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Messages - Script Wrecked
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1281
« on: September 01, 2007, 02:42:40 am »
If this is a certain miscreant elven wizard, this episode might quickly become retitled " Menestas Must Die". 
1282
« on: September 01, 2007, 02:40:26 am »
Or just change the module to be one big open area with nothing in it and then everyone would have nothing else to do but sit and talk. ...  After all, persistent worlds are just big, glorified chat rooms after all.  *ducks*
1283
« on: August 31, 2007, 06:45:21 am »
Vlanin stood at the table, idly perusing a manuscript he had retrieved from the bookshelf. Agrim had permitted him to enter the librarium with him. Although Vlanin had been keen to be admitted once again, now that he had a book in from of him, he found his heart wasn't in it. He was also trying not make any intimation to where the book was kept hidden.
Agrim stepped down from the reading lecturn and the parchment he was studying. "Noo thus uz umportan'. When yoo took tha book oot o' tha ossuary, wot dud yoo do wid ut?"
Vlanin started when he realised his master was refering to the dread book. He was actually talking about the unmentionable thing that was a chasm between them. Perhaps things were going to improve.
"Ay, err... Ay only e'er read ut from tha lecturn," Vlanin half stammered.
Agrim seemed to consider for a moment. "Hoo long were ut oot o' tha box?"
Vlanin considered, "While ay were readin' ut." He blushed with shame at his admission. "Three, foo'r 'oo'rs at a toime," he half shrugged.
Again Agrim was lost in thought. Then, without addressing Vlanin directly, he spoke, "Tha ossuary keeps tha book hidd'n, un case any wun shoold be scryin' fer it. Thar roons on tha unside ar' ta ward off pryin' eyes."
Then he looked directly at Vlanin. "While uts oot o' tha ossuary, ut may be foond..." he paused, changing the tilt of his head, allowing what he had just said to sink in, "ifn anywun were lookin' fer ut."
"O' course, noo they dinna need tha book any moo're, do they?" Agrim asked pointedly, snapping the last of the words. "Ifn they noo tha' yoo noo, all they need... uz yoo." Vlanin looked away from his burning glare. "Well, fer start'rs, least ways."
Vlanin smarted. His master was right. A potential consequence that he had not considered. He wondered what other flaws of his action were going to be revealed.
1284
« on: August 29, 2007, 10:13:14 am »
Vlanin sat slouched at the table, one arm propping up his head. He considered the remaining portion of his steaming drink.
A few days prior, he had been in the company of a group of adventurers who had been trying to impress a barbarian chieftan with tales of daring-do. Eventually, Vlanin had stood before the assembled gathering and recounted the fall of the berserkers. He had mildly embellished some of the descriptions to give it the feel of an epic tale. Unfortunately he had not anticipated the emotional impact the ending still had an for him, so it had been rushed and not well delivered.
He hoped they had understood his story.
And now it seemed everything he had been working towards had taken a turn for the worse. He had persevered through the dark and sometimes vile treatises in the dread book, and had found the hidden gem within its pages. But now it was forbiddened to him. With it, his access to the librarium had been curtailed, and, even worse, he had estranged his master.
Vlanin sighed a heartfelt sigh. He had tasted hope. He had believed it. But where was it now.
He swirled his mug, and drank the last of the bitter drink.
1285
« on: August 28, 2007, 10:12:01 am »
"Och, Mast'r Vlanin. Coold nay foind yer way to yer bed agin?"
Vlanin stirred from the uneven rest he had taken. It might seem idyllic or romantic to fall asleep in a sitting chair in front of an open fire, but to actually spent the night there extracted a toll of aching body and sullen disposition.
Vlanin only grunted in acknowledgement.
"Come noo, Mast'r Vlanin. Shake yerself oop. We've got sum foin viddles fer breakfast. An', ifn yoo dinna moind, we've got tha hall ta be cleanin'."
...
From the far side of the courtyard, Vlanin saw Agrim leave the hall. He carefully hurried to catch up, but maintained a respectful distance.
Agrim headed out across the hills, marching at quite a pace.
Gradually Vlanin approached closer and closer, until he was but two or three paces behind. Surely Agrim must hear him. Maybe Agrim was waiting for him to speak first. Eventually he could wait any longer, "Mast'r, ay..."
"SO," Agrim interrupted, without stopping, without looking back, "ay'm still yer mast'r then." He continued marching along the path. "Hoo woold ha'e though'," he said facetiously.
Vlanin dropped back a few paces.
...
Agrim stopped suddenly, and turned to face Vlanin. Vlanin hastily came to a halt.
He spoke severely, "When ay told yoo aboot thus dread thing, ay lef' nay doobt tha' ut were a bad thing?"
Vlanin nodded in agreement.
Agrim turned and marched off again.
...
Agrim stopped again. His tone increased in severity, "When ay told yoo aboot thus dread thing, ay dud say aboot hoo ay were tryin' ta destroy ut?"
Again, Vlanin nodded.
Agrim set off, his pace increased.
...
Agrim threw down his staff in temper. "Dam ut, Vlanin, yoo were meant ta guard ut," his anger plainly evident in his voice, "nay read ut." His voice boiled and rattled on the last words.
Vlanin cast his eyes down at the ground.
"Wot were yoo thinkin'?" Agrim spluttered in his exasperation, "Whar yoo thinkin'?" He continued his tirade to himself, "O' all tha things he coold ha'e dun..."
Vlanin started to speak, but Agrim had stormed off, still expressing his vitriol, "...ifn he ha'e burnt doon tha bloody hall..."
Vlanin watched him go, then realised Agrim's staff lay on the ground. He picked it up, and followed after him.
...
The two figures made their way back to the clan hold, one following several steps behind the other.
Agrim opened the hall door and stepped inside. Vlanin looked hesitantly.
"Well, ifn yoo wan' ta return tha great hall..." There was more than a bit of annoyance in his tone.
Vlanin hastily stepped past Agrim.
As Agrim closed the door, Vlanin presented his staff to him, with half a hopeful smile on his face.
"An' ay'll be havin' yer key, too," Agrim spoke gruffly.
For a moment Vlanin thought, "Key, what key?" But then he realised, his key to the librarium. He felt as though the floor had dropped out from underneath him.
Reluctantly, he handed his key over. Agrim took it without making eye contact, and left the room.
Vlanin sat down, empty, uncertain. Suddenly there was a gulf between him and this person whom he had known for so long. Something that was as certain as night following day had changed, and maybe would never be the same again.
1286
« on: August 23, 2007, 02:47:42 am »
For the next person to try this, here are some numbers: It takes 40gp to cure a deer hide (unless you can craft your own salt and/or tanning acid[?]). Rat or bat hides would be cheaper to cure, but I don't know where to find rats or bats (apparently, there isn't enough hide left of the sewer rats after they've been splatted). Out of ten hides, I successfully cured one (though I did get some crafting xp for that, so maybe next time I will have a better chance[?]) (400gp). From each deer hide (may be different for other hides) you get five "A Small Bit Of Cured Hide" (that would have cost 5x91=495gp). So, technically I'm ahead, but there is the "Crafter - Badge of Certification" to pay off (500gp). I can see why the halfling crafting merchant wears a mask. So, is Mage Armor worth all this? *shrugs* 80gp a pop for a first level spell seems a trifle rich, but who knows, perhaps it that will improve. Esckew Materials anyone.
1287
« on: August 21, 2007, 02:58:21 am »
A figure in a dark hooded robe sat across the courtyard from the door to the hall, waiting. He had been there since the morning. He had waited through the noon of the day, and into the afternoon. It had become dark, and a chill wind now blew. He stood and looked up into the night sky, the stars twinkling faintly through the haze. He pulled his robe close around him, and resigned to this day's outcome, retreated to the warmth of the great hall.
1288
« on: August 20, 2007, 09:18:13 am »
Agrim pushed open the heavy door to his hall. It was late and he was tired, but it was good to be home again. He wandered across the familiar room. From down the stairs, under the door to the librarium he could see a light.
Perhaps Vlanin was doing a bit of reading, he thought. Would wonders never cease. He would just say hello before turning in for the night.
...
"Wot ar' yoo doin' doon har, laddie, so late un tha noigh'?"
Startled, Vlanin looked up from the book.
"Mast'r," his voice trembled. He broke out in a cold sweat. This was it, the moment of truth. He had dared read the dread thing, and now his master had caught him red handed. Perhaps, perhaps if he told him what he had found.
"Mast'r, ay ha'e foond ut..."
Agrim's eyes skipped from his apprentice to the tome he was studying.
"... tha answ'r to oo'r problems..."
A feeling of dread washed over the old dwarf as he recognised the book's features. The dark vellum pages traced with faint words and glyphs, the singed leathern cover.
"... tha Pale path..."
Vlanin didn't get to complete what he was saying.
Agrim's dread had been quickly replaced by shock, and then anger at what Vlanin was doing. He flew at his apprentice, and threw him from the reading lecturn.
Vlanin fell hard on the cold stone floor, crashing into the other furnishings.
Fury in the old wizard swelled and the fell power of a wizard strong in his craft surged within him. For a moment, something perilious could have happened. But his anger peaked and then ebbed, slipping back under the mantle of self control.
He turned to the lecturn. There, like an old aquaintance waiting to be remembered, the book sat expectantly, laid open, ready to share its secrets with any who would dare peruse its pages.
The old dwarf carefully closed the book. The heavily embossed cover, bound in iron edging, looked back at him; the Necromilliom. His heart skipped a beat in dread.
He secured the tome's heavy clasp, and picked up the book. He turned, and saw Vlanin still seated on the floor, looking like a cowed dog.
His anger surged again.
"GET OOT!", his shouted, his rage barely contained.
Vlanin scurried past, and out of the librarium.
...
In the hall, Vlanin looked between the corridor leading to the living quarters, and the heavy door leading out. Panicked, unsure of how much trouble he was in, he thought, for the moment, avoidance was the better option. He slipped out of the great door, and into the night.
1289
« on: August 19, 2007, 05:33:56 am »
A group of dwarves were sitting around the fireside in the great hall long after most of the clan had retired for the night. The comfort of a fire was sorely missed during long forays into the caverns, and the returned tunnel runners were quite content to sit in the warmth of its glow as they swapped stories with the remaining clan dwarves.
Vlanin had waited patiently to speak alone with Mischa since earlier that evening, but had been unable to disengage her from her comrades. He sat in a chair to the side, staring into the flames.
"Wot aboot yoo, Mast'r Vlanin? Wot tale o' yer lates' jour'ney ha'e yoo ta tell?"
Vlanin looked up, and smiled politely as if to decline. Telling tales in front of clan folk was one thing, but in front of hardened tunnel runners was quite another.
"Come on, Vlanin," Mischa called encouragingly. "Tell uz wot yoo ha'e bin oop to."
Reluctantly, Vlanin stood up in front of the hearth. He cleared his throat, and tried to project his voice as best he could.
"So, thar we whar, standin' on tha sea bed nay less, breathin' tha very wat'r loike we whar born tae ut. Tha' takes a but o' gettin' us'd tae, let me tell yoo.
"Tha little fush were swummin' all aroond uz," he made fish motions with his hands, "when, wush, they all dart'd off."
"Very strange, ay though'. But from oot o' tha gloom came tha largess' fush ay ha'e e'er seen. Bug as a small hoose, wid a gapin' maw full o' roos upon roos o' sharp, jagg'd teeth.
"Tha' were a tough foigh'," he paused dramatically, "an' wid no small effort by tha warriors, too."
He saw Mischa showing interest. Not content to let go of the limelight, he continued into his latest tale.
"Anoth'r toime, we foond oo'rselves shrunk small'r than ants by sum miscreant ulvish wiza'd. We ha'e ta traverse tha perils o' giant wur'ms an' kull'r sparrows, a'fore we coold undo hus treacherous madgicks."
"Och. Well done, lad. Ay guess yer jus' glad ta be home un wun piece sum toimes."
Vlanin smiled. He spotted a vacated chair next to Mischa, and surreptitiously slid into it.
"So, wot dud yoo think o' tha'?" he beamed as he sat.
"Och, Vlanin, yoo tell such fanciful tales," she smiled as though she shared secret. "Hoo woold ha'e though'."
Vlanin was stunned. He looked at her uncertainly, perhaps she didn't understand. "But lassie, ut were all true."
"Vlanin," Mischa gently chided. "Yer tale may umpress these regular folk. But yer talkin' to a season'd tunn'l runn'r har. Ay ha'e seen a thing oo'r two, yoo know. Ay think ay know a tall tale when ay har ut."
Vlanin sunk in his chair. He couldn't believe it.
"Perhaps yoo shoold come an' spend sum toime wid uz un tha tunn'ls. Then yoo moigh' learn a thing oo'r two."
"But," he spoke apologetically, "yoo know ay canna."
He paused thoughtfully, "Nay noo. But maybe, maybe lat'r."
He tried to put a thin edge of foreboding in his voice, while at the same time trying to avoid sounding like a complete twat, "Perhaps yoo may be surpris'd." He smiled knowingly as he sat back in his chair.
1290
« on: August 16, 2007, 08:53:28 am »
Vlanin stepped outside into the cold air of the pre-dawn. Unseen birds called in anticipation of the new day. A faint blush of light illuminated the dark horizon.
He walked across the wet cobblestones to the edge of the flat ground and peered out into the diminishing gloom. The mist gently rolled in the valley below.
The faint orb of the sun lifted itself above the horizon, shrouded by the caustic cloak of dust. Yet it still glowed, it still struggled to bring its meager light to the land, in faint promise that one day this adversity would be overcome and it would burn brightly once again.
Vlanin looked at the risen sun, and smiled. He had found a way ahead.
1291
« on: August 15, 2007, 05:34:42 am »
Vlanin sat at the reading lecturn, shrouded in darkness apart from the small sphere of light that illuminated the open pages of the book. It was late, his eyes were beginning to close of their own accord.
[INDENT]"...The immediate benefit of the Subtulation is the induration of the skin. The effect is such that the aspirant is benefitted of armor without the inconvenience of such impeding paraphernalia... The protection afforded improves with the aspirant's commitment to the path..."[/INDENT]
Vlanin perked up. He remembered the dwarf warrior Beli who accompanied a group of them into the Swamp of Lost Souls. He had fought without benefit of armor or axe, and yet he had lead the way, striking with hands like steel hammers, seemingly fending the enemies' blows with stone hard skin. Perhaps this was an answer. He read on.
[INDENT]"...Some have remarked of a similar induration in the aspirant's own humours. If this were to be so, it would be a small adjustment for such a boon..."[/INDENT]
And so Vlanin read on through the night and into the small hours of the morning.
[INDENT]...
"...The success of the aspirant's ability to initially establish a connection to the Malcairiam Degree of the Weave is revealed by a new acuity of the darkness. Henceforth, the aspirant can tranverse the lightless passages and crypts without need to disturb the tranquility of the pitch air... Sensitivity to the high sun, usually cited as one potential side effect, is often a result of residing in the dark places for extended periods of time..."
...
"...When the aspirant is able to sustain a continuous channel to the Weave Malcairia, his life force becomes intermingled with its energies... The aspirant is imbued with increasing vigor... The experience of these energies may supplicate the desire for base consumptions..."
...
"...As the strength of the channel increases, the essence of the Malcaire subsumes some of the aspirant's own nature... He becomes impervious to certain malafflictions that affect those of the Physicium... The aspirant's need of repose is moderated by some greater or lesser degree..."
...
"...When the aspirant consummates his connection to the Malcairiam, he is no longer vulnerable to the fatal blows of his enemies..."
...[/INDENT]
Vlanin sat bolt up right. He couldn't believe what he had just read. He read it again, slowly, more deliberately. "...he is no longer vulnerable to the fatal blows of his enemies." A faint light of glee lit in his heart.
Was this the answer? Had he found it? He chuckled to himself. He began laughing. He laughed harder. He laughed loudly as his anger and resentment and frustrations were swept away, swept away by hope.
1292
« on: August 14, 2007, 07:06:02 am »
Vlanin sat with his hand on the table, his chin resting on his hand, looking across the expanse of the table top, looking for answers. With his other hand he twiddled with a small wooden ornament. He had sat there for what felt like hours. He felt empty, bereft of any insight or understanding. What to do, what to do, echoed again and again in his mind.
It seemed there were always barriers. The closer you got to something, the harder the going got. And he didn't even know what he was getting close to.
Why were things always hard, not easy. Doing nothing was easy. It was easy and safe. Well, until the enemy came banging at your door, and then it was all over.
No, something had to be done. But was this it? What was he risking? "Yoo'll nay know untul yoo try," Master Agrim had said on numerous occasions. Well, maybe he would try now, and it would all break.
Maybe it wouldn't. Maybe this was the solution waiting to be found, but too many people had been afraid and skirted around it.
Well, there was only one way to find out. Vlanin sat up, and ran his hand over his aching head. "But ifn thus uz fer tha wur'se, ay swear by tha two gods tha' ut'll be only me tha' has ta suff'r any consequences."
For a moment he thought of all sorts of daemons extracting punishments for his transgression.
Vlanin sighed. He hoped he wasn't going to rue this choice.
1293
« on: August 12, 2007, 06:35:10 am »
Vlanin eyed the casket suspiciously. He had resolved to read through the entire book, despite its subject matter; it would be bitter irony if there was some useful reference but a few unread pages away.
But that was before his latest foray on Mistone. He had been travelling with a band that had rescued a small girl from some nearby caves when they had been confronted by group who looked like them in all respects. Vlanin had found it quite disconcerting to see himself standing across the divide, an unknown stranger. But this hadn't been the work of some miscreant wizard or fey shapechangers. No, when the imposters had been challenged, they came out fighting in their true forms. Daemons.
Vlanin paced up and down, not taking his eyes off the casket. Had a daemon found out what he was doing, and taken interest in him? Had the book betrayed him to some infernal power? Or perhaps the casket? Or was it coincidental? Had he brought about his own misfortune by daring to read the dread thing? What other fortune was he creating by his actions? Many questions raced through Vlanin's mind.
He stopped and pondered, but no answers came to him.
Things were much easier when you were just an apprentice, he thought. Someone to tell you the way things were, and what would happen if you did this or did that. Now, now things were uncertain. Actions could be taken and their consequences unrealised for days, for years, even life times.
1294
« on: August 11, 2007, 08:27:48 am »
Vlanin hit the sandy floor of the wrestling circle. For a moment he was winded. Hoondin loomed large over him.
Finally Vlanin breathed. "Tha's ut. Ay ha'e eno'."
Hoondin looked down on him, disapprovingly. "Ne'er give oop, Vlanin."
Vlanin stared back at him. For a moment, his frustration and anger burnt through, "Foin."
He rolled up and, forgetting his concern about hurting his opponent, barrelled into Hoondin hard. He caught Hoondin behind the knees, lifted him slightly off of his feet, and dropped him onto the floor, following down on top of him.
"Hey," Hoondin groaned, "tha's moo're loike ut."
Vlanin remembered himself, concerned that he may have caused his friend harm. He got up, and pulled Hoondin to his feet. "Yoo all roigh'?"
"Aye. Nowt an ale wull nay fix," Hoondin grinned as he clapped Vlanin around the shoulder.
...
Hoondin put his tankard down on the table top, "Yoo seem ta be a but preoccupied wid sumat, lad."
Vlanin shrugged meekly, annoyed with himself that he had let slip sign of his secret dilemna.
Hoondin continued, "Ay know oo'r paths dinna cross so often these days, but ifn thar uz anything ay can help yoo wid, yoo let me know, aye?"
"Och, yoo can help me by makin' sur'e yoo keep comin' oot o' those tunnels," Vlanin grinned.
Hoondin thoughtfully considered his ale.
They both chuckled at the reality of the situation.
1295
« on: August 09, 2007, 08:34:40 am »
Vlanin looked across the far horizon from the wind swept hills of Taur'en. The dust always seemed thickest on the horizon, an ominous dark band at the edge of the sky. He breathed in deeply as the wind buffeted him, roaring softly in his ears. It was as though the swirling air held him in its embrace.
He had walked for hours, walked until his feet were sore and his legs ached, walked as far away as he could from that book. He had read the book in earnest, read the dread thing in some honest hope that it would hold a solution. After all, this was Agrim's legacy, the thing that Master Agrim strove to keep hidden. Surely, in such a book, there would be an answer.
But the more he had read, the more he found that it dealt with death, the more he found it dealt with the dead, the more he found it dealt with the undead; it was a book of necromancy.
Vlanin shuddered. He didn't want to be a blasted necromancer, co-opting the dead to do his will, defiling the bodies of the departed for his own means. He was not this.
He closed his eyes, lifted out his arms, caught in the breath of the wind, briefly forgotten of all things.
1296
« on: August 08, 2007, 09:03:08 am »
Not a few days ago, Vlanin had laid at the foot of the bindstone in Port Hempstead. He had lain there looking up into the dusty sky. Death. Death was always so close, no matter how careful you were.
He and the warrior Jacrum had been on the moors of Battlehelm fighting the swampfolk. Deeper and deeper they had ventured until they had been ambushed. Master Agrim had warned him about chasing warriors to their glorious deaths, and so he had paid a price for his foolishness.
It seemed good folk were dying just holding the line. Not making any headway, just trying to preserve what they had. And still they died. What use was it being careful and cautious if you were going to die anyway? Why not, why not take some risk that you might succeed, instead of waiting for certain death?
Those thoughts returned to him now as Vlanin eyed up the cold, pale stone of the casket.
Vlanin remembered the berserkers, and the sacrifice they had made. A sacrifice that, in the end, was not to hold any ground, or protect their kin, but a sacrifice to die fighting. A sacrifice to do all they could in that moment to prevail, even, even after they had realised they would fall. Vlanin's eyes welled up.
Slowly, Vlanin lifted the lid of the casket. Slowly, he took out the wrapped book and placed it on the reading lecturn. Slowly, he took his seat in front of it.
In that moment, all there was was him and the book.
Gently, he unwrapped it. Gently, his hand traced over the singed embossing until it found the metal clasp. Gently, he squeezed the clasp until the strap sprung open.
He opened the cover, and laid his eyes across the vellum pages.
1297
« on: August 07, 2007, 08:04:38 am »
// This scene takes place in the librariam with Vlanin having discovered a casket. For the moment, I haven't been able to satisfactorily conceal and discover the casket within the librariam. However, its holding up the story progression, so, in the interim, I'm skipping that part. My apologies. Also, I can't provide a description in the text without having placed it. So, for the moment, caskets are small, some 2' by 3', made of stone, heavy, used to hold the bones of the dead after their bodies have been burnt. //
Vlanin opened the casket lid. To his relief he found not bones, but something flat and rectangular wrapped in a heavy shroud. After a moment considering what it might be, he reached in and took it out of the casket, and unwrapped the shroud on the floor. Inside was a large, dark leather bound book, heavily embossed, edged in iron. A heavy clasp held it closed.
Why would anyone bury a book, he thought, as his hand moved to open the clasp.
Almost in answer he recalled, "Wot does tha' make tha book?"
Vlanin remembered. Power.
Why would you keep such a thing hidden, he puzzled.
"...ta keep a dread thing hidd'n..." echoed back.
His hand recoiled from the book. Was this Agrim's legacy? He was taken by a cold sweat.
What was he doing? Vlanin panicked, looking around to see who might have witnessed him, but he was still alone in the librariam. Carefully, he re-wrapped the book in the shroud. As he placed it back into the casket, he noticed some rune markings inside the casket, but didn't stop to inspect them. Hurridly, he checked over the wrapped book and casket, and then lifted the heavy lid back in place. As it ground close, he exhaled in relief.
1298
« on: August 06, 2007, 10:17:27 am »
Vlanin had been working through the various librams and tomes, scrolls and parchments, that were strewn around the librarium in a seemingly haphazard fashion. He was surprised at how many he had not read during his apprenticeship.
He was also feeling overwhelmed. There was years worth of study here. He wondered how Master Agrim had managed to read them all.
Vlanin held his head in his hands, and absentmindedly looked up from the lecturn. His gaze drifted to the empty perch where his Master's crow would sit while he was studying. He remembered the bird's baleful glare whenever he had got fed up and began to fidget. Or how the crow would peck at young fingers if you tried to pick it off its perch or shoo it away. And of course, there was always the menace that it might go for one of your eyes.
When Vlanin had first learnt of familiars, he had been certain the bird was some daemonic agent, and had given it a wide berth. Agrim had explained the different types of familiars to Vlanin, and how a wizard benefitted by having one, but this had not dispelled his young concerns.
"An' wot benefit does tha familiar get from rend'rin' thus service?" Vlanin had asked. "Wun o' them," Agrim had replied, "uz long life."
Vlanin turned his attention back to the tome he was reading. He had not taken a familiar.
1299
« on: August 05, 2007, 08:51:17 am »
"So thar were thus lass on top o' tha temple, threat'nin' ta jump off 'coz o' wot she though' har husband ha'e bin oop to." Vlanin was talking with some dwarves in the drinking hall.
"As ut turn'd oot, ut were all false implications, an' folk jumpin' ta wrong conclusions."
Vlanin thought of Mischa, and that night in the drinking hall, and what he thought had been going on between her and that warrior fellow. What did he know? Maybe it was all innocent.
Doubt cast its shadow across his mind. He remembered what Hoondin had said about seeking company. His heart plunged as he considered that maybe it was the same for Mischa. Vlanin sighed deeply at his own predicament, and perhaps learnt a bit of compassion for the lady on the temple roof.
"Anyhoo," he grinned bravely to the dwarves. "Back ta ma readin'."
1300
« on: August 04, 2007, 07:37:59 am »
Vlanin hauled himself up onto the reading lecturn that sat at the center of the librarium for the umpteenth time that morning with yet another parchment to peruse.
So long had he spent seated there as a young apprentice. When Agrim had first taken him on, he had had to be propped up on books and cushions just so that he could see above the edge. Many hours he had sat there, trying to absorb the strange and sometimes incomprehensible lessons Agrim had taught him, reading the estoric librams and scrolls. Wizards were highly intelligent, but often they seemed reticent about commiting too much information to writing, or made varying and inconsistent assumptions about their readers' ability or understanding. Still, with Agrim's instruction, all the effort and tedium had paid off. He was a wizard.
Vlanin remembered when Agrim had given him his own key to the librarium to mark the end of his apprenticeship, and how proud he had felt. The irony being, now that he had his own key, he spent less time in the librarium than before. Until now.
Now he was taking the next step, instead of being taught, being given facts and direction, he was seeking information for his own end, seeking information that may not be there, or, that being read, might not be recognised for the solution it presented.
Vlanin was in admiration of the wizards who had come first, that had broken new ground, expanded the greater understanding, that others might take and use and carry further. Despite their greatness, very little was known of them personnally, usually only their own works testament to their labors. And what of those unnamed wizards who spent as much effort as any but had made no headway, had no grand revelation, and were lost forever in obscurity.
Vlanin jumped down from the lecturn, and pulled out another parchment.
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