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 Posted: Sun Aug 30, 2009 9:57 pm
First thing first: Technically, this is a onexone game. However, the game is being played outside the guild and in chat, not post, format. Due to my enjoyment of post format and my love of this game, I'm keeping this as a place to make posts updating the game, both for myself and for anyone who's curious and would like a read. The game takes place in my Verenkor setting, in Tyrisia, somewhere between 200 AR and 300 AR, far before Wizards really become a dominant force in the world. Therefor, the setting is very medieval, almost tribal. The game follows a self-taught village wizard, The Necromancer Elrendil, and His Apprentice Elle. “It’s a fairy tale , only with rape and dead people .”
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Posted: Sun Aug 30, 2009 11:53 pm
  If Elle understood one thing better than any other girl in Mud, it was how to make something out of metal. Of course, this wasn’t saying much as she was the only blacksmith’s daughter in town and although she understood the procedure and theory behind it, this did her little good as she’d never swung a hammer and would never be allowed to touch her father’s equipment. Still, the knowledge gave her a point of pride. Look, she would think, Bonny doesn’t know what an anvil is for, does she? All she knows is how to bat her eyelashes fast enough to start a wind storm! She would sometimes, without her knowing, have a bit of a haughty, proud smile on her face and this of course always prompted whispers among the other girls of Mud.
It was precisely this grin that her mother was now lecturing her about. Elle sighed, shifting her hips slightly as the older, weathered woman gave her a tongue-lashing lesson in humility. She would be mentioning this to Father Eric, she added! Elle nodded dully. “Yes, mother.”
Just then, the little, barely standing home’s door opened and the man of the house stepped in, dark circles under his eyes, soot on his fingers. He’d been back from the smithy. Immediately both of the women brightened up, and were joined by two small children dashing through the kitchen doorway to greet their father. He grimaced at their embrace of his leg and gave his wife a look. What it meant, Elle couldn’t be sure.
“No luck, then?” her mother said. Her voice was harsh, weathered, sore from shouting at children all day. Elle’s father nodded his head, and her mother sighed. “Off to bed with all’f ye. That means ye, too, Elle,” the woman added, eyeing her youngest daughter. Elle sighed, brushing back her wild, pale-red hair. Just like her mothers, only not split and held back with multiple ties. “Out, all’ye.”
Elle gave another half-listening nod and plodded out of the tiny kitchen, closing the door almost all of the way behind her. She continued down the hallway a few steps, opened and closed her creaking door, but remained standing outside her room. A sly, devilish little grin lit her lips. Oh, how she enjoyed eavesdropping.
Slipping her worn boots off her feet, Elle slowly and carefully made her way back to the end of the hall, where the door to the kitchen lay slightly open. She leaned forward, listening carefully.
“John, you can’t—!”
“You know I have to. Do you want the kids to starve? Is that what you want me to do?”
“But he’s…so…so…”
“I know.”
“You can’t!”
“I have to. I…already have.”
“What?!”
“He’s outside…”
Elle tilted her head, trying to understand who they were talking about as her mother gasped. She frowned, hearing the front door creak open and the sound of the rain outside grow suddenly louder. Who was this? She leaned forward, peeking through the cracks, only to almost fall on her backside when she saw who it was.
Him!
This was the second time she’d seen him, one more time than most in Mud ever saw him. The first had been when she was just a child. She’d been wandering in the woods, market goods in her arms, and had happened upon the edge of the clearing around his manor, and he had spotted her. He had bent down—so tall, was he!—kissed her hand, and led her to the edge of town, silent the entire time. She had told her parents about the encounter, and they had shuddered and taken her to Father Eric every day for three days in a row. They all knew who he was. He was unholy, they all knew it, but they needed him for so many things. They didn’t have a name for what he did, really, they didn’t even know what he called himself. ‘Him’ worked plenty when he wasn’t around—though the townspeople made a point not to talk about him unless they had to—and ‘sir’ worked when he was. The latter was exactly what her parents were stammering as they looked up at him.
He was just as tall as she remembered, and hadn’t seemed to have aged a day. Swathed in black cloth and hooded, she couldn’t see this face this time—she had been told he never did show it, which sometimes gave her something else to feel proud of, apparently being the only one who had ever seen his face. He looked slowly around the tiny kitchen, his lips giving no twitch or sign of emotion. He returned his gaze to the father, regarding him for a moment.
Finally, he spoke, and Elle’s breath caught at how…normal his voice was. “It was a curse,” he began. Elle’s mother gasped, and turned to press her face into her husband’s chest. Elle’s brow furrowed. What was a curse? She hadn’t heard about any curse.
“I removed it,” he continued. Her parents left out a sigh of relief, and Elle found herself relieved as well, although she didn’t have any idea what had been wrong in the first place. “You will find your equipment restored to its original condition, and improved some. The ore is usable again, and I have placed wards against future curses.”
The door creaked open slightly, though to her relief no one but Elle seemed to have noticed. “However,” he continued, and Elle detected the tiniest smile on his lips. Her eyes widened in surprise at this. How odd! “I require payment.”
Her father nodded eagerly, as her mother frowned, likely wondering the same thing as Elle—good lords, how would they pay for such a deed? “Anything, you have my word.”
“Good,” the man said, his almost imperceptible smile lifting just as imperceptibly. He turned, and pointed towards the door Elle was peeking through. “Give me her.”
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Posted: Sun Sep 20, 2009 12:49 am
  Elrendil was grinning like an idiot under his hood. Or, at least, that was how he perceived the tiny bent of his lips: he didn’t smile often. His plan had worked, of course, how couldn’t it? The villagers were all—or almost all, he corrected himself, eyes on Elle—idiots. Mud had it’s fair share of problems, certainly, but they were all perfectly mundane ones. Half of the “curses” they came to him complaining about were the world working in it’s normal way. The other half, of course, was him. It did help when he wanted to continue being a respected and needed person in the town.
Still, it amused him nevertheless to see how easy it had been to fool the blacksmith. Did they really think anyone capable of doing even such simple magic cared for their petty copper coins? It was almost painful hanging around the village, but he’d yet to find another place to live.
Until then, Mud was home. At least now he would have someone to talk to. If there were no others who could understand his trade, he would create one.
The necromancer sighed inwardly, bored, as the blacksmith and his wife began arguing with each other. He was only vaguely interested when the father agreed and the girl came peeling out from the hallway, tears streaming and began pleading with him. He raised his eyebrows, the smile lifting a little more. Drama. Very cute.
Finally her parents had pushed her away and towards him, their own eyes teary. A cowardly act on their part, but understandable. They had so many more children, who were to be considered, as well as their own lives. They probably expected he would eat them or something if they didn’t keep their word. He frowned slightly at the girl’s continued shock and anger and dismay. Could she not see this herself? His lip curled a little, considering handing her back for a moment. He’d picked her because he’d thought her intelligent, but perhaps he’d been wrong.
Watery eyes looked up at him, terrified, and he sighed. She was probably thinking the same thing as her parents, that she was going to be eaten or sacrificed or reanimated or something. He supposed he couldn’t blame her. After all, it was his fault for causing those sorts of beliefs in the towns. And as much as she might not be a complete idiot, it did her little good against his own intelligence.
Without so much as a chance to say goodbye, the necromancer gripped her shoulders hard, wheeled her around and led her out of the house forever.
∮
The necromancer was growing more and more disillusioned with his catch by the minute. He’d done his research, taken his time, and had been planning this long enough. What he had apparently forgotten to ask was whether or not she was a whiny little b***h.
He sighed, rubbing his temples as the teary-eyed girl proceeded to inform him once again that her feet were hurting. Teeth grit, he glanced back at her and gave her a withering stare, which shut her up easily enough. Though if the last three times were any reference, she’d be complaining again within a few minutes. Thank the gods they’d almost arrived—he could see the pointed roof of his manor as they crested this last hill. Annoyed that she was dragging herself so slowly up it, he sighed again and gripped her shoulder, pulling her up to the top. She blinked, looking at the manor and stopping. Ah, so she remembered it then. He found his sour mood lightening just a little.
Elrendil gave her a light shove in the direction of the house. He didn’t have all day. Well, he did—but that didn’t mean he wanted to take all day. Once he’d practically marched her into the house, he led her into the kitchen. The girl let out a terrified cry and started to back out of the room. He sighed and half-heartedly gripped her by the shirt, keeping her still.
“I’m not going to eat you.”
She relaxed slightly, enough that he felt he could let go of her. Slowly she looked around, wondering what he’d brought her here for. He was only too happy to oblige. “Welcome to the kitchen. You’ll be cooking my meals from now on.”
Her mouth popped open, eyes widened. Elrendil’s lips quivered, trying not to laugh at her expression. He pulled the hood down lower, turning to hide the suppressed laughter.
“Follow.”
The sound of her footsteps told him that she did. He led her out of the kitchen and to a door at the base of the stairs. Opening the door, he motioned her inside, and she was happy—or terrified, rather—to oblige. It was a small room, not cramped exactly, and almost empty. But he had put some effort into it: there was a dresser, and he’d picked a room with a window, and had even managed to procure a real bed, not a straw-filled cot like most of the villagers were used to. It didn’t help that he wasn’t really sure what most people were used to—he had always just slept wherever he wanted to. Still, she didn’t have to look that upset.
She stared helplessly at the little room, finally speaking. “Cleaning…supplies?”
He nodded, motioning at them dismissively. “Yes, you’re to clean the manor every day. Oh, and firewood. I need firewood.” Hells, why did she look so upset?
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