Bay 12 Games Forum

Me backstabbing anyone is just a stupid speculation. I gain nothing out of turning on Az-Sho or forcing monotheism outside of dwarfkind. You are all just jelly as hell and can't deal with my awesome.

And best of all I'm still invisible!   

And I gain nothing by killing you; we're in a mutually beneficial relationship.
Plus Udil hasn't enslaved anyone. I know this for sure truth.

I'm sorry but saying the Cheshire cat is a Tzeentch Daemon or Wonderland is a Daemon world is like saying a hypernova is a nuclear bomb.

Check your scales, they are broken.

I've seen the Cheshire Cat give out farts smarter than Tzneetch.

The day, to be frank, had been shit. Craig Ferguson had never had good luck, but this was just unbelivable, even for him. He'd been trying to advertise his carpenter business for some time now, and even though this part of the city was pretty seedy, the local bars generally needed a new table a week due to the previous ones getting shot up. If you didn't mind the local gangs taking a cut of your profits or the meth dealers pitching you their new product at every corner, it wasn't such a bad part of the city, so long as you kept busy. This, however, was not the kind of busy Craig was looking for.
This 'busy' was a block of wood, about 7' by 4, and by the look of it, old as all hell. It was also gnarled to all hell, the various vortices in trhe wood actually shifting it's shape more towards spherical. Craig knew for a fact that there were no trees this old within 25 miles of city limits - or any trees for that matter - so tbe question presented itself: Where did thid guy get it, and how illegal IS this piece of shit? He turned toward the scum who had smuggled it in, a squirmy-looking man with a ratty face. Craig didn't know his name.
"So what exactly did this rich guy want me to do with this?"
The rat sniffed and replied, "Well, what he told me he wanted was a, a throne, yasee? Like a big big chair thing with lions and dragons and bears and shit like that. You can do something like that, right?"
"Well, maybe. Certainly not just with this piece of wood. I'm probably gonna use this ... thing as a backbone for it and then make the rest of the stuff with other wood. Your guy okay with that?"
"Yeah, should be fine. Here's half-" the rat handed Craig a thick wad of bills -
"And the other half you get upon delivery. I'm gonna go now, and leave the rest of this to you. See ya in a week!"
And with that, the con left Craig counting the money. He whistled as he finished, and commented, "This guy must be some kinda rich bastard to be able to pay this much for a chair." So maybe the day wasn't so much shit. Deciding he better get to sanding the damn thing, he hauled it up onto the table in his workshop and got his apron and goggles on. Powering up his sander, he lowered it to a particularly protruding knot, and-
As soon as the sander touched the wood, a shockwave pulsed outward from it, hard enough to send him stumbling backwards. He quickly backed away from it as another, stronger shockwave boomed out of the previosly inanimate hunk of wood, and it began to glow with an eerie green light. Craig was buffeted by shockwaves comin at increasingly faster and stronger rates, and through half-closed eyes he could see gren lines tracing symbols and sigils onto the wood. He turned away as it let out an enormous shockwave that blew away everything around it, then settled still, the sigils on it glowing brighter. They pulsed once, twice, thrice, and with a mighty bang and a flash, Craig was blinded. When he opened his eyes he saw something unbelivable. An old man lay where the block of wood had once been, slumbering peacefully amidst the carnage. In the moment of silence that followed, Craig took a look at the slumbering man. He was tall, with a solemn-type face tget seemed to be locked in a perpetual frown; his eyes clenched shut under bushy eyebrows. Most of his lower face and chest was covered by the immense beard he sported, though, flowing and white, mixing with the shoulder-length white hair that bloomed from under his wide-brimmed hat. Presently the man, apparently waking up, scratched his nose, sat up and let out a yawn that Craig could smell from the other side of the room (god he had bad breath) and shook his head a little bit before he opened his eyes, which Craig idly noted were of no specific color he knew. That was secondary to the man's reaction to his workshop, though. As soon as his eyes opened, the man went completely still, allowing Craig to notice that he had a blue robe on with white spirally designs upon it, and a large walking stick at his side, before he let out a scream of terror and leapt off the table, showing remarkable mobility for a man of his age. Staff in hand, the man looked around frantically, and seeing Craig, thrust toward him with his staff, shouting, "Stand hrycg! Stand hrycg!" Craig didn't know what in the fuck that meant, but he put his hands up and backed away. Panting heavily, the strange man muttered toward him in a voice hardly audible, "Béon ic déab?" Craig attempted to pacify the man, saying, "Look man, I don't know what that was you just said, but listen, if you'll just calm down, I can get you to -"
He never got to finish the sentence as the man leapt forward, words flowing so rapidly out of his mouth that Craig could not tell one from another, and he began rapidly striding forward, the tip of that stick pressing into his throat. Craig shut up and began mentally praying when the old man froze again. His eyes widened and he muttered something that sounded like 'Artür...' He stiffened, then let out a sharp yell and promptly dashed out through the door, leaving Craig to wonder what the hell just happened.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The man dashed down the corridor and propped himself up against a wall.
What is this place? Stone walls perfectly straight, pillars of steel rising up from the ground, a pale man in strange cloth. Is this Mab's work?
WHERE IS ARTHUR. WHERE AM I.
The voices built in his head until it felt as if it would burst, until one silenced them.
No. This is deer thought. Skittish, scared, you are not that. You are man. You are adaptable. You will survive.
What of his speech? I do not know it.
You do.
And then he did. His face set in a determined scowl, the man marched back down the hall.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Craig had just gotten over the initial shock of seeing an old man come busting out of a wooden block when he came matching back in - and this time he looked scary. Gone was the disbelieving stare and panicked eyes, in their place hard eyes that pinned him to the spot. The man strode forward, his steps purposeful, and demanded in a booming voice, "Where is this?"
"What do you mean?"
"What eldritch realm is this? Where am I? TELL ME!"
Craig, shocked by the intensity of his voice, stammered, "Uhh, in my workshop?"
"Which is where?"
"In [CITYNAME]. Look, man, I don't know what the fuck is going on, but -"
"When am I?"
"Huh?"
"What year, you dolt! How long has it been?"
"It's just now 2013."
"Twenty ... There have been more then twenty years in the world. Speak clearly!"
"Two thousand thirteen don't hurt me!"
The man looked at him in shock.
"Over a thousand years, then ... Oh Arthur, does any of the realm remain after so long?"
"What realm, man? What are you talking about?"
"It matters little now. I must know my way around this new planet that has grown up in my exile."
With that, he pressed the end of his staff to Craig's head, and he felt an immense sense of suction, as if something were being pulled out of his head. Abruptly it ceased, and Craig watched as the man shuddered, then stood up straight and let out a great sigh.
"So this is the way of the world, then. Very well; I changed the land once, and I shall do it again."

Full Act: The man breaks out of his prison and absorbs knowledge from Craig Ferguson, gaining knowledge of everything he knows.

Knowledge gained and innocence lost, the man strode out of the workshop, navigating it as if it was his own, which it was in a way. Striding out into the street, he breathed in the air and promptly bent over in a coughing fit, leaning heavily on his staff. Such foul air in this day and age! So much had changed ... but he knew that if one thing had not changed, it was the magic that thrummed within his body. It would guide him, be where it may. But first, he would need a guide, an apprentice to teach and be taught. As always, the ideal candidate was a child.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The children were lined up in a row; Matthew wondered what was going on. The orphanage hadn't had a visitor in years, why would there be any now? The Saint Peter's Orphanage for Lost Children was dilapidated and dying, and all of the children here had been here for far too long. They would not be adopted today. However, that did not stop Matron Gwen from lining them all up, swatting them until  they stood up straight.
"Come on, you louts! Tuck that shirt in! Straight back! John, stop poking Peter. All right, children, in line now!"
Presently, a tall man strode through the door. He had stern eyes, wore a robe that Matthew fancied was that of a wizard, and walked with a staff carved with intricate runes. Without paramble, he walked up to the first kid in the line, a boy named Greg, and clasped his face in a wrinkled hand and looked into his eyes. After a few moments, he shook his head with a grunt, released Greg, and moved onto the next boy. This went in for a few minutes, with the man looking into each boy's eyes in turn, before shaking his head for each in turn. Soon he reached Matthew and looked into his eyes.
Boundless pools of fire stared back at him, swirling, rushing toward him, threatened to consume him, and it was only by the greatest effort that he got through -
And it was over, and through the haze, Mat could see the man standing upright, nodding to the matron, and grabbing him by the hand and dragging him out the door without so much as a word.
Once outside (and his head was back in order), Mat tugged on the man's arm, and he rounded on him.
"What?"
"Sorry, mister, but ... Who are you? And where are you taking me?"
The old man stared at him for a moment before turning back around.
"I was once known as Merlin, youngling ... and I need a guide."
Zilch Act: Merlin adopts a child from a random orphanage that is only too happy to get him off their hands. He takes the child as his apprentice, and begins to teach him the fundamentals of magic in exchange for knowledge of the modern world while they search for a good base of operations - preferably a castle.

Why are you trying to write anything of length on a mobile device?

I'm writing it someplace I shouldn't be, of course.

That statement got me all

Do you know that feeling when you delete all your progress on a thing you've been writing that was really good?
GUESS WHAT JUST HAPPENED TO ME.

I think it's a luck modifier.

Precisely! Accidentally implies luck.