Re: Intense Struggle Season 2! (Round 3: Castle Suterrea)
05-28-2011, 01:49 AM
Originally posted on MSPA by Pinary.
As Lloyd slowly made his way around the room, checking thoroughly for the magical residues that would indicate that an illusion was covering an exit, his mind wandered.
"Mr. Conrad, welcome! Please, take a seat."
"Ah, Mr. Nameless-Font-of-Information, nice to see you!" He clapped the vaguely-described man on the shoulder, kicked off his rather muddy boots, and flopped down into the available recliner. "You people have excellent timing, you know. After running around that moor for days on end, a nice, relaxing chat sounds just about right."
"What were you doing running around a moor?" The man's tone was as nondescript as the man himself- interested and curious, certainly, but not overly so.
"Oh, the usual. I brought up a big, ill-behaved dog from London and ran him around a bit. Saw that Watson fellow again- I take it he's from a series?"
"Indeed. Arthur Conan Doyle's 'Sherlock Holmes' series, spanning four novels and fifty-six short stories. When did you see him before?"
"Oh, that had to be years back. One of the first books I set foot in, I think. A man named Drebber was murdered (poisoned, if I remember correctly), and Holmes came fairly close to figuring the whole thing out. He nearly figured me out as well- not as being from another fiction or anything, but as some foreigner who came in and inexplicably tried to obscure things. Now there was some fun- I tell you, if you SCP folks reading this could drop me in the rest of his stories along the way, that'd be much appreciated." He pulled the old magnifying glass from his pocket and twirled it around his fingers.
-Excerpt from The Fifth Interview, Dr. Werrington. (Post-transference)
Lloyd smiled a bit as he recalled his encounters with the brilliant detective. The personnel deciding on his books had done just as he'd asked, littering his future with chances to go up against him. The short story collections had been quite fun- going back and forth with Holmes was one of the most challenging things he'd done.
He didn't have much longer to reminisce, however, as he soon found himself peering at a vertical line of passive magic. Looking past it, he could see, quite clearly, a seam in the wall. It took a fair bit of effort just to look at it- every second he stared at the seam, the pressure to look away increased. Reaching out, he tried to touch it, but his hand merely slid to one side. He tried again. Again, his hand slid away.
Focusing inward, holding his hand steady, he tried again. He felt himself start to slide to one side, stopped, and drew in a breath. "Dispel," he murmured, his voice coming out entirely silently.
Magic works differently from place to place. In some worlds, it's an energy innate to every living thing and being shaped by certain skilled user by pure effort of will. In others, it's a manifestation of the strength of one's soul, guided by one's unconscious wishes into forms the caster can't really consciously control.
To the natives of the world the competitors were currently occupying, magic was simply an expression of one's voice. Some fraction of any words be uttered verbally, making vibrations in the air that others could hear. The remainder would instead move out on a separate plane, vibrating the magical energies that flowed around everything. Most human spellcasters were lucky to get half of their voice expressed as a spell. Elves, as distinctly magical creatures, lived at that point normally. Complete auditory silence, while not exactly rare among them, was at least something of note.
The counterspell whispered out of Eloyd'k, grabbing the shroud from the passage and yanking it cleanly away.
The pressure on him to go somewhere else please was suddenly lifted, and before him stood a clean stone archway, nothing particularly unusual-looking about it. Just a typical archway, leading down a boring old hallway. It doesn't know what you're talking about, it's just been sitting here, hanging out, relaxing, you know, that sort of thing.
Reaching inside his robe, Lloyd pulled out the magnifying glass he'd swiped from his favourite detective so long ago and set to work examining the area around the arch.
"What are you doing?" Karen, done with her prize, had come over to join Lloyd by the newly-revealed exit.
"Well, I'm not a rogue, and unless you multiclassed in that as well, we've got exactly one way of checking to make sure this passage won't collapse on us the moment we step through or some such."
"Alright, fine, fair point. You really think there's going to be a trap here, though? I mean, it was already hidden. Does it need another layer of protection?"
"Look." Lloyd shot her a glare. "Have you lived in this particular universe for years? Do you know what sorts of things the dungeon master likes to put in his modules? No? Well, when we land in your game for a round, you can put your hours and hours of experience to work pointing out the places where the game designers are likely to put traps. For now, though- Oh, hell." Lloyd lowered his already-quiet voice to nearly a whisper. "I don't care if you trust me or not, I just need you to close your eyes. Do it now."
"Wh-"
Lloyd spoke up again, doing his best to raise his voice as loud as he could. "Lillian? Be careful up there, we'll get you down, don't worry. Just hang on, okay?"
"Wait, Lillian?" Karen turned around to follow Lloyd's gaze. There, standing close to the end of one of the hallways Karen's destructive spell had blasted up through, just two levels up from the two, was the little girl, looking more scared and shaken than either of them had seen her.
Predictably, when the girl caught sight of Karen's glowing red eyes, she shrieked and ran back the way she'd come.
"Dammit."
"You could've told me she was there!"
"I wasn't clear enough who I was talking to up there?!"
"Whatever, just come on! He have to catch up with her!"
Before Lloyd could respond, Karen had already leapt up to the top of a nearby piece of rubble, making her way up to the hallway. Lloyd, swearing, shoved the magnifying glass back into his robe and started after her.
As Lloyd slowly made his way around the room, checking thoroughly for the magical residues that would indicate that an illusion was covering an exit, his mind wandered.
"Mr. Conrad, welcome! Please, take a seat."
"Ah, Mr. Nameless-Font-of-Information, nice to see you!" He clapped the vaguely-described man on the shoulder, kicked off his rather muddy boots, and flopped down into the available recliner. "You people have excellent timing, you know. After running around that moor for days on end, a nice, relaxing chat sounds just about right."
"What were you doing running around a moor?" The man's tone was as nondescript as the man himself- interested and curious, certainly, but not overly so.
"Oh, the usual. I brought up a big, ill-behaved dog from London and ran him around a bit. Saw that Watson fellow again- I take it he's from a series?"
"Indeed. Arthur Conan Doyle's 'Sherlock Holmes' series, spanning four novels and fifty-six short stories. When did you see him before?"
"Oh, that had to be years back. One of the first books I set foot in, I think. A man named Drebber was murdered (poisoned, if I remember correctly), and Holmes came fairly close to figuring the whole thing out. He nearly figured me out as well- not as being from another fiction or anything, but as some foreigner who came in and inexplicably tried to obscure things. Now there was some fun- I tell you, if you SCP folks reading this could drop me in the rest of his stories along the way, that'd be much appreciated." He pulled the old magnifying glass from his pocket and twirled it around his fingers.
-Excerpt from The Fifth Interview, Dr. Werrington. (Post-transference)
Lloyd smiled a bit as he recalled his encounters with the brilliant detective. The personnel deciding on his books had done just as he'd asked, littering his future with chances to go up against him. The short story collections had been quite fun- going back and forth with Holmes was one of the most challenging things he'd done.
He didn't have much longer to reminisce, however, as he soon found himself peering at a vertical line of passive magic. Looking past it, he could see, quite clearly, a seam in the wall. It took a fair bit of effort just to look at it- every second he stared at the seam, the pressure to look away increased. Reaching out, he tried to touch it, but his hand merely slid to one side. He tried again. Again, his hand slid away.
Focusing inward, holding his hand steady, he tried again. He felt himself start to slide to one side, stopped, and drew in a breath. "Dispel," he murmured, his voice coming out entirely silently.
Magic works differently from place to place. In some worlds, it's an energy innate to every living thing and being shaped by certain skilled user by pure effort of will. In others, it's a manifestation of the strength of one's soul, guided by one's unconscious wishes into forms the caster can't really consciously control.
To the natives of the world the competitors were currently occupying, magic was simply an expression of one's voice. Some fraction of any words be uttered verbally, making vibrations in the air that others could hear. The remainder would instead move out on a separate plane, vibrating the magical energies that flowed around everything. Most human spellcasters were lucky to get half of their voice expressed as a spell. Elves, as distinctly magical creatures, lived at that point normally. Complete auditory silence, while not exactly rare among them, was at least something of note.
The counterspell whispered out of Eloyd'k, grabbing the shroud from the passage and yanking it cleanly away.
The pressure on him to go somewhere else please was suddenly lifted, and before him stood a clean stone archway, nothing particularly unusual-looking about it. Just a typical archway, leading down a boring old hallway. It doesn't know what you're talking about, it's just been sitting here, hanging out, relaxing, you know, that sort of thing.
Reaching inside his robe, Lloyd pulled out the magnifying glass he'd swiped from his favourite detective so long ago and set to work examining the area around the arch.
"What are you doing?" Karen, done with her prize, had come over to join Lloyd by the newly-revealed exit.
"Well, I'm not a rogue, and unless you multiclassed in that as well, we've got exactly one way of checking to make sure this passage won't collapse on us the moment we step through or some such."
"Alright, fine, fair point. You really think there's going to be a trap here, though? I mean, it was already hidden. Does it need another layer of protection?"
"Look." Lloyd shot her a glare. "Have you lived in this particular universe for years? Do you know what sorts of things the dungeon master likes to put in his modules? No? Well, when we land in your game for a round, you can put your hours and hours of experience to work pointing out the places where the game designers are likely to put traps. For now, though- Oh, hell." Lloyd lowered his already-quiet voice to nearly a whisper. "I don't care if you trust me or not, I just need you to close your eyes. Do it now."
"Wh-"
Lloyd spoke up again, doing his best to raise his voice as loud as he could. "Lillian? Be careful up there, we'll get you down, don't worry. Just hang on, okay?"
"Wait, Lillian?" Karen turned around to follow Lloyd's gaze. There, standing close to the end of one of the hallways Karen's destructive spell had blasted up through, just two levels up from the two, was the little girl, looking more scared and shaken than either of them had seen her.
Predictably, when the girl caught sight of Karen's glowing red eyes, she shrieked and ran back the way she'd come.
"Dammit."
"You could've told me she was there!"
"I wasn't clear enough who I was talking to up there?!"
"Whatever, just come on! He have to catch up with her!"
Before Lloyd could respond, Karen had already leapt up to the top of a nearby piece of rubble, making her way up to the hallway. Lloyd, swearing, shoved the magnifying glass back into his robe and started after her.