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 Posted: Mon Aug 20, 2007 4:34 pm
Quote: All the King's Men
"Back in my day, you young'un wizards actually did some good! All your upstart potion did for me was give me a sore patootie! TO THE DUNGEON WITH YOU!"
King Jollop the Third is one hundred and twenty years old, and hopping mad. Even though he's lived such a long time, he wants to be immortal, and never forgotten. But the last wizard whom he ordered to make an everlasting-life potion only gave him a laxative. Needless to say, that wizard is now locked in the dungeons and on a strict bread-and-water diet.
But the king is still in search of such a potion, and has enlisted your guild to help with its concoction. If you fail, you will surely have the same fate as that unlucky alchemist. If you succeed, this tyrant will live forever!
What do you do?
Explain to the king that everyone dies and that his turn will come up sooner or later, and risk execution? Try to make a potion? Does your potion have a strange side effect? Does some convenient circumstance give you a way out of this predicament?
This quest yields 10 endurance points.
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Posted: Tue Aug 21, 2007 5:18 am
The first thing the bard did was pour himself a stiff drink. The second thing the he did was toss the brandy off in one gulp. The third thing he did was throw his glass against a wall, where it shattered into a thousand glimmering shards, and yell at the top of his lungs for fully twenty seconds. Initial range and frustration thus relieved, he dropped down onto a cushion by the crackling fire and drew his knees up to his chest with a despondent sigh.
“We’re stuffed,” he predicted dolefully.
“Wow, optimistic today aren’t we?” Angetenar’s mental voice grinned. “Guess you’re right though,” he went on after a moment, “not like you can give him what he wants and I’m guessing king I-wear-my-underpants-on-my-head hasn’t exactly left you unguarded.”
“Not in so many words, no,” the blond murmured aloud, sending the same down the link to his wyrm friend as his mind wandered to the pair of humans outside the door. Both tall, both armed and whilst they had nothing against him personally he was fairly sure they wouldn’t be willing to risk their king’s wrath by helping him slip away. Well at least it was a nice room he supposed, supplied with alcohol and warmth and varying furniture. Not to mention the potion supplies of course.
“I could always charge in, go on a rampage, set fire to the city and rescue you,” the shadow-hybrid suggested, his love of chaos shining through in his enthused offer.
Beetle closed his eyes and rubbed them wearily. “No thank you Tenar; I’m sure I’ve told you my opinion of mass destruction before.” The last thing he wanted reported back to the guild was that ‘his’ wyrm was responsible for razing a city to the ground.
“Aww,” was the disappointed reply. “You never want me to rampage… maybe I could just rampage a bit? Growl at people and only set fire to money-lenders and such?”
The sorcerer gave a brief laugh but shook his head again. “Much as that would be hilarious I’d still rather it were a last resort Tenar. If I can think or talk or trick my way out of this I shall. If not, I may be forced to call on your special methods of persuasion.”
A mental sigh followed by a chuckle met his words. “Alright, I suppose I hope for your silver tongue to fail you for once, hu? Oh! Tell you what; I could just eat the king, how’s that? Bet everyone would cheer me in the streets for doing that. I’d be a hero, statues in my honour and everything.”
This time the grey-skinned mage was forced to laugh properly. “Don’t!” he implored. “You’d probably get a bellyache from consuming such a creature.” It would be rather satisfying though, much as he hated to admit that to himself. Though he wasn’t a fan of violence on the whole, violence against King Jollop he found himself quite able to contemplate with a smirk.
“Well, better me getting a bellyache from eating him than him bellyaching at you, right?”
The dark-eyed man groaned. “I walked right into that one,” he commented as he got back to his feet and placed the stopper back into the decanter of brandy. “Where are you anyway, just in case rampaging is needed?” He didn’t feel as though he was far from the wyrm but he’d been wrong on that score before.
“Just outside the city,” Angetenar replied, sending a few mental snapshots of his surroundings. “Guards on the wall keep pointing weapons at me,” he grumbled. I’m not even doing anything wrong. Yet.”
Beetle just rolled his eyes and paced over to the window. Focusing for a moment, he drew magic together and drifted up onto the sill to peer out of the glass. It was just as he’d expected; another pair of guards were stationed to watch this possible exit. Well it had been worth a try.
Sighing to himself, the mage turned about and jumped back to ground level. He probably didn’t have long before some idiot came hammering to ask him why his hocus-pocus wasn’t ready for the king yet. “Not even as though I know that much about making potions,” he muttered, running his fingers through his hair wearily. Apparently he hadn’t managed to communicate to the daft old coot that ability to throw fireballs around plus an acute sense of smell, that he had very much regretted in the old man’s presence, did not equal somebody who could make potions beyond the most basic.
“I guess everlasting life is a difficult one, hu?” Angetenar sent, the slight fuzzy quality to the thought indicating to Beetle that the wyrm was probably busy eating something fluffy that he’d just killed and roasted.
“Yes,” the gnome replied, “and an evil one. Not the sort of thing I’d ever want to come into contact with.”
The hybrid’s attention became palpably more focused at these words. “Oh?” he enquired. “What’s wrong with it? I mean I see that it’s cheating, but evil?”
The blond man bit his lip and wandered over to the many labelled draws that held such things as eye of common newt and tail of both black and brown rat. “You can never have something for nothing,” he sent eventually. “That’s something that non magic folk, such as his highness king nutsie-cuckoo, don’t appreciate. With most things, obviously, you can just get it out of leylines and such, which makes it look like it comes from nowhere I suppose. With powerful potions though you need ingredients that are both powerful and tangible.”
A soft noise of derision was sent his way. “I know all that crap, get to the important stuff already.”
Beetle sighed and drummed his fingers against a draw marked ‘bat wings’. “Right, of course; sorry. Still, for a potion that has such an enormous effect as ever-life… well the immortality has to come from somewhere. From someone. Elves are the most usual victims; the appropriate rites can decant the essence that keeps them forever young along with some drained blood. If that is put in a potion with various other difficult to find and combine ingredients, the drinker takes on the elf’s immortality.”
For a moment the link was still. After a few moments however the bard felt a shudder of revulsion run along it. “Nasty. I take it the elf dies pretty quickly once you’ve done that to them.”
The dark-eyed man nodded. “Yes, they usually fade within a month or two from what I’ve been told.” Yes, Darren back at the guild had been very clear on all of it when he’d asked out of simple curiosity. He wished the old human was here with him now; he was a wizard with potions. Haha. “What exactly, would you do in this position?” Beetle asked aloud, a frown furrowing his brow.
“He can’t hear you Bee,” Angetenar told him helpfully.
The blond ignored his draconic friend’s words. “Well you would’ve come to the same end as me so far as the ever-life potion goes. What would you think of next?” Though the silver-haired man was only actually a decade or so his senior, the sorcerer felt very much younger than the expert potion mixer. Probably because sixty something was old for a human but more or less fifty was young for a forest gnome.
“I’m telling you, he can’t hear you,” the hybrid wyrm sent. “You’ll have to figure this out on your own Bee. Well with my help of course but that’s a given.”
The forest gnome sighed wearily and slumped to the floor to lean against the draws. “Thank you Tenar,” he replied. “Good to know I’ve always got somebody beside me.” Comforting though it was, it didn’t leave him any less stumped for a plan. “Let’s see,” he mumbled indistinctly, “his nibs expects a potion so I’ll have to cook something up I suppose. Maybe I can give him a sleeping draught and then leg it.”
“Not a good idea if you ask me,” Angetenar put with a mental frown. “This Jollop guy may be several horses short of a race but he’s stubborn and cunning. As soon as he woke up he’d know you’d tricked him and have every guard in the city on our tails before you can say ‘to the dungeon with them!’ It’ll have to be something a bit better than that, something that means he’ll leave us alone.”
“Well that’s brilliant,” the brown-eyed creature groaned, watching how the sunlight coming in through the window made dust motes glimmer distractedly. “He’s not going to let me be unless I turn out an ever-life potion for him, or unless he changes his mind about immortality.”
Angetenar gave a sharp laugh. “Right, and we both know how likely that is. You’d have to put a spell on him to make him decide that maybe dying is the thing for him… after... all…”
Both beings paused, not wishing to look at the idea head on in case it evaporated.
Eventually, the purpled-hided wyrm broke the silence “Err… Bee? Didn’t your potions friend teach you that suggestibility mixture?”
The blond got slowly to his feet, a grin spreading across his face. “Yes, yes he did. Wow. You really are an accidental genius Tenar; this might just work if I play it right, and if I’ve got the right ingredients here.” So there was a light at the end of this tunnel. With luck, it wouldn’t even turn out to be a flamethrower.
“Well then,” Angetenar sent with undertones of yawn, “I’ll leave you to your brewing. Wake me up if something interesting looks like happening.”
Repressing a yawn of his own and scanning for all the things he would need to make the potion, Beetle sent his friend a feeling of assent. “Will do,” he clarified, “sleep well Tenar.”
“Gneh, will do. Night.”
Deciding not to point out that it was the middle of the afternoon, Beetle began to levitate various pits and pieces out of their draws and onto the work bench for preparation. This had to work.
*****
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Posted: Tue Aug 21, 2007 5:24 am
“How’s it going?”
Beetle gave a small squeak of surprise as his concentration was broken and nearly succeeded in toppling off the stack of boxes he had set before the fireplace so that he could reach the cauldron. “Ah, you’re awake,” he observed as soon as he had recovered himself. “I’m doing alright I suppose,” he went on, “just missing one thing now.”
He was actually surprised at how well he’d done with this; he’d never tried to make this potion without Darren’s supervision complete with the human’s helpful comments such as ‘you’re using too much snakeskin, it’ll go off like a firework at this rate.’ When he got back he would definitely be reporting on how perfect a shade of blue he had got it before the addition of the key final ingredient. When he added that, the colour ought to change to match that of whatever substance he ended up using.
A feeling of yawning and stretching came from the mixed blood wyrm. “So what don’t you have?” he asked after a moment or two.
The blond frowned down at the mixture, his sensitive nose twitching at the tingling scents that floated up at him. “Something that makes people more likely to believe things they’re told or do silly things. Darren liked to use… err… herbs shall we say. Anything else with vaguely similar effects on the mind would work fine, I just can’t think of what to use right now.” There had to be something suitable around the place, he was sure of it… Eh? Angetenar was laughing at him. “What?” the bard demanded with a mental scowl.
The wyrm continued to chuckle. “I’ll give you a hint,” he said teasingly. “What was the first thing you did when they locked you in here?”
Beetle groaned; not his most shining moment ever. “Brandy, of course; thanks Tenar.” He would have got there by himself in the end but being reminded of it sooner was no bad thing.
Turning to face the decanter, the sorcerer extended a hand and summoned over to tip a generous measure of its contents into the potion. A moment later, much to his satisfaction, the blue faded out to the rich gold amber of the potent spirit. It looked and smelled just as it was supposed to.
“So what do you plan to suggest to our wise monarch?” the tan marked creature enquired with a grin.
Summoning a pair of vials from a rack the other side of the room, the pale-skinned man gave a none too pleasant smile. “I’m going to tell him he wants to die.”
*****
“Well then you young, you young spellie maker; where’s my potion?”
Trying not to breath through his nose and very much envying the human guards whose olfactory organs didn’t work as well as his did, the sorcerer approached the throne. “Here,” he began, lifting up a small bottle of amber liquid, “and here,” he concluded, lifting a bottle of clear liquid.
The old man in the chair blinked his rheumy eyes suspiciously. “Two potions? Why are there two? What are you trying to pull here boy?” Leaning down out of his chair to look the gnome in the eyes, king Jollop gave a toothless sneer. “I haven’t got to be as old as I am by letting suspicious things happen around me you know. This had better not be a trick or you’ll join your little magic friend in the dungeons.”
Beetle smiled pleasantly up at the foul old man. “No trick my lord, the potion I have made merely comes in two parts. The first,” he nodded to the amber-filled bottle, “is a quickener to prepare you for the potion itself. Without the quickener it won’t work my lord.”
“You really are an accomplished bullshitter, aren’t you Bee?” came Angetenar’s amused tones.
Keeping his face outwardly pleasant, the dark-eyed gnome sent a smirk to his draconic friend. “And proud of it; bards are paid to be able to bullshit on the spot you know.”
Fortunatly by the looks of it the king was lapping it up like the whining dog he was; his lips were smacking and he was making various unpleasant slurping noises.
“The first potion sire?” the sorcerer offered, unstopping it and passing it over. “Some of the ingredients are quite bitter so I’ve added a little brandy to it for a better taste.”
A wizened hand snapped out with surprising speed, snatched the opened bottle and the king drained it in one gulp. Tossing the glass container aside to shatter on the floor he gestured impatiently for the second bottle.
Beetle retracted it and raised a hand to ward off the rising anger in the old human’s eyes. “Please sire, allow me to explain? The quickener must be given some minutes to work before you take the second. Just a few minutes my lord and you shall have your immortality… if you’re sure you want it that is.”
The king blinked, too surprised to get angry right away. “Of course I want it you daft young whippersnapper,” Jollop sneered eventually. “What makes you think I’d change my mind now, eh, eh? You you you think I’m daft?”
“Excessively,” the bard sent to his wyrm friend with distaste. “Of course not sire,” he insisted with a sweeping bow, “I merely thought that one who has lived such a reputedly fine life as yourself might wish to sample his reward.”
The old man blinked and leant back in his chair, eyes glazing slightly as the potion began to take effect. “My reward?” he echoed uncertainly.
“But of course,” the sorcerer nodded with well feigned sincerity. “For many, many years now you have been a wise and fair ruler. I know there are those that speak against you sire but be assured, though they may not like it, most of them see deep down that your firm hand is better for them than some lax ruler who would let brigands run amok through the streets.”
King Jollop smiled dreamily. “Yes, yes of course they do. Need a firm hand people do, keep them in line and keep brigands from roaming about wherever they like.”
The blond could feel his heart racing; if the guards suspected something was amiss he was done for but for now they seemed happy enough. They’d probably heard their share of people sucking up to the ancient ruler and indeed were probably adept at looking attentive whilst privately going to their respective happy places to escape the ranting and raving of a mad lord.
“It puzzles me therefore my lord King Jollop,” Beetle went on, “why you seek to avoid death. I am sure your reward for all the hard work you have done would be great.”
The king blinked again. “Well I suppose it would be,” he murmured somewhat uncertainly.
The dark-eyed gnome bit down lightly on his lip; on some subconscious level the human before him seemed aware that he hadn’t been as good to his people as he was being told he had been. Time to cement the idea of the reward then. “Oh yes of course sire; all sorts of good things probably await you the other side. Wine and fine spirits for you to drink without fear of the next morning, nubile young women clambering to become ah… acquainted with you if you follow me? I know you are a good man my lord king but it puzzles me why any man would extend his life indefinitely for a crowd of grubby commoners who cannot understand the sacrifices he makes for them when he could have all that I have mentioned and much more.”
A scowl spread over the lord’s face and Beetle felt every muscle in his body begin to twang with tension. This was it; either he’d succeeded or gone too far. He wished the old coot would hurry up and let him know which it was so that he could either run for it or relax.
“Give me that potion, boy!” Jollop snapped, gesturing at the bottle of clear liquid.
Feeling sick and faint, the forest gnome handed up the vial of pure water. Well it had been worth a try he supposed.
The thin and wrinkled old hand closed about the bottle and Beetle watched the king peer at it. He felt almost as though he were watching someone else’s life or perhaps like watching a play. Yes, a play. Everything was there; the actors, the scenery but though he could lose himself and believe in it he half expected to see a badly painted ‘bush’ made out of a piece of wood any second.
A few heartbeats later, the human looked down at him again with a slight frown. “Well damned if you’re not right boy! These blasted ingrates have kept me the slave for just about long enough; I want my nubile young women!” With these lecherous words, the thin old man drew his arm back and hurled the glass bottle and its innocuous contents as far away from himself as he could.
It shattered on the flagstones of the throne room and Beetle, suddenly feeling very much real again, contrived a small spray of gold sparks to make it look more impressive.
“Now off your go boy,” the king ordered with a nod and a dismissive gesture towards the door. “I have to decide which sap I’m going to offload this kingship on. Oh, and guards; get that other wizard out of my dungeons and kick him out of my city. Make him drink some of his own potion first though, see how he likes it…”
Beetle had already made it to the doors at this point and, as he slipped out and let them close behind him, anything else the crazy old human might have demanded was lost to him.
“Well all hail Beetle, bullshitter extraordinaire. Didn’t think it was going to work for a moment there,” Angetenar sent with a grin.
The blond grinned back feeling more than a little giddy with relief. “You doubted me? I’m hurt; I thought you were aware of how very awesome I am.” He’d thought it’d all gone belly up as well and his fire-breathing friend knew that but the pretence of being insulted and supremely confident was fun.
Indeed, the wyrm chuckled at his mock affront. “Well please do accept my humblest apologies then Bee. Meet you by the gates?”
The bard smiled and nodded, turning his feet in the right direction; he didn’t have anything to pack fortunately. “I’ll be with you soon Tenar,” he assured the large creature.
The hybrid returned the nod. “Good… oh and Bee?”
“Mmm?”
“What does nubile mean?”
~fin~
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