KidCthulhu
First Post
Piratecat said:
I mean, the nerve of the man, letting his fantasy interfere with his fantasy.
Sagiro's Story Hour Returns (new thread started on 5/18/08)
- Thread starter Sagiro
- Start date
I mean, the nerve of the man, letting his fantasy interfere with his fantasy.
Lord Pendragon
First Post
Whip of the Searing Tongue +5?Piratecat said:Me too!
Sagiro is prepping for his Fantasy Baseball draft, and has been fairly preoccupied. We've managed to amuse ourselves by hacking into his notes and upping the plusses on all of our "loot" weapons by +3. He may notice when he surfaces for air, but we'll be kicking butt until then.
Piratecat
Sesquipedalian
Tmaas, the really sad thing is that if Sagiro had posted what REALLY HAPPENED in the campaign, everyone would think that he was posting another April Fool's.
He's done with his Fantasy Baseball Draft at this point, I think, so he should be working on an update. I'll encourage him...
Hey Sagiro! You don't want me to have to institute the "Hidden Peep-A-Day" program, do you? Yes, that's right! Peep upon Peep, hidden in your house for every day you don't post! I'd hate to do it, but I'm getting desperatre for more Sagiro-y goodness!
He's done with his Fantasy Baseball Draft at this point, I think, so he should be working on an update. I'll encourage him...
Hey Sagiro! You don't want me to have to institute the "Hidden Peep-A-Day" program, do you? Yes, that's right! Peep upon Peep, hidden in your house for every day you don't post! I'd hate to do it, but I'm getting desperatre for more Sagiro-y goodness!
Mathew_Freeman
Adventurer
Piratecat said:Tmaas, the really sad thing is that if Sagiro had posted what REALLY HAPPENED in the campaign, everyone would think that he was posting another April Fool's.
He's done with his Fantasy Baseball Draft at this point, I think, so he should be working on an update. I'll encourage him...
Hey Sagiro! You don't want me to have to institute the "Hidden Peep-A-Day" program, do you? Yes, that's right! Peep upon Peep, hidden in your house for every day you don't post! I'd hate to do it, but I'm getting desperatre for more Sagiro-y goodness!
How about if I offer to get the entire Hivemind to post in this story hour every day with inane chat until he updates? Is that a sufficiently nasty threat to galvanise him into action?
I'm sure it could be arranged...
Sagiro
Rodent of Uncertain Parentage
Sagiro’s Story Hour, Part 173
Back at the Greenhouse the Company explodes into heated discussion. None of them believe that Farazil has told them the whole truth. Why does he really want citizenship? What actually occurred to terminate his contract on their lives? Who might his previous employer/master have been? And what are they going to do about it now?
“We should tell the Duke,” says Morningstar.
“Yeah,” says Ernie. “We did promise Farazil we’d see about getting him citizenship, and make his offer to be a royal spy.”
“I was more thinking that we needed to warn him Farazil was still alive and at large,” says Morningstar. “We can tell him what Farazil asked for, but there’s no way the Duke, let along King Crunard, would accept his service.”
“Don’t be so sure,” says Dranko. “I’ll bet His Majesty wants to know where Tarsos is almost as much as we do.”
“I’ll go see about setting up a meeting then,” says Kay. She puts on her royal uniform and heads out the door.
A few minutes later, while the others are still debating the soul eater’s motives, the Crystal Ball starts to keen. It’s Ozilinsh on a non-emergency call.
“Friends,” he says, “and Dranko in particular. After your concerns about Cranchus being Parthol, I made numerous inquiries on the subject, polling other Archmagi and hearing their recollections. Fylnius is old enough to remember Parthol, and he assures me that the Archmagi’s first dealings with Cranchus occurred before Parthol was even born! I hope that puts to rest your notions that they are the same person.”
Dranko puts his hand to his chin. “How do you know that Parthol didn’t kill Cranchus somewhere along the line, and take his place?”
Ozilinsh lets out an exaggerated breath.
“Dranko, I put your theory to each Archmage. Every one of them discounts it. All of them who had dealings with Cranchus feel that he is… differently schooled than the rest of us. He is a powerful wizard, but he does not fit into our paradigms of learning. Parthol may have been corrupted, but he was provably one of us. And there are nuances of magical communication that would have revealed treachery, if Cranchus were actually Parthol in disguise. Alykeen and Koenig both agree that it would have sent Abernathy’s prescience into hysterics at the very least. You’ll just have to trust us on this one, okay?”
Dranko reluctantly agrees to let the theory drop.
* *
During breakfast the next morning the eyes are back, watching Kibi in his head. The dwarf instinctively snaps his head up and looks around. The eyes are like two small white gemstones shining in his peripheral vision. Aravis notices.
“Eyes again?”
“Yup.”
“Anything new with them?”
“Nope.”
“They still seem okay to me,” says Scree to Kibi. “I don’t think they’re evil, or have any ill intentions.”
Kibi finishes off his plate.
“I had a nice breakfast,” he says conversationally, addressing the eyes. As always, they don’t answer.
The Company spends the late morning divvying up magic items, including the ones recently claimed as swag from the Verdshane battlefield. Dranko grabs the Ring of Djinni summoning, which he has been itching to try.
“I’m gonna give this thing a whirl,” he says, and before anyone can stop him, he puts it on and wills a genie to exist. Seconds later a fine blue mist starts to pour from the ring’s blue stone, a mist that rapidly thickens into a vortex of indigo smoke. From within the blue cloud a glistening blue torso emerges, and within a few seconds an entire genie has coalesced in the living room of the Greenhouse. His body below the waist is swirling vapor; his upper half is a deep blue color. (All are instantly put in mind of Oa Lyanna, whose appearance is similar.) He wears only a golden silken vest around his muscled chest, and a simple silver circlet around his bald head. A gaudy gold ring dangles from his right ear.
His expression is surprising. The djinni has its mouth open and is staring intently, as if he had just a moment ago been examining his teeth in a mirror. Realizing where he is, the Djinni quickly regains his composure, though he doesn’t bother masking a brief expression of annoyance. He dips his upper body in a graceful bow, and in a deep stentorian voice laced with… sarcasm?… he intones:
“And how may I serve you today, my master? As always I am… wait a minute! You are not Ramad!”
This is so cool! thinks Dranko. The others stand around, agog.
“Ramad is no longer your master,” says Dranko, standing forth and trying to sound at ease. “I’m the new owner of the ring.”
“Ah,” bellows the Djinni. “I see. And you are…?”
“I am Sir Dranko Blackhope.”
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” remarks the Djinn, making it clear that this is far from true. “My name is Al Tarqoz, and I am at your disposal, my new and no doubt most wise Master. How…” (and he draws out the word “how” in a most aggrieved fashion) “may I serve you?”
“Er… why don’t you tell us? What can you do?”
“Do?” Al Tarqoz sighs, as though he’s been asked this question innumerable times in his life. “I can do many things. I can cook an exquisite meal in short order. I can operate a business efficiently. I can play the pipes passably well if called upon. Ah…” he holds up his hand. “But your question does not concern these mundane trifles, of course. You wish to know what magical skills I have which you may command me to use.”
“Ask him if he grants wishes,” whispers Flicker.
“My Master,” says Al Tarqoz, “You may inform your small friend that I am perfectly capable of being spoken to directly by anyone present.”
“Well, do you?” asks Dranko. “Grant wishes?”
The Djinni snorts derisively. “If I had the power to invoke magics on that scale, do you think for one moment that I would still be bound up to a piece of jewelry such that anyone could summon me to a far-off plane for aid, even when I am in the midst of attending to my personal hygiene? No, I do not grant wishes. Nor do I bring the dead to life, shoot fire from my eyes, or command the whirlwind. The magics at my command are more modest. Once each day I can create fresh, clean water, or wine of any number of delightful vintages. I can create small and simple items of a wide variety. Furthermore, I can conjure illusions of an exceedingly believable nature. And I can turn myself and half a dozen others into misty vapors that can travel at astonishingly fast speeds. Do you wish me to invoke any of these spells at this time, my Master?”
“Uh, no, not just now,” says Dranko, grinning.
“Then what, might I inquire, was the reason for your summoning me on this occasion?”
“Nothing in particular. We just wanted to meet you.”
“I see. ‘Nothing in particular.’ Perhaps it did not occur to you, oh wise and benevolent Master, that I come from a place, a house of my own in the City of Brass. In the afternoons I run my trade as a silk merchant. In the evenings I enjoy festivals, dancing, drinking, and the company of my fellows.”
“But you still have to serve whoever holds the ring,” says Dranko. “Who right now is me.”
“Dranko!” hisses Ernie, appalled.
One Certain Step looks away, uncomfortable.
“Er,” continues Dranko, “I think we can promise you that we’ll only summon you when we’re in great need of your services, Al Tarqoz.”
“My Master is the very embodiment of beneficence,” says Al Tarqoz.
“Perhaps we should dismiss him for now,” suggests Aravis.
“I guess,” says Dranko. But then he says to the Djinn: “Hey, while you’re here, would you like a cigar?”
He lights one himself and takes a puff. Al Tarqoz looks down at Dranko and wrinkles his nose.
“Your offer is generosity itself; please forgive me as I decline your invitation.”
“Suit yourself. Say, how long will you hang around for if I don’t dismiss you, and how many times can we call you each day.”
“I will remain on your delightful Prime for one hour, after which I will be returned to my own plane. And I can only be… summoned… one each day.”
“How much wine can you create in an hour?”
“Dranko!” Ernie is turning a bright red.
“Oh, fine,” says Dranko. “Al Tarqoz, you are dismissed. But if you…”
The genie turns into a billow of blue smoke, which is quickly sucked back into the ring.
“Well, that was fun!” Dranko announces. He turns to find that no one is smiling. Ernie is fixing him with a withering glare.
“What?” says Dranko. “That guy was clearly one of those snotty high-society types. It’s good to take them down a peg or two every once in a while.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re going to treat him like a slave,” says Ernie flatly. “He’s a person just like you are, and he shouldn’t have people picking at his dignity.”
“I wasn’t treating him like… look, we summon creatures all the time! How is this any different, really?”
There is a long silence.
“Snokas,” says Morningstar. “How about we go out and spar in the yard. I want to see how good a fighter you are.”
“I’ll go with you,” says Grey Wolf.
“Me too,” says Step.
“I’m going to study in my room,” says Aravis. “Please excuse me.”
Soon Dranko is alone in the living room, looking down at his new piece of jewelry.
“Ah, screw it,” he mutters to himself. “I feel like getting someone else in trouble.”
Dranko spends the rest of the day seeing what he can do about Imperia. (Imperia is one of the two nasty wizards in Sand’s Edge who were suspected of blackmailing, or at least extorting, the local city officials during the time of the Turtle Sickness. The other wizard, Fulton, fought and died at Verdshane, while Imperia never showed up.) Though Dranko typically works with more underworldly contacts, today he throws his weight around as a new member of the minor nobility. Working all the official channels he can find, he arranges for a thorough investigation of Imperia’s designs, with an eye toward muscling her out of her current position in Sand’s Edge.
Having done his best, he comes home to find that the mood has lightened considerably. Ernie is packing rations that look more like picnic lunches than hard trail food.
“Where are we going?” asks Dranko.
“To Longtooth Keep!” says Ernie. “We’re going to check out our new castle.”
“Oh, you mean Castle Blackhope. Great! I wonder what’s taken up residence there while we’ve been away?”
…to be continued…
Back at the Greenhouse the Company explodes into heated discussion. None of them believe that Farazil has told them the whole truth. Why does he really want citizenship? What actually occurred to terminate his contract on their lives? Who might his previous employer/master have been? And what are they going to do about it now?
“We should tell the Duke,” says Morningstar.
“Yeah,” says Ernie. “We did promise Farazil we’d see about getting him citizenship, and make his offer to be a royal spy.”
“I was more thinking that we needed to warn him Farazil was still alive and at large,” says Morningstar. “We can tell him what Farazil asked for, but there’s no way the Duke, let along King Crunard, would accept his service.”
“Don’t be so sure,” says Dranko. “I’ll bet His Majesty wants to know where Tarsos is almost as much as we do.”
“I’ll go see about setting up a meeting then,” says Kay. She puts on her royal uniform and heads out the door.
A few minutes later, while the others are still debating the soul eater’s motives, the Crystal Ball starts to keen. It’s Ozilinsh on a non-emergency call.
“Friends,” he says, “and Dranko in particular. After your concerns about Cranchus being Parthol, I made numerous inquiries on the subject, polling other Archmagi and hearing their recollections. Fylnius is old enough to remember Parthol, and he assures me that the Archmagi’s first dealings with Cranchus occurred before Parthol was even born! I hope that puts to rest your notions that they are the same person.”
Dranko puts his hand to his chin. “How do you know that Parthol didn’t kill Cranchus somewhere along the line, and take his place?”
Ozilinsh lets out an exaggerated breath.
“Dranko, I put your theory to each Archmage. Every one of them discounts it. All of them who had dealings with Cranchus feel that he is… differently schooled than the rest of us. He is a powerful wizard, but he does not fit into our paradigms of learning. Parthol may have been corrupted, but he was provably one of us. And there are nuances of magical communication that would have revealed treachery, if Cranchus were actually Parthol in disguise. Alykeen and Koenig both agree that it would have sent Abernathy’s prescience into hysterics at the very least. You’ll just have to trust us on this one, okay?”
Dranko reluctantly agrees to let the theory drop.
* *
During breakfast the next morning the eyes are back, watching Kibi in his head. The dwarf instinctively snaps his head up and looks around. The eyes are like two small white gemstones shining in his peripheral vision. Aravis notices.
“Eyes again?”
“Yup.”
“Anything new with them?”
“Nope.”
“They still seem okay to me,” says Scree to Kibi. “I don’t think they’re evil, or have any ill intentions.”
Kibi finishes off his plate.
“I had a nice breakfast,” he says conversationally, addressing the eyes. As always, they don’t answer.
The Company spends the late morning divvying up magic items, including the ones recently claimed as swag from the Verdshane battlefield. Dranko grabs the Ring of Djinni summoning, which he has been itching to try.
“I’m gonna give this thing a whirl,” he says, and before anyone can stop him, he puts it on and wills a genie to exist. Seconds later a fine blue mist starts to pour from the ring’s blue stone, a mist that rapidly thickens into a vortex of indigo smoke. From within the blue cloud a glistening blue torso emerges, and within a few seconds an entire genie has coalesced in the living room of the Greenhouse. His body below the waist is swirling vapor; his upper half is a deep blue color. (All are instantly put in mind of Oa Lyanna, whose appearance is similar.) He wears only a golden silken vest around his muscled chest, and a simple silver circlet around his bald head. A gaudy gold ring dangles from his right ear.
His expression is surprising. The djinni has its mouth open and is staring intently, as if he had just a moment ago been examining his teeth in a mirror. Realizing where he is, the Djinni quickly regains his composure, though he doesn’t bother masking a brief expression of annoyance. He dips his upper body in a graceful bow, and in a deep stentorian voice laced with… sarcasm?… he intones:
“And how may I serve you today, my master? As always I am… wait a minute! You are not Ramad!”
This is so cool! thinks Dranko. The others stand around, agog.
“Ramad is no longer your master,” says Dranko, standing forth and trying to sound at ease. “I’m the new owner of the ring.”
“Ah,” bellows the Djinni. “I see. And you are…?”
“I am Sir Dranko Blackhope.”
“A pleasure to make your acquaintance,” remarks the Djinn, making it clear that this is far from true. “My name is Al Tarqoz, and I am at your disposal, my new and no doubt most wise Master. How…” (and he draws out the word “how” in a most aggrieved fashion) “may I serve you?”
“Er… why don’t you tell us? What can you do?”
“Do?” Al Tarqoz sighs, as though he’s been asked this question innumerable times in his life. “I can do many things. I can cook an exquisite meal in short order. I can operate a business efficiently. I can play the pipes passably well if called upon. Ah…” he holds up his hand. “But your question does not concern these mundane trifles, of course. You wish to know what magical skills I have which you may command me to use.”
“Ask him if he grants wishes,” whispers Flicker.
“My Master,” says Al Tarqoz, “You may inform your small friend that I am perfectly capable of being spoken to directly by anyone present.”
“Well, do you?” asks Dranko. “Grant wishes?”
The Djinni snorts derisively. “If I had the power to invoke magics on that scale, do you think for one moment that I would still be bound up to a piece of jewelry such that anyone could summon me to a far-off plane for aid, even when I am in the midst of attending to my personal hygiene? No, I do not grant wishes. Nor do I bring the dead to life, shoot fire from my eyes, or command the whirlwind. The magics at my command are more modest. Once each day I can create fresh, clean water, or wine of any number of delightful vintages. I can create small and simple items of a wide variety. Furthermore, I can conjure illusions of an exceedingly believable nature. And I can turn myself and half a dozen others into misty vapors that can travel at astonishingly fast speeds. Do you wish me to invoke any of these spells at this time, my Master?”
“Uh, no, not just now,” says Dranko, grinning.
“Then what, might I inquire, was the reason for your summoning me on this occasion?”
“Nothing in particular. We just wanted to meet you.”
“I see. ‘Nothing in particular.’ Perhaps it did not occur to you, oh wise and benevolent Master, that I come from a place, a house of my own in the City of Brass. In the afternoons I run my trade as a silk merchant. In the evenings I enjoy festivals, dancing, drinking, and the company of my fellows.”
“But you still have to serve whoever holds the ring,” says Dranko. “Who right now is me.”
“Dranko!” hisses Ernie, appalled.
One Certain Step looks away, uncomfortable.
“Er,” continues Dranko, “I think we can promise you that we’ll only summon you when we’re in great need of your services, Al Tarqoz.”
“My Master is the very embodiment of beneficence,” says Al Tarqoz.
“Perhaps we should dismiss him for now,” suggests Aravis.
“I guess,” says Dranko. But then he says to the Djinn: “Hey, while you’re here, would you like a cigar?”
He lights one himself and takes a puff. Al Tarqoz looks down at Dranko and wrinkles his nose.
“Your offer is generosity itself; please forgive me as I decline your invitation.”
“Suit yourself. Say, how long will you hang around for if I don’t dismiss you, and how many times can we call you each day.”
“I will remain on your delightful Prime for one hour, after which I will be returned to my own plane. And I can only be… summoned… one each day.”
“How much wine can you create in an hour?”
“Dranko!” Ernie is turning a bright red.
“Oh, fine,” says Dranko. “Al Tarqoz, you are dismissed. But if you…”
The genie turns into a billow of blue smoke, which is quickly sucked back into the ring.
“Well, that was fun!” Dranko announces. He turns to find that no one is smiling. Ernie is fixing him with a withering glare.
“What?” says Dranko. “That guy was clearly one of those snotty high-society types. It’s good to take them down a peg or two every once in a while.”
“That doesn’t mean you’re going to treat him like a slave,” says Ernie flatly. “He’s a person just like you are, and he shouldn’t have people picking at his dignity.”
“I wasn’t treating him like… look, we summon creatures all the time! How is this any different, really?”
There is a long silence.
“Snokas,” says Morningstar. “How about we go out and spar in the yard. I want to see how good a fighter you are.”
“I’ll go with you,” says Grey Wolf.
“Me too,” says Step.
“I’m going to study in my room,” says Aravis. “Please excuse me.”
Soon Dranko is alone in the living room, looking down at his new piece of jewelry.
“Ah, screw it,” he mutters to himself. “I feel like getting someone else in trouble.”
Dranko spends the rest of the day seeing what he can do about Imperia. (Imperia is one of the two nasty wizards in Sand’s Edge who were suspected of blackmailing, or at least extorting, the local city officials during the time of the Turtle Sickness. The other wizard, Fulton, fought and died at Verdshane, while Imperia never showed up.) Though Dranko typically works with more underworldly contacts, today he throws his weight around as a new member of the minor nobility. Working all the official channels he can find, he arranges for a thorough investigation of Imperia’s designs, with an eye toward muscling her out of her current position in Sand’s Edge.
Having done his best, he comes home to find that the mood has lightened considerably. Ernie is packing rations that look more like picnic lunches than hard trail food.
“Where are we going?” asks Dranko.
“To Longtooth Keep!” says Ernie. “We’re going to check out our new castle.”
“Oh, you mean Castle Blackhope. Great! I wonder what’s taken up residence there while we’ve been away?”
…to be continued…
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