I was thinking about what boundaries I haven't crossed were, and I found a way to make myself uncomfortable with writing again. It's called the Fictional Narrative. So here's my first two attempts at that, in two parts titled "The Arcanist" and "Solitary Confinement."
"The Arcanist" is mostly around to support "Solitary Confinement." I say this mainly because it has less thematic value, but also because Willem doesn't work without another context to put him in. It's definitely lighter, and I wanted to see if I could go somewhere where I wasn't completely lost in thought. Action is something I'll want to write about more in the future.
I wanted to call it "Solitary Confinement" because I feel that that's what it would be like if you were the only real person around, even if you're not isolated physically. I was going for a kind of "Tone Piece" with this second one. Willem's state of being in this half is exactly what drives us to social networking sites: the fear of being alone.
Monday, March 1, 2010
The Arcanist
Before the events of the past few weeks, Willem had always enjoyed taverns. They were a place for him to get in touch with the common folk, drink, and, as the night went on, tell stories of his past accomplishments. The tavern that faced him now seemed less inviting than it had been five moons ago. It was surrounded by the desolate wastes of what used to be farmland but now seemed more like desert. Willem could tell that the Bacchae had been here. They were once-people that acted like locusts, drinking and eating their way through the land with hedonistic pleasure. Bacchae were not always a constant threat to these lands, but with the chaos and confusion that followed the zombie plagues, many villagers ended up homeless and lost. Villagers that joined the Bacchae had a much better chance of surviving out in the wilderness. Bacchae were not nearly as plentiful as the undead, but they had a more lasting effect on the land. “At least zombies are kind enough to leave mutton,” Willem thought to himself as he swung open the tavern door. There probably wasn't any food here, but it was worth checking to see if there was anything else of use in this run-down tavern.
As soon as he entered the tavern, the hair on the back of his neck stood up as he caught the gaze of a pale woman behind the bar. Staring into her eyes was like staring into oblivion. He felt as she did: cold, empty, without purpose or reason. His shoulders slumped down and the weight of purpose was lifted from his eyes.
“Who are you?” She asked.
“I'm a wizard,” he replied effortlessly.
“Well, that sounds quite interesting.” she said as she walked around the bar towards him. “Sit,” she said, gesturing to a stool next to the bar.
His feet moved, and he sat down. “I didn't--” he started.
“Shhh,” she interrupted. His mouth shut before he could think. His mind felt like it was covered with warm molasses. “Everything's going to be fine,” she said. “Do you have any silver, or weapons?”
He thought for a second, then showed her his hands, palms up. If he was a wizard, those were probably his greatest weapons. She paused, staring at his hands with puzzlement. “But wait,” he thought, “I'm a wizard. I'm probably supposed to kill vampires.” He blinked, and he could feel his weight in his shoes again. He directed his attention back to the woman, but she was already upon him, hissing with predatory anger.
Willem cried as her hands clutched at his collar and her fangs went for his neck, but his hands were only and inch short of her chest. He turned them toward her and they erupted with lightning. Shrieking, the vampire was blasted away from him and out the tavern's swinging doors, skidding along the dirt in the afternoon sun. Her screams of pain increased in urgency as her skin caught afire, but it was over almost as soon as it started, and she was reduced to nothing more than ash.
Willem flicked his wrists, sending off the last of his lightning into the floor below him. His hair was standing on end. He gritted his teeth at the ringing headache this sudden casting had caused him, but a headache was a small price to pay for the elements he had harnessed without his full focus. He shrugged into the stool again, this time of his own free will. Scanning behind the bar and finding the shelves empty made him want a drink even more.
As soon as he entered the tavern, the hair on the back of his neck stood up as he caught the gaze of a pale woman behind the bar. Staring into her eyes was like staring into oblivion. He felt as she did: cold, empty, without purpose or reason. His shoulders slumped down and the weight of purpose was lifted from his eyes.
“Who are you?” She asked.
“I'm a wizard,” he replied effortlessly.
“Well, that sounds quite interesting.” she said as she walked around the bar towards him. “Sit,” she said, gesturing to a stool next to the bar.
His feet moved, and he sat down. “I didn't--” he started.
“Shhh,” she interrupted. His mouth shut before he could think. His mind felt like it was covered with warm molasses. “Everything's going to be fine,” she said. “Do you have any silver, or weapons?”
He thought for a second, then showed her his hands, palms up. If he was a wizard, those were probably his greatest weapons. She paused, staring at his hands with puzzlement. “But wait,” he thought, “I'm a wizard. I'm probably supposed to kill vampires.” He blinked, and he could feel his weight in his shoes again. He directed his attention back to the woman, but she was already upon him, hissing with predatory anger.
Willem cried as her hands clutched at his collar and her fangs went for his neck, but his hands were only and inch short of her chest. He turned them toward her and they erupted with lightning. Shrieking, the vampire was blasted away from him and out the tavern's swinging doors, skidding along the dirt in the afternoon sun. Her screams of pain increased in urgency as her skin caught afire, but it was over almost as soon as it started, and she was reduced to nothing more than ash.
Willem flicked his wrists, sending off the last of his lightning into the floor below him. His hair was standing on end. He gritted his teeth at the ringing headache this sudden casting had caused him, but a headache was a small price to pay for the elements he had harnessed without his full focus. He shrugged into the stool again, this time of his own free will. Scanning behind the bar and finding the shelves empty made him want a drink even more.
Solitary Confinement
The next day, scouting on top of a hill, Willem spotted a large mob of zombies milling about in the barren fields below. Curiously, he studied their empty, dull faces through his spyglass. He watched as they staggered about, going no-where in particular. Other observers might be wondering why the zombies weren't hunting or looking for signs of people to feed on, but Willem knew that they were completely mindless. Without any prey to stagger after, they didn't really have any purpose at all. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like to be one of them, one of the mindless horde, free from responsibility and free from sanity. He longed for freedom from duty, freedom from reason, the freedom to act on impulse. Every day he would wonder if today was the day that his quest was over, if today was the day that he could let go of all his responsibilities and be at peace. This concept also kept him awake with fear at night, for he knew that for most wizards, your first day of rest is the day that you die. He only hoped that someone whom he had met along the road, or maybe one of the villagers he had saved, would remember him for his bravery or his good looks. He wished that the Academy hadn't been obliterated by Hellfire. He wished that the world would just go back to the way it was. But this was going to be a long, lonely day, and for Willem, there was much worse down the road.
Being alone with your thoughts when you're a wizard can be quite dangerous. After all, with the wrong thoughts a wizard can kill. Willem had not seen a living person in over four days now, and it was starting to take its toll on him. He caught himself talking to the sand, the grass, or to no-one at all. His mind would wander back to the things he'd seen in the last month, the acts of evil and mindless destruction that he had witnessed. These sights only strengthened his resolve for his quest to stop the apocalypse, but at times he felt as though that day had already come and gone. “Maybe nobody's left,” he thought to himself. “Am I the last living person ever?” His sense of duty faltered. “If I'm the only one left, then I wouldn't have a quest anymore. I'd be free!” But wouldn't he have failed his quest if that were the case? Was he really that desperate for respite that he wanted failure? He worried that his inner dialogues had become those of a madman.
As he came out of his daydreaming, he looked ahead at the swirling sand on top of the dusty road. Were times ever going to be as good as they were, or had those times ended long ago? As if in answer to these dreadful thoughts, a wagon trundled up the road ahead, kicking up a cloud of dust behind it. It was not alone, though. From behind it, a crowd of people appeared with more wagons, stumbling over each other in their collective drunkenness. Willem looked for a place to hide, but the foliage had been torn up by the trampings of the Bacchae. Willem noted that this could probably have been left as a warning, but that this information wasn't very useful for avoiding the problem he had at hand.
In the end, he just decided to stand off to the side of the road and just let their troupe pass by while he sat under a cloak of magic. But as they began to file along the road, he realized that he was standing in front of over a thousand people. They came in by the hundreds, spilling off the road, yelling and whooping, some of them stopping to drink or play. What kept them going in such a state of excitement was a mystery to Willem, but he tried to make himself as small as possible. They couldn't see him, but if they touched him, the game was up.
“The problem with being invisible is that you're still solid. Avoiding people who can't see you, especially when you're in a crowd, can be somewhere between taxing and impossible.” -Mage's Manual, pg. 5598
He wasn't able to make much headway past the tide of restless people that surrounded him at all sides. Seeing them fight was alarming, and he could feel a brawl was going to erupt at any second. As the crowd slowed and their rage collected, a small, stout man began pushing a skinnier, taller one in the middle of the crowd. The taller one growled and showed his fangs, then pounced. A fountain of blood erupted from the small one's neck, and the victorious tall one pulled back with a smirk dashed with crimson. This fight was over, but the surrounding crowd was overtaken with bloodthirst. They began laughing and whooping like a pack of wild dogs. Some others began fighting, and crowds surged around them.
Willem took this opportunity to slip into a wagon and steal some supplies. If escaping had to wait, then having dinner couldn't. In the end, the only food that he found to eat was a deat rabbit. It was raw, but a large chunk of it had been bitten off already. It would make good stew, if Willem could cut around the tainted parts. He exited the wagon and decided that it would be better not to tempt his luck with the other wagons and just to leave the train behind, so he skulked past the rest unseen into the dark.
Being alone with your thoughts when you're a wizard can be quite dangerous. After all, with the wrong thoughts a wizard can kill. Willem had not seen a living person in over four days now, and it was starting to take its toll on him. He caught himself talking to the sand, the grass, or to no-one at all. His mind would wander back to the things he'd seen in the last month, the acts of evil and mindless destruction that he had witnessed. These sights only strengthened his resolve for his quest to stop the apocalypse, but at times he felt as though that day had already come and gone. “Maybe nobody's left,” he thought to himself. “Am I the last living person ever?” His sense of duty faltered. “If I'm the only one left, then I wouldn't have a quest anymore. I'd be free!” But wouldn't he have failed his quest if that were the case? Was he really that desperate for respite that he wanted failure? He worried that his inner dialogues had become those of a madman.
As he came out of his daydreaming, he looked ahead at the swirling sand on top of the dusty road. Were times ever going to be as good as they were, or had those times ended long ago? As if in answer to these dreadful thoughts, a wagon trundled up the road ahead, kicking up a cloud of dust behind it. It was not alone, though. From behind it, a crowd of people appeared with more wagons, stumbling over each other in their collective drunkenness. Willem looked for a place to hide, but the foliage had been torn up by the trampings of the Bacchae. Willem noted that this could probably have been left as a warning, but that this information wasn't very useful for avoiding the problem he had at hand.
In the end, he just decided to stand off to the side of the road and just let their troupe pass by while he sat under a cloak of magic. But as they began to file along the road, he realized that he was standing in front of over a thousand people. They came in by the hundreds, spilling off the road, yelling and whooping, some of them stopping to drink or play. What kept them going in such a state of excitement was a mystery to Willem, but he tried to make himself as small as possible. They couldn't see him, but if they touched him, the game was up.
“The problem with being invisible is that you're still solid. Avoiding people who can't see you, especially when you're in a crowd, can be somewhere between taxing and impossible.” -Mage's Manual, pg. 5598
He wasn't able to make much headway past the tide of restless people that surrounded him at all sides. Seeing them fight was alarming, and he could feel a brawl was going to erupt at any second. As the crowd slowed and their rage collected, a small, stout man began pushing a skinnier, taller one in the middle of the crowd. The taller one growled and showed his fangs, then pounced. A fountain of blood erupted from the small one's neck, and the victorious tall one pulled back with a smirk dashed with crimson. This fight was over, but the surrounding crowd was overtaken with bloodthirst. They began laughing and whooping like a pack of wild dogs. Some others began fighting, and crowds surged around them.
Willem took this opportunity to slip into a wagon and steal some supplies. If escaping had to wait, then having dinner couldn't. In the end, the only food that he found to eat was a deat rabbit. It was raw, but a large chunk of it had been bitten off already. It would make good stew, if Willem could cut around the tainted parts. He exited the wagon and decided that it would be better not to tempt his luck with the other wagons and just to leave the train behind, so he skulked past the rest unseen into the dark.
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