CERAMIC D.M. the final judgement is in! - Page 25


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  1. #241
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    Originally posted by shadoe
    I know which one.
    God, I hope so

    This second tease is mirthcard simply being cruel. Please do not encourage him further. He does have work to do, you know.
    Ceramic DM I & II -- http://www.enworld.org/showthread.php?t=98651

 

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    Ý Ignore Shadoe's Lady
    Originally posted by mirthcard
    This second tease is mirthcard simply being cruel. Please do not encourage him further. He does have work to do, you know.
    Work? You don't mean the kind for pay do you? You mean working on your entry, which is far more important. Right?
    I'm good, but I'm not THAT good....

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    Ý Ignore Shadoe's Lady

    Here goes nothing

    With much trepidation I hereby submit my entry four the final round of
    CERAMIC DM:
    Mirthcard vs. Shadoe's Lady

    A Long Trip With A Happy Ending

    I regarded the picture hanging opposite the bed as I listened to a distraught woman telling me the particulars of her sonís disappearance. About a week ago, he didnít come down for breakfast and he wasnít in his room. Despite the surveillance cameras in the hallways and outside the house, there is no record of him having left. The guard at the gate doesnít remember anyone coming in or going out. There are no signs that anyone entered or left this room. Not that she can tell-or anyone else for that matter-not physically. But I, on the other hand, can feel something-itís like a psychic trail he left behind. This is why she hired me. The trail starts somewhere inside that picture and I donít know where it might lead. I ask her to leave the room and I lock the door behind her.

    Thereís a new designer drug on the market. Itís something like acid, but instead of hallucinations the user is actually transported, for a time, to another dimension. Usually it wears off in a few hours and the user finds himself back where he started. Itís new, and expensive, and from the looks of this house the kid can afford it, but nothing in this room is giving off the vibes of a thrill seeker. Yet the trail he left behind shows all the signs. Whatever his reasons were for doing it, I wonít find them here. Nor will I be able to determine the cause of his long absence. Iíll have to follow the trail. Unlike him, I wonít need the drug.

    I sit on his bed cross-legged, preparing to enter the trance state necessary to follow the trail he left behind. I study the painting. Itís a boat, with sails and oars, filled with jovial looking people (one hanging from a ladder) floating above a small village with wooden buildings and a river running through the middle. (picture1) The pennants flying from the masts begin to wave in the breeze and I hear singing. Theyíre singing ďLucy in the Sky With Diamonds,Ē of all things. I shout to them asking if theyíve seen a young man, perhaps a little taller than me, with brown hair and blue eyes. Of course, they reply, he taught them the song. They are more than happy to give me a lift to the place where they dropped him off. We fly away in the painted boat over the painted landscape until we come to a place where the painted river begins to look more real to me. They leave me standing on a white sand beach and fly away singing merrily.

    The water here is breathtakingly clear and blue. I can see a small rowboat, far out, and someone sitting in it. I can also see a large, black, sinuous shape making its way toward me through the water. (bonus picture 1) The snake advances until just his head is out of the water, resting on the sand. I ask after my quarry, but the snake hasnít seen him. He says he must have been out tipping rowboats when the airship dropped the young man off. Speaking of which, thereís one left on the water that heís been lulling into a false sense of security. He smiles his serpentine smile and slithers off, calling over his shoulder that I might want to walk away from the beach in the direction of the sun and ask around at the cow pasture just beyond the trees. I thank him and follow his directions as best as I can, considering the sun seems to be salsa dancing its way across the sky.

    It isnít long before I find myself on the opposite side of the fence from a group of wildly colored cows that, unfortunately, either donít understand me or donít speak. As I ponder my next move I seem to hear a small high pitched voice coming from somewhere just beyond the fence singing, ďRolling, rolling, rolling, gotta keep Ďem rolling, keep those dung balls rollingÖ.Ē An iridescent green dung beetle is rolling his smelly prize along the ground, all the while singing absently to himself. (bonus picture 2) The little beetle isnít sure if heís seen the man Iím seekingóall humans look alike to him. He remembers a few of them here sometime in the past few days. They stood by the fence to the cow pasture, then wandered over to look at the bulls, then there was some sort of commotion and they headed off in that direction (he points with one foreleg). While I donít think this has anything to do with my case, I can feel the trail leading in the direction the beetle indicated. I leave him to his dung and his song and continue on my way. Now it seems I am tracking the footsteps of at least two, possibly three, humans. Or possibly two to three creatures in human shaped shoes-you never know. The path stays close to the fence for a time and then heads into the trees.

    I follow the path for what seems like hours to me, although itís hard to tell since the sun isnít moving in a very stable arc and time probably moves differently here than what Iím used to. Itís cool and quiet under the trees. Eventually the path leads to a clearing where two men are sitting, slumped against the trees, sleeping. At the sound of my voice, they wake abruptly and scramble to their feet. Both men are unarmed and dressed in boots and very little else, which shows off their large muscles quite well. Despite their obvious physical strength, they look tired and show signs of a recent defeat in battle. (picture 4) I am correct in this assumption, they tell me. They participated in a series of gladiatorial games and were soundly defeated. They were on their way home when they passed the pasture and the third member of their team wished aloud for the strength and power of a bull. They said a change came over him as he ran from themóthey saw him grow taller, his muscles grow larger, and a pair of horns begin to protrude from his forehead. They tried to follow him, but his speed was so enhanced by the change that they have not caught up to him yet. On a hunch I take one of his boots that they kept and focus my energy on the former wearer. I now feel the pull of two trails, both leading in the same direction. I tell the two men about my mission and they eagerly offer to accompany me.

    The sun doesnít seem to set here and my newfound companions donít seem to tire very easily. After what could be hours or days (hard to tell with that crazy sun overhead) we reach the end of the path in the forest and come to a cave. As we head deeper and deeper into the cave, I feel both trails growing stronger until we reach a plain stone archway, carved neatly into one side of the cave wall. The three of us pass under the archway into a haze of green smoke coming from a copper cauldron. We hear a set of footsteps approaching-big, heavy footsteps. Out of the smoke comes a large, extremely well muscled creature with the body of a man and the head of a bull holding a spiked mace. (picture 2) It soon becomes clear that this is the lost party member. Even though he ran from his friends when his transformation began, he is now quite happy to see them. The change startled him and when he calmed down he found himself in the cave, lost. He wasnít the smartest of men before, and the bullís brain isnít helping-he keeps having the oddest urges to paw at the ground and charge moving objects. I leave the three to their reunion; after they assure me they can find their way out on their own.

    I continue heading deeper and deeper into the cave, following the remaining trail, until I come to a plain white door. I open the door and find myself in a sort of laboratory. There are various substances in test tubes and glass beakers being heated over Bunsen burners. In the center of the room, over a burner of its own, in a large glass jar, stands a brown field mouse, tenderly holding a yellow canary. (picture 3) I call out a name and the mouse starts and nods his head. I turn off the flame on the burner, but before I can break the glass to release him he stops me. There are things I need to know, he tells me, like why he came here and why I was sent after him. Itís about a woman he fell in love with who his mother felt was unsuitable-the canary. Itís about his overprotective, overbearing mother hiring someone to get rid of this woman-but not in any way that could be traced. Itís about a dealer who sold him a pill so he could follow his love. Itís about a spoken wish to find her and be joined with her forever-although I think the Bunsen burner was a little extreme. So I point out that an eternity in this fantasy world is not the most comfortable idea. I tell him that heís going to have to convince his mother that whatever hell she sends this woman to he will always find her and sheís going to have to accept that he loves who he loves, however unsuitable. He thinks for a bit, and then agrees to return to the place he belongs.

    We are back in his room, the three of us now, standing in a circle holding hands. He is much more handsome than in the pictures his mother showed me-his brown hair showing glints of gold, his blue eyes much bluer in person. And his lady is beautiful, tall and willowy, with pale yellow hair that falls past her waist. As they walk towards the door I stop them. On what grounds, I ask, did his mother find this young woman unsuitable? Race, he answers, as she lifts a lock of hair away from her face revealing a subtly pointed ear. He unlocks the door and finds his mother standing in the hallway. Her face pales as she sees who stands by his side. He begins to tell her, in no uncertain terms, how things will be from now on. And I begin to feel that everything will be fine.
    I'm good, but I'm not THAT good....

  • #244
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    Ý Ignore Shadoe's Lady
    There! It's done and I can't take it back. Good luck to Mirthcard. I can't wait to see what you did with what we were given.

    edit: Ack! "four the last round"! Where are my brains?????
    Last edited by Shadoe's Lady; Thursday, 23rd January, 2003 at 04:14 AM.
    I'm good, but I'm not THAT good....

  • #245
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    ooh, first story.

    As my brain isn't working properly Ill do my judging from the emotion, not solid reasoning

    Im afraid Youll have to do with oneliner judgements.
    So many games, so little time!

  • #246
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    wow, mirthcard is cutting it close!

  • #247
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    Showmanship, that's what it is. He wants to make a big entrance at the last moment
    Peter M. Ball

  • #248
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    Ý Ignore Shadoe's Lady
    He's fine-tuning, people. Give him some space.

    Ummm, how much longer now?
    I'm good, but I'm not THAT good....

  • #249
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    just about an hour left, he pushed it to the last minute once, literally

  • #250
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    He is a showman allright
    So many games, so little time!

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