Culix
08-10-07, 02:23 AM
Closed to two others. See here (http://www.althanas.com/world/showthread.php?t=7031) for further details
Rumiel hated his situation. This surprised no one who knew him; if everything Rumiel hated were to wink out of being, Althanas would have very little... Actually, the planet itself would have probably made the list, leaving Rumiel, a few of his possessions, and a surprised, fluffy kitty to drift aimlessly or asphyxiate in space. However, the man's feelings were actually within reason at that time, and his hatred burned all the hotter for it. He was trekking through a cavern and trying not to think about the humidity. Rumiel didn't think it natural for such a cavern, and supposed a mage had once tried to regulate the environment's temperature. With a charm that's failed the test of time, he thought, hoping the mage in question suffered for it. Spending a week down here would do, he decided, pausing in the middle of wiping his brow to slap at another of the cavern's eight million insects. They were relatives of the mosquito and not about to let a meal pass by, what with the scarcity of food down there. Well, it was about to get even scarcer. The glow of torchlight bobbed ever so slightly, a testament to the man holding its source, as the titan slew another of the large reptiles with his other hand. Yes, as if being hot, sticky, and covered in welts wasn't bad enough, Rumiel had to deal with people, too.
Rumiel was actually just one corner of perhaps the most generic adventuring square for miles. His cohorts were the strong, silent, stupid man who could, and had, ripped a tavern in two by accident, the lovely, but pure as snow, cleric who seemed to compulsively apologize whenever she did anything, and finally, the light-hearted, sticky-fingered youth whose constant attempts to raise morale were even beginning to irritate the cleric. The mage would have left long ago, if the others hadn't been so hellbent on holding him to his contract. Rumiel had only signed thinking it little more binding than an autograph, until he found that the three were too much for him to handle. While the dark-robed man hated them all, he usually gave most of his attention to the rogue, thief, or whatever the hell he called himself. Usually. On that particular outing, their guest had earned his special loathing.
Rumiel had never liked children, and, to be fair, the purple-haired boy was making a compelling argument for this view. On the way in, the lad seemed to forget every ten minutes that the answer to, "How much further?" was going to be, "I don't know, shut up." More annoying was the delusion that his skills were an asset. The child's fireball was better than expected for one his age, but it barely singed the lizard creatures. And then, after Rumiel turned the monster from rare to extra crispy, the brat bragged about all the difference he'd made. Even worse, he'd catch his three partners smiling after such episodes. Rumiel had glowered when the brigand punster agreed the child had 'warmed the monster up' for him.
Fortunately for the older mage, he could endure it all; the cavern's treasure was safely nestled in his hands and, once his three companions finished the job they had for it, the object would become his property alone. He insisted on periodic peeks at the smooth, elliptical stone, marveling at how it was no larger than a small tomato, and tracing his fingers across its many glittering runes. His face had come as close to cracking a smile as it had in ages. Granted, the boy was ruining things with his constant requests to hold it, but Rumiel knew he was almost through dealing with him.
Finally, passing two crumbled pillars and stepping over various pieces of statue, the quintet blinked their way back into the sunlight. While their eyes adjusted and the giant muscle put out the torch, the cleric pulled out a piece of parchment, and looked timidly at Rumiel. By the time the apology left her lips, he had already pushed the stone into her hands. "As long as it's mine when you're done, go right ahead," he explained. She nodded in gratitude, then, rock in hand, she began to study the note. After a short time, she seemed pleased with whatever it said and rolled it up again. The thief made a remark about how they were no longer in the dark about it, and then smiled winningly until the cleric recalled the cave and gave a pity laugh, and the warrior joined her to create the illusion he had gotten the 'joke.' Rumiel reminded himself that he had only two more missions to put up with, and so remained nonplussed. Until the boy said, "What? That's it? It doesn't glow, or sparkle, or anything?"
"... The Stone of Scribes lets one understand all that's ever been written," the older mage explained slowly, "It doesn't need to-- Don't touch it!" This last bit came as the child was reaching for the artifact in the cleric's hands.
"Relax," the lad explained, pausing in his reach and turning to smile. "I just wanna know what a few things mean, is all."
"Try a dictionary, because the Stone's off limits." However, the looks his three partners shot forced him to reconsider; they were giving him the object, and they could take it away. Rumiel sighed. "Fine. One word." The child nodded and grinned. It wouldn't be that bad, he told himself. It wasn't as though he had any ancient tomes on him to decipher, and a few more minutes would hardly matter. But he was still suspicious, and locked his eye on the boy, lest he disappear with the Stone. So great was this attention that it was only thanks to the brilliant flash that he caught the Stone disappearing without the boy.
Rumiel squinted in the wake of the light, making out the others stumbling around a bit, along with a few runed shards scattered about. From what few were in the area, there was clearly a lot of Stone missing. Not that this occurred to him at the time; he was far too busy shaking the boy. "What the hell did you do, you little bastard?" The lad gave no response, continuing to stare ahead and clearly miles away. The warrior actually had some trouble pulling back the older mage, so the cleric could examine the child. Rumiel didn't think he could be any angrier, until the rogue suggested he 'not go to pieces.' The strong man then learned his magic-using colleague could drag him along, once properly motivated. Said colleague neared the stricken child as the cleric finished her prayer and looked up. Her face said it all, which was good, because he wouldn't allow her to even get out the customary apology. "Needs rest, hmm?" A few syllables later and a very large blue flame appeared in his hand. "I'll give him plenty of that!" The brigand's advising him to 'chill out' had the precise opposite effect. The knife that Rumiel then found pressed against his throat, however, did the trick that words could not.
The flames flickered and the behemoth released his grip, before scooping up the boy as gently as one would a kitten. The unstained knife slipped back to its sheath as the thief stood by his fellows. They watched Rumiel as he passed the next few moments with ragged breathing, working out the next step in his head. Bastards! He fucks the damn thing up, and I can't kill him? After all that hell down there? He scratched at one of the larger clusters of bug bites, before his eyes caught something on the hated child; there was not a welt on him. Further, while sweat had matted hair to the other four heads, the boy's seemed as unanchored as could be. Probably that damn incantation he kept using. Bet he'd piss himself if he couldn't-- Then an idea came to the dark robed man, and he took enough deep breaths to lower his blood pressure to merely dangerous levels.
"My friends," he began, which instantly put the others on guard, "I overreacted. Rare as it might have been, the Stone was only an object, and not worth killing the boy over. Please, set him down, and let me handle that burden for you." Though suspicious as hell, the three eventually nodded and the warrior set him down, deciding Rumiel wouldn't dare hurt him while they watched. So, the conscious magician chanted. And for a good while, too. Much longer, the three thought, than would be needed to levitate the child. But their understanding of arcane magic was limited, and the lad seemed fine as he rose and floated a foot above the ground. The group then made a beeline for the town they'd left that morning, the boy bobbing along behind them. After paying for the youth's room and dinner with the innkeeper's own money, courtesy of the thief, the four left that land for whatever had been written on the parchment. Rumiel remained pleased with his choice, until the evening's reflection brought other ideas to mind. Regardless, he liked the spell he'd snuck in before the levitation, and he wished he could see the boy's face as he nodded off.
---- --- ----- --- ----- --- ----
At around that time, the boy's face was beginning to scrunch up, as his mouth opened to let out a groan. My head... Both hands clutched his head, and found a wet washcloth on his brow. What the--? he wondered, tossing it lightly aside so he could massage his temples. After several moments of this, he forced himself up, squinting around the area. While nothing special, it was among the nicer rooms one could expect in a town so far from anywhere, with a wooden chair, and even a lamp on a desk in the corner, next to the windowed curtains. Best of all, there was a mirror in another corner and the bed was the bounciest he'd had in some time. Still, there was a smell hanging around he just couldn't place, with his headache in the background. But that didn't keep the lad from spotting the large woman with the motherly air that had just entered the room. "Ah, glad to see you're awake," she greeted him, smiling. "You've just lay there for hours, shaking something frightful sometimes. You feeling any better?"
"Urgh... I guess so. My head feels like a hippogryph kicked it, though..." He groaned anew when he saw her raise her eyebrows and lean her head to the side. Honestly... Even in the sticks, ya'd think they could learn the local wildlife. "Nevermind," he told her. As the throbbing in his head began to fade, the kid decided the smell was from whatever dinner had been. "Ah," she said, "That's quite a rumble, you've got there. Your friends paid, so let me get you some stew. I hope it's still warm."
"Alright," he told her as she turned to the door. He'd learned long ago that stew was usually the best to hope for in such places. Still, his formerly refined palate compelled him to try for the best he could. "It doesn't have radishes, right? Everything else's fine, but I... can't..." he trailed off when he noticed she hadn't slown down at all. Hmm... Seemed nice enough, so I guess she's goin' deaf. I'll just shout when she gets back. It did not occur to him that it was very late at night, so the inn's other customers might not appreciate such courtesy.
Alrighty, Jannin: 'til she gets back, let's sort out what happened. I was goin' for the Stone, then... I guess the sun got in my eyes, the jerk, and then I was here with a headache. He frowned. It would have been a small comfort that he had no memory loss. Hmm... The young mage tried going further back. I was tryin' a new way to get an artifact, by followin' a likely group from a tavern. Indeed, he had tried for many months to enter a cavern, temple, or other such likely place with the hopes of finding an 'item of power' at the end, but he had left each one with only discouragement. So, the new tactic had been following a cookie-cutter party at a local drinking establishment, and he would have been hard-pressed to find a more fitting group than Rumiel's.
They were pretty annoying, but that bard guy had his moments, and Muriel, or whoever, sure had style. I mean, black clothes, mage, constant scowl... That's gotta put him pretty high on the villainy scale. As 'World-Conquering Villain' was Jannin's lofty career goal, he thought he knew a thing or two on the topic. It was also the reason he felt he should hunt for those 'items of power.' And now he's got the Stone of Scribes, too. Talk about brownie points. Jannin grinned. But now I know this trick works, so all I gotta do is sneak ahead of the next group, and-- Ooh! Dinner!
The motherly woman had returned, handing him a bowl of some yellow substance and a spoon. "Thank you," he shouted at her, tucking in to the lukewarm, tasty substance. Jannin was so focused on sating his hunger that he missed another of her eyebrow raises and head leans, this time joined by her smile fading. "Oh!" she said, face returning to normal. He looked up, swallowing what was still in his mouth. "I don't know why they didn't tell me you were a mute. Would've saved a lot of trouble," she added, nodding to herself. The boy glared.
"Look, lady, just 'cause you couldn't hear a dragon crush half the inn doesn't mean--" He found himself cut off by a faint wheezing sound, with origins in the old man just visible in the hallway.
"Why, I think tomorrow's meals will use pork and turnips," she told him, at which he nodded contentedly and retreated back to his room. Jannin blinked. If anything in town had better ears, it was sleeping in the stables out back. As the little boy's mind began gathering the evidence, she yawned. "I'm sorry... Lands, it's just so late... It'll be another busy day tomorrow. But if you like, we can talk in the morni-- I'm very sorry." So, with a deeply apologetic look and a mumbled 'Good night,' she left him to his own devices.
After a few moments, Jannin called, "Good night," back after her as loudly as he could. Or, as he had been, tried to call. Now that he was listening for what there actually was to hear instead of what he expected, he knew that air left his mouth but carried no sound with it. "But... But... But how?" the kid sputtered, getting neither sound nor answer. His heart accelerated as he tried to get a grip on it. Alright. Just gotta calm down. So, I can't talk. That's not such a big deal. ... Okay, maybe it is. But it can't be permanent, right? ... Well, it shouldn't be permanent. It was a start, and he felt better. Got it! he thought, clapping his hands and much cheered that this still made a sound. The Stone of Scribes! Something must've happened when I touched it. Dunno why it did this to me, since Muriel seemed chatty. But all I've gotta do is find a good library, then I'm sure I can work out the answer.
Jannin hopped out of bed, surprisingly chipper after such news, but a touch wobbly. He approached the mirror and frowned slightly at what he saw. The boy hadn't been able to maintain his 'Freshen Up' casting offensive while unconscious, so he'd gotten quite sweaty floating back to town. Easy fix, he decided. He closed his eyes and chanted the right words. Then the largest blow of muteness began to dawn. There was no sensation of spring-time freshness. Nor was there the feeling of all his bodily filth floating off and making a little ball at his feet. He opened his eyes and took a deep breath. Had they been fully aware, the inn's customers would have been thankful the following scream was silent. And so ran the prelude to a looooooong three weeks of research.
Rumiel hated his situation. This surprised no one who knew him; if everything Rumiel hated were to wink out of being, Althanas would have very little... Actually, the planet itself would have probably made the list, leaving Rumiel, a few of his possessions, and a surprised, fluffy kitty to drift aimlessly or asphyxiate in space. However, the man's feelings were actually within reason at that time, and his hatred burned all the hotter for it. He was trekking through a cavern and trying not to think about the humidity. Rumiel didn't think it natural for such a cavern, and supposed a mage had once tried to regulate the environment's temperature. With a charm that's failed the test of time, he thought, hoping the mage in question suffered for it. Spending a week down here would do, he decided, pausing in the middle of wiping his brow to slap at another of the cavern's eight million insects. They were relatives of the mosquito and not about to let a meal pass by, what with the scarcity of food down there. Well, it was about to get even scarcer. The glow of torchlight bobbed ever so slightly, a testament to the man holding its source, as the titan slew another of the large reptiles with his other hand. Yes, as if being hot, sticky, and covered in welts wasn't bad enough, Rumiel had to deal with people, too.
Rumiel was actually just one corner of perhaps the most generic adventuring square for miles. His cohorts were the strong, silent, stupid man who could, and had, ripped a tavern in two by accident, the lovely, but pure as snow, cleric who seemed to compulsively apologize whenever she did anything, and finally, the light-hearted, sticky-fingered youth whose constant attempts to raise morale were even beginning to irritate the cleric. The mage would have left long ago, if the others hadn't been so hellbent on holding him to his contract. Rumiel had only signed thinking it little more binding than an autograph, until he found that the three were too much for him to handle. While the dark-robed man hated them all, he usually gave most of his attention to the rogue, thief, or whatever the hell he called himself. Usually. On that particular outing, their guest had earned his special loathing.
Rumiel had never liked children, and, to be fair, the purple-haired boy was making a compelling argument for this view. On the way in, the lad seemed to forget every ten minutes that the answer to, "How much further?" was going to be, "I don't know, shut up." More annoying was the delusion that his skills were an asset. The child's fireball was better than expected for one his age, but it barely singed the lizard creatures. And then, after Rumiel turned the monster from rare to extra crispy, the brat bragged about all the difference he'd made. Even worse, he'd catch his three partners smiling after such episodes. Rumiel had glowered when the brigand punster agreed the child had 'warmed the monster up' for him.
Fortunately for the older mage, he could endure it all; the cavern's treasure was safely nestled in his hands and, once his three companions finished the job they had for it, the object would become his property alone. He insisted on periodic peeks at the smooth, elliptical stone, marveling at how it was no larger than a small tomato, and tracing his fingers across its many glittering runes. His face had come as close to cracking a smile as it had in ages. Granted, the boy was ruining things with his constant requests to hold it, but Rumiel knew he was almost through dealing with him.
Finally, passing two crumbled pillars and stepping over various pieces of statue, the quintet blinked their way back into the sunlight. While their eyes adjusted and the giant muscle put out the torch, the cleric pulled out a piece of parchment, and looked timidly at Rumiel. By the time the apology left her lips, he had already pushed the stone into her hands. "As long as it's mine when you're done, go right ahead," he explained. She nodded in gratitude, then, rock in hand, she began to study the note. After a short time, she seemed pleased with whatever it said and rolled it up again. The thief made a remark about how they were no longer in the dark about it, and then smiled winningly until the cleric recalled the cave and gave a pity laugh, and the warrior joined her to create the illusion he had gotten the 'joke.' Rumiel reminded himself that he had only two more missions to put up with, and so remained nonplussed. Until the boy said, "What? That's it? It doesn't glow, or sparkle, or anything?"
"... The Stone of Scribes lets one understand all that's ever been written," the older mage explained slowly, "It doesn't need to-- Don't touch it!" This last bit came as the child was reaching for the artifact in the cleric's hands.
"Relax," the lad explained, pausing in his reach and turning to smile. "I just wanna know what a few things mean, is all."
"Try a dictionary, because the Stone's off limits." However, the looks his three partners shot forced him to reconsider; they were giving him the object, and they could take it away. Rumiel sighed. "Fine. One word." The child nodded and grinned. It wouldn't be that bad, he told himself. It wasn't as though he had any ancient tomes on him to decipher, and a few more minutes would hardly matter. But he was still suspicious, and locked his eye on the boy, lest he disappear with the Stone. So great was this attention that it was only thanks to the brilliant flash that he caught the Stone disappearing without the boy.
Rumiel squinted in the wake of the light, making out the others stumbling around a bit, along with a few runed shards scattered about. From what few were in the area, there was clearly a lot of Stone missing. Not that this occurred to him at the time; he was far too busy shaking the boy. "What the hell did you do, you little bastard?" The lad gave no response, continuing to stare ahead and clearly miles away. The warrior actually had some trouble pulling back the older mage, so the cleric could examine the child. Rumiel didn't think he could be any angrier, until the rogue suggested he 'not go to pieces.' The strong man then learned his magic-using colleague could drag him along, once properly motivated. Said colleague neared the stricken child as the cleric finished her prayer and looked up. Her face said it all, which was good, because he wouldn't allow her to even get out the customary apology. "Needs rest, hmm?" A few syllables later and a very large blue flame appeared in his hand. "I'll give him plenty of that!" The brigand's advising him to 'chill out' had the precise opposite effect. The knife that Rumiel then found pressed against his throat, however, did the trick that words could not.
The flames flickered and the behemoth released his grip, before scooping up the boy as gently as one would a kitten. The unstained knife slipped back to its sheath as the thief stood by his fellows. They watched Rumiel as he passed the next few moments with ragged breathing, working out the next step in his head. Bastards! He fucks the damn thing up, and I can't kill him? After all that hell down there? He scratched at one of the larger clusters of bug bites, before his eyes caught something on the hated child; there was not a welt on him. Further, while sweat had matted hair to the other four heads, the boy's seemed as unanchored as could be. Probably that damn incantation he kept using. Bet he'd piss himself if he couldn't-- Then an idea came to the dark robed man, and he took enough deep breaths to lower his blood pressure to merely dangerous levels.
"My friends," he began, which instantly put the others on guard, "I overreacted. Rare as it might have been, the Stone was only an object, and not worth killing the boy over. Please, set him down, and let me handle that burden for you." Though suspicious as hell, the three eventually nodded and the warrior set him down, deciding Rumiel wouldn't dare hurt him while they watched. So, the conscious magician chanted. And for a good while, too. Much longer, the three thought, than would be needed to levitate the child. But their understanding of arcane magic was limited, and the lad seemed fine as he rose and floated a foot above the ground. The group then made a beeline for the town they'd left that morning, the boy bobbing along behind them. After paying for the youth's room and dinner with the innkeeper's own money, courtesy of the thief, the four left that land for whatever had been written on the parchment. Rumiel remained pleased with his choice, until the evening's reflection brought other ideas to mind. Regardless, he liked the spell he'd snuck in before the levitation, and he wished he could see the boy's face as he nodded off.
---- --- ----- --- ----- --- ----
At around that time, the boy's face was beginning to scrunch up, as his mouth opened to let out a groan. My head... Both hands clutched his head, and found a wet washcloth on his brow. What the--? he wondered, tossing it lightly aside so he could massage his temples. After several moments of this, he forced himself up, squinting around the area. While nothing special, it was among the nicer rooms one could expect in a town so far from anywhere, with a wooden chair, and even a lamp on a desk in the corner, next to the windowed curtains. Best of all, there was a mirror in another corner and the bed was the bounciest he'd had in some time. Still, there was a smell hanging around he just couldn't place, with his headache in the background. But that didn't keep the lad from spotting the large woman with the motherly air that had just entered the room. "Ah, glad to see you're awake," she greeted him, smiling. "You've just lay there for hours, shaking something frightful sometimes. You feeling any better?"
"Urgh... I guess so. My head feels like a hippogryph kicked it, though..." He groaned anew when he saw her raise her eyebrows and lean her head to the side. Honestly... Even in the sticks, ya'd think they could learn the local wildlife. "Nevermind," he told her. As the throbbing in his head began to fade, the kid decided the smell was from whatever dinner had been. "Ah," she said, "That's quite a rumble, you've got there. Your friends paid, so let me get you some stew. I hope it's still warm."
"Alright," he told her as she turned to the door. He'd learned long ago that stew was usually the best to hope for in such places. Still, his formerly refined palate compelled him to try for the best he could. "It doesn't have radishes, right? Everything else's fine, but I... can't..." he trailed off when he noticed she hadn't slown down at all. Hmm... Seemed nice enough, so I guess she's goin' deaf. I'll just shout when she gets back. It did not occur to him that it was very late at night, so the inn's other customers might not appreciate such courtesy.
Alrighty, Jannin: 'til she gets back, let's sort out what happened. I was goin' for the Stone, then... I guess the sun got in my eyes, the jerk, and then I was here with a headache. He frowned. It would have been a small comfort that he had no memory loss. Hmm... The young mage tried going further back. I was tryin' a new way to get an artifact, by followin' a likely group from a tavern. Indeed, he had tried for many months to enter a cavern, temple, or other such likely place with the hopes of finding an 'item of power' at the end, but he had left each one with only discouragement. So, the new tactic had been following a cookie-cutter party at a local drinking establishment, and he would have been hard-pressed to find a more fitting group than Rumiel's.
They were pretty annoying, but that bard guy had his moments, and Muriel, or whoever, sure had style. I mean, black clothes, mage, constant scowl... That's gotta put him pretty high on the villainy scale. As 'World-Conquering Villain' was Jannin's lofty career goal, he thought he knew a thing or two on the topic. It was also the reason he felt he should hunt for those 'items of power.' And now he's got the Stone of Scribes, too. Talk about brownie points. Jannin grinned. But now I know this trick works, so all I gotta do is sneak ahead of the next group, and-- Ooh! Dinner!
The motherly woman had returned, handing him a bowl of some yellow substance and a spoon. "Thank you," he shouted at her, tucking in to the lukewarm, tasty substance. Jannin was so focused on sating his hunger that he missed another of her eyebrow raises and head leans, this time joined by her smile fading. "Oh!" she said, face returning to normal. He looked up, swallowing what was still in his mouth. "I don't know why they didn't tell me you were a mute. Would've saved a lot of trouble," she added, nodding to herself. The boy glared.
"Look, lady, just 'cause you couldn't hear a dragon crush half the inn doesn't mean--" He found himself cut off by a faint wheezing sound, with origins in the old man just visible in the hallway.
"Why, I think tomorrow's meals will use pork and turnips," she told him, at which he nodded contentedly and retreated back to his room. Jannin blinked. If anything in town had better ears, it was sleeping in the stables out back. As the little boy's mind began gathering the evidence, she yawned. "I'm sorry... Lands, it's just so late... It'll be another busy day tomorrow. But if you like, we can talk in the morni-- I'm very sorry." So, with a deeply apologetic look and a mumbled 'Good night,' she left him to his own devices.
After a few moments, Jannin called, "Good night," back after her as loudly as he could. Or, as he had been, tried to call. Now that he was listening for what there actually was to hear instead of what he expected, he knew that air left his mouth but carried no sound with it. "But... But... But how?" the kid sputtered, getting neither sound nor answer. His heart accelerated as he tried to get a grip on it. Alright. Just gotta calm down. So, I can't talk. That's not such a big deal. ... Okay, maybe it is. But it can't be permanent, right? ... Well, it shouldn't be permanent. It was a start, and he felt better. Got it! he thought, clapping his hands and much cheered that this still made a sound. The Stone of Scribes! Something must've happened when I touched it. Dunno why it did this to me, since Muriel seemed chatty. But all I've gotta do is find a good library, then I'm sure I can work out the answer.
Jannin hopped out of bed, surprisingly chipper after such news, but a touch wobbly. He approached the mirror and frowned slightly at what he saw. The boy hadn't been able to maintain his 'Freshen Up' casting offensive while unconscious, so he'd gotten quite sweaty floating back to town. Easy fix, he decided. He closed his eyes and chanted the right words. Then the largest blow of muteness began to dawn. There was no sensation of spring-time freshness. Nor was there the feeling of all his bodily filth floating off and making a little ball at his feet. He opened his eyes and took a deep breath. Had they been fully aware, the inn's customers would have been thankful the following scream was silent. And so ran the prelude to a looooooong three weeks of research.