City of IF

[Crossfire]

Chapter 1. The Herd Awakens.



Rakston cowered in abject fear on the old, dusty main road, the wooden, ramshackle buildings looming menacingly over him.

They cast long, deep shadows over the hard packed dirt, and he wailed mournfully as a large and particularly sharp black rock hit him in the small of his gnarled back, dirty leather armor absorbing most of the brunt.

After a while, and six bloody cuts in unprotected areas on his legs, he straightened from his sad huddle on the ground. He hobbled dramatically to the Inn of his old friend Elsher, who maintained the atmosphere of the Laughing God as best he could in this desolate country town.

The children here were miserable. They needed some entertainment, and, the dwarf thought, what better way to boost their morale than the assault of an ancient member of a much-hated race?

Platt was not a pleasant place, and as lovely as its name.

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Rakston entered the mouth of the Laughing God, its taproom, and the innkeeper turned around with a broad smile.

"Rakston!" he said, wiping the glass in his hand with a flourish and, crossing rapidly over the scuffed hardwood floor, sending it sliding across the polished counter into the hands of his lovely assistant Thera.

"Elsher," he rumbled. "It has been a while since last we met."

Rakston was fond of such formal phrasing, and Elsher was fond of him.

Elsher's grin faded as he surveyed the state of his unkempt friend.

"I see that the Kelgar brats have been at you again."

"Aye, but there's little I can do about it... yet."

Elsher looked over at him, disturbed, before slipping behind the counter to get some makeshift bandages for his companion's dripping wounds.

He had just finished tying the last of these tightly around Rakston's sturdy legs, the dwarf having little ability in medicine these days with his failing eyesight, when there was a crash at the entrance of the Laughing God's bar.

"I see that Vanshak Kelgar has forgotten what a door is used for again..." Elsher sighed, producing his club and putting on a stern expression in preparation for the tongue-lashing he was going to give.

Rakston, leaning intently on the strangely inscribed oaken staff he held, stared quietly at the door, listening.

"I think he's got company."

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Moments later, Elsher opened the door.

Smiling politely at the hulking, bovine-featured peasant that lurked in the threshold, he looked over his burly shoulders to see the multitude of grim-faced men behind him being shoved aside by their temporary leader.

Vanshak Kelgar was not a nice man. No one would accuse him of that, at least, although admittedly not many people would accuse him of anything now that he was head town councillor, after a string of mysterious deaths.

"It wasn't as though anyone else was actually vying for the position," Elsher muttered. "Just that he didn't like the other council members."

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The half-giant Vanshak Kelgar had nearly entered the Laughing God, having stunned the more bloodthirsty of his horde with single, devastating blows from his massive, gauntleted fists.

Most of these men looked like a herd of oxen compressed into a single, enormous brute, and it appeared as though their heads were shaped from muddy granite.

Vanshak Kelgar despised the old and the weak. He loathed those who spoke well and fluently, and Elsher, together with Rakston when he was in town, had made him the brunt of many a joke when he was too drunk to fight back.

Despite his comparative youth Elsher became quite eloquent when intoxicated with one of his potent, pain-annihilating brews, which was more time than not, and although Rakston was in the equivalent of his mid-twenties for a dwarf, in reality he was over two hundred- or so he always claimed.

Together, they epitomised the qualities that the half-giant hated most.

Rakston was whole within, having no unhealed injuries and apart from his slow movement enviably hale, but damaged without, all hunched over and slow-moving from old wounds of a bitter war that substantiated his claim of age.

Elsher was whole without, but damaged within. He suffered with a racking, intermittent cough that could suddenly come on him at the most unexpected of times, afflicting him with frightening weakness and covering his hands with blood as he moved to cover his mouth.

These bouts could last several minutes, and were the sacrifice he made, so many years ago, for his now-unused... abilities.

Although he would've paid the price ten thousand times, for the alternative was beyond unthinkable, he was forced to drink concoctions of rare herbs almost continuously to bring it to quiescence, and some unavoidable combinations of these had strange effects on his psyche.

These bouts were uncurable by any means he knew... or any other mortal on Klaraion.

Often when he drank his potions he became reckless, and lashed out at the cause of his frequent despair and heavy taxing- Vanshak Kelgar.

Vanshak's true memories of most events were lost in the haze of constant drink his favorite way of forgetting his ancestry, but his friends were few in that town. His citizens were all too happy to remember the many slights delivered to him in subtle vengeance for his cruel autocracy.

Elsher briefly considered barring the door, but remembered that doors are expensive, so he widened his smile into a welcoming grin, attempted to look calm and stepped back slightly to give him room to swing his club.

It's not as though it would do much, obviously, but he had spent quite a while constructing an escape route to the nearby mountains with Rakston the last time Kelgar and his cronies were swaggering through town. Maybe he could stun him just long enough to...

The slender, black-clad Elsher saw a vast pillar of hard-muscled flesh and steel looming over him, and his hopes died almost as soon as they were formed.

Rakston hobbled quietly to his side.

“Get back,” he murmured.

“But…”

“Just do it!”

Rakston affixed him with a steely glare, fires long banked raging to life in his clouded eyes.

Noticing something he had never seen before in the determined set of his rough though fine-featured face and dark, enigmatic mien, Elsher quietly obeyed, slipping back through the door and into his rooms on the second floor.

The feminine dimensionwalker turned innkeeper began to prepare his belongings for departure, but paused, hearing something below.

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Rakston grinned toothily at Vanshak Kelgar, who was standing impressively in the middle of the common room, his vast mobile mountain range surrounding him.

“RAKSTON!” he roared menacingly, his badly worn trail boots leaving vast, muddy footprints on the freshly cleaned floor.

Rakston looked at him pleasantly, then lowered his gaze to the small river of sludge flowing its unobtrusive way down the slope from the central dining area to one of several discreet drains on the floor. He made a small, disapproving noise with his tongue, and quietly went to fetch a cloth.

The dwarf silently attempted to remove the fresh scuffmarks, carefully mopping away the excess mud.

Vanshak Kelgar saw only what he wanted to see, which was a gesture of subservience from a pathetic old dwarf.

Rakston quietly rose, crossing over to the creature who had caused him so much misery over the last fourteen years in Platt.

“What would you like to receive from the Laughing God today?” he asked, curiously, strangely, with an unnatural gleam in his raging eyes.

“…”

For a moment, even Vanshak Kelgar was taken aback, but he rallied, seeing the eyes of the multitude shift from him, sensing weakness. Roaring calmly into the gathering, horrifying silence,

“I SEEK ONLY YOUR OBLITERATION.” he spoke his death warrant.

At first Vanshak Kelgar sought to satisfy his lust for violence before he moved on vengeance- destruction of the Laughing God for the many perceived wrongs dealt to him by the ever quick-witted Elsher, and the annihilation of Elsher himself.

This was all he wished for- until he saw the contempt hidden deep within blank, seemingly unintelligent gazes around him, and a dark future indeed before him.

He screamed his fury, wordlessly (it may have become apparent that Vanshak Kelgar was not the brightest or best-spoken half-giant ever to grace Klariaon) and advanced upon the half-blind warrior-turned-hermit.

Rakston smiled still, bizarrely, and was stationary. The oaken staff was raised before him. Vanshak Kelgar was nearly four times his height.

Still, for some reason, with that look in Rakston’s eyes it was almost as if Vanshak Kelgar was as tall, or shorter. He didn’t like the feeling at all, and, in one fluid movement, sought to banish all doubts in his mind with destruction.

Rakston smile grew cold, and something deep within Vanshak’s soul shrank away from those terrible eyes.

The dwarf spoke quietly in an alien, sibilant tongue, then raised a now-vibrating length of living runes that twisted in dimensions beyond the normal four and warped the focus of waking eyes.



Suggestions and critiquing are, as ever, welcome.

What does the staff do? You, as Rakston, defeat the mob unharmed (although the Laughing God isn't anywhere near as safe), but how do you complete this astonishing feat?

Will you simply take down the leader?

Will you stun the entire mob with a single, mighty blow?

The choice is yours!

[Chinaren]

MMm, quite enjoyable XF.

There was one area you repeated a word in quick succession, and another bit which I found a little confusing, but overall, not a bad little first chapter.

I would say the staff is powerful, too powerful. You can't do small things with it, so it's a massive fireball or nothing. :D

I'll come back and crit in more detail later, assuming I get time.

[Crossfire]

Having edited it sixteen times, I'm mildly satisfied with the result.

Citizens of IF, I plead, nay, ask you to read my enigmatic forging of questionable virtue, and in reading participate in the mighty destiny of a hunch-backed dwarf.

[algu95]

I'm saying... The Staff blows the whole mobe fifty feet up into the air, and thirty feet backwards. Sadly, the Staff blows them so powerfully that the front of the Laughing God would be almost completely smashed.

[Tavanesh]

Pity. I was hoping to be the first to comment on your new SG, but on a different note. This will be my first post. *grins.* Critiquing I will save for the inn, but for now I will make a selection for what happens next. I believe the staff should not be very powerful because we don't want a character like yours, a feeble hunchbacked dwarf, to start out the story as a master at anything. He should be developed slowly, and discover his true powers throughout the story. Also, it shouldn't be anything too obvious, or simple. Something along the lines of him using the water that they dragged in to trip them all up. After bouts of shouting, and tripping over eachother, they start attacking eachother. In turn the inn is practically, destroyed, or burnt down by torches and the like. *winks* I really enjoyed it.

[DELETED]

DELETED

[Crossfire]

*sighs* I wrote a long reply to that, describing them both in loving detail.

Unfortunately, it seems that I wasn't logged in at the time.

As such, I'll relegate all future detailing to a time when I'm less depressed.

Thank you for reading.

[Crossfire]

Chapter 2- Dance.


"Remove your carcass from my path, and take your ill-bred half-castes with you!" Rakston roared, provoking nervous laughter amongst the patrons quietly nursing drinks and watching the spectacle from far away.

"YOU HEARD ME, SCUM! GET OUT OF PLATT BEFORE I FEED YOU TO MY KINSMEN!" Vanshak bellowed furiously, inadvertently admitting to his giant heritage in front of a substantial portion of the curiously gathering town.

Rakston could smell the stale sweat and cheap spirits on him even from several feet away. This close, it was overpowering.

His head was spinning, bile rose in the back of his throat, but he pushed the sensation back, attending to the task at hand.

"If these are your mongrel cousins, you ought to be more careful where you mate. You might ruin your bloodline!" Rakston sneered, shaking his staff covered in bizarrely twisted runes right in his opponent's face, the bright light of rage burning hidden behind his contemptous scowl.

Even the massive giant backed away from the malevolent force of that... thing.

Sputtering a curse, he checked himself, beginning to advance menacingly on the fine-featured, elegant though somewhat dirty and rag-clad dwarf.

At that moment, the staff decided to activate itself, dragging Rakston forward and clouting Vanshak Kelgar provocatively on the snout.

"You gonna let him get away with that, Kel?" one of the walls of flesh behind him sniggered. "Kick the uppity dwarf in the teeth, if he's got any."

Vanshak Kelgar cursed violently, profanely, raising a gauntleted fist. At that same moment, Rakston began his attack.

Whispering a single word, the dwarf's gracefully-contoured lips met on the polished material that was hard as steel and balefire-cold.

He looked up at the charging Mayor. Ignoring the blistering heat of the dissolving floor at the base of the staff, Rakston smiled... "Vanish."

A freezing, bone-chilling mist swathed the taproom. Rakston let loose an eerie laugh, and, navigating blindly through the contours of the ruptured earth with superlative ease, began to strike.

With every blow, he became more sure of his footing, and soon the dark arcana of his twisted staff began to take over.

Vanshak Kelgar struck out blindly in the fog, dealing enormous damage to his kinsmen and only the merest glancing blows to Rakston.

The half-giants behind him began to fan out, mindlessly ripping paths of immense destruction through the polished sections of the Laughing God's main area in their search for the fleet-footed, magic-armed Rakston.

Between them all, he danced. More and less than human, he flowed from battle to battle, dodging, bobbing and weaving fluidly between them, blocking clumsily aimed and ill-forged weapons purely for amusement- for what could harm HIM?- and ripping through flesh and bone when so provoked by a miraculously lucky strike by a blinded townsman.

Even as he fought, he herded the other residents of the Inn out of the area, promising refunds and recompensation carelessly and universally (Elsher'd deal with it later, no doubt) to them all even as he prodded the unwilling spectators mercilessly out the door.

Finally, after a long and pleasurable bloodbath, he grew bored of the destruction.

The dwarf began to uludulate in unholy mirth and several distinct voices belonging to previous wielders of his extremely worthy weapon joined him. Cleaving through the half-giants' ranks with obscenely delighted ease, he sent all but one spiralling dreamlessly into the void.

"Between we two but shadows lie... DARE YOU FACE ME?" Rakston roared, malice dripping from every syllable in his ancient homeland's tongue.

Understanding none of the words but all of their import, Vanshak Kelgar backed away and, under cover of the fog that swathed the town, fled without a word.

Silence was all that remained in his wake. The spectators had stumbled out long ago, miraculously unharmed, and those of Vanshak's horde that could escape, did.

Many collapsed on the floor were trodden on by several tons worth of cousins.

Those used as cushions by their fellows that didn't die instantly probably died from stupidity. Rakston wasn't really sure, being too tired afterwards to care about separating dead idiots from live ones. He was nearly certain they'd figure it out themselves.

Elsher looked from the stairtop balcony, seeming somewhat dishevelled. His red-black hair, flecked with gold, had fallen free of its usual cap. It spilled down his slender shoulders, caressing the pure-white skin and, with dark, huge eyes, he marked the carnage grimly.

"There goes the year's profits..." he mourned, eyes lowering sorrowfully, long fringe falling over them and tangling in his beautiful eyelashes.

The long, finely-made silk shirt that was the half-elf's only garment fell modestly over creamy, soft-skinned legs that seemed to go on forever, begging a loving caress. The nearly transparent material hugged tightly to elegantly-contoured hips and a cleavage that would provoke murder for a moment's possession.

Suddenly, Rakston thought absently, sitting on the shattered taproom floor with a dazed expression on his face, Elsher of the Laughing God Tavern was looking very feminine...

Then... nothing at all.


Happily Angry reminded me that it might help the process of discussion if there was actually something to discuss! As such, here's the Decision Point...!

What do you (Rakston) do about the state of the Laughing God and the soon-to-appear additional horde of angry townsmen who want the vast sums of money he was silly enough to promise them? (Elsher, unsurprisingly, is NOT going to deal with it.)

Also, what about Elsher herself- himself- whatever! You're uncertain about what he saw, exactly... Maybe it was just concussion... you doesn't really know! Keep in mind that you (the dwarf) are very polite (and handsome, by the way!) and so aren't likely to ask the half-elf directly.

Suggest away!

[Happily Angry]

Not sure what the DP is. Maybe because I'm unbelievably tired. But I like this story. It's short, yet detailed, and straight to the point. Keep it up!

[DeadManWalking]

COOL!!!!

No suggestions though.

Will think on it.

[Syranore]

He'll forcibly collect the funds from the source of all of the unfair taxing, of course. As for his friend of questionable gender, he makes sure that his senses are fully functional, and he observes before asking.

[RHCPfan]

The soon-to-appear angry townsmen should force him out of Platt.Forcibly making Rakston reconsider his actions and seek out away to repay his debt.

His friend should be a gender netural trans-dimensional being.The friend having the ability not only move from one dimension at the flick of a wirst but also change everything about his or her self at will.

[Tipico]

i like the story, its very good, i'm not sure whether Elsher is an half elf or a tans dimensional being, or both (maybe that was just me) surly the half giants had some cash on them? and their crude weapons, so he can reimburse his friend the m/f half elf or a tans dimensional being thing
by pawning the Giants stuff

anyway giant flesh is considered a delicacy by most dwarfs, so they could start a dwarf-en cafe.

[Crossfire]

Interesting suggestions, everyone...

Elsher is a female, half-elven former dimension-walker- or at least I intended her to be.

Red Hot Chilli Peppers Fan, (can't I just call you Inferno or something? OOC names are kind of frowned upon) that's an interesting idea.

Unfortunately, what you just described is exactly the character description of the being I roleplay, so I'm a little worried about adding it in as a poll option. Still...

Tipico, what you've just suggested is horribly grisly, and would probably not work, since half-giant meat is considered tainted by most races. Not only that, but it has an awful smell...

I don't think Elsher would like cooking it, and Rakston generally survives on salted meat and the like because every piece of food he prepares ends up looking like week-old slop. *grins*

Oh! This reminds me. What about the staff? Where did that come from, huh?

I mean, it seems to be pretty powerful- although Rakston has a bit of raw talent in the arts of the blade and myriad arcana, he's certainly not that well-trained...

[Tipico]

i don't think that looting corpses is that grisly, i mean come one its not like their going to need their stuff now they are dead, besides Elsher will probably want the short angry chap to clean up the place so he will have to dispose of the bodies some how.

i regret my declaration of giant flesh as a delicacy, having just tried it i can confirm it is revolting, all gristle and fat with no good meat, may be it was troll flesh thats a delicacy.

can we find some dentures for the dwarf?

[IMGoldilocks]

Crossfire wrote:
The dwarf began to uludulate in unholy mirth and several distinct voices belonging to previous wielders of his extremely worthy weapon joined him.

did you mean ululate?

[DeadManWalking]

I think he did.

[Crossfire]

Good of you to notice!

It's a combination of the archaic delate, from the Latin délātus (effectively, to demoralize or drag downward) and ululate, derivative of ululāre (to howl or shriek).

I thank you for reading, and definitely for reading so carefully!

Any more suggestions? I'll wait until the weekend, then I'll probably put up a poll...

[Tipico]

after a demonstration of such power i doubt many people are going to pick a fight with that dwarf, so really the only thing stopping him walking of is 1. curiosity 2. politeness and 3. friendship /honor

also remember that (according to J.R.R Tolkien) dwarfs, are wise, cunning, jealous, incredibly greedy, but very very honorable, the mere prospect of leaving an oath or promise, drives them mad.

[DeadManWalking]

Actually, i though you got it mixed up with undulate (from unda)

My bad

[Phantomfan]

This is also my first post!
I really like this story so far. It is very detailed, yet concise.
I have nothing to sggest for it yet, but will definitaly think about it.
Nice job!

[Crossfire]

Well, having waited a few aeons for some more responses, I've decided to put up a poll!

Alright! The poll is now over! The result is... I choose!

Thank you very much for voting. A new chapter shall be in shortly!

[Crossfire]

With Better Sight To See- A Curious Reckoning.


Part One.


Pickaxes to the skull. Knives to the throat. Every bone broken.

An onslaught of pain.

All of these things, to Rakston's muzzy astonishment and delight, he did not feel in the slightest...

He was also upside-down.

Smiling gently, he attempted to get out of bed, mysteriously in a tree, then thought better of it.

The sky was not that lonely, he thought to himself. It had clouds to keep it company, and who better to play charades with...Rakston hated charades. They weren't really his thing, in much the same way that falling into the stratosphere was not.

He drifted away into the void, snuggling into the impossibly crisp blankets.

When he woke up, he immediately, but carefully, rolled to the side of the bed, clutching the blankets around him.

Below, lying on the... ground?... there was a beautiful elven girl, smiling gently. She was surprisingly fit, and appeared to be asleep. He contemplated this vision, and then, with a soul-deep scream, fell out of bed.


* * *

Segue...

* * *


Every night she wakes up in despair, every night she weeps as though her heart would break, knowing that her life has been for nothing. Exotic flowers bloom within her lungs. Soon, spring would come, and the flowers blossom...

During the day, she laughs, and smiles, and does the duties of a Kary'ei, a caretaker of the Garden, with apparent ease and consummate, unnatural grace.

Sometimes, she forgot about the darkness, and the beautiful, beautiful growth, pulsing, ravaging, devouring within.

Never again would she return to the Gated Circle, the home of her race.

Never again would she feel the burning breeze of endless desert caress her sun-stroked lips, watch the clash of ash and rain far beyond her Varisei, Light-Beyond-Burning, and feel her heart consumed by joy so fierce she feared it would burst within her.

It would, quite soon. She can feel the tendrils creeping down her spine. Storm-lashed, tending the hardy orchids, strange blossoms and other, more alien beings of the Garden, the wind sundered delicate cloud-forms in the sky.

As it roars through the monoliths, alien shapes carved of some bizarre obsidian that feels faintly greasy to the touch and distorts the skyline around it, unearthly creations of some vile deity slashed in sight-rending patterns as if by shards of an even darker, more horrifying reality, the vast stones howl, screaming imprecations to the heavens in the language spoken by those that have no other.

Her eyes shine with the terrible, unearthly brilliance called Kaa'-zeyz, from the flowers which consumed her. She joins them, an eerie, awful counterpoint near-drowned by the unfathomable depths of their raging song, lending a sorrow to their melody so incomprehensibly vast as to strike the soul of her only watcher in a manner far beyond pain...

In mourning beyond all mercy sheathed, she screams black hiraedd to the burning heavens, knowing them uncaring, implacable. For this moment only, her hate suspended, she stand stunned, realizing the enormity of her task. In unquenching, colossal flood, she collapses, hammered into the earth, and grieves.

[Alegria]

That's an interesting concept, Crossfire. I like it so far.

I'll have to wait for the DP, though...

*starts pacing*

[Crossfire]

Part Three.

Rakston floats noiselessly in softly singing shadows, shades speaking liquid syllables in a language that scrapes at his mind with half-evoked memories, just beyond reach of his futilely clawing mind.

Slowly, an innumerable number of gently gleaming motes begins to pulse into existence around him, banishing the limitless nocturne that is the harmony of not-quite-alien voices caressing him, violating him. It does not go easily.

Roaring tides of raging black sound flood their way inside the nakedness of his being, ripping through him, bringing recollections best left buried to the surface. He is buffeted, battered, and fears he will break forever, alone and discarded far beyond anything and everything he has ever thought he knew... until now, in this world of harmonies and unknown voices with remembered cadences.

A word of impossible command cuts through the flowing darkness that seeks to consume him and make him its own, dissapating it moments before it would annihlate his being.

Slowly, the crushing, flowering forces subside, leaving him, drained, in a tranquil pool of perfect white silence.

He drifts noiselessly on its surface.

He dreams quiet dreams, so as to escape notice.

He speaks without voice, and, finally, is still.

Elsher, the only other living (presumably) being that will exist for aeons in Kar'ii, the Restless Corridor, where time is but another word for distance and where all with the power to reach it could move vast lengths at their briefest thought, leans intently over him.

The dimensionwalker hears his last words in that bizarre place of living echoes weaved into strange fusion with the ruins of a fractured world, long since removed from the roads her kind walks by the agency of a raging hero...

...one that woke one day to somewhere rather different than his dreams, even as Rakston is, as he discovers that he is somewhere that, with horizons warped and filled with iridescent bubbles of nothing that suck at the eye like a rotten tooth begs for a tongue to probe it, really shouldn't exist for longer than it has to.

Hating herself, Ala-sai'rii Aeli'si'ir, known lately as Elsher and before as Bloody Laughter, Nightrush Dreaming and a host of other names too dark to bring forth, prepared for the worst, by comparison to which the destruction and displacement of a dimensionsphere that housed ten trillion souls was less than nothing.

The words he had whispered, slurring and stuttering a language mortal forms should not be able to speak, in a long-dead tongue she had convinced herself, whenever she woke shuddering in the dark hours before dawn, fearing the memories inside her own skull, would never be heard again, were...

"Ť'zhe Ą'íík Ō'éé Ňí'żąąż..."

The vaguest approximation, though not close to the awful, inchoate spirit of the original, is: "Luminescent Dark Awakes... The Voices... SING..."

___________________________________________________________

[Chinaren]

Um. Lot words much big Chinaren think. Big words is good.

[Crossfire]

I'm trying to write in the style of... ...my previous chapters.

Am I very good at it? Writing, I mean... or maybe writing in this style... or, I don't know, anything...? :(

[Crossfire]

~*~Encouragingly...~*~ Yes, big words IS good... ~*~Smiles, and then looks suddenly thoughtful.~*~
...
~*~Looks gloomy- and then brightens cheerfully!~*~ Oh, well! At the very least the WORDS are pretty... ~*~Looks at them intently, its mouth parted in a tiny "O" of consideringness...~*~ ...I think...
...
In any case, that should be just about the last part of that chapter! A new poll will be put up soon, with a Decision Point around there somewhere also! ~*~Wanders off, to do other stuff, possibly involving cookies! It smiles at the prospect...~*~

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S'belated Edit-Thingy: ~*~Returns, woefully and hopefully briefly, for cookie-time is here!~*~ Double-me is not good, nor intentional double-me! Sowwy! =(

[Chinaren]

Well, I have no suggestions for the last bit I'm afraid, on the grounds of general 'out there-ness'

:shock:

[Crossfire]

Terrible-terrible shame, that! ~*~Urbanely...~*~

Don't worry, though! I'll be putting up a super-new Part Hyako-Whatever soon, with all sorts of explanatory goodnesses embedded in its gooey core!

So far, Elsher has turned out to be a girl...

...and a dimensionwalker...

...and has taken Rakston to some weird inter-dimension...

...who, incidentally, is having REALLY bad/weird dreams where he's probably being hunted by some doomed and long-dead paragon-of-beauty-grace-n'otherstuff-that-has-perverted-heroism-to-its-darkest-and-most-awful-refraction...

...and he's sick, or something. It's all terrible (oh, and some ancient maybe-evil that's pretty glowy has awakened, which is probably icky also, but may be lovely.) :O

It's all implausibly confusing, but I'm afraid that seems to be the style of this particular StoryGame... :S

Enjoy! :o

[Crossfire]

Part Four- "A Tale of the Dimensionlands", or, "Elsher|Rakston Storyballad"?

Rakston stirred, bizarrely. Arms twitching, he murmured, "M-zzza-mff?", Elsher recoiling violently at the unnatural prospect that he had just inadvertently suggested in yet another tongue long dead, although this time not through the agency of trans-dimensional mindshadows.

"Mr-nfff-t'nrrr." She replied, cautiously. Although Rakston did not appear to have suddenly grown an additional fourteen arms and miscellaneous pseudopodia, considering the hideous omen that he had just uttered under arcane, bleakly-aspected trance, she thought it best to be on the safe side and reply in kind.

"Wha..." Rakston leapt high into the air from his supine position at what appeared to be the sound of a cat-dragon nosing through his personal belongings with its feet, as had happened many times to him during his residence in the cave that was his home and occasional weapon against marauding gypsy-harpies, as a result of its pungent smell and also its predatory habits.

For you see, Rakston's main source of income, practical animism, was a most interesting science, and through the use of certain oils and creams...

* * *

At this point, we suggest that the habitually incredulous, faint of heart and simply prejudiced against inanimate objects look away from the recount, wander to the nearest shady grove of reassuringly immobile verdance and perhaps read a quiet book about apples, or such.


* * *

...he could turn a wall into a living entity that could run around EATING flying creatures (example, gypsy-harpies) for a short period of time- although it had to come back rapidly, as such creations are quite frequently of the tendency to be somewhat agoraphobic, having seemingly existed as part of a semi-inanimate rock formation for the geological-scale duration, as it were.

As a result, poor Rakston has had to set explosive charges on the ground in order to change clothes in relative privacy- but of course ELSHER was better off not knowing that he was apparently a habitual ground-murderer. Come to think, she would probably not be too well off knowing virtually ANY of these facts.

Speaking of which half-elven creature...

* * *

"This is all a dream," Elsher said, reassuringly.

"Oh?" He smiled at her, urbanely, obviously having no idea who she was, but mastering his utter astonishment surprisingly well, considering the fact that bubbles of oblivion were currently frolicking around his head and the horizon appeared to be made of palpitating silk in colors that weren’t invited to the rainbow party because the others didn’t get the joke, to put it euphemistically.

"Quite so!" She replied, manically, and squawked, quite loudly, to prove this.

Regrettably, she had little effect other than to make Rakston look slightly disturbed for a moment and edge away from her slightly.

"I see." He replied- concluding the incredible, blinding display of urbane witticism, linguistic fluency and sheer, unrivalled charm on Elsher's part- before turning away, ostensibly to look for a nearby exit, possibly some kind of appropriately marked door, floating in currently-occupied-by-many-a-playful-void-bubble space.

She smiled, pointedly, and then realized belatedly that most people do not tend to react to things they cannot see, tall, sturdy hunchback dwarves searching for imaginary doors being little exception to this rule.

She repeated the action at the beginning of the previous sentence, suddenly, with “produced an extremely sharp knife from her bodice and started poking him with it experimentally” replacing “smiled”.

He yelped, as one tends to do, and abruptly disappeared, as one may tend not to do, before re-appearing again, suddenly, in a puff of technicoloured nightshade blossoms.

He wailed, “Ow! Ittttcccchyyyyy!”, Elsher looking on bemusedly until he extricated himself, with great difficulty, from various thorny floral companions, help being the furthest thing from her mind, what with thoughts of trans-dimensional mind-shadows and other such interesting subjects lurking in her mind...

...before turning to smile at her benignly and say, “Why, I guess this is why alligators a-“, appearing to decide that he REALLY DISLIKED the decor of this particular transdimensional corridor and vanishing again, a void-bubble smirking playfully in his former location.

She concluded at this point that the spheres of oblivion floating around innocently in strangely-colored space might not be as innocently floating as they seem to- although they were no doubt effective guardians against the unwary traveller (and floating).

The next time he appeared, he was upside-down and covered in topaz. Successfully managing to eat his way out with a trusty diamond tooth, he poked his former chrysalis nonchalantly, and muttered, “I see that the apples are very fresh to-“ before Elsher hurriedly grabbed on to him, dragged him sideways, and poked him savagely into her unobtrusively chalked grid of protection, leaning quietly against a nearby similarly chalked wall and watching him bleed, having “forgotten” that she was still holding her incredibly and deliciously sharp bodice-blade in her hand whilst poking.

He appeared to have aged dramatically, but it could just have been the inexplicable soot in which he was covered from clean-shaven face to sturdy-sandalled toe.

The durable hunchback nursed his many wounds in approximately grudging silence, although, still traumatized by the recent ordeal (which to him had lasted seventeen years, and was a story in itself) he muttered, once more, ominously, “HAHAHAHAHA! LIL_FAERIEZ RULEZ!” in approximately grammatical semi-tones, the rhythm of his speech appearing to differ wildly from syllable to syllable, with peculiar three-beat rests, diminuendos and staccato movements occurring with apparently random sequencing throughout this constantly repeated statement.

Elsher smiled vaguely, looking moderately alarmed, and stunned him briefly with a slow-moving projectile cantrip, to give herself time to think- or so she thought.

Rakston moved with blurring haste, leaping towards it, glowing indigo and DEVOURING it spontaneously, appearing to use this energy to regenerate his wounds!

Seemingly, Rakston has learnt a great many abilities as he had travelled throughout strange and unknown lands over the past decade and a half, although it would also seem that he had gone a little bit... unusual, also. After all, if one's only food is crystallized magic and arcane blasts from unwary denizens one encounters along one's path for near a score subjective years, one can hardly be expected to return to moss tea and cave rats with excessive rapidity, much less civilized conversation...

...?

------------------------

Well, there's one more part on the way! Feel free to critique at this point, and I'm sowwy it took me soooooooo long, it's just that I've been away for a while, tooooo...

...?! :O

Postscript!

Don't worry 'bout it all being confusing-like... all will be revealed...

...I hope...

...oh, and feel free to suggest how it continues! I is have IDEA, but you idea is good too? :S

Post-POSTSCRIPT. Um...

Poll in ONE WEEK! Don't be laaaaatttteeeee! ^^;

[Crossfire]

Well, it's been six months. =.="

[Mattheus]

Very good read, I have just read all the parts in one go as I wasnt around when it was first posted.

I think by this stage that Rakston is getting a bit annoyed by what is going on and so he attacks Elsher and there is a big magical fight between them.