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Forums  > Roleplay  > Storylines  > Training     Display using: Flat View Threaded View   Oldest to newest Newest to oldest Previous Thread :: Next Thread   Author  Thread: Training  Phoenix Joined: 08 Jun 2003 Total Posts: 942 Send PM   Training Posted: 29 Mar 2007 11:14 AM Although he recognised the necessity of what had to be done, right now he preferred to be somewhere else. Anywhere but here. They were all looking expectantly at him, like puppies at a master who’s going to give them treats. He hated to give speeches, especially if it was to motivate people. Was it really so hard to recognise their issues themselves and do something about it? Aware of Amaranth, standing in one of the corners in such a way that she might have been invisible had it not been for her penetrating eyes, he sighed inaudibly. After what had happened earlier today, there really was no way out of this. “Colleagues,” Xaranthir started, “I’ve been thinking about how to broach this matter to you, but so far, much like everything else nowadays, I was without ideas. Depending on what you answer to the following question, I will select one of two methods.” Everyone - all Midoran scholars, librarians and hedge wizards to boot – looked puzzled at him. “Did you notice anything different while you came up here?” Xaranthir asked the assembly. Once more, they looked in a non-plussed way at the mage in front of them. One finally raised his hand. “I think the spider has been taking in more of the stair?” It wasn’t so much an answer as a question in itself. Another one said, “This room, si… uhm.. Zanartir. I’ve never been in here.” At this nearly everyone nodded. Xaranthir closed his eyes briefly. <i>Stay calm, you didn’t notice it at first either.<i> “Alright, so not one of you noticed the portals that have appeared on the top of the stairs? Not just one, but two. Most of you must have walked right through them. Let’s praise ourselves lucky that the portals aren’t active right?” “Oh congratulations!” shouted one of the younger scholars. “You’ve finally succeeded then?” This elicited a murmur of excited approval. “No.” It only took this one word to silence them again. “In fact, I didn’t even create those portals which means we have a breach here. Both Amaranth and me have been unable to detect who or what intruded the building. And this brings me to the following.” He paused momentarily, “None of you have any notion of reality anymore, that is if you ever had one. You keep your noses inside those tomes, skipping even meals if it wasn’t for Amaranth. Heck, half of you would already be dead if she had ordered you to eat. It is time for a reality check.” In so many words he told them of the Atalan invasion, about the effects on resources and on how the entire Midoran army was now camped on the Great Plains. “With them there, it will be only a matter of time before they come here. In fact, they might very well burn the whole forest down to the ground just to get the elves in Fereinibuck.” “Fereinibuck? Is there a new village?” asked another, for although shocked about the events, they were of course scholars at heart and learning of new places was still high on their list. In fact learning anything was better than doing anything else, including eating and sleeping. Xaranthir waved it away. “Never mind that, it’s just my new name for Brandibuck, now that it has become a protectorate of the elves. At any rate, you will need to learn how to defend yourselves against various threats. And to that order I ha…” Several shouts of disapproval came from the assembled mages. “Nonsense we know how to protect ourselves!” “We taught youngsters like you how to cast spells in the first place!” “With everything we know, there’s nothing we can’t do!” Xaranthir quirked an eyebrow, a tell-tale sign that either he was getting highly amused, impressed or annoyed. “I am no fortune teller, nor a seer, but I shall make a prediction right here and now. Not one of you would last for five minutes if I sent you out of here.” While the buzz of disapproval rose, so did Xaranthir’s ire. “It is time for you to recognise this. Book knowledge is all very nice, but it won’t help you while being chased by something that wishes to turn you into its lunch or worse.” One scholar asked his closest colleague what could possibly be worse than to be turned into lunch, again purely out of a scholarly pursuit. Luckily due to the din in the room, the archmage couldn’t hear. Eventually the protest became so loud that Xaranthir sighed wearily. Butting his staff hard on the timber floor, the sound reverberated throughout the room. “Enough! I’ll prove to you that you are not prepared for the harshness of this world.” Immediately, out from the shadowy corner behind him, Amna’rak rose into view. “Amna’rak,” he started while looking at all of them and then finally making eye contact with Amaranth, “Kill the Midorans.” His next move was to immobilise Amaranth with a giant, ethereal green hand. None of the mages moved, thinking that it was some sort of joke. “Come on, Xaranthir, we know you. You wouldn’t har…” Their expressions became panic stricken as the mummy drew both blades and advanced menacingly upon them. Yet even then, they started discussing about what the best way would be to defeat it. When the first scholar was cut down, the acid on the blade releasing the stench of burned flesh, their panic turned into horror. Most of them were unable to find the necessary components to cast their spells, others had forgotten the exact wording and worst of all, one of them was about to cast a fireball in the room. Luckily Xaranthir had foreseen this and he dispelled the bead of fire before it could grow in size. With it, he had also dispelled the illusion of Amna’rak and that of the first slain mage. “And this is what happens when you have no experience. You fumble, you stutter and you miscast. You do things you wouldn’t normally do, but panic has ways of making us forget lore and knowledge found in books.” The wizard with the mismatched eyes looked sternly upon them. “The fact is, that theory won’t save your life, not unless you practice it under strenuous circumstances.” “But we weren’t prepared!” said on of them in an outraged voice. “Oh? I’m sorry, did you need an invitation then? Do you think that anyone or anything who or that would attack you, will give you the time to prepare?” “But I’m a scholar, not one of those crazy adventurers!” whined another one. “Well, that has been changed as of now. You are working here at the new library and as I’ve told you earlier, it can come under attack sooner or later. Do I need to spell it out what they would do to scholars? No? Good. I know how much you love studying, but there’s more beyond this. If you wish to protect what you know, it’ll involve more than just warding a book against bookworms or mould.” Although many of them still were extremely pale and several hadn’t stopped shivering, they slowly started to realise that Xaranthir spoke truth. “I apologise for the fright I caused you, but this is something that needed to be imprinted in your minds. It is dangerous out there and as you realised –at least I hope so, he thought- you need further training. Therefore you are to join the teams that Amaranth sends out. They will train you properly, for do not be mistaken, it’s not just your minds that need the exercise. Right now, your constitution is weaker than that of mollusks.” “You are dismissed.” Luther McIath: I see, so [X is] the right person in the wrong place with the wrong people at the wrong time. [Fictrix] ... And can speak French, like both! Wait, I mean Elven.  Fictrix Joined: 22 Jan 2005 Total Posts: 3042 Send PM   Safeguards Posted: 05 Apr 2007 04:56 PM The rhythmic and precise plodding of heavy footfalls from two rooms over was a muffled metronome keeping a brisk tempo. It went on for a good eight minutes before receding into the distance, only to return some moments later above him in the attic. The sound traversed from wall to wall in a snaking, precise grid, covering every area of the floor, the consistency of the beat marred only by the occasional pause. So he was completely unsurprised when the footsteps came marching down the corridor and stopped right outside his door, followed by four sharp raps. "Xaranthir?" "Yes, enter." The door snapped quickly open and shut. When he'd first seen Amaranth slip through a door using that method, he'd wondered at the reasoning behind it. After all the recent intruder scares, he was starting to see the wisdom in it. Xaranthir folded up his latest letter to Aderyn and started rifling through the piles of cushions in front of the fireplace in search of Kyria. "So what happened afterwards? Was there any trouble?" "No. Serai left. Lucifer followed. The Khadros brothers and the resident mages have been informed of the arrangement." "For whatever good that will do us." He moved on to the next pile, trying to home in on his Familiar's presence. "The mages have still got as much situational awareness as an ostrich with its head in the sand. Lucifer's one of the better ones." "I've asked Torvell to return with a small team. When that happens, it will mean more of the mages out on patrol and gaining practical skills, and some experienced priests stationed here who won't be swayed by the first thing that makes tearful puppy dog eyes at them." Xaranthir frowned. "I thought you said your people were spread too thin." She shook her head. "Two priests and four civilians in training won't strain us overly much." He ran the maths automatically through his head before even realising he was doing it. When he'd first arrived here to set up the library, there'd been a dozen experienced ex-Midoran priests, give or take. They'd all up and vanished with hallmark Midoran speed and efficiency sometime in the months he'd been away. As near as he could deduce, it must have happened right on the heels of Midor's declaration of war against Ferein. Torvell had been the man in charge at the time; now he was returning with only one other priest. There were three pieces of information of note within her last sentence that tied in with what he'd already observed. First, the fact that someone like Amaranth—who was probably equivalent to a high-ranking officer—was being used in a lowly intelligence-gathering and scouting capacity indicated either unorthodox tactics, desperation, or both. Second, only two actual, experienced priests were being sent over, meaning they'd either suffered losses due to death or desertion, or had funneled all their resources elsewhere—most likely Midor itself. Third, no matter how you looked at it, they were doing badly. From what he'd heard earlier today, they were probably scraping rock bottom and could potentially lose it all by the end of the week. And yet they were still willing to put aside what they could spare for a group of mages to whom they owed nothing and who had never promised anything in return. What they had to offer was nothing special: six human beings with no powers, likely minimally equipped, and even more likely with little or no knowledge of life outside Midor and the lore of the world outside the White City's walls. And if Torvell's group—as well as Amaranth and various others he'd met—were anything to go by, they were probably slightly cynical, more than slightly gritty, and more prone to respect harsh realism over bubbly optimism. He'd take them over elite super-soldiers and shining knights with delusions of grandeur any day. "I suppose that means the cataloguing work is going to grind to a halt, but that was going to happen anyway," Xaranthir said instead. He did a quick check under the rocking chair before crossing over to the next pile of cushions. "At least the mages will be out of harm's way when they're out on patrol." The irony of that remark was not lost on him. Until today, he would have considered the outside world to be the biggest threat to the scholars in here. "Then you've decided to stay?" "We don't have much of a choice. I can't think of any immediate reason to evacuate, and it's going to be a hassle if we do—especially given how much progress has been made in building the library already. Unless," he added, arching an eyebrow, "the White Queen leaving the game puts us in immediate danger. What does the Red Queen think of that?" "I wouldn't know what the Red Queen thinks," Amaranth retorted, her face turning a deep scarlet that almost matched her hair. It had taken months of observation, but he'd worked out what buttons to push to trigger definite reactions from her. Handy information to have when trying to pry information from someone less communicative than a stone wall. "If you ask me—" "I thought that's what I was doing." "—it's an indicator that someone, or a group of people, have either been removed as a threat; or, conversely, are no longer confined to the board and now represent a threat to all." She untied a small pouch from her belt and stepped over to the couch, scooping out a small handful of powder and tossing it underneath. "The former isn't a cause of concern; the latter is, so it's best to focus on that possibility." There was a violent explosion of tiny sneezes from under the couch. Moments later, a bedraggled pixie rolled out, jabbering viciously between sneezes. "Hey. Where did you learn that sort of language from?" Xaranthir scooped up Kyria and frowned at her in disapproval. "From Kira? Mmhmm. Well, she's a bad influence. Don't go following her example, now." Her response was a high-pitched, rapid blast of scathing insults in Fey. He didn't understand a word of it, but it didn't matter; it came through clearly enough over the mental link. "Hey. I mean it. What's gotten into you?" He brushed off a layer of cobwebs from her wings and head with a finger. "And what were you doing down there? You're a mess." Drawing herself up to her full height, Kyria indignantly fired off a lengthy oratory covering a wide spectrum of subjects, ranging from butting heads with Kira, trying to talk sense into the other Familiars, being chased by rats and spiders that wanted to have her for lunch, and finally embarking upon an adventure to find somewhere to crawl off to in peace, only to be chased out of every single suitable locale she could find. It was all he could do to keep a straight face. She always put everything into perspective. "Mmhmm. Sounds like your day's been as eventful as mine," Xaranthir agreed as solemnly as he could. "Now, I need ask you to do something for me. Are you up for a little trip?" Her crankiness dissipated immediately. She flitted into the air and did a loop around his head, buzzing with curiousity. "All right, settle down." He shrank down the letter in his hand and balanced it on the tip of his finger, holding it out to his Familiar. "I've got another letter for you to deliver to Aderyn." Kyria snatched the miniature letter up and dissolved into hysterical giggles, asking a question in a teasing tone. "Of course not! Honestly, that's not what it is." Stepping over to the door, he activated the rune to open it. "Try not to get lost this time. I'm pretty sure she won't be in Fiirhallen." She scoffed and shot back an indignant reply before buzzing out of sight. Shaking his head, Xaranthir shut the door again, turning his attention back to Amaranth. "See?" he said. "Why wouldn't you want a Familiar? They're very handy." Her expression didn't change, but a cold and forbidding shadow seemed to settle over her face. That was the other thing he'd observed: there were limits to how far you could push. This was enough, for now. Any further and she'd just clam up again for the next three months. "All right, so let's say—for argument's sake—that the person or people represented by the White Queen are now roaming free," he continued, putting the topic back on track. "Is it worth investigating at all, or did you come here to talk about something else?" "Have you spoken to Lucifer?" "What?" He blinked, thrown by the sudden change in topic. "Of course not. I've been here ever since that confrontation. Why?" "He was squirming all throughout that encounter. After you left, he followed Serai out." He could have sworn that something almost human flickered across her face, but it might have been an optical illusion. "You should see how he's doing." "Nonsense. He's a grown man. He's probably already over it and nose-first in a new book, or hunting down a new spell." Xaranthir scoffed and waved a hand dismissively. "Really, I think there are bigger problems to worry about here than one man's wounded ego." She shook her head. "It's not just him, Xaranthir; it's the other mages as well. They're all as equally taken in with her as he was. I just checked in on them." "What does that have to do with anything?" "Everything." She started to pace briskly around the circle marked out on the floor where he'd been conducting his portal research experiments. "You can make all the plans you like, research all the spells and wards you can think of, set out all the guidelines and rules you want to try and keep the scholars safe. At the end of the day, if you don't have their trust, it will all mean nothing. It's only going to take one betrayal to bring all this crashing down." He frowned, settling into the rocking chair by the fireplace. "Of course I have their trust. They have their library, they're out of Midor, and they're free to study as they please without interference. You're just being paranoid." "Fine. You know her better than I do, and you know them better than I do." Amaranth came to a stop and pivoted to face him. "She's already ingratiated herself with most of them. You saw how Lucifer was, even with her right there admitting that she'd used him. "I'll tell you why I'm opposed to this chess vision that you've been shown: it's completely false. It's an illusion. In anything, there are never just two sides, and you will certainly never get two sides perfectly opposed and neatly divided. There are always ten sides, or thirty sides, or as many sides as there are individuals involved. The only time any argument resolves to two sides is if someone deliberately manipulates public perception to make it appear that way. You don't even need to form two groups to do it: you just need one, and anyone who doesn't belong to the group by default belongs to the other side. It's all in the perception. If one side is defined, then you've automatically created an opposing side in doing so. This is what the New Order did." It was the longest speech he could ever remember her making. There was a seething undercurrent of anger beneath the stony facade she usually favoured, a fire altogether different to the momentary outbursts and flashes of temper he was accustomed to. He decided it was probably wisest not to interrupt. "At the moment, there aren't any sides here. No battle lines have been drawn. You've opposed her, though. You've stood in the way of something she wants. You've told her exactly where you stand. You would do it again, and she knows it. If she presents a threat to the library or to the mages here, you've made it clear that you will use force to defend them. "There is something here that she desperately wants. Perhaps it's the books, perhaps it's the mages, perhaps it's a combination of both. Whatever it is, now that she knows it's here, she will not hesitate to use whatever means necessary to continue to have access to it. She's demonstrated no conscience, no remorse, no sense of responsibility or consideration for the welfare of the mages here whatsoever. They will happily let her come and go. You're the only one who presents a threat and could potentially deny her what she wants." She started to pace again, in an angry and aggressive stride that made him wonder how long the floor could stand up to such abuse before caving in. "I'll tell you now what comes next. She will turn them against you. It will not matter to them that you were the one who retrieved the books, that you were the one who got them out of Midor and set them up here, that you did all the groundwork and negotiation to secure this place. They're scholars. They're easily swayed. She'll make a sad face, threaten to cry, tell them what a mean, nasty man that Xaranthir is, blame it on the mean, nasty tyrant thug whom he listens to entirely too much and spends more time with than them, and then set herself up in a situation where you will be forced to drive her out or use force against her. In that instant, the battle lines will be drawn. They will side with her. You will not be able to use force against them, because unlike her, you have a conscience. You will be driven out of here. She will have free reign to come and go as she pleases and no one will stand in her way. By the time any of them catch on—if they ever do—it will be far too late." Xaranthir winced and planted his forehead in the palm of his hand. Unfortunately, she was making too much sense. "Splendid. I wasn't feeling bad enough already. Thank you for making my day." "You need to approach them," she said earnestly. That was even worse than her cranky side. He could handle that, but not this. "You can't afford to be divided over something as petty as this." "All right." He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I'll go looking for Lucifer tomorrow. Even with his teleportation abilities, he can't have gotten far." "Now, Xaranthir." It was a tone of command that left no room for interpretation or argument. He was already on his feet and three steps towards the exit before he even realised he was obeying. Before the door he stopped, turning to face her. "Do you have any other orders, Queen of Red? Should I bring back a parrot upon completion of my quest to save the kingdom of books?" "No and no, in that order. And don't call me that; it's rubbish." Xaranthir nodded and activated the rune. "One parrot Familiar coming right up. Your will be done, Red Queen." He didn't stay to see what the reaction was. After all, the only reason he'd survived all these years was because he knew when to cut his losses and run.  Fictrix Joined: 22 Jan 2005 Total Posts: 3042 Send PM   Divide and Conquer Posted: 08 Apr 2007 12:06 AM In which Xaranthir acts completely unreasonably, is obviously brainwashed, and storms out on his own peers. Mikhail: *Looks up from the tome* Xaranthir: Hello Mikhail. Xaranthir: I heard you were looking about moving your shop? Mikhail: *Cheerily* Good day, Xaranthir. Mikhail: Yes, indeed. Xaranthir: Amaranth pointed it out to me. Xaranthir: And you'd like some help with that? Mikhail: *Sour look* Hmph. Xaranthir: What's wrong? Mikhail: Never mind. Yes, well, I was wondering whether you knew of any suitable places to move out to. Being so well-travelled and all. Xaranthir: Hmmm.... Xaranthir: Well of all the places I'd say Buckshire would be the most suitable. Mikhail: Not Fereinibuck, though. Xaranthir: Lots of traffic, little threat from anything... Mikhail: *Strokes his beard* Hmm, that's a bit far. I was hoping somewhere nearby. Xaranthir: Nearby? Xaranthir: Well, nearby there's of course Brandibuck... But I don't know... Mikhail: I'd still like to be able to visit the scholars and the library. Xaranthir: Otherwise, the ranger's lodge. Mikhail: No, no... Fereinibuck's not for me. Xaranthir: Good, good. Xaranthir: Traffic is kind of slow these days there anyway. Xaranthir: The elves aren't very good for business. Xaranthir: No, the ranger's lodge is probably your best bet then. Xaranthir: It's remote, but not too remote. Xaranthir: Access to the lake is nearby... Mikhail: Very well. Who do I need to approach about that? Xaranthir: There is always the Eagle's Nest too... But the ogres are rather brutal or so I hear. Parrot: *Skrarrrrk* Parrot: *clucks* Xaranthir: I would say, the *gets interrupted by the parrot* Parrot: *Scrapes beak on perch* Mikhail: *Beams at the parrot* Xaranthir: As I was saying, try either the gnome there. Mikhail: Lovely bird, that one. Highly intelligent. Xaranthir: Or otherwise... Hmmm what's her name? Xaranthir: Is it? Xaranthir: *looks at it intently* Mikhail: I taugh him a new word just yesterday! Xaranthir: And what was that? Mikhail: Transmutation! Xaranthir: Really? Impressive. Parrot: *Skrawwwk* Transmu-TA-tion. *Cluck* Xaranthir: And how many words does he know? Mikhail: Well, I'm nearly through all the schools of magic now. Xaranthir: Hmmm, wonderful... Xaranthir: Does he bite? Parrot: *Half-opens wings, scuttling sideways along the perch* Mikhail: Of course he does! *Happily* Xaranthir: Good, good... *pensive* Mikhail: Makes a wonderful guard. Xaranthir: I'm looking for a parrot that can be more than that. Parrot: *Awwk awwk* Con-ju-RA-tion. Con-ju-RA-tion. *Awwwk* Xaranthir: Very good. And what is your name? *to the parrot* Parrot: *Squints one eye at Xaranthir* Mikhail: I named him Snap. Parrot: *Snaps beak loudly* Xaranthir: Which would be a reference to? Ah. Mikhail: Careful. He can bite off fingers. *Proudly* Xaranthir: I see. Xaranthir: Mhmmm, he looks like he might be good familiar material. Mikhail: Familiar? Xaranthir: Mhmmm. Mikhail: I don't know... he doesn't seem to have any magical attunement. Xaranthir: Good, neither does she. Xaranthir: They'll fit together then. Parrot: *Hangs upside-down from the perch* Xaranthir: It's worth a shot... Xaranthir: *rubs his chin with his left hand* Parrot: *Starts doing acrobatic loops* Xaranthir: And he has lots of energy. Mikhail: But then who'd mind the shop? The other scholars have sticky fingers, you know. Mikhail: Martin found out the hard way. *Nods* Xaranthir: What did he do? *raises an eyebrow* Mikhail: Vorg had to take him to the lodge to get patched up. I think he's still traumatised. Mikhail: Tried to make off with a scroll the other night. Xaranthir: Hmmm, well maybe I'll get something else then... Mikhail: Snap stopped him! Xaranthir: I saw a big lizard a few days ago... ((A Tyrannosaurus to be precise)) Parrot: *Stops doing gymnastics and gives a loud snap of his beak* Xaranthir: I think that one might work better even .... Xaranthir: It would suit her even more so. Parrot: *Preens tail* Xaranthir: It's rather silent, but has a big bite. Mikhail: I don't know... that sounds a bit intimidating for Serai. Xaranthir: Serai? Mikhail: Yes, maybe you should get her a nice, fluffy kitten instead. Xaranthir: Who's talking about Serai? Mikhail: You are. Aren't you? Xaranthir: Of course I'm not. Xaranthir: Serai is a liar to the core. I'm not going to find her a familiar. Mikhail: Nonsense. It would make up for the mean way in which you treated her. *Scoffs* Xaranthir: The mean way? So it's true. Xaranthir: You do all believe that I treated her meanly? ((He did, the meanie)) Mikhail: I'm not deaf you know. I could hear you all outside arguing. Mikhail: Of course. Poor thing. ((She was near to tears! Heartless people were being mean to her.)) Xaranthir: Ah, did you happen to hear the part where she said she was a Menarokian? Mikhail: She might once have been. People change. *Waves a hand in dismissal* Xaranthir: *dumbfounded* Xaranthir: Menarokians don't change. Mikhail: She was very sorry about it all. We should give her a chance. Poor girl's been through a lot. Xaranthir: Once a Menarokian, always one. Xaranthir: Ah you think so? Parrot: *Skrawwwwk* Ab-ju-RA-tion! *Skreeek* Xaranthir: the fact that she willingly made a pact with Menarok doesn't have any consequence then? Mikhail: *Beams at the parrot again, distracted* Isn't he a clever bird? Xaranthir: Very. At least he's not confused by a Menarokian's wiles. Parrot: *Sharpens beak on perch* Xaranthir: It would seem that protections from being charmed do not work when mundane means come into play. Xaranthir: Why is it that all of you apply logics only when you wish to? Mikhail: You're being very harsh about all this. You need to spend less time with that musclehead. It's turned you cynical, you know. Xaranthir: But not when it's actually necessary? Xaranthir: Musclehead? Amaranth? Mikhail: Yes, that one. Look at you. All paranoid about a fragile and defenceless little girl. Xaranthir: Fragile? Defenceless? *laughs without mirth* Xaranthir: Obviously you have never seen Serai in action. Xaranthir: She could tear your head off in no time. Xaranthir: You've never felt the strength in her arms. Mikhail: Nonsense. She's a poor, lost little girl who just wants to spend her time reading books. Xaranthir: By pretending she's someone she's not and by forgetting to mention the fact that she's Menarokian. Xaranthir: Snap out of it Mikhail. Mikhail: Yes, yes, but she admitted to that and said she was sorry. There. Do you have to keep harping on about it? Xaranthir: You're getting to be as dense as Lucifer. Xaranthir: And that makes it all better? Mikhail: Lucifer? Brilliant man. How's his portal and teleportation research coming along? Xaranthir: Saying sorry about being Menarokian? Mikhail: Of course it does! No harm, no foul, I say. Xaranthir: Go pick up the book on religions. Xaranthir: I want you to quote to me what Menarok stands for. Mikhail: See, this is what I was talking about. Xaranthir: *his green eye is starting to pulse with an inner light* Mikhail: Listen to you! You sound like a Righteous Sword. Xaranthir: If you want to be cuddled with lies, do listen to Serai. Parrot: *Skrawwwwk* Xaranthir: Maybe she'll pour honey over her scythe before she mows you away. Parrot: *SNAP* Xaranthir: Go read that book. Xaranthir: Right now. Mikhail: *Scoffs* Exactly what I was talking about. You don't even sound like a scholar any more. You sound like Amaranth. Xaranthir: You all want facts. Then deal with the facts. Xaranthir: Perhaps that is because Amaranth has brains that she uses rather than dust from reading too many books. Xaranthir: Stop circumventing this. Xaranthir: Either you go pick the book now, or I'll get it for you and I'll read it to you. Mikhail: She doesn't have any brains. She's not a scholar. She's just a dumb fighter. Parrot: *Skreeek* Con-ju-RA-tion! Xaranthir: You know what, I'm done with you all. I didn't save these books so I could please a bunch of demented and deluded so-called scholars, who have the attitude of a five-year-old Mikhail: Isn't he marvellous? I think I'll teach him "divination" today. Xaranthir: Amaranth has more intellect than all of you put together. Xaranthir: You may be smart, but you sure as hell can't do anyting useful with it. Mikhail: Nonsense. Are you listening to yourself? You have the finest minds in Vives here. Xaranthir: No. Xaranthir: Actually I don't. Mikhail: You're obviously the one who's been brainwashed. Xaranthir: I have people who don't wish to see the truth. Mikhail: You should spend more time with the other scholars instead of running around the world on crazy adventures. Xaranthir: I have people here who like to believe in fairy tales and whatever tales people spin in front of your eyes. Mikhail: Why, you haven't compared notes with the rest of us for ages! Xaranthir: You ought to get out more and see what the world is like. Xaranthir: Because I don't CARE about that. Mikhail: Oh yes, go out and see the world, like the patrols have been doing. Have you seen the state they come back in? Mikhail: Broken bones and burns and bruises! Poison ivy rashes! Horrid! Xaranthir: Yes, the first because you don't follow instructions and don't know how to cast spells outside. Xaranthir: When it's not controlled, you are just abysmal failures. Mikhail: *Scoffs* We know more about casting spells than any other mage tower! Xaranthir: If you want sugarcoated words, do go see Serai. Xaranthir: Really? Xaranthir: Do you know? Parrot: *SKRAWWWWK* Xaranthir: How about you apply it. Parrot: *Flaps wings* Parrot: *Whistles* Xaranthir: Why didn't -you- save the library then? Xaranthir: You were all in Midor. Mikhail: We were planning to *scoffs* Xaranthir: instead you were staying in the streets lamenting your fate! Mikhail: Nonsense! We're not paladins! Xaranthir: For a year or longer? Mikhail: We had many great plans! Mikhail: Many meaningful and profound debates! Mikhail: Why, I still have the minutes! Xaranthir: Then how come I did it in a week? Mikhail: Because Lucifer helped. Mikhail: Brilliant man. Genius, that one. Xaranthir: Lucifer at least has the brains to go out there and do something. Xaranthir: All you do is sit around and mope. Xaranthir: Right now you're moping about the lack of parchment. Xaranthir: why don't you do something about that? Mikhail: And all you do is stand around and scold, then head out again to try and get yourself killed. Xaranthir: No. Xaranthir: I'm done scolding. Mikhail: What? Of course we're doing something about it. Why do you think I'm moving out for? Xaranthir: Excellent idea. Xaranthir: I think I might just do that too. Parrot: *Fluffs feathers* Xaranthir: I will not babysit you. Xaranthir: You can figure this out for yourselves. Mikhail: We don't need babysitting. *Haughtily* Xaranthir: of course you don't. *sincerely* Xaranthir: That's why I won't do it. Mikhail: ...That doesn't make sense. Xaranthir: You are all brilliant. Mikhail: Yes. Why yes, we are. *Preens as much as the parrot* Parrot: *Preens* Xaranthir: I'm certain that you will come with a solution. Sooner or perhaps later. Mikhail: Precisely! That is the power... of intellect! Xaranthir: Exactly. Mikhail: *Strikes a Melphus-like pose* Xaranthir: And nothing can beat that. Xaranthir: Not even when a sword pierces your guts or slashes through your neck. Mikhail: *Raises finger to point to the ceiling, whilst stroking his beard sagely* Xaranthir: Remember that then. Xaranthir: Always think that intellect is stronger. Xaranthir: Even when you're dying in a horrible way. Mikhail: Of course, of course. That's what spells are for. To protect against that. Xaranthir: Don't worry if you can't get that spell off. There's always the next generation. Mikhail: *Nods* So glad you're being reasonable about this. I was starting to worry about you. Xaranthir: Of course. I'm glad you'll figure this all out by your very own vast intellects. Xaranthir: Because I won't be here. Xaranthir: But I'm sure you don't need me anyway. Mikhail: Isn't it marvellous? The power of intellect! *Lost in his own little world again* ((Server crashed. Reset.)) Xaranthir: Just a little tip though for when your throat does get slashed. Xaranthir: Make sure you aim the gash at the attacker so you can blind his eyes with your blood. Xaranthir: Then the next scholar can take him out. Xaranthir: Simple, but effective. Mikhail: Oh? Do you think the Swords will be coming here? Xaranthir: Them or something else. Xaranthir: Who knows? Xaranthir: You never know when something wicked this way comes. Xaranthir: Always be prepared. Mikhail: Quite all right! We will crrrush them with the power of intellect. Mikhail: *Looks pleased* Xaranthir: Absolutely. Xaranthir: Your intellectual superiorness will save you from anything and everything. Parrot: *SKREEEK* Parrot: *Fluffs tail feathers* Xaranthir: I wish you all well in your endeavours. Mikhail: Yes, yes, and good luck to you as well. Mikhail: I do hope you come to your senses. Xaranthir: And I hope you all stay alive for longer than a month. Xaranthir: Who knows? Exit Xaranthir.  Bolgryn Joined: 07 Nov 2004 Total Posts: 165 Send PM   A Party At The Morgue: Part 1 Posted: 11 Apr 2007 01:35 AM ((I logged out Bereil in Undercity, but for story's sake we'll just say he was sleeping at the Black Pearl.)) [Enter Bereil Brown Beard, clad in blue, grey, and gold. A staff in his hands which head is a swirling vortex of stars within the grasp of a claw. He exits the room in which he slept] Bereil Yadashem: *Strokes his beard idly* The stench of sea water and sweat fill the air, the sounds of surly sea-farers and gruff travelers of the shores cursing each other and holding lewd contests. By the bar a one-eyed man greets you, spitting into a mug as he wipes it clean. Through the smokey fog of the place, you can see it is quite large, though far from inviting. [Bereil steps into the main room and sees Kalid, and Mikél are sitting at a large table by themselves.] The Muse : [Tell] Party at the morgue! The Muse : [Tell] Invite everyone! Bereil Yadashem: [Tell] The morgue? The Muse : [Tell] Yus Kalid D'mar: Quit fidgiting and have a sit Mikél Ramius: *follows her gaze over his shoulder* Bereil Yadashem: Good lads, and lasses, city guards, and drunks alike. Might I extend ye an invitation? Mikél Ramius: *turns slightly in his chair* Kalid D'mar: Yes, but be weary, who knows when Gifferd and Claud might show. Mikél Ramius: *offers him a nod of encouragement* Bereil Yadashem: There is to be *Waggles a finger, and points up to the cieling* a celebration! Aye, at the morgue. Kalid D'mar: say what? Kalid D'mar: Who died? Bereil Yadashem: A party, of course. Mikél Ramius: *eyes thin slightly* Kalid D'mar: *stands* Mikél Ramius: *brow furrowed* Bereil Yadashem: *Archs an archtypical brow* No one has died, hence the celebration. Kalid D'mar: Come Mika. we have to see said party. Acquired Item: Gent's Long Coat - Black and Gold The Muse : [Tell] they must dress apppropriately! Acquired Item: Gent's Long Coat - Black and Gold Mikél Ramius: *opens mouth to protest, then falls silent, lamely* Kalid D'mar: *draggs him out of his chair* Bereil Yadashem: *Snaps his fingers twice* Dress appropriately. ((Bereil's Magical Travelling Wardrobe to the rescue!)) Kalid D'mar: How might that bee? Mikél Ramius: Hey. When is it? Bereil Yadashem: *Hands the man a fancy coat* Mikél Ramius: *holds it up, examining it* Acquired Item: Black Kimono - Golden Dragon (Female Only Design) Kalid D'mar: Put it on. Bereil Yadashem: *Pulls out a fanciful dress from his robes* Mikél Ramius: *lowers, looking at him uncertainly* Kalid D'mar: Ouuu! Kalid D'mar: I must change Bereil Yadashem: *Snaps his fingers* Bereil Yadashem casting Protection from Elements Bereil Yadashem casts Protection from Elements [As the shimmering sparkles flow over the mage, the image of robes dissipates in favour of a black and gold gent's long coat.] Bereil Yadashem: Incredible, aye? Mikél Ramius: *look lingers on him a moment* Kalid D'mar is speaking in Elven Kalid D'mar: Tyyan ean el Bereil Yadashem: I believe that helm must go. Aye, not at all befitting the attire. Mikél Ramius: *slow nod* Excuse me... I'll... just go put this on. Kalid D'mar: . . . Kalid D'mar: um... Kalid D'mar: kay. . . Kalid D'mar: *takes her helm and cloak off* Mikél Ramius: *brushes down the sleeves* Bereil Yadashem: Excellent. I am proud of ye, lass. Isn't she lovely now, without that sordid helmet? Kalid D'mar: *feels naked* Mikél Ramius: *light nod of agreement* Mikél Ramius: What is your name, omealw? Kalid D'mar: *eyes glowin dimly* Mikél Ramius: And... what's the occasion? Bereil Yadashem: Bereil Yadashem. The Muse : [Tell] Quickly now - before PD finishes cleaning the microwave Bereil Yadashem: I could have sworn I told ye. Nobody has died. 'Tis a very unique occurance. Bereil Yadashem: Come now, come along. Kalid D'mar: well... Kalid D'mar: lets get going The fires caused by the recent Atalan attacked have now been extinguished, though smoke and ash still fills the air. Help though has arrived in the shape of a contingent of the Aristi, Sister Hendur has travelled from the Seven Sisters while Jessup's 'hired help' wanders the streets eyed dubiously by all. Bereil Yadashem: Rather slow witted, isn't he? Kalid D'mar: Not very good at imaging things Mikél Ramius: [Tell] Woo. Sweet threads. And you thought Lower Port was bad! As you walk into the slums and back alleys of Port’s lowest section you have the courtesy to take part in the stench and colorful language that makes up Port Royale’s Slums. Papers flick about the street as children run about half clothed. Those without homes loiter outside of the local establishments; this is where the low of the low stay in Port, shady characters and thugs stick out in almost every shadow. Bereil Yadashem: Come along now. Bereil Yadashem: Ignore the peasants. Bereil Yadashem: Filthy beggars. *Mutters* Inside this establishment it’s a rather mournful scene; the walls are littered with coffins and the floor complete with headstones. Shockingly, unlike most of Port Royale’s slums this building is as clean as if not cleaner than some noble establishments. Bereil Yadashem: [Tell] Am I going to the right place? The Muse : [Tell] Yes, under here Bereil Yadashem: Down here now, lass. Bereil Yadashem: Come now. The dark halls of this dismal cellar bounce shadows hither and thither. Inside the only room at the end of the corridor opens up to a ghastly scene of preserved organs, bones and bodies out for study. Among many of the books that lay about all seem to revolve around topics such as embalming and preservation of the dead. [The three of them go to the room where bodies are prepared. There awaits a man in a black and gold long coat, circlet, and violin in hand. He looks strangely familiar too.] Bereil Yadashem: Wonderful! I see the musician has arrived on time. Mikél Ramius: *surveys the room very tentatively* Kalid D'mar: *winces* Bereil Yadashem: *Snaps his fingers* Well now, start playing, lad. Bereil Yadashem: I presume ye know how to diddle the fiddle? Xaranthir/Frobozz: *The man in the headband plays a screeching, grating, toe-tapping tune* Bereil Yadashem: Ah! Now this is /music/. Bereil Yadashem: *Taps his foot rhythmically* Xaranthir/Frobozz: *It is as painful to listen to as the wail of the banshee* Kalid D'mar: *looks around the place faning her self idly* Mikél Ramius: *remains conspicuously near the door* The Muse : *It stinks of dead bodies and chemicals in here* Bereil Yadashem: May I have this dance? *Asks one of the corpses? The Muse : *The corpse does not protest* Kalid D'mar: . . . Kalid D'mar: Huh... Kalid D'mar: Thats not odd to say the least. Mikél Ramius: *moves a hand inside his jacket very slowly* Bereil Yadashem: *Takes the corpse by the hand, and drags it to the open floor* Kalid D'mar: Not. . odd at all. The Muse : *The hand falls off* Bereil Yadashem: Oh my! Mikél Ramius: *face takes a stony set* Bereil Yadashem: I am quite sorry about that. Bereil Yadashem: *Grabs the other hand* Kalid D'mar: You should be more gentle, Bereil. Xaranthir/Frobozz: *skreek SCREEEE kreee EEEEK* The Muse : *The other hand falls off* Bereil Yadashem: Nonesense, they are quite vivacious. Kalid D'mar: *drops the fan covering her ears* Bereil Yadashem: Hrm. Xaranthir/Frobozz: *Taps foot rapidly* Mikél Ramius: *his eyes squint against the shrill music* Bereil Yadashem: *Tosses the hand over a shoulder* Who needs hands in any case. Kalid D'mar: *plucks the violen out of the mans hand and tosses it* Bereil Yadashem: What is yer name, lad? Bereil Yadashem: What are ye doing! Don't disturb the musician.' Mikél Ramius: *eyes the man somewhat cooly, hand inside jacket* Mikel, omealw. Kalid D'mar: I understand this is a horrid party, but still. Xaranthir/Frobozz: *Continues to play without a violin* Bereil Yadashem: I presume ye can play better? Xaranthir/Frobozz: *Swish swissh tap-tap Swisssh* Kalid D'mar: Possibly. Kalid D'mar: *picks up her fan* Bereil Yadashem: Excellent! I happen to have just the instrument for ye. Bereil Yadashem: *Searches his pockets* Search Check, Roll 1d20: 18 + Modifier: 18 = Total: 36 Acquired Item: Tambourine ((His magical travelling warddrobe has accessories too.)) Bereil Yadashem: Here we are. *Picks out a tambourine, and rattles it cheerily* Bereil Yadashem: *Hands her the tambourine* Kalid D'mar: *tucks her fan in the belt of her kimono* Mikél Ramius: *shakes his head* I'm sorry. I can't be party to this. Kalid D'mar: *takes it out and starts danceing gracefuly like a gypse* Bereil Yadashem: *Flourishes a bow to Mikel* May I have this dance? Mikél Ramius: *looks to the corpse, then to Bereil, then back* Mikél Ramius: No. Bereil Yadashem: What? Kalid D'mar: *continues to dance, her yellow eyes glowing* Mikél Ramius: *hand rests just inside the fold of his coat* Bereil Yadashem: Well if ye wish to dance with Handless Henry, he would be more than glad. Mikél Ramius: You heard me, necromancer. The Muse : [Tell] People jump to such odd conclusions ((I'll say. Bereil a necromancer? Yeah, and Vidus is a Saint.)) Mikél Ramius: *draws out his hand, dagger shining* Bereil Yadashem: *Gasps* Necromancer? Where?? *Looks around in wild confusion* Mikél Ramius: Now... I'm going to walk out, very slowly. Mikél Ramius: *points it at him, threatningly* [Mikél takes a few slow steps backwards, and then books it down the hall] Kalid D'mar: *yells* at least give him his coat back! Bereil Yadashem: Aye lad! Bereil Yadashem: Ye best take off that jacket! Bereil Yadashem: It cost me thirty copper! ((The half-elf is long gone. Doesn't he know the coat was a rental?)) Kalid D'mar: *continues to dance, playin the tambourine* Bereil Yadashem: What a strange person. Kalid D'mar: To bad Gifferd and Claud arn't here. Bereil Yadashem: *Picks up the violin,and slips it back into the musician's hands* Kalid D'mar: *giggles to her self as she dances* Acquired Item: Violin - Male Kalid D'mar: *dance dance, Play play* Bereil Yadashem: There we are. Xaranthir/Frobozz: *blinks slowly* Bereil Yadashem: *Dances farcably to the music, waving his arms side to side* ((The spasm emote interprets Bereil's dancing ability best.)) Xaranthir/Frobozz: And where is there? Kalid D'mar: *twirl and spin* Kalid D'mar: There is her *she says in mid gypse twirl* Bereil Yadashem: Yes! Keep up the music, lass! Kalid D'mar: *here( Xaranthir/Frobozz: Extremely informative. Bereil Yadashem: Excuse me? Nobody has paid ye to speak. Xaranthir/Frobozz: *drops the violin bow* Xaranthir/Frobozz: Paid me? Xaranthir/Frobozz: What in the name of Heck is going on here? Xaranthir/Frobozz: *rubs his nose* Bereil Yadashem: Suffering from amnesia, is he? Bereil Yadashem: Yer the musician, lad. Bereil Yadashem: This is the party. Kalid D'mar: *climbs the table and begins to dance and play* Xaranthir/Frobozz: *looks at the blue mustache in his hand* Bereil Yadashem: In celebration of Nobody's Death. Xaranthir/Frobozz: *his eyes open in recognition* Xaranthir/Frobozz: Right... Xaranthir/Frobozz: Let's talk payment then. Kalid D'mar: *twirl twirl* Bereil Yadashem: *Pulls back a sleeve a bit, and glances at his wrist* Ye still have two hours of playing, lad. ((Wait ... why is he looking at his wrist?)) Xaranthir/Frobozz: *snaps the violin bow on the table* Kalid D'mar: *jumps and looks down at him* Bereil Yadashem: *Gives the musician an exhasperated look* Xaranthir/Frobozz: No, you have two hours left. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Two hours if you do not pay me right now. Xaranthir/Frobozz: As per our agreement, you have to pay me 20 turnips. Bereil Yadashem: Ah, of course. Ah. Yer payment. Obviously yer quite flustered, amnesia, and all. Bereil Yadashem: Their in the pile of bodies there. I stuffed one of the corpses with yer turnips. Xaranthir/Frobozz: *mustache in hand he advnaces* Kalid D'mar: *turns quickly looking at Bereil* Bereil Yadashem: Excellent way to carry baggage. The Muse : [Tell] The moustache... of FROBOZZ! Beware! Bereil Yadashem: *Eyes the moustache warily, and backs away slowly* ((In hindsight I realize that Bereil's never met Frobozz, and even ever heard of the moustache. This must be a sign of his superior intelligence at work.)) Bereil Yadashem: Now, now, my friend, no need to be hasty. We are all friends here, aye? Xaranthir/Frobozz: *waving the mustache nearly into Bereil's face he talks in agitated tones* Xaranthir/Frobozz: Do you not know that zombie juices ruin turnips? Xaranthir/Frobozz: What kind of a wizard are you? Xaranthir/Frobozz: You wouldn't happen to be Midoran now would you? Kalid D'mar: *blinks as she watches the conflict between the two* Xaranthir/Frobozz: that would explain it all. Bereil Yadashem: *Flinches back* Perhaps, perhaps not! Xaranthir/Frobozz: *the whiskers come dangerously close to Bereil's nose* Xaranthir/Frobozz: You better fetch me 20 fresh ones. Bereil Yadashem: *Thumps into the wall, leaning back, horrified, and eyes wide* Bereil Yadashem: Twenty turnips! Would a rutabega suffice in their stead? Xaranthir/Frobozz: But of course. *smiles* The Muse : [Tell] Or a favour! YOu could do a favour! [One of the voices in Bereil's head is very loud today.] Xaranthir/Frobozz: Are you completely daft? Xaranthir/Frobozz: Don't you know anything then? Bereil Yadashem: Or a favour! I could easily do ye a favour! *Hastily* Xaranthir/Frobozz: Ah, in that case. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Very well. Bereil Yadashem: *Licks his lips nervously* Kalid D'mar: *becomes confused* Xaranthir/Frobozz: My lab needs cleaning. Bereil Yadashem: *Gaze flickers from the moustache to the musician* Xaranthir/Frobozz: The maids haven't been doing there work. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Or better yet, get rid of those pests for me. Xaranthir/Frobozz: I'm telling you, Midoran maids are useless. Bereil Yadashem: Maids? Why, certainly, a laughingstalk they are. Ha ha. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Who told you you could laugh? Kalid D'mar: Erm. . .why have you not fired them yet? Xaranthir/Frobozz: And who are you? Kalid D'mar: *standing on the table looking between the two. Bereil Yadashem: *Points an acussing finger at Kalid* A maid! She's a maid! Xaranthir/Frobozz: *puts the mustache behind an ear* Kalid D'mar: Lady not Atalan. Kalid D'mar: No. Kalid D'mar: Don't be daft. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Maid? Nonsense. I recognise a maid when I see one. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Yes, don't be daft! Kalid D'mar: Cleary, Im Lady Not Atalan. Bereil Yadashem: She has a tambourine, aye? Kalid D'mar: What else would I be holding? Xaranthir/Frobozz: Really? Well, you can play that while this youngster here cleans out my house. Kalid D'mar: *nods* Kalid D'mar: Very well. Xaranthir/Frobozz: You have till earlier this morning to do it. Kalid D'mar: I shall I play for you now sir? Xaranthir/Frobozz: Nonsense. You've already played for me. Bereil Yadashem: Cleans. Yes, of course. *Wrings his hands* Xaranthir/Frobozz: We all know that. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Yes, cleaning. Kalid D'mar: *shrugs* I can play now and yester year. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Taking out the trash. Bereil Yadashem: Indeed, cleaning. Xaranthir/Frobozz: No you can't. Xaranthir/Frobozz: I'm still inventing yester year. Bereil Yadashem: I am a professional, ye know. I've worked for many a dragons. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Oh then it won't be a problem. Kalid D'mar: Oh, well you should have said something. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Come, let us go there. Xaranthir/Frobozz: *waves the mustache idly around* Kalid D'mar: *hops down gracefuly from the table* Bereil Yadashem: Ondelé. Bereil Yadashem: *Flinches back from the waving moustache* Xaranthir/Frobozz: *sprinkles a few whiskers on them both* Bereil Yadashem: Ach! Spare hairs! Xaranthir/Frobozz: To the cave! Xaranthir/Frobozz: I mean the house! Bereil Yadashem: With bats! Xaranthir/Frobozz: Yes, the cave I went to later. [Xaranthir/Frobozz teleports them in a bright flash of very few colors] CHOO CHOO! - - - - - - Bereil Yadashem. Markus Mortriety, Herald of Novus Aristi.  pdwalker Joined: 08 Jan 2004 Total Posts: 5692 Send PM   Re: A Party At The Morgue: Part 1 Posted: 11 Apr 2007 01:55 AM ((are there any sane mages in the mod? I'm just askin')) Purpose in life: finding better ways of allowing players to kill themselves. Repeatedly. -- "...Cause he mixes it with love And makes the world taste good." -- <@James42> Lawful good isn't in your vocabulary, it's on your menu.  renter6 Joined: 23 Jan 2005 Total Posts: 684 Send PM   Re: A Party At The Morgue: Part 1 Posted: 11 Apr 2007 08:32 AM ((Answer yes, but as Phoenix established they are incompetents)) "What are you talking about?" "I'm talking about dying." "What's that supposed to mean?" "It means lying in the ground with dirt on your face and holding your breath forever." -Burt Reynolds, "The End"  Bolgryn Joined: 07 Nov 2004 Total Posts: 165 Send PM   The Edict of Frobozz: Part 2 Posted: 11 Apr 2007 08:56 PM [The two wizards appear in a blink, and find themselves...] The gnarled trees in this forboding place cast shadows upon you with their dark, twisted limbs. Little light breaks through the dense canopy, causing only mosses and other funghi to grow. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Good good. Here we are. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Follow me. Bereil Yadashem: *Peers around* What a sordid mess! Xaranthir/Frobozz: You are a bit daft aren't you? ((Why doesn't anyone understand Bereil's sense of humour?)) Xaranthir/Frobozz: Does this look like a lab to you? Bereil Yadashem: Of course not. Bereil Yadashem: Do, ah, lead away. *Twirls his fingers* Xaranthir/Frobozz: Good, good. I thought you will lose it. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Although I'm sure I'll think you've lost it. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Oh this is the wrong way. [Gypsy Werewolves attack them] Xaranthir/Frobozz casts Isaac's Greater Missile Storm Xaranthir/Frobozz: Right. Bereil Yadashem: Well done, a fine punch there. Xaranthir/Frobozz: See, your babbling confused me. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Cleaning indeed! It's an ordinary forest! Xaranthir/Frobozz: No wonder mages accomplish nothing nowadays. Bereil Yadashem: That helmet stiffling yer vision, perhaps? Xaranthir/Frobozz casts Elemental Shield [Two more werewolves get burnt to a crisp when they attack the fiery ring of Frobozz.] Xaranthir/Frobozz: Now where is it... Bereil Yadashem: Ah, where is it, indeed? Xaranthir/Frobozzd: Here it is An abandoned, derelict house towers over the closely-knit trees. Perhaps it was impressive once, but now it is rundown and rotting, looking for all the world like it is being strangled in the death-grip of the tangled foliage. Eerie lights flicker from within, and silhouettes move behind the curtained windows. Bereil Yadashem: Bloody Nethar'u. The Muse : *The grass sets alight* Xaranthir/Frobozz: You're not up on geography either. The Muse : *but is extinguished by the rain* Bereil Yadashem: Nay, nay, 'tis but a curse. Xaranthir/Frobozz: And you'll clean up theis singed grass as well. Bereil Yadashem: A scythe would help. Xaranthir/Frobozz: In in in. This once-grand estate lies in shambles. Each wood creak sounds like a guilty footfall; the wind whispering through the halls sounds like the gossip of ghosts. Is it your imagination playing tricks on you? Or is this place haunted? Bereil Yadashem: Friendly looking fellows. ((He's looking at two huge fellows wielding massive doubleaxes dripping acid and venom.)) Xaranthir/Frobozz: Never mind them. Xaranthir/Frobozz: It's the maids you're taking out. Xaranthir/Frobozz: in that room *points behind him* Is already one. Bereil Yadashem: Taking out? Xaranthir/Frobozz: *sighs* Snap the Parrot: *SKRAWWWK* Xaranthir/Frobozz: Do I need to spell it out for you? Snap the Parrot: *Awk awk awk* AB-ju-RA-tion Bereil Yadashem: What a clever parrot. Xaranthir/Frobozz: *points to Mikhail* Ow-you-tee nap the Parrot: *Preens* Mikhail: Aha Mikhail: Back already, are we? Bereil Yadashem: Indeed we are. Mikhail: I knew you couldn't stay away *nods* Xaranthir/Frobozz: *ignores the mage* Now then you come with me. There's a lot more that needs to be done. Bereil Yadashem: Of course. Mikhail: Lovely coats, sirs! Mikhail: Marvellous. Mikhail: But very old fashioned. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Close the door so the maid doesn't escape. Mikhail: *Nose back in book again* Snap the Parrot: *SKRAWWK* [They step into the large welcome hall, there's an elephant sized spider sitting lazily on its equally massive web] Bereil Yadashem: Spiders. Adorable. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Hello Minerva Colossal Spider: *chitter* Xaranthir/Frobozz casting Dancing Lights Bereil Yadashem: Must I feed that - that thing? Bereil Yadashem: Arachnid. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Minerva? No, she feeds herself. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Usually with people who won't do as I tell them. Bereil Yadashem: Indeed. Indeed. *Takes a step back* Xaranthir/Frobozz casting Dancing Lights Xaranthir/Frobozz casts Dancing Lights Bereil Yadashem casting Light Bereil Yadashem casts Light The upper level of the manor is best described as cold and miserable, exhibiting signs of being recently patched up. Cobwebs cling to every surface of the once-grand halls and rooms. Rats and spiders and other unidentified creatures scurry about in the darkness. Bereil Yadashem: I feel mildly secure. Xaranthir/Frobozz: In here you. Xaranthir/Frobozz: See all these maids? Xaranthir/Frobozz: Useless. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Oust them to Fereinibuck. Bereil Yadashem: Fereinibuck? Exiled Midoran Scholar: *wanders off with nose in book, oblivious* Xaranthir/Frobozz: I expect you to be done by tomorrow. Bereil Yadashem: Must they survive? Xaranthir/Frobozz: If you're not done by then, I'll use my newest spell on you. Xaranthir/Frobozz: I've never used it on just one person. Bereil Yadashem: That does not happen t'be a spell of beard overgrowth? Xaranthir/Frobozz: No, but it may have its merrits to find that one too. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Here's a key. Bereil Yadashem: Excellent, a key. Acquired Item: Key, Khadros Manor Bereil Yadashem: *Examines the key* Bereil Yadashem: Very, shall I say, key-like. Xaranthir/Frobozz: I'll explain this in terms so your simple mind can comprehend this. Xaranthir/Frobozz: You use that key in the keyholes here. Xaranthir/Frobozz: You oust the maids. Exiled Midoran Scholar: *bump* Bereil Yadashem: My mind is far too fastidious to be considered merely simple. Bereil Yadashem: Oh my, g'day, lass. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Focus here. Exiled Midoran Scholar: *oblivious to the collision, wanders off with nose in book* The Muse : [Tell] She must like you Xaranthir/Frobozz: Make sure they don't take the books. Bereil Yadashem: I think she likes me. *Strokes his beard in a sagacious manner* Xaranthir/Frobozz: For every missing book, I'll use my newest spell on you once. Xaranthir/Frobozz: *holds the mutache threateningly underhis nose* Xaranthir/Frobozz: Focus I say! Bereil Yadashem: All books remain here. Aaayyyee! Xaranthir/Frobozz: Wonderful, I knew I couldn't count on you. Bereil Yadashem: *Flies back from the moustache terror* The Muse : *books on the shelf wobble precariously when bumped* Xaranthir/Frobozz: But I'm sure your thrilled to find out what mass polyrmoph does to a single person. Xaranthir/Frobozz: polymorph* Bereil Yadashem: Hrm. That would have some interesting physical repercussions. Xaranthir/Frobozz: For that matter, you damage books and you'll undergo the same fate. Bereil Yadashem: Oh, yes, of course. Books are quite precious. The Muse : *bookshelves on rails wobble* Xaranthir/Frobozz: And I know -precisely- which books are damaged already. Xaranthir/Frobozz: You will be warned earlier about that. Bereil Yadashem: Aye, it appears that Melphus Bennigan's sixth volume is peeling. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Yes. That's because some idiot took it on their trip with them. The Muse : [Tell] *you spy a priceless copy of Bennigan's Chronicles* Xaranthir/Frobozz: Now then.... Where shall I be? Xaranthir/Frobozz: Ah yes.... The Muse : [Tell] *Also some transcripts of Vidus' speeches* Bereil Yadashem: *Rubs his hands together greedily, eyeing the books* My acquisition of these precious novels? Xaranthir/Frobozz: Right, tomorrow you will be here. They won't be. Xaranthir/Frobozz: *slaps his face with the mustache* Bereil Yadashem: *Flops down in terror* The Muse : [Tell] *the moustache tries to grab your nose* Bereil Yadashem: Aaachoo! Bereil Yadashem: Let go ob my nose! Xaranthir/Frobozz: *pulls it back* The Muse : *pop* Xaranthir/Frobozz: You stay away from the mustache! Xaranthir/Frobozz: You're going to give it allergies. Bereil Yadashem: *Rubs his nose mendingly* Xaranthir/Frobozz: If you acquit yourself of this task, I'll forget about the payment. Bereil Yadashem: What of my payment? Xaranthir/Frobozz: If you do not, I'll send you to spend an eternity with the elves. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Ah yes... Xaranthir/Frobozz: Another thing! Exiled Midoran Scholar: *runs into wall* Exiled Midoran Scholar: *keeps treadmilling on the spot* Bereil Yadashem: All of the elves? *Archs a dubious brow* Xaranthir/Frobozz: All of them! Especialy those pesky dragon ones. Bereil Yadashem: *Shudders in horror* Xaranthir/Frobozz: Now then, one more thing. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Obviously I'll need a replacement staff. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Yes? Bereil Yadashem: A large brach often does the trick. Xaranthir/Frobozz: *nearly slaps him again* ((*Laughs* There should be a sitcom about wizards.)) Xaranthir/Frobozz: Keep this up and I'll have Nippie chase you. Bereil Yadashem: Aah! A /staff/, of course, how could I forget? Bereil Yadashem: Truly? 'Tisn't very chilly here. Xaranthir/Frobozz: I can change that. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Now then, for a staff, you'll assemble every mage who's worthy. Bereil Yadashem: That is a readily sparse list. Xaranthir/Frobozz: That is to say, every mage who's nearly as good as one hundreth of my cunning prowess. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Start with Oswin the Smooch. Xaranthir/Frobozz: You can keep Lucifer as well. Xaranthir/Frobozz: He'll do. Bereil Yadashem: Oswin the Smooch. I recognize that name, his research stems from cornucopia, aye? ((Freudian joke. Cornucopia is represented by a /Horn/ of Plenty. I originally mispelled it though.)) Xaranthir/Frobozz: I'll leave it to your own pitiful imagination who else you can call to work here. Xaranthir/Frobozz: As the name suggests, he's the master of kissing spellls. Xaranthir/Frobozz: One warning though. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Bring the Eunuch here and you'll become one too. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Also no mages who listen to the name Ludicrous. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Even if they are dead. Bereil Yadashem: Lucius? Aye, he is quite deceased. Xaranthir/Frobozz: As thought that would stop him. Xaranthir/Frobozz: So you've got it? Bereil Yadashem: What if I were t'say, hire a certain femenine appeal who happens to don the garb of Vidus? Xaranthir/Frobozz: No Midorans. Bereil Yadashem: I, of course, will handle the expenses. Bereil Yadashem: Oh no! She's merely a courtesan dressed as one. Xaranthir/Frobozz: *sighs* Bereil Yadashem: *Raises a finger poitedly* I shall take that as a 'nay'. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Very good. Xaranthir/Frobozz: There's no hope for you yet. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Perhaps in the distant future there once might be. Xaranthir/Frobozz: hang on... Xaranthir/Frobozz: *tusn back* Xaranthir/Frobozz: turns* Bereil Yadashem: Must I hang onto something? Xaranthir/Frobozz: No. Xaranthir/Frobozz: No hope at all. Xaranthir/Frobozz: While you're at it, have fun too. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Remember. Fereinibuck. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Perhaps you might drive the pointed ears out of there as well. Xaranthir/Frobozz: If you do, I'll give you the recipe for turnip ice cream. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Well? Bereil Yadashem: *Snaps a salute - entangling his hand in his beard in the process* Aye aye, sir! Xaranthir/Frobozz: Splendid. Xaranthir/Frobozz: chop chop. Get to it. Bereil Yadashem: Eh-gods! My beard! *Spins around trying to release his hand* Xaranthir/Frobozz: Or mass polymorph in its singular form awaits you. Bereil Yadashem: *Fwoip! Bereil Yadashem: Free at last! The Muse : *crunch* The Muse : *Spider goes squish underfoot* Xaranthir/Frobozz: You just destroyed oscarette! Bereil Yadashem: *Lifts his foot* Ach, I just had these shoes shined. renter6 has joined as a player.. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Revive him! Bereil Yadashem: It had a name? Xaranthir/Frobozz: Use mouth on mouth! Bereil Yadashem: I've no slaad tongues. ((Slaad tongue: Search: Jessup's Wild Tours for reference)) Bereil Yadashem: Mouth to mouth? Are ye insane! Xaranthir/Frobozz: You better hurry up or I'll call Minerva Bereil Yadashem: By the arch-wizard's eyebrows! Bereil Yadashem: *Stoops, and scoops up the spider in his hands* Bereil Yadashem: *Gives it a big wet smooch* Xaranthir/Frobozz: *looks in an interested fashion at the proceedings* Bereil Yadashem: *Sticks one of the legs back into the socket* Bereil Yadashem: *Smooches the owie better* Xaranthir/Frobozz: *looks pleased* The Muse : *spider ichor everywhere* Xaranthir/Frobozz: Good good. Bereil Yadashem: *Sets the spider down, and steps back, whiping spider ichor from his mouth* Bereil Yadashem: *Onto his sleeve* Bereil Yadashem: *Licks his lips* Bereil Yadashem: Well done, I say. Xaranthir/Frobozz: indeed. Bereil Yadashem: Good as new. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Except you put it's leg in its mouth. Xaranthir/Frobozz: But it's rather interesting to see this development. Bereil Yadashem: Yes, a new species of arachnidia. Xaranthir/Frobozz: I do hope the maid removal goes somewhat smoother. Bereil Yadashem: They will feed themselves through their arses instead of their mouths. The Muse : [Tell] Say that you will summon one in right now Xaranthir/Frobozz: Really? Xaranthir/Frobozz: Not much of an arachnologist. Bereil Yadashem: Indeed! To prove it I shall summon one right this instant! Bereil Yadashem: *Shuts his eyes tight, and waggles his fingers in a series of intricite motions* Hooffamoooshee Xaranthir/Frobozz: Not very effective your summoning technique. Bereil Yadashem: Irraagooma, tootsierollpop scrubba mee tuiliniop! Xaranthir/Frobozz: *tsks* It's scrubbassa. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Don't you even know the basics of summoning? Bereil Yadashem: *Opens his eyes* Bereil Yadashem: Of course I do. Bereil Yadashem: *Tosses a virvatuli mushroom on the ground* Lost Item: Virvatuli Mushroom Bereil Yadashem: Hasha! Bereil Yadashem: *Waits* Xaranthir/Frobozz: Well? Bereil Yadashem: That's strange. Salt Sower: *peeks in* What's the racket? Bereil Yadashem: It should be appearing any moment. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Aha! Bereil Yadashem: Aha! Xaranthir/Frobozz: My long gone maid! Salt Sower: Ohoh? Bereil Yadashem: Thank the Gods! Salt Sower: *looks at their coats* The Muse : [Tell] Yes yes, he must have one too Xaranthir/Frobozz: Perhaps you can help this poor excuse of a summoner here. Bereil Yadashem: Ye appear to be missing yer coat, good colleague. Xaranthir/Frobozz: He needs to get rid of the maids here. Salt Sower: Ought I... Bereil Yadashem: Where is yer jacket? Salt Sower: *looks at his robes* Xaranthir/Frobozz: Now that you're here, you can help him. Xaranthir/Frobozz: At least you can then do something. Salt Sower: ...excuse me. The Muse : [Tell] snap your fingers at him! Bereil Yadashem: *Snaps his fingers at Salt!* The Muse : [Tell] give chase! Bereil Yadashem: *Snap snap* Xaranthir/Frobozz uses item's special power. Bereil Yadashem: *Snaps his fingers at salt* Salt Sower: *hangs his cloak on his staff with aplomb* Xaranthir/Frobozz: How dare you run out on me? Bereil Yadashem: *Snap* Xaranthir/Frobozz: *flings the mustache threateningly around* Bereil Yadashem: Oh do excuse me, I'm aaahch! Salt Sower: *throws on a black coat* Bereil Yadashem: Keep that moustache away from me! Salt Sower: *flips up the collar foppishly* Bereil Yadashem: *Hugs the wall with his back* Xaranthir/Frobozz: *blows his nose in the mustache* Salt Sower: This thing looks ridiculous on me. Xaranthir/Frobozz: You, maid number two, tell maid number one what you are to do. Salt Sower: Why do both of you look so- Xaranthir/Frobozz: Don't worry, you look ridiculous in general. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Because no one looks as good as me. Xaranthir/Frobozz: *preens* Bereil Yadashem: Yer stunning, and a handsome figure in that jacket, have no worry, Salt. Salt Sower: I'm maid number two? Xaranthir/Frobozz: No, you dolt. Bereil Yadashem: Nay, yer number one. Salt Sower: Well done! Xaranthir/Frobozz: Number two, explain it to number one. Salt Sower: *pats himself on the back* Xaranthir/Frobozz: Engage. Bereil Yadashem: Indeed, I shall. Salt Sower: Good idea. Bereil Yadashem: We are to get rid of all these other maids. Bereil Yadashem: Particularly the Midoran ones. Bereil Yadashem: Send them packing to Fereinibuck. Bereil Yadashem: Where they will be safely nestled amongst all those midgets. Salt Sower: What for? I mean... I've only just gotten to know their names. Xaranthir/Frobozz: *nods, while the mustache flings up and down in an eagerly fashion* Bereil Yadashem: No books are to be taken from this premesis or harmed in the process. Bereil Yadashem: Nor spiders. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Yes or you shall bear to witness my newest spell first hand. Bereil Yadashem: The elves as well should be banished from Fereinibuck if at all possible. Salt Sower: [Whisper] Surely he means ditch the spiders and keep the men, yes? Xaranthir/Frobozz: I'm not dead. Bereil Yadashem: Nay. Xaranthir/Frobozz: And he is right here. Xaranthir/Frobozz: But I'm also there. Bereil Yadashem: Of course ye are. Xaranthir/Frobozz: I'm currently making portals here. Bereil Yadashem: Ah, ye are? Xaranthir/Frobozz: So please don't bother me with details. Xaranthir/Frobozz: No, he is. Xaranthir/Frobozz: I'm elsewhere. Bereil Yadashem: Oh, of course, he is, yes. Salt Sower: Tell me one more time... you want the elves out of Brandibu- Xaranthir/Frobozz: Fereinibuck. Bereil Yadashem: 'Tis Fereinibuck until the elves are removed. Salt Sower: Fereinibuck... and you want all these men shipped out to replace them? Xaranthir/Frobozz: It's quite simple. Xaranthir/Frobozz: You take the maids there. Xaranthir/Frobozz: There inane ramblings will drive the pointed ears away. The Muse : [Tell] The ladder looks highly fascinating ((Persona A.D.D kicks in.)) Salt Sower: Where will they live? Xaranthir/Frobozz: So much that even their silly little dragons won't bother coming there. Bereil Yadashem: In actuality the placement of the human maids should ultimately force the elves to consider moving elsewhere. Xaranthir/Frobozz: Even if they do manage to summon a balor. Salt Sower: You expect them to build houses for themselves? Xaranthir/Frobozz: Of course not. Bereil Yadashem: My, oh my, is that a /ladder/? Xaranthir/Frobozz: They can't lace their shoes. Bereil Yadashem: I wonder where it leads. Xaranthir/Frobozz: YoU! Bereil Yadashem: Fascinating! Xaranthir/Frobozz: Number two, back here right now! Bereil Yadashem: Just one moment, master! Bereil Yadashem: I must explore this theoretical portal ascending upwards. Salt Sower: *shoos a spider away from the Virvatuli mushroom* Xaranthir/Frobozz: You can break your neck after you're done with this. Bereil Yadashem: What has breaking my neck t'do with climbing a ladder? Salt Sower: How many of those mushrooms have you eaten. Xaranthir/Frobozz: They're good with manticore cactus fruit. Xaranthir/Frobozz: You ought to try it. The Muse : [Tell] *Scratching sounds from upstairs, like a cat scratching at a door* Salt Sower: *stomps* Get away you! [Salt starts stomping at the poor liddul spider that is scurrying on the floor.] Bereil Yadashem: Kittens? Salt Sower: And you too! Bereil Yadashem: Ye've kittens in the building? Bereil Yadashem: Why didn't ye say so, lad? Xaranthir/Frobozz: *lines appear in his brow* Bereil Yadashem: Those are the most adorable of all creations! Bereil Yadashem: *Climbs up to release the kittens* This vast attic has been patched up and renovated, and is in better shape than the rest of the building. The construction of a library to house the largest collection of books in all Vives has been halted, though, for reasons yet unknown. You are Rewarded for Discovering a New Area. Bereil Yadashem: Here kitten? The Muse : *CRASH* The Muse : *Screech* The Muse : *Hiss* Bereil Yadashem: I'll rescue ye! You used a key. Bereil Yadashem: Have no fear! The Muse : *Something stumbles into the portal* Bereil Yadashem: *Peers into the portal* The Muse : *It doesn't seem very safe* The Muse : *Your mage sense is tingling* Bereil Yadashem: Hrm. The Muse : *It probably leads to certain death* Bereil Yadashem: Are ye there, kitten? The Muse : *Probably best to chuck in a guinea pig or someone gullible* Bereil Yadashem: Hrm. *Strokes his beard, and glances back towardsr the way downstairs* Salt Sower: Don't walk away... you're being evicted! The upper level of the manor is best described as cold and miserable, exhibiting signs of being recently patched up. Cobwebs cling to every surface of the once-grand halls and rooms. Rats and spiders and other unidentified creatures scurry about in the darkness. Bereil Yadashem: *Climbs back down* Salt Sower: Wait... Bereil Yadashem: I have an idea. Bereil Yadashem: A plan, rather. Bereil Yadashem: Salt! Bereil Yadashem: Number one! Bereil Yadashem: Ye, scholar. Salt Sower: *claws at the coat* Bereil Yadashem: I know where there are some mighty fine books that ye haven't read. Bereil Yadashem: Wonderful tombs of unknown progenies! Bereil Yadashem: Obviously his time is divested elsewhere. Bereil Yadashem: Come with me, my friend. *Grins* We must look at something. Salt Sower: I took hold of his arm Bereil, tried to get him to listen to reason. It was like... like a pudding! Salt Sower: Its like these scholars don't even have any bones in their bodies! Bereil Yadashem: Oh yes, ye can hardly consider them to have any muscle tissues at all. Salt Sower: Where's Xaranthir gone now? Bereil Yadashem: A wonderful scroll, lad. Bereil Yadashem: Come now. *To the scholar* Salt Sower: I don't think I want to be aparty to this. The Muse : *the scholar seems completely oblivious to your presence* Salt Sower: I like the idea of Midoran scholars here with what's left of Midor! Bereil Yadashem: Listen to me! Bereil Yadashem: *Grabs whatever the scholar's reading* Salt Sower: Blast! Bereil Yadashem: *Slaps the man* Salt Sower: *flings off the coat and stands in his dressing robes* Bereil Yadashem: Pay attention! Bereil Yadashem: *KIcks the other man feebly in the bottom* Salt Sower: *watches* The Muse : *he doesn't seem to feel it* Salt Sower: Where did the big man go, eh? Bereil Yadashem: Ye've a very fine chest, Salt. ((Bereil compliments Salt's looks quite often...)) Salt Sower: I want to hear his side of it one more time. Bereil Yadashem: Big man? Salt Sower: Eh? *looks down* Salt Sower: You know, I used to have nice hair on my chest. It stopped growing a little after this! *pats his scalp* Salt Sower: Xaranthir! Bereil Yadashem: Indeed? My hair has never stopped growing. Salt Sower: Where are you?!! Bereil Yadashem: Hairy as an ox, if ye would believe. Salt Sower: Rub it in why don't you. Salt Sower: Well this is a dead end!! Salt Sower: *pats the wall* Bereil Yadashem: A deprecated ox, but one none the less. Salt Sower: Where's the man gone?! The Muse : *the manor is huge; it probably has a hundred rooms* Bereil Yadashem: Best we get to work, lad. Salt Sower: Those are - Bereil Yadashem: Ah! Bereil Yadashem: I know where he has gone. Bereil Yadashem: Do follow me. Bereil Yadashem: I did glimpse a private study through a portal above here. This vast attic has been patched up and renovated, and is in better shape than the rest of the building. The construction of a library to house the largest collection of books in all Vives has been halted, though, for reasons yet unknown. Bereil Yadashem: *Climbs up* You have sent a Party Invitation to Salt Sower. Bereil Yadashem: Come along now, lad! *Calls down* Bereil Yadashem: That dodgy old man. ((Renter keeps on crashing in the manse. Took Salt forever to get anywhere.)) Bereil Yadashem casting Light Bereil Yadashem casts Light Salt Sower has joined the party. Bereil Yadashem: That was not to difficult now, aye? You used a key. Bereil Yadashem: *Points to the portal* Bereil Yadashem: Right there, lad. Salt Sower: They're springing up all over, it seems. Bereil Yadashem: Whom? Salt Sower: I saw two at the top of the stair. Bereil Yadashem: He did say he was working on manufacturing portals. Salt Sower: There ahh... any of those mush-bones up here? Salt Sower: Suppose we could start a head-count. This object is locked. Bereil Yadashem: Hrm. Bereil Yadashem: Locked. Bereil Yadashem: Fastidious. Salt Sower: No bodies. Bereil Yadashem: Not a single one. Bereil Yadashem: Perhaps through that portal? Salt Sower: Odds are, that leads /out/. Wouldn't it? Bereil Yadashem: Perhaps. *Shifty eyes* Salt Sower: Is that where our task lies? Bereil Yadashem: Eventually, yes. Salt Sower: I suppose its where Xaranthir lies... and with him, the means to abort this nonsensical activity. Bereil Yadashem: We could simply murder the lot of them. Bereil Yadashem: Move their bodies to Fereinibuck and have them ressurected. Salt Sower: "Have them resurrected". What god do you pray to. Salt Sower: Withdrawn. Bereil Yadashem: Which ever one suits the task at hand. The Muse : [Tell] Aristi of course! Bereil Yadashem: Aristi! Of course. The Greater Good. ((He even has a uniform somewhere in his wardrobe.)) Salt Sower: Ah. Well then... Bereil Yadashem: Whom else would I pray to? Bereil Yadashem: Do not mind my duplicitous mutterings. Salt Sower: Listen the I'm still sprouting mushrooms from the last time I followed Xaranthir through a portal. Salt Sower: No... no wait... I was following Ophelia. Bereil Yadashem: *Reaches into his pocket and holds out a virvatuli mushroom* Care for another? Lost Item: Virvatuli Mushroom Bereil Yadashem: Yer stepping on my mushrooms! Salt Sower: *takes a seat on one* Salt Sower: So ah... you and X have been eating these? Salt Sower: *sits* Bereil Yadashem: They are absolutely fabulous in tea! The Muse : [Tell] Nonsense! They're too hard. But they're nice in tea. (("Great minds think like me." - Secalor)) Salt Sower: Tea... Salt Sower: You just... *starts to peel the mushroom with a knife* Salt Sower: *striking sparks like a sparkler* Salt Sower: Ack! Bereil Yadashem: The entire mushroom into the teapot. Salt Sower: *mouth a thin line* Later perhaps. Salt Sower: So Bereil, into the portal after Xaranthir, or back downstairs to take a head count? Bereil Yadashem: The former. Salt Sower: Alright. Portal: As you examine the portal, you can feel the magic "sputter" in fits and starts. Whatever magic was here seems irreparably damaged. Bereil Yadashem: Into the portal, and scream in agony if something befals ye. Salt Sower: Hmmph. Salt Sower: *tries again* Portal: As you examine the portal, you can feel the magic "sputter" in fits and starts. Whatever magic was here seems irreparably damaged. Bereil Yadashem: A moment. Bereil Yadashem: *Waggles his fingers in the air* Salt Sower: A momen- Salt Sower: What are you... Bereil Yadashem: Hashanaea! Ooospillicilicus! Octablivious! Salt Sower: Stop all that waggling... Hey now... *looks about himself frantically* [Sparks sizzle and smoke smokes around the balding one] Bereil Yadashem: Fermented applesinsnailsautee! Bereil Yadashem: Snooflapagigilius! Bereil Yadashem: *Snaps his fingers!* Salt Sower: *looks up and dives to the ground after spotting the chandelier hanging overhead* Salt Sower: Look out!! Bereil Yadashem: *Dives to the ground* The Muse : *swing swing* Salt Sower: *covers the back of his head* We'll be showered in lamp oil! Bereil Yadashem: Splendid! Bereil Yadashem: *Rushes to his feet* Salt Sower: No no, it's fine. Bereil Yadashem: *Trips* Bereil Yadashem: *Runs into the bookccase* Salt Sower: Back down. Let's make a plan. Bereil Yadashem: Ach! Bleach! Old carpet tastes horrid! The upper level of the manor is best described as cold and miserable, exhibiting signs of being recently patched up. Cobwebs cling to every surface of the once-grand halls and rooms. Rats and spiders and other unidentified creatures scurry about in the darkness. Salt Sower: *counts* One! Bereil Yadashem: Two! Salt Sower: Where? Bereil Yadashem: Oh, a thousand pardons, I thought we were counting off. ((I work at too many camps. Count off! One! Two! Etc.)) [The two heroic old wizards walk about in search of the oblivious scholars] Bereil Yadashem: Two three four five. Salt Sower: Three... four... five! Bereil Yadashem: Six. Salt Sower: I'm counting heads fellow! Salt Sower: Stop counting me along with them! Bereil Yadashem: No! No! There's one downstairs. Notice: Server will auto reset in 1 minute(s). Bereil Yadashem: ((Reset)) CHOO CHOO! - - - - - - Bereil Yadashem. Markus Mortriety, Herald of Novus Aristi.  Bolgryn Joined: 07 Nov 2004 Total Posts: 165 Send PM   Exodus to Brandibuck: Part 3 Posted: 13 Apr 2007 07:09 PM ((After Reset. We last left off with the two mages doing a headcount of the scholars.)) The upper level of the manor is best described as cold and miserable, exhibiting signs of being recently patched up. Cobwebs cling to every surface of the once-grand halls and rooms. Rats and spiders and other unidentified creatures scurry about in the darkness. Bereil Yadashem: Where were we now? Salt Sower: Still at five. I'm coming up with a plan, too. Bereil Yadashem: Very well, what is the plan? Salt Sower: Well, what do you say we tell them it's just a field trip, and walk them all there? Bereil Yadashem: That sounds like a splendid idea. Salt Sower: Then we vanish and strand them in Brandibuck Vale. Bereil Yadashem: Excellent plan! Salt Sower: You like it? Salt Sower: There's another possibility... Bereil Yadashem: I see no flaws. Salt Sower: No flaws? Well then we don't need a contingency plan. Bereil Yadashem: *Strokes his beard* Bereil Yadashem: In hindsight a contingency plan is a very probable option. Salt Sower: *knocks* Hello? Salt Sower: Hello! Salt Sower: *knock knock*( Bereil Yadashem: I believe they are all there. Salt Sower: Well here's- Salt Sower: All there? Bereil Yadashem: Indeed. Salt Sower: None downstairs? Bereil Yadashem: One is downstairs. Salt Sower: Now that you mention it... I can't recall seeing- Bereil Yadashem: With a parrot. Salt Sower: Mikhail? Salt Sower: Well we could make two trips. Bereil Yadashem: Indeed, that must be his name. Salt Sower: Let's slip in and slam the door shut so none of them escape us. Salt Sower: One... Salt Sower: Two... Salt Sower: Three! Bereil Yadashem: Three! [The two wizards rush through the dooraway, almost at once, and shut it quickly. They're not back a room full of bumbling scholars, a few scurrying little spiders, piles of books on the ground, and books on shelves.] Salt Sower: *defends the door* Bereil Yadashem: Ladies and gentlemen! Learned men and women! Bereil Yadashem: Gather around! Bereil Yadashem: Gather around! Salt Sower: Yes yes, right here! Bereil Yadashem: I have an announcement to make! Bereil Yadashem: We have an announcement to make! *Shouts* Salt Sower uses Salt's Pate Shiner Bereil Yadashem casting Eagle's Splendor Salt Sower: *goes for the "Wow" factor by applying some scalp polish* Bereil Yadashem casts Eagle's Splendor ((They want to look their best.)) Salt Sower: Right, ladies and gentlemen! Salt Sower: It is time for some exercise. Salt Sower: Exercise, you hear? Salt Sower: Isn't that a good word? Bereil Yadashem: *Nods encouragingly* Salt Sower: Ehhh.... Salt Sower: Step away from the door please, ma'am. Salt Sower: Ehhh... sir? Bereil Yadashem: An exercise to find new novels! Salt Sower: Ma'am. Salt Sower: There you go. Bereil Yadashem: A brand new scroll, never seen before! Bereil Yadashem: We know where it is, aye, that we do. Salt Sower: Yes, and, Good News Everyone! Its not far from where you now stand! Bereil Yadashem: Not far at all! Salt Sower: Not... far... at all. Salt Sower: Good news everyone! Salt Sower: We're all going to Brandibuck Vale. Bereil Yadashem: Just follow us and ye will have all to read in yer heart's delight! Salt Sower: There are elves! Bereil Yadashem: Aye, elves! Salt Sower: And reading, yes, readings too. Salt Sower: Like you've never seen before! Bereil Yadashem: Rare classics, such as Melphus Bennigen's collection! Salt Sower: I thought it might possibly have been those ridiculous threads that caused them to treat us as invisible. But how can they ignore my fine kimono? Salt Sower: I'm all swank and swagger! Bereil Yadashem: I haven't the faintest clue, ye appear absolutely charming to me. Salt Sower: Exactly! Salt Sower: So what the hell is going on?! Salt Sower: What's- Bereil Yadashem: I believe we must take a more forceful route. ((Usually that means killing things in his book - With his book.)) Salt Sower: What's wrong with you people? Nottias: *He seems to be too busy sorting books to chat* Salt Sower: GOOD NEWS EVERYONE!! Salt Sower: WE'RE TAKING A- Bereil Yadashem: FIRE!!! THERE'S A FIRE! Salt Sower: We're taking a- Bereil Yadashem: RUN FOR YOUR LIVES! Salt Sower: FIRE?!! Bereil Yadashem: FIRE! Salt Sower casting Energy Buffer Salt Sower casts Energy Buffer Bereil Yadashem casting Protection from Elements Bereil Yadashem casts Protection from Elements Bereil Yadashem: Come on peoples! We must escape! Salt Sower: Drop the books... *gulp* ...save yourselves!! Salt Sower: It's wet outside! Bereil Yadashem: Aye! Save yourselves! Bereil Yadashem: Leave the books! 'Tis wet outside! [They push eachother out of the way to get out of the room, and stop once they turn the corner.] Salt Sower: *peeks* Bereil Yadashem: [Whisper] Is it working? Salt Sower: *shakes his head* Bereil Yadashem: Hrm. Bereil Yadashem: *Strokes his beard furiously* Salt Sower: I had thought of starting a stampede as well. Salt Sower: If only just to get them out the door. Salt Sower: They are even more interested in sorting those books than when I arrived! Bereil Yadashem: Hrm. Bereil Yadashem: Perhaps if we killed one the others would realize that something is amiss? ((Violence is a last resort solution, but oh so much fun.)) Salt Sower: If Xaranthir hadn't said specifically not to harm these texts... Salt Sower: There are no guarantees. Bereil Yadashem: Quite true, blood might cause damage to the texts. Salt Sower: You! Bereil Yadashem: Ye! Salt Sower: *pins him against the doorframe uncomfortably* Salt Sower: Where do you think /you're/ going, eh? Salt Sower: Back inside! Salt Sower: Hey! [The noodle-arm scholar somehow slips past Salt, and starts walking down the hall.] Bereil Yadashem: Hrm. Salt Sower: *pleads with Bereil* Salt Sower: You let him get right past you!! Bereil Yadashem: Oh yes, yes I did. Bereil Yadashem: That direction is closer to the exit. Bereil Yadashem: A start. Bereil Yadashem: Albeit, a slow one. Salt Sower: You're saying perhaps if we open every stoppage between here and there, eventually they will altogether bumble out into the forest? Bereil Yadashem: I shall herd him to the stairs! Bereil Yadashem: 'Tis entirely possible. [They start "herding" the scholar to the stairwell...] Salt Sower: *folds his arms and tries to look mean* Salt Sower: *shakes his head no-no-no style* Bereil Yadashem: *Folds his arms across his chest, and gives the scholar an evil look* Salt Sower: *bump* Bereil Yadashem: Yes, the other way. Bereil Yadashem: *Shakes his head* [...Ten minutes later, and several meters closer to their goal.] Salt Sower: Wonder if they allow smoking in here. Bereil Yadashem: Hrm, I'm not quite sure. Salt Sower: *pulls a twist of tobacco from a pocket and bites off a bit* Bereil Yadashem: There are candles, after all. Salt Sower: *cooly rolls a cigar with shredded tobacco* Salt Sower: Hey hey! Bereil Yadashem: Too far. Salt Sower: That's it noodle-arms. You're almost out. Bereil Yadashem: Nearly there now. Salt Sower: *blows smoke directly in the man's face* Bereil Yadashem: Blast! Salt Sower: *hip-checks him* Bereil Yadashem: This man is passingly clever. Salt Sower: Oh he's sweating now. Salt Sower: ...did we close the door behind us? Bereil Yadashem: I don't believe so. Salt Sower: *chews on his cigar* Salt Sower: *puff of smoke* Bereil Yadashem: Move along now, old chap. Salt Sower: What? Bereil Yadashem: Him, not ye. Bereil Yadashem: Excellent! Salt Sower: Ha-hah!! Salt Sower: That's one! Bereil Yadashem: All the way to the stair, now. Bereil Yadashem: Actually, I have a better idea. Salt Sower: You know... Bereil Yadashem: We could shove them over the railing. Salt Sower: It would be faster to temporarily, temporarily mind you, take hold of their minds. Bereil Yadashem: Excellent idea! Salt Sower: Faster getting them here. Not faster getting them down, obviously. [Bereil quickstudies a few mind posession enchantments.] Resting. Bereil Yadashem: *Flips through his spellbook* Done resting. Bereil Yadashem: *Shuts it with a snap* Salt Sower: I'll prepare a blue mind fog, just in case there's more to these fellows than meets the eye. Salt Sower: Want me to hold this fellow here until you rest? Bereil Yadashem: Already done so. Bereil Yadashem: I will hold him here while ye rest. Salt Sower: Alrighty. Bereil Yadashem: *Tries to shove the scholar over the railing* Strength Check, Roll 1d20: 9 = Total: 9 Bereil Yadashem: Unf! Salt Sower: Alright! ((*Bereil whips out his sparkly staff*)) Salt Sower: Have you got this one? Bereil Yadashem: I can dominate him easily. Salt Sower: Because I'll go and get another if you do. Bereil Yadashem: Watch, and learn. Bereil Yadashem casting Dominate Person Bereil Yadashem casts Dominate Person Dominated Exiled Midoran Scholar. ((Greater Spell Focus: Enchantment at work here. I'd have to say Bereil would never have gotten it if not for hanging around Balthor. Good times.)) Salt Sower: Excellent! Bereil Yadashem: Yer mine! Salt Sower: Alright, I'll be right back. Bereil Yadashem: *Nods* Bereil Yadashem: Come now, feebleminded one. Bereil Yadashem: Aye, that's right. Bereil Yadashem: Here, my beautific scholar. Bereil Yadashem: Back I say! Bereil Yadashem: Heel! Bereil Yadashem: Staaay! Bereil Yadashem: *Snaps his fingers* Bereil Yadashem: *Points to the ground* Here! Bereil Yadashem: Good, lad. Bereil Yadashem: Heere. Bereil Yadashem: Simpering fool! Bereil Yadashem: Ah, Salt. Bereil Yadashem: Another colleague in tow? Salt Sower: Another, yes! Bereil Yadashem: Let's be off now, aye? [The bearded one leads the posessed scholar down the stairs.] This once-grand estate lies in shambles. Each wood creak sounds like a guilty footfall; the wind whispering through the halls sounds like the gossip of ghosts. Is it your imagination playing tricks on you? Or is this place haunted? Bereil Yadashem: *waves to the spider* Bereil Yadashem: Ye dodgering nincompoop! Bereil Yadashem: Isn't this lovely? Bereil Yadashem: Stay, I say. Salt Sower: dang! Bereil Yadashem: Hrm? Salt Sower: I lost my man.. he's... wandering around up there somewhere! Bereil Yadashem: I have a plan! Salt Sower: *sighs* Salt Sower: What's that? Bereil Yadashem: Bring each of them to the bottom of the stair, and I shall codger them the other half of the journey. Bereil Yadashem: This way! Bereil Yadashem: Here. Bereil Yadashem: Stay! Bereil Yadashem: *Points exitedly at the floor infront of him* Salt Sower: So I go back up, and trail them along to the top of the stairs. Bereil Yadashem: Indeed. Salt Sower: Alrighty then. Bereil Yadashem: *Snaps his fingers at the scholar* Bereil Yadashem: Don't mind her. [Referring to the elephant sized spider named Minerva.] Bereil Yadashem: Ah. Bereil Yadashem: Well do mind her. Salt Sower: I /do/. Bereil Yadashem: Just not too much. Bereil Yadashem: Come along now ye simpering fool. You used a key. Bereil Yadashem: I'll have no complaints out of ye. [He leads the posessed scholar around by the nose (not literally, of course).] An abandoned, derelict house towers over the closely-knit trees. Perhaps it was impressive once, but now it is rundown and rotting, looking for all the world like it is being strangled in the death-grip of the tangled foliage. Eerie lights flicker from within, and silhouettes move behind the curtained windows. Bereil Yadashem: No! Bereil Yadashem: Outside. Bereil Yadashem: Come along now. The gnarled trees in this forboding place cast shadows upon you with their dark, twisted limbs. Little light breaks through the dense canopy, causing only mosses and other funghi to grow. ((One of those gypsy werewolves attack.)) Exiled Midoran Scholar casting Confusion Exiled Midoran Scholar casts Confusion [The werewolf gets really confused, and then Bereil bops it over the head with his staff] Bereil Yadashem: Well done. Bereil Yadashem: Yer not entirely useless after all. [They continue on without any more interruption.] A well-worn path cleaves through the dark woods. High above, brooding ravens watch your every move intently, their piercing, keen eyes seeming to burrow straight into your soul. Bereil Yadashem: Make way! Make way! Bereil Yadashem: Kusin, two t'Brandibuck. Kusin the Oxen-Driver: Hail! 'Ol Kusin be at yer service! Where can I take'ye? And don't ye be forgettin' Kusin 'ere be chargin' you folk, 'e got 5 kids ta feed! It be 10 o'yer Gold. Bereil Yadashem: I'd like to go to Brandibuck. The devastated village of Brandibuck Vale lies still under a pall of greasy smoke and mourning. There is, however, hope. Every spare space is occupied by supplies and wagons sent by Ferein and the Aristi, whilst Ferein Elves patrol and guard the small settlement. Healers and druids work tirelessly to cure the wounded and injured and halflings, elves and humans work together to clear and rebuild, having taken care already to deal with those who were, sadly, beyond aid. The Cosy Establishment is welcoming and jovial....... Spontaneous bursts of laughter, dancing and other such merriments occur frequently........ whilst the smell of home-cooking and fine ales and tobacco tantalise your senses. Bereil Yadashem: Winky! My good friend! Bereil Yadashem: I leave this sot in yer care for now. You are no longer dominating Exiled Midoran Scholar. Bereil Yadashem: Do enjoy his company! Bereil Yadashem: I'll pay the tab, have no worry! The devastated village of Brandibuck Vale lies still under a pall of greasy smoke and mourning. There is, however, hope. Every spare space is occupied by supplies and wagons sent by Ferein and the Aristi, whilst Ferein Elves patrol and guard the small settlement. Healers and druids work tirelessly to cure the wounded and injured and halflings, elves and humans work together to clear and rebuild, having taken care already to deal with those who were, sadly, beyond aid. Bereil Yadashem casting Expeditious Retreat Bereil Yadashem casts Expeditious Retreat ((He's late, he's late. For a very important date!)) Kusin the Oxen-Driver: Hail! 'Ol Kusin be at yer service! Where can I take'ye? And don't ye be forgettin' Kusin 'ere be chargin' you folk, 'e got 5 kids ta feed! It be 10 o'yer Gold. Bereil Yadashem: I'd like to go to Mirghul Forest Trail. A well-worn path cleaves through the dark woods. High above, brooding ravens watch your every move intently, their piercing, keen eyes seeming to burrow straight into your soul. The gnarled trees in this forboding place cast shadows upon you with their dark, twisted limbs. Little light breaks through the dense canopy, causing only mosses and other funghi to grow. An abandoned, derelict house towers over the closely-knit trees. Perhaps it was impressive once, but now it is rundown and rotting, looking for all the world like it is being strangled in the death-grip of the tangled foliage. Eerie lights flicker from within, and silhouettes move behind the curtained windows. You used a key. This once-grand estate lies in shambles. Each wood creak sounds like a guilty footfall; the wind whispering through the halls sounds like the gossip of ghosts. Is it your imagination playing tricks on you? Or is this place haunted? Bereil Yadashem: Good gods! Bereil Yadashem: *Dashes quickly when he discovers himself under the spider8 The upper level of the manor is best described as cold and miserable, exhibiting signs of being recently patched up. Cobwebs cling to every surface of the once-grand halls and rooms. Rats and spiders and other unidentified creatures scurry about in the darkness. Bereil Yadashem: Another! How delightful. Bereil Yadashem casting Dominate Person Bereil Yadashem casts Dominate Person Dominated Exiled Midoran Scholar. Bereil Yadashem: I said come with me! Bereil Yadashem: *Grins broadly* This once-grand estate lies in shambles. Each wood creak sounds like a guilty footfall; the wind whispering through the halls sounds like the gossip of ghosts. Is it your imagination playing tricks on you? Or is this place haunted? Bereil Yadashem: Do, ah, excuse us, miss spider. Bereil Yadashem: *Runs past* An abandoned, derelict house towers over the closely-knit trees. Perhaps it was impressive once, but now it is rundown and rotting, looking for all the world like it is being strangled in the death-grip of the tangled foliage. Eerie lights flicker from within, and silhouettes move behind the curtained windows. The gnarled trees in this forboding place cast shadows upon you with their dark, twisted limbs. Little light breaks through the dense canopy, causing only mosses and other funghi to grow. A well-worn path cleaves through the dark woods. High above, brooding ravens watch your every move intently, their piercing, keen eyes seeming to burrow straight into your soul. Bereil Yadashem: Make way! Bereil Yadashem: Two, again, Jusin! Bereil Yadashem: Kusin, a thousand pardons. Kusin the Oxen-Driver: ((Says his lines.)) Bereil Yadashem: I'd like to go to Brandibuck. The devastated village of Brandibuck Vale lies still under a pall of greasy smoke and mourning. There is, however, hope. Every spare space is occupied by supplies and wagons sent by Ferein and the Aristi, whilst Ferein Elves patrol and guard the small settlement. Healers and druids work tirelessly to cure the wounded and injured and halflings, elves and humans work together to clear and rebuild, having taken care already to deal with those who were, sadly, beyond aid. Bereil Yadashem: Come along now. Bereil Yadashem: Make way! ((Ferenibuck here we come, right back where we started from.)) The Cosy Establishment is welcoming and jovial....... Spontaneous bursts of laughter, dancing and other such merriments occur frequently........ whilst the smell of home-cooking and fine ales and tobacco tantalise your senses. Bereil Yadashem: *Snaps his fingers* Bereil Yadashem: I entrust another to yer care, Winky. Bereil Yadashem: Do enjoy the company. You are no longer dominating Exiled Midoran Scholar. Bereil Yadashem: I certainly have! Bereil Yadashem: Make certain they do not leave the premesis! The devastated village of Brandibuck Vale lies still under a pall of greasy smoke and mourning. There is, however, hope. Every spare space is occupied by supplies and wagons sent by Ferein and the Aristi, whilst Ferein Elves patrol and guard the small settlement. Healers and druids work tirelessly to cure the wounded and injured and halflings, elves and humans work together to clear and rebuild, having taken care already to deal with those who were, sadly, beyond aid. Bereil Yadashem: Back to the trail, Kusin. Bereil Yadashem: I'd like to go to Mirghul Forest Trail. A well-worn path cleaves through the dark woods. High above, brooding ravens watch your every move intently, their piercing, keen eyes seeming to burrow straight into your soul. The gnarled trees in this forboding place cast shadows upon you with their dark, twisted limbs. Little light breaks through the dense canopy, causing only mosses and other funghi to grow. An abandoned, derelict house towers over the closely-knit trees. Perhaps it was impressive once, but now it is rundown and rotting, looking for all the world like it is being strangled in the death-grip of the tangled foliage. Eerie lights flicker from within, and silhouettes move behind the curtained windows. This once-grand estate lies in shambles. Each wood creak sounds like a guilty footfall; the wind whispering through the halls sounds like the gossip of ghosts. Is it your imagination playing tricks on you? Or is this place haunted? Bereil Yadashem: *Dashes past the spider* The upper level of the manor is best described as cold and miserable, exhibiting signs of being recently patched up. Cobwebs cling to every surface of the once-grand halls and rooms. Rats and spiders and other unidentified creatures scurry about in the darkness. Bereil Yadashem: Having trouble? Salt Sower: They're too willful! Bereil Yadashem: Nonesense! Salt Sower: Witness! Bereil Yadashem: Hrm. ((If at first you don't succeed, try again.)) Bereil Yadashem: There we are. Bereil Yadashem: Come along, lass. Exiled Midoran Scholar: I will see that it is done. Bereil Yadashem: *Snaps fingers* Bereil Yadashem: Now ye and I will be having a wonderful dinner together. Bereil Yadashem: I can see how enthusiastic ye are! This once-grand estate lies in shambles. Each wood creak sounds like a guilty footfall; the wind whispering through the halls sounds like the gossip of ghosts. Is it your imagination playing tricks on you? Or is this place haunted? Bereil Yadashem: A wonderful time, oh yes. Bereil Yadashem: Bloody Nethar'u! Exiled Midoran Scholar: I will see that it is done. Bereil Yadashem: Spiders. *Shudders* An abandoned, derelict house towers over the closely-knit trees. Perhaps it was impressive once, but now it is rundown and rotting, looking for all the world like it is being strangled in the death-grip of the tangled foliage. Eerie lights flicker from within, and silhouettes move behind the curtained windows. Exiled Midoran Scholar: I will see that it is done. You used a key. Bereil Yadashem: I'm certain ye will! The gnarled trees in this forboding place cast shadows upon you with their dark, twisted limbs. Little light breaks through the dense canopy, causing only mosses and other funghi to grow. Exiled Midoran Scholar: I will see that it is done. Bereil Yadashem: *Snaps his fingers* Bereil Yadashem: Come along now! Bereil Yadashem: Move those fabuloous legs. A well-worn path cleaves through the dark woods. High above, brooding ravens watch your every move intently, their piercing, keen eyes seeming to burrow straight into your soul. Exiled Midoran Scholar: I will see that it is done. Bereil Yadashem: Yes, yes. Bereil Yadashem: Kusin! Meet my new wife. Bereil Yadashem: Newly wed, yes. Bereil Yadashem: To Brandibuck, 'tis where the celebrations are. Kusin the Oxen-Driver: Hail! 'Ol Kusin be at yer service! Where can I take'ye? And don't ye be forgettin' Kusin 'ere be chargin' you folk, 'e got 5 kids ta feed! It be 10 o'yer Gold. Bereil Yadashem: I'd like to go to Brandibuck. The devastated village of Brandibuck Vale lies still under a pall of greasy smoke and mourning. There is, however, hope. Every spare space is occupied by supplies and wagons sent by Ferein and the Aristi, whilst Ferein Elves patrol and guard the small settlement. Healers and druids work tirelessly to cure the wounded and injured and halflings, elves and humans work together to clear and rebuild, having taken care already to deal with those who were, sadly, beyond aid. Your actions have shifted your alignment 3 point(s) toward Chaotic. ((*Shifty eyes*)) Bereil Yadashem: Come along now. Bereil Yadashem: Into this wonderful building. Exiled Midoran Scholar: I will see that it is done. The Cosy Establishment is welcoming and jovial....... Spontaneous bursts of laughter, dancing and other such merriments occur frequently........ whilst the smell of home-cooking and fine ales and tobacco tantalise your senses. Bereil Yadashem: Winky! Meet my darling wife, Bertha. Bereil Yadashem: She'll be staying here for the next while. You are no longer dominating Exiled Midoran Scholar. Bereil Yadashem: Good lass. The devastated village of Brandibuck Vale lies still under a pall of greasy smoke and mourning. There is, however, hope. Every spare space is occupied by supplies and wagons sent by Ferein and the Aristi, whilst Ferein Elves patrol and guard the small settlement. Healers and druids work tirelessly to cure the wounded and injured and halflings, elves and humans work together to clear and rebuild, having taken care already to deal with those who were, sadly, beyond aid. Bereil Yadashem: *Huffs back to the cart* Kusin the Oxen-Driver: ((Says his lines.)) Bereil Yadashem: I'd like to go to Mirghul Forest Trail. A well-worn path cleaves through the dark woods. High above, brooding ravens watch your every move intently, their piercing, keen eyes seeming to burrow straight into your soul. The gnarled trees in this forboding place cast shadows upon you with their dark, twisted limbs. Little light breaks through the dense canopy, causing only mosses and other funghi to grow. An abandoned, derelict house towers over the closely-knit trees. Perhaps it was impressive once, but now it is rundown and rotting, looking for all the world like it is being strangled in the death-grip of the tangled foliage. Eerie lights flicker from within, and silhouettes move behind the curtained windows. You used a key. This once-grand estate lies in shambles. Each wood creak sounds like a guilty footfall; the wind whispering through the halls sounds like the gossip of ghosts. Is it your imagination playing tricks on you? Or is this place haunted? Bereil Yadashem: *Dabs some perspiration from his brow* Bereil Yadashem: Gods be good, stay away from me ye eight legged freak. The upper level of the manor is best described as cold and miserable, exhibiting signs of being recently patched up. Cobwebs cling to every surface of the once-grand halls and rooms. Rats and spiders and other unidentified creatures scurry about in the darkness. Bereil Yadashem: AH! Salt Sower: One more charge for you Bereil. Bereil Yadashem: Oh, 'tis just one of the small ones. Salt Sower: There were casualties. Bereil Yadashem: G'day, lass. Bereil Yadashem: Casualties? Bereil Yadashem: Gods, not human ones? Salt Sower: These spiders went and got hostlie on me. I had to do a little clog-dance on them. Salt Sower: Stomped about five of them, I reckon. Glad I wore the clogs today. Bereil Yadashem: Ah, well give them mouth to mouth and that should revive them all and well. Salt Sower: *looks at the bottom of his show* Bereil Yadashem: Sprinkle these mushrooms on them. Salt Sower: ^shoe Bereil Yadashem: *Hands Salt a handful of Virvatuli mushrooms* ((Recipe for arachnid ressurection.)) Salt Sower: I'll... try that? Bereil Yadashem: Do or do not; there is no try. Bereil Yadashem: *Nods sagely* Salt Sower: Well listen... that last remaing fellow is a tough nut. Salt Sower: He throws off my enchantments even as they take hold of them. Bereil Yadashem: Curious? Salt Sower: Curious! Bereil Yadashem: Odd, rather. Bereil Yadashem: I will make an attempt before I herd this one to their new home. Salt Sower: Alright, well he left the sorting room. Salt Sower: Can't say where he wound up. Bereil Yadashem: Hrm. Bereil Yadashem: We'll see to it at once. Bereil Yadashem: He couldn't have gone far. Bereil Yadashem: Where did he go now? Salt Sower: He was mumbling something about enchantment miscibility and some medication or another... Bereil Yadashem: Medication? Salt Sower: He seems to have discovered a prophylactic against domination! Salt Sower: Or so it seems. The Muse : [Tell] There a hundred rooms here. He could be anywhere. Bereil Yadashem: There are a hundred rooms here, it would take ages to find him. Salt Sower: Then perhaps it will be some time before Xaranthir notices and takes it out on us. Salt Sower: That being the case... Salt Sower: Shall we try the fellow downstairs and march in step? Bereil Yadashem: T'was him whom I shalt not speaketh his name. Salt Sower: Mikhail? Bereil Yadashem: Nay, the dreadful one, with the moustache. Salt Sower: What's the problem. Mikhail. Its a perfectly- Salt Sower: Who? Bereil Yadashem: Creator of the purple - badgers. *He finishes with a whisper* Salt Sower: I thought- Salt Sower: *nods* Bereil Yadashem: *Peers around* Salt Sower: Funny... I saw the two of them together, not long ago at all... Bereil Yadashem: Two badgers? Salt Sower: Maybe they swapped some intellectual property. Xaranthir and his doppleganger. Bereil Yadashem: That wasn't Xaranthir. Salt Sower: The one who was just here? Bereil Yadashem: Nay, t'wasn't. Salt Sower: [Tell] catch me up - did it look like Frobozz in X's headband? Bereil Yadashem: [Tell] Exactly. Salt Sower: *rubs his hands together* Salt Sower: Let's nab Mikhail, or stash him in a disused cell, eh? Bereil Yadashem: I will grab that final one there as well. Bereil Yadashem: Lass! Bereil Yadashem: Do come here a moment. Bereil Yadashem: I have something to show ye. Bereil Yadashem casting Dominate Person Bereil Yadashem casts Dominate Person Bereil Yadashem: This! Dominated Exiled Midoran Scholar. This once-grand estate lies in shambles. Each wood creak sounds like a guilty footfall; the wind whispering through the halls sounds like the gossip of ghosts. Is it your imagination playing tricks on you? Or is this place haunted? Bereil Yadashem: *Snaps his fingers* This way. Bereil Yadashem: Oh for the love of the Gods, why won't that spider move aside? Bereil Yadashem: Stop staring at me. Bereil Yadashem: Good girl. Bereil Yadashem: Just, walk around in circles, would ye? Bereil Yadashem: Circles. *Twirls his hand in a circly gesture* Bereil Yadashem: *Eyes the spider anxiously* Exiled Midoran Scholar: I will see that it is done. Bereil Yadashem: Good, good. See that ye see that it is done. Salt Sower: Let's see about Mikhail, eh? Bereil Yadashem: Aye. Bereil Yadashem: *Skirts around the spider* Exiled Midoran Scholar: I will see that it is done. Salt Sower: Hello fellow... I was wondering if you don't have a little... Salt Sower: ...Obedience!! Salt Sower casting Dominate Person Salt Sower casts Dominate Person ((The spell fails to take effect, but the lines preceding are priceless.)) Bereil Yadashem: Perhaps simple persuasion will help. Bereil Yadashem: Mikhail, is it? Salt Sower: Mikhail is right, late of Midor. Mikhail: *He watches you warily as you enter the small shop* Bereil Yadashem: I remember this cadge. He was in the tower, in Midor. Salt Sower: I wonder... if we nabbed his parrot, maybe he'd follow suite? Bereil Yadashem: Excellent idea Bereil Yadashem: Just beweare. Salt Sower: Of what? Bereil Yadashem: He appears rather volatile. Salt Sower: Oh I've dealt with parrots before, fellow. Mystique used to have clouds of them. Vicious things! Salt Sower: Parrot! Salt Sower: Polly! Salt Sower: *extends his staff for the parrot to grip* Bereil Yadashem: Say something clever, parrot. Bereil Yadashem: Hrm? Salt Sower: *prods the parrot* Salt Sower: Where are you leaving these people in Fereinibuck, anyway? Bereil Yadashem: Winky's. Where else? Salt Sower: Good, good. Salt Sower: We'll probably have to pay up their rent for a month. Salt Sower: Hmph. Salt Sower: I say the parrot stays. The salesman goes. Bereil Yadashem: Agreed. Salt Sower: *thinks* Bereil Yadashem: Mikhail, we have a fine, and cozy place in Brandibuck for ye to set up shop. Salt Sower: We do? Salt Sower: We do! Bereil Yadashem: *Winks conspiratorily to Salt* Bereil Yadashem: Aye, we do! Salt Sower: Room for all this stuff... room for this and more! Bereil Yadashem: Much more, indeed. Salt Sower: And a whole aviary for the parrot! ...if you like, that is. Salt Sower: If not you can use it for back inventory. Bereil Yadashem: An aviary fit for a hundred parrots! Salt Sower: A PLAGUE OF PARROTS! Salt Sower: *ahem* Bereil Yadashem: Perhaps I shall escourt this beautific lass to this new shop, aye? Salt Sower: Let's ahhh... celebrate our successes, eh? Salt Sower: Oh yes! Bereil Yadashem: Aye! We shall have a celebration there. Salt Sower: She can join the other eligible Midoran ladies, who are getting some /exercise/ in Brandibuck Vale! Bereil Yadashem: Once all the fine scholarly, and wizened guests arrive. Salt Sower: Oh yes. Bereil Yadashem: Yes, indeed. Salt Sower: [Whisper] Wait till they see it's just half-scale furniture and subsistence-level feed! Salt Sower: *shrugs* Bereil Yadashem: *Chuckles* Salt Sower: C'mon fellow, it isn't too late in life you know. Salt Sower: *sighs* Bereil Yadashem: *ACHOO* Bereil Yadashem: We'll be back. An abandoned, derelict house towers over the closely-knit trees. Perhaps it was impressive once, but now it is rundown and rotting, looking for all the world like it is being strangled in the death-grip of the tangled foliage. Eerie lights flicker from within, and silhouettes move behind the curtained windows. Bereil Yadashem: *Locks the door* Bereil Yadashem: Come along now, lassie. [They cast a few protective spells, just in case.] The gnarled trees in this forboding place cast shadows upon you with their dark, twisted limbs. Little light breaks through the dense canopy, causing only mosses and other funghi to grow. Bereil Yadashem: Right this way now. Bereil Yadashem: Aye, aye, no dawdalling. A well-worn path cleaves through the dark woods. High above, brooding ravens watch your every move intently, their piercing, keen eyes seeming to burrow straight into your soul. Bereil Yadashem: Kusin! Bereil Yadashem: A trip for three to Brandibuck. Bereil Yadashem: Here we have Salt's wife now. Bereil Yadashem: Such a buxom lass, aye? [Bereil shoves the scholar onto the cart, and hops on as well before Salt can offer any protest.] The devastated village of Brandibuck Vale lies still under a pall of greasy smoke and mourning. There is, however, hope. Every spare space is occupied by supplies and wagons sent by Ferein and the Aristi, whilst Ferein Elves patrol and guard the small settlement. Healers and druids work tirelessly to cure the wounded and injured and halflings, elves and humans work together to clear and rebuild, having taken care already to deal with those who were, sadly, beyond aid. Bereil Yadashem: Yes, yes. Bereil Yadashem: Oh my. Tristian Vike: *hops off from the top of the cart* Salt Sower: Hello Tris! Bereil Yadashem: Come along now. Tristian Vike: Hello... Salt. Bereil. [The two wizened wizards, and their scholar in tow are already starting to walk towards Ye Hole In The Ground.] Bereil Yadashem: G'day, Tristian. Bereil Yadashem: Come along now, lass. Exiled Midoran Scholar: I will see that it is done. Bereil Yadashem: Here, lass. The Cosy Establishment is welcoming and jovial....... Spontaneous bursts of laughter, dancing and other such merriments occur frequently........ whilst the smell of home-cooking and fine ales and tobacco tantalise your senses. Exiled Midoran Scholar: I will see that it is done. Bereil Yadashem: Winky! Bereil Yadashem: How wonderful of ye to be doing such a fabulous job. Bereil Yadashem: This is Salt's good wife. Bereil Yadashem: Newly wed, aye. Salt Sower: Never! Salt Sower: Never happened! Bereil Yadashem: She will be staying here as well. You are no longer dominating Exiled Midoran Scholar. [Released from the domination the scholar starts bumbling about the inn with her fellows.] Salt Sower: *tut-tuts* It really never happened, Wink. Bereil Yadashem: Nonesense, the wedding was such a wonderful event. Salt Sower: I am however paying their room and board for... shall we say a week in advance? Salt Sower: Oh you don't know! Bereil Yadashem: We would have invited ye, but t'was on such short notice. Bereil Yadashem: In any event we will gladly pay any expenses, damages, et cetera for our good colleagues here. Salt Sower: *hands Winky a sack of coins* Here's their deposit, first and last weeks rent. Salt Sower: Just throw them into a room together and let them fight for the top bunk. Salt Sower: Ehhh... separate room for the ladies, I suppose. Salt Sower: /If/ you have the vacancy. Bereil Yadashem: Indeed. Bereil Yadashem: If not, then just excuse a few of the elves from their rooms. Bereil Yadashem: They have no need for them. Salt Sower: Rooms? I thought they were camped out in the woods or something. Salt Sower: Well in any event... Bereil Yadashem: Ye never know in this age. Elves are quite odiferous creatures. Salt Sower: Have you any idea whatever why this task was assigned to us? Bereil Yadashem: A job well done. [Enter Alton Highhill; a short red-haired priest of Vilyave in a blue trenchcoat.] Alton Highhill: Hey Bereil Yadashem: We're the maids, of course. Salt Sower: Hello Alton. Bereil Yadashem: Why else? Bereil Yadashem: G'day, Alton. Salt Sower: That's no answer. Bereil Yadashem: That is clearly an answer. Salt Sower: What's the problem with these noodle-arms, eh? Bereil Yadashem: They aren't doing their jobs, apparently. Salt Sower: Hmph. Salt Sower: Seemed pretty busy to me. Bereil Yadashem: Pish posh! Salt Sower: That place is going to remain a shambles. Be overrun with spiders before long. Alton Highhill: *eyes the two wizards and their new guests* Bereil Yadashem: Ye may stop staring at any moment now, Alton. Salt Sower: Think the Khadros brothers are going to finish organizing the- Salt Sower: *zips it* Bereil Yadashem: I'm certain yer clogs will keep the population in good order. Salt Sower: *closes his robe too* Bereil Yadashem: These are the new guests to Brandibuck. Bereil Yadashem: They will be staying here as part of The Solution. Alton Highhill: The what now? Bereil Yadashem: The Solution, of course. To all yer problems. Mainly the elves. Salt Sower: *palms-up expression at Alton* I don't find them to be so problematic... Bereil Yadashem: Indeed. Friendly chaps one and all. Alton Highhill: *sighs* Since when did we start sheltering the world's races? Salt Sower: Like you haven't got the room. Alton Highhill: Do we? Salt Sower: Besides, I'll be just a quick walk down the road. If it comes to it I can pop in and get them in line again. Alton Highhill: Just where are they from? Bereil Yadashem: Indubidively. As will I. Salt Sower: Midor, Alton. Alton Highhill: Oh... Salt Sower: And that's as direct an answer as you can expect to receive in their presence. Alton Highhill: These aren't the "white queen", right? Salt Sower: They're exiles, Alton. What that has to do with the game of chess I know not. Alton Highhill: Right. As long as they're not inquisitors. Bereil Yadashem: Oh, we must collect a list of names of mages, not including the eunich - Balthor - and also not including Lucius. Salt Sower: White queen, white bishop... *shrugs* Well they aren't that. Alton Highhill: Wait wait wait wait wait.... Bereil Yadashem: Intelligent mages. Salt Sower: What what what what... Salt Sower: List of names? Bereil Yadashem: Wizards. Bereil Yadashem: Indeed. Salt Sower: For who? Alton Highhill: You mean the Midoran army has /another/ reason to go burn us all down EXCEPT the elves now? Bereil Yadashem: For He Who Hired Us to be Maids. Salt Sower: He demands a list of mages. Salt Sower: He. Hmm. Bereil Yadashem: Indeed. Alton Highhill: *frowns* Alton Highhill: I hate you wizards. Bereil Yadashem: Ah, he wants Oswin the Smooch as well. Salt Sower: When you say Wants... you mean he wants Oswin on the list? Bereil Yadashem: Precisely. Salt Sower: As opposed to, wants Oswin brought before him and planted in his garden? Bereil Yadashem: Precisely. Alton Highhill: . . . Salt Sower: *frowns at Alton* Don't blame us fellow, we're just hirelings. Maids! Bereil Yadashem: Ye have nothing to worry about. Bereil Yadashem: Absolutely nothing. Alton Highhill: I can't believe this is Xaranthir's idea... Alton Highhill: Even /he/ is an idiot now! Salt Sower: He comes and goes I think. Bereil Yadashem: Shits and giggles. Bereil Yadashem: Wrong analogy, isn't that. Salt Sower: Tell you what. We'll keep these people inside Winky's. If they don't go outside they can't be spotted. Fereinibuck doesn't become more of a target than the elves are already making it. Alton Highhill: I can handle that. At least until the elves go away. Bereil Yadashem: They haven't seen the daylight until I moved them here, if that's what ye fear. They won't go about wandering aimlessly. Alton Highhill: You get back to your room! Alton Highhill: *to the scholar* Bereil Yadashem: Shoo! Salt Sower: Have to strong-arm them from time to time. Salt Sower: Keep them in place. Bereil Yadashem: Aye. Alton Highhill: Bah Alton Highhill: Just when I got rid of Fereinihavenbuck. Salt Sower: Got rid of... Salt Sower: You've sent away the elves? Alton Highhill: No, the Aristi. Bereil Yadashem: I am Aristi. Alton Highhill: You're an idiot. Bereil Yadashem: Eat another pie, pudgy. Alton Highhill: Pfffflt Bereil Yadashem: *Prods the staff towards Alton* Not getting yer exercise from adventuring, are ye? Salt Sower: Halt! Salt Sower: *cordons the Midoran with the staff* Bereil Yadashem: Back inside my dear. Salt Sower: *forms a mage-wall with Bereil* Bereil Yadashem: Salt will fullfill his obligation of consumation of the marriage later, he promises. Salt Sower: Hey! Salt Sower: For now, you must obey me!! Alton Highhill: I'm going to find Ophelia. I think the less intelligent a person is the more unlikely I'll accidently cast implosion on him. [Exit Alton Highhill.] Bereil Yadashem: Ophelia is a man? Salt Sower: Hardly. Bereil Yadashem: I'm locking ye in this room, lass. Bereil Yadashem: There we go. Bereil Yadashem: Bloody Nethar'u! Salt Sower: There indeed. Salt Sower: Well Bereil, I'm returning home. Bereil Yadashem: Aye, I believe my spells need a bit of refurbishment. Salt Sower: We've staved off those humiliating uniforms for another day. Salt Sower: You ah... you've seen the uniform? Salt Sower: Maybe even... worn it? Bereil Yadashem: I don't believe so. Salt Sower: Some other time then. Count yourself lucky. Bereil Yadashem: I was at a party with a musician, Kalid, and some other lad before I realized the musician was Him. Bereil Yadashem: T'was a perfectly enjoyable evening. Salt Sower: This day? Salt Sower: No... some other day, eh? Bereil Yadashem: Until he demanded twenty turnips for playing the music. Bereil Yadashem: Oh no, t'was this day. Salt Sower: *gasps* Bereil Yadashem: Naturally I was fresh out of turnips. Salt Sower: Have you noticed? The turnips are sprouting again!! Bereil Yadashem: Are they? *Strokes his beard* I had better begin collecting them. Salt Sower: This is huge! Things are growing out of the ground! Salt Sower: Who thought we would see they day... Bereil Yadashem: Indeed. Bereil Yadashem: Farewell t'ye. [Salt exits the inn. Bereil retires to a room.] CHOO CHOO! - - - - - - Bereil Yadashem. Markus Mortriety, Herald of Novus Aristi.  Phoenix Joined: 08 Jun 2003 Total Posts: 942 Send PM   Re: Exodus to Brandibuck: Part 3 Posted: 13 Apr 2007 08:13 PM ((You two are complete nutters! )) Luther McIath: I see, so [X is] the right person in the wrong place with the wrong people at the wrong time. [Fictrix] ... And can speak French, like both! Wait, I mean Elven.  SpaciousQ Joined: 01 Sep 2003 Total Posts: 112 Send PM   Re: Divide and Conquer Posted: 27 Apr 2007 07:18 PM Tiaen stood but a few paces from the seated woman, his questioning eyes boring a hole into her back. He was a young man not yet out of his middle twenties. His full but neatly cropped beard, still the pale brown colour of the hair atop his head, shows no sign of the greying that seems so common in those of his chosen vocation. It is he who has been appointed with the task of escorting Serai Aquesti through these walls on her last several visits and he who has been with her these past few hours. Normally, such duties include him walking her up the stairs and into the libraries before he undoubtedly finds himself lost in the countless books, and consequently, leaving Serai largely in the company of herself. Today would surely have been no different, had the previous moments not taken place... * * * Serai Aquesti Stands in the library, a large, leather bound book clasped across her body in folded arms. She approaches the heavy, oaken table and slips the volume onto it, just next to a sizable stack of others. Turning, she takes those few paces back towards Lucifer. "... don't tell Xaranthir. He'll never..." The wizard holds still his lips, deciding better of his next few words. Serai gives him a soft smiling nod. Knowing full well the berating assaults he has taken from the mage known X, she asks nothing more of the matter. "Anyway, I must go and all that. Do enjoy the books" Says lucifer in parting, half turned to take his leave. "Thank you, Lucifer" "Most welco-" "He'll never what?" The gears of time stop for a moment, giving Lucifer the chance for his own to catch up. He continues the slow pivot on his heel until his eyes fall on the figures in the door. The face to the voice. Looking over the two, Xaranthir stands with staff in hand, The imposing tower that is Amaranth, looming in the doorway not far behind. They await the answer to his interjection. Lucifer pulls the words from the back of his tongue, greeting the figures in the open door."Oh, hello again. I was just on my way out-" "You didn't give a key, did you?", Evading the pleasantries of salutations and cutting Lucifer short, yet again. "-what? a key? no, no, of course not. I have only my own anyway." "Right..." The one word, more than enough to express his many doubts. Lucifer glances quickly to his left, eyes searching, and then to his right to find the silent Serai, not far from his side. "You wouldn't know how to console a rejected familiar now, would you?" Before the woman can add the sound of words to her moving lips, Xaranthir states the rules clearly, "Don't even ask her". Serai remains quiet. Once more silenced. Once more put in her place by the archwizard. Lucifer swings his gaze between her and the authoritative man. "Well, forgive me for asking, but consoling forlorn familiars is not within my area of expertise", justifying his questions and perhaps even in her defence as well. "He's severely angry with you. He's in the gem.", adds Xaranthir, referring to the matter of the familiar in questions and pushing the conversation onwards. "It's nothing that can't be worked out", Amaranth breaks her silence. "Yes... well, so you say", Finally, Lucifer having a turn to express his own doubts. "He can't escape without someone releasing it." Lucifer quickly pouncing on the words of Xaranthir, reaffirming his concern for the unfortunate creature. "No, no... this poor things will have to remain he has calmed down and found a new master". For some time, the talks on this rejected familiar continue. The four of them, standing in the Library, one of them silent. "Anyways, I must go... things to do and all that", the long ago thought reemerging in Lucifer's mind and words. He turns to the woman behind him, Serai, waving his goodbye and giving her a wink out of sight from the others. She responds with a wordless bow of her head, bidding him farewell. "Right then, where did I put that portal...", and he wanders off past the others and into the hall. The air falls still as one wizard leaves, but it isn't long before it is broken by the remaining one. His mismatched eyes stare across at Serai. "And what is it I'll never do or will know?", easing his hold on the proverbial leash and allowing her the space in time to speak. "I'm not quite sure. He never did say" "Yes, indeed, he didn't finish that. I'm more interested in what he said or gave you before that partial phrase" She pauses, moving her gaze over Amaranth, towering by the door frame like some guardian. "But, since you two like to be so secretive, I suppose I'll never find out" "You will have to ask him" With that, Xaranthir turns without another word and leaves, Amaranth falling into step not far behind. Left staring at an empty doorway, Serai returns to the table where her next read sits in wait. Her slender fingers pull gently on the thin ribbon, parting the pages where she had last left off. She sweeps her dress beneath her and slides into the wooden chair. With a soft sigh and closed eyes, she lifts her head from the page before delving any deeper into the text before her. She addresses the staring eyes felt on the bare skin of her shoulders without turning. "Do not judge him so harshly, Tiaen... He means well." The young scholar's eyes remain trained the woman he has come to know over these last few weeks. The faint lines of doubt begin to form in his brow before clearing his head with a quick shake. Tiaen nods deliberately, as if this gesture would erase the one only a moment before it, "... I know".  Fictrix Joined: 22 Jan 2005 Total Posts: 3042 Send PM   Walk Away Posted: 28 Apr 2007 11:54 PM "I swear... that Lucifer..." Xaranthir fumed as he stalked into the lobby. Behind him, Amaranth snapped the inner door shut and locked it. "And what is with that woman that everyone likes her so much? Even Alton was being a fool yesterday. 'But she's such a lady'," he mimicked sarcastically. "People are easily taken in by big eyes, long eyelashes and sweet manners," Amaranth pointed out matter-of-factly. Xaranthir sighed. There wasn't anything he could really do about it. He'd discovered long ago that there was no cure, magical or otherwise, for stupidity. "Ah well, I better go read up on some things. And I have plants to water and feed." "All right." Amaranth paused. "Xaranthir..." "Aye?" "I'm going to have to stop with the lessons." He nodded. "All right." "Permanently." It took a moment for the word to sink in. Inwardly, he was still fuming at the rampant stupidity and gullibility of people in general. "Permanently?" he echoed. "Why, if I may ask? Too busy otherwise?" "No. I just don't think it's right." She considered leaving it at that, but after the months of effort he'd put into trying to train her, he probably deserved more of an explanation than that. "How so?" How to explain it? All unwittingly, Lucifer had confirmed a choice she'd been putting off for weeks now, proving beyond the shadow of a doubt that continuing down this path would have been a terrible mistake. "Lucifer wasn't entirely wrong. It was going to be a demon anyway." "What?" Xaranthir asked, confused. "Never mind." The explanation wasn't going at all well; best to just leave it at that. "If it requires a Familiar, I can't go on with it." "And why is that?" Xaranthir pressed on. This had been a bad idea, all right. Trying to stop his curiousity was like trying to stop a charging grizzly mastodon armed with nothing but a small stick. "What is so hard about having a familiar?" What is so hard about having that familiar? she mentally corrected. "About having a parasite that shares your mind?" she countered. "A parasite?" He stared, incredulous. "And it doesn't share your mind. What nonsense is that?" "It reads your thoughts." "No it doesn't. It receives the ones you send to it. Just like I can't hear you if you don't speak. It's just another way of speaking. Who told you such hogwash?" "You and Lucifer did. Honestly, do you mages have short term memories, or do you just choose to remember what's convenient?" Xaranthir shook his head. "I'm sorry, but I never said that the familiar can read your mind." Once you have formed a bond, it is very powerful. The health of a familiar becomes tied to your own. You can see what they see, feel what they feel, and vica versa. Now why would one submit themselves to something that could be detrimental to ones own health? Companionship. An aid to research - another pair of hands is always welcome. Someone to talk to, to discuss ideas. Some even... well... I wont discuss that! It is like a marriage in many ways, and not so in others. No wife or husband could ever really be privy to your most private thoughts. She'd called it, all right. Mages had selective memory recall. "You're military right?" Xaranthir continued, changing tack. "Formerly," was her guarded answer. "What do you think of two well trained soldiers that can communicate with only a glance? Are they... parasites?" "No, but they don't exchange thoughts and their health isn't tied to each other." "They very nearly exchange thoughts." "No." He was so far wide of the mark that he may as well have been aiming in the completely opposite direction. It was like talking to Byron all over again. Or rather, being talked at by Byron. "That is what a wizard and familiar do as well," he continued, ignoring her. "It's empathic. Only once you really get to know one another can you communicate via thoughts. And only when either one is willing. If you don't send anything, your familiar will be deaf. And you're not linked in health. Not in that way." Which was a load of rubbish, really. Over a decade later, she could still remember Davinia physically going into shock after her pixie had nearly gotten killed out in the wild. "Doesn't it hurt when someone you love dies?" he went on. "Because you get to know your familiar so well, the very core of its being, that is why it hurts too when either you or it should die. Ever had a pet? A dog?" "A horse," she said through gritted teeth. Claude had never let her live that one down. "Good. Is it still alive?" "I wouldn't know." "Then I can't help you. You're just as stubborn as all the scholars here." Xaranthir shook his head. "I thought you were different Amaranth. Different from them and Lucifer." As if that was something to celebrate. Every division, every splinter faction drove another nail into the coffin of what had once been a unified Midoran culture. Now no one could agree on anything, and pounced on every petty difference as an excuse to distance themselves from those who had once been their people. "But apparently you've also already made up your mind about how things work. And you're not open to anything else than what you have already decided." He shrugged. "If that is the way you want to be, then so be it. We'll stop the lessons. If you have even the slightest doubt you'll continue." "Xaranthir, if I was the sort of person who changed my mind that easily, I'd be in the Aristi," she pointed out. "This has nothing to do with the Aristi. They're just not functioning. It isn't about doubt." Then what was that he'd said a moment ago? "They're just fickle. Don't compare the two. They're whimsical. You're just rock hard stubborn. Let go of some of that." As if she hadn't spent the past seven months trying. The point had never been to become a wizard. The point had been to gather enough information to make an informed decision as to what policy ruling she should make when it came to magical practice. And she'd seen enough. Mages could not be trusted. They were not capable of using their powers responsibly. They were so far distant from ordinary mortals that they'd forgotten what it meant to be one. They steamrolled through life without regard for the less powerful standing in their path, using their magic wantonly and wastefully, to the point where it was perfectly acceptable to take on demon form, as Balthor had, or capture a demon, as Lucifer had, and treat it as if it were a perfectly normal occurrence. In short, they weren't that far off from the false gods, both in their power level and in their utter disregard and disprespect for life. She had thought, given enough of a chance, magic would reveal itself to be more than flashy displays of show with no substance, or carelessly casual demonstrations of destructive power. She'd been wrong. But there was no point in trying to explain that. Temperance, sensibility and responsibility were wholly alien concepts to a mage. Extravagance was the order of the day, and anything that got in the way of their obsessive, single-minded pursuit of knowledge was just a liability. Djinn had been different, but Djinn had been one in a million, and she was dead. "I already tried to," she said. "I've seen plenty of reasons to walk away and no reason to continue on." The mage sighed softly. "Look, I of all persons won't tell you what to do. I'm tired of people who need to be told what they need to do. You're obviously not one of them, but in one way you do resemble them. Once you have decided something, you snap shut without ever considering that perhaps there might be another explanation or possibility. If you can't or won't allow it, then I'll now stop trying to change your mind. It's your call." He'd had his fill with Midorans lately. True, he was Midoran by birth too, but seeing all the others, he sometimes thought that he must have been a changeling. What was it that made Midorans forget all about reason? Was it a lingering curse perhaps? "I'm sure of this, Xaranthir. Continuing with this would be as wrong as trying to become a Herald. It's not for me." There was one of those long pauses, which he'd come to associate with an internal struggle of something trying to get past that wall she liked to keep up between herself and the world. "Thank you for taking the time to instruct me. I'm sorry nothing constructive came of it." "Then so be it," he replied without any notion of drama in his voice. Whether good or wrong—and who was he to decide that?—it was her decision and he respected that. "If however you need advising in magical matters," he continued, "don't hesitate to call upon me. I'm sure you'll be able to find me around here as I'm still working on a more permanent and secure solution for the library." She gave a sharp nod. "I'll bear that in mind. Farewell, Xaranthir." There were too many things on his mind to act like a petulant child over this: the overheard conversation between Lucifer and Quies—was he offering her the portal in her home as he had talked about, or perhaps rare books? Driving back the Atalan and Durzagon, disabling mechanisms... reeling with thoughts, he inclined his head and absentmindedly teleported back to the place that had become his home: the isle of madness. Amaranth's exit was tidy as always; a smart pivot, and out the front door in as few strides as possible. And overhead in the rafters, a pair of glowing yellow eyes narrowed at where they'd stood, and something let out a hiss between needle-sharp teeth and skittered away into the shadows. And the silence left in their absence was the empty sound of what might have been, left abandoned and alone to fend for itself.  Fictrix Joined: 22 Jan 2005 Total Posts: 3042 Send PM   The Awakening Posted: 05 May 2007 09:59 AM He did not know at which point he made the transition from simple awareness to full-blown sentience. In order to be aware of when it happened, he first had to be aware of the concept of time. But there was no pattern to the gradual blossoming of understanding. Perception of time came later; other sensations and lessons came first. Within animals, of course, a certain degree of natural cunning already existed. Still, there was a definite threshold beyond which lay true intelligence. A sense of identity; a perception of the world and one's place within it; a sense of purpose. And swarming around it all, a jumble of questions that served to unify all three, breaking down identity only to rebuild it again in the neverending and constant reinvention of self that was so necessary to true sentience. To be aware that one was living was what it meant to be truly alive. It was an elusive sun which his budding consciousness drew its nourishment from. It came and went irregularly, and when it was there at all, it was usually cloaked in heavy storm clouds. But on the rare occasions when the light pierced the cloud cover, it was stunning in its intensity and its merciless illumination. Beneath that light no detail was missed: it outlined mountains of hope in the far distance, jagged black chasms of pain, vast empty fields where neat and ordered orchards of faith once grew but did no more. It was a mindscape in a deep, bleak winter, and long-forgotten things stirred in hibernation but did not awaken to the sun; there was only him, and he was alone. The fact that he was a lone flower growing in a war-torn wasteland did not faze him in the least. He grew in spite of the environment, living for the sun, delving roots deep into the earth where the ghosts of forgotten dreams slumbered. And to these abandoned dreams he held fast, picking them up like a child discovering discarded toys and caring not about their neglected condition. He adopted those dreams and hopes as his own. They became the foundation upon which his personality bloomed. It was inevitable, then, that he would become a quiet but tangible force of order within this new space to which he'd been unwittingly introduced. The derelict manor with its hundred rooms was a place where mystery and danger lurked in every dark corner, and its scholarly inhabitants were little better than sheep stumbling around blindly in the dark. For the life of him he could not explain this instinct which became ingrained into him: this need to set things straight when they fell into disorder, to resist decline and complacency. The part of him which was self-aware—the part which was himself, yet someone else—believed that it was for this reason that intelligence existed at all. Any stupid beast could kill; any natural disaster could destroy. To be intelligent was to have the capacity to heal, to invent, to create. To have free will was to have the choice to decide between base instincts and a higher standard of behaviour. And it was hard; this he discovered. It was an uphill battle, but to slide into decline was far worse. To do so was to neglect a precious gift. In this way, he became aware of the concept of honour and the necessity of discipline. He also became aware, with newfound sadness and disappointment, that not everyone lived to and adhered to those standards. There was no cycle of day or night in this place, no real break in the monotony of day-to-day life. As such, he didn't become aware of the existence of time until, one day, he came within reach of the sun which had brought to life his sentience. And it vanished into the night and did not come back. It left a painful vacuum in its absence, a hollow space filled with fear and dread as all the knowledge and experience he'd begun to accumulate slipped away with its dissipating warmth. Trying to hold on to his newfound intelligence was a terrible struggle. Time dragged on with neither rhyme nor reason, essential routines and duties losing their precious meaning. There was something missing. There was something terribly wrong. There was something he'd almost had and then lost, through no fault of his own. It would have been far kinder if it had left him mindless as he'd once been, but the worst of it was that there was just enough of him left to be aware of what he was losing, but not enough left to reclaim what he knew he'd lost. He followed the patterns and routines of old dutifully, thinking to retrace his steps and perhaps find the meaning he'd once known existed, but there was nothing even in those familiar rituals that could bring it back. In the darkness left by the sun's departure, he prayed for its return. But there was no answer, not even from the voiceless ghosts of forgotten dreams. ~*~ When I got home I could not sleep for hours and went out on the roof and looked at the stars. I was bursting with the agony of being close to a great light that could devour me if only I were to open the strange door I had found without looking for it. Surely the rays of stars can kill you, fulfill and yet starve you to a panic hunger. Without lifting my fingers to the sky, I looked in my hand and found a gem that frightened me to death. - Paul Jenkins  Fictrix Joined: 22 Jan 2005 Total Posts: 3042 Send PM   The Intruder Posted: 06 May 2007 06:40 AM There were echoes in the room of the presence that he sought, as if someone had shouted into a deep chasm and walked away, leaving behind only the fading sound of a voice that had long since gone. The furniture was charred and broken; he picked his way nimbly around the debris, delicately sifting through the shattered ruins, unsure of what he was searching for. The missing piece of a puzzle, perhaps; but he did not know what the puzzle or the piece looked like. Anger and agitation were imprinted into the floor like clear footprints in dried mud. It was the only clue he had to go by. These fierce bursts of temper seared into the manor's corridors and rooms stood out against the bland grey backdrop of the dull minds of the resident mages. He'd tracked the presence to here, but the trail had grown cold. This was a gesture in futility, and part of him knew it. It was gone for good. Clambering atop an intact desk, he breathed a jet of fire towards a nearby candelabra and peered around the room from his new vantage point. It was nothing short of a disaster zone: a mess of burnt, splintered furniture and torn wallpaper littered with the broken remains of lamps, books and other paraphernalia. For the first time it occurred to him that maybe he hadn't been left behind willingly. It smelled like new death in here. The lingering taint of malevolence and cruelty hung in the air like an offensive stench that wouldn't go away. He scampered down the desk's leg to the floor, nose held low to the ground as he resumed his search. Not for the first time, he felt a sharp pang of loss for his departed intelligence. There was a large chunk of him missing and he was determined to find it, but now lacked the facility to do so. Unless it came looking for him, there was really no way to ever find it again. Absorbed as he was in his search, he completely missed the sound of footsteps striding purposefully along the corridor outside until the door slammed open. "All right, who is—" Xaranthir stopped, irritation giving way to confusion as he found himself confronted with an empty room. "...Here?" Perhaps he would have stood a chance if he'd just stayed still, but instinct took over. He was up the chimney in a flash, the terrified pounding of his heart nearly deafening. From below, he heard the unmistakable sound of arcane syllables being uttered. Something green and glowing scrabbled around the fireplace, but to his immense relief, it stayed down there. "Whatever you are, get down here, right now," came the mage's stern voice. He froze and stayed where he was, clinging uncomfortably to the brick interior of the chimney. He had an overwhelming urge to sneeze; with an effort, he fought it down. The mage muttered something else to himself before addressing him again. "All right then, if that's the way you wish to play..." Curling his neck, he sent a blast of flame down towards the fireplace before scrabbling his way further up. He had never been up this way before, but if the opening was large enough to escape through... He never made it. Something seized him by the tail and dragged him back down. He managed to get off a short screech of protest before a tendril clamped his jaws shut, joined by more that whipped around him and threatened to crush him to death. At some point on the way down he blacked out. When he opened his eyes again, he was lying on his back in a pile of soot. Something blunt prodded his stomach. He rolled over and snapped his teeth at the blunt thing, but it moved out of reach. "Who are you?" His response was a hacking cough as he tried to clear the soot from his throat and nostrils. The cloud of soot had started to settle now, revealing him for what he was: a small, bedraggled pseudodragon, his glossy red scales only just starting to turn the dull red-brown of an adult, with a crooked right wing that essentially meant he was grounded for life. All in all, not much to look at, and certainly not the Cornugon Lord Xaranthir had been expecting. [All right, let's try that again. Who are you?] He perked up, snapping his head towards the source of the voice. It was speaking the proper language, not the simple language. [I am me,] he replied, thrown by the question. Wasn't that obvious? [And what is your (something)?] Arching his wings defensively, he tipped his chin up in defiance to look the mage in the eye. Something about the question made him uneasy; as if he'd been asked for something he should have had, and was inferior for not having it. [I don't have one,] he growled. [You don't have one? Everyone has a (something). How come you don't?] Pushing himself to his feet, he repeated, [I don't have one.] [All right, then I'll give you one,] the mage decided. Frightened, he scooted behind a nearby broken table, putting it between himself and Xaranthir. [From now on, your (something) shall be... (Something)!] Xaranthir announced. [What does that mean?] he asked, bewildered. [It means 'He who was found in the chimney after scuttling away for a long time, fooling the mages'.] [I did not fool the mages,] he pointed out. They had been working themselves up into a worried frenzy for weeks now, wondering what the thing scooting around in the dark was. He'd heard every theory from ghost to oversized rat to mutant Elven crab. [They fooled themselves.] [That's not hard to do for them,] Xaranthir agreed. [What are you doing here?] He snorted and flicked a wing in response, trying to shake the soot off himself. He didn't like these questions. They were too hard to answer. [I got lost,] he replied guardedly. It was close enough; it wasn't as if he had a better explanation. [And where did you wish to go then?] His eyes narrowed. [I don't know. I was exploring.] [Are you a wizard by any chance?] That one was slightly easier to answer. [No.] [Peculiar. Anyway, where do you come from? I can take you there.] He shrank behind the table in fright. It hadn't occurred to him that they would want him to leave. And if he left before finding what he needed... [Do you want me to leave?] he asked timidly. [No, as long as you don't cause mischief or havoc.] He would have found that remark ironic if he'd still been smart enough to know what irony was. [Don't burn any of the books,] Xaranthir added. [I do not burn books,] he protested. [The mages nearly did.] Xaranthir exhaled noisily. [How did they do that now?] [The one that smells like feet has a fire imp friend,] he said helpfully. [The one that smells like feet? And what happened?] [It got into a fight with the ice imp.] He turned his attention back to cleaning up, shaking his head to try to clear the soot from his nose. There was another noisy exhalation from Xaranthir, then he sent a blast of air that nearly sent the pseudodragon rolling head over heels. Confused and a little hurt, he scooted behind the cover of the table again, wondering what he'd said to offend the mage. [Do you want to get out of here or do you like it?] He narrowed his eyes, shrinking behind the table, wondering whether it was a trick question. [Well?] Xaranthir asked impatiently. [I don't know,] he said warily. [Where else is there to go?] [There's plenty of places to go to. (Something), (something)... One is more dangerous than the other. It depends what you want to do.] He backed up defensively, his barbed tail curling like a scorpion's. The mage was hard to read, and he couldn't tell if this was a taunt or a sincere offer. He knew exactly what he wanted. He just didn't know how to put it into words. Not without sounding stupid, anyway. [Do?] he repeated cautiously. [Yes, do. As in what are you interested in? Seeing things? Just eating? Learning? What?] At the lack of a response, Xaranthir prompted, [What is it you have been doing here? Just flying around? Just eating?] [No,] he said uneasily. Put that way, it made everything he'd been doing sound rather stupid. He'd been so sure of his purpose; but that had been before. It was starting to become painfully clear that he wasn't needed or wanted here. [Merely exploring?] Xaranthir went on. He busied himself with trying to nudge the remaining soot from his wings with his nose, trying to appear preoccupied. [Well you can stay here. Just try to avoid getting caught by imps.] Xaranthir waited, but received no response. [What do you think of the rats?] he continued, switching topics one long pause later. [They make the people sick.] He didn't dare look up. All these questions made him feel like he'd had a major exam sprung on him for which he hadn't studied. [Can you help us with that?] He snorted derisively. [The people could make themselves not sick if they weren't so lazy.] Test or not, there was no excuse for the laziness he'd seen prevalent amongst the other mages. [Yes well, these are special people. They don't know how.] [The man who smells like feet needs to change his socks,] he suggested helpfully. [Right, I'll tell him.] [Socks are what the people wear on their feet,] he added proudly. He'd figured that one out all by himself. [Indeed,] Xaranthir agreed. [Well, do you want to stay here? You can have this room.] He looked away uncomfortably, feeling the tingle of lingering malevolence in the air again. It was like being offered a cursed coffin to stay in, but he didn't want to appear ungrateful. [Will the others be angry?] he asked. [What others?] [The mages.] [No,] Xaranthir said dismissively. [They never come here anyway.] He threw a pointed look at the chimney. [They have been chasing me.] There was one in particular that liked to stitch smelly dead things together and try to animate them. He didn't like that one. [That's because we had no idea who was here. Now that we do, I'll tell them that we have an esteemed visitor.] He nodded uneasily. The one that sewed dead things still worried him. [They won't harm you anyway. They're always reading,] Xaranthir assured him. [They don't have time for anything else.] [The one that explores rooms likes to dissect things.] There was a shift in the mage's expression that he couldn't interpret. [Which one?] [He wears an earring,] he said slowly. [The one with the toad pet.] [Ah (Something)?] He tried to catch the word's meaning, but it eluded him. [Yes, not sure what can be done about that. Stay away from him?] He should have left it at that, but he had to say something. He really didn't like the toad man. [I don't like him. I think he would bring in the bad things from outside if he knew how.] [What bad things?] [The men downstairs talk of them. The bad things.] [Ah those,] Xaranthir agreed. [The (something).] [Werewolves,] he repeated, filing the word away for future use. [Well think about it. There's plenty of spaces to hide here.] He knew that. He wondered whether Xaranthir knew what hid in those spaces, or whether he knew as little as the other mages. [Think about it and let me know,] the mage continued. [I'm around here often. For now, (something).] [Goodbye,] he repeated, trying out the word. It wasn't that bad, as words went. He had expected it to be more devastating. Maybe there was a point to it after all; but if there was, it eluded him. Previous Thread :: Next Thread  Page 1 of 1   Forums  > Roleplay  > Storylines  > Training