There exists a formula for workrooms. There will be counters, shelves, and a large central table. The tools of a trade will be scattered about the room. With blacksmiths, there are hammers, a forge, anvils... This was a wizard's workroom. It had potions, cauldrons, various animal bits, and a large metal thing on the table. The thing is a statue of a man, sort of. If it were standing, instead of lying down, it would be just less than eight feet tall. It is broad for its height, its shoulders being nearly four feet across, a proportion that complements its massive, muscular build. Engraved in its forehead can be seen two characters of the language of magic, a language used as a common tongue by a far off land known as Nippon. Together they form a single word. Power. ================================================ ______________________________________ /I\ / I \ Episode The / I \ 1: King's / I \ The Road / I \ Journey's / I \ Beginning / I \ Written and created by Nathan Baxter ================================================ His eyes open. He looks up at the ceiling, his soul and mind empty for a few moments, before they are flooded by places, names, history... "How do you feel?" The quiet voice cuts across his consciousness like a Zodiac across still water. He has to grope for a moment. There are dozens of languages that he could answer in, and to find and use the right one takes a bit of effort. "Fine... Nothin' feels wrong. Where'm I?" "In my workshop." He rises up on one elbow, then swings upright. His feet drag on the floor by the time he finishes the motion. He turns his head, looks where the voice came from. "Who 'r' you?" "I am the wizard Garacaius. Your creator." * * * * * * * * He stands in the library, next to one of the bookshelves. In one hand he holds a large book, which seems almost pocket-sized against his broad palm. "Garacaius," he says, "Why?" The wizard looks up from where he has been napping. "Why create you, you mean?" "Yeah." Garacaius is a tallish, broad shouldered man of peasant stock. He's in his mid sixties, and dresses in simple, workworn cloth. His hair and bushy beard are mostly silver now, with only scattered strands of their original dark brown showing through. He thinks for a moment, gathering his thoughts. "What is the greatest flaw in the golems of the Hebrews?" "Stupid." "Exactly! They could not... reason about their orders, as humans do." Kinzoku nods. "Classic 'xample, 's ordered to kill, kills, keeps killing." "Yes. I had a theory, which led to your creation. I thought that by using... a solid matrix, instead of flowing clay, minds of great complexity could be created." "Clay couldn't hold the detail you needed, but metal could. So, me. But why iron?" "For all its resistance to magic, iron is easily found and physically worked. Those advantages outweighed the magical difficulties." "Right... Point of these golems, what? Cheap labor?" "Among other things." "Even iron's expensive in that quantity." "I have done other experiments... involving dual material golems." "A hunk of iron for the mind-anchor, clay for the body, yah?" "Yes." "Develop the mind and mind-body setups separately, then put them together for the final product. 'M an experiment." Garacaius looks pensive. "That bothers you?" "Nah. Good purpose, yah? Worth me suffering, which I haven't yet." "Nor shall you." * * * * * * * * "Demon incursions gett'n' bad," says Kinzoku the next morning. Garacaius grunts into his morning coffee, and nods. He was a bear before his first five cups. "Something should b' done." Grunt. Nod. "Heart of the World could solve 't." Grunt. Nod. "'D like t' do 't." Grunt. Nod. Spittake. "'Course, can't do 'nything w'thout orders." Garacaius glares at him while mopping coffee out of his beard. "You're fishing for orders." "Can't do anyth'n' w'thout orders, can I? 'M a golem." The wizard blows air through his lips and considers. "Alright. But there's something I'd like to give you first." "Sure." * * * * * * * * The sword is unusual in three things: Its shape, guardless, double parallel edges going its full length, with a angled, sharpened cut forming the tip. Its color was too light and silvery a gray to be steel, and the blade alone is just under eleven feet long. "Enchanted sword?" "I created it for a very large warrior. When I attempted to deliver it, he couldn't lift it." Kinzoku grins. "What're' 'ts properties?" "Absorption of magical attacks, demonslaying, penetration of magical barriers, protection from evil, glows when desired, stores itself on another plane when not needed." "Expensive." "I had the warrior pay in advance, because I knew that his pride would exceed his strength." "Heh." * * * * * * * * There's a whisper of cloth on skin behind him. He turns, sees an elf. She's wearing a long blue cloak over a green tunic. At the moment, the hood is back and it's thrown over her shoulders, out of the way. She has long blonde hair, held loose, and dark brown eyes. She has a bow, and is holding it drawn, with arrow ready. She's also got a quiver and a rapier. "'Nd who might thee be?" Her voice is whisper quiet, but clear as a bell. "M'self." She looks closer. "_What_ might thee be?" "Metal golem." "So, Master Golem, what business have thee in the Old Wood?" It's obvious that she's almost as curious as she is skeptical. "Follow'n' th' King's Road." "Hmph. Oh, _yea_," she says, "Just like all the other demon spies." He just looks at her, rumbles, "Sarcasm? Huh. Still truth." The wind blows, drowning their ears in the sound of rustling branches. A few loose leaves blow past, swirling in midair. The elf's ears go flat against her skull. "Whatever thou'st done, demon, thou'd best undo it," she warns. "Not me. Goblins." "Oh, so thou'st summoned thy servants to do the dirty work?" She doesn't sound like she believes it. "Not mine. Get up in a tree. Shoot them." "And just what shall you be doing then?" "Shishkabob." The first goblin reaches them, a runty little thing in boiled leather armor. It raises its spiked bone club high, but his hand darts out and closes around its head. His fingers wrap most of the way around, and they squeeze, crushing skull and helmet together like a ripe melon. He yells at her, a roar like a tidal wave. "UP! NOW!" She's already jumped halfway up into a tree by the time she realizes she's obeying him. The next three goblins leap at him at once, forming a flying wedge in mid-air. His sword stroke slams through two of them, cutting them in half, barely even slowing, but the last of the creatures is flying a little higher than its companions, and escapes. She's landed by now, and spins around, one arm raising her bow, the other whipping back, readying the arrow, pausing to aim, and... Release! There a noise like a nest of hornets, then the last flying goblin twitches sideways and goes into a tumble. Most of her arrow is sticking out of its little head. About eight of the little creatures swarm him. They can't hurt him, but the size of his sword makes it hard for him to swat them properly. Presently he gets tired of trying and tosses it away. Since even his weakest swats carry enough kinetic energy to send one of the little vermin flying, things go much better afterwards. He spins sideways suddenly, like a man who has been hit in the shoulder with a boulder. For a moment, she can't see what hit him. A second later, she realizes that that's because the thing is the same color as its background. Once she knows that, she sees that it's a big, humanoid, muscle-bound thing, with claw- tipped fingers and a head like a cross between a lizard and an ant. He rolls over, then 'oofs' a little, because the thing has just stepped on his stomach. She sends off an arrow, watches in consternation as it bounces off. Then she puts an arrow through each of its eyes. It starts stumbling around blindly, and he lurches upright, then crosses the distance to his sword in two strides. When he tries to stop though, the earth under his feet gives way and he slams to the ground. He bounces upright again, and now he's holding his sword. He takes a step forward, then raises the blade and swings it straight down. It hits the monster on the top of the head, and then splits it lengthwise without even slowing. He stops it dead when the tip is just a couple of inches off the ground. Delial looks at Kinzoku, says, "Well, I suppose ye might as well go about ye're business. Ye don't seem so malicious as that." He bows, says, "Thanks," and then the sword's gone and he's walking off down the road. * * * * * * * * There's a whisper of cloth on flesh behind him, and he turns. It's the same elf as before. "Thou hast been sent by thy creator to seek the Heart of the World, correct?" "How'd you know that?" She smiles a quiet, mysterious smile. "That be a secret." "Huh." She gives a brisk nod, why he can't imagine, and continues. "Mine elders have bid me aid thee on thy quest." He considers, then gives a slow nod. "Thanks. What's your name?" "I am called Delial by all who speak words to hear." "Kinzoku." * * * * * * * * LATER THAT EVENING... * * * * * * * * They had reached a city an hour before nightfall, and had decided to spend the night at one of its inns. The problem, of course, was finding an inn that would take an elf and an eight- foot tall metal man. But, they had persevered, and were now secure in a small room in one of the city's more... questionable... areas. This location combined with their substantial distinctiveness-No shit! I saw an elf and a metal guy at the Wench and Grog! -explained the pretty young redhead currently hanging from the ceiling with intent to rob. She was dressed in the latest fashions for the stylish thief, long sleeved tunic, leather belt, loose pants, soft leather boots and gloves. Since she's currently leaning off one of the rafters, using a fishing line to quietly relieve the man-and isn't he such a _big_ fellow? -of his money pouch, this is a bad time for her to lose her balance. So, of course, this is what happens. She tumbles off the beam with a terrified squeak, falling headfirst twelve feet to the floor. The man's eyes snap open and his hands dig into the mattress, holding it firm so that as he rolls under her, it rolls with him, ending up on top just in time to catch her safely. "What manner of beastly intruder hath prodded us from our nightly slumber?" asks Delial. Kinzoku sits up, dumping the thief onto the ground with another squeak-an indignant one, this time. "Thief," he says, in his short way. The girl 'eep!'s and shakes her head. "No! I would have put it back! Really!" "Huh. Why steal it, then?" "Umm...Well, you looked interesting, so you'd have interesting stuff, right?" "A thieving voyeur," Delial sniffs. It's a good sniff, very superior, but the rat's nest blond hair kinda takes away from the impression. "How droll." "I was going to put it back!" "O' _VERILY_. Thou may'st reassure thyself, for in no event shall we allow thy larceny to come to the scrutiny of law!" "You know," noted the girl, "You're _very_ good at the sarcasm thing." "In elven lands, and most assuredly in these lands as well, the penalty assigned by law for theft is death." Kinzoku says, "Gotta better idea." "What?" Skeptical. "What?" Hopeful. "Bring 'er with us. She's good. Sneaky. Could be useful." Delial smiles. "This finds me well. Mayhap she shall run afoul of a trap, and rid us of her presence." He glances over at the elf. "Y'r bloodthirsty." "Being woken a'fore the dawn mislikes me." "N'doubt." He looks at the girl. "Well? How 'bout it? We could use ya, and there's gold in 't." The girl bites her lower lip, thinking. Finally, "Okay," she nods. "Cool. What's y'r name?" "I'm Jillian Tezra!" she smiles, obviously expecting a reaction. Delial stares. "King Tezra's daughter?!" "Mmm-hmm!" Faint. Thunk. * * * * * * * * SOME TIME LATER... * * * * * * * * 'So,' Kinzoku had asked, 'How we gonna do this?' Jillian (for she was who he had been talking to) had answered, 'Don't worry, I've got everything under control.' But. That was in the past. And this story is in the present. So let's get to it. "HEY! YOU, GUARD! YES, YOU!! GET OUT HERE!" Kinzoku's a pretty laid-back kinda guy, but this kind of behavior makes him kinda nervous. He's not so good at the 'limited force' thing. Too heavy, he is. "Hey, you sure that's a good idea?" Jillian looks at him and winks. "Don't worry. I've got everything under control." Delial sniffs, a sort of snotty, 'yeah, right' sort of sniff. The jail guard comes out of the jail with the bored/annoyed expression common to disturbed guards everywhere. "Yeah, waddya want?" "To parole one of the prisoners in your charge, jailer." Jillian's voice has changed, it's gained a sort of... nobility. "A sorcerer. The one with the Hallucination mushrooms." The guard goes pasty white and nods frantically, "Y-y-yes Milady!" then bolts off into the building. Delial looks over at Jillian, a surprised expression on her face. "By the reaction of yon gaoler, one might almost believe thy claim to be truth." "Why would I lie?" "Point t' Jill," says Kinzoku. Delial shakes her head in irritation. "Eh! How long must we spend running hither and yon in this blighted pile of stone?" "Just tonight. Then we'll go." * * * * * * * * She is out cutting herbs for her potions, stocking up for the winter flu season. She doesn't particularly care about the adults of the village; they could die of it for all she cared, but she wasn't going to leave innocent children to suffer. The sound of battle reaches her ears, and she's off like a shot. When she reaches the edge of the trees, she's able to take in the participants with a glance. A small party fighting a drakon. An elf with a longbow. A human girl with a shortsword. A human man with a broadsword. He's a sorcerer, she can tell, but didn't bear any miasma of anger or hatred. Either genuinely good-hearted or very careful, then. Some sort of humanoid magical construct. Drakons weren't confrontational, usually, but this one was wrapped in some sort of nebulous web of evil. A compulsion spell. The sorcerer had to see it; they hadn't killed the beast yet, instead going for stun attacks. He'd have needed extensive prep time to save the creature, so she'd have to do it. She rummages through her pockets, hunting for the right set of charmed beads. Finding them, she whips them around and towards the wyrm. They fall short, but the construct sees and grabs them in its hand. It flinches, obviously hurt by their dispelling properties, but still tosses them in a perfect arc to catch on one of the drakon's horns. The black fog that had been surrounding the gentle beast dissipates like fog hit with a tornado, and it launches itself into the sky with a roar. * * * * * * * * The shaman leans back and smiles, taking a bite of his apple as he watches his creations work. The city of Taka had grown rich and fat, spreading like a blight across the land. Now its massive walls crack under the pounding of endless thrown boulders. There! That last boulder has proved the straw to break the camel's back, that section of wall tumbles down to the ground. With a roar like a swarm of geysers, his golems charge forward, their stone feet sinking deep into the rich earth at the edge of the city. His smile widens into a grin, and he squirms a little, adjusting his position to be more comfortable as he leans against one of the monolithic milestones of the King's Road. * * * * * * * * Kinzoku sits with his back against a massive tree trunk, looking at the stars and thinking about his companions. Delial. Tall, thin, with a kind of sharp-edged, hawkish beauty. She obviously didn't get out in society much, elsewise her speech patterns would be more up- to-date. She knew nature, was a crack shot with a longbow, and her natural suspicion could prove a survival asset. * * * * * * * * The poor fool's head splatters to the ground, spreading blood across the King's Road. He shouldn't have crossed the Robber Prince. The highwayman who killed him grins, and tosses the dead man's gold-filled pouch in the air, catching it as it falls. * * * * * * * * Jillian. Almost diminutive, a statuesque figure was the only thing that would keep people from mistaking her for a very pretty preteen. A princess, but not an ivory tower type, either. To hear her tell it, she had gotten apprenticed to a thief because it was more interesting than court etiquette. * * * * * * * * The horde's general draws lips back from rotted teeth in a starved wolf's hungry grin. The scout's reports have been confirmed. The entire land lies ripe for the taking, its towns and cities fortified only against the beasts of the night. The splendid road before him should lead right to the heart of its wealth. There will be much battle, much food, and many women for as long as he survives to lead. He laughs at the mere thought of plundering those undefended cities. * * * * * * * * Genderskind. Ordinary face, ordinary height, ordinary clothes... He was a sorcerer, a spirit summoner, one of the one that used drugs to expand their perception of magical fields. Whatever it was that he used, it seemed to be relatively harmless, with occasional easily recognizable hallucinations and a slight buzz being the primary effects. At the very least, he could still function as well as he could when dry. By the way he handled that sword, he'd been a mercenary before he took up magic. * * * * * * * * In the southern jungles, a bonfire has been built upon the jet-black stones of the King's Road. Around it stand thousands of man-beasts. Some slim, furred, and bear headed, others gross and squat with pebbly skin. Some with the aspects of bears, others frogs, others things that have never seen the light of day. The trees are heavy with dark, winged forms, a single mass of black, and green, and glowing eyes... The sound of drums fills the air, and smoke curls through the canopy towards the stars. * * * * * * * * Saint. A nature witch, dealing in potions and other folklore type remedies. Not old and haggard, not by any means, instead young and beautiful, with long hair the color of moonless midnight. Maybe there was something to what Genderskind had said about the way he attracted women. ================================================ Heheheheh. An enjoyable exercise, this. Genderskind is pronounced with a hard g, like in good, or god. The i is pronounced as in in, or grin. And yes, Saint _is_ the witch's name. She's very sick of hearing jokes about it (hint hint). Kinzoku is Japanese for metal. Be well. Nathan Baxter