Recidivism.
After being in prison you'd think a body would learn ways to avoid being sent back... or, if you don't have a talent for avoiding capture, at least stop doing doing the thing that gets you there! Certainly there are exceptions to this rule of thumb, almost as many exceptions are as there reasons to stick to it, but it's amazing how the majority of people wind up in Gaol for things that just weren't worth the risk.
Take this idiot of a guardsman who keeps getting thrown in the clink: apparently he has a woman who gets him into trouble. This is not a new phenomenon; women have been getting men into trouble since the day the gods of goodness and light created men and the gods of darkness and despair created women in response. And men have been happy victims, I'll be the first to say it. A woman who is willing to get you into trouble in all the right ways is the sweetest poison the world has ever known.
Still, when a man gets thrown into jail repeatedly over a woman, for exactly the same reason each time, it's a sign that your relationship is getting stale. This guard, see, the woman apparently goads him into fights, and the fights get him arrested. same old thing, night after night, getting into fights. Where's the mystery? Where's the surprise?
And it happens every night. Just before his shift, he and his woman go out, he gets his face smashed in (his face is, I have to say, a bit flatter than I consider "normal") and he's in the city Gaol faster than you can say "but Constable, my woman is the sweetest poison the world has ever known."
What's more, it happens so often that he has actually set up a fund, taken out of his own wages, in order to get him out. Any time a stranger walks up to the soldier's father the first words out of his mouth are "What in the hells has he done now???" -- even though he knows what the berk did.
I don't know what amuses me more: that the lad is incapable of avoiding jail, or that despite this flaw he has the presence of mind to plan for it.
All the guards who are "lucky" enough to get the shift before him know the drill: get some passerby to go over to the Gaol, confirm that the sod really is there, then go over to the father, get the money, pay off the Gaoler, and hopefully avoid having to stand through another shift.
One thing I take away from this, is that you don't need a spotless record to be part of the city guard. It's something I should keep in mind, in the event I'm ever partially lobotomized by a rampaging wolf and I suddenly think wearing armor, swinging a sword, and taking bribes is a good idea.
Come to think of it, the last part sounds all right.
The Journal of Ebrim Darkmoon
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Ebrim Darkmoon
- Dasarian
- Posts: 115
- Joined: Sat Dec 02, 2006 10:56 pm
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obsoletenihilist
- Dasarian Scout
- Posts: 476
- Joined: Thu Nov 23, 2006 11:13 pm
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Ebrim Darkmoon
- Dasarian
- Posts: 115
- Joined: Sat Dec 02, 2006 10:56 pm
Blackmail is such a beautiful word.
Well, it is when it's attached to a pretty face. It's even more impressive when the pretty face is attached to the clergy, and pretty face knows exactly what she's doing.
I mentioned that on my quest to find the city Gaol I passed out at the barracks gates, and would have been arrested for public drunkeness had I not been pulled into the temple across the road. As it happens, it's a little more complicated than that.
Apparently one of the clergy convinced the guards that I was atoning for my sins by assisting them with religious matters. And when I came to, I was told that in exchange for not being sent off to the bucket I was to go outside and collect some kind of plant in order to stave off some horrible sickness that is plaguing a bunch of people who aren't in any way associated with making rum, and are therefore not the least bit my concern. I, of course, nodded piously as I was being told that. Then I told her I'd be right back with the green whatsits, stepped out the door, and promised myself never to set foot in the place again.
I thought that was the end of it. A day or two later, the pretty slip of a thing wandered by the inn and just "happened" to come across me there (note to self: switch drinking establishments frequently to make it harder for people to find you). She asked how the hunt for the green whatsits were coming, and I assured her that while it was taking longer than I'd like it would be done "soon." She nodded and left.
A few days later she came back to the bar with two guards. They weren't for me -- so she said -- she was running another errand and she needed the guards for that. She asked me when I'd finish collecting the whatsits, and I said... I think maybe I said Tuesday. Then she said that I should make sure I'm not drunk when I leave the tavern, as she'd learned the guards were being a bit more strict about such things... but that fortunately, as a bona-fide friend and helper to the temple there was a chance they might to a bit easier on me, at least for a time. Then she smiled, wished me a nice day, and left.
I think I'm in love.
Well, no. Not love.
Well, it is when it's attached to a pretty face. It's even more impressive when the pretty face is attached to the clergy, and pretty face knows exactly what she's doing.
I mentioned that on my quest to find the city Gaol I passed out at the barracks gates, and would have been arrested for public drunkeness had I not been pulled into the temple across the road. As it happens, it's a little more complicated than that.
Apparently one of the clergy convinced the guards that I was atoning for my sins by assisting them with religious matters. And when I came to, I was told that in exchange for not being sent off to the bucket I was to go outside and collect some kind of plant in order to stave off some horrible sickness that is plaguing a bunch of people who aren't in any way associated with making rum, and are therefore not the least bit my concern. I, of course, nodded piously as I was being told that. Then I told her I'd be right back with the green whatsits, stepped out the door, and promised myself never to set foot in the place again.
I thought that was the end of it. A day or two later, the pretty slip of a thing wandered by the inn and just "happened" to come across me there (note to self: switch drinking establishments frequently to make it harder for people to find you). She asked how the hunt for the green whatsits were coming, and I assured her that while it was taking longer than I'd like it would be done "soon." She nodded and left.
A few days later she came back to the bar with two guards. They weren't for me -- so she said -- she was running another errand and she needed the guards for that. She asked me when I'd finish collecting the whatsits, and I said... I think maybe I said Tuesday. Then she said that I should make sure I'm not drunk when I leave the tavern, as she'd learned the guards were being a bit more strict about such things... but that fortunately, as a bona-fide friend and helper to the temple there was a chance they might to a bit easier on me, at least for a time. Then she smiled, wished me a nice day, and left.
I think I'm in love.
Well, no. Not love.
Ebrim Darkmoon, Rogue Warlock For Hire
"No, I'm not a rogue. No, that's not what I said, I said I'm a 'rogue warlock,' which is -- oh, nevermind. Just get me drink."
"No, I'm not a rogue. No, that's not what I said, I said I'm a 'rogue warlock,' which is -- oh, nevermind. Just get me drink."
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Ebrim Darkmoon
- Dasarian
- Posts: 115
- Joined: Sat Dec 02, 2006 10:56 pm
All I said was that Mordian's Theorem on the Interpolation of Etheric Bonds was flawed because it didn't take into account the very real tension between External and Internal Arcane Resonance. Then I tried to cop a feel.
That's when she fireballed me.
Wizards have no sense of humor.
That's when she fireballed me.
Wizards have no sense of humor.
Ebrim Darkmoon, Rogue Warlock For Hire
"No, I'm not a rogue. No, that's not what I said, I said I'm a 'rogue warlock,' which is -- oh, nevermind. Just get me drink."
"No, I'm not a rogue. No, that's not what I said, I said I'm a 'rogue warlock,' which is -- oh, nevermind. Just get me drink."
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Ebrim Darkmoon
- Dasarian
- Posts: 115
- Joined: Sat Dec 02, 2006 10:56 pm
Religion is a funny old thing.
I fancy myself a practical man when it comes to matters of divinity -- that is to say, any fool can see the gods exist, and any fool can see the gods must be given their due. I mean, in metaphysical terms, Gods are very big; we poor mortals, in comparison, are very small. When something that is very big makes certain demands from something that is very small, the small things, if they have any sense at all, don't go around saying "I defy you!"
So in my mind any god deserves his or her due. Whether they are inclined to reward you for it or put you before the lash regardless, it makes no matter. I'm no blasphemer, and I'm no ruddy heretic; the gods are what they are and I give them all their due. If I might show a predilection toward Teshalia, it's only because we share the same hobbies.
That said, other than the priests with their miracles, I've yet to see any of the gods actually reward their faithful for much, so I've come to the conclusion that the gods expect us to be making our own way in the world. And that makes sense, too: why should they be spending their time rewarding us for giving them their due? Lochwar is what he is, and he doesn't go patting people on the head for recognizing that and pointing it out.
So my rule of thumb is that you don't go around mocking the clergy, you pay the gods what you owe, and you stay away from false idols. Everything else requires negotiation.
All that leads up to an encounter I had the other day with a bloke who... how shall I put this... is flat-out barmy, and quite possibly the most terrifying person I've ever met.
I'd made my way out of the inn -- more sober than usual, and therefore quite a bit more clear-headed -- when I noticed a little group of folks standing in a clearing closer to the gates to the city proper. I wandered down there, wondering what was up, and it seemed like a theology lesson: one bloke -- the crazy one, I'll get to him in a minute -- was lecturing the others about heresy, and about the existence or non-existence of some kind of Rat god and where or not there was really a rat cult in the city.
At first I thought they meant a bunch of rats had got together to start a religion, which is why I stopped to listen -- I didn't know rats could get that smart, and the idea of rats coming together for their spiritual enrichment was a powerfully interesting one. It seems, alas, that they were referring to a cult of people who worshipped rats. That I didn't really understand. I've no objection to vermin in theory, but I never met one that impressed me enough to want to recite a catechism.
At that point I could have wandered off -- I should have, to be honest -- but then a halfling said something to the effect of "I know I should follow Lochwar, but it's hard!" which amused me a bit. It's really fairly simple, in my view: you either do what he tells you to do or he turns you to stone, or squashes you flat, or sends the inquisition out after you, or buries you in writs of amercement, depending on the severity of your lapse.
So that drew me in, and the next thing I knew I was in a conversation with "Citizen Minuvas."
Minuvas is one of those rare souls who is completely at peace with the gods. Well, just the one -- Lochwar -- the others are apparently not terribly important in his sphere. He calls himself a missionary of Lochwar in this "heathen city," made very clear that he was not a priest, and therefore could not take confessions or start inquisitions. The genuine regret in his voice when he said the last bit made me shiver to the depths of my slightly soiled and rather musky soul, and so I reverted to what I feel is the safest course of action when talking to zealots:
1. Smile.
2. Nod a lot.
3. Play dumb.
4. Agree with almost everything they say.
Smiling and nodding is good because it indicates that you're interested in what they have to say. Playing dumb is essential for two reasons: first, zealots tend to like to talk about what they think, and second, it minimizes the chance of you saying something that immediately convinces them you're a heathen or blasphemer. An ignorant man, you see, is a lot easier to salvage than a smart man who has cast his lot in with heretics.
The fourth point, now, that's the hardest: you have to agree with almost everything they say. Zealots are not as a rule stupid people: it takes a fair amount of discipline and learning to reach truly scary levels of rabid devotion, and that takes a clear mind. Consequently, if you agree with absolutely everything they say they will more likely than not believe you're pulling their leg, and that can turn ugly fast.
So I smiled and nodded as he talked about the evils of the old nation of Dasaria, smiled and nodded as he talked about the false gods, veered slightly when he claimed the false gods didn't exist (since I could never figure how Coloth would have been in so much trouble with Lochwar for siding with Ch'taia if she didn't exist), was genuinely confused when he started talking about gods being born and having mothers and fathers, thanked him when he gave me a religious tract, and when the time was right I excused myself and ran for the nearest tavern as fast as my legs could carry me.
Thankfully he didn't seem too upset when I admitted I tended to favor Teshalia (though I did stress it was due to the drinking and dancing, and not the thieving) over the others. He looked disappointed, perhaps a little annoyed. That's a far sight better than looking like he wanted to put me on the rack and extend the length of my reach until I saw things more clearly. We parted on as good terms as I think I had any right to hope for. I think it inevitable that we meet again, some day. I think it likely that he just might someday find himself in the position to declare inquisitions.
Not a happy thought, that. But it's best to keep in mind, and I'll have to do what I can to keep on his good side.
Well, his happy side.
... his peaceful side.
...
The side not holding the sword.
I fancy myself a practical man when it comes to matters of divinity -- that is to say, any fool can see the gods exist, and any fool can see the gods must be given their due. I mean, in metaphysical terms, Gods are very big; we poor mortals, in comparison, are very small. When something that is very big makes certain demands from something that is very small, the small things, if they have any sense at all, don't go around saying "I defy you!"
So in my mind any god deserves his or her due. Whether they are inclined to reward you for it or put you before the lash regardless, it makes no matter. I'm no blasphemer, and I'm no ruddy heretic; the gods are what they are and I give them all their due. If I might show a predilection toward Teshalia, it's only because we share the same hobbies.
That said, other than the priests with their miracles, I've yet to see any of the gods actually reward their faithful for much, so I've come to the conclusion that the gods expect us to be making our own way in the world. And that makes sense, too: why should they be spending their time rewarding us for giving them their due? Lochwar is what he is, and he doesn't go patting people on the head for recognizing that and pointing it out.
So my rule of thumb is that you don't go around mocking the clergy, you pay the gods what you owe, and you stay away from false idols. Everything else requires negotiation.
All that leads up to an encounter I had the other day with a bloke who... how shall I put this... is flat-out barmy, and quite possibly the most terrifying person I've ever met.
I'd made my way out of the inn -- more sober than usual, and therefore quite a bit more clear-headed -- when I noticed a little group of folks standing in a clearing closer to the gates to the city proper. I wandered down there, wondering what was up, and it seemed like a theology lesson: one bloke -- the crazy one, I'll get to him in a minute -- was lecturing the others about heresy, and about the existence or non-existence of some kind of Rat god and where or not there was really a rat cult in the city.
At first I thought they meant a bunch of rats had got together to start a religion, which is why I stopped to listen -- I didn't know rats could get that smart, and the idea of rats coming together for their spiritual enrichment was a powerfully interesting one. It seems, alas, that they were referring to a cult of people who worshipped rats. That I didn't really understand. I've no objection to vermin in theory, but I never met one that impressed me enough to want to recite a catechism.
At that point I could have wandered off -- I should have, to be honest -- but then a halfling said something to the effect of "I know I should follow Lochwar, but it's hard!" which amused me a bit. It's really fairly simple, in my view: you either do what he tells you to do or he turns you to stone, or squashes you flat, or sends the inquisition out after you, or buries you in writs of amercement, depending on the severity of your lapse.
So that drew me in, and the next thing I knew I was in a conversation with "Citizen Minuvas."
Minuvas is one of those rare souls who is completely at peace with the gods. Well, just the one -- Lochwar -- the others are apparently not terribly important in his sphere. He calls himself a missionary of Lochwar in this "heathen city," made very clear that he was not a priest, and therefore could not take confessions or start inquisitions. The genuine regret in his voice when he said the last bit made me shiver to the depths of my slightly soiled and rather musky soul, and so I reverted to what I feel is the safest course of action when talking to zealots:
1. Smile.
2. Nod a lot.
3. Play dumb.
4. Agree with almost everything they say.
Smiling and nodding is good because it indicates that you're interested in what they have to say. Playing dumb is essential for two reasons: first, zealots tend to like to talk about what they think, and second, it minimizes the chance of you saying something that immediately convinces them you're a heathen or blasphemer. An ignorant man, you see, is a lot easier to salvage than a smart man who has cast his lot in with heretics.
The fourth point, now, that's the hardest: you have to agree with almost everything they say. Zealots are not as a rule stupid people: it takes a fair amount of discipline and learning to reach truly scary levels of rabid devotion, and that takes a clear mind. Consequently, if you agree with absolutely everything they say they will more likely than not believe you're pulling their leg, and that can turn ugly fast.
So I smiled and nodded as he talked about the evils of the old nation of Dasaria, smiled and nodded as he talked about the false gods, veered slightly when he claimed the false gods didn't exist (since I could never figure how Coloth would have been in so much trouble with Lochwar for siding with Ch'taia if she didn't exist), was genuinely confused when he started talking about gods being born and having mothers and fathers, thanked him when he gave me a religious tract, and when the time was right I excused myself and ran for the nearest tavern as fast as my legs could carry me.
Thankfully he didn't seem too upset when I admitted I tended to favor Teshalia (though I did stress it was due to the drinking and dancing, and not the thieving) over the others. He looked disappointed, perhaps a little annoyed. That's a far sight better than looking like he wanted to put me on the rack and extend the length of my reach until I saw things more clearly. We parted on as good terms as I think I had any right to hope for. I think it inevitable that we meet again, some day. I think it likely that he just might someday find himself in the position to declare inquisitions.
Not a happy thought, that. But it's best to keep in mind, and I'll have to do what I can to keep on his good side.
Well, his happy side.
... his peaceful side.
...
The side not holding the sword.
Ebrim Darkmoon, Rogue Warlock For Hire
"No, I'm not a rogue. No, that's not what I said, I said I'm a 'rogue warlock,' which is -- oh, nevermind. Just get me drink."
"No, I'm not a rogue. No, that's not what I said, I said I'm a 'rogue warlock,' which is -- oh, nevermind. Just get me drink."
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Ebrim Darkmoon
- Dasarian
- Posts: 115
- Joined: Sat Dec 02, 2006 10:56 pm
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Ebrim Darkmoon
- Dasarian
- Posts: 115
- Joined: Sat Dec 02, 2006 10:56 pm
I'm still a little fuzzy on this rat god thing: it's either a giant manlike rat, or a giant rat worshipped by men, or a bunch of rats that fuse together to make a giant rat that goes around fighting evil. Or good. Or something.
The only thing I'm sure of is that they've run into a bit of bad luck by attracting Minuvas' attention. He calls them heretics, which seems as good a description as any, and has taken to collecting their heads. Well, one that I know of. And technically it's not his, it was claimed by an orcish gentleman who has loaned it out to Minuvas on occasion for the purpose of spiritual edification. In other words, to say "if you would like your head to remain attached to your body, kindly don't worship the rat god. This has been a public service announcement."
Me, I have no problem with that point of view. As far as I know the rat god has no interest in dancing, drinking, love or thievery -- and even if it did, well, it's a rat.
But that's not what I want to talk about today.
What I want to talk about today are the genuinely stupid people. Actually, the rat god cultists might qualify there, but I mean stupid in a strictly non-denominational capacity.
It's one thing for a city guard to get in a fight every night, get thrown in the gaol, and have to bailed out by his father -- that's the result of a woman (the sweetest poison there is) and even if it makes me roll my eyes I can't say I wouldn't do the same thing if the right woman (read: the wrong woman, in the best way possible) came along.
But... this berk who keeps breaking his ruddy wagon wheel? No sympathy for him.
Picture this: there is a road -- a nice, even road, well-kept, well-patrolled, that leads straight into the city.
Now picture this: off to one side there are hills -- lots of bumpy, uneven, unpaved hills that were not designed to be taversed by a wagon of even the best quality.
This sod has a wagon full of goods... and what does he do with it? Does he take it up the nice, well-kept road, straight into the city, where he can sell his goods, make a tidy profit, find a woman of the worst sort and happily poision himself into oblivion?
No, my friends, he does not.
No, he trots right up the city gate, promptly turns his cart to the right, and manages to get it stuck by trying to take it into the hills. To do what, I ask you? Were the wolves looking for a new frock coat?
Any time he meets someone new he asks them to buy him a new wagon wheel. Almost everyone who does charges him double for it -- I call it a tax on stupidity, myself. I did it when my time came. And the wheels, well, they don't seem to help. He could build a ruddy wall around him with all of the broken wheel bits and name it Fort Stupid.
Though I wonder, sometimes... he keeps getting fined by the city for staying there, yet he doesn't leave. Writ after writ after writ, and he pays up. He makes a show out of being pissed, mind you, but he keeps paying, and if he's so bloody stuck in the hills I wonder how he has all that gold.
Perhaps there's an outside chance he's not as stupid as he seems? Is this "broken wheel" a front for some kind of business interest? Has he bribed a few city officials to use the writs of amercement as some kind of intricate money laundering operation?
If that were the case, I'd take back every ill thought I ever had about him. That would be bloody genius. If he hasn't done it himself, maybe I ought to have a talk with him and see if we can't come to some sort of understanding...
The only thing I'm sure of is that they've run into a bit of bad luck by attracting Minuvas' attention. He calls them heretics, which seems as good a description as any, and has taken to collecting their heads. Well, one that I know of. And technically it's not his, it was claimed by an orcish gentleman who has loaned it out to Minuvas on occasion for the purpose of spiritual edification. In other words, to say "if you would like your head to remain attached to your body, kindly don't worship the rat god. This has been a public service announcement."
Me, I have no problem with that point of view. As far as I know the rat god has no interest in dancing, drinking, love or thievery -- and even if it did, well, it's a rat.
But that's not what I want to talk about today.
What I want to talk about today are the genuinely stupid people. Actually, the rat god cultists might qualify there, but I mean stupid in a strictly non-denominational capacity.
It's one thing for a city guard to get in a fight every night, get thrown in the gaol, and have to bailed out by his father -- that's the result of a woman (the sweetest poison there is) and even if it makes me roll my eyes I can't say I wouldn't do the same thing if the right woman (read: the wrong woman, in the best way possible) came along.
But... this berk who keeps breaking his ruddy wagon wheel? No sympathy for him.
Picture this: there is a road -- a nice, even road, well-kept, well-patrolled, that leads straight into the city.
Now picture this: off to one side there are hills -- lots of bumpy, uneven, unpaved hills that were not designed to be taversed by a wagon of even the best quality.
This sod has a wagon full of goods... and what does he do with it? Does he take it up the nice, well-kept road, straight into the city, where he can sell his goods, make a tidy profit, find a woman of the worst sort and happily poision himself into oblivion?
No, my friends, he does not.
No, he trots right up the city gate, promptly turns his cart to the right, and manages to get it stuck by trying to take it into the hills. To do what, I ask you? Were the wolves looking for a new frock coat?
Any time he meets someone new he asks them to buy him a new wagon wheel. Almost everyone who does charges him double for it -- I call it a tax on stupidity, myself. I did it when my time came. And the wheels, well, they don't seem to help. He could build a ruddy wall around him with all of the broken wheel bits and name it Fort Stupid.
Though I wonder, sometimes... he keeps getting fined by the city for staying there, yet he doesn't leave. Writ after writ after writ, and he pays up. He makes a show out of being pissed, mind you, but he keeps paying, and if he's so bloody stuck in the hills I wonder how he has all that gold.
Perhaps there's an outside chance he's not as stupid as he seems? Is this "broken wheel" a front for some kind of business interest? Has he bribed a few city officials to use the writs of amercement as some kind of intricate money laundering operation?
If that were the case, I'd take back every ill thought I ever had about him. That would be bloody genius. If he hasn't done it himself, maybe I ought to have a talk with him and see if we can't come to some sort of understanding...
Last edited by Ebrim Darkmoon on Thu Dec 14, 2006 6:22 pm, edited 2 times in total.
Ebrim Darkmoon, Rogue Warlock For Hire
"No, I'm not a rogue. No, that's not what I said, I said I'm a 'rogue warlock,' which is -- oh, nevermind. Just get me drink."
"No, I'm not a rogue. No, that's not what I said, I said I'm a 'rogue warlock,' which is -- oh, nevermind. Just get me drink."
-
Ebrim Darkmoon
- Dasarian
- Posts: 115
- Joined: Sat Dec 02, 2006 10:56 pm
-
Ebrim Darkmoon
- Dasarian
- Posts: 115
- Joined: Sat Dec 02, 2006 10:56 pm
((In honor of reaching level 2... silliness.))
THE TIME HAS COME.
... oh, sod. Just let me sleep...
NO.
Go away!
NO.
... please?
NO.
...
I KNOW YOU'RE HERE. IGNORING ME WILL NOT MAKE ME GO AWAY.
That ruddy dwarf serves the weakest rum in the Empire.
YOU WERE SO DRUNK YOU COULD BARELY CLIMB THE STAIRS TO YOUR ROOM.
I'm not so drunk that I passed out in a dreamless stupor!
THAT'S BECAUSE I'M GROWING IMPATIENT!
How does that work, exactly? You're, what... thousands of years old...
MILLENNIA.
Whatever.
THERE IS A SIGNIFICANT DIFFERENCE BETWEEN "THOUSANDS" AND "MILLENNIA."
From my end of it it's the same shade of old.
SILENCE! I AM TIRED OF YOUR IMPUDENCE! I HAVE WAITED FOR TOO LONG TO SEE MY PROGENY UNLEASHED UPON THE WORLD TO HAVE AN UPSTART GRANDSON --
Great-grandson.
UNIMPORTANT!
Maybe you're getting senile in your old age.
SILENCE!
Sorry!
I'LL SHOW YOU SORRY. I'M NOT SO OLD THAT I CAN'T SWALLOW YOUR SOUL.
You're in my ruddy dream. You couldn't swallow a fly.
SILENCE!
...
GOOD. NOW, THE TIME HAS COME TO LEARN MORE OF YOUR HERITAGE.
I know my heritage.
YOU DO NOT KNOW YOUR HERITAGE.
I know my heritage! Great graddad was a red-eyed, forked-tongued devi --
I DO NOT HAVE A FORKED TONGUE.
I've seen the ruddy painting.
... YOUR GREAT GRANDMOTHER DIDN'T MIND.
Oh, Gods, these things I do not need to know...
SILENCE! THIS IS NOT THE HERITAGE I SPEAK OF. I DON'T MEAN GENEAOLOGY, I MEAN THE POWER IN YOUR BLOOD. THE POWER IN YOUR BLOOD THAT EXISTS BECAUSE YOU ARE MY PROGENY.
I'm my father's progeny.
HE WAS ALSO MY PROGENY.
He was his father's progeny --
-- WHO WAS MY PROGENY, WHICH MAKES YOUR FATHER MY PROGENY AND YOU MY PROGENY.
wakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeup
WHAT?
... I'm trying to make myself wake up.
YOU ARE FAR TOO DRUNK TO WAKE YOURSELF UP.
Dammit!
SILENCE!
Fine.
LISTEN TO ME! WILL YOU, FOR ONCE IN YOUR MISERABLE LIFE, LISTEN TO ME!
... fine.
IN THE TIME YOU HAVE GROWN, YOUR POWER HAS INCREASED. THE HERITAGE IN YOUR BLOOD IS ASSERTING ITSELF MORE OPENLY. THIS WILL ALLOW YOU TO --
Is this going to take long?
PARDON?
I asked, is this going to take long? Because it occurs to me that since you've mucked up my dreamless stupor I might actually be able to have a normal dream after you're gone, so I'm thinking Teshalia, three belly dancers and a --
SILENCE!
...
I MEAN IT!
...
GOOD. NOW, WHERE WAS I?
In the time I have grown, heritage in my blood asserting itself...
RIGHT. THE HERITAGE IN YOUR BLOOD, THE PART OF ME THAT IS IN YOU, IS ASSERTING ITSELF MORE OPENLY. IT IS DOING THIS STRONGER THAN I DARED HOPE, WHICH WILL ALLOW YOU TO --
It's what?
WHAT?
It's asserting itself stronger than you dared hope?
TO BE HONEST, I DIDN'T THINK YOU HAD IT IN YOU.
Well, I get that a lot.
SPARE ME YOUR IDLE BOASTS! I HAD HOPES FOR YOUR GRANDFATHER -- HE EVEN LOOKED LIKE ME, IN A MANNISH KIND OF WAY -- BUT HE DECIDED TO BECOME AN ACCURSED PALADIN --
Hey, you don't have to tell me. I hated visiting him for Lochwarmass. He was always telling us how we had to give Lochwar his due because he was the overlord of the gods, but we couldn't like it because he was evil, but he had to because it was our holy duty, but we had to do it reluctantly because he was evil... Gods, it was annoying...
SILENCE!
*sigh*
AND YOUR FATHER WAS EVEN MORE DISAPPOINTING -- HE BARELY HAD HORNS.
He didn't have horns at all.
HE DID.
He didn't!
HE DID! RIGHT OVER EACH EAR.
... he always told me those were wounds from the war.
HE NEVER FOUGHT IN A WAR! YOUR FATHER WAS USELESS!
He was better than ma.
... THAT'S TRUE.
I think she wants your job.
SILENCE! THE POINT IS THAT AFTER TWO GENERATIONS OF DISAPPOINTMENTS, YOU ACTUALLY MANIFEST THE GIFTS I HAD HOPED TO PASS ON INTO THE MORTAL REALM.
... so, what, I'm not a disappointment?
... I DIDN'T SAY THAT.
I should hope not! I've tried very hard to be a disappointment, and I was about to feel insulte --
SILENCE!
...
BY ALL THE DARKNESS, WHY CAN'T YOUNG PEOPLE SHUT UP WHEN THEIR ELDERS ARE TALKING. NOW LISTEN: IN THE TIME YOU HAVE GROWN, YOUR POWER HAS INCREASED...
You said that.
SORRY. HERITAGE IN YOUR BLOOD?
That too.
... MYSTERIES OF YOUR INFERNAL SOUL?
... no, not yet.
RIGHT. THE TIME HAS COME FOR ME TO TEACH YOU TO EXPLORE THE MYSTERIES OF YOUR INFERNAL SOUL...
That makes absolutely no sense, you know.
WHAT?
An "infernal soul." How do infernal creatures have a soul? Do you have a soul?
NOT IN SO MANY WORDS.
Soul is one word.
... I KNOW.
I asked you if you had a soul, and you said "not in so many words."
... I KNOW WHAT I SAID.
"Not in so many words" for one word is no words at all.
THAT COULD BE SO.
In other words, you have no soul.
PERHAPS.
You could have just said that.
SILENCE!
Fine! Get to the point!
YOUR SOUL IS MORTAL, BUT BECAUSE OF YOUR HERITAGE IT IS FUSED WITH INFERNAL POWER. YOU MUST LEARN TO TAP INTO THAT POWER IN ORDER TO UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU ARE CAPABLE OF.
What am I capable of?
RIGHT NOW YOU ARE VERY CAPABLE OF BEING DISRESPECTFUL TO YOUR ELDERS.
Get to the point!
SILENCE! YOU MUST LEARN TO LISTEN TO THE SECRETS YOUR SOUL WILL TRY TO REVEAL TO YOU, SO THAT YOU MAY TAP INTO THE POWERS THAT ARE YOUR BIRTHRIGHT!
How do I do that?
I WILL SHOW YOU.
So show me already!
... THERE.
...
WHEN YOU WAKE, YOU WILL KNOW.
... That's it???
YES.
You dragged me through all that nonsense for something that took only half an instant?
SILENCE! THERE IS MORE. THE TIME HAS COME FOR YOU TO LEARN ABOUT MY GRAND DESIGN.
Your what?
MY GRAND DESIGN! FOR TOO LONG I HAVE BEEN UNKNOWN TO YOUR WORLD. YOU WILL BE MY AGENT ON YOUR WORLD, YOU WILL SPREAD MY DARK DESIGN ACROSS THE --
Right, that's it. Get out of my head, you crazy old git.
WHAT???
Bugger off.
I WILL NOT! YOU WILL OBEY ME, WHELP, OR I WILL --
In the name of Lochwar, begone!
... PLEASE TELL ME YOU ARE JOKING.
What? Why? Doesn't His name instill you with fear?
... HE'S VERY POPULAR DOWN HERE.
What?
OH YES. WE REALLY ADMIRE HIS WORK.
... so... his name doesn't burn you or fill you with dread.
NO. SORRY. ACTUALLY I'M NOT SORRY AT ALL. NOW YOU WILL LISTEN TO ME and you will OBEY YOUR ELDERS.
Then in the name of Coloth --
THE GOD OF NIGHTMARES? YOU THINK COLOTH WOULD CARE THAT I'M SPEAKING TO YOU NOW?
Er... Ineania?
... ARE YOU A FARM?
... no.
PERHAPS YOU SHOULD QUIT WHILE YOU'RE AHEAD.
Teshalia, come to my aid!
TESHALIA HAS BETTER THINGS TO DO THAN TO INTERFERE WITH OUR FAMILY MATTERS. IN FACT, ALL THE GODS HAVE BETTER THINGS TO DO THAN --
Girru!
WHAT?????????
He's not doing much lately. In the name of Girru --
AUGH!
Sorry?
THAT BURNED. THAT NAME... THAT HATED NAME... I NEVER THOUGHT I WOULD HAVE TO HEAR --
Girru!
AUGH!
Girru!
AUGH!
Girru!
AUGH!
Girru Girru Girru Girru Girru Girru Girru Girru Girru Girru Girru Girru Girru Girru Girru Girru Girru Girru
FINE! I'M LEAVING! BUT YOU CANNOT ESCAPE YOUR BLOOD, BOY. KNOW THAT! AS YOU GROW, IT WILL CALL TO YOU. YOU WILL NOT BE ABLE TO RESIST IT... NOR, IN TIME, ME!
Girru!
AUGH!
...
Hello?
Well thank the gods he's gone. Now... where are those belly dancers?
THE TIME HAS COME.
... oh, sod. Just let me sleep...
NO.
Go away!
NO.
... please?
NO.
...
I KNOW YOU'RE HERE. IGNORING ME WILL NOT MAKE ME GO AWAY.
That ruddy dwarf serves the weakest rum in the Empire.
YOU WERE SO DRUNK YOU COULD BARELY CLIMB THE STAIRS TO YOUR ROOM.
I'm not so drunk that I passed out in a dreamless stupor!
THAT'S BECAUSE I'M GROWING IMPATIENT!
How does that work, exactly? You're, what... thousands of years old...
MILLENNIA.
Whatever.
THERE IS A SIGNIFICANT DIFFERENCE BETWEEN "THOUSANDS" AND "MILLENNIA."
From my end of it it's the same shade of old.
SILENCE! I AM TIRED OF YOUR IMPUDENCE! I HAVE WAITED FOR TOO LONG TO SEE MY PROGENY UNLEASHED UPON THE WORLD TO HAVE AN UPSTART GRANDSON --
Great-grandson.
UNIMPORTANT!
Maybe you're getting senile in your old age.
SILENCE!
Sorry!
I'LL SHOW YOU SORRY. I'M NOT SO OLD THAT I CAN'T SWALLOW YOUR SOUL.
You're in my ruddy dream. You couldn't swallow a fly.
SILENCE!
...
GOOD. NOW, THE TIME HAS COME TO LEARN MORE OF YOUR HERITAGE.
I know my heritage.
YOU DO NOT KNOW YOUR HERITAGE.
I know my heritage! Great graddad was a red-eyed, forked-tongued devi --
I DO NOT HAVE A FORKED TONGUE.
I've seen the ruddy painting.
... YOUR GREAT GRANDMOTHER DIDN'T MIND.
Oh, Gods, these things I do not need to know...
SILENCE! THIS IS NOT THE HERITAGE I SPEAK OF. I DON'T MEAN GENEAOLOGY, I MEAN THE POWER IN YOUR BLOOD. THE POWER IN YOUR BLOOD THAT EXISTS BECAUSE YOU ARE MY PROGENY.
I'm my father's progeny.
HE WAS ALSO MY PROGENY.
He was his father's progeny --
-- WHO WAS MY PROGENY, WHICH MAKES YOUR FATHER MY PROGENY AND YOU MY PROGENY.
wakeupwakeupwakeupwakeupwakeup
WHAT?
... I'm trying to make myself wake up.
YOU ARE FAR TOO DRUNK TO WAKE YOURSELF UP.
Dammit!
SILENCE!
Fine.
LISTEN TO ME! WILL YOU, FOR ONCE IN YOUR MISERABLE LIFE, LISTEN TO ME!
... fine.
IN THE TIME YOU HAVE GROWN, YOUR POWER HAS INCREASED. THE HERITAGE IN YOUR BLOOD IS ASSERTING ITSELF MORE OPENLY. THIS WILL ALLOW YOU TO --
Is this going to take long?
PARDON?
I asked, is this going to take long? Because it occurs to me that since you've mucked up my dreamless stupor I might actually be able to have a normal dream after you're gone, so I'm thinking Teshalia, three belly dancers and a --
SILENCE!
...
I MEAN IT!
...
GOOD. NOW, WHERE WAS I?
In the time I have grown, heritage in my blood asserting itself...
RIGHT. THE HERITAGE IN YOUR BLOOD, THE PART OF ME THAT IS IN YOU, IS ASSERTING ITSELF MORE OPENLY. IT IS DOING THIS STRONGER THAN I DARED HOPE, WHICH WILL ALLOW YOU TO --
It's what?
WHAT?
It's asserting itself stronger than you dared hope?
TO BE HONEST, I DIDN'T THINK YOU HAD IT IN YOU.
Well, I get that a lot.
SPARE ME YOUR IDLE BOASTS! I HAD HOPES FOR YOUR GRANDFATHER -- HE EVEN LOOKED LIKE ME, IN A MANNISH KIND OF WAY -- BUT HE DECIDED TO BECOME AN ACCURSED PALADIN --
Hey, you don't have to tell me. I hated visiting him for Lochwarmass. He was always telling us how we had to give Lochwar his due because he was the overlord of the gods, but we couldn't like it because he was evil, but he had to because it was our holy duty, but we had to do it reluctantly because he was evil... Gods, it was annoying...
SILENCE!
*sigh*
AND YOUR FATHER WAS EVEN MORE DISAPPOINTING -- HE BARELY HAD HORNS.
He didn't have horns at all.
HE DID.
He didn't!
HE DID! RIGHT OVER EACH EAR.
... he always told me those were wounds from the war.
HE NEVER FOUGHT IN A WAR! YOUR FATHER WAS USELESS!
He was better than ma.
... THAT'S TRUE.
I think she wants your job.
SILENCE! THE POINT IS THAT AFTER TWO GENERATIONS OF DISAPPOINTMENTS, YOU ACTUALLY MANIFEST THE GIFTS I HAD HOPED TO PASS ON INTO THE MORTAL REALM.
... so, what, I'm not a disappointment?
... I DIDN'T SAY THAT.
I should hope not! I've tried very hard to be a disappointment, and I was about to feel insulte --
SILENCE!
...
BY ALL THE DARKNESS, WHY CAN'T YOUNG PEOPLE SHUT UP WHEN THEIR ELDERS ARE TALKING. NOW LISTEN: IN THE TIME YOU HAVE GROWN, YOUR POWER HAS INCREASED...
You said that.
SORRY. HERITAGE IN YOUR BLOOD?
That too.
... MYSTERIES OF YOUR INFERNAL SOUL?
... no, not yet.
RIGHT. THE TIME HAS COME FOR ME TO TEACH YOU TO EXPLORE THE MYSTERIES OF YOUR INFERNAL SOUL...
That makes absolutely no sense, you know.
WHAT?
An "infernal soul." How do infernal creatures have a soul? Do you have a soul?
NOT IN SO MANY WORDS.
Soul is one word.
... I KNOW.
I asked you if you had a soul, and you said "not in so many words."
... I KNOW WHAT I SAID.
"Not in so many words" for one word is no words at all.
THAT COULD BE SO.
In other words, you have no soul.
PERHAPS.
You could have just said that.
SILENCE!
Fine! Get to the point!
YOUR SOUL IS MORTAL, BUT BECAUSE OF YOUR HERITAGE IT IS FUSED WITH INFERNAL POWER. YOU MUST LEARN TO TAP INTO THAT POWER IN ORDER TO UNDERSTAND WHAT YOU ARE CAPABLE OF.
What am I capable of?
RIGHT NOW YOU ARE VERY CAPABLE OF BEING DISRESPECTFUL TO YOUR ELDERS.
Get to the point!
SILENCE! YOU MUST LEARN TO LISTEN TO THE SECRETS YOUR SOUL WILL TRY TO REVEAL TO YOU, SO THAT YOU MAY TAP INTO THE POWERS THAT ARE YOUR BIRTHRIGHT!
How do I do that?
I WILL SHOW YOU.
So show me already!
... THERE.
...
WHEN YOU WAKE, YOU WILL KNOW.
... That's it???
YES.
You dragged me through all that nonsense for something that took only half an instant?
SILENCE! THERE IS MORE. THE TIME HAS COME FOR YOU TO LEARN ABOUT MY GRAND DESIGN.
Your what?
MY GRAND DESIGN! FOR TOO LONG I HAVE BEEN UNKNOWN TO YOUR WORLD. YOU WILL BE MY AGENT ON YOUR WORLD, YOU WILL SPREAD MY DARK DESIGN ACROSS THE --
Right, that's it. Get out of my head, you crazy old git.
WHAT???
Bugger off.
I WILL NOT! YOU WILL OBEY ME, WHELP, OR I WILL --
In the name of Lochwar, begone!
... PLEASE TELL ME YOU ARE JOKING.
What? Why? Doesn't His name instill you with fear?
... HE'S VERY POPULAR DOWN HERE.
What?
OH YES. WE REALLY ADMIRE HIS WORK.
... so... his name doesn't burn you or fill you with dread.
NO. SORRY. ACTUALLY I'M NOT SORRY AT ALL. NOW YOU WILL LISTEN TO ME and you will OBEY YOUR ELDERS.
Then in the name of Coloth --
THE GOD OF NIGHTMARES? YOU THINK COLOTH WOULD CARE THAT I'M SPEAKING TO YOU NOW?
Er... Ineania?
... ARE YOU A FARM?
... no.
PERHAPS YOU SHOULD QUIT WHILE YOU'RE AHEAD.
Teshalia, come to my aid!
TESHALIA HAS BETTER THINGS TO DO THAN TO INTERFERE WITH OUR FAMILY MATTERS. IN FACT, ALL THE GODS HAVE BETTER THINGS TO DO THAN --
Girru!
WHAT?????????
He's not doing much lately. In the name of Girru --
AUGH!
Sorry?
THAT BURNED. THAT NAME... THAT HATED NAME... I NEVER THOUGHT I WOULD HAVE TO HEAR --
Girru!
AUGH!
Girru!
AUGH!
Girru!
AUGH!
Girru Girru Girru Girru Girru Girru Girru Girru Girru Girru Girru Girru Girru Girru Girru Girru Girru Girru
FINE! I'M LEAVING! BUT YOU CANNOT ESCAPE YOUR BLOOD, BOY. KNOW THAT! AS YOU GROW, IT WILL CALL TO YOU. YOU WILL NOT BE ABLE TO RESIST IT... NOR, IN TIME, ME!
Girru!
AUGH!
...
Hello?
Well thank the gods he's gone. Now... where are those belly dancers?
Ebrim Darkmoon, Rogue Warlock For Hire
"No, I'm not a rogue. No, that's not what I said, I said I'm a 'rogue warlock,' which is -- oh, nevermind. Just get me drink."
"No, I'm not a rogue. No, that's not what I said, I said I'm a 'rogue warlock,' which is -- oh, nevermind. Just get me drink."
-
Stormknife
- Dasarian Hero
- Posts: 1126
- Joined: Sat Sep 23, 2006 7:24 am
- Main Player Character: Draco
- Other PCs: Shroud, Lorcann
- Location: The Original Dasarian Kitsune.