- Location
- Singapore
There was also an element of making sure that Lethalas got top spot to make sure the common folk knew their place.
Meta Gamer - Isekai by the rules! D&D 3.5 rules, that is!
- Thread starter prototype00
- Start date
- Original
There was also an element of making sure that Lethalas got top spot to make sure the common folk knew their place.
Chapter 11 - Advancement: Part 2
- Location
- Singapore
Chapter 11 - Advancement: Part 2
"I seek the Place of a Jorneyman!"
The moment those words left my mouth, the room erupted into chaos.
Among the newly minted Apprentices, shocked whispers and, from the noble clique mostly, derisive laughter. The Journeymen were more belligerent, understandably, some shaking their head in disbelief or pity, others getting to their feet and hollering at me not to make light of their station and efforts.
Perhaps the largest change came over the Meisters of the Collegium, for where they had previously been casually chatting away, an amused silence now pervaded their ranks as they gave me their full attention.
I recognized two of the new faces who now sat with the Journeymen. Hezanna, who, to be perfectly honest, had more of a talent for Alchemy than I did, wore an eager grin. She had always enjoyed the more volatile aspects of her craft, and I suspect seeing the entire Collegium erupt like this was right up her alley. Lethalas on the other hand, was endeavouring to remain disdainful and aloof, but did I imagine a shadow of fear mar her classical features?
"Order!" Shouted Factor Kentos, banging his table with his fist. "Order, or so help me, I will have the Collegium Seneschals empty the room!"
Silence descended immediately. Guild Seneschals were the guardians of the property, both intellectual and physical, of the Guild of Knowledge, and not to be trifled with. Most Guild members had unpleasant recollections of being apprehended by the black breastplated, pole-axe and lantern bearing force for infractions both serious and trivial.
This foreboding reputation made them perfect for what I had in mind. Picking up a piece of chalk from one of the lecterns, I stepped up onto the marble stage and, bending down, drew a ten foot by ten foot square, which I then quartered into four. Then I drew two more five foot squares each emerging diagonally from the corners of the original square.
By now, I was sure everyone in the audience was confounded.
"… does this rank amateur think he's doing?"
"What a blatant waste of our time! I didn't come here to judge an impromptu artistic installation!"
"Hmmm… its different, I'll grant him that. Let's see where the lad goes with this…"
I finished my grid and dusted the chalk off my hands. Standing up, I turned to the Adjudicator triumvirate of Guild Factor Kentos, Enlightened Mentor Narsi and Alchemic Meister Harverard. "If'n it pleases yer worships, I be requiring but one more ingredient for my spectacle."
"Guild regulations require that, for fairness' sake, only equipment present in this auditorium be used in the judging. You know this, Reader Gravesend, so consider well your words before you waste the time of your committee." Factor Kentos spoke with the words with an even keel, but the unmistakable threat sent a shiver down my spine.
Smiling as wide as I could to cover the creeping nervousness that threatened to paralyze my face in a pained rictus, I launched into my pitch, "Aye, and I wouldn't normally be asking, but they might hold a certain grievance to being referred to as 'equipment'."
I pointed at the night-clad troupe of Seneschals flanking the portals, "If I may but prevail on our able guardsmen to prop up mine shabby performance with their sturdy thews?-"
The scandalized murmurs that bubbled up almost before I had finished speaking threatened to bloom into yet another round of inchoate shouting, so I hurried to move the proceedings along, lest that throbbing vein on the Factor's forehead actually erupt. "On the good name of Clan Gravesend, I declare that neither hair on their crown nor drop of blood in their veins will come to harm."
Factor Kentos turned aside to Enlightened Mentor Narsi with an inquiring look, she tapped her chin as she replied, "The second appendix to The Life of Learning counsels caution and circumspection in pushing the boundaries of the known-" My heart sank, as the highest representative of the faith in Port Prosperity, she of all people had the authority to here end my career prospects. "-but it also emphatically states that said boundaries must be surpassed, so I vote to proceed."
She turned to look at me with a playful glint in her eye, "I pray whatever you have planned is worth all this buildup, young Reader. Do not disappoint."
Nodding, Factor Kentos turned to his left, but before he had even said anything, Meister Harverard put his hand up, "Kentos, don't even bother with this farce. Dirk's already promised that nothing is going to happen to your precious muscle, and besides, you have the Guildmistress' favoured right beside you should anything untoward happen."
He lowered his spectacles and gave Factor Kentos a knowing smile, "You want to see where this goes just as much as I do, you old stick in the mud, just agree and let's get on with it."
Sighing, Factor Kentos beckoned the Seneschals forward, and after a brief and somewhat heated discussion with their Centurio, dismissed them with a wave of his hand, "Reader Gravesend, the Seneschals have generously agreed to aid you in your demonstration. Pray do not take this as carte blanche endorsement of any further foolery."
"Far be it for me, yer worship." I said, acting as contrite as I could possibly manage while turning to address the now surly Seneschals. "Now, if ye strappin' lads and lassies would but stand one to a square on me humble grid, aye, that's it…"
One by one they shuffled onto stage, four of them standing in the centre square and two in the five foot squares emerging from the corners. I took the opportunity to slip one of the smoke filled glass flasks from its carrying case.
"Now, look ye fierce and threatening, imagine ye were wringing the neck of an upstart Reader who did'nae show the proper respect for yer station."
Ooh, that's some quality aggression there, though I imagine it's not a massive flight of fancy for my test subjects at the present moment.
"Perfect! Say Oneiros!" I shouted, and before they had time to have second thoughts, I tossed the glass flask containing the lavender smoke right at their feet.
[Attack with a Splash Weapon: (Dexterity 10) 0 + (Base Attack Bonus) 0 + (Factotum Cunning Insight) 5 + (d20) 17 = 22 – Targeting a Splash Weapon at a grid intersection, (Difficulty Class) 5: Success]
In a billowing cloud, the swirling smoke surged out of its confinement, engulfing the stage. From within the thick brume, I could hear the unfortunate Seneschals coughing to clear their lungs and curse.
I turned to the crowd to gauge their reaction, and was greeted with a facade of bored indifference and casual ennui.
"… oh t'is just a Smokestick, in a different hue. What a let-down…"
"… no advantage to having it flask borne, really…"
"…at least Lethalas had style!"
[Save vs Poison: (Fortitude Base Save Bonus) 3 + (d20) 11 = 14 – (Difficulty Class) 15: Failure] *THUD!*1
[Save vs Poison: (Fortitude Base Save Bonus) 3 + (d20) 8 = 11 – (Difficulty Class) 15: Failure] *THUD!*
[Save vs Poison: (Fortitude Base Save Bonus) 3 + (d20) 5 = 8 – (Difficulty Class) 15: Failure] *THUD!*
[Save vs Poison: (Fortitude Base Save Bonus) 3 + (d20) 18 = 21 – (Difficulty Class) 15: Success] "Jonaleth! Eder!! Grace!! Gods above, somebody help us!!!"
As the audience, as one, rose to their feet in astonishment and outrage, I smiled and thought back to the events of this morning…
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
…The hoods flinched as the glass grenade flew through the air towards them, but when it failed to find any targets, and instead shattered harmlessly on the cobbles, they exhaled a collective sigh of relief.
Then, with sadistic grins plastered on their faces, they started to advance on me.
But I smiled too, for I wasn't aiming at them…
The tinkling of glass shards had barely faded away before half of the alleyway was engulfed in thick lavender smoke, it swallowed up the advancing ruffians in front of me, such that I could only make out their outlines stumbling forward in the haze.
[Save vs Poison: (Fortitude Base Save Bonus) 2 + (d20) 3 = 5 – (Difficulty Class) 15: Failure]
[Save vs Poison: (Fortitude Base Save Bonus) 3 + (d20) 7 = 10 – (Difficulty Class) 15: Failure]
[Save vs Poison: (Fortitude Base Save Bonus) 2 + (d20) 19= 21 – (Difficulty Class) 15: Success]
[Initiative 9] Even as two of the thugs slumped unmoving against the wattle and daub walls of the alley, the third barrelled forwards, out of the poisonous cloud, brandishing high his bludgeon, an acid curse on his lips.
[Attack with a Club: (Strength 13) 1 + (Base Attack Bonus) 1 + (d20) 9 = 11 – (Dirk Gravesend Armour Class) 13: Failure]2
I dodged to the side, and felt the heavy wooden club fetch me a glacing blow against my right eye before clattering against the metal studs on my leather jerkin.3
Just a half second slower, and that would have been my temple that would have borne the brunt of that blow!
[Initiative 8] "Where ya lookin' boyo? Heh ha ha!" I heard from over my shoulder, just before the acute rays of the sun caught on a flashing dagger.
[Attack with a Masterwork Dagger: (Strength 12) 1 + (Base Attack Bonus) 1 + (Masterwork) 1 + (Flanking) 2 + (d20) 10 = 15 – (Dirk Gravesend's Armour Class) 13: Success]4
[Damage with Masterwork Dagger: (Strength 12) 1 + (Dagger 1d4) 2 = 3 Lethal Slashing]5
A searing line of pain blossomed on my torso as a crimson stain started to seep and spread from the gash. I gritted my teeth against the pain. [Hit Points = (10 – 3) = 7]6
I won't be able to take many more of these… and now they have me-
"Cornered! Like a mouse in a cistern! Ye should have been a good mark and dropped the grab bag, now me and 'Vok here are going to make mince outta ye!"
[Initiative 11] [Save vs Poison: (Fortitude Base Save Bonus) 2 + (d20) 12 = 14 – (Difficulty Class) 15: Failure]
"Boss! This Crone cursed smoke! It's still spreadin'! Boss help me! Hel.."
There was a wet gurgle, and I heard desperate, useless scrabbling against the uncaring walls before, with a sound like a sack of wet cement hitting concrete, the last of my aggressors, bar one, tumbled to the muddy floor of the alley.
I whipped my Truncheon around in a threatening figure eight, "Ye'll have to repeat that, as I didn't quite hear ye, what army were ye proposing to have a go with, ye rat-faced breech pisser?"
[Attack with a Truncheon: (Strength 10) 0 + (Base Attack Bonus) 0 + (d20) 13 = 13 – (Thug Leader's Armour Class) 12: Success]
[Damage with Truncheon: (Strength 10) 0 + (Truncheon 1d8) 6 + (Factotum Cunning Insight) 5 = 11 Nonlethal Bludgeoning]7
While thug numero uno was still gawking at all his followers taking an impromptu dirt nap, I whirled the truncheon up from the bottom of its arc and with a gratifying and tooth jarring *CRACK!* caught him full on the chin. The light immediately faded from his eyes and he too fell face forwards into the filth. [Hitpoints = (8 – 11) = -3: Unconscious due to nonlethal damage, Not bleeding out.]8
As the adrenaline faded, I suddenly felt light headed and out of breath. I sank against one of the walls and gingerly picked away at my linen shirt to survey the damage.
It looks like it's just bad enough to sting and scar, but not life threatening…
A glint of reflected light drew my eye, and I glanced at the dagger that had nicked me, fallen to the cobbles. Picking it up and wiping off my blood, I saw form it's curve and balance that it was the work of a true artisan.
Hmm, well I suppose, if need be, its evidence, and I'm not going to lose any sleep over him not having it. Hmm… I should leave him a note though…
Taking a nub of chalk out of my satchel, I scribbled on the wall.
I, Dirk Gravesend, have yer dagger.
Come and get it, if ye want to find out what else I could have sliced off while ye were dozing.
Slipping the blade into my satchel, I set a brisk pace to the Guild. This life-or-death diversion was going to make me late for my defence!
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Dirk Gravesend (Factotum Level 1) Defeats (4) Challenge Rating (1/2) Foes and Receives (600 Experience Points) for overcoming (Overpowering) Challenge.]9
"I seek the Place of a Jorneyman!"
The moment those words left my mouth, the room erupted into chaos.
Among the newly minted Apprentices, shocked whispers and, from the noble clique mostly, derisive laughter. The Journeymen were more belligerent, understandably, some shaking their head in disbelief or pity, others getting to their feet and hollering at me not to make light of their station and efforts.
Perhaps the largest change came over the Meisters of the Collegium, for where they had previously been casually chatting away, an amused silence now pervaded their ranks as they gave me their full attention.
I recognized two of the new faces who now sat with the Journeymen. Hezanna, who, to be perfectly honest, had more of a talent for Alchemy than I did, wore an eager grin. She had always enjoyed the more volatile aspects of her craft, and I suspect seeing the entire Collegium erupt like this was right up her alley. Lethalas on the other hand, was endeavouring to remain disdainful and aloof, but did I imagine a shadow of fear mar her classical features?
"Order!" Shouted Factor Kentos, banging his table with his fist. "Order, or so help me, I will have the Collegium Seneschals empty the room!"
Silence descended immediately. Guild Seneschals were the guardians of the property, both intellectual and physical, of the Guild of Knowledge, and not to be trifled with. Most Guild members had unpleasant recollections of being apprehended by the black breastplated, pole-axe and lantern bearing force for infractions both serious and trivial.
This foreboding reputation made them perfect for what I had in mind. Picking up a piece of chalk from one of the lecterns, I stepped up onto the marble stage and, bending down, drew a ten foot by ten foot square, which I then quartered into four. Then I drew two more five foot squares each emerging diagonally from the corners of the original square.
By now, I was sure everyone in the audience was confounded.
"… does this rank amateur think he's doing?"
"What a blatant waste of our time! I didn't come here to judge an impromptu artistic installation!"
"Hmmm… its different, I'll grant him that. Let's see where the lad goes with this…"
I finished my grid and dusted the chalk off my hands. Standing up, I turned to the Adjudicator triumvirate of Guild Factor Kentos, Enlightened Mentor Narsi and Alchemic Meister Harverard. "If'n it pleases yer worships, I be requiring but one more ingredient for my spectacle."
"Guild regulations require that, for fairness' sake, only equipment present in this auditorium be used in the judging. You know this, Reader Gravesend, so consider well your words before you waste the time of your committee." Factor Kentos spoke with the words with an even keel, but the unmistakable threat sent a shiver down my spine.
Smiling as wide as I could to cover the creeping nervousness that threatened to paralyze my face in a pained rictus, I launched into my pitch, "Aye, and I wouldn't normally be asking, but they might hold a certain grievance to being referred to as 'equipment'."
I pointed at the night-clad troupe of Seneschals flanking the portals, "If I may but prevail on our able guardsmen to prop up mine shabby performance with their sturdy thews?-"
The scandalized murmurs that bubbled up almost before I had finished speaking threatened to bloom into yet another round of inchoate shouting, so I hurried to move the proceedings along, lest that throbbing vein on the Factor's forehead actually erupt. "On the good name of Clan Gravesend, I declare that neither hair on their crown nor drop of blood in their veins will come to harm."
Factor Kentos turned aside to Enlightened Mentor Narsi with an inquiring look, she tapped her chin as she replied, "The second appendix to The Life of Learning counsels caution and circumspection in pushing the boundaries of the known-" My heart sank, as the highest representative of the faith in Port Prosperity, she of all people had the authority to here end my career prospects. "-but it also emphatically states that said boundaries must be surpassed, so I vote to proceed."
She turned to look at me with a playful glint in her eye, "I pray whatever you have planned is worth all this buildup, young Reader. Do not disappoint."
Nodding, Factor Kentos turned to his left, but before he had even said anything, Meister Harverard put his hand up, "Kentos, don't even bother with this farce. Dirk's already promised that nothing is going to happen to your precious muscle, and besides, you have the Guildmistress' favoured right beside you should anything untoward happen."
He lowered his spectacles and gave Factor Kentos a knowing smile, "You want to see where this goes just as much as I do, you old stick in the mud, just agree and let's get on with it."
Sighing, Factor Kentos beckoned the Seneschals forward, and after a brief and somewhat heated discussion with their Centurio, dismissed them with a wave of his hand, "Reader Gravesend, the Seneschals have generously agreed to aid you in your demonstration. Pray do not take this as carte blanche endorsement of any further foolery."
"Far be it for me, yer worship." I said, acting as contrite as I could possibly manage while turning to address the now surly Seneschals. "Now, if ye strappin' lads and lassies would but stand one to a square on me humble grid, aye, that's it…"
One by one they shuffled onto stage, four of them standing in the centre square and two in the five foot squares emerging from the corners. I took the opportunity to slip one of the smoke filled glass flasks from its carrying case.
"Now, look ye fierce and threatening, imagine ye were wringing the neck of an upstart Reader who did'nae show the proper respect for yer station."
Ooh, that's some quality aggression there, though I imagine it's not a massive flight of fancy for my test subjects at the present moment.
"Perfect! Say Oneiros!" I shouted, and before they had time to have second thoughts, I tossed the glass flask containing the lavender smoke right at their feet.
[Attack with a Splash Weapon: (Dexterity 10) 0 + (Base Attack Bonus) 0 + (Factotum Cunning Insight) 5 + (d20) 17 = 22 – Targeting a Splash Weapon at a grid intersection, (Difficulty Class) 5: Success]
In a billowing cloud, the swirling smoke surged out of its confinement, engulfing the stage. From within the thick brume, I could hear the unfortunate Seneschals coughing to clear their lungs and curse.
I turned to the crowd to gauge their reaction, and was greeted with a facade of bored indifference and casual ennui.
"… oh t'is just a Smokestick, in a different hue. What a let-down…"
"… no advantage to having it flask borne, really…"
"…at least Lethalas had style!"
[Save vs Poison: (Fortitude Base Save Bonus) 3 + (d20) 11 = 14 – (Difficulty Class) 15: Failure] *THUD!*1
[Save vs Poison: (Fortitude Base Save Bonus) 3 + (d20) 8 = 11 – (Difficulty Class) 15: Failure] *THUD!*
[Save vs Poison: (Fortitude Base Save Bonus) 3 + (d20) 5 = 8 – (Difficulty Class) 15: Failure] *THUD!*
[Save vs Poison: (Fortitude Base Save Bonus) 3 + (d20) 18 = 21 – (Difficulty Class) 15: Success] "Jonaleth! Eder!! Grace!! Gods above, somebody help us!!!"
As the audience, as one, rose to their feet in astonishment and outrage, I smiled and thought back to the events of this morning…
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
…The hoods flinched as the glass grenade flew through the air towards them, but when it failed to find any targets, and instead shattered harmlessly on the cobbles, they exhaled a collective sigh of relief.
Then, with sadistic grins plastered on their faces, they started to advance on me.
But I smiled too, for I wasn't aiming at them…
The tinkling of glass shards had barely faded away before half of the alleyway was engulfed in thick lavender smoke, it swallowed up the advancing ruffians in front of me, such that I could only make out their outlines stumbling forward in the haze.
[Save vs Poison: (Fortitude Base Save Bonus) 2 + (d20) 3 = 5 – (Difficulty Class) 15: Failure]
[Save vs Poison: (Fortitude Base Save Bonus) 3 + (d20) 7 = 10 – (Difficulty Class) 15: Failure]
[Save vs Poison: (Fortitude Base Save Bonus) 2 + (d20) 19= 21 – (Difficulty Class) 15: Success]
[Initiative 9] Even as two of the thugs slumped unmoving against the wattle and daub walls of the alley, the third barrelled forwards, out of the poisonous cloud, brandishing high his bludgeon, an acid curse on his lips.
[Attack with a Club: (Strength 13) 1 + (Base Attack Bonus) 1 + (d20) 9 = 11 – (Dirk Gravesend Armour Class) 13: Failure]2
I dodged to the side, and felt the heavy wooden club fetch me a glacing blow against my right eye before clattering against the metal studs on my leather jerkin.3
Just a half second slower, and that would have been my temple that would have borne the brunt of that blow!
[Initiative 8] "Where ya lookin' boyo? Heh ha ha!" I heard from over my shoulder, just before the acute rays of the sun caught on a flashing dagger.
[Attack with a Masterwork Dagger: (Strength 12) 1 + (Base Attack Bonus) 1 + (Masterwork) 1 + (Flanking) 2 + (d20) 10 = 15 – (Dirk Gravesend's Armour Class) 13: Success]4
[Damage with Masterwork Dagger: (Strength 12) 1 + (Dagger 1d4) 2 = 3 Lethal Slashing]5
A searing line of pain blossomed on my torso as a crimson stain started to seep and spread from the gash. I gritted my teeth against the pain. [Hit Points = (10 – 3) = 7]6
I won't be able to take many more of these… and now they have me-
"Cornered! Like a mouse in a cistern! Ye should have been a good mark and dropped the grab bag, now me and 'Vok here are going to make mince outta ye!"
[Initiative 11] [Save vs Poison: (Fortitude Base Save Bonus) 2 + (d20) 12 = 14 – (Difficulty Class) 15: Failure]
"Boss! This Crone cursed smoke! It's still spreadin'! Boss help me! Hel.."
There was a wet gurgle, and I heard desperate, useless scrabbling against the uncaring walls before, with a sound like a sack of wet cement hitting concrete, the last of my aggressors, bar one, tumbled to the muddy floor of the alley.
I whipped my Truncheon around in a threatening figure eight, "Ye'll have to repeat that, as I didn't quite hear ye, what army were ye proposing to have a go with, ye rat-faced breech pisser?"
[Attack with a Truncheon: (Strength 10) 0 + (Base Attack Bonus) 0 + (d20) 13 = 13 – (Thug Leader's Armour Class) 12: Success]
[Damage with Truncheon: (Strength 10) 0 + (Truncheon 1d8) 6 + (Factotum Cunning Insight) 5 = 11 Nonlethal Bludgeoning]7
While thug numero uno was still gawking at all his followers taking an impromptu dirt nap, I whirled the truncheon up from the bottom of its arc and with a gratifying and tooth jarring *CRACK!* caught him full on the chin. The light immediately faded from his eyes and he too fell face forwards into the filth. [Hitpoints = (8 – 11) = -3: Unconscious due to nonlethal damage, Not bleeding out.]8
As the adrenaline faded, I suddenly felt light headed and out of breath. I sank against one of the walls and gingerly picked away at my linen shirt to survey the damage.
It looks like it's just bad enough to sting and scar, but not life threatening…
A glint of reflected light drew my eye, and I glanced at the dagger that had nicked me, fallen to the cobbles. Picking it up and wiping off my blood, I saw form it's curve and balance that it was the work of a true artisan.
Hmm, well I suppose, if need be, its evidence, and I'm not going to lose any sleep over him not having it. Hmm… I should leave him a note though…
Taking a nub of chalk out of my satchel, I scribbled on the wall.
I, Dirk Gravesend, have yer dagger.
Come and get it, if ye want to find out what else I could have sliced off while ye were dozing.
Slipping the blade into my satchel, I set a brisk pace to the Guild. This life-or-death diversion was going to make me late for my defence!
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
[Dirk Gravesend (Factotum Level 1) Defeats (4) Challenge Rating (1/2) Foes and Receives (600 Experience Points) for overcoming (Overpowering) Challenge.]9
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- Location
- Singapore
Was meaning to get another chapter up this weekend since it was a long one, but came down with a sore throat and realised that my reservoir of inspiration had run a bit low so spent the weekend in bed playing Torment Tides of Numenara finally. Nothing like an interactive novel to get the creativity running.
So here it is finally!
How are people liking the story so far? Anything particularly good that should be kept going forwards? Ditto things egregious that should be dumped?
So here it is finally!
How are people liking the story so far? Anything particularly good that should be kept going forwards? Ditto things egregious that should be dumped?
Well I was hoping for a little more commentary on what it's like actually living in D&D-land. So far the protagonist appears to have 'gone native' and treats everything entirely normally. But I don't really care about his struggle to be named a Journeyman. I'm more interested in how all this ability to see stuff as game stats actually benefits him. Like, that fight with the thugs you translated everything into game rules... but so what? Did being able to sum it up as hitpoints and to-hit rolls actually help him win the fight?
Of course part of it is that we're actually at the very low levels where D&D can do a reasonable approximation of 'the real world'.
JennyDracos
Eccentric Hugging Lady
- Location
- Chicago
Well, it's worth noting that at this point, our beloved protagonist is two people who are the same person. One of them is Ted, Summoned by the Guildmistress of Knowledge Herself. He has all kinds of secret knowledge and powers. And he's been in this world for...a day? Two? A week tops?
The other, however, is Dirk Gravesend, who's not just 'gone native,' he IS native, for all intents and purposes.
Which means the only difference is when he slips and thinks of himself as Ted. Especially since Ted's knowledge doesn't *quite* match up with Dirk's: like the swim bladder of a reticulated puffer (out of his memory of the PHB) vs. a luminous spine-sponge (out of Dirk's Knowledge (Nature)).
I do suspect when he starts dealing with more people that Dirk doesn't know that Ted's perceptions will come in a lot more handy. Why is he going to worry about Miss Silver Spoon? He's been a classmate of hers for who knows how long, and he already knows as much about her as he needs to. Or thinks he does.
When he figures out what lies under that tsun exterior...
The other, however, is Dirk Gravesend, who's not just 'gone native,' he IS native, for all intents and purposes.
Which means the only difference is when he slips and thinks of himself as Ted. Especially since Ted's knowledge doesn't *quite* match up with Dirk's: like the swim bladder of a reticulated puffer (out of his memory of the PHB) vs. a luminous spine-sponge (out of Dirk's Knowledge (Nature)).
I do suspect when he starts dealing with more people that Dirk doesn't know that Ted's perceptions will come in a lot more handy. Why is he going to worry about Miss Silver Spoon? He's been a classmate of hers for who knows how long, and he already knows as much about her as he needs to. Or thinks he does.
When he figures out what lies under that tsun exterior...
- Location
- Singapore
Hmmm, I guess for some the "low level struggles" might be a bit boring, I will admit, apologies if the action hasn't ramped up fast enough for your taste, D&D 3.5 is a bit deliberate like that.
But the fight against the four low level thugs I have to protest, that's a CR 2 encounter with a DMG assigned difficulty of "Overpowering" that Dirk just took down by his lonesome. It's the kind of fight a DM who wants you dead but nominally wants to appear fair will set for you. Perhaps I could make this clearer in the text.
Well, it's worth noting that at this point, our beloved protagonist is two people who are the same person. One of them is Ted, Summoned by the Guildmistress of Knowledge Herself. He has all kinds of secret knowledge and powers. And he's been in this world for...a day? Two? A week tops?
The other, however, is Dirk Gravesend, who's not just 'gone native,' he IS native, for all intents and purposes.
Which means the only difference is when he slips and thinks of himself as Ted. Especially since Ted's knowledge doesn't *quite* match up with Dirk's: like the swim bladder of a reticulated puffer (out of his memory of the PHB) vs. a luminous spine-sponge (out of Dirk's Knowledge (Nature)).
I do suspect when he starts dealing with more people that Dirk doesn't know that Ted's perceptions will come in a lot more handy. Why is he going to worry about Miss Silver Spoon? He's been a classmate of hers for who knows how long, and he already knows as much about her as he needs to. Or thinks he does.
When he figures out what lies under that tsun exterior...
Indeed, Glorianna's method for inserting mortal agents may be weaker than just, say, incarnating a Chosen, but for discretion it can't really be beat. You end up with a random citizen who all of a sudden just knows more things.
Dirk awoke to his memories as Ted around a month ago, he was already enrolled as a Reader then (not being a physical powerhouse like his folks, Dirk chose the less risky path of becoming an Alchemist crafter, also helps the family business)
Last edited:
- Location
- Singapore
So while I'm writing up the next exciting installment of Ted's Excellent Adventures, here are some of the inspirations I drew upon.
Seneschals are modeled after Medieval Night Watchmen, just imagine them with a black enamel breastplate instead of a full body cloak:
I don't know why I had a very strong image of a priestess woman of colour for the Enlightened Mentor position (which is basically the head of the local chapter of the Church of the Spellmaiden).
Then I realized that it was basically Dee from Rat Queens.
more setting appropriate (since Guildmistress Glorianna doesn't have tentacles.... that anybody knows about):
Meister Harverard is basically every other alchemy obsessed gnome.
and Guild Factor Kentos Insilar I modelled after Elrond from LoTR. Especially that sense that under the pointy ears is Agent Smith from the Matrix.
Why, you may ask is the Factor of the Guild an elf? The Guild is notoriously not picky about who wants to join, basically as long as you can contribute to it's prestige and/or profit, and you don't make virgin sacrifices on the night of the blood moon, they can probably find a place for you. Eccentricity and the like are probably tolerated more than most organizations. (They wouldn't have any gnomes if they didn't).
prototype00
Seneschals are modeled after Medieval Night Watchmen, just imagine them with a black enamel breastplate instead of a full body cloak:
I don't know why I had a very strong image of a priestess woman of colour for the Enlightened Mentor position (which is basically the head of the local chapter of the Church of the Spellmaiden).
Then I realized that it was basically Dee from Rat Queens.
more setting appropriate (since Guildmistress Glorianna doesn't have tentacles.... that anybody knows about):
Meister Harverard is basically every other alchemy obsessed gnome.
and Guild Factor Kentos Insilar I modelled after Elrond from LoTR. Especially that sense that under the pointy ears is Agent Smith from the Matrix.
Why, you may ask is the Factor of the Guild an elf? The Guild is notoriously not picky about who wants to join, basically as long as you can contribute to it's prestige and/or profit, and you don't make virgin sacrifices on the night of the blood moon, they can probably find a place for you. Eccentricity and the like are probably tolerated more than most organizations. (They wouldn't have any gnomes if they didn't).
prototype00
Unseelie
(Verified True Fae)
- Location
- Tír fo Thuinn
(I know, I know, that's a halfling...)
...I might be slightly biased because of one of my characters.
Chapter 12 - Advancement: Part 3
- Location
- Singapore
Chapter 12 - Advancement: Part 3
As soon as the Seneschals collapsed, I barely had time for a villainous gloat before I found myself being tackled and borne to the ground by the three remaining black garbed watchmen.
Landing with multiple heavy *Thud!*s, I struggled with gasping gulps to recapture the breath that had been knocked out of my lungs. A shadow fell across my asphyxiating figure and I instinctively looked up.
Seneschal Centurio K'el Dorn brandished his halberd in a manner more befitting an executioner about his sanguine work and looked at me with the fire of righteous fury burning in his eyes. "Knave! What blackhearted scheme be this?! You have the gall to fell servants of the Guild in front of a room full of witnesses? You are either a demoniac lunatic or an incorrigible malefactor! Either way I will see you swing from the yardarm before the sun crosses the horizon!"
I watched with breathless bemusement as the three remaining conscious Seneschals tried to shift their unmoving brethren. While no doubt noble, it meant that they remained all the while within the smoke cloud which at this point just kept expanding, as the brigands who had tried to accost me earlier had found to their detriment.
Did they think that just because they had managed to shrug off its effects once, this innoculated them against future exposure? Naive!
[Primary Save vs Poison: (Fortitude Base Save Bonus) 3 + (d20)9 = 12 – (Difficulty Class) 15: Failure] *Thud!*
[Primary Save vs Poison: (Fortitude Base Save Bonus) 3 + (d20)17 = 20 – (Difficulty Class) 15: Success]
[Primary Save vs Poison: (Fortitude Base Save Bonus) 3 + (d20)5 = 8 – (Difficulty Class) 15: Failure] *Thud!*
The choking smoke finally thinned and cleared, revealing two more Seneschals felled, coincidentally the two who were in the outer radius of my chalk markings. Our sole survivor looked shocked to silence as he surveyed his supine fellows.
Aren't you a lucky one, shrugging off the effects of the smoke twice in a row...
My audience, risen to its feet was mum for the first time since I entered the testing Auditorium. The Centurio was gaping like an officious fish, and of my Adjudicators, Factor Kentos had his hand over his eyes, shaking his head with what looked to be the mother of all migraines, Meister Harverard had risen to his feet with his fellows, and while his eyes held shock, his hands rubbed together with incongruous glee.
Only Enlighened Mentor Narsi smiled, an expression that promised some very probing questions in my immediate future, though the choice of whether it would be a pleasant interview or racks and hot pokers would be all mine, of course.
It was too much. The chuckle started at the back of my throat and soon became a full belly laugh, insomuch as I could still laugh with three men sitting on my back.
"I fail to see what is so amusing about your current circumstance, Reader Gravesend. Pray comport yourself soberly and render a proper defence." Steepling his long and supple fingers, Factor Kentos raised an eyebrow as he regarded me. "Keeping in mind of course that you will be witnessed by dozens of upstanding pillars of the community."
Meaning that everything I say can and will be used against me in a court of law...
He turned and gave Centurio Dorn a meaningful look before nodding his head. "May I request that you order your men to release the Reader?"
"Factor Kentos, I must protest! What he has done to the brave men and women under my charge..."
"Is exactly what he said he would do. Look closely, your charges are merely sleeping, unharmed. Now, if you would kindly give my request the due consideration it is owed." The emphasis that Factor Kentos put on the word made it clear that he was very emphatically not making a request.
I was "helped" roughly to my feet, glad that I had the forethought to place the rest of my vials on the demonstration benches, as they would otherwise have been smashed in the dogpile.
"I thank ye for your timely intervention, yer worship, and yer eyes are well sharp. Indeed these fine defenders of ours are but catching up on their 'kip."
I gestured to my open satchel, still containing ten vials of swirling alchemical smoke. "As to mine Reception Piece, I 'umbly dub it "Sleep Smoke" as I have not a mind for frippery or ostentation. It is, as ye can witness, a non-lethal mode of neutralization against those who might mean menace to ye or yer kin."1
"Since this is a.... novel... item, and, to my recollection, not one of the Collegium Alchemic's established schema, Guild Dictates requires your clarifications on certain details before we can render our decision. Each one of us who stands in judgement will ask one question each, is that agreeable, Reader Gravesend?"
I inclined my head and assayed a small bow,"If'n it pleases yer worships, aye."
"Very well, I shall begin. Describe the action of your piece. Effect, duration, spread, perceived strengths and weaknesses. "
Straight to the point, eh? Factor Kentos certainly didn't stumble into his role it seems...
"Sleep Smoke as ye have witnessed, causes instantaneous loss of consciousness in them what succumb to it. When released, it be heavier than air, so it tends to linger in one place, spreading out a smidge before shortly becoming inert." I stepped carefully onto the stage and into the midst of the unconscious Seneschals and took a deep breath to emphasize my point.
"Though It pains me to reveal it, but as per Sage Miklos Nomenclature Mutantor, Sleep Smoke falls under the classification of Venenum, poison. Hence the longer ye linger in the miasma, the more like ye are to be affected by it, ultimately succumbing, lest ye be of a hearty constitution like our friend here..." I pointed to the lucky Seneschal who had managed to shrug off all ill effects.
[Secondary Save vs Poison: (Fortitude Base Save Bonus) 3 + (d20)8 = 11 – (Difficulty Class) 15: Failure] *Thud!*2
Hmmm, good timing, third time's the charm it seems...
"...Exceptin' the traces that linger in yer airways, that is. The fumes still can knock ye fer a a loop, even if ye shake off its first whiff." I stole a quick glance at the hourglass spilling it's sands on the Adjudicator's podium. "Fret not! They should be back on their feet with nary a scratch, save some muzzle-headedness in at most a twelfth of the hour."
*Gulp* If my initial trials on rats were accurate that is...
As the audience made sense of what I was saying, an urgent murmur made its way through the crowd.
"... Its Sleep! Honest to goodness Sleep! I never thought I'd see the day alchemy matched spell!" 3
"Better'n! It last twice as long and spreads!"
"... every spellsword and cutpurse will want to get their mitts on this!"
Oho, its going over well, isn't it? I thought it might...
"The Achilles heel, of course..." I began before cursing my carelessness.
"... who's this Achilles fella?" came the confused murmur from the crowd.
"I mean, the weakness of mine submission is that it can be counteracted by Sage Miklos' tincture- Antivenom. Of course the Mountain-Folk, the Dwarves, are very resistant to its effects, while the Eldar, the Elves, yer own esteemed kin, Factor Kentos, are immune, being that they do not sleep."4
After delivering my answer I looked up at Factor Kentos for some affirmation, or, perhaps vainly, some approval of my craft, but was met only with a blank wall of cogitation, perhaps tinged with an air of vexation.
Tough crowd this...
"Me next! It's my turn now!" Meister Harverard almost hopped out of his seat while waving one arm wildly in the air.
Receiving the Factor's resigned leave he leaned forward excitedly, both hands on the podium, "Well, m'boy, I knew you were going to make waves, I just didn't quite reckon on how soon! MeGon's mirth! It's cruel to only let me ask one measly question when I have a million lined up!"
He stroked his beard in contemplation for a moment, "Hmmm, obvious one then! How did you manage it, Dirk? Even a single dose of an average poison costs hundreds of gold coins and as you know, an Alchemical preparation that costs that much would take weeks. Yet here you stand with ten doses of this 'Sleep-Smoke', it seems like a miracle... or a con." He smiled and sank back into his chair, smirking as if he had pulled off a thoroughly satisfying prank, "So which is it, young man?"
I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, if I didn't play this right, lots of things might come unravelled. "Well, Meister Harverard, two answers to yer question, if ye don't mind? The first being that Sleep Smoke ain't an 'average poison', it's dear like an Everburnin' Torch or a dose of Antivenom, but not the price of a horse and carriage. And certainly it be something that can be whipped up in a week."
Meister Harverard nodded his head sagely, but his eyes twinkled with expectant mischief, he thought he had me.
"Answer the second, t'is no secret to The Guild fraternity that, as the Right Honourable Tellestrian once said, "To do Harm is easier than to Ameliorate". The distillation of poisons be an order of magnitude more simple than that of proper alchemical substances, as ye know well, I be sure."5
"Ha!" Exclaimed Meister Harverard as he slapped his knee. "You found me out, boy! Good show! I'm gratified that you were actually paying attention, what with your other responsibilities."He turned to Enlightened Mentor Narsi then, "The floor is yours, your Grace."
Hmph, the most difficult one for last, then.
Back when she was Acolyte Narsi, all the younglings of Port Prosperity, excepting the Nobles of course, who had their own private tutors drawn from the Church of the Guildmistress, passed under her attentive gaze, myself included.
It was a bit intimidating to have someone who had once seen you bawling over spilt milk judging you.
"It's been a while, hasn't it, Dirk Gravesend? Why do you not show up at devotions as much as you used to? You were such a sweet child at one point."
Above the laughter of the audience, I tried to conceal my embarrassment with a witty comeback.
"Be that yer question, yer Grace?" I said, tilting my head impishly and hoping that no one could see me blushing
"Ah, but there's that cheek once again. You've certainly changed little since you were in my charge. " She sighed in mock disappointment. "Very well, to the heart of the matter then. My question is this, Why? Why would you bring this item to the attention of the Guild? You could well have received a handsome remuneration from... less scrupulous parties. You are aware that the Guild, by its charter, is honour-bound to openly trade in your craft should it be found to be of benefit to others?"
... That was unexpected. I hadn't really thought...
"... For fairness." I said, before I could stop myself. "To provide a means for the meek and small to break the smothering chains of 'Might makes Right'."
There was such silence in the auditorium, you could have heard a pin drop. But no one was as surprised at my answer as I was.
Then suddenly, a loud retort, as if two granite blocks were being bashed into each other at speed, followed close behind by another, and another...
I turned to the sound, as indeed the entire audience did. Seated at the back, next to a distinguished looking noble...
[Knowledge (Local) Check: (Intelligence 20) 5 + (Skill Ranks) 4 + (Factotum: Cunning Knowledge) 1 + (Taking 10) 10 = 20 – Who is that well dressed Grognard?(15): Success]
That's Valtor Rafael! Lord of Port Prosperity! What's he doing... oh of course, he showed up for daughter dearest.
... were four imposing dwarves. The source of the sound, a heavily muscled elder-dwarf with his grey beard braided and bound in metallic rings, was slowly clapping his massive forge-hardened hands together, his applause echoing loudly and long throughout the hall.
When he saw that he had my attention, he stood and took a smouldering cigar from his mouth and blew a cloud of blackest smoke, flecked with glowing sparks. With a gruff smile and a voice like the rumbling of an avalanche, he gestured at me with the cigar and said, "Hear hear! Well said, son."
Having said his piece, he sat down once again, oblivious to the commotion he had caused.
*Ahem* Factor Kentos cleared his throat to direct attention back to the proceedings, and when the hall was silent yet again, he turned to Mentor Narsi and asked, "Does that answer, your Grace?"
She inclined her head, and said simply, "I am satisfied."
"Then let us confer and render our judgement."
What followed was a nail biting five minute wait, made worse by my knowing that decisions at a Viva Voce were normally made with much less deliberation.
The audience was on the edge of their seats, awaiting what would have been a controversial decision whichever way the dice fell. I only had one thing on my mind.
Was my presentation truly so borderline?
Throughout the entire process, Meister Harverard was animatedly whispering to both Factor Kentos and Mentor Narsi, gesticulating wildly with his chemical stained hands. Mentor Narsi listened politely and said little, while Factor Kentos looked bemused but resigned.
At the end of it all, Factor Kentos shrugged and threw up his hands and gestured a young page over, handed him a slip of parchment that he had hurriedly signed and with a few whispered words, sent him dashing out of the Auditorium.
Then he gestured for me to approach the podium. As I stepped up, Meister Harverard gave me a conspiratorial smirk and rubbed the side of his bulbous nose.
"Reader Gravesend-" Factor Kentos started in a grave tone, "- following deliberation, the Collegium has, with regret, decided to reject your application for the position of Journeyman..."
To be honest, I didn't hear much of what Factor Kentos said past "reject your application..." as the shock hit me full in the face like a bucket of ice-cold water.
The audience getting into a full blown shouting match with the Adjudicator committee and the Seneschals probably didn't help matters.
"... a travesty! A miscarriage of judgement, that's what this is!"
" ... a feat not equalled since Miklos!..."
"Laddie, fret not! The Under Council will keep ye busy."
" Does this mean that the Sleep Smoke technically isn't Guild intellectual property? Hmmm..."
Factor Kentos restored a reasonable facsimile of order by uncharacteristically slamming his hand onto the table and threatening to have troublemakers thrown out by the Seneschals. His actual words were lost to me, stunned as I was.
Indeed I would have remained in a stupor, had I not in that moment recognized Aelwen's lovely face in the barely controlled crowd. She noticed my gaze and, to my surprise, blew me a kiss, which was more than enough to snap me out of my self-pity just in time to hear Factor Kentos address the audience again.
"Now before I close the proceedings of the Collegium Alchemic, is there any other busine..."
Meister Harverard jumped right out of his seat as if a Stirge had stuck him and said in a loud and clear holler, "I, Meister Harverard Waelyn Smokshok "Tastes like burning" Syn, officially nominate Reader Dirk Gravesend for a Meister's Chair!"
Without missing a beat Factor Kentos replied, "I, Kentos Insilar, Guild Factor of Port Prosperity, confirm the nomination of Meister Harverard. Dirk Gravesend, we hereby bestow the title of Meister upon you and waive your Guild dues for the period of one year."
The young page at that moment came in, bearing a small sack that jingled as he ran, from the lip of said container shone the unmistakable gleam of lucre.
Stopping to bow quickly to Guild Factor Kentos, he hefted up the velvet sack and poured out a mountain of scintillating platinum coins right in front of me. It was the most precious metal I had ever seen, in this life or the one prior.
Nodding and dismissing the page, Factor Kentos continued, "I am setting the provisional price of Sleep Smoke at fifty kingdom standard weight gold pieces each, and imposing a temporary moratorium on the manufacture and distribution of this compound while we conduct our own tests."
Indicating the small fortune, Factor Kentos adressed me, "I trust this sum of fifty platinum pieces will be enough recompense for your remaining stock. If it is not, the matter can be discussed tomorrow morning at the ninth bell at the meeting that I, as Guild Factor, am requesting that you attend, is that clear Meister Gravesend."6
I could only stare dumbly at the mountain of coin in front of me as the words "Meister Gravesend" echoed in my mind.
Ahh, by the Head of Vecna! I was supposed to be low key about this too... Victoria is absolutely going to kill me when she finds out...7
…
[Dirk Gravesend (Factotum Level 1) Has Overcome (1) Challenge Rating (5) Encounter and Receives (450 Experience Points) for overcoming (Overpowering) Challenge.]8
[Dirk Gravesend (Factotum Level 1) has Accumulated (1050) Experience Points and can advance to Level (2).]9
As soon as the Seneschals collapsed, I barely had time for a villainous gloat before I found myself being tackled and borne to the ground by the three remaining black garbed watchmen.
Landing with multiple heavy *Thud!*s, I struggled with gasping gulps to recapture the breath that had been knocked out of my lungs. A shadow fell across my asphyxiating figure and I instinctively looked up.
Seneschal Centurio K'el Dorn brandished his halberd in a manner more befitting an executioner about his sanguine work and looked at me with the fire of righteous fury burning in his eyes. "Knave! What blackhearted scheme be this?! You have the gall to fell servants of the Guild in front of a room full of witnesses? You are either a demoniac lunatic or an incorrigible malefactor! Either way I will see you swing from the yardarm before the sun crosses the horizon!"
I watched with breathless bemusement as the three remaining conscious Seneschals tried to shift their unmoving brethren. While no doubt noble, it meant that they remained all the while within the smoke cloud which at this point just kept expanding, as the brigands who had tried to accost me earlier had found to their detriment.
Did they think that just because they had managed to shrug off its effects once, this innoculated them against future exposure? Naive!
[Primary Save vs Poison: (Fortitude Base Save Bonus) 3 + (d20)9 = 12 – (Difficulty Class) 15: Failure] *Thud!*
[Primary Save vs Poison: (Fortitude Base Save Bonus) 3 + (d20)17 = 20 – (Difficulty Class) 15: Success]
[Primary Save vs Poison: (Fortitude Base Save Bonus) 3 + (d20)5 = 8 – (Difficulty Class) 15: Failure] *Thud!*
The choking smoke finally thinned and cleared, revealing two more Seneschals felled, coincidentally the two who were in the outer radius of my chalk markings. Our sole survivor looked shocked to silence as he surveyed his supine fellows.
Aren't you a lucky one, shrugging off the effects of the smoke twice in a row...
My audience, risen to its feet was mum for the first time since I entered the testing Auditorium. The Centurio was gaping like an officious fish, and of my Adjudicators, Factor Kentos had his hand over his eyes, shaking his head with what looked to be the mother of all migraines, Meister Harverard had risen to his feet with his fellows, and while his eyes held shock, his hands rubbed together with incongruous glee.
Only Enlighened Mentor Narsi smiled, an expression that promised some very probing questions in my immediate future, though the choice of whether it would be a pleasant interview or racks and hot pokers would be all mine, of course.
It was too much. The chuckle started at the back of my throat and soon became a full belly laugh, insomuch as I could still laugh with three men sitting on my back.
"I fail to see what is so amusing about your current circumstance, Reader Gravesend. Pray comport yourself soberly and render a proper defence." Steepling his long and supple fingers, Factor Kentos raised an eyebrow as he regarded me. "Keeping in mind of course that you will be witnessed by dozens of upstanding pillars of the community."
Meaning that everything I say can and will be used against me in a court of law...
He turned and gave Centurio Dorn a meaningful look before nodding his head. "May I request that you order your men to release the Reader?"
"Factor Kentos, I must protest! What he has done to the brave men and women under my charge..."
"Is exactly what he said he would do. Look closely, your charges are merely sleeping, unharmed. Now, if you would kindly give my request the due consideration it is owed." The emphasis that Factor Kentos put on the word made it clear that he was very emphatically not making a request.
I was "helped" roughly to my feet, glad that I had the forethought to place the rest of my vials on the demonstration benches, as they would otherwise have been smashed in the dogpile.
"I thank ye for your timely intervention, yer worship, and yer eyes are well sharp. Indeed these fine defenders of ours are but catching up on their 'kip."
I gestured to my open satchel, still containing ten vials of swirling alchemical smoke. "As to mine Reception Piece, I 'umbly dub it "Sleep Smoke" as I have not a mind for frippery or ostentation. It is, as ye can witness, a non-lethal mode of neutralization against those who might mean menace to ye or yer kin."1
"Since this is a.... novel... item, and, to my recollection, not one of the Collegium Alchemic's established schema, Guild Dictates requires your clarifications on certain details before we can render our decision. Each one of us who stands in judgement will ask one question each, is that agreeable, Reader Gravesend?"
I inclined my head and assayed a small bow,"If'n it pleases yer worships, aye."
"Very well, I shall begin. Describe the action of your piece. Effect, duration, spread, perceived strengths and weaknesses. "
Straight to the point, eh? Factor Kentos certainly didn't stumble into his role it seems...
"Sleep Smoke as ye have witnessed, causes instantaneous loss of consciousness in them what succumb to it. When released, it be heavier than air, so it tends to linger in one place, spreading out a smidge before shortly becoming inert." I stepped carefully onto the stage and into the midst of the unconscious Seneschals and took a deep breath to emphasize my point.
"Though It pains me to reveal it, but as per Sage Miklos Nomenclature Mutantor, Sleep Smoke falls under the classification of Venenum, poison. Hence the longer ye linger in the miasma, the more like ye are to be affected by it, ultimately succumbing, lest ye be of a hearty constitution like our friend here..." I pointed to the lucky Seneschal who had managed to shrug off all ill effects.
[Secondary Save vs Poison: (Fortitude Base Save Bonus) 3 + (d20)8 = 11 – (Difficulty Class) 15: Failure] *Thud!*2
Hmmm, good timing, third time's the charm it seems...
"...Exceptin' the traces that linger in yer airways, that is. The fumes still can knock ye fer a a loop, even if ye shake off its first whiff." I stole a quick glance at the hourglass spilling it's sands on the Adjudicator's podium. "Fret not! They should be back on their feet with nary a scratch, save some muzzle-headedness in at most a twelfth of the hour."
*Gulp* If my initial trials on rats were accurate that is...
As the audience made sense of what I was saying, an urgent murmur made its way through the crowd.
"... Its Sleep! Honest to goodness Sleep! I never thought I'd see the day alchemy matched spell!" 3
"Better'n! It last twice as long and spreads!"
"... every spellsword and cutpurse will want to get their mitts on this!"
Oho, its going over well, isn't it? I thought it might...
"The Achilles heel, of course..." I began before cursing my carelessness.
"... who's this Achilles fella?" came the confused murmur from the crowd.
"I mean, the weakness of mine submission is that it can be counteracted by Sage Miklos' tincture- Antivenom. Of course the Mountain-Folk, the Dwarves, are very resistant to its effects, while the Eldar, the Elves, yer own esteemed kin, Factor Kentos, are immune, being that they do not sleep."4
After delivering my answer I looked up at Factor Kentos for some affirmation, or, perhaps vainly, some approval of my craft, but was met only with a blank wall of cogitation, perhaps tinged with an air of vexation.
Tough crowd this...
"Me next! It's my turn now!" Meister Harverard almost hopped out of his seat while waving one arm wildly in the air.
Receiving the Factor's resigned leave he leaned forward excitedly, both hands on the podium, "Well, m'boy, I knew you were going to make waves, I just didn't quite reckon on how soon! MeGon's mirth! It's cruel to only let me ask one measly question when I have a million lined up!"
He stroked his beard in contemplation for a moment, "Hmmm, obvious one then! How did you manage it, Dirk? Even a single dose of an average poison costs hundreds of gold coins and as you know, an Alchemical preparation that costs that much would take weeks. Yet here you stand with ten doses of this 'Sleep-Smoke', it seems like a miracle... or a con." He smiled and sank back into his chair, smirking as if he had pulled off a thoroughly satisfying prank, "So which is it, young man?"
I took a deep breath and slowly exhaled, if I didn't play this right, lots of things might come unravelled. "Well, Meister Harverard, two answers to yer question, if ye don't mind? The first being that Sleep Smoke ain't an 'average poison', it's dear like an Everburnin' Torch or a dose of Antivenom, but not the price of a horse and carriage. And certainly it be something that can be whipped up in a week."
Meister Harverard nodded his head sagely, but his eyes twinkled with expectant mischief, he thought he had me.
"Answer the second, t'is no secret to The Guild fraternity that, as the Right Honourable Tellestrian once said, "To do Harm is easier than to Ameliorate". The distillation of poisons be an order of magnitude more simple than that of proper alchemical substances, as ye know well, I be sure."5
"Ha!" Exclaimed Meister Harverard as he slapped his knee. "You found me out, boy! Good show! I'm gratified that you were actually paying attention, what with your other responsibilities."He turned to Enlightened Mentor Narsi then, "The floor is yours, your Grace."
Hmph, the most difficult one for last, then.
Back when she was Acolyte Narsi, all the younglings of Port Prosperity, excepting the Nobles of course, who had their own private tutors drawn from the Church of the Guildmistress, passed under her attentive gaze, myself included.
It was a bit intimidating to have someone who had once seen you bawling over spilt milk judging you.
"It's been a while, hasn't it, Dirk Gravesend? Why do you not show up at devotions as much as you used to? You were such a sweet child at one point."
Above the laughter of the audience, I tried to conceal my embarrassment with a witty comeback.
"Be that yer question, yer Grace?" I said, tilting my head impishly and hoping that no one could see me blushing
"Ah, but there's that cheek once again. You've certainly changed little since you were in my charge. " She sighed in mock disappointment. "Very well, to the heart of the matter then. My question is this, Why? Why would you bring this item to the attention of the Guild? You could well have received a handsome remuneration from... less scrupulous parties. You are aware that the Guild, by its charter, is honour-bound to openly trade in your craft should it be found to be of benefit to others?"
... That was unexpected. I hadn't really thought...
"... For fairness." I said, before I could stop myself. "To provide a means for the meek and small to break the smothering chains of 'Might makes Right'."
There was such silence in the auditorium, you could have heard a pin drop. But no one was as surprised at my answer as I was.
Then suddenly, a loud retort, as if two granite blocks were being bashed into each other at speed, followed close behind by another, and another...
I turned to the sound, as indeed the entire audience did. Seated at the back, next to a distinguished looking noble...
[Knowledge (Local) Check: (Intelligence 20) 5 + (Skill Ranks) 4 + (Factotum: Cunning Knowledge) 1 + (Taking 10) 10 = 20 – Who is that well dressed Grognard?(15): Success]
That's Valtor Rafael! Lord of Port Prosperity! What's he doing... oh of course, he showed up for daughter dearest.
... were four imposing dwarves. The source of the sound, a heavily muscled elder-dwarf with his grey beard braided and bound in metallic rings, was slowly clapping his massive forge-hardened hands together, his applause echoing loudly and long throughout the hall.
When he saw that he had my attention, he stood and took a smouldering cigar from his mouth and blew a cloud of blackest smoke, flecked with glowing sparks. With a gruff smile and a voice like the rumbling of an avalanche, he gestured at me with the cigar and said, "Hear hear! Well said, son."
Having said his piece, he sat down once again, oblivious to the commotion he had caused.
*Ahem* Factor Kentos cleared his throat to direct attention back to the proceedings, and when the hall was silent yet again, he turned to Mentor Narsi and asked, "Does that answer, your Grace?"
She inclined her head, and said simply, "I am satisfied."
"Then let us confer and render our judgement."
What followed was a nail biting five minute wait, made worse by my knowing that decisions at a Viva Voce were normally made with much less deliberation.
The audience was on the edge of their seats, awaiting what would have been a controversial decision whichever way the dice fell. I only had one thing on my mind.
Was my presentation truly so borderline?
Throughout the entire process, Meister Harverard was animatedly whispering to both Factor Kentos and Mentor Narsi, gesticulating wildly with his chemical stained hands. Mentor Narsi listened politely and said little, while Factor Kentos looked bemused but resigned.
At the end of it all, Factor Kentos shrugged and threw up his hands and gestured a young page over, handed him a slip of parchment that he had hurriedly signed and with a few whispered words, sent him dashing out of the Auditorium.
Then he gestured for me to approach the podium. As I stepped up, Meister Harverard gave me a conspiratorial smirk and rubbed the side of his bulbous nose.
"Reader Gravesend-" Factor Kentos started in a grave tone, "- following deliberation, the Collegium has, with regret, decided to reject your application for the position of Journeyman..."
To be honest, I didn't hear much of what Factor Kentos said past "reject your application..." as the shock hit me full in the face like a bucket of ice-cold water.
The audience getting into a full blown shouting match with the Adjudicator committee and the Seneschals probably didn't help matters.
"... a travesty! A miscarriage of judgement, that's what this is!"
" ... a feat not equalled since Miklos!..."
"Laddie, fret not! The Under Council will keep ye busy."
" Does this mean that the Sleep Smoke technically isn't Guild intellectual property? Hmmm..."
Factor Kentos restored a reasonable facsimile of order by uncharacteristically slamming his hand onto the table and threatening to have troublemakers thrown out by the Seneschals. His actual words were lost to me, stunned as I was.
Indeed I would have remained in a stupor, had I not in that moment recognized Aelwen's lovely face in the barely controlled crowd. She noticed my gaze and, to my surprise, blew me a kiss, which was more than enough to snap me out of my self-pity just in time to hear Factor Kentos address the audience again.
"Now before I close the proceedings of the Collegium Alchemic, is there any other busine..."
Meister Harverard jumped right out of his seat as if a Stirge had stuck him and said in a loud and clear holler, "I, Meister Harverard Waelyn Smokshok "Tastes like burning" Syn, officially nominate Reader Dirk Gravesend for a Meister's Chair!"
Without missing a beat Factor Kentos replied, "I, Kentos Insilar, Guild Factor of Port Prosperity, confirm the nomination of Meister Harverard. Dirk Gravesend, we hereby bestow the title of Meister upon you and waive your Guild dues for the period of one year."
The young page at that moment came in, bearing a small sack that jingled as he ran, from the lip of said container shone the unmistakable gleam of lucre.
Stopping to bow quickly to Guild Factor Kentos, he hefted up the velvet sack and poured out a mountain of scintillating platinum coins right in front of me. It was the most precious metal I had ever seen, in this life or the one prior.
Nodding and dismissing the page, Factor Kentos continued, "I am setting the provisional price of Sleep Smoke at fifty kingdom standard weight gold pieces each, and imposing a temporary moratorium on the manufacture and distribution of this compound while we conduct our own tests."
Indicating the small fortune, Factor Kentos adressed me, "I trust this sum of fifty platinum pieces will be enough recompense for your remaining stock. If it is not, the matter can be discussed tomorrow morning at the ninth bell at the meeting that I, as Guild Factor, am requesting that you attend, is that clear Meister Gravesend."6
I could only stare dumbly at the mountain of coin in front of me as the words "Meister Gravesend" echoed in my mind.
Ahh, by the Head of Vecna! I was supposed to be low key about this too... Victoria is absolutely going to kill me when she finds out...7
…
[Dirk Gravesend (Factotum Level 1) Has Overcome (1) Challenge Rating (5) Encounter and Receives (450 Experience Points) for overcoming (Overpowering) Challenge.]8
[Dirk Gravesend (Factotum Level 1) has Accumulated (1050) Experience Points and can advance to Level (2).]9
Last edited:
- Location
- Singapore
Oof, sorry for the delay, had a couple of things to work out last week and didn't manage to finish in time.
Also, I knew if I left the chapter on yet another cliffhanger, you lot would be liable to lynch me! ;P
prototype00
P.S. Will get the wordpress update with the footnotes up tomorrow, no worries, but for now, I need to sleep!
Also, I knew if I left the chapter on yet another cliffhanger, you lot would be liable to lynch me! ;P
prototype00
P.S. Will get the wordpress update with the footnotes up tomorrow, no worries, but for now, I need to sleep!
C4d
Has approximate knowledge of many things.
- Location
- Germany
HA, i kind of saw something like that coming the whole chapter.
And while i might gloss over most of the mechanics parts because i never played D&D or something similar the whole "game the system" aspect and fluff is interesting, also i really like isekai stories in general and especially when they don't devolve into pointless harem wish fulfillment.
The only way this could have been even more my taste would be with a female protagonist.
And while i might gloss over most of the mechanics parts because i never played D&D or something similar the whole "game the system" aspect and fluff is interesting, also i really like isekai stories in general and especially when they don't devolve into pointless harem wish fulfillment.
The only way this could have been even more my taste would be with a female protagonist.
- Location
- Singapore
Thank you! I really wish I could write much faster (I despair when I see the rate some other authors manage) but I'll aim for consistency in the meantime. I just have to learn how not to have outside happenstance mess with my ability to compose.
I'm so glad you're liking the story! I mean, there are rather a lot of women in Dirk's life, but they don't have to be love obsessed zombies, y'know.
On the subject of female protagonist, I worry that I don't have the chops for it. You have no idea how many times I went over Aelwen's and Lethalas' dialogue and asked myself "does this sound right?"
- Location
- Singapore
Referring to...?
al103
Grumpy Russian Bear (SV edition)
- Location
- Russia, Krasnoyarsk
Joke in the end. "Oh, we are not promoting him... *angry noises* because we totally promote him even better!"
- Location
- Singapore
Ah, well, they couldn't very well make him a Meister if they had allowed him to become a Journeyman could they? Guild regulations and all that.
- Location
- Singapore
Phew, there footnotes up! (Also some slight editing).
Once again I like to share my references, but there's only one this time:
Under Council Dwarf Elder:
Once again I like to share my references, but there's only one this time:
Under Council Dwarf Elder:
Chapter 13 - Ripples
- Location
- Singapore
Chapter 13 - Ripples
Port Prosperity, Noble Quarter, House Rafael Manor
As Vesperum's sun dipped close to the horizon, its three lunar satellites, the baleful pale-yellow Urdr, the verdant green Verdandi and the blood red Skuld began their circumnavigation of the gathering dusk.
Lord Valtor's personal conveyance, a handsome Landau of the deepest black pulled into the gravel and sea-pebble carriage-drive at the entrance of the Manor. Jogrun, dwarven majordomo of House Rafael for close on a century, held open the carriage door while Lord Rafael, in excellent humour, fair vaulted the carpeted marble steps laid out for his return.
Bursting into the great hall, he scarce noticed the subdued menace in the air and the general nervousness of the help before sweeping his lady-wife, Cerisvanne Fionelle Rafael into his arms and kissing her deeply.
"My sweetest Ceris, you won't believe the deliverance that found me this day!"
Lady Cerisvanne demurred, surprised by her mate's sudden ardour, "Husband, perhaps now is not..."
"But I must tell you, even I scarce can credit it!" He whirled her around, just as he had done when they were courting then placed her gently back on her feet with a quick peck on the cheek.
"Let's see... , I've probably already bored you with the many-a-dismal turn that the negotiations with the Under Council have taken. With that in mind, today was a literal disaster. The only thing we could agree on was that we had nothing they wanted in trade! We were bound to lose our preferential merchant status to Flaevin..." The memory of the tortuous negotiations sent a stabbing pain through his temple and he rubbed his tired eyes as his wife cooed soothing ministrations.
"With the entire visit threatening to descend into shambles, not to mention the abject shame we would have brought on the good name of her Serene Highness-" Lord Valtor touched his forehead, a now unconscious gesture of loyalty and esteem for his sovereign, "I decided to halt negotiations and indulge our visitors' request to view the inner-operations of the Guild. In any event, witnessing our dearest daughter's spirited defence during her Viva Voce would have been the only spot of light in this morass of disappointment."
His face lit up with pride as he recalled the events of the afternoon, "You would have been so proud of her, dearest, she did everything so perfectly, so precisely. The Adjudicators almost fell over themselves to award her the title of Journeyman!"
"I am proud of her, as proud as I could possibly be. We... we need to plan a gala celebration! A truly sumptuous soiree..." said Lady Cerisvanne, quickly trying to change the subject.
"In good time, in good time, my dear." Lord Rafael stroked her hair and pet her shoulders. Women could be so oblivious to what was truly important! "What happened next was the crux of everything! Just as the proceedings were about to come to a close, a callow tatterdemalion burst through the doors, and rough and battered as he looked, I for one didn't have high hopes for him..."
Closing his eyes and recalling the scene he sighed, "But how wrong I was! That young lad, his Reception Piece had the entirety of the Collegium struggling for superlatives to describe it! I, as well as the rest of the participants have been sworn to discretion for the time being, but it is no exaggeration to say that this youthful prodigy has changed, in no small way, the way our Kingdom will wage war!"
"One man with the ability to fell a troop... imagine it!" Recalling past glories and faded medals, Lord Valtor's eyes sparkled with renewed vigour, "And what's more, after witnessing this marvel, our Under Council friends have offered us such terms as you would not believe, all that we have wanted, and more! Just as long as we share with them the fruits of our wunderkind's ingenuity. The Guild will have to mediate the haggling of course, but whether he knows it or not, House Rafael is greatly indebted to Dirk Gravse..."
*CRASH!*
As Lord Valtor turned to face the noise, Lady Cerisvanne put her face into her hands. On the ground lay shards of what had very recently been an antique gilded tea service. Above it, gripping the embroidered arms of a bespoke Fauteuil styled seat in a bloodless, clawed grip, red faced with shame, envy and white hot rage was Journeyman Lethalas Imperia Rafael.
"Dearest Daugh..." But even as Lord Valtor turned to offer comfort to his bereaved offspring, she had leapt out of the furniture and up the stairs like a maiden possessed, the slamming of her hardwood bedroom door an abrupt full stop punctuating her flight.
Bewildered, Lord Valtor turned to his wife who shook her head with grief. Their daughter had returned to the estate earlier, inconsolable despite her accomplishments. Lord Valtor sought to inquire further but before he could, the sound of smashing glassware drew the pair to the Manor entrance.
There, a most disturbing sight, a masterwork alchemic laboratory lying cracked and shattered on the gravel drive, effervescent bases and softly subliming powders released an odiferous and, more probable than not, toxic cloud of wantonly mixed chemicals into the air.
In her room, Lethalas gripped a leather bound tome inscribed with arcane glyphs on the cover tightly to her chest, as if it were her only shield against the travesty that was the folly of this world.
"Dirk Gravesend... I will reveal to you who your true better is before you perish in shame and despair! This I swear!"
...
Mechanus, Regulus, Rimward Gear 81#A, Inevitable Quadrant, The Decorous City of Abide, Prime Material Monitoring Facility F32B, Office of Vesperum Affairs
"01001000 01100101 01100001 01100100 01110110 01100001 01101110 01100011 01100101 01100100 01100001 01110111 01101000 01101111 01101100 01100101 01101100 01100101 01110110 01100101 01101100 01101001 01101110 01101111 01101110 01100101 01100100 01100001 01111001!!! 01000100 01101111 01111001 01101111 01110101 01101011 01101110 01101111 01110111 01101000 01101111 01110111 01110101 01101110 01101100 01101001 01101011 01100101 01101100 01111001 01110100 01101000 01100001 01110100 01101001 01110011?!!"
"Well, I mean, it is very unlikely, but that by itself doesn't signify that any rule breaking has occurred…"
"01000001 01101110 01100100 01100010 01111001 01110100 01101000 01100101 01100011 01110101 01110011 01110100 01101111 01101101 01110011 01101111 01100110 01110100 01101000 01101001 01110011 01110111 01101111 01110010 01101100 01100100 01100001 01100100 01110110 01100001 01101110 01100011 01101001 01101110 01100111 01100110 01110010 01101111 01101101 01101110 01101111 01100010 01101111 01100100 01111001 01110100 01101111 01001101 01100101 01101001 01110011 01110100 01100101 01110010 01101001 01110011 01101100 01101001 01110100 01100101 01110010 01100001 01101100 01101100 01111001 01100001 01101111 01101110 01100011 01100101 01100001 01100011 01100101 01101110 01110100 01110101 01110010 01111001 01100001 01100110 01100110 01100001 01101001 01110010!"
"Just because it hadn't been done for centuries doesn't mean it's not theoretically possible, it could be the case that our young buck was just luck-"
"01100100 01101111 01101110 00100111 01110100 01111001 01101111 01110101 01110011 01100001 01111001 01101001 01110100 01100100 01101111 01101110 00100111 01110100 01110011 01100001 01111001 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100010 01001100 00100010 01110111 01101111 01110010 01100100!"
"All right, geez, Primus makes you guys with no give at all in your little Monodrone heads, huh? I meant to say that 'the perfectly ordered circumstances that our target found himself in was such that it might considered to be salubrious as pertains to a mortal outlook'.
"01010111 01100101 01101100 01101100 01110011 01101111 01101101 01100101 01101111 01100110 01110101 01110011 01100001 01110010 01100101 01101010 01110101 01110011 01110100 01101101 01101111 01110010 01100101 01100100 01100101 01100100 01101001 01100011 01100001 01110100 01100101 01100100 01110100 01101111 01110100 01101000 01100101 01100011 01100001 01110101 01110011 01100101 01101111 01100110 01101111 01110010 01100100 01100101 01110010 01100001 01110010 01100101 01101110 00100111 01110100 01110111 01100101?"
"Insults are wholly unnecessary, as you well know. We're all on the same side here, I'm just having trouble figuring out why you would need to place this one under surveillance."
"01110100 01101000 01100101 01100011 01101111 01101101 01110000 01110101 01110100 01100001 01110100 01101001 01101111 01101110 01110011 01101111 01100110 01110100 01101000 01100101 01110001 01110101 01100001 01100100 01110010 01101111 01101110 01100101 01110011 01101000 01100001 01110011 01100001 01101100 01110011 01101111 01101001 01101110 01100100 01101001 01100011 01100001 01110100 01100101 01100100 01110100 01101000 01100001 01110100 01110100 01101000 01100101 01110010 01100101 01101001 01110011 01100001 01101110 01101111 01101110 01111010 01100101 01110010 01101111 01100011 01101000 01100001 01101110 01100011 01100101 01101111 01100110 01100001 01110011 01100011 01100101 01101110 01110011 01101001 01101111 01101110 01100001 01110011 01110111 01100101 01101100 01101100 01100001 01110011 01100001 01101110 01101001 01101110 01100111 01110010 01100101 01110011 01110011 01101111 01100110 01100101 01111000 01110100 01110010 01100001 01110000 01101100 01100001 01101110 01100001 01110010 01101001 01101110 01100110 01101100 01110101 01100101 01101110 01100011 01100101 01110111 01101000 01101001 01100011 01101000 01110111 01101111 01110101 01101100 01100100 01100010 01110010 01100101 01100001 01101011 01110100 01101000 01100101 01100011 01101111 01101110 01100011 01101111 01110010 01100100."
"Oh… oh! That changes things… You have the file? Thank you. Hmm, yes you're right, originally Waterdeep was the centre of production, ingredients specific to Faerun…"
"Well, Mister Gravesend, you've just earned yourself my full attention…"
"01100001 01110111 01110111 01111001 01100101 01100001 01101000!"
...
Port Prosperity, the Catacombs, Forgotten Ossuary
"Seeker! Are the preparations nearing completion?" A midnight robed figure pointed a long and bony digit at a grovelling supplicant. A black rose gilt with gold adorned an onyx ring on his finger.
"Ss..s.s.s soon, favored one! Soon! The opportunity for the harvest has not presented itself!" Fear wound its way through every syllable.
"The opportunity is right there before your eyes, sluggard! The filth that are lower than the beasts must be cleansed from our lands! Our Lady must have her due! The blood of the lesser races, it must flow! For the Golden Truth! For the Sacred Path!" Fanaticism and madness infused every word.
"For the Golden Truth! For the Will of the Lady!" came the chanted reply echoing from a dozen throats around the dark chamber.
"What tidings from our spies in the Guild?" That last word spat out, like a curse, Anathema.
"The Collegium Arcanoi suspects us not, the purges in Kraedoc drawing their roving eyes. The Bardic College continues their patronage of *ugh* the lesser races, having accepted a half-breed mongrel for training most recently. The Collegium Alchemic is in a state of elevated excitement, following the Viva Voce of one Dirk Gravesend, a human child they say is Miklos come again. Praise the Lady!"
"Her Will be made Manifest! May the blood of the lesser races flow in her name!" Came the echoing cries amidst bleached skulls and femurs.
"This... prospect, this 'Dirk', he bears the pure features of the Master Race?" A whispered query, full of paranoia and insanity.
"Yes, it is so! He is tainted not by the half-breed bitch that whelped him! The Lady be Praised!" The mania of a true believer of a cult of hate.
"Then we shall extend him the... kindness... of the Lady, and he will be set on the Path to the Golden Truth!"
"Hail! Hail the Sacred Path! Hail the True Wisdom! Praise be to the Lady!" Acolytes whipped into an unreasoning frenzy.
"Now, let us commence the preparatory sacrifices for the great day of our god!"
On the black obsidian plinth, channels were cut into the side to direct the flow, a bound stray, a large dun hound, was breathing rapidly, eyes full of fear.
A sacrificial blade flashed, and dark blood sprayed the walls, followed by a whimper, then silence.
Stalking the shadows, two glowing feline eyes witnessed, filled with an otherworldly rage.
...
Port Prosperity, the Shambles, Pier Thirteen
*THWUCK! THWUCK! THWUCK!*
The sound of heavy blade meeting bloody flesh echoed through the still night to a background accompaniment of the surf crashing unceasingly against the shore.
It was a windy night, and the four men who had been hung by their toes from meat-hooks above the churning ocean were swaying like panicky pendulums.
*THUNK!* The blade stuck in the butcher's block and it's wielder turned to face the quartet. He was a middle aged gnome, still in his prime, with flaming red hair that framed a wide and smiling face.
That smile sent shivers down the four men's spines, Sweeney Breaogan Vincente "The Smiling Butcher" Varle had, for some youthful indiscretion, had his cheeks sliced open for his troubles. When he smiled, you could see all the way to his back molars, and "The Smiling Butcher" smiled often.
Sweeney held in his hands a double fistful of steaming and bloody pig offal. He walked over to the four men, and squeezing the mass of tubes and flesh, he dripped the bile and blood straight into the waves beneath them, which shortly started to churn and bubble, as if boiling.
Smiling even wider, such that he resembled now a bogeyman from some dark fable, he dropped the steaming, fleshy mass, which didn't even hit the water. A set of trap-like serrated jaws attached to a shark that was larger, lengthwise, than two men leapt and grabbed it savagely out of the air. The bony armour plates on the fins and head of the atavistic predator made nary a sound as it slid like a shadow beneath the sea-foam again.
"So.... gentlemen. Where were we?" Sweeney wiped his hands on his apron, leaving smeared bloody prints down the front. "Oh, yes, of course. You were about to explain to me why, by The Mad God's blessed knob, I SHOULDN'T HAVE THE FOUR OF YOU FEEDING THE FISHES!"
"W...we d...didn't know! Boss Sweeney! W... we swear! He was just a mark! Could've been any-one!" Blubbered Vok, sweat flowing off him in torrents.
Sweeney sighed, then casually hurled a knife at the ropes dangling the four men above the now shark infested waters. The suspended thugs had just enough time for their lives to flash before their eyes before the rope securing Vok was severed, and he fell, screaming, into the hungry deep. Soon, all that was left of the thug once known as Vok were some bubbles and a bloody slick floating atop the water.
"Lying, it's bad for your health." Sweeney smiled at his jest as he shook his head, then turned to the three in a sudden eruption of rage. "Don't insult my intelligence, you worms! I know all about the moonlighting, the payment from that noble heel-stain Villar, even your cack-handed botching of the job. What I'm still waiting for, is a reason not to off the lot of ya' for spoiling our best opportunity to get our hands on that Sleep-Smoke!"
Pinching the cheeks of their rat-faced leader in his rough palm, he hissed at him, like a mad snake, "Do you waste of flesh morons have any idea what we could have done with Dirk Gravesend in our back pocket? The advantages we could have had?! I ough'ta do the Fellowship a favour and consign the lot of you mindless berks to the dark depths.."
As if to emphasize his point, three more daggers suddenly sprouted from his other hand. He wound back to hurl them...
As the three bound thugs pissed themselves, a voice rose from the shadows, "I'll take them, Father. They'll make themselves useful, won't they?"
"Hezanna... "
"Leave it to me, old man, I'll have Dirk eating out of our hands and on-side easy as you can blink-" A young, cheery faced gnome lass stepped forwards from an incongruous motley gathering of cutthroats, smugglers, cheats and leg-breakers.
"-a man like that has one weakness - he cares too much."
Port Prosperity, Noble Quarter, House Rafael Manor
As Vesperum's sun dipped close to the horizon, its three lunar satellites, the baleful pale-yellow Urdr, the verdant green Verdandi and the blood red Skuld began their circumnavigation of the gathering dusk.
Lord Valtor's personal conveyance, a handsome Landau of the deepest black pulled into the gravel and sea-pebble carriage-drive at the entrance of the Manor. Jogrun, dwarven majordomo of House Rafael for close on a century, held open the carriage door while Lord Rafael, in excellent humour, fair vaulted the carpeted marble steps laid out for his return.
Bursting into the great hall, he scarce noticed the subdued menace in the air and the general nervousness of the help before sweeping his lady-wife, Cerisvanne Fionelle Rafael into his arms and kissing her deeply.
"My sweetest Ceris, you won't believe the deliverance that found me this day!"
Lady Cerisvanne demurred, surprised by her mate's sudden ardour, "Husband, perhaps now is not..."
"But I must tell you, even I scarce can credit it!" He whirled her around, just as he had done when they were courting then placed her gently back on her feet with a quick peck on the cheek.
"Let's see... , I've probably already bored you with the many-a-dismal turn that the negotiations with the Under Council have taken. With that in mind, today was a literal disaster. The only thing we could agree on was that we had nothing they wanted in trade! We were bound to lose our preferential merchant status to Flaevin..." The memory of the tortuous negotiations sent a stabbing pain through his temple and he rubbed his tired eyes as his wife cooed soothing ministrations.
"With the entire visit threatening to descend into shambles, not to mention the abject shame we would have brought on the good name of her Serene Highness-" Lord Valtor touched his forehead, a now unconscious gesture of loyalty and esteem for his sovereign, "I decided to halt negotiations and indulge our visitors' request to view the inner-operations of the Guild. In any event, witnessing our dearest daughter's spirited defence during her Viva Voce would have been the only spot of light in this morass of disappointment."
His face lit up with pride as he recalled the events of the afternoon, "You would have been so proud of her, dearest, she did everything so perfectly, so precisely. The Adjudicators almost fell over themselves to award her the title of Journeyman!"
"I am proud of her, as proud as I could possibly be. We... we need to plan a gala celebration! A truly sumptuous soiree..." said Lady Cerisvanne, quickly trying to change the subject.
"In good time, in good time, my dear." Lord Rafael stroked her hair and pet her shoulders. Women could be so oblivious to what was truly important! "What happened next was the crux of everything! Just as the proceedings were about to come to a close, a callow tatterdemalion burst through the doors, and rough and battered as he looked, I for one didn't have high hopes for him..."
Closing his eyes and recalling the scene he sighed, "But how wrong I was! That young lad, his Reception Piece had the entirety of the Collegium struggling for superlatives to describe it! I, as well as the rest of the participants have been sworn to discretion for the time being, but it is no exaggeration to say that this youthful prodigy has changed, in no small way, the way our Kingdom will wage war!"
"One man with the ability to fell a troop... imagine it!" Recalling past glories and faded medals, Lord Valtor's eyes sparkled with renewed vigour, "And what's more, after witnessing this marvel, our Under Council friends have offered us such terms as you would not believe, all that we have wanted, and more! Just as long as we share with them the fruits of our wunderkind's ingenuity. The Guild will have to mediate the haggling of course, but whether he knows it or not, House Rafael is greatly indebted to Dirk Gravse..."
*CRASH!*
As Lord Valtor turned to face the noise, Lady Cerisvanne put her face into her hands. On the ground lay shards of what had very recently been an antique gilded tea service. Above it, gripping the embroidered arms of a bespoke Fauteuil styled seat in a bloodless, clawed grip, red faced with shame, envy and white hot rage was Journeyman Lethalas Imperia Rafael.
"Dearest Daugh..." But even as Lord Valtor turned to offer comfort to his bereaved offspring, she had leapt out of the furniture and up the stairs like a maiden possessed, the slamming of her hardwood bedroom door an abrupt full stop punctuating her flight.
Bewildered, Lord Valtor turned to his wife who shook her head with grief. Their daughter had returned to the estate earlier, inconsolable despite her accomplishments. Lord Valtor sought to inquire further but before he could, the sound of smashing glassware drew the pair to the Manor entrance.
There, a most disturbing sight, a masterwork alchemic laboratory lying cracked and shattered on the gravel drive, effervescent bases and softly subliming powders released an odiferous and, more probable than not, toxic cloud of wantonly mixed chemicals into the air.
In her room, Lethalas gripped a leather bound tome inscribed with arcane glyphs on the cover tightly to her chest, as if it were her only shield against the travesty that was the folly of this world.
"Dirk Gravesend... I will reveal to you who your true better is before you perish in shame and despair! This I swear!"
...
Mechanus, Regulus, Rimward Gear 81#A, Inevitable Quadrant, The Decorous City of Abide, Prime Material Monitoring Facility F32B, Office of Vesperum Affairs
"01001000 01100101 01100001 01100100 01110110 01100001 01101110 01100011 01100101 01100100 01100001 01110111 01101000 01101111 01101100 01100101 01101100 01100101 01110110 01100101 01101100 01101001 01101110 01101111 01101110 01100101 01100100 01100001 01111001!!! 01000100 01101111 01111001 01101111 01110101 01101011 01101110 01101111 01110111 01101000 01101111 01110111 01110101 01101110 01101100 01101001 01101011 01100101 01101100 01111001 01110100 01101000 01100001 01110100 01101001 01110011?!!"
"Well, I mean, it is very unlikely, but that by itself doesn't signify that any rule breaking has occurred…"
"01000001 01101110 01100100 01100010 01111001 01110100 01101000 01100101 01100011 01110101 01110011 01110100 01101111 01101101 01110011 01101111 01100110 01110100 01101000 01101001 01110011 01110111 01101111 01110010 01101100 01100100 01100001 01100100 01110110 01100001 01101110 01100011 01101001 01101110 01100111 01100110 01110010 01101111 01101101 01101110 01101111 01100010 01101111 01100100 01111001 01110100 01101111 01001101 01100101 01101001 01110011 01110100 01100101 01110010 01101001 01110011 01101100 01101001 01110100 01100101 01110010 01100001 01101100 01101100 01111001 01100001 01101111 01101110 01100011 01100101 01100001 01100011 01100101 01101110 01110100 01110101 01110010 01111001 01100001 01100110 01100110 01100001 01101001 01110010!"
"Just because it hadn't been done for centuries doesn't mean it's not theoretically possible, it could be the case that our young buck was just luck-"
"01100100 01101111 01101110 00100111 01110100 01111001 01101111 01110101 01110011 01100001 01111001 01101001 01110100 01100100 01101111 01101110 00100111 01110100 01110011 01100001 01111001 01110100 01101000 01100101 00100010 01001100 00100010 01110111 01101111 01110010 01100100!"
"All right, geez, Primus makes you guys with no give at all in your little Monodrone heads, huh? I meant to say that 'the perfectly ordered circumstances that our target found himself in was such that it might considered to be salubrious as pertains to a mortal outlook'.
"01010111 01100101 01101100 01101100 01110011 01101111 01101101 01100101 01101111 01100110 01110101 01110011 01100001 01110010 01100101 01101010 01110101 01110011 01110100 01101101 01101111 01110010 01100101 01100100 01100101 01100100 01101001 01100011 01100001 01110100 01100101 01100100 01110100 01101111 01110100 01101000 01100101 01100011 01100001 01110101 01110011 01100101 01101111 01100110 01101111 01110010 01100100 01100101 01110010 01100001 01110010 01100101 01101110 00100111 01110100 01110111 01100101?"
"Insults are wholly unnecessary, as you well know. We're all on the same side here, I'm just having trouble figuring out why you would need to place this one under surveillance."
"01110100 01101000 01100101 01100011 01101111 01101101 01110000 01110101 01110100 01100001 01110100 01101001 01101111 01101110 01110011 01101111 01100110 01110100 01101000 01100101 01110001 01110101 01100001 01100100 01110010 01101111 01101110 01100101 01110011 01101000 01100001 01110011 01100001 01101100 01110011 01101111 01101001 01101110 01100100 01101001 01100011 01100001 01110100 01100101 01100100 01110100 01101000 01100001 01110100 01110100 01101000 01100101 01110010 01100101 01101001 01110011 01100001 01101110 01101111 01101110 01111010 01100101 01110010 01101111 01100011 01101000 01100001 01101110 01100011 01100101 01101111 01100110 01100001 01110011 01100011 01100101 01101110 01110011 01101001 01101111 01101110 01100001 01110011 01110111 01100101 01101100 01101100 01100001 01110011 01100001 01101110 01101001 01101110 01100111 01110010 01100101 01110011 01110011 01101111 01100110 01100101 01111000 01110100 01110010 01100001 01110000 01101100 01100001 01101110 01100001 01110010 01101001 01101110 01100110 01101100 01110101 01100101 01101110 01100011 01100101 01110111 01101000 01101001 01100011 01101000 01110111 01101111 01110101 01101100 01100100 01100010 01110010 01100101 01100001 01101011 01110100 01101000 01100101 01100011 01101111 01101110 01100011 01101111 01110010 01100100."
"Oh… oh! That changes things… You have the file? Thank you. Hmm, yes you're right, originally Waterdeep was the centre of production, ingredients specific to Faerun…"
"Well, Mister Gravesend, you've just earned yourself my full attention…"
"01100001 01110111 01110111 01111001 01100101 01100001 01101000!"
...
Port Prosperity, the Catacombs, Forgotten Ossuary
"Seeker! Are the preparations nearing completion?" A midnight robed figure pointed a long and bony digit at a grovelling supplicant. A black rose gilt with gold adorned an onyx ring on his finger.
"Ss..s.s.s soon, favored one! Soon! The opportunity for the harvest has not presented itself!" Fear wound its way through every syllable.
"The opportunity is right there before your eyes, sluggard! The filth that are lower than the beasts must be cleansed from our lands! Our Lady must have her due! The blood of the lesser races, it must flow! For the Golden Truth! For the Sacred Path!" Fanaticism and madness infused every word.
"For the Golden Truth! For the Will of the Lady!" came the chanted reply echoing from a dozen throats around the dark chamber.
"What tidings from our spies in the Guild?" That last word spat out, like a curse, Anathema.
"The Collegium Arcanoi suspects us not, the purges in Kraedoc drawing their roving eyes. The Bardic College continues their patronage of *ugh* the lesser races, having accepted a half-breed mongrel for training most recently. The Collegium Alchemic is in a state of elevated excitement, following the Viva Voce of one Dirk Gravesend, a human child they say is Miklos come again. Praise the Lady!"
"Her Will be made Manifest! May the blood of the lesser races flow in her name!" Came the echoing cries amidst bleached skulls and femurs.
"This... prospect, this 'Dirk', he bears the pure features of the Master Race?" A whispered query, full of paranoia and insanity.
"Yes, it is so! He is tainted not by the half-breed bitch that whelped him! The Lady be Praised!" The mania of a true believer of a cult of hate.
"Then we shall extend him the... kindness... of the Lady, and he will be set on the Path to the Golden Truth!"
"Hail! Hail the Sacred Path! Hail the True Wisdom! Praise be to the Lady!" Acolytes whipped into an unreasoning frenzy.
"Now, let us commence the preparatory sacrifices for the great day of our god!"
On the black obsidian plinth, channels were cut into the side to direct the flow, a bound stray, a large dun hound, was breathing rapidly, eyes full of fear.
A sacrificial blade flashed, and dark blood sprayed the walls, followed by a whimper, then silence.
Stalking the shadows, two glowing feline eyes witnessed, filled with an otherworldly rage.
...
Port Prosperity, the Shambles, Pier Thirteen
*THWUCK! THWUCK! THWUCK!*
The sound of heavy blade meeting bloody flesh echoed through the still night to a background accompaniment of the surf crashing unceasingly against the shore.
It was a windy night, and the four men who had been hung by their toes from meat-hooks above the churning ocean were swaying like panicky pendulums.
*THUNK!* The blade stuck in the butcher's block and it's wielder turned to face the quartet. He was a middle aged gnome, still in his prime, with flaming red hair that framed a wide and smiling face.
That smile sent shivers down the four men's spines, Sweeney Breaogan Vincente "The Smiling Butcher" Varle had, for some youthful indiscretion, had his cheeks sliced open for his troubles. When he smiled, you could see all the way to his back molars, and "The Smiling Butcher" smiled often.
Sweeney held in his hands a double fistful of steaming and bloody pig offal. He walked over to the four men, and squeezing the mass of tubes and flesh, he dripped the bile and blood straight into the waves beneath them, which shortly started to churn and bubble, as if boiling.
Smiling even wider, such that he resembled now a bogeyman from some dark fable, he dropped the steaming, fleshy mass, which didn't even hit the water. A set of trap-like serrated jaws attached to a shark that was larger, lengthwise, than two men leapt and grabbed it savagely out of the air. The bony armour plates on the fins and head of the atavistic predator made nary a sound as it slid like a shadow beneath the sea-foam again.
"So.... gentlemen. Where were we?" Sweeney wiped his hands on his apron, leaving smeared bloody prints down the front. "Oh, yes, of course. You were about to explain to me why, by The Mad God's blessed knob, I SHOULDN'T HAVE THE FOUR OF YOU FEEDING THE FISHES!"
"W...we d...didn't know! Boss Sweeney! W... we swear! He was just a mark! Could've been any-one!" Blubbered Vok, sweat flowing off him in torrents.
Sweeney sighed, then casually hurled a knife at the ropes dangling the four men above the now shark infested waters. The suspended thugs had just enough time for their lives to flash before their eyes before the rope securing Vok was severed, and he fell, screaming, into the hungry deep. Soon, all that was left of the thug once known as Vok were some bubbles and a bloody slick floating atop the water.
"Lying, it's bad for your health." Sweeney smiled at his jest as he shook his head, then turned to the three in a sudden eruption of rage. "Don't insult my intelligence, you worms! I know all about the moonlighting, the payment from that noble heel-stain Villar, even your cack-handed botching of the job. What I'm still waiting for, is a reason not to off the lot of ya' for spoiling our best opportunity to get our hands on that Sleep-Smoke!"
Pinching the cheeks of their rat-faced leader in his rough palm, he hissed at him, like a mad snake, "Do you waste of flesh morons have any idea what we could have done with Dirk Gravesend in our back pocket? The advantages we could have had?! I ough'ta do the Fellowship a favour and consign the lot of you mindless berks to the dark depths.."
As if to emphasize his point, three more daggers suddenly sprouted from his other hand. He wound back to hurl them...
As the three bound thugs pissed themselves, a voice rose from the shadows, "I'll take them, Father. They'll make themselves useful, won't they?"
"Hezanna... "
"Leave it to me, old man, I'll have Dirk eating out of our hands and on-side easy as you can blink-" A young, cheery faced gnome lass stepped forwards from an incongruous motley gathering of cutthroats, smugglers, cheats and leg-breakers.
"-a man like that has one weakness - he cares too much."
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- Location
- US
Except that everyone is basing their assumptions off of the real Dirk and not the being that replaced him. A being that thinks in exp terms, and thus has not need of petty cares and sentiments.
Unseelie
(Verified True Fae)
- Location
- Tír fo Thuinn
Somehow I'm both happy and disappointed that those parts are not just binary encoded ASCII.
How is that supposed to work? Very thin hooks or very broad toes?
al103
Grumpy Russian Bear (SV edition)
- Location
- Russia, Krasnoyarsk
Oh, that assumption is right. What replaced Dirk is essentially still Dirk - just with another lifetime of experience. And still care too much (robbers being alive shows that).
It's range of naivety, range of experience, way of thinking and range of dangerous abilities that are way off.
- Location
- Singapore
They were originally Wingdings in my draft (which spelled out what the Monodrone was saying) but Wingdings don't display in BBcode. Ah well.
Use Rope. Thats how.
prototype00
Unseelie
(Verified True Fae)
- Location
- Tír fo Thuinn
My thoughts might be a bit too macabre at times.
Though wouldn't you usually bind the ankles instead of the toes?
- Location
- Singapore
You can do some pretty funky things with enough use rope.