren't without their uses--the goblins in particular. Oh my, were they clever. So unsettlingly clever. But there was much he could learn from them, and with that knowledge propel his people to even greater heights.

As he navigated the hallways of the imperial palace, he dug into a pocket of his royal raiments and pinned a lacquer brooch to his lapel--a heater shield with a dragonmark and an oak leaf, the symbol of the Three Lands Company. He had some some arrangements to make... He thought that perhaps an even thousand would suffice. Ah, but now was not the time to be frugal... Two thousand? Three? However much was the going rate for an ogre these days, he wondered.

[sneakyonfoota]

For Three Kingdoms (http://www.role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=2659)



a pub somewhere in keiron




A crumpled form of an elf lay bent over the counter. She traced a circle in the wet imprint left behind from the last glass that the bartender had taken away. Face-down, she contemplated the dull throbbing in her head and the bright spinning circles she could see when her eyes were shut. How depressing. Another day wasted on bread and drink. She had barely left this stool, even when fiercely motivated by her bladder. She made it perfectly clear that no, she didn't want to talk about it, thanks for asking. If you're as good a listener as you said you were, mister, then you'd have heeded me when I was saying to back the hell off. Gawd. Can't even sulk in this country without getting bothered anymore. Was it the war? Yeah, it had to be the war. The war made everything stupid.

She groped for her glass and then threw back her chin to down the trickle that remained of it.



You're gonna drown yourself in chicoutai one of these days, girl.

Wouldn't that just be swell?

Come on. It's not the end of the world.

It might as well be.

Don't be that way. You can do this. You can make this work. All you have to do is put your mind to it. You'll only fail if you stop trying.

Stop it. You sound like mum. I hate it when you sound like mum. I mean, when I sound like mum.

Then what? You're going to lie here on this counter and wait for something to just happen? It doesn't work that way.

Seems like an okay idea so far.

Ugh. No, here's what you're going to do: you're going to get up. You're going to slap yourself across your right cheek and then your left. You're gonna say "Everything is going to be okay!" and you're going to believe it. You're going to settle your tab and you're going to go straight to the guild hall and you're going to scour, wheel, deal and beg if you have to. If that doesn't work you'll just have to think of something else or move on. This isn't the only town in the kingdom, and if all else fails... well, let's hope that it doesn't have to come to that.

Nope. The counter's a bit too comfortable right now. In fact, I think I'm going to have another chicoutai.

No, you will not!

I'm raising my hand now... Inchy, squinchy...

Stop it!

It's going--

I said stop. Knock it the fuck off, girlie. You want a hard look in the mirror? Do you? D'you want me to start where it all went wrong? Go through your bad decisions and what you didn't do when you had every opportunity to?

... Five more minutes.

"Lynaea secretly pined for Castor ever since they went to the same nursery--"

Hey, cut that out.

"She'd always ask him to play house and he'd always agree, even if the other boys teased him. Not that she'd notice, since she was trying so hard not to stumble over her own words and to keep her hands from shaking."

Not listening~ Bitch.

"This cutesy-poo behaviour continued right into school, where--"

Knock it off!

"But then in--"

Fuck you!

"And Lynaea saw--"

Okay, fine. You win. Shut up.

"She stood on the--"

SHUT UP. Look! I'm sitting up now! I'm slapping!



The quiet tavern nearly rang with the sound of thin elven fingers striking across a fair, semi-emaciated cheek. And then again. The full-bodied *thwack* left behind a throbbing, glowing impression.

"Are... you okay, miss?" asked the barman.

Lynaea rubbed her cheek and wiped the tears that were forming in the corners of her eyes.

"Yeah. Peachy keen," the woman groaned froggily. "How much do I owe you again?"

[sneakyonfoota]

For f*ggot fantasy (http://www.role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=2707)



The man stared. "Run that by me one more time," he requested, utterly devoid of emotion. "Please."

The girl in the lab coat beamed. "We made him gay!"

"What? That's... That's stupid. No, correction: that's retarded. You're fucking retarded."

"But it worked! Look! He loves the cock! He's craving it."

She pointed at a screen, showing the prince strapped to a table, squirming as a pornographic video played on a monitor set into the wall facing him.

The man sighed and facepalmed. "Look. Even if you did make him... gay... it doesn't mean he won't marry the girl. That's all that matters, isn't it? Sure, it'll be an empty, loveless marriage, but it was politically motivated anyway."

"Ah, ah, ah!" said the girl, wagging a finger at the man. "I don't think you understand just how gay we made him."

She flicked a switch, and the video changed on the monitor in the prince's chamber. He turned away and thrashed on the table.

The man made a face. "Look... When I signed up for this, it was for the good of the people, you know? Giving the power back to the citizens and all that. It was a noble endeavour." He sighed and massaged his temples. "Just... just give me some reassurance here. Flat out tell me that this is for the good of the country and I'll leave it at that."

The girl wasn't listening, having her attention glued to her screen the entire time.

"He's so gay! My god! I'm loving it! Are we getting this shit on tape?"


http://i28.photobucket.com/albums/c247/sneakyonfoota/ariariariari.png

アリアリアリアリ!

[sneakyonfoota]

For A Modern Fairy Tale (http://www.role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=2504)



These were two potential posts to my latest reply to A Modern Fairy Tale. Since these two had no interaction and would take another post to get there, I had to rewrite my original idea twice until I got to the point where I could say I was doing an RP post instead of writing (aka the dreaded "soliloquy"). It bothered me that most of the posts told things from Amon's point of view, so I let myself go with Anais here--but like I said, they're bad RP posts, though they do seem to express Anais well enough--more fully than what I wound up posting in the thread, anyway.



~

#1

A master is out, thought Anais. She bounced her crossed leg over her knee and surveyed the foyer. She consulted the time on her iPhone. She scratched the lace hem of her stocking. She made a crocodile out of her hands and had a staring contest with it. And she did a lot of sighing and staring. Well, things could be worse, she told herself, wobbling side to side on the bench. She didn't feel like exerting herself just yet, but oh, how restless she was.

Nothing was popping. Nothing was sparkling. Nothing was interesting at all.

She looked at her iPhone again: only been a minute and a half since the last time she looked. She wondered if things would be different if she thought to bring a camcorder--nah, she told herself. It'd become too much like work, then. She'd probably pass it off to Amon, take up a mic and then start interviewing random people. Did Siran even hire someone to cover the event? Probably, not that she was looking. Le sigh. Sour grapes aside, at least it would have been occupying.

She tilted her head and glanced down the hall toward the little bar where she was spelling her name out in shot glasses earlier. Maybe I could swipe a bottle of Jäg off of Mlle Tante over there. She might have been looking at him through the bleary eyes of shot-goggles, but she could see the tiny, subtle sparks of attraction going on between him and her Nicholas Nickleby. As much fun it would be go over an tease the man, she didn't feel very much in the mood.

Meh. What was it about these functions that made her just want to run away and see what Mike Rowe was up to?

Oh well. With a resigned sigh she stood up, pulled down her skirt and went on her mission. Who knows? Maybe something will just fall straight into her lap. Preferably something, young, impression, soft, warm and making adorable squeaky noises when squished the right way.

Hmp. Maybe the Jäg wasn't a bad idea after all.

Too late. She had already cleared the bar and was going upstairs.



~

#2

Anais rose and stepped out of her shoes. She considered abandoning them entirely, but then fought with herself after a step forward and a sigh--it took forever for her to decide on them, after all. How troublesome. She almost felt like doing the responsible thing and stashing them with Amon back at their table. Eigh, whatever. She'll just have to endure carrying them. She wandered, she tottered, she spun and she slid down the hall, skating on her stocking soles.

And then she stopped and stood still.

She suddenly felt like she needed a smoke. Or something, anyway. Something was missing... Something itched, there was some unfulfilled want. Want? Or need? Oh well. Whatever. More feta and mushroom puffs and some Dom Perignon will fix all that. She was also sure that Amon had at least one Diamond Crown stashed in his coat. Hopefully that bastard wasn't smoking it up with the old boys on the balcony while he schmoozed with Lucian. Bleh.

Anyway. Her brief nic fit afforded her the moment to notice music coming from a new direction. And so she wandered toward it. The library was this way, wasn't it? She remembered that place, though it was a long time since she had been there. When recalled when she and Amon would steal away sheets, pillows, blankets and Tasanee herself to the top floor to camp out.

The hazy memories bubbled to the surface.



...House? Really...? What are you... Five?

...Is it for her sake or yours?

...Sh... shut up... Role-play is an essential part of a child's growth and social development.

Anais shook her head, forcing those memories back into the recesses of her subconscious.

She tilted her head and stood in the doorway. So this is where the cool kids are. She grinned crookedly to herself and scanned the faces, searching for her target.

[sneakyonfoota]

This is my punitive writing for my long, uncalled-for absence from Athamar (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=12273).

Somewhere down the line Marilyn's inner voice became GLaDOS.



ARISU'S GROVE

Post #83 - 89

Marilyn nodded, imperceptibly grateful that the party was remaining together, but also questioning of the knight's certainty that they would see Sir Reggin again... there just didn't seem to be a rational basis for it beyond hope for a happy coincidence.

She continued to light the way, glad that the group had several melee-capable fighters to allow her to preserve her precious few spells, but feeling all the more like dead weight.

She pondered the twisted and dismembered forms of the slain spiders her comrades made short work of, debating whether or not to harvest some of their venom for herself. She quickly pushed the notion from her mind--it would take too long to extract and prepare the raw gleanings from those abberations, she justified. And she was in a forest now--no proper workshop, no athanor, no alembic. You are an adventurer; a mercenary, a professional. Compose yourself as one.


Post #90

Marilyn quietly apologised for her ignorance on the matter and willed the Disk to descend to assist the priestess in her dismount. Perhaps arcane and divine casters weren't meant to fraternise, thought Marilyn.


Post #91

Marilyn was in awe of her new surroundings. Noticing the flower that the knight, Ialia, had picked from the sanctified forest floor, her fingers went to the loose necklace of flowers that still hung low to her navel.

Upon sight of the fairy, Marilyn clapped her free hand over her own mouth to stifle a delighted gasp. She kept her gaze transfixed upon the creature, her eyes reflecting the gossamer twinkle of the fey creature's delicate wings. While she felt a twang of relief in her stomach to see that Sir Reggin was still alive and well, she was much too entranced by the fairies, Tik and Tak, to express herself. Besides, they were in the court of a king, and Ialia, the leader of their company, was speaking.

To the noble King Arisu's final sacrifice, she lingered and bowed before proceeding behind the others, wondering if she would be able to muster the courage to confront the witch Mordra--even if it meant dying in the attempt.


Post #92 - 94

Was there anything that I could have done? Marilyn asked herself. Of course not, she replied. Don't be stupid. A mere 'magic shop witch' knows no more about fey and the wild than she knows how to transmute lead into gold--it is outside of the purview of your study, and you mustn't burden the group with your selfish misgivings, dolt.

With her shillelagh held loosely with both her hands, she followed the party and her eyes grew wide when the scenery began to blur with each hurried step. I've been Hasted? she marvelled. There was little use in questioning or voicing her observations... the party was on a collision course with Mordra Sayd, the malefactor of their quest.

Her previous question was replaced with a much graver one: "What are you going to do? What are you going to do?"

She never noticed that her Floating Disk was still following her obediently, trailing behind her at an equal pace.


Post #95

The dazzle of her eyes from the speed and her burdened mind caused the girl to give start when the dread black tower jumped into view, causing her to stumble to a stop. Panting with a faint clutch of nausea in her stomach, Marilyn attempted to calm herself by mentally reciting a mantra.

"...This is your test. This is your test..." she mouthed, only the hiss of her esses audible.

At a panicked call of alarm she scrambled into a ready pose with her casting hand outstretched and her vision erratic; searching frantically for a target for her (only) force missile.


Post #96

No! Save the Magic Missile! It's your weapon of last resort!

Fool! Didn't you hear the man? You must save him!

Did he just shove Master Vastion into the monster's path?

...

Just do something, damn you!

Yes! Cast a Scorching Ray!

No! Magic Missile!

Idiot! You are going to get yourself killed!


Post #97

It truly was a splendid Web to the young novice.

Now that is how a mage must be. Don't let Mistress Isora's spell slot go to waste! Scorching Ray!

Marilyn's quivering hand was gnarled into a tight, not-so quivering fist. She bit down on her lip, trying to find the correct incantation from her memory--so much had happened since earlier today... the words of magic should have been literally burned into her mind, filling up space in her memory to be released at her command, like a true arcanist would.

Wincing, she stretched out her fingers, mingling the words of power with a prayer to the gods who never answered her pleas.


Post #98 - 99

Marilyn forced her raised arm down and attempted to reason with herself.

Be grateful that they are here. Be grateful that they are strong, that they are many. Conserve your strength... you will be useless if you cast anything stronger than Magic Missile. Be patient. Be smart. Be calm.

"Be calm," she whispered.

You truly are a stupid girl, Marilyn Gale, thinking yourself the equal of any of these... heroes. You're not a giant. You're not an assassin, a solider, adventurer, or a priestess. You're not even a competent arcanist.

Oh, but they are. Don't hinder them. Don't trouble them. Just stay silent and hold the light.


Post #100

Marilyn said nothing.

You can't judge him. Despite what you saw, despite what you might be thinking--don't. Because you can't. That little stunt he did? That has probably saved his life before.

Besides. I don't remember seeing you killing any spiders back there.


Post #101 - 103

You should have brewed potions. That's all you ever did back at the shop!

Marilyn rubbed her arm nervously, seeing the half-giant's injuries. She frowned for she could do nothing for Ualan. Thankfully, Master Reilios attended to her. The arcane novice stifled a sigh, thankful for the brief respite but all too wary of where they were--and of the terrible power present.


Post #104 - 111

Marilyn was snapped back into reality after Lady Ialia introduced a new companion: a survivor of a previous force, she theorized. Her mouth twitched into a slight smile at the half-giant woman's selflessness, urging Master Reilios to treat their new and injured comrade.

She watched passively at the unicorn applying his magic to the man. It was fitting for such a beautiful, noble and pure being like Master Reilios to be a font of a divine gift such as healing. Her thoughts then turned inward as she cursed the limits of her own "power".

Perhaps a mage's path was not hers to walk, she wondered. Maybe she had deafened herself to the call of the divine out of pride.

No, she asserted. Envy isn't becoming of you, Marilyn Gale.

The gods don't speak to you. They never did. They never will.

The Art is all you can do to save yourself. To redeem this silly, trifling life you've led for all these fifteen years.



INSIDE MORDRA'S TOWER

Post #112

And then Marilyn quietly had a nostalgic flashback.

"You're too serious, Gale. And that's not what I was looking for in an apprentice. Don't get me wrong, I appreciate all of the hard work you do--I'll be honest, I've never met a girl as efficient and anal-retentive as you. But still... I have no idea how to teach you. Sure, we did the cantrip gamut--good job, by the way. I went to the trouble of giving you a task that any sane person would have flipped off and turned to drink at. Then you went ahead and burned your eyebrows off in a serious attempt at the impossible. Well done.

"You know why I agreed to take you on? Laziness."

He then gestured in pantomime, "'Oh, a girl! Fine. She probably 'll keep herself busy with charms and rinses, maybe dabble with polymorphy a bit and then I can ship her off.' That's what I was expecting. That's what I wanted! I wanted to give you a neglectful education and to appeal to those latent paedophiles that visit the shop. How dare you actually force me to teach you anything!"

Master Dryden sighed. His frown curled easily back into his lazy smirk.

"Well, no matter. That's over. Congratulations. You've broken through, and it's just a matter of time before the Tower or the Academy or whoever forces you to take the Test. In the meantime... I suggest you do what any rational mage would do and put it off for as long as you can. Get more acquainted with your gift and the Art. People talk big about the Test, as they should. But! The trials you'll face out in the world... the crucible for your skill; how you wield the Art... That is the real test."

He smiled that crooked smile of his and them rustled her hair.

"Make me proud, kiddo."

Back at the foot of Mordra Sayd's black tower, Marilyn stood up shakily and sighed. Looking upward at the twisted edifice, feeling it radiate its foul, tainted arcane energies, she felt the intense urge to look away, lest she be drawn into the swirling, evil darkness that she felt tugging at her mind and soul.


Post #113 - 116

As Marilyn was the last to cross the tower's threshold, she was the closest to the doors as they locked shut behind them. Though their booming sounded like the party's death knell, Marilyn seemed unaffected... more like resigned.

So this is going to be my tomb. That's all right.

Her gaze fell upon the backs of her compatriots, and her fingers tightened around her shillelagh.

You are going to die here, Marilyn Gale. But you will not die a coward. All this time you have been worse than a fool; useless, weak. But just this once, Marilyn Gale, you will be brave. Just this once, you will be noble. So long as the rest make it out, so long as the forest is restored and the harp returned... One stupid little girl's life is a fair trade.


Post #117 - 123

Marilyn had grown accustomed to keeping the rear. The party seemed to be quite proficient at tearing through the tower's defenses like a juggernaut. All the while Marilyn watched and stewed inside her head, dredging up the magical words of power that had faded from her immediate memory.


Post #124

Marilyn's heart lifted slightly, seeing the familiar shape of unicorns cast upon the tower's floor. Abruptly, however, her heart and the out of place feeling of serenity sank as she realized their nature. She glanced at Master Reilios (or at least his hindquarters, anyway) with a look of condolence, which then froze into befuddlement when she saw the unicorn charge forward.


Post #125 - 132

I'm sorry, everyone, Marilyn apologised internally. I promise that I will show you what I can do... when it counts.

Right now, in the confines of the chambers, against high mobility targets like the undead unicorns her only spells would have hindered the party more than helped. She sincerely hoped that in their final encounter, when they faced the witch, that she would have the chance to make her strike...


Post #133 - 136

As she witnessed the drama unfold, Marilyn squinted to focus upon the traitorous elf and slowly raised her arm with her index and middle finger extended. The line that extended from between her knuckles to her fingertips was like the barrel of a pistol. The groove that formed where the two fingers pressed against each other served as a sight.

She had never turned her magic against another intelligent being before, but she etched her name onto that bulletin knowing that she might. That it happens now, against a former comrade... She did not know whether this was a cruel lesson directed at her, or if perhaps she was tapped as an instrument of justice by some vengeful deity. Nevertheless, she began to speak the words of power.

"Kalith karan..."

I'm sorry.

"Tob--"

She had to bite her tongue to cease, for the elf had released Master Ceasios.

Her hand dropped in relief and she nearly herself lost the strength in her legs. She tottered and swayed slightly, but managed to catch herself and affect composure. While she was too far away to know what had happened, she was content that she did not have to follow through with what she had thought she must.


Post #137

The uplifting verse of the priestess' song eased Marilyn's spirit, but it brought her no peace. The song did, however, firm her resolve and bolstered her will to follow through. To whatever god or goddess Priestess Luna worshipped, she extended a thank-you to it.



THE BATTLE WITH MORDRA SAYD

Post #138 - 155

Make me proud, kiddo.

...

Mordra Sayd. I am going to kill you, thought Marilyn.

"Dulak." The Light snuffed out.

There was no malice, no hatred, no anger at all; despite the death of Master Caesios... In fact, Master Caesios' death made it all right--justfied her intentions. Marilyn had only spoken a fact: she would kill Mordra. Her own life was forfeit; the witch simply had to die. And that was fine. That was what made sense.

Feeling the faint magic of her Disk, she willed it to hover low to the ground and in front of her. She took a step onto it and willed herself out of harm's way into cover while she watched the battle unfold from the shadows.

Resilient against physical attacks, she noticed of the beast... Damage reduction? Adamantine skin? They had managed to destroy a wing, however how long could they keep up the attack? They still had Mordra herself to confront. It also was disconcerting to note that it absorbed the mighty spells of Mistress Isora... Fireball and Scorching Ray would be useless here. Black Tentacles perhaps would be useful... but she daren't risk casting--it was too soon, and the fight not clearly one-sided. She furrowed her brows when she observed the monster closer. Tch. Fast healing? Or is it Regeneration?

She watched as the giants finished it off, a feeling of elation and hope overcoming her as she eyed Mordra from her vantage. Quickly, though, the sight of Mordra was eclipsed by the appearance of a new summon... Damn that witch! Oh, but her mana must be drained... her shield is fluctuating...

That gargantuan hulk may be too much for the party, Marilyn thought. She glanced about, looking for any kind of advantage she could use in this den of iniquitous arcana, but among the scattered phials and objects and focii she could not for the life of herself and her comrades piece together an ingenious improvised work of alchemy... She simply had to follow through with what she had intended.

Willing the Disk to rise up and glide her to a straight, close shot at the Witch, she began to mouth the invocation to herself in preparation for her final act:


O burning lance of the fiery Plane...
Pierce my enemies with your searing blade...
Scorching Ray...

[sneakyonfoota]

A "director's cut" version of a post (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?p=752679#post752679) made in Athamar: Quests from Lorana (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=11615).

For the most part the contents and the structure remain the same as linked above in the IC thread, but flashbacks that take the reader by the hand to explain Marilyn's thought processes have been restored from my original Notepad txt file.

More plot to follow, since the girl can't do anything but die for the time being.




* * *



Marilyn pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose.

Her heart could have beat itself out of her chest; its rapid staccato undulations thundered in her ears. The clamour of battle drowned out the strained breathing from her flared nostrils. The dim, ever-changing light of the chamber turned her sweat into glittering trails from her temple to her jawline.

Raising her arm upward, the tremors in her casting hand ceased. In a stiff, deliberate movement her index and middle fingers stretched out to aim. The sight of her pressed fingertips found their target.

Her eyes narrowed as she focused.


Full power...

There won't be a second chance.Her mouth contorted and flexed; quietly, clearly enunciating the words of power. Her will commanding the ambivalent universe, she forced it to bend to her desire, exchanging her mana for the transmutation--flames from her hand, flames compressed so tightly that they became a terrible beam of destruction.




"Scorching Ray, huh?"

Months ago, in the modest courtyard behind the shop. The girl was practicing on a pewter urn standing atop a tall stool. She managed to blast the vessel with a beam of flame, but succeeded in doing little but causing the urn's glaze to smoke and stink.

Her master coughed and wafted a hand, covering his mouth with a handkerchief. Being preoccupied with a commission, he had probably stepped out to the back in order to smoke.

With a lazy grin he tucked the handkerchief into his pocket and said, "Not bad, but lemme give you a tip. Feel free to forget it." He stepped past the girl, giving her a pat on the shoulder and then inspected the urn, taking the time to step around the stool it sat upon and scrutinise it from every angle. Satisfied, he stepped back to where his apprentice stood.

"Now, there's nothing wrong with your Scorching Ray: it's textbook perfect, what with it being a straight beam of fiery goodness. And there's nothing wrong with that. It's basically a stretched out Burning Hands into a coherent line." He paused. "Evocation. Good stuff. But I digress... Watch."

He raised a hand. The girl had never seen her master wield an implement, nor had she seen him sacrifice materials, do the flourishes and somatic gestures, nor had she heard him utter power words beyond a curt whisper. He stretched out his fingers commandingly, but then his hand went limp at his side. With a brief chuckle and a tilt of his head, he wagged a finger, as if trying to jar a thought that was caught in his throat as it was being uttered. And at last it was.

"First, we need a target. A real target."

He walked to the stool and urn and lifted it to the side against the wall of the shop. He gave the girl a raise of his brows and stood once again next to her. He stomped the cobblestones of the modest courtyard, and as if he had slammed upon the lever of a funfair high striker, out from the ground sprouted a roughly-formed stone golem. The creature's carved features regarded its summoner passively.

"There we go. Now, then. Time for the magic."

Once again he raised his hand. There were no words, no motions, but the apprentice could feel a ripple of arcane force drawn into her master's grasp.

"Pew pew."

A straight beam of brilliant red, as fine as a spoon handle, shot straight and true at the golem. The fiery stream was more like pure energy than it was flame, piercing with such keenness that it cleanly penetrated the golem directly between the eyes, leaving no cracks where it entered. With a casual flick, the mage cleaved the beam down between the construct's legs and then up through once again to complete the cut. As though calculated, the beam ceased the moment the bisected creature fell into a rocky heap and then dissolved once again into the cobblestones.

Dryden shook his casting hand as though he was trying to dry it off.

"When you're good enough," he said, brushing past his apprentice toward the door to the shop, "the degree of control you can exert on your magic increases. The catch to that, however, is that the more you bend the force to your will, the more taxing it will be. The more mana you'll burn, in other words. I ain't bragging when I say I've got more mana than I know what to do with; and for a magic artisan, that's a good thing. But I've got years and years of endurance training to back me up." He lingered in the doorway. "The reason why I'm showing you, Gale, is not to show off, but to help you realise your potential by thinking outside of the rules. Who knows. Maybe someday you'll cook up your own new spell and have your name up there like Tenser, Bigby and Mordenkainen."Her hand quivered and she winced painfully. She blinked back the tears that formed and clouded her vision, she continued to speak the words through gritted teeth. Her legs buckled for a moment, but she caught herself. Her shoulders slumped, but she straightened, seemingly pulled down by an immense invisible weight. Tucking her shillelagh under her left arm, she supported her right tightly in the grip of the left.

Perhaps the size of a pea, and wreathed in a swirling aura of crimson and pitch, was what could be described as a tiny star... Intense, ever-erupting and as hot as all creation; impatient to release itself in a climactic burst of incendiary ruin. The little arcane bead fought against its confines while it hovered in place before its creator's fingertips.

The Disk's once-straight metallic edge began to stagger and fray as it disintegrated, steadily being eaten away for want of its caster's precious mana. The Disk dipped, provoking a terrified gasp from the girl. The bead reacted with a swelling pulse: it had doubled in size.




"Got a best friend, Gale?" asked Dryden.

The apprentice returned the question with a blank expression and a blink.

"Uh... Nevermind. Forget I asked." He coughed. "Anyway, let me reintroduce you to someone... Think fast!" He tossed the shillelagh casually to Marilyn, who caught it clumsily against her chest. "Your implement, radical, focus--whatever you want to call it--is more than just a tool. It's your best friend and your lifeline... Up until you contract yourself a familiar," he added hastily, "but the point remains: look after your 'friend' there, and it'll serve you right until the end. Like a good--uh, best friend, it'll always be there for you. Just don't forget to ask. It doesn't want much but to be remembered."

The girl studied the walking stick, as if trying to scry the deeper implications of her master's words in its surface.

"Now, to save myself a lecture down the line," continued Dryden, peering into his tobacco pouch, "once you can get yourself a familiar, remember this lesson and swap out 'friend' with 'familiar'. Got it? Good. Now go out to Wes'. I'm all out of leaf."

The arcane novice's face, already drained of colour, turned an ashen palour at her predicament. Her soaked brow knitted itself in determination. Standing straight, she lifted her head once again, fixing her blurred vision upon the Witch. Transferring her incomplete spell to the tip of her shillelagh, she held the walking stick with both hands as if grasping a firearm; its worn, rounded tip nestled into the crook of her arm like a stock.

She continued to speak the words of power, each syllable igniting in her mind as they were uttered, never clearer than this moment.

With a whisper she finished,

"...Scorching Ray!"

The bolt fired; a thin exquisite beam of deepest red no wider than a finger, screaming as it sailed, streaking in an erratic path of odd angles like a single ray in a house of mirrors. It veered away from the pounding limbs of the titanic devil and bended unerringly toward Mordra.




"Maximising spells?"

Dryden made a small groan of disapproval. He frowned and cupped his chin while absently flicking his favourite kretek cigarillo.

"Well... it eats up three times the amount of mana as usual but it's just like it sounds: it makes the spell as strong as it absolutely can be--depending on the mage." He took a pull on his kretek and made another face at his apprentice. "But judging by that expression you're wearing, you knew that. So why even bother asking! It's years too early for you, kid. That's the easy way to zap yourself into a coma." He turned away, staring across the sparsely populated street toward the wide lattice window of the café. "Or worse," he added with an absent mutter.
The Disk split and then was no more.

The shillelagh shattered in an explosion of splinters.

The girl fell.

The rounded knot that topped the girl's walking stick burst in a loud report, the will that kept it whole finally failing.

Mother, Father... I'm sorry.

Master Dryden... Farewell.

Everyone... Be safe!

[sneakyonfoota]

More for Athamar: Quests from Lorana (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=11615).

The dialogue (monologue?) of Mordenkainen/"The Art" went through some revisions. In the end he became John de Lancie. Whoops.

To be continued. For story pacing reasons I cut it off there.



* * *


It hurts...

I feel tired...

I feel tired and it hurts...

Can't... breathe...

I'm... I'm drowning...

I...

Want...

To...

Sleep...



Marilyn blinked and became aware of her surroundings. She stood in a dark, still place where she could see no walls and feel no air. If it was there, the ceiling was extended high, far into the darkness. How she could even see what was in front of her right now was a mystery in itself.

Her spine twitched when she heard the arrhythmic sound of something rattling behind her. She spun around to see a long table before her, occupied by a thin board that illustrated what appeared to be the layout of a building, overlaid with a grid. Upon the board were numerous figurines anchored to circular bases. Some of the figurines lay on their sides. Upon closer inspection, Marilyn noticed spiders and demons and unicorns among them.

The girl went rigid when a deep, masculine voice broke the silence.

"Roll a death saving throw."

She stood puzzled for a moment and then became aware of the man seated opposite her at the table, all but the crown of his head concealed behind a standing screen of cardboard.

"Go on. Roll!" he repeated peevishly. "You're holding up the game."

Marilyn felt something in her palm: it was a polyhedral bone die of twenty faces, each marked with a numeral. She limply rolled it from her fingers onto the game board.

3.

"Failure," muttered the man behind the screen. "Still dying."

A pair of pale, familiar eyes peered over the top of the screen and then sunk down out of sight. The room echoed with the sound of falling dice and the scratch of a pen.

Marilyn slowly began to approach the seated man while regarding the layout of the game board. In a corner stood a demonic doll-sized figure that easily dwarfed the others. It seemed out of play. Close to it, within the confines of a chamber drawn on the board were two familiar giants, a small lady knight, a unicorn, a sorceress, a cleric, a drow and... a young spell caster on her side. Her eyes lingered on the prone figure, and she felt a pang in her chest and head that caused her to gasp.

She had to look away. Next she saw a witch, also on her side. And a proned elven archer woman. And a curious red token. For some reason, these miniatures caused a shudder down her back.

Nevermind, she told herself. Nevermind.

Shaking the uneasy feelings, she swallowed to weakly utter, "Master...?"

The pale eyes once again peered over the screen, along with a chiding finger. "Sh-sh-sh! It's not your turn." And sunk back down again. "Watch." The berating hand shooed her.

Dice clattered against the table behind the screen.

Obediently, Marilyn watched the table. She saw the miniature sorceress wiggle back and forth on her base. She saw the giantess (half-giant woman, actually) mini slide toward the prone figure of the girl, guided by the crisscrossing lines of the grid.

Once again, the girl felt something within her sink. In a rare moment of self-assertion, she raised her hand and made a flicking motion with her index finger, guiding a Mage Hand to push the cardboard screen aside. As though it was from a strong gust of wind, the screen was flung from the table, revealing the gamemaster behind.

Marilyn stood horrified into the gaze of what reflected her own. What sat hidden behind the screen was not Master Dryden, but the dark witch, Mordra Sayd.

"Hello," grated the witch's voice, a mocking, almost singsong tone. Her lips froze into a sinister smile, one that complemented the hideous rictus that adorned her chest.

The witch rose to her feet.

Marilyn clutched her shillelagh and began searching for the right words of power.

"Do you prefer me like this?" asked the witch, looking down upon Marilyn. A stiff interjection escaped her lips, showing her amusement.

Marilyn fumbled for the correct spell. A Magic Missile would do for now, and then a--

"Perhaps like this?" She wiped pale hand across her face and her form changed. The girl choked on her incantation when she saw that the witch had become Mistress Lelah, hennin and all.

Isora posed uncharacteristically and then waved her hand across her face, her form growing taller and more masculine. "Dryden again?" said the voice of her master after the change finished. He shrugged and spread his hands. "Whatever feels most comfortable for you. How about--" The shapeshifter raised both hands and snapped his fingers. All at once he became aged, with a grey, neatly trimmed beard and clad in the finery of a Wizard of High Sorcery "--this?"

The old man smirked and stepped around the table to face the girl. Looking down upon her, he asked imperiously, "Who am I now?"

"M--"

"Mordenkainen," interrupted the shapeshifter. He looked down upon his robes and sleeves with an expression of self-gratification. "This form suits me, though it is borrowed. Hm. I am sure that the old man would be flattered by this homage."

Marilyn stared, not relaxing her posture.

"Who are you?" she asked quietly.

"You ought to know," replied the wizard with a stroke of his beard and the measured patience of a man speaking to a hysteric child. "Actually, I think you do." He let out a stiff chuckle. "How obtuse. How fitting. How Marilyn Gale." He began to slowly pace around her, but then stopped to say, "I am the one to administer your penultimate test. Or ultimate test, depending." He continued his ambling pacing. With a flick of his fingers, he caused the die that Marilyn had rolled earlier to jump and fall again, bouncing on its many sides. It came to rest on a two. "Hm. Another poor roll. Hard luck." His pacing led him back to his seat at the head of the table. "As you are no doubt aware, you are dying. What do?"

He leaned forward expectantly.

"I--" started Marilyn.

"I'll tell you," he said, standing straight and wagging a lecturing finger. "You, Miss Marilyn Gale, are going to choose. On the one hand, I can offer you life. Life with a price, but life nonetheless." Once again he began a slow orbit of the game table, regarding the numerous figurines with a derisive amusement. "The time of collection may come tomorrow, it might come decades from now. I might ask you for a teensy favour," he said, pausing to pinch the air in front of an eye. "I might ask you to commit genocide. But! You will live." He paused and glanced at Marilyn sidelong. "On the other hand, I can leave you to your fate and we'll both see which way the dice falls." He smirked and stood still.

Marilyn beheld the wizard (doppelganger, or whatever it was) with a knitted brow, digesting his words. Her eyes danced as she processed what he had preached to her, searching through memories, lessons, the 'game' on the table and the being himself--his intentions and the repercussions of her choice.

What was this place? What was she doing here? Her memory was vague and disjointed, like recalling a dream moments after waking. She looked again at the table... Yes, the Tower... She and the party had set out to defeat the dark witch, Mordra... Master Syom fell, and then--

"Tick tock goes the clock," said Mordenkainen. "As they say, 'Like sands through an hourglass.' A wiser man said it better, I think: 'Life is but a breath'. In your case, I would say more like a sigh."

"You..." She trailed off weakly.

"Yes?"

"You are the Art, are you not?"

"Clever girl!" The old man sniggered and gave her a slow, brief applause. "Close enough. Congratulations. That wasn't part of the test, so no marks or gold stars will be awarded. And I will admit... 'test' is a misnomer. No, this is a bargain. A compact. A contract."

Marilyn mentally repeated the wizard's words to herself and chose her response carefully.

"You speak as though you were a devil."

Mordenkainen shrugged. "I will not take offense to that since it is somewhat true." He began pacing again. "But: White, Red, Black. Good, Neutral, Evil. Lawful, Chaotic. Convenient labels for an otherwise unfathomable, unknowable, omnipotent force."

He ceased his step next to the girl. He stooped so that he was eye to eye with her, his tone quiet and intimate.

"Will you give yourself to me, Marilyn Gale, or will you chance oblivion? You can be the most powerful arch-magus that the Prime Material has ever seen. You can be privy to the oldest and darkest secrets of the arcane; be given the might to shake heaven and earth, to destroy and rebuild as you see fit." He stood up straight again and grinned slyly, though spoke with a regal authority as if issuing an edict, "I can give you godhood if you wish it."

[sneakyonfoota]

Continuing the last post.

Again, for Athamar (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?t=11615).




* * *



The aged wizard's steely gaze squinted mirthfully as his mouth went wide and brayed a harsh, derisive laugh. He spread his arms.

"Look at me! Putting the whole of creation on the table when just a moment ago I was merely going to save your insignificant little life." His voice was once again whimsical, light and laced with spiteful irony. And just as suddenly it reverted, becoming quiet, contemplating and heavy as he shrewdly stroked his beard. "What if I said that this was your only chance? What if I said that even if those mercenaries down on the game board revive you, you will never have another such as this? Do you really think that a garden variety universalist hedge wizard like you will have an opportunity for true greatness as this again?"

He smirked at Marilyn. His eyes, gleaming like polished crystal, stared unblinkingly into hers.

"Oh, I see it in your eyes." He stooped, crouching with his hands planted on his knees so that he was face to face with the girl. "Think of me what you like, Marilyn Gale," said Mordenkainen in a hushed, intimate voice, "but you have been courting with me the moment your very first cantrip bore fruit." He stood up again and began to slowly pace around her. "Every incantation, that sweet whisper of yours--in my ear." He gently blew into the girl's ear, eliciting a flinch from her. "The subtle twitch of your fingers are like a lover's tender caress." He gently traced a fingertip along her jawline, causing her to recoil on reflex--a small, restrained gurgle croaked from her throat.

Raising a brow, once again standing tall and peering down upon her, Mordenkainen ceased when he stood before the girl.

"There is no use in denying it," he said in a rasp. "You are mine." His face became more shadowed, as though his eyes had sunk subtly into his skull or that his brows had grown outward. His severe nose was like a monolith, casting a shadow of itself against his cheek. Once again he was Mordenkainen, Wizard of High Sorcery, prosecuting the young apprentice. "You gave yourself to me and I accepted. In return I gave you purpose when you had none. I gave you power when you were weak. Protest if you like, obstain even, if you must. But after feeling what you have felt, doing what you have done... You will be empty. Unfulfilled. You who have drank deep of the spirits of the arcane--it is your water and your blood. Without your pretty little spells. Without your precious magic. Without your enlightening knowledge. Without me you will wither and perish."

He went silent. He did not move. He did not blink.

"Food for thought!"

And then he was once again Mordenkainen, the Lord of the Thinly-Veiled Insult, the Backhanded Complimenter, the Indifferent Accuser. His lips curled beneath his moustache into a form that could be presumed to be either a smile or a sneer.

He bent forward again, looking down at little Marilyn Gale; looking down and speaking far too closely. "Consider this: I have no reason to lie to you. I could have told you that this was all a fabulous dream. It's not. You are lying on the floor in that black tower. Your breath has ceased. Your heart has stopped. Your death is imminent. What are you going to do?"

The girl shivered. Her fingers curled and flexed as if in spasm. Her shoulders quaked and she held herself tightly. She could not return his gaze, nor could she answer.

"I..."

Mordenkainen stared.

"I..."

Suddenly, an overwhelming, terrible sensation overtook the girl. Her eyes screwed shut and her mouth gaped open with tight, flexed cheeks, giving her the pained countenance of one whose suffering was so great that no scream would come. Through red eyes and tears she dared to look up again at Mordenkainen.

The old wizard looked unamused; bored even.

"Ha," Mordenkainen chuckled hollowly. "Once again, people with greater initiative have made the choice for you."

Marilyn could make no reply as the feeling overtook her once again, this time squeezing a small, dry croak from her. The dark place became brighter and brighter--to bright for her eyes to take. Before her sight of the old man was obliterated by the brightness, she saw him smile coldly at her.

"Farewell, Marilyn Gale."

The brightness faded too slowly into black. But in this blackness there was motion. Entirely too much motion. Was this flight? Was this falling? The darkness gave way to dimness. The dimness became sparse, bright streaks. The streaks bled into each other into a tunnel. The tunnel's end opened into more blinding brightness--a brightness that stared and widened like the aperture of one of Dryden's eyepieces.

As the tunnel's end was just about to completely fill the girl's vision, she feld a presence whisper to her,

"I was lying. You will see me again. Every time you cast a spell, read a scroll or write in your grimoire... I will be there. And when the time comes again to ask the question, it will be you who makes the choice."



continued in thread... (http://role-player.net/forum/showthread.php?p=770218#post770218)