Dabbling of Fantasy
I wrote this for a game that I'm in. I kind of liked how it turned out, although I'm the first to admit I don't write much swords and sorcery type stuff:
There are certain phrases which, no matter how many times you hear them, always command your immediate attention.
Case in point: "The inn is on fire!"
My attention immediately turned to the flustered human serving girl who blurted this accursed phrase as she burst into my moderately appointed room. In her haste, she omitted any sort of knocking ritual, so she'd caught me, um, "as I was". She quickly looked down and started turning so red that I worried about her catching fire.
"Three things," I said.
"First, how long has the inn been on fire?
Second, what caught the inn on fire?
Third, and perhaps most important, do I have enough time to put on any sort of clothes before I deal with this?"
She stood there looking like someone had hit her between the eyes with a rock. I supposed, using my superior supposition skills, that I was the first eladrin she had ever encountered. It then stood to reason that I was probably the first nude eladrin she'd ever encountered. And finally, as my thesis, I concluded that I was probably the first nude eladrin she'd encountered while dealing with a burning-inn type of crisis.
"You'd better hurry!" she shouted at the floor, then dashed off, still blushing.
My nose informed me that the answer to my first question was "long enough to put on clothes". I did so as hastily as I could.
I contemplated my choice of garments as I quickly donned them. More than one compatriot, over the years, has suggested that if I want to stop getting calls for help in this type of situation, I should "un-mystify" my look.
Unfortunately, one of the tough parts of being an eladrin outside your own home is that we do tend to look fairly otherworldly, between the pointy ears and, in my case, the emerald-colored featureless eyes. We'd look otherworldly even if we wore freaking smocks.
Since I have no love of smocks, I wear the garb of my trade: wizard's robes. Mine are sturdy and gray.
Along with these very fashionable robes, I even wear a wide-brimmed pointy hat. "Too much!" the artful among you might say. I disagree. As any serious traveler will tell you, having a wide-brimmed hat is a godsend when you're fair skinned like me. Even more important, "wizard" is one of the few professions in the world where most of the ignorant louts who WOULD make fun of your pointy hat don't because they're afraid you'll turn them into a toad.
I clapped said hat onto my head and grabbed all my magical implements. I strode into the hallway, ready to heroically confront the blaze. As all reports indicated, the inn was on fire. Fortunately, the fire seemed to be on the roof, so I was able to run down the narrow stairs and through the common room without a problem.
The problem came at the front door.
The front door was stuck. It seemed like the front part of the lock had been somehow melted. The door was certainly warm. I tried to ram it with my shoulder, only to be reminded that... I'm a total weakling. More mathelete than athlete.
"Oh, come on..."
I tried again. De nada.
“Screw this.”
I cheated and opted for the other way. I produced my wand and coaxed strains of air and water into the wooden door until it burst out dramatically. I marched into the courtyard, hoping that the door gimmick scared the crap out of whatever minor-league hooligan was doing this.
I was met by a giant freaking scorpion. Its glittering carapace was covered with door splinters. Despite their lack of emotive range, its eight glittering eyes looked pissed. The black carapace was mottled with red patterns, which became more and more complex towards the monster's giant stinger, which rose a full eight feet in the air. Steam rose off its thick armor.
And then, it pointed its tail at me and launched a gout of liquid fire at my head.
"Oh, come on!" I shouted to no one in particular as I leapt for cover behind a water trough. "What stupid god would even INVENT an animal like this? Why would you need to make a giant scorpion shoot fire?!"
I don't know if the unnamed and misguided god heard me, but the scorpion decided to respond to my query with another blast of fire. I sprinted from behind the water trough, which was quickly becoming a fire and steam trough.
The villagers, in their infinite wisdom, had cleared the streets to let the big, mean wizard do battle with the giant scorpion, whom I'd affectionately named "Bernie".
I considered my assets: Striking good looks. Pointy hat. Various means of magical mayhem. I considered Bernie's assets: size, strength, and fire which may or may not also be poisonous. (I'd never encountered poisonous fire, but my faith in my own bad luck knows no bounds… if poisonous fire existed, I was the guy to get scorched and poisoned by it.)
I considered Bernie's weaknesses: none, to speak of.
Lamentably, most of the "kaboom" spells I'd prepared for the day were of the pyrotechnic variety. That usually works out pretty good, because magical fire tends to scare the crap out of people. Given that Bernie could spew it at will, I made the fairly safe assumption that my fire wouldn't bother him.
I got behind a small barn trying to collect my thoughts. Bernie responded by blowing up the small barn.
I sprinted across the street and ran into the blacksmith's shop. The doorway was small and sturdy enough that Bernie couldn’t squeeze in. I frantically ran through the shop climbed behind the blast furnace, hoping that it would save me from at least one or two blasts and give me precious seconds to think.
From the window, I could see that Bernie was circling the shop, his eight eyes searching for me.
That gave me a lot of information. Foremost, Bernie wasn't just trying to kill me just because I threw splinters on him. This was no mindless act of animal rage. He seemed to actually be looking for me in particular. It was only a short jump in logic to conclude that I needed to get out of the town. Bernie's methods of searching would probably involve a lot of fire, and if I didn't get the heck out, a lot of innocent people could be hurt.
Getting him where he could do the least damage was priority number one.
Unfortunately, getting Bernie out of the town might save the town, but it would not save my ass. How the hell was I going to destroy a giant, pyromaniac scorpion? While I felt certain I could best him in a spelling contest or a battle of rhetoric, I felt a lot less confident about my abilities in a toe-to-toe fight. I suspected, judging by his thick carapace, that most of my best stuff wouldn't even crack that tough outer armor and let me get to the squishy, killable inside.
I stood there, staring at a giant quenching barrel, and contemplated the end of my life. I knew that I’d probably go out ugly, but I didn’t realize it as going to be “pincers and fire” ugly. That’s a special breed of ugly.
And then a plan formed. I could feel a rather foolish smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.
I thought of my old teacher. He was a stern tiefling named Moloch. I had been his apprentice for maybe ten years. I came to him knowing how to do magic, but he took what was then a hobby, and turned it into a disciplined, rigorous craft.
"Remember, Tor, despite how strange it seems, magic is always and inextricably bound to the rules of physics that govern everything. If you want fire, you need fuel. If you want ice, you need water. Your magical thunder will cause a very natural collapse if you are stupid enough to use it in a cave."
I snapped out of my reverie when I started to smell the smoke coming from the outside of the smithy. Evidently, this creature had mastered the tactic of "set the building on fire to get the wizard out of it". While I scoffed at his lack of creativity, I had to concede the effectiveness of Bernie's plan.
For my own plan to work, I needed at least enough of a delay to get distance between me and the scorpion. If I had enough distance, my nimble feet stood a good chance of avoiding the worst of Bernie’s pyrotechnics as I drew him away from the town. I ran through the list of spells that might help me get this critical distance. I could think of all sorts of good ones... but they required me preparing things that I hadn't. The only thing I had in my reserves (other than the stuff for operation "End Bernie") was a half-assed little illusionary spell to change what I looked like.
Usually, that type of thing is useful for small time infiltration. I could look like a town guard or the village harlot, that kind of thing… the application I had in mind was absolutely nowhere in any book. Somewhere, Moloch was scowling at me for pulling this kind of stuff out of my ass. I prayed to Corellon that the spell would do what I wanted it to. I started to whisper the words of power and, wouldn't you know? I could feel the illusion I wanted forming around myself. It had worked.
Time for psychological warfare.
Bernie looked a little more than baffled (again - impressive emotional range for a giant fire-spewing arachnid) when a smaller fire scorpion skittered out of the smithy and formally bowed to him. Bernie's giant stinger wavered in confusion. I tried to make... scorpion-ish noises, promptly gaining live-saving distance as I did.
Behind the scorpion, I heard someone shout in a hoarse voice, "It's the wizard, you fool! Kill him!"
Crap.
Bernie lumbered at me, probably a sold ton of tank-like scorpion fury. I ran like the wind, dropping my scorpion disguise. I led him out of the town and into the nearby woods, dodging fire as I went. I nearly got roasted a few times, but once I got into the deep woods, it was easy. His size made it difficult for him to maneuver well, and if you can say one thing about eladrin, it's this: we know how to operate in a forest. I ghosted in and out of trees, always making sure to give him glimpses of where I was.
Finally, I got to my destination. An idyllic little field with a sizeable pond at its edge. I strode into the middle of the field, raised my wand, and bellowed, "Let's dance, ugly!"
Bernie seemed delighted to be in open ground. He clicked his pincers and sped towards me with that unnerving speed. I steeled myself, and waited. And waited. And waited for what seemed like an eternity.
When he was practically on top of me, I unleashed the ice spell I'd been saving. Instead of pointing it at Bernie, I aimed it at the trampled ground below him. Suddenly, the ground turned into a hard sheet of ice, and his legs scrambled frantically. I dived out of the way, and watched him slide into the pond.
The pond became a big quenching barrel. The hot carapace, when exposed to the icy-cold water, obeyed the laws of physics and became very brittle, starting to show stress fractures. That was what I'd been waiting for.
I wound up and drew down every bit of air and spirit energy I could, to hurl a giant bolt of lightning at Bernie's exposed insides. He convulsed and arched, and finally died. His body started to decompose rapidly. Definitely a magical construct.
All sorts of questions popped into my mind. Would the villagers forgive me for bringing a giant fire scorpion into their midst? Would the serving girl's observation of my nudity affect our relationship, or even just my reputation in the town?
Most importantly, who wanted to kill me so bad they summoned such a ridiculous creature to do so?
The beauty of my trade? There's always a good question that needs an answer.
There are certain phrases which, no matter how many times you hear them, always command your immediate attention.
Case in point: "The inn is on fire!"
My attention immediately turned to the flustered human serving girl who blurted this accursed phrase as she burst into my moderately appointed room. In her haste, she omitted any sort of knocking ritual, so she'd caught me, um, "as I was". She quickly looked down and started turning so red that I worried about her catching fire.
"Three things," I said.
"First, how long has the inn been on fire?
Second, what caught the inn on fire?
Third, and perhaps most important, do I have enough time to put on any sort of clothes before I deal with this?"
She stood there looking like someone had hit her between the eyes with a rock. I supposed, using my superior supposition skills, that I was the first eladrin she had ever encountered. It then stood to reason that I was probably the first nude eladrin she'd ever encountered. And finally, as my thesis, I concluded that I was probably the first nude eladrin she'd encountered while dealing with a burning-inn type of crisis.
"You'd better hurry!" she shouted at the floor, then dashed off, still blushing.
My nose informed me that the answer to my first question was "long enough to put on clothes". I did so as hastily as I could.
I contemplated my choice of garments as I quickly donned them. More than one compatriot, over the years, has suggested that if I want to stop getting calls for help in this type of situation, I should "un-mystify" my look.
Unfortunately, one of the tough parts of being an eladrin outside your own home is that we do tend to look fairly otherworldly, between the pointy ears and, in my case, the emerald-colored featureless eyes. We'd look otherworldly even if we wore freaking smocks.
Since I have no love of smocks, I wear the garb of my trade: wizard's robes. Mine are sturdy and gray.
Along with these very fashionable robes, I even wear a wide-brimmed pointy hat. "Too much!" the artful among you might say. I disagree. As any serious traveler will tell you, having a wide-brimmed hat is a godsend when you're fair skinned like me. Even more important, "wizard" is one of the few professions in the world where most of the ignorant louts who WOULD make fun of your pointy hat don't because they're afraid you'll turn them into a toad.
I clapped said hat onto my head and grabbed all my magical implements. I strode into the hallway, ready to heroically confront the blaze. As all reports indicated, the inn was on fire. Fortunately, the fire seemed to be on the roof, so I was able to run down the narrow stairs and through the common room without a problem.
The problem came at the front door.
The front door was stuck. It seemed like the front part of the lock had been somehow melted. The door was certainly warm. I tried to ram it with my shoulder, only to be reminded that... I'm a total weakling. More mathelete than athlete.
"Oh, come on..."
I tried again. De nada.
“Screw this.”
I cheated and opted for the other way. I produced my wand and coaxed strains of air and water into the wooden door until it burst out dramatically. I marched into the courtyard, hoping that the door gimmick scared the crap out of whatever minor-league hooligan was doing this.
I was met by a giant freaking scorpion. Its glittering carapace was covered with door splinters. Despite their lack of emotive range, its eight glittering eyes looked pissed. The black carapace was mottled with red patterns, which became more and more complex towards the monster's giant stinger, which rose a full eight feet in the air. Steam rose off its thick armor.
And then, it pointed its tail at me and launched a gout of liquid fire at my head.
"Oh, come on!" I shouted to no one in particular as I leapt for cover behind a water trough. "What stupid god would even INVENT an animal like this? Why would you need to make a giant scorpion shoot fire?!"
I don't know if the unnamed and misguided god heard me, but the scorpion decided to respond to my query with another blast of fire. I sprinted from behind the water trough, which was quickly becoming a fire and steam trough.
The villagers, in their infinite wisdom, had cleared the streets to let the big, mean wizard do battle with the giant scorpion, whom I'd affectionately named "Bernie".
I considered my assets: Striking good looks. Pointy hat. Various means of magical mayhem. I considered Bernie's assets: size, strength, and fire which may or may not also be poisonous. (I'd never encountered poisonous fire, but my faith in my own bad luck knows no bounds… if poisonous fire existed, I was the guy to get scorched and poisoned by it.)
I considered Bernie's weaknesses: none, to speak of.
Lamentably, most of the "kaboom" spells I'd prepared for the day were of the pyrotechnic variety. That usually works out pretty good, because magical fire tends to scare the crap out of people. Given that Bernie could spew it at will, I made the fairly safe assumption that my fire wouldn't bother him.
I got behind a small barn trying to collect my thoughts. Bernie responded by blowing up the small barn.
I sprinted across the street and ran into the blacksmith's shop. The doorway was small and sturdy enough that Bernie couldn’t squeeze in. I frantically ran through the shop climbed behind the blast furnace, hoping that it would save me from at least one or two blasts and give me precious seconds to think.
From the window, I could see that Bernie was circling the shop, his eight eyes searching for me.
That gave me a lot of information. Foremost, Bernie wasn't just trying to kill me just because I threw splinters on him. This was no mindless act of animal rage. He seemed to actually be looking for me in particular. It was only a short jump in logic to conclude that I needed to get out of the town. Bernie's methods of searching would probably involve a lot of fire, and if I didn't get the heck out, a lot of innocent people could be hurt.
Getting him where he could do the least damage was priority number one.
Unfortunately, getting Bernie out of the town might save the town, but it would not save my ass. How the hell was I going to destroy a giant, pyromaniac scorpion? While I felt certain I could best him in a spelling contest or a battle of rhetoric, I felt a lot less confident about my abilities in a toe-to-toe fight. I suspected, judging by his thick carapace, that most of my best stuff wouldn't even crack that tough outer armor and let me get to the squishy, killable inside.
I stood there, staring at a giant quenching barrel, and contemplated the end of my life. I knew that I’d probably go out ugly, but I didn’t realize it as going to be “pincers and fire” ugly. That’s a special breed of ugly.
And then a plan formed. I could feel a rather foolish smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.
I thought of my old teacher. He was a stern tiefling named Moloch. I had been his apprentice for maybe ten years. I came to him knowing how to do magic, but he took what was then a hobby, and turned it into a disciplined, rigorous craft.
"Remember, Tor, despite how strange it seems, magic is always and inextricably bound to the rules of physics that govern everything. If you want fire, you need fuel. If you want ice, you need water. Your magical thunder will cause a very natural collapse if you are stupid enough to use it in a cave."
I snapped out of my reverie when I started to smell the smoke coming from the outside of the smithy. Evidently, this creature had mastered the tactic of "set the building on fire to get the wizard out of it". While I scoffed at his lack of creativity, I had to concede the effectiveness of Bernie's plan.
For my own plan to work, I needed at least enough of a delay to get distance between me and the scorpion. If I had enough distance, my nimble feet stood a good chance of avoiding the worst of Bernie’s pyrotechnics as I drew him away from the town. I ran through the list of spells that might help me get this critical distance. I could think of all sorts of good ones... but they required me preparing things that I hadn't. The only thing I had in my reserves (other than the stuff for operation "End Bernie") was a half-assed little illusionary spell to change what I looked like.
Usually, that type of thing is useful for small time infiltration. I could look like a town guard or the village harlot, that kind of thing… the application I had in mind was absolutely nowhere in any book. Somewhere, Moloch was scowling at me for pulling this kind of stuff out of my ass. I prayed to Corellon that the spell would do what I wanted it to. I started to whisper the words of power and, wouldn't you know? I could feel the illusion I wanted forming around myself. It had worked.
Time for psychological warfare.
Bernie looked a little more than baffled (again - impressive emotional range for a giant fire-spewing arachnid) when a smaller fire scorpion skittered out of the smithy and formally bowed to him. Bernie's giant stinger wavered in confusion. I tried to make... scorpion-ish noises, promptly gaining live-saving distance as I did.
Behind the scorpion, I heard someone shout in a hoarse voice, "It's the wizard, you fool! Kill him!"
Crap.
Bernie lumbered at me, probably a sold ton of tank-like scorpion fury. I ran like the wind, dropping my scorpion disguise. I led him out of the town and into the nearby woods, dodging fire as I went. I nearly got roasted a few times, but once I got into the deep woods, it was easy. His size made it difficult for him to maneuver well, and if you can say one thing about eladrin, it's this: we know how to operate in a forest. I ghosted in and out of trees, always making sure to give him glimpses of where I was.
Finally, I got to my destination. An idyllic little field with a sizeable pond at its edge. I strode into the middle of the field, raised my wand, and bellowed, "Let's dance, ugly!"
Bernie seemed delighted to be in open ground. He clicked his pincers and sped towards me with that unnerving speed. I steeled myself, and waited. And waited. And waited for what seemed like an eternity.
When he was practically on top of me, I unleashed the ice spell I'd been saving. Instead of pointing it at Bernie, I aimed it at the trampled ground below him. Suddenly, the ground turned into a hard sheet of ice, and his legs scrambled frantically. I dived out of the way, and watched him slide into the pond.
The pond became a big quenching barrel. The hot carapace, when exposed to the icy-cold water, obeyed the laws of physics and became very brittle, starting to show stress fractures. That was what I'd been waiting for.
I wound up and drew down every bit of air and spirit energy I could, to hurl a giant bolt of lightning at Bernie's exposed insides. He convulsed and arched, and finally died. His body started to decompose rapidly. Definitely a magical construct.
All sorts of questions popped into my mind. Would the villagers forgive me for bringing a giant fire scorpion into their midst? Would the serving girl's observation of my nudity affect our relationship, or even just my reputation in the town?
Most importantly, who wanted to kill me so bad they summoned such a ridiculous creature to do so?
The beauty of my trade? There's always a good question that needs an answer.