Monday, October 21, 2013
Merry Winter's V-OHGODFIRE
( Also known as ' Why Warlocks Don't Babysit' ))
" Yes, Mr. Scrooge! Mr. Scrooge! "
" Hmmm.. well now, that sounds like a fancy story. Should I? "
" YES! MR. SCROOGE! MR. SCROOGE! "
" MR. SCROOGE! MR. SCROOGE! "
" Okay, okay, settle down! "
" YAAAAAYY MR. SCR- "
" SHUT UP WHEN I'M TALKING! Ah, I mean, please be quiet, I'm telling my story. "
" Y- "
" Okay, really, shut up. Now, once upon a time there was this man called Mr. Scrooge. Mr. Scrooge had - hm.. you know, this isn't working. I need some actors for the story.. "
" Me! Me! "
" Oh, that'll be great, except I need... toys, yes. So I can make them do toy stuff. Who has something for Mr. Scrooge? "
" Me! Me! "
" Ah, a Deluxe Super-Flux Marcus Love Action Doll? How ... interesting. "
" ..Huh? "
" Nothing. ANYWAY. Mr. Scrooge was a clever man, and clever enough to be filthy rich. Now, with all this wealth, Mr. Scrooge was also extremely careful. For that purpose, he had a SECOND person to count his money. We'll call him... hm.. what was that name.."
" OH! OH! BOB! "
" SILENCE! As I was saying, an accountant named Blob. I think this stickman should suffice.... Blob was paid little but didn't whine about it. Do you know why? "
" Because he was a nice guy! "
" No, because he was an idiot who only knew how to second-count the money. Mr. Scrooge not only counted his money anyway, he earned it, managed it, and all the while had a far better cane and hat. He was also clever enough not to work for peanuts. "
" B-"
" Yes, Blob was an idiot overall. Blob kept wishing Mr. Scrooge ' Merry Stuff' like the old man had nothing better to do than to listen to his constant nattering. Mr. Scrooge, however, was guilty of abusing the term ' humbug'. That made no sense because there were very few humming insects in the winter. Most would be eaten by larger hungrier insects, who would be eaten by birds, who would then be eaten by pigs and then you! Imagine that, insect-stuffed pork! Mmm-mm! "
" ...Ewwwwww!! "
" Oh cool! "
" Anyway, Mr. Scrooge said ' humbug'. A lot. Especially if his accountant kept trying to distract him from his business. That, however, attracted the attention of some special spirits. Apparently spirits like humming insects. Go figure.
Now, where was I? Oh yes. Mr. Scrooge slept on the night before Winter's Veil - "
" Oooo my favorite part! "
" Yay! "
" - and woke up twice as rich. The end. "
" Wait, what about the spirits? "
" Yeah the spirits! "
" Hm. The spirits? Alright then. Well, as you might know, there's the Spirit of Winters' Veil past. This spirit is very likely... hm... what would look like a spirit - aha! That teddy bear! "
" Mister Honeybug! "
" Yes, well, Mr. Honeybug is now the Spirit of Winter's Veil past. So the spirit visited him and said, WooOOOooo, I'm here to haunt you and show you your past! So Scrooge said, 'humbug'. Then Spirit just showed him... well, his past. He saw all the people that he used to play with, to procreate with, and - oh, here, let me show you. I think this model of the Marcus toy has this switch.. "
Let's get it on baby ALL NIGHT LONG!
" Huh? A baby? "
" OH! They play with babies! "
" They make babies, but you'll find out on your own. Anyway, while the Spirit was saying this, he was also making himself fed with cookies. Like this! "
" Oh wow! How many cookies? "
" Lots. Pass the milk, child. "
" Okay! "
" Aph I was saying. He showed him all these events in the past. But Scrooge said, humbug. After enough cookies, the fat spirit ran off and left Scrooge in the dark, literally. And then comes the Spirit of Winter's Veil present! "
" YAY! "
" YAAY! "
" But yes, Spirit of the Present. Why he did not arrive with presents, I don't know. Actually, perhaps we should make it a she. Yes, a she. Can I use your Barbelly Fashion doll? "
" Okay! Take care of her hair! "
" Alright, so she goes down to him in a miniskirt and low-cut tank top. Scrooge is interested. However, she refuses to show him what he wishes. Instead, she shows him an overview of events happening as of now. The scene of interest is his accountant and idiot, Blob, holding a sick boy. We'll call him Deady. Annnddd we'll use this beanbag to represent him. So, all the while she's showing him the lousy goods, she's also having cookies. And buns. Yes, many buns. And plenty of milk. "
" Wow, she eats a lot! "
" Indeed so! Now. After being taunted by said Spirit of the Present, Scrooge goes ' hum.. bug? ' Now he seems to be becoming upset. Ah, but this isn't the best part yet. No, there's still the Spirit of Winter's Veil future. "
" Oh! Gee, he's the scary one! "
" I'm scared! "
" Hm... we've run out of toys. Hm... I know! I'll be the Spirit! "
" Yaaay! "
" Okay, now all I have to do is wear this hood and SFLRGL' KTHUFLARGH SH'KULKRGH CHOKE ON YOUR OWN BLOOD MORTALS FOR DEATH HAS COME UPON THEEFRLGH'KHADGHFKR. GKH'FLK , SHKEEL SHGKEEL! "
"" AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!!"
" EEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEKKK! "
" SH'*cough* Where was I? Oh, yes. Yes, that's precisely what the Spirit said. Now here we come to the part where he wakes up, scared speechless. Scrooge is terrified now! Also, he was hungry for cookies. Mmmhm, lots and lots of cookies! "
" A-aaaaah... hah.. c-cookies? W-w- g-gee, they sure love cookies! "
" Y-y-u-u-uh huh... "
" A good observation. But at any rate, our good friend Scrooge has decided to ... well, pay Blob a visit. So he goes to Blob's place. Blob, as usual, is poor, and his family are suffering for his stupidity. Little Deady is there, too, and Blob is playing with him."
" O-o-oh, and then? "
" Ah, then Scrooge says ' HUMBUG! ' loudly! But, then, he has a little secret.... he walks up to Blob and says - "
" Oooooo, my favorite part! "
" ' Blob, my friend, I'd like to shake Deady's hand!' Why, Blob is taken aback, but how can he refuse? So Deady goes to shake Scrooge's hand and OH NO HE CATCHES ON FIRE! "
" AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHH! "
" W- OH NO!"
" AND OH NO, THAT IDIOT BLOB CATCHES ON FIRE TOO! "
" OH NO! This - wait, that's not how the story goes - "
" Oh, but here comes the Spirits to save the day BUT THEY ALL CATCH ON FIRE! "
" EEEEEEEEEKKK! MISTER HONEYBUG! M- MISS BELLA! "
" AND SO DOES MISTER SCROOGE! "
" AAAAAAAAAHH! ACTION KNIGHT! PUT IT OUT MISTER GNOME! "
" Yes, I'd better put it out before OHSHIT THEY EXPLODED IN A BURST OF FLAME! HOW TRAGIC! "
" AAAAAAAAAAAAAHHH! "
" WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHH! "
" HOW TERRIBLE! Oh, by the way, I believe we're out of cookies. "
" WAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH! "
" Perhaps you have more in the fridge.."
How to Bind Your Dragon
# 407
Basic research on the staff has been concluded. Certainly , I could perform more studies on the staff but I believe that a simple test of its power will speed up the research more swiftly.
The test subject is a bronze drake of a medium size range. Considerably thinner around the mid-section and its scales have less of a shine, which appears to be due to neglect. I've drawn it into a rune circle, which is essential for this ritual to complete quickly. I approximate the time of conversion to be an hour.
# 408
It has been past 3 hours, and the drake appears... well, not quite normal. Perhaps I need to revise the spell to account for anomalies in the behavior and mentality of the creature.
The drake appears quite chatty; perhaps I can acquire details of its mentality or other differentiated states and use this to adjust the spell.
# 409
As I suspected, the drake in question is abnormal in nature.
Subject is now acknowledged with the name Krazidormu, male, unknown of age. As with most bronze drakes, it seems mostly curious, and yet... strange. It appears to be delusional, confusing the identity of objects in the room, speaking to inexistent figures, sometimes believing itself to be various pastries. Despite the peculiarities that the bronze dragonflight often holds, I'll have to classify the subject as insane. It's clear now why control of its mentality is this difficult - it appears to be chaotic, unordered.
I have also observed flaws in the runework. A few mistakes, which seem reasonable, considering the experimental nature of this spell, but I should have them corrected easily. The dragon seems to be docile at the moment, having considered itself a rock for the past hour.
# 410
SUCCESS! It has taken a total of 2 hours this time with the revisions - still longer than expected, but a good start. Tomorrow, I test its abilities and the influence of this staff.
For now, I join the night.
Basic research on the staff has been concluded. Certainly , I could perform more studies on the staff but I believe that a simple test of its power will speed up the research more swiftly.
The test subject is a bronze drake of a medium size range. Considerably thinner around the mid-section and its scales have less of a shine, which appears to be due to neglect. I've drawn it into a rune circle, which is essential for this ritual to complete quickly. I approximate the time of conversion to be an hour.
# 408
It has been past 3 hours, and the drake appears... well, not quite normal. Perhaps I need to revise the spell to account for anomalies in the behavior and mentality of the creature.
The drake appears quite chatty; perhaps I can acquire details of its mentality or other differentiated states and use this to adjust the spell.
# 409
As I suspected, the drake in question is abnormal in nature.
Subject is now acknowledged with the name Krazidormu, male, unknown of age. As with most bronze drakes, it seems mostly curious, and yet... strange. It appears to be delusional, confusing the identity of objects in the room, speaking to inexistent figures, sometimes believing itself to be various pastries. Despite the peculiarities that the bronze dragonflight often holds, I'll have to classify the subject as insane. It's clear now why control of its mentality is this difficult - it appears to be chaotic, unordered.
I have also observed flaws in the runework. A few mistakes, which seem reasonable, considering the experimental nature of this spell, but I should have them corrected easily. The dragon seems to be docile at the moment, having considered itself a rock for the past hour.
# 410
SUCCESS! It has taken a total of 2 hours this time with the revisions - still longer than expected, but a good start. Tomorrow, I test its abilities and the influence of this staff.
For now, I join the night.
Death
How does a warlock deal with death..?
He doesn't. Any warlock worth his salt would know death as merely a passage. It merely marks the moment a soul escapes the body of a living being, only to transition to a purpose far greater, far more important than its cause in life. Death was only important as the mere fact of the soul's release for his use - to unleash the full potential of such a gathering of energy, to craft, to shape it into the weapon it was meant to be. The process of death itself would therefore mean little to him - it was as simple, as common, as a man walking twenty paces to his marketplace in the morning for his groceries.
What of demise? Of course, he would know of demise. He would understand demise not as death, however; demise of a soul meant two causes. One - it was lost to powers that fed on its energy - stripped clean by a hungry demon, siphoned for use elsewhere, shattered in the hands of the warlock himself so as to better accomplish his goals. In the use of the warlock, it was not mourned, but treasured. It had served a purpose worthier than its existence. In the hands of a ravenous demon, or a fool of a magician, it was often wasted in excess, like a child eating half a chicken and throwing the wings out. However, that, at least, served some purpose. The second option was the truest tragedy to a warlock.
Funerals.
In the name of respect, many traditions hold rituals in which they revere the dead, and allow them freedom of passage to wherever they pleased, or wished to guide those souls to a spiritual realm of apparent joy and pleasure. Both situations meant a complete waste of the energies in the soul - nor, as often was seen, were the souls capable or willing to contribute to society or the warlock himself by other means. No, more often than not, they were left to their own devices - free, unshackled, lost to the winds. And such wilful wastefulness was closely guarded by those who respected them, who could not see past their devotions to consider the uses, the possibilities of their contribution. To a warlock, such a useless ritual could only be viewed with scorn.
Yet, a warlock does not survive by recklessness. To scorn those who revere the dead, he would turn his back on society. He would form enemies among those whom he could use, would lose those that held some semblance of ability , some potential, which could in return be used against him. Such would cause a funeral to become far more of a tragedy than it already was; and such was, in certain cases, not worth the gain of a single soul, or two.
Nor was an argument likely to cause these sympathizers to change their minds. It would, in fact, be far easier for the warlock to simply show that same 'reverence', to show that there was, in fact, a living soul inside him, that he was as much a creature of emotion and respect as the others. To subdue his practicality for this time, to ignore the temptations to show the mourners that the dead were, in fact, watching over, and could form amusing shapes such as rabbits and deer or possibly combinations of both when properly coaxed with his brand of magic. To amuse himself with their reactions would cost him to pay a greater price than he might be able to afford. No, it would be far more productive to hold his head in silence, to observe this simple, if foolish, ritual, and to allow their grief to be resolved in such a manner.
Perhaps, it could be seen that such a ritual aided the release of their grief, allowing them to cope with this idea of ' loss', and hopefully, speed their recovery to productive uses. Perhaps, even, the warlock could tap into the fact that he could, in fact, feel; to show, simply for a moment, the emotions that he was capable of, that he could understand how it felt to have something so dear torn from him; that he could take the time, to think, to reflect on that which he had lost over the years...
..such as a good funeral suit.
He doesn't. Any warlock worth his salt would know death as merely a passage. It merely marks the moment a soul escapes the body of a living being, only to transition to a purpose far greater, far more important than its cause in life. Death was only important as the mere fact of the soul's release for his use - to unleash the full potential of such a gathering of energy, to craft, to shape it into the weapon it was meant to be. The process of death itself would therefore mean little to him - it was as simple, as common, as a man walking twenty paces to his marketplace in the morning for his groceries.
What of demise? Of course, he would know of demise. He would understand demise not as death, however; demise of a soul meant two causes. One - it was lost to powers that fed on its energy - stripped clean by a hungry demon, siphoned for use elsewhere, shattered in the hands of the warlock himself so as to better accomplish his goals. In the use of the warlock, it was not mourned, but treasured. It had served a purpose worthier than its existence. In the hands of a ravenous demon, or a fool of a magician, it was often wasted in excess, like a child eating half a chicken and throwing the wings out. However, that, at least, served some purpose. The second option was the truest tragedy to a warlock.
Funerals.
In the name of respect, many traditions hold rituals in which they revere the dead, and allow them freedom of passage to wherever they pleased, or wished to guide those souls to a spiritual realm of apparent joy and pleasure. Both situations meant a complete waste of the energies in the soul - nor, as often was seen, were the souls capable or willing to contribute to society or the warlock himself by other means. No, more often than not, they were left to their own devices - free, unshackled, lost to the winds. And such wilful wastefulness was closely guarded by those who respected them, who could not see past their devotions to consider the uses, the possibilities of their contribution. To a warlock, such a useless ritual could only be viewed with scorn.
Yet, a warlock does not survive by recklessness. To scorn those who revere the dead, he would turn his back on society. He would form enemies among those whom he could use, would lose those that held some semblance of ability , some potential, which could in return be used against him. Such would cause a funeral to become far more of a tragedy than it already was; and such was, in certain cases, not worth the gain of a single soul, or two.
Nor was an argument likely to cause these sympathizers to change their minds. It would, in fact, be far easier for the warlock to simply show that same 'reverence', to show that there was, in fact, a living soul inside him, that he was as much a creature of emotion and respect as the others. To subdue his practicality for this time, to ignore the temptations to show the mourners that the dead were, in fact, watching over, and could form amusing shapes such as rabbits and deer or possibly combinations of both when properly coaxed with his brand of magic. To amuse himself with their reactions would cost him to pay a greater price than he might be able to afford. No, it would be far more productive to hold his head in silence, to observe this simple, if foolish, ritual, and to allow their grief to be resolved in such a manner.
Perhaps, it could be seen that such a ritual aided the release of their grief, allowing them to cope with this idea of ' loss', and hopefully, speed their recovery to productive uses. Perhaps, even, the warlock could tap into the fact that he could, in fact, feel; to show, simply for a moment, the emotions that he was capable of, that he could understand how it felt to have something so dear torn from him; that he could take the time, to think, to reflect on that which he had lost over the years...
..such as a good funeral suit.
Cookies
" Mister! Mister! "
" Eh? What is it, boy? "
" Buy a cookie, won't you, mister? "
" Eh? Buy one? Boy, I look like a rich man to you? "
" W-well, oh, gee, you're a beggar aren't you? "
" That's right boy! Ain't got a cent to myself! "
" O-oh..gee, I'm sorry mister. Have a good day! "
" W-oh, wait, wait boy! I just realised..."
" Wha? "
" I've got no money.. but I've got something right over here! "
" Oh, really? "
" Yep! Right over here! "
" Really? What is it? "
" Come on, I'll show you boy! Just.. give me a moment.."
" Oh, what is it? "
" It's a surprise, boy! Oh, I think I've got it! Just close your eyes.."
" C-close my eyes? "
" You want it to be a surprise, don't you? Now close your eyes and hold out your hands! Just put your cookie pot over there, you can take it up later."
" O-okay! Gee, I wonder what it is? "
" Heh."
" Can I open my eyes now, mister?"
" Sure, just hold this. "
" Okayyykgfhghgjkh - " THUMP
" They never do learn. "
" Eh? What is it, boy? "
" Buy a cookie, won't you, mister? "
" Eh? Buy one? Boy, I look like a rich man to you? "
" W-well, oh, gee, you're a beggar aren't you? "
" That's right boy! Ain't got a cent to myself! "
" O-oh..gee, I'm sorry mister. Have a good day! "
" W-oh, wait, wait boy! I just realised..."
" Wha? "
" I've got no money.. but I've got something right over here! "
" Oh, really? "
" Yep! Right over here! "
" Really? What is it? "
" Come on, I'll show you boy! Just.. give me a moment.."
" Oh, what is it? "
" It's a surprise, boy! Oh, I think I've got it! Just close your eyes.."
" C-close my eyes? "
" You want it to be a surprise, don't you? Now close your eyes and hold out your hands! Just put your cookie pot over there, you can take it up later."
" O-okay! Gee, I wonder what it is? "
" Heh."
" Can I open my eyes now, mister?"
" Sure, just hold this. "
" Okayyykgfhghgjkh - " THUMP
" They never do learn. "
A Little Imagination
Picture this, if you will.
A candle-lit basement, filled with multiple cages. Hooks and chains hang from the ceiling and lay on the floor, but more ominously, the very floor has patterns which confuse the common man; patterns, which one might recognise as the basic platform for demonology. A few racks are also revealed, with straps, chains and various experimentation devices.
Within each of the cages are various peoples and creatures - humans, troggs, elves, Dark Irons - all carefully selected for their worthlessness to society. Each of them will not have their disappearance accounted for, or considered; not to anyone who matters, at any rate. One of them is unlocked, its occupant dragged, unconscious, to a runic circle.
There, the occupant awakes. A former Defias bandit, he struggles to escape the circle, but it is impossible. Barriers are in place such that there is no true way to escape, but his actions are his own within its locale. Desperately, he seeks to rub out the runes - but to no avail.
A smaller figure comes to him, a gnome, in retrospect. A gnome man, wearing dark protective goggles and a black robe. The man snarls and hurls threats at the gnome, but he smiles at his captive. The abuse continues, but the gnome takes no heed; he simply points to the top of his head.
The occupant is at first confused, but then touches his own head. To his surprise, there is now hair where he had bald spots before. Confused, he looks at his hands, his arms, and pulls out some of his hair to check. He realises that his body is stronger, more vibrant; more lively. His hair is now brown instead of grey, his skin smooth and not calloused. He is a youth again.
Yet, the time for celebration does not occur to him. The initial surprise and small elation he retains turns to confusion, and then dread as he recalls that he is unable to escape. He yells for the man to release him, but is informed he will not be. Instead, the gnome asks questions. Upon being refused, the gnome chants, and the man is inflicted with increasing agony. Multiple refusals cause him to faint, and the man is taken to his cage.
When he awakes , he finds himself in the same situation. He is asked questions; he is hurt when they are not answered in a manner far deeper than physical injury. Upon finally relinquishing his answers, he is finally allowed respite, and allowed to return to his cage, then fed for the next day.
Day after day, this is repeated. At some point the gnome chants, forcing a ritual that ages the man ; this causes him consequences which he had not foreseen, but nevertheless he answers the questions for the cost is unbearable. And at some days he finds himself healed of the aging and injuries, only for it to be inflicted once again, and repeated.
Finally, at the end of a month, the man is released for his purpose has been served. Worn but vengeful, he swears to kill the gnome, but upon the first attempt to do so, the gnome whispers - his body is forced to stay awake as untold mental agony is inflicted upon him for hours on end, until at last, his tormentor allows him the luxury of killing himself - via the means of ripping his own heart out.
Now, you must be wondering why I am telling you this. You must also be thinking, well, the man in the story seems to fit my situation so well! That's because you are the man in the story. Now, the good news is you do not have to make the decisions that man makes. I will promise you that if you are obedient, you will have a far easier fate than that man. But if you do not, I will inform you I can extend that suffering as long as I please.
Choose quickly. The tests have already begun.
A candle-lit basement, filled with multiple cages. Hooks and chains hang from the ceiling and lay on the floor, but more ominously, the very floor has patterns which confuse the common man; patterns, which one might recognise as the basic platform for demonology. A few racks are also revealed, with straps, chains and various experimentation devices.
Within each of the cages are various peoples and creatures - humans, troggs, elves, Dark Irons - all carefully selected for their worthlessness to society. Each of them will not have their disappearance accounted for, or considered; not to anyone who matters, at any rate. One of them is unlocked, its occupant dragged, unconscious, to a runic circle.
There, the occupant awakes. A former Defias bandit, he struggles to escape the circle, but it is impossible. Barriers are in place such that there is no true way to escape, but his actions are his own within its locale. Desperately, he seeks to rub out the runes - but to no avail.
A smaller figure comes to him, a gnome, in retrospect. A gnome man, wearing dark protective goggles and a black robe. The man snarls and hurls threats at the gnome, but he smiles at his captive. The abuse continues, but the gnome takes no heed; he simply points to the top of his head.
The occupant is at first confused, but then touches his own head. To his surprise, there is now hair where he had bald spots before. Confused, he looks at his hands, his arms, and pulls out some of his hair to check. He realises that his body is stronger, more vibrant; more lively. His hair is now brown instead of grey, his skin smooth and not calloused. He is a youth again.
Yet, the time for celebration does not occur to him. The initial surprise and small elation he retains turns to confusion, and then dread as he recalls that he is unable to escape. He yells for the man to release him, but is informed he will not be. Instead, the gnome asks questions. Upon being refused, the gnome chants, and the man is inflicted with increasing agony. Multiple refusals cause him to faint, and the man is taken to his cage.
When he awakes , he finds himself in the same situation. He is asked questions; he is hurt when they are not answered in a manner far deeper than physical injury. Upon finally relinquishing his answers, he is finally allowed respite, and allowed to return to his cage, then fed for the next day.
Day after day, this is repeated. At some point the gnome chants, forcing a ritual that ages the man ; this causes him consequences which he had not foreseen, but nevertheless he answers the questions for the cost is unbearable. And at some days he finds himself healed of the aging and injuries, only for it to be inflicted once again, and repeated.
Finally, at the end of a month, the man is released for his purpose has been served. Worn but vengeful, he swears to kill the gnome, but upon the first attempt to do so, the gnome whispers - his body is forced to stay awake as untold mental agony is inflicted upon him for hours on end, until at last, his tormentor allows him the luxury of killing himself - via the means of ripping his own heart out.
Now, you must be wondering why I am telling you this. You must also be thinking, well, the man in the story seems to fit my situation so well! That's because you are the man in the story. Now, the good news is you do not have to make the decisions that man makes. I will promise you that if you are obedient, you will have a far easier fate than that man. But if you do not, I will inform you I can extend that suffering as long as I please.
Choose quickly. The tests have already begun.
Even Trade
*tock*
" Oh, hello! Do come in!"
" Hello, good sir. It's a lovely business you have going here! "
" Haha, oh no, sir, not at all! I assure you, this is quite humble as far as a business might go! How may I assist you today? "
" Oh, really? Well, as you can - " * coughing* " - see, I am but an old gnome, so perhaps my idea of a well-furnished shop might differ from the likes of you, young man. "
" Hah, very true, very true indeed! "
" As for the business, young man.. I, ah, am interested in the purchase of some jewellery. I've heard you will be able to procure such? "
" Oh, of course, of course good sir! And how might this jewellery be like? "
" Hm.. let me think a moment, my memory's not as good as it used to be! " *coughing*
" Oh, would you like some tea, sir? "
" Oh, it's fine, thank you young man. But...uh... small.. stones..."
" Small, you say? How small? "
" I'm.. not sure.. er.. is it weight you count by? "
" Why, yes it is. "
" Hm.. um... I.. I'm not sure how big.. "
" Hm... oh, tell you what, my good man, I do have these samples. Perhaps they will aid you in estimating the size of your purchase? "
" Oh, how thoughtful of you, young man! Hm.. let's see... er...th- no, not this. Ah ... I thiiiiiiink... this size, yes. This size will do nicely. "
" Jolly good, sir! What sort of material will you require for it? "
" Ah... let.. let me think a moment... o..oh! Oh yes, serendibite."
" S-s-s-se-whatnow? "
" Serendibite, mister.. ah, Burnwine, was it? "
" ..I...I'm afr-fraid we're o-o-out of those.."
" Are you, now? "
" W-w-why, yes, y-yes, we ran out of those a while back, sir. "
" Oh? "
" Yes, I'm afraid so. Terribly sorry, sir. "
" Oh.. that's.. that's a terrible shame....y..you see, it's for my dying friend....."
" I'm - what? "
" My poor friend.. he's on his last legs. He's old, of course, like I am, but I'm afraid ever since he returned from Gnomeregan, he- he's not going to last long. He's always talked about his lost love's wedding ring, made from a gem called serendibite... I.. I wish to give it to him, as a last gift from an old friend. "
" O..oh dear.. I'm terribly sorry, sir...I.. I didn't know.."
" It's.. well, I'm so sorry, I know so little about the gem, itself, but it's the last thing I can give my dear friend. Won't you help an old man and his sentimental old friend? "
" I.. I would, but we... w-w-we're out of stock, sir. "
" ... You're... you're not telling the truth."
" W-what? No, you must understand, sir, w-we truly are out of supply! "
" You won't spare an old man his friend's last wishes. Is this the sort of business you run? "
" No, sir, please. You - "
" I.. " * sighs* " I suppose I can't force you, young man. And my friend would not want me to threaten you, either. I.. well, I can't r- "
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
" What is that? "
" N-nothing, sir! N- "
SSSSSSSSSSSSSS
" O-oh bloody biscuits, hold on a moment.."
SSSSSSSSSSSSS
" What is that? "
" Nothing to be wary of, sir. I shall have it handl- EGAD! STOP THAT! "
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!
" That... crate....it's..there's some unnatural force about it.."
" Do tell! This contraption appears to be cursed! I cannot quite seem to get rid of it! "
" Oh...y-young man? I might be able to take it off your hands.."
SSSSSSSSSSSSSS!
" O- GAH! Oh? "
" Yes.. I.. I shall have to return soon. I have a family ornament that can cease the creature.. I..but I have one request. "
" O..but..but I.. there isn't any - "
" I promise I will not tell of this thing in your shop, young man. I - I believe I can handle this crate, and in return, I only wish that you fulfill my dying friend's last wish. I.. I will pay, of course, any price you wish. I'll start at 4,000 gold for that size of serendibite. "
" I.. well.."
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!
" Bloody -! Ah, al.. alright, I shall have it delivered in a day. "
" G- oh, truly? Wonderful! Thank you, young man! You have no idea how happy you've made my old heart! "
" Ah.. well... yes, sir. I am so sorry for earlier misgivings, it's simply that - "
" Now, now, there's nothing to be sorry about, you're doing such a wonderful thing for me! Shall I pick this up tomorrow afternoon? "
SSSSSSSS-*whap*
"W.. well, yes, tomorrow afternoon should be fine. "
" Thank you thank you thank you sir! Thank you so much! Have a great Hallow's End! "
" Yes, you too sir! "
* door closes*
" Finally. "
" Oh, hello! Do come in!"
" Hello, good sir. It's a lovely business you have going here! "
" Haha, oh no, sir, not at all! I assure you, this is quite humble as far as a business might go! How may I assist you today? "
" Oh, really? Well, as you can - " * coughing* " - see, I am but an old gnome, so perhaps my idea of a well-furnished shop might differ from the likes of you, young man. "
" Hah, very true, very true indeed! "
" As for the business, young man.. I, ah, am interested in the purchase of some jewellery. I've heard you will be able to procure such? "
" Oh, of course, of course good sir! And how might this jewellery be like? "
" Hm.. let me think a moment, my memory's not as good as it used to be! " *coughing*
" Oh, would you like some tea, sir? "
" Oh, it's fine, thank you young man. But...uh... small.. stones..."
" Small, you say? How small? "
" I'm.. not sure.. er.. is it weight you count by? "
" Why, yes it is. "
" Hm.. um... I.. I'm not sure how big.. "
" Hm... oh, tell you what, my good man, I do have these samples. Perhaps they will aid you in estimating the size of your purchase? "
" Oh, how thoughtful of you, young man! Hm.. let's see... er...th- no, not this. Ah ... I thiiiiiiink... this size, yes. This size will do nicely. "
" Jolly good, sir! What sort of material will you require for it? "
" Ah... let.. let me think a moment... o..oh! Oh yes, serendibite."
" S-s-s-se-whatnow? "
" Serendibite, mister.. ah, Burnwine, was it? "
" ..I...I'm afr-fraid we're o-o-out of those.."
" Are you, now? "
" W-w-why, yes, y-yes, we ran out of those a while back, sir. "
" Oh? "
" Yes, I'm afraid so. Terribly sorry, sir. "
" Oh.. that's.. that's a terrible shame....y..you see, it's for my dying friend....."
" I'm - what? "
" My poor friend.. he's on his last legs. He's old, of course, like I am, but I'm afraid ever since he returned from Gnomeregan, he- he's not going to last long. He's always talked about his lost love's wedding ring, made from a gem called serendibite... I.. I wish to give it to him, as a last gift from an old friend. "
" O..oh dear.. I'm terribly sorry, sir...I.. I didn't know.."
" It's.. well, I'm so sorry, I know so little about the gem, itself, but it's the last thing I can give my dear friend. Won't you help an old man and his sentimental old friend? "
" I.. I would, but we... w-w-we're out of stock, sir. "
" ... You're... you're not telling the truth."
" W-what? No, you must understand, sir, w-we truly are out of supply! "
" You won't spare an old man his friend's last wishes. Is this the sort of business you run? "
" No, sir, please. You - "
" I.. " * sighs* " I suppose I can't force you, young man. And my friend would not want me to threaten you, either. I.. well, I can't r- "
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS
" What is that? "
" N-nothing, sir! N- "
SSSSSSSSSSSSSS
" O-oh bloody biscuits, hold on a moment.."
SSSSSSSSSSSSS
" What is that? "
" Nothing to be wary of, sir. I shall have it handl- EGAD! STOP THAT! "
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!
" That... crate....it's..there's some unnatural force about it.."
" Do tell! This contraption appears to be cursed! I cannot quite seem to get rid of it! "
" Oh...y-young man? I might be able to take it off your hands.."
SSSSSSSSSSSSSS!
" O- GAH! Oh? "
" Yes.. I.. I shall have to return soon. I have a family ornament that can cease the creature.. I..but I have one request. "
" O..but..but I.. there isn't any - "
" I promise I will not tell of this thing in your shop, young man. I - I believe I can handle this crate, and in return, I only wish that you fulfill my dying friend's last wish. I.. I will pay, of course, any price you wish. I'll start at 4,000 gold for that size of serendibite. "
" I.. well.."
SSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!
" Bloody -! Ah, al.. alright, I shall have it delivered in a day. "
" G- oh, truly? Wonderful! Thank you, young man! You have no idea how happy you've made my old heart! "
" Ah.. well... yes, sir. I am so sorry for earlier misgivings, it's simply that - "
" Now, now, there's nothing to be sorry about, you're doing such a wonderful thing for me! Shall I pick this up tomorrow afternoon? "
SSSSSSSS-*whap*
"W.. well, yes, tomorrow afternoon should be fine. "
" Thank you thank you thank you sir! Thank you so much! Have a great Hallow's End! "
" Yes, you too sir! "
* door closes*
" Finally. "
Again
Again.
He hissed through the gaps of his teeth in frustration. Again. It always happened these days. Something or the other stopped him; everything was futile; he was brought to battle with no preparation, in a situation where he was mismatched , only made worse by the presence of the very Company.
Again.
Every plan became like this. Every. Single. One. When had it begun? Was it the company? No, before that. The previous organisation, where he had their trust as nothing but a little beggar. He had the goals, he had the plan, he had the opportunities.. but none were perfect. So, he waited. And waited... and it slipped.
Again.
It had all started so well today. For once, even the paladin Dared had a ruthlessness to him; everyone was on edge, ready to destroy everything in their path, by any means neccesary. It was perfect. It should have been perfect. Of course, he knew what they were up against - a lich, and a nobleman. Two forces that could prove far beyond the means of his company ; he had no runework, no time to fully prepare, nor had all the information he required. But those were excuses, and he knew it.
He should have known. He should have prepared. He should have stopped dawdling with attempting to toy with the construct and instead deal with the master. He had his vulnerabilities; they were close. But instead, he let it slip.
Again.
And again and again. When they left with defeat, having allowed Fausto's body to be taken - which he should have thought about, even in the thick of the chaos - no, especially in the thick of the chaos - he still gloated over the one victory they had, the weakening of the lich's power. But the loss of Fausto's soul would have given them a disadvantage, as Lucius could easily use the passion of this spirit.
Ah, but therein lay the usefulness of shamans. Their 'spirit world' abilities allowed them to establish a link to Fausto's soul. There, he had a chance to pull that man's soul over, to seal it in a shard , to steal that power for himself.
Instead, he allowed a sentimental idiot of a woman to speak.
He allowed them to speak , to attempt to resolve their feelings ; he felt as if it would be easier if the spirit wished to return. Not that it would have helped, now that he recalled - no, allowing them to speak was absolute stupidity. He should have channeled his power to pull Fausto over - if not his entire soul, then simply half, or a shattering of it. Instead, he had allowed Lucius to absorb everything. He had completely failed thanks to completely idiotic judgement.
Again.
They would face Lucius again, soon enough, with his power. But for now, he was displeased. He was furious. That led to a simple solution. Inside a series of caves in Dun Morogh, he had established a series of runework. Within it was a large population of trogg, stupid but virile. They reproduced quickly, and it seemed that some even migrated in later such that within weeks the cave was filled. Within the space of the caves, his runes allowed command of his own magic from the comfort of his quarters, with but a soulstone allowing him to see and hear their suffering; that with but a whim several would break down, piece by piece, or have their simple minds torn apart, or infused with enough agony they would kill each other in confusion.
And within the next few weeks, they would have repopulated, learning so little from their previous experience that he would be able to do the same if he so wished.
Again.
Never again
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)