(Writing practice: 10/24/13)

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(Writing practice: 10/24/13)

Post by Player 2 on Sun Sep 07, 2014 12:20 pm

(Writing practice: 10/24/13)

"Death is not a destination, nor the end of a journey for any single entity. It is not a cease of existence, or discontinuance of the actions that came before. It is for some an inconvenience, for others the next step." ~ Quoted words from Mage, fourth Class: Tharrel Dorinson.

"So, what exactly does that mean?" Morrick asked between bites of the thick, hard and nearly tasteless dried meat that was a the poor excuse for his dinner. The question had fallen to his younger friend, though younger was perhaps a misnomer, for all appearances he was barely a child in his second decade of life. Mousy blond hair that defied any semblance of order that was routinely forced upon it save for a hat, which laid discarded next to the young mage, dressed in travel robes that had seen better days. Dark grey fabric, thick and coarse, home spun and woven with care but without finery. It sat heavily and billowed on the small frame of the mage whom looked up from the large book, a book nearly as large as Morricks own shield that stood to his knee as it rested on the ground and was broad as his shoulders.

"It means that dying is the end of things. That our actions, what we've done continue to affect what will happen in some way. Also I think it means when we die that there is something after death a new existence." Kossin Fisher explained with a little quirk of a small for the large brutish warrior whom had fast become both his best ally and friend in the past few months.

Morrick grunted, swallowing the hard lump of dried meat and took a swallow of water that seemed to do very little to make it easier. Morrick was a large man, thick, broad and clearly used to more plentiful and tastier food then what he held. He was a man in his fifth decade of life, a rather impressive feat considering his line of work as body-guard, mercenary and adventurer. Though he retired twice, he had squandered his savings and found need for employment again, and while this job was as strange as a tap dancing dragon, it paid well enough. If only there was something to do about the food arrangements. Morrick wiped his mouth and straightened the grey whiskers of his mustache and beard which once had been as black as coal, now iron-grey. Morricks heavy features were set in a near constant expression of thought or disapproval, though the thick lines showed he was easy to laugh, or anger. Dark blue eyes gazed at the little mousy boy whom read from the book, never would have thought such a man was a mage, he had heard of how mages were taught, gained their power and believed it far riskier business then strolling into the cave of a dragon nude, drunk and telling the dragon his parents were never properly wed. But he was not one to sniff at magic when it came to his aid, damn useful he found more than once.

Morrick shifted his bulk, sighing at his stomach which once had been as hard as the oak in which he rested upon, now round and rolled as he moved, stretching the treated leather of his vest to the point of protest. The chain mail itched and never seemed to settle properly. He yearned for the days he could remember when sleeping in full armor was hardly an issue, but then those were days when combat was bloody and fierce. He kicked his boots near the fire knocking caked on mud off the soft leather with a disdained frown, remembering a time he would have guffawed a man dressed as he was now for prancing about playing soldier. How times have changed.

"Well is that book of yours telling you where our little trek is going to take us next?" Morrick asked stuffing the last bit of the dried meat into a pocket to attempt to digest later, though he doubted even ravenous carrion beasts could at this point.

Kossin smiled, shifting in his robes and pulled the sleeves up, a constant habit he had considering they seemed to be made for a man several times his size. But as it was Kossin stood barely at five feet and weighed perhaps a scant 18 stones compared to Morrick's more impressive 42. He was thin, gangling with large hands and feet for his frame, yet those long slender fingers of his, perpetually stained with ink and reagents for his magic were as dexterous as any elf he saw, more so perhaps. Kossin responded to his rather dour friend, "Northwards Morrick, the roads may be long since gone, but the ley line isn't. It's just a little weaker than it used to be." Kossin announced with finality, "It shouldn't be too long getting there, three hundred Jils perhaps."

"300 Jils! By thunder boy!" Morrick sat up looking at the young man as if he were a damn fool, he had not signed up for suck a long trek, believing initially when he took the job to ferry the young man from town to town gathering what he needed. Kossin blinked at him surprised by his reaction, "Morrick, you were a mercenary right? With the Wolf's Army? 300 jils should be nothing to a man of your experience."

Morrick clamped his jaw shut, the muscle twinge and his eyes narrowed for a moment, but he was right and Morrick knew it. Grunting as he sat back with a huff, "What are we going to do for food then? And clean water? And why couldn't we have brought horses?" Morrick demanded, the inconveniences of the journey heavy on his mind.

Kossin nodded looking at the pages of his book. "I can conjure life-sustaining food Morrick, you don't need to worry. As for horses, I can't stand them." he said simply looking up finally, "Horse hair makes me sneeze violently." he explained with a frown, "Besides, walking is good for your body and soul." he said with a little smile behind the pages of his book knowing Morrick wouldn't like the sound of that at all.

And indeed he did not. Morrick fumed, mustache bristling, tempted to lay the boy over his knee, however he knew Kossin was far more then he appeared, he acted it, had knowledge far beyond his reckoning, he just didn't know the extent. Yet. Morrick intended to find out, sooner or later.

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Re: (Writing practice: 10/24/13)

Post by Player 2 on Mon Sep 08, 2014 12:35 am

(Writing Practice: 9/7/14
Another Generation of the Maze:

"So, he's lining up someone else for his maze again huh?" Denathar asked as he leaned over his mop, running the clear water grey with the dust and dirt upon the beech and mahogany tiled floors to a lusterous shine.

"Yeah, same blood line. You would have thought he'd get bored of the curse by now." Svenil sighed leaning against the old ceramic pot watercooler that held the plastic jug upright, sipping a the cold clear water to wash down the tart taste of the stale donuts he got from the front office.

Denathar sighed standing up and stretched his old creaking back and pulled off his aging blue denim janitors uniform cap from his bald, polished head and reached up to scratch at the side of his of temple which he found was growing more and more cracked in the bone lately. "One might think so, but then to gods, even Demi gods this curse hasn't been going on that long. And honestly, I don't think he has anything else better to do." the Janitor sighed as he pulled off his spectacles and turned to the polished glass surface of the door to the 'InHuman Resources' department and cleaned his spectacles while gazing at his rather handsome skeletal face, always took great pride in the polished pale bones and healthy teeth, not many skeletons had that after all.

Svenil belched, reaching to tug his belt up, sighing as he had to pull it over his expanding waste. It was a shame that he was starting to get a pot belly, who ever heard of werewolf with a pot belly? He sniffed as he sipped his water, "Maybe not, and I guess I can't complain, pays still pretty good."

Denathar laughed hollowly at that, "You worried about pay? Who else would hire us? He could pay us nothing and we'd still be here." The skeleton pointed out as he replaced his gold wire frame spectacles and leaned over his broom once more, listening to the rhythmic creaking of his bones.

Svenil pursed his lips and put his finger too them, "Shhh! Don't give that crusty old man any ideas." he said and chuckled, "Oh hey! That reminds me, you coming over next weekend? Wife is setting up a little party for the start of the football season. Got the grill out for it."

Denathar smiled, "Sure. I haven't had a decent brat in awhile. She gonna pepper em again?" He asked and Svenil nodded, "Of course, its why everyone eats them." he said then sighed, "Well I have to get back to it, I still have four cases of folks who still haven't found work yet."

"One of em that Ogre feller, what was his name?" Denathar asked.

"Huh? Oh you mean Tim? Yeah, the grounds keeping job didn't work out for him."

"Send him my way, I can use some help with cleaning the bigger buildings."

"Alright, don't suppose you'd have work for Clarissa too would ya?"

"The Dragoness? Oh no, I've had my fill of dragons."

Svenil and Denathar laughed as Svenil went through the door leading to the department of Inhuman resources. "Hey Hylena, toss those donuts in the coffee room. They'd gag a marsh man." he said passingly at the receptionist, a troll with a rather fantastic underbite and absolutely shocking yellow skin color, and the gaudiest taste of sweaters.

Svenil stroked his claws through his ruff for a moment as he looked at his pocket memo book at what was needed of his department and stopped by Sammys office, Sammy a rather portly Saughin, a fish man sat at his desk typing away at the ancient mono screen computer, "Sammy, when you got a minute get Timmy the Ogre over to Denathar, the old bone has work for him, and have Clarissa report to the DelaMoore Highschool, they need a mascot."

Sammy gave a thumbs up and a gurgling response of his native tongue and got on the phone to get the employment office a call.

"Now lets see, says here that the next one in line is a girl... huh, we'll have to see if old Eros is still up to his old tricks." he commented and chuckled, "Or if he's out of the game after the tazer to his pride." he chuckled as he flipped the pages of his memo pad, walking down the pale white walled hallways with its dingy orange carpet floor until he came to the main work room, a large room with twenty desks arranged in a grid with people at computers and typewriters processing work claims of the surrounding population in the A.D. Gen 18. It was a tiring job but someone had to do it.

"Hmmm... I'll have to see if Bibo is still up for a little adventuring... he'd make a good spy to stick with her, he can play the innocent routine fairly well..." he muttered to himself as he opened the door to his office and looked at his IN box, picking up a memo printed on a white, red bordered form, knowing it came from upper management. "Oh great... I keep telling them we need more notice then this..." he sighed and picked up the phone.

"Hey, Hylena, I just got a red letter. Yeah, coordinate with everyone, we got two weeks instead of the full month to get ready. Evidently the old fart is getting impatient." he spoke briskly to the trollish receptionist and sat down heavily in the creaking red leather chair behind his wide oak desk. Pulling out a glass and a water bottle and poured a drink before dropping a couple of alkazeltzer in them. "Ughhhh this is going to be a long week..." he sighed as he sat back rubbing his brow.

Player 2
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