Tales From Wyvern

[Binyamin]

Remember back in the day when we had a rolling economy and Arch Wizards had time to assist us with little things like putting stories up on the web site?

Well, those times are gone. Suck it up. BUT! There is no reason Tales cannot rise from the ashes of our broken dreams!

So without further preamble, let's get straight to the rules:

1) As a famous TV chef is known for saying, "Keep it G, ladies!" Which means if you wouldn't have seen it in a book back in the 30's and 40's, you ain't allowed to write it here. Censorship is alive and well and lives right here.

2) You ain't allowed to use another player's character. Exceptions to this: The two of you are collaborating on the same story (as in taking turns, or sharing the characters in this storyline).

3) No adding to another's storyline. Meaning? Freddbot comes in, posts up a chapter of drivel. Salklich reads it, thinks, "Hey! Groovy man!" He then posts up the next installment of the story in his words--basically jacking the storyline from Freddbot.

4) There is no rule #4.

5) No excessive violence/gore/innuendo/whatnot. You can let us know that Crierbaby's guts fell on the floor when the Wyvern rakes him with its claws without having it splatter the reader with offal.

6) No getting frisky with the serving girls in the pubs. 'Nuff said.

7) Do, please, try to keep your writing in-line with standard rules of grammar, spelling, & punctuation. English or American English--doesn't matter. Need help with this? Try The Elements of Style by William Strunk, Jr. http://www.bartleby.com/141/ or the Basics of English Composition at http://www.free-ed.net/free-ed/Human...Comp01_VOD.asp and let us not forget http://www.dictionary.com and its friend http://www.thesaurus.com

8) Break longer pieces up into chapters. Don't post more than 3 per day. Readers don't need to log in to find War and Peace spamming them.

9) Any infractions of the above rules will get your story deleted. Enough deletions, and I'll lock the thread and y'all will have to submit your stories to me for approval before seeing them in here.

10) The above rules are subject to change without your approval.

Are you up to it? Then let's rock!

[Binyamin]

Binyamin Enterprises, LLC
by Binyamin

Binyamin grabbed the barstool he’d stolen from the Hanging Half-Orc Tavern in New Verden and pulled it over to his heavy oaken work bench. Waving a paw in the air, he pulled a red can with white curly letters out of another dimension. Sticking one claw underneath a tab on one end of the can, he pulled it back with a loud pffssst! He reached behind himself with the other paw and took a crystal goblet down off a shelf. He waved his first paw again, causing the goblet to be filled with neat cubes of ice. Setting it down on his workbench, he poured a caramel-colored liquid out of the red can into the goblet. It fizzed and spit as it hit the ice.

“Say what you want about that insane dimension, but it makes an excellent fizzy drink!” he chuckled, taking a hefty draught from the goblet. Belching loud and long, he set the goblet down on his bench. Suddenly, the fur on the back of his neck stood straight up as something dark and evil slid up behind him.

“Hello, wisssarrrd,” it hissed. “I haff come to make yourrr life missserrrable!” Binyamin turned around. Directly behind him was a huge, ancient shoggoth. Quickly he lashed out with one paw, cuffing it upside its head.

“Quit the dramatics, Gus,” he snarled as the shog rubbed its head with a pseudopod.

“Sorry. Thought it’d be funny, y’know?”

“It ain’t.” Binyamin turned back to his drink.

“Oh, please, Dark Lord of Evil,” cried a piteous voice from a cage in the back of Binyamin’s workroom. “Release me from my captivity! The Wizard has tortured me so. Grant me the coup de grâce and set me free from his black tyranny!” The shoggoth peered into the cage and saw a scrawny, starved halfling.

“Raid his castle we tried, hmm?” it asked. “Thought highly of your hide skill, hmm? Caught we were, hmm?” It began to laugh.

“Don’t mock me, Ancient of Evils,” whimpered the Halfling. “Just slay me with your powerful acids.”

“Oh, do knock off that incessant prattling,” growled Binyamin, “before I make your torture worse.”

“Nothing you can do to me can be any worse than the fate that has befallen me up to now,” it cried. Binyamin began to wave a paw. “No! Leave me alone! No more! Help!” A blue mist settled over the Halfling. As it dissipated, the Halfling began to transform. “What are you doing to me, you horrid beast?” it screamed. “No!” The transformation complete, it was no longer a halfling. Now, in the corner cage, sat a rumpled pixie. “Aaaaagh! You horrible monster! Look what you’ve done! All my wonderful toe-hair is gone!”

“That’s not all that’s gone, half-wit,” chuckled Binyamin, holding up a mirror for the creature to gaze into. Its screams became hysterical. Binyamin laughed, picked up the cage and gave it an aggressive shake. “Now shaddap, youse. I’ve got work to do.” He absently tossed the cage across his workshop where it landed with a bang, knocking the pixie out cold.

“Now, where was I?” he thought aloud.

“Destroyin’ Minath?” asked Gus hopefully.

“No, no, no. That’s Legolas’ territory. I have to behave and leave that alone—for the nonce. P’raps someday he’ll let me have at it.” He scratched his head, took a sip of his otherworld drink, and reach inside another cage. The rat he removed from it bit his hand ferociously and repeatedly as he brought it over to his work table. “Knock it off,” snarled Binyamin, thumping the rat in the head with his index-claw. “We’ve work to do, you and I.” He waved both paws, rat-filled and empty, in the air. An ancient tome appeared midair before him.

“Let’s see,” he said. He began to wiggle the claws of one paw in the air, causing the pages to flip over, one by one. Muttering beneath his breath, he read off the spell names. “Imbecile spell . . . incendiary spell . . . incontinence spell . . . inflammatory spell . . . intelligence spell—ah! There it is.” He took several pinches of items out of his Wizards’ reagent pouch and sprinkled them on top of the still snapping rat’s head. “Particus, sparticus, smarticus,” he said aloud. The rat stiffened in his paw, it’s eyes becoming huge. “Be intelligent,” he commanded.

“Nu?” said the rat. “You want maybe a conversation, or perhaps a dissertation?”

“Don’t be a nudnik,” growled the Wizard.

“Khazer,” the rat spat back at him.

“English,” snarled Binyamin.

“Pig,” repeated the rat. “You’re a big, hairy pig.”

“And your table manners are pristine, no?” said Binyamin. He squeezed the rat in his paw until its eyes bulged. “You enjoy life?”

“I make a living,” shrugged the rat. “At least until you came along.”

“Don’t be a tsutshepenish.”

“English,” said the rat.

“Shut up,” said Binyamin. “I’ve got a deal for you.”

“Is this going to be before or after you take me for a ride?”

“Shut up,” said Binyamin.

“Is this one of those offers I can’t refuse?”

“Shut up,” said Binyamin.

“You said that already.”

“And yet you still persist in flapping your lips.” The rat shrugged.

“It’s a hobby of mine.”

“Flapping your lips?”

“No, annoying parasites.” The rat grunted as Binyamin squeezed his paw around its midsection again. “OK! OK! OK! I give! What’s the deal?” Binyamin waved a paw over the rat’s head. Suddenly, the rat was endowed with the spell Death Ray. “Ooh! I like this!” It glared at Binyamin and cast the spell. Nothing happened. “Haxorz! What gives? You should be dead in your fuzzy footsteps.”

“I’m immune, you insolent rodent. Now here’s the deal. I want you to go down into every dungeon you can find and breed with the local rat population there. I want every dungeon to have rats with death ray. Farshteyn?”

“English,” snapped the rat. Binyamin gave it another squeeze. “Yes! Yes, I understand.” Binyamin dropped the rat on the floor. It turned with a sneer, tried once more to death ray the wizard, spat at his feet, then slipped out a crack in the wall.

To be continued . . .

[Crier]

Long Day.
Crierbaby Productions.

Staring out across the crowded auction hall the frost giant Crier pursed his lips then puffed upon his cigar. The same things were happening that had happened yesterday. Nothing. Off to the corner there was a shady looking halfling trying to pawn off some potions; behind a pillar there was a pseudolich sitting down trying to be cool; next to Crier, there was another of the esteemed Axeguild, doing what they do best, smoking a cigar whilst wasting time doing nothing. It was a good life, plenty of ale, plenty of cigars, and always something new to look at. “Long day eh?” Crier spoke to the dwarf.

The dwarf flickered his eyes towards Crier, “As long as yesterday was. Care for some ale?”

“Nah my mug is still full,” came the dutiful reply. The dwarf just shrugged and went back to watching the strange people. “Thinking about actually making some money,” The giant said absent mindedly. Once more the dwarf made no reply. “Yeah I hear that there’s a sale on some property somewhere near the elf town, might go cash in on that.” Still talking to virtually only himself Crier puffed on his cigar and rubbed his axe, “Shouldn’t be too hard eh? I mean its relatively cheap and resale sale values on it would be immense.”

“Don’t much like them elf-folk,” The dwarf grunted. Crier only shrugged and stood up, to tower over everyone in the auction hall.

“Me either but money is money,” The dwarf nodded, and Crier strolled out the doors into the bright sunlight. Minath, the city that the auction hall where Crier was lounging in was one of the busier cities in all of Wyvern, and for that fact, getting out was a hassle. Crowds thronged the streets pushing and shoving, young axe guild hopefuls stopped to stare at him only to be pushed on by everyone else. Once he reached the gates of the city he all but ran out, only to run into another giant on his way in. Reflex caused Crier to swing his axe at the surprise, as reflex caused the other giant to swing his club. Thuds abounded and both giants just stood there dumbstruck.

“Oi! What ya do that for?” the clubber giant muttered.

“Huh?” Crier blinked at the lights swarming in front of his eyes, “You swung too.” Blinking to clear his eyes Crier tried to get a good look at the giant who had hit him. Tentatively, “Hirmbly? Is that you?” Shading his eyes from the sun Crier peered at the stone giant before him. “Whatcha ya know, it is you! Son of a gun I thought you were dead.”

“Who are you?” The stone giant Hirmbly looked at Crier. “Are you Crier? Eh?” When Crier nodded Hirmbly continued,” I’m sorry my head hasn’t been too clear lately, been spending too much time under ground. Swear to Grigly the One Eyed, I must be going crazy. Just the other day I was scooting around in an RD when I could have sworn a rat was talking to other rats, now if that’s crazy I don’t know what is.” eyes wide, Hirmbly shook his head.

“Uh…well..erm…Yeah.” Crier finished lamely, looking for a way to leave this much too talkative stone giant. “Anywho, I see someone that owes me some gold,” Crier said, stepping around the other giant and hurrying down the now empty streets.

“Uh…okay,” The stone giant just didn’t have the mental capacity to think to watch Crier leave so he just wandered in towards the city.

Mumbling to himself Crier swears that he never liked that particular stone giant, and what he had meant to say ran more along the lines of “I had hoped you were dead” rather then the “I had thought you were dead.” Lets face it stone giants were just that, giant stones, only good if you were building a rather large barbeque pit, or even if one needed to gravel their garden walkways. Thinking about what property he would buy Crier begins to walk to the west, in search of the town with offerings. Once to the shore of the vast ocean between all the lands he paused, waiting for a ship to come in. Might was well rest here for a while he thinks.

Sitting down underneath a palm tree Crier closes his eyes, just for a minute he tells himself. It was just for a minute, a rather long minute, but still a minute. With the light of a new day streaming into his eyes Crier wakes, rubs his chin, looks around and mutters, “How did I get out here? More importantly…why am I out here?” Shrugging in answer to his own questions he gets up, turns to Minath and begins his walk back towards the auction house.

Once he enters, he sees the same dwarf from the day before, in the same spot nonetheless, Crier nods to him, the dwarf merely grunts. Crier still tired from such an adventurous day before yawns, and walks over to the dwarf to resume his seat, “long day yesterday,” he says.

[Binyamin]

Binyamin Enterprises, LLC
by Binyamin

Clarence Alwin Kirkland Thatcher looked back over his scruffy shoulder at the crack he had just slipped through. “Stinking Wizard. Just let his guard go down for one moment. I’ll show him! I’ll death ray him so fast his teeth will fall to the ground where he used to be standing before he found himself blinking in the Temple of Life!”

He paused in his rant to cast death ray on the fleas on his own back. They fell to the ground, dead, in droves. “Well, there’s one bit of good to come from all of this.” He cast death ray back at the crevice one last time, hoping against all odds that he’d nail Binyamin.

“I’m still immune!” came Binyamin’s call from inside. Clarence muttered something vulgar under his breath. “I heard that!” cried Binyamin.

“I seriously doubt that, you old coot,” grumbled Clarence. But he hurried on his way, nonetheless, just in case Binyamin came a-calling.

###

“An’ they call us shogs evil,” mused Gus after the rat had high-tailed it out of Binyamin’s workroom. “I mean, really! Giving a mere rat death ray? And intelligence?” Gus shook his head. “What if it wanders into a new adventurer dungeon?”

“What if?” said Binyamin.

“Well, they won’t have a d-prot ammy, now will they?”

“Duh.”

“They’ll die!”

“Duh.”

“But . . . but . . . that’s evil!”

“Duh.”

“Your CD is skippin’.”

“You want a nice lightning bolt shot through your ears?”

“No. Can’t say’s I do.”

“Then shaddap. I have more creating to do.” He began to summon various jars, phials, jugs, flasks, ampoules, and containers out of seemingly thin air. A pinch here, a dash there, it all went into a huge mortar. “Halfling’s large intestine,” he muttered. “Beholder drool. Pixie marrow. Fire elemental heat. Frost giant incisor. Stirge lice. Human leg hair.” He picked up the pestle and began to grind the concoction. “Contritum, contundere, caedes.” Turning to his left, Binyamin upended the mortar into a smoking, iron brazier. “Amburo. Caducus, decido. “ He stirred it thrice, widdershins, then sevenfold, deasil. “Convenio!” he cried with a final wave of his paws and a small, brown bar formed in the brazier.

“What’s that?” asked Gus.

“The new Binyamin Power Bar. Gives extra mana points when stuck down in a deep dungeon.”

“Right.”

“No, really. Try it.”

“Do I have ‘stupid’ written on my forehead?” Binyamin waved a paw. Gus felt a burning sensation across his forehead. Glancing at his reflection in a puddle on the floor, he noticed a pink, cursive word scrawled across his forehead. “Huh. Seems I do.” He picked up the bar and took a tentative bite. With a pop and a small cloud of purple smoke, he transformed into a roach. “Very funny,” he squeaked. Binyamin chuckled. “Now turn me back.” Binyamin chuckled again, and picked up a flyswatter. “Noooooooooooooo!”

To be continued . . .

[Binyamin]

Binyamin Enterprises, LLC
by Binyamin

Bent over a huge cauldron and up to his elbows in eye-of-newt, toe-of-frog, and blood-of-moron, Binyamin did not hear Arilou as he entered the slovenly kept workroom.

“Concitare, evertere, intumescere!” he intoned, adding a pinch of this, a chunk of that. “Cordatus!” He started to toss in a handful of carefully measured herbs.

“How’s my prettiest little fat boy in all the land?” called Arilou at that particular moment. With a start, Binyamin dumped half the handful in the kettle, the rest on the floor. His left foot jerked out spasmodically, knocking over a large candlestand. It tipped against a wall, knocking down a spice rack that in turn hit a bookcase that tipped over, smashing open a half-dozen cages. Suddenly the room was filled with cawing, braying, barking, squeaking, and oinking, as well as Binyamin’s curses. Feathers, fur, scales, and pieces of torn book fluttered all about—some landing in the now turbulent contents of the cauldron.

“You ignorant dweeb!” bellowed Binyamin. “Do you have any idea what you just caused?”

“You to make a mess? At least you weren’t wearing your pretty pink dress that I sent you last month. It might have gotten stained. Now that would have been a travesty!”

“Oh, hang that stupid dress!” growled the Rakshasa Wizard. “I shredded it the second it showed up in my inventory.” He paused as the cauldron gave a belch of dark, odiferous green smoke. “Uh oh…” He straightened from the crouch he had gone into when Arilou startled him and began to creep towards the door. “’Lou, you might want to back away,” he said as the cauldron started to walk around, eating up the various odds and ends that had been spilled on the floor.

“What did you do?” snapped Arilou, backing towards the door, too, yet still keeping an eye on the voracious cauldron.

“Me? I had it all under control until you came bargin’ in. It was to be a grand, new monster to terrify adventurers.” The cauldron pounced on a pig that had been cowering in one corner. The pig’s squeals turned to screams as it was slowly chewed.

“That’s not good, is it?” said Arilou.

“No.” Binyamin placed one paw behind himself and grasped the door handle. “Please don’t squeak,” he quietly implored it as he twisted the knob.

((Click)) it went.

“It didn’t squeak,” said Arilou.

“Oh bother,” muttered Binyamin as the cauldron whirled about to face the two of them.

“Is that good?” asked Arilou.

“No,” said Binyamin. “But there is good news.”

“You saved a bunch of money on your malpractice insurance by switching to—”

“No, you twit. I don’t have to outrun that cauldron.”

“You don’t?”

“Nope. I just have to outrun you!” The cauldron began to quiver and shake violently. Both Wizards waved an arm at the cauldron, casting spells at the same instant. “Acsi!” said Binyamin.

“Nefas!” said Arilou. The cauldron exploded in a ball of fire, cloying black oily smoke, and debris. A ball of fur, bones, wings, legs, and other assorted odds and ends fell out of the pieces of cauldron. “What is that?” asked Arilou as the creation began to claw its gooey way across the stone floor towards him.

“Got me,” said Binyamin. “Ain’t what I was tryin’ for.”

“What is it?” repeated Arilou as the thing rubbed, mewling, against his shin.

“No idea.” Binyamin shrugged.

“So you failed.” A faint sneer flickered across his face.

“Ayuh. No thanks to you bargin’ in uninvited.” He watched distractedly as the creature wrapped various appendages around Arilou’s leg and began to hug it. It called softly up to the Elder Wizard with a half-mew, half-oink call. Arilou began to shake his leg.

“Get off of me. I’m not your mama—he is.” He half-turned towards Binyamin and began to shake his leg more forcefully.

“It likes you! Hey Mikey!” chuckled Binyamin.

“Very funny. Get it off.” Arilou reached down and made a grab for it. The creature dodged his reach and ducked up under his robes.

“No way, Bubba. I ain’t reachin’ under your robe for that rascal. You’re on your own!” Arilou sneered at the Rakshasa and began to shake his leg violently.

“It’s licking my leg. Get rid of it or I’ll put a statue of you and your pretty pink dress in the middle of Minath!” He glared at Binyamin.

“You wouldn’t dare!” Binyamin’s pupils drew to slits in his agitation.

“Try me,” said Arilou in a hoarse whisper. Binyamin scratched behind one ear as he pondered for a moment, then began to wave his paws around.

“Neo, nego, peto abyssus!” He brought his furry paws together with a muffled clap. The creature promptly disappeared.

“Very good,” said Arilou, trying to straighten his ruffled robes out. “I’ll let you kill a new adventurer later on.”

“Don’t patronize me. If you hadn’t barged in on me while I was working, you wouldn’t have gotten into that predicament to begin with.” He made a grabbing motion with one paw and a broom came zipping across the room to him. Grumbling about uncouth Elders, he began to clean up the mess.

“So where did it go?”

“Where did what go? My patience? It fled for parts unknown when you stepped across my threshold.”

“No, hairball. Where did that failure go?”

“Oh. Hades.”

“Why Hades?”

“It was either there, or New Verden—and you know how you get when I make the village ‘entertainin’.’ Now shoo. I have work to do.”

“Very well. I am sorry that I disturbed your work,” said Arilou, patting Binyamin on the back before turning and leaving the workroom. As the door closed behind the Elder Wizard, Binyamin through a spell of Wizard Lock on it to keep out any more intruders.

“Pompous . . . “ he began to grumble, but then stopped talking. With a whirl, he turned back to his cleaning—the ‘Kick Me’ sign on his back fluttering lightly in the breeze.

To be continued . . .

[Salkand]

Well, I hope binyamin will let me commandeer his thread for a related topic.

If anyone is interested in writing stories, I will be hosting a few at www.freewebs.com/necropoliss/

I have 2, and irlazy will soon have a few uploaded.

In general I'll keep it 2 stories a person, because I have very limited page freedom.