World of Weirdcraft III
a/n - This is the problem. I try and write sensible, tightly-plotted thrillers, with characterisation and pace.
Then I get bored. And this happens instead...
.
.
They first meet at Nivek's Emporium, a small band of adventurers, brought together by chance and fate. This is the traditional starting point for many Raids and Quests - Nivek sells potion ingredients, grimoires and enchanted weaponry, and the notice board is always surrounded by rugged Heroes, stealthy Thieves, robed Magic-users and all manner of beings looking to recruit or be recruited.
Dranel the halfling is a bit of an oddity amongst his own kind, too short-sighted to be a decent Thief, and fascinated by magic. It is his idea to venture to the Dark Keep. None of the Tall Folk are particularly keen on hiring on with someone who only comes up to their chest, though, so he ends up with his companions pretty much by default.
The dark elf is from the far kingdom of Khi'Bhla, and he has a name that tells of his proud and noble lineage, and his great knowledge of the stars and their courses. It takes about two minutes to recite, so they call him Taru, for short. He labours under a curse that strikes him dumb in the presence of beautiful women.
Nobody is quite sure what Shlaym is. He'd just sidled damply out of the shadows, and grinned hopefully at them.
00000000
There is the nasty business with some giant spiders in the forest, a skirmish in the swamp with some lizard-men, and they end up running away from a couple of trolls, but at last they stand before the vast, arching gateway.
“The enemies gate is down.” They look at each other, uneasy.
It is quiet, though. Far too quiet. They peer into the moat.
“There's something in the water...” Shlaym leans over, watches the moving light getting larger...
A gaping carp-like mouth breaks the surface for a moment, a dazzle of golden scales, and then an abrupt glop.
The water boils furiously for a moment, and then the glow-fish breaks to the surface, spits Shlaym back out onto the bank. Shlaym shakes his fist at it, wiping muck out of his eyes.
“Yeah, you try that again, and you're sushi, pal...”
The fish blows a derisive string of bubbles, and dives back down with a disgusted flick of its tail.
“I guess you're just an acquired taste.” Taru tells him.
Dranel looks at the darkened doorway. Smiles weakly.
“Hey, this could be fun, right?”
00000000
“Not fun, not fun...” Shlaym wheezes. He's still streaked with fish-slime, but it has now been joined by blood, soot, spit, venom and dung. The others don't look any better. Taru had fallen into a clutch of eggs, and promptly been bitten by a dozen abruptly hatched lizardlings. Dranel had blundered into a giant spider web. There had been corridors where the floors dropped. Corridors where the ceilings dropped. One corridor that spat random fireballs. Another with spikes. They had been wondering what had happened to the bodies of those unfortunate enough to set off the traps before them; and now, they've just found out. The owner of this Dark Keep believes in...recycling.
They make it in through the door, and slam it shut behind them. There is the muffled thud and clatter of a couple of skeletal warriors striking the other side. Taru squeaks and kicks frantically at the disembodied bony hand trying to climb his leg. It falls away, and Dranel stamps on it hastily.
The echoing space of a dark hall, the roof lost in gloom. Across the shadowed floor, they can see what looks like an altar. A squat, stepped ziggurut of a thing, half the height of man, carved about with runes and sigils that seem to shift before their sight, sucking the meagre light into itself. And upon the summit, a massive ruby, every facet glowing with a deep inner fire.
There is the faint smell in the air, the weird mix of burning tin, sulphur and old socks that means a vast discharge of magic. The lazy flickers of it spark and run, afterimage of a huge glyph scorched deep into the very granite of the floor.
Dranel concentrates, casts a careful spell. The air becomes alive with lines of coloured light, a web of complex magic.
“So, what exactly happens if we touch one of those, then?” Shlaym's voice is high and nervous.
“Let's not find out.”
Cautious, nervous, they tiptoe across the floor, bending and twisting between the light. Dranel squints at the one in front of his face. Tiny numbers race and shimmer...
Taru is the last to draw his foot clear, and the slow, careful, agonising ordeal is over. They slump to the ground, exhausted.
“Well, that's the last challenge passed.” The voice sounds pleased.
“Wha...”
“You got a bit sloppy with that last incantation, but it wasn't a bad effort.”
He's standing on the far side of the altar, hands clasped behind his back. Tall and thin and pale, he doesn't look particularly dangerous.
“You're Sheldor the great sorcerer?” Shlaym is disbelieving. “So where's your staff?”
“Staffs are a symbol of outmoded thinking.” Sheldor holds up his hand, and it is suddenly wreathed in a cold flame. His smile is a horrible thing.
Okay, now he looks dangerous.
Sheldor puts his still-blazing hand on the great red jewel. It sinks into the altar with a groan. The trio feel the air around them shift, as entire walls move, grind of stone as blocks the size of buildings pull themselves free, and hang in the air in the way stone really shouldn't. The paving slabs in the floor begin to shake, sharp tongues of light stabbing through the cracks, the glyph beginning to glow. Dranel isn't sure if the shrill, unearthly whining he can hear is the magic or him.
When the world finishes changing, and they've pulled themselves to their feet, they find themselves standing in a room now lit by large windows, the labyrinthine pattern marked in silver on white marble, and the altar become a smooth slab of the same. But the red jewel, and Sheldor, are unchanged. He flexes his hand, and the flame vanishes.
“That's the castle reset.”
“So what happens to us now?” Dranel asks, faintly.
Sheldor looks at them.
“Well, you made it this far. You might as well stay.” Something the general size and shape of a paving slab drops out of the air in front of them. “There are just a few house rules...”
They look at the monstrously thick tome of lore in front of them. Contemplate the trek back through whatever the castle has now turned into, and down into town. Dranel shrugs.
“How bad could it be?”
00000000
So that's how they all end up living in the Dark Keep. Shlaym and his mother can sometimes be heard shrieking at each other in the cellars. Taru has an observatory at the top of a tower; he spends a lot of time with the telescope focused on the town. Dranel has a workshop all of his own, where he can practise alchemy and incantation. And Sheldor walks the pathways of space and time, conversing with demons and the spirits of earth and air, and reordering reality to his will.
And it's a reasonably peaceful existence, until the scantily-clad blonde barbarian crashes her dragon into the courtyard...
Then I get bored. And this happens instead...
.
.
They first meet at Nivek's Emporium, a small band of adventurers, brought together by chance and fate. This is the traditional starting point for many Raids and Quests - Nivek sells potion ingredients, grimoires and enchanted weaponry, and the notice board is always surrounded by rugged Heroes, stealthy Thieves, robed Magic-users and all manner of beings looking to recruit or be recruited.
Dranel the halfling is a bit of an oddity amongst his own kind, too short-sighted to be a decent Thief, and fascinated by magic. It is his idea to venture to the Dark Keep. None of the Tall Folk are particularly keen on hiring on with someone who only comes up to their chest, though, so he ends up with his companions pretty much by default.
The dark elf is from the far kingdom of Khi'Bhla, and he has a name that tells of his proud and noble lineage, and his great knowledge of the stars and their courses. It takes about two minutes to recite, so they call him Taru, for short. He labours under a curse that strikes him dumb in the presence of beautiful women.
Nobody is quite sure what Shlaym is. He'd just sidled damply out of the shadows, and grinned hopefully at them.
00000000
There is the nasty business with some giant spiders in the forest, a skirmish in the swamp with some lizard-men, and they end up running away from a couple of trolls, but at last they stand before the vast, arching gateway.
“The enemies gate is down.” They look at each other, uneasy.
It is quiet, though. Far too quiet. They peer into the moat.
“There's something in the water...” Shlaym leans over, watches the moving light getting larger...
A gaping carp-like mouth breaks the surface for a moment, a dazzle of golden scales, and then an abrupt glop.
The water boils furiously for a moment, and then the glow-fish breaks to the surface, spits Shlaym back out onto the bank. Shlaym shakes his fist at it, wiping muck out of his eyes.
“Yeah, you try that again, and you're sushi, pal...”
The fish blows a derisive string of bubbles, and dives back down with a disgusted flick of its tail.
“I guess you're just an acquired taste.” Taru tells him.
Dranel looks at the darkened doorway. Smiles weakly.
“Hey, this could be fun, right?”
00000000
“Not fun, not fun...” Shlaym wheezes. He's still streaked with fish-slime, but it has now been joined by blood, soot, spit, venom and dung. The others don't look any better. Taru had fallen into a clutch of eggs, and promptly been bitten by a dozen abruptly hatched lizardlings. Dranel had blundered into a giant spider web. There had been corridors where the floors dropped. Corridors where the ceilings dropped. One corridor that spat random fireballs. Another with spikes. They had been wondering what had happened to the bodies of those unfortunate enough to set off the traps before them; and now, they've just found out. The owner of this Dark Keep believes in...recycling.
They make it in through the door, and slam it shut behind them. There is the muffled thud and clatter of a couple of skeletal warriors striking the other side. Taru squeaks and kicks frantically at the disembodied bony hand trying to climb his leg. It falls away, and Dranel stamps on it hastily.
The echoing space of a dark hall, the roof lost in gloom. Across the shadowed floor, they can see what looks like an altar. A squat, stepped ziggurut of a thing, half the height of man, carved about with runes and sigils that seem to shift before their sight, sucking the meagre light into itself. And upon the summit, a massive ruby, every facet glowing with a deep inner fire.
There is the faint smell in the air, the weird mix of burning tin, sulphur and old socks that means a vast discharge of magic. The lazy flickers of it spark and run, afterimage of a huge glyph scorched deep into the very granite of the floor.
Dranel concentrates, casts a careful spell. The air becomes alive with lines of coloured light, a web of complex magic.
“So, what exactly happens if we touch one of those, then?” Shlaym's voice is high and nervous.
“Let's not find out.”
Cautious, nervous, they tiptoe across the floor, bending and twisting between the light. Dranel squints at the one in front of his face. Tiny numbers race and shimmer...
Taru is the last to draw his foot clear, and the slow, careful, agonising ordeal is over. They slump to the ground, exhausted.
“Well, that's the last challenge passed.” The voice sounds pleased.
“Wha...”
“You got a bit sloppy with that last incantation, but it wasn't a bad effort.”
He's standing on the far side of the altar, hands clasped behind his back. Tall and thin and pale, he doesn't look particularly dangerous.
“You're Sheldor the great sorcerer?” Shlaym is disbelieving. “So where's your staff?”
“Staffs are a symbol of outmoded thinking.” Sheldor holds up his hand, and it is suddenly wreathed in a cold flame. His smile is a horrible thing.
Okay, now he looks dangerous.
Sheldor puts his still-blazing hand on the great red jewel. It sinks into the altar with a groan. The trio feel the air around them shift, as entire walls move, grind of stone as blocks the size of buildings pull themselves free, and hang in the air in the way stone really shouldn't. The paving slabs in the floor begin to shake, sharp tongues of light stabbing through the cracks, the glyph beginning to glow. Dranel isn't sure if the shrill, unearthly whining he can hear is the magic or him.
When the world finishes changing, and they've pulled themselves to their feet, they find themselves standing in a room now lit by large windows, the labyrinthine pattern marked in silver on white marble, and the altar become a smooth slab of the same. But the red jewel, and Sheldor, are unchanged. He flexes his hand, and the flame vanishes.
“That's the castle reset.”
“So what happens to us now?” Dranel asks, faintly.
Sheldor looks at them.
“Well, you made it this far. You might as well stay.” Something the general size and shape of a paving slab drops out of the air in front of them. “There are just a few house rules...”
They look at the monstrously thick tome of lore in front of them. Contemplate the trek back through whatever the castle has now turned into, and down into town. Dranel shrugs.
“How bad could it be?”
00000000
So that's how they all end up living in the Dark Keep. Shlaym and his mother can sometimes be heard shrieking at each other in the cellars. Taru has an observatory at the top of a tower; he spends a lot of time with the telescope focused on the town. Dranel has a workshop all of his own, where he can practise alchemy and incantation. And Sheldor walks the pathways of space and time, conversing with demons and the spirits of earth and air, and reordering reality to his will.
And it's a reasonably peaceful existence, until the scantily-clad blonde barbarian crashes her dragon into the courtyard...