August 1, 2011

The Daily Spellgraph

Filed under: Stories — anteolsson @ 20:39
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“It’s only old geesers who knows a bit of magic” Laurence Heartrate, in between puffs on an old and withered tobacco pipe, said. Would he had not had a shaven face one would think Mr Heartrate was the caricature of the fairytales. “A Wizard! No, that’s from the sagas” he rapidly responded when I first, and admittedly ignorant, greeted him with the title of Wizard.


He is an old and sagged man but age has not taken away his wits and his mind seems sharp as one of the young ones. I can’t help to get lost and baffeled by mystery when I read his face. For when you look at him you find yourself that it is not possible to only “look” and you find yourself discerning his features as if every little wrinkle and unshaven straw of hair has been part of something utterly important. Those important events that the normal mortals only dreams of.


“The young ones dream. The old ones regret they didn’t try harder. Only a few of us come to the realisation that we were just not meant to get into this intricate sphere of knowledge, which we in common tongue call magic.” Mr Heartrate pauses and gleams out the window from the cafe table, at which we are enjoying the intake of Mrs Waffles pancakes, and looks just like the professors we used to know at school. Only that Mr Heartrate has an air I’ve personally never seen in any professor. It comes naturally, then, that he is a professor in mystery. He continues after a quite long pause.


“But us few, I think sometimes…” he pauses again “Yes?” I promtly add to let him know that I am listening. “Ah forget that. Old man’s nonsense. Excuse my attention span, you tend to drift off to here and there in my age, you see. What was your question again?”


“No need to apologise Mr Heartrate. No need at all. What I, and our readers, were interested in to know was if you think we learn magic or if some are just “blessed” with the ability to make magic?”


“I see. There is a problem with that question. Do you know of Hem Barley?”. I confirmed I did not know. “Hem Barley was a wonder child, the story goes and people say. He grew up in Hinloc as the only child of very poor parents. The father worked in the field and his mother was like a domesticated cat. You know how it goes. She kept the old shack spotless, so clean even rats were repelled by it. Keeping a dirt floor clean is not an easy feat, but she managed and only Lord knows how. She loved Hem to the bones, some say, and always kept that motherly eye on him but she never let him play, afraid of ruining her daily cleaning. If you’d know how that shack of theirs looked like you would smile as I do. Terribly comical.” I nodded and indeed he had a smile close to laughter on his face. “But you see, when we are children we don’t want to sit still, and do this and that in order to not get that and the other. We want to play. Hem was no different, of course, and naturally his mother’s hygene neurosis got the better of him as well. What I have heard, the poor kid was always ill. Just minor things but there always seemed to be something wrong with him. Or maybe it was just his mother’s protective imagination. In any case. One night Mr and Mrs Barley woke up by a KABOOM and their shack was in flames. The mother protector immediately ran to the bed of Hem’s but did not find him there. Should it not had been for Mr Barley’s entire life of working in the field, Mrs barley would surely had burned in. He carried her out, with great force you’d imagine, and both were unharmed. Well outside Mr Barley stared helpless at his burning home while holding the mother in his bear arms. Hem was nowhere to be seen and because this all happened in the dry season it took only minutes for their shack to burn to the ground. The little possessions they once had were now gone. But Mr and Mrs had matters of the heart now: little Hem where gone.


It was not until a week later that they started hearing the first signs of their son. But at that point they disregarded them becuase they did not think those signs were of their little boy. You see, it was reported that some maniac, a pyromaniac to be precise, was rumaging the are burning down the woods. At that point Mr and Mrs where looking in the opposite direction, so to speak, you could guess they had had enough of things burning. The pyromanic had supposedly burnt down great areas of forest and people where of course baffeled. No idea, did they have of why or even how any idot could do such a thing. Another week later or so, a patrol, an angry mob you could imagine, searched the trails of the pyromaniac and at its end they found a boy. A skinny little bow with sooted skin and red eyes, lying on his back unconscious. It took a while, for them all to realise that this boy was not a victim but indeed the manic they were hunting. A great dilemma, they had to admit, and the boy was simply taken to the nearest village to be taken care of. After some days rest and caring tendance the boy woke up. He didn’t even have any energy left to complain, he just lied there with barely open eyes. Water was shoved down his throat and he soon recovered, however sligtly. The village elder took his responsibility and did what had to be done. Can you imagine? Accusing a little boy close to death for burning down an entire forest? The matters of the heart has never been easy. But as an elder he had to and to his relief the boy was not offended and did not get angry. The boy admitted it outright but what was strange to every man, except Hem probably, was completely confused by the boy’s unremorsive response. “I had to. I had to because I could” the boy said according to the tale and added with some pride “I burned it all down and it was masterful. Did you see the fire?” he asked the elder interrogating him “You must have seen the fire and I did it all. I thought the trees should burn and they did. Just like that they started to burn. They wanted to burn and I wanted them to burn”. The elder did not know what to say and neither did anyone else, for that matter. In the end though, little Hem was taken back to his mother and father who was crying with joy and relief, of course. This time around though, the mother kept an even sharper eye on her boy and it was not often at all that Hem Barley were given the slightest space without his mother. She was close at all times. Father Barley couldn’t really complain, for he didn’t want to see another home being burnt down. Well, so it goes, the story of Hem Barley”


Suddenly Mr Heartrate has the air of someone drowning coming up to the surface or someone waking up from a terriffic sleep.


“So, magic is something some are born with then?” I ask our gentleman. “No. No. No. Magic is not something some are born with. It just happens that one person every eon or so that makes it impossible for us to be sure. Hem Barley was maybe five or six years old and he managed this devastating feat on his own. How on earth could that be? As I said, it’s only us old ones that knows a little bit of magic and we dream of doing things like what Hem Barley did. The differnce is that we study our entire lives, hoping to find that pussle piece that would give us that kind of power. We just don’t know, that’s all.”


We sit in silence for a while, sipping our coffe and pipe. But it is enough and I think I know what Laurence Heartrate means. Maybe I’ll ask him for another interview at a later time.


John Cravatt

January 11, 2011

The World Market

Filed under: Places,Stories — anteolsson @ 12:12
Tags: , , , ,

“Place your goods in the box here, please” a stern and experienced hand showed Dolores where to put her goods, her trading goods. She de-shelved her backpack and started to unload her planed tradeables. It was a figurine she had found in the woods nearby. It had now value to her, not functional nor sentimental. Perhaps it held a trading value which was a lottery for her which is why she had also brought some raw materials, she knew would fetch some good few coins to trade for. “In here madame” the hand pointed instructionally again. “Your name here, please” a finger directed at a line on a paper tag. She signed in clear letters, as far as her ability to print would allow he, and finally flipped it into the container. Dolores noted, as she had previously done, that the goods guard spoke one language with his hands and another with his face. His eyes went in the opposite direction keeping a suspicious look at whoever might be moving too fast or looking too anxious. The expression he displayed was also of a different language, that of an ingrown scholar with an attention almost broadcasted. “Step forward, please” he instructed further pointing his hand in an angle for Dolores to move forward in the line.


The goods were to be taken to the inspection house. A set of veteran traders, or lore masters as they would refer to themselves as, would now inspect the goods. A price would be set and Dolores would be handed a proportionate amount of coins. Coins she later would be able to trade for, goods that would be either or both functional or sentimental.


In her place waiting, a man at last came out with a purse of coins. She received it and opened it. Heavier than she thought, she found herself surprised. Positively surprised. She counted ten times the coins that she expected. The figurine was obviously more valuable than she thought. She has no memory of how it looked and would not be able to give any record of it from memory alone. Her curiosity disappeared.


Her soul was revived, as it always is when work actually pays off for profit. She immediately hoped on the greenhorn recurve bow she for long had yearned for. Yearned was accurate in the context, the item had indeed emanated an emotional bond between them. If Tormu was in a good mood she might afford some of his arrows to go with it. She did almost not dare to think the coming thought, but it was unstoppable. She might persuade him to learn her the craft and skills to produce the arrows herself. He had on no prior account revealed the materials of the arrows and on her mentioning the arrow head he had instantly, almost anticipatingly, switched subjects. At their next meeting he had allowed her to try the bow And the arrow. He produced a target putting it in medium range from the trading counter, lent her the bow and unwrapped one of the mysterious arrows and delivered it to her with both his hands. Her heart was in trance but as soon as she gripped the bow and had drawn the string she transferred the trance to her mind instead. With focused attention she softly let go of the bow string, breathing out the little air she had left, cocked her head and strained the arrow. She thought she could hear a note, perhaps several notes at once; a chord, as soon as she lay the arrow in its position. She drew the bow string to maximum force, quick enough for her to not produce fatigue in her physique. Eyes around her saw, not recognised, an artfully skilled draw and a coordination few are born with or can attain. She aimed for a second, no longer than a second and a half and she let go. The arrow produced the chord again, she thought, but then it went silent and her gaze became a cone with the arrows flight in the center. “Thump!”. The red dot on the target was pierced and the arrow was nowhere to be seen. Tormu ran past the target and came quickly back with the same arrow, wrapped it with care and put it away. He looked anticipatingly at Dolores who uttered “Straight through!”. Tormu nodded and reached for the bow. Dolores complied and handed it over, without hesitation. She had still a feeling that this bow and arrow was not for her, yet. She needed to earn it, she thought. A projectile set like this, finds its owner when it is ready. The owner was at that time not ready.


This day, at which she had traded for the figurine, she felt different. She was worth the bow now. She had earned it. Not because of the coinage she had obtained, but because of the sustenance her soul had been fortuned with through her own adventures, her own living. As a lonesome nomadic ranger, she had had to be autonomous. “Proper autonomy” she told herself, but immediately refused the thought as she remembered what she had been taught when she was still dependant on her tribe.


“Acknowledge the world,

remember the nature,

be true to the trees,

respect the wolves,

be careful of the wind and protect from the sun when she’s in good spirits,

tread cautiously in the soil and smell even the clearest water before you taste it.

Complete independence is betrayal.”


The assurance of her worth was renewed after citing her peoples poem. She had still not betrayed herself and hubris was at bay, she in the desert.


With slightly increased pace her feet took her to Tormu. He was there and from the current distance he looked to be in a good mood. Her heart raced again. “Can I have a look at The bow again” she readily said with an excitement she was not able to hide. She had to stop trying to hide it, her excitement was too overpowering “Alright, I am overly excited today” She informed Tormu “I have more coins today” “I am sorry Dolores. No bow. Sold it last week!” her face lost all colour and her body obtained posture similar to that of a dying animal. “Just kidding! I have it right here” Tormu quickly responded. Dolores shone up again and a second after her eyes could have shot fire, if she would have such an ability. That passed as well and she retrieved the bow from Tormu’s hands. “You’ve got the Arrows as well?” She attempted to fake her angry eyes but failed and instead the two of them broke out in laughter. He unwrapped an arrow for her and guiltily handed it to her. “The target is up. Take your shot”. This time without testing the bow she placed the arrow, aimed and released. The shot was true. “Still 10 coins for the bow?” she asked keeping her look fixed at the bow limbs. “Still ten, and I give you an arrow with it. Just for you Dolores” She could hear the guilt in his voice being still there. Without her not having to do anything, the bad joke had played in her favour. She would now get the bow And an arrow. She managed to resist asking to be taught how to make them, she could not risk pushing her luck at this point. The bow and one arrow for 10 coins was a once in a life time opportunity and she would have to take it. “Deal” she affirmed and Tormu handed her the arrow in its wrappings while she handed him the 10 coins. “A pleasure to finally do business with you, Tormu” “It is mutual, Dolores” was the reply. Dolores carefully opened the arrows wrapping and found a folded note. Before she could inquire what the note was, she found, by unfolding, that it was a “recipe” for the singing arrows. She felt a kind of love towards Tormu. A love cousin to the loves she had felt before.


The World Market is a restricted and heavily guarded area where merchants of the world sell exotic goods. It is usually unique items they sell and the buyers are constantly there to see what is new on the market. The market is inconveniently located in the Yellow desert, above an underground sweet water lake.Participants who whish to buy need to bring items that are tradeable on the market, which can be seasonal and always occacional. The items brought are then exchanged for coins, World Market Coins, which can only be used inside the restricted area. This is due to that at exit from the area each contender need to be thoroughly examined and all left-over coins need to be returned.


September 9, 2010


Filed under: Places,Stories — anteolsson @ 16:32
Tags: , ,

In the civilised society of Porrheim work, governance and everyday life was as in most other civilised societies. It worked! The huge wheel of labour that the humans had put into the system that held the people together was spinning. Each day and each month the wheel was tended to, assigned people made sure that it was well oiled and that no obstacles were in its way. Is is usual, of course, that this is not always as easy as the theory suggests. For there where, again of course, obstacles to take care of. One and another who wanted to abuse the loop holes of the societal fabric and two or the same, anarchists who felt the need to express their dissaticefaction with the system. But these were small problems that were easily handled with and rarely posed a real problem, or a real threat to the fate of the spinning wheel.

And so, it seemed to the civilians that they lived freely, as it were, together in a society that worked for each and everyone. This was also a virtue of their civilisation, at least in the minds of the inhabitants. For it was not acceptable to discriminate or to intentionally hurt others. Neither was it allowed to abuse others and most importantly, not to abuse the system. They had arranged for this of course, each and every day tending to the problems that arose. Laws were protecting the rightious and good citisens and the laws worked well. So well, in fact, that new laws were created all the time and the population welcomed it, as the laws really did kept the wheel spinning.

Roman Welsh was brought up in Porrheim. His parents never took him elsewhere and there was really little need for such travels as everything a man could desire really was available in Porrheim. His upbringing held good standards, Porrheim standards mind you, and in his adult life we was successful and was able to make a family all on his own together with his wife. They produced two healthy young children and loved them and cared for them as much as any other parents would.

The truly sad story of Roman Welsh begins in his thirties. He was invited out on a hiking trip by some new friends he and his wife made during their pregnancy. It was a hiking trip destined to the mountains, the Yawning Cleft more precisely. For Roman this was exciting, he did not know why but he figured that because he had never really experienced anything outside Porrheim, save for exotic trinkets, food and literature imported into Porrheim, this was to be something of an adventure.

The group of friends set off by transportation on wheels at first, just to arrive in safety and to keep up to good anticipation of mountain hiking. As soon as they arrived at the feet of the Yawning Cleft they started trecking and their spirit was high. It was all new for Roman and he enjoyed it to the fullest, even the exotic leafes on the trees made his senses explode with admiration, and needless to say; there were many leaves in the Yawning Cleft.

Eventually the group arrived at something that was new to them all, not the object they say itself but the look of it. They had arrived at a well and the look of it was ancient. There were no other word to describe it. It had a inherent mystical feel to it and not long after they saw it they started to make up stories of what this well was used for when it a long time ago was used regularly. It was proposed by Roman’s travelling companion that Roman should go down into the well to see what was down there. After all this was an adventure. Roman saw nothing wrong with this and admittedly he was excited, almost aroused. But as it was is companions idea he could see no reason as to why he himself should take responsibility for what would happen down in the well so he immediately produced a note paper and a pen and started to write proficiently:

“I Shandor Ifelt, take full responsibility for all consequences and reactions that are produced in the event that Roman Welsh will descend down the Ancient Well located in the south east in the the Yawning Cleft.

Shandor Ifelt signs here after to agree with the terms of this agreement:________________”

Shandor, the travelling companion, saw no flaws with this contract. It was as regular as ever when you came from Porrheim. He signed it quickly and they shook hands. There after he fastened a rope in the roof of the ancient well for Roman to cling onto during his descent.

Roman stepped up on the rim of the well and looked down. It was completely black and the only sound coming from down there could only be described as silence. It smelled ancient, however that smells.

He took a steady grip around the rope and slowly transferred his feet from the rim to the rope. He held fast and started slowly to descend. He was better at it than he thought. However, after only a few meters down the well upon when he shouted up that he had not yet reached the bottom, his grip around the rope loosend and he fell. Shandor did not hear a sound from a landing, such as s thump, but when he shouted down to Roman, Roman never replied. Shandor was too scared to go down after him and instead he headed back with tears and emotional ache, to Porrheim to find help. For he was sure who was to be held responsible for this and when such responsibility is aquired, he thought, it is required that appropriate measures are taken.

February 17, 2010

The Beauty of imagination

Filed under: Adventures,Concepts,Stories — anteolsson @ 11:04
Tags: , , ,

Yesterday my lover and companion read the first 17 pages of the latest adventure in Houndsend. It is a story that I present and Anders unfolds and a big part of the adventure takes place in the Realm of the Mind.

So, after she had read it I asked her if she had any questions and if she had understood everything. When I asked about what she thought what happened when the protagonist appeared in the Realm of the Mind she said that she understood it as the protagonist was transported into another dimension. I responded that this can be true but that it is not necessarily true. The other dimension might be true but the transporting might not be.

I tried to explain an alternative and this is what I said:

If I ask you if we can meet telepathically with our minds and see each other, even though we close our eyes and shut our ears, while communicating would you say that that is possible? The answer here is No! So, does it seem supernatural and fantasy like that the persons in the story can do so? Yes, is the answer to this question. But if I ask you if you can just  imagine us two communicating telepathically with each other, would you then say yes? Yes, is the answer to this question too. So just like you can imagine us communicating telepathically you can just as well imagine others do it, for example the two persons in the story? The answer is again yes. So, just as you and me in this real life can imagine things so can these characters in this imaginary world imagine things? Yes! So what is the difference between you and me imagining that we are inside our heads talking to each other and that two imaginary characters are inside their heads talking to each other? For we can imagine it, right?

February 15, 2010

Faction: Natural Cirularism

Filed under: factions,Stories — anteolsson @ 18:22
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“Everything is a mere reflection of it’s seed” – Anthon Baen

Anthon Baen was something of a wanderer that spent most of his life in nature. There were many questions that bothered him because he could not find a satisfying answer no matter where he looked. But the question that bothered him the most was: “Where do I come from?”.
It was a life of the senses that Anthon lived most of his time but it was the notion of his own thoughts that made him able to form the foundation of this faction.

Anthon had been raised and lived without his mother his whole life and had somehow managed to suppressed the longing he really had for her. When the notion of his own thoughts struck him in an, to him, unusual manner he understood that he needed to pursue what was within him. The suppression of his longing finally reached him. However, it did not take long before he found his mother.

Anthon found his mother in a little hut located on a hill in the Lonely Lands, as they call it, and to his dark surprise his mother was nothing of what he had expected. His mother was a Witch in ragged clothes, skinny to the bones, dirty pale skin and no aspiration to lift a hand. Anthon learned that his mother did not regret leaving him as a child because she explained that she had no choice and in giving birth to him she had done everything she could. Then she explained to Anthon why they were there and he listened carefully.

From there on Anthon and his mother reunited and layed the foundation of the teachings of Natural Circularism.

Natural Circularism states that everything stems from Mother Nature. They say that even life comes from Mother Nature. That life is Mother Natures children, born to feed the cycle. For the cycle is the key and is in the very foundation of Natural Circularism where everything observable is inevitably circular. Plants are born from the earh, absorbing the sun and feeding the hungry. The hungry age and they die. The dead decay and turn into earth. Life is a servant to the nature it is living in, no more no less.

February 12, 2010

The untold story that never happened

Filed under: Stories — anteolsson @ 08:28
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This is the first page from the book The Black book you just don’t touch

“Dear reader,

how do you tell a story that never happend and has never been told? Do you make it up? Nah, that is too easy.

What you do is that you make the story happen and if it happens enough, the story will tell it self. When you are sure that everyone knows the story is the point when you pull the rug under their feet. You tell them that the story never happend. Some will hunch in shame and be silent, some will protest in pride and say that IT DID HAPPEN! But just wait them out, they too will be silent. When everyone is silent the story has untold Itself. See how beautiful that is? Take heed, for that is not the end, the most beautiful part comes here. Now is the perferct time to tell everyone that the only reason why the story never happend is becuase it IS HAPPENING and the only reason why it was never told is becasuse it IS BEING TOLD.

Dear reader, do you see the beauty? Do you see the danger? Know that you have been warned for if you turn to the next page of this book doom will rain.

Sincerely yours,

January 22, 2010

Parahnea, the second chapter

Filed under: Stories — anteolsson @ 15:54
Tags: , , ,

There he stood in the Circle room and did not know what he was waiting for. But he did as he was instructed to do. Stand on the weird symbol for some seconds or minutes. After approximately 10 seconds the room went dark. Ten seconds, again, later he saw Orfim blurry ten centimeters from his face.

– Whaa! He shouted.

– Goodday to you too.

– Oh sorry sir. I was not prepared for you being so close to my face.

– No? What were you prepared for then?

– Eeh, I do not know sir. Maybe to see you a bit farther away. Like half a meter or so.

– I see. Well, you are most welcome to my simple house. May I ask you to take a cup of tea with me and Manil? Do you know Manil?

– Yes.

– Oh. Where did you meat her?

– No! I mean, I would like a cup of tea. i have never meat Manil, if it is Manil Nilam Lord of Garnical you mean.

– Yes it is that Manil indeed I mean. So what kind of tea would you like?

– Any tea would be just fine.

– And you are sure of that?

– Should I not be?

– How should I know. It is you who are going to drink it.

– I am sure any tea will be fine. Shall we?

– Yes yes. Follow me.

They walked through the room they were in and passed out through the only door in that room. When outside the room he noticed they had entered a garden. And in the middle of the garden Manil lied zipping from a cup of tea. His heart started to race and his smile stretched. She looked even prettier than he had imagined, though he now only saw her from behind. The first passage was through branshes hanging down from Apple trees. It was beautiful and the scent was heavenly. He stroked his hand through his hair once or twice to make sure he looked proper. While they were coming closer to Manil he noticed that she did not rise to greet him. Orfim made a quiet cough. Manil turned her head slowly towards them.

– Whow, he screamed loud.

– Oh sorry for scaring you it is just my sun mask. I’ll take it off at once.

His heart had double beat now But as Manil slowly removed her mask he became calm. Her beauty was stunning. She was absolutely the prettiest woman he had ever seen.

– How impolite of me not to greet you. I am truly sorry but anyway. I am Manil Nilam, Lord of Garnical. Who might you be?

– I am, hmm.

– Sorry?

– I am, well. I…

– Is something the matter?

The worst thing have happened. He had forgot his name. He felt stupid and his face turned red of embaracement. He knew that if he told her why he felt stupied she was going to think that he really was stupid. Maybe he was, he thought.

– I am sorry for being absent for a while there. My name is not important where I come from. I have come to meat Orfim and I am very well pleased to meat you at the same time.

– What is the matter with Orfim you have then.

– He implies that he has travelled from Parahnea to here in seven days. Which I have a hard time to believe but if it is true it is amazing.

– Is it true what Orfim says.

– Yes it is true but it is not as amazing as you think.

– Is it not? The record holder of travelling by foot from Parahnea to Garnical has the remarkable record of ten days. And he used every spell he could to make it in that time.

– Yes, I hear you but he probably did not use the teleportation spell.

– Teleportation spell? That is unheard of. Such magic would bend the axis of time and that is what we know impossible.

– That is what we think but what is true is another thing. The real matter I have here is to introduce a new spell to you. And this spell is called Spell of teleportation. Well it is two spells actually because in my studies I have found out that it is a complete different matter to teleport objects such as rocks and tables compared to objects with life such as humans. You would think that a teleportation spell would require the spellcaster to be able to bend time but in fact the spellcaster has to bend space equally. And the reason for that is that space is time and time is space. You see. To travel from point A to B requires time and space. If there is no space there could be no ponit A nor point B and if there was no time there would be no traveling. But the thing is that if you merge these two into one you will get only space. Let us make an example. This apple you see here laying on the table in front of us. If you had 2 liters of wine how many apples would you then see on the table?

– More than one probably, if I had not passed out allready.

– So this means that what you see is not always correct.

– Well if I am drunk the alcohol has affected my vision. That everybody knows.

– Are you sure? How many fingers do I hold up?

– Two.

– Wrong! I am holding up only one finger.

– But you folded one finger down after I asked.

– Okey. Let us try it again. How many fingers do I hold up?

– Two.

– No wrong again. Let us now make a last try. How many fingers do I hold up.

– One.

– Absolutely correct.

– But now you only held one finger up.

– Yes and so did I also the first two times.

– No you did not. My vision is very good and I am not intoxicated in any way.

– My point is that you cannot prove in any way that I did not hold up only one finger the two first times because my theory says that what you see is not the complete truth. And therefor I cannot prove that my theory is correct either. BUT I can show you when I teleport an object from one spot to another without wasting any time. While this is not proof according to my theory it will be proof according to the theory you have about time. So let me show you an example of when I teleport this apple from the table to my hand in no time.

– I am all eyes so let us watch you do it right here and right now.

– Calm calm sir. Please take a step back.

He uttered a flow of words and pointed his hand at the apple. In the same time he said the last word the apple appeard in his hand and was no longer visible on the table.

– I’ll be damned. I do not belive my eys.

– And you should not either. If I may I will now teleport the apple back to the table.

– Indeed. I am all eyes again.

He started to say the same words again but this time he held his hand over the apple. Again after he uttered the last word in the word flow the apple appeared on the table and disappeared from his hand,

– How is this possible, Orfim said confused.

– It is possible because our eyes do not always tell us the truth and that is also why we can never proove that my theory is true. But one thing is true. You are amazed and everybody that will see me perform the spell will be amazed and the most of you will believe me. The funny thing is that the wordflow is not that hard. It take quite some time to perform but the words are easilly pronounced. So, dear Orfim. Can I put this spell in the Official book of spells?

– I hope so but there will ofcourse be some more testing before it will be official. Now if you excuse me I will go to bed and have myself a good rest. I think my brain will need it before we start with the testing. Please sit down and have a chat with Manil in the meantime.

January 21, 2010


Filed under: Places,Stories — anteolsson @ 16:34
Tags: , , ,

The city of Thriceclan came to be after a war between three clans that had been forever fighting for the territory, that now is called Thriceclan. All clans were convinced that their clan were the rightful heir to the territory. None of the clans had any proof, or written proof at least, that their clans’ ancestors inhabited this land. All of the clans had traditionally been told through stories and rituals that their ancestors had lived this land in peace but that the other clans had come as foreigners and invaders. It was so in every clans’ conviction that the other clans should leave.

For outsiders the puzzle has, through history, seemed unsolvable. An enigma, a paradox.

After many years of insatiable feuds it seemed like time itself had grown tired of them. All of the clans prepared for the final assault. This without knowing that the other clans did the same. everyone was trained for killing, from the youngest child to the oldest wise man

When the planets and the stars aligned the three clans clashed in a brutal battle. It was fierce, so fierce that all were killed, except three, one from each clan.

In cowardice or in cunning, it is up for interpretation, each one of them was hiding during the final battle and they remained undetected. When the battle was over the three saw each other and were stunned by the lifeless bodies and the fright of being alone among enemies. It is said and told that these three knew that each one of them were outnumbered by two enemies. Again they found themselves in an unsolvable puzzle, until, like a spontaneous inspiration, they started to talk to one and other. They found that if they wanted to continue their lives they would have to come to an agreement.

Since then, Thriceclan has been goverened by the very same laws that were agreed on that day.

January 20, 2010

A story, possibly in the world of Seventh

Filed under: Places,Stories — anteolsson @ 13:09
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From Pyrahnea he came. Seeking only the new refreshing experiences. He had traveled his whole life but still he did not feel like setteling down. And especially not in Pyrahnea where people tended to have the same oppinions and were developing individuals and society in a far to slow pace. No, he was still seeking after the stop sign that told him “Here but no further”. Normal stop signs only had the sign but no complemental text to make sure the observer understood the message, he thought.

Now, on his way to Garnical the sun was making the sweat drain his shirt which in turn made the robe scrape in his arm pit while swinging his arms while walking. On the back of his Robe it said “The Academy”. He was an apprentice in The Acedemy and had been so for 15 years. It was while he was visiting Aeyh he got the interest for studying the “Sanguine Books of the long parapet”. He got offered a possition in The Acedemy during his visit in Aeyh. It was Hinyad Maya who offered him the title. Hinyad Maya is one of the most powerful people in all of Shil but noone knows of it. He is like a parasite, his whife once said.

The Academy in Garnical had a same-as-he-aged woman as a Lord and it was that that made him go this tireing road. She was not any woman. She was the woman that he thought possesed the Stop sign. This thought gave him energy to continue. 53 years old and many battle scars. The worst from The Sneaker war. The rumour said that she was among the wisest and the prettiest beings in all of Shil and especially in all of Garnical. Golden Hair with brownish coils adorned here head. A body more vigourous than a pentathlon athlete yet slim. A voice lovlier than the barch bird evening song. These were ofcourse only rumours, but no smoke without any fire, he thought.

Now he could see the sign “Welcome to Garnical – We do not only feed you, we have drinks too”. By the sign there stood a man dressed in a dark black robe without a hood. On his head he had a simple diadem in white and gold colors, approximately 7cm high resting on his forehead.

– Gooday stranger, or relative! What do i know?

– Goodday to you sir! It is a nice day. Don’t you think.

– Yes indeed. Where are you from?

– I have walked from Pyrahnea.

– I say! For how long.

– Seven days, he responded with a little hehe afterwards.

– Seven days! I say! You are being funny with me i see.

– No, no. I am honest as i can be.

The Guard snorted and considered what the stranger/relative had said. When he thought he got wiser he said.

– Well, that must be a new record. come follow me young man.

– Ofcourse. Where to?

– To Orfim the Sage and Gambler. He is the mayor in Garnical. He won this town not so long ago in a exciting riddle contest with Jim Jan Jos who was the mayor and drunken gambler in this town before. I must say I like Orfim better. He is more relaxed in some way. Well, well. Come on now. He’ll be interested in what you have to say to him.

– What is that then?

– What’s that?

– What am I going to say to him.

– Your trip, ofcourse. You have beaten the record.

– I see. and he is interested in that because…?

– The record is ten days at the moment. While travelling only by foot that is. If you can prove to Orfim that you have travelled from Parahnea to here in seven days he will probably offer you a very exciting job. In my oppinion working for Orfim is a joy.

– OK. Sounds fine. I must visit The Academy before the sun goes down though.

– If you intend to meet Manil Nilam you better follow me to Orfim. She spends the most of her time in his plasa as he have the most of the things she likes. Such as The Huge Library of Immense Historical Value.

– Yes, he very quietly replied.

While he was following the guard to Orfim his body got filled with joy and a feeling probably called nervousness. He so wanted to meat Manil Nilam. That had been the only thing he had thought of the last seven days and now he was going to be brought to her right away. He wished that he had had the time to take a bath and to put on some herbal oils before meeting her. He had always found it easy to speak to women but he was not sure about this one. She was not like other women, he had heard. She pretty much showed her opinion to a person right away. Maybe it was this that made him nervous, he thought.

Now they stood in front of the gate and the guard knocked quite hard but not stressed on the big door. He heard quick tapping on the floor. This meaning a woman will open the door, he imagined. Quickly he fixed his hair and cleared his throat once or twice. It was the maid that opened the door. She was very pretty but not attractive.

– Oh hi dear, she cheered to the guard. What brings you here again. You forgot something?

– Forgot something!? I say. Absolutely not. It is a different matter this time. My friend here says that he walked from Pyrahnea to Garnical in Seven Days.

– Nonsense! He can’t beat the record with three days. Impossible.

– Yes, I say. But he insists. I just want him to meet Orfim. Can we come in?

– Oh, excuse me. Ofcourse you can. Allow me, she asked so she could get the guests shoes and place them on their correct spot.

The maid guided them through a corridor were strange dead animal heads were hanging out from the walls. He could not recognice one of them. They seemed to come from past times. The corridor was very long, it must have been at least 200 m. When they came to the end of the corridor they came to a huge room, a ballroom of some kind. He could not estimate how high it was to the ceiling but it was extreemly high and there were windows going from the floor up to the ceiling. The windows were crystalised so he could not see through but enough light came in to make the big ballroom feel like you were outside in a big garden on a sunny day. There was one window though, on the east side, that he could see through but it was too far away for the moment so he could not see what was outside. From the ceiling there was hanging big crowns with candles in. Not lit in this moment as it was in the middle of the day and the sun was lighting the whole room on its own. The floor was made out of long planks of Redwood. Redwood is amongst the rarest kind of wood and not very often used as floor material. He remembered though that King Rim the 8th and his militia during the first Dragon war was using Redwood shields. It was said to stop both the hardest blows from melee combat and also the Dragons fire. He could not recall if he was thinking the truth or not but as The Huge Library of Immense Historical Value was in this building he was sure he could look it up later this day. He did see the symbolism in this room because in the middle of the room there stood an enormous Black Dragon. It looked like it was real. But how the hell did they get this one into this room, he thought while scratching his chin.

Come along, the maid shouted as he now stood still and absorbed the environment.

They ran across the floor to catch up with the maid. She opened a small door pushed it with one hand and took a step backwards.

– Take these stairs up and you take an imediate right. Then you keep on walking until you come to a circle formed room. There on the floor you will see a symbol. Do not ask me what it is because I have no idea. Anyhow, Just stand on the symbol for some seconds or minutes, it depends.

– Depends on what, he asked.

– Actually I am not sure what it depends on but by experience I know that the time Orfims guest has to wait in the Circle room differs from time to time.

– Is that so! Well well, Lets get going then.

– It was nice meeting you.

October 17, 2009

Diego the tiny adventurer

Filed under: Stories — anteolsson @ 19:25
Tags: , , , , ,

On my desk, which where my computer monitor resides, lives a imaginary adventurer. It is his home even though he does not know how he came to be there in the first place. His name is Diego and he is mainly a Rouge but has some other skills as well. Every day he has to face to harsh reality of the Over Lord Andreas’s (me)  imagination.

The following is Diegos first Adventure which takes place on the very desk I sit at now:

Diego is terrified after last night when he was attacked from behind by the Empty Beer Bottle. He did not know, up until last night, that beer bottles come to life when they have stood in the same place for a long time. It nearly killed him and he had to take an extended rest after the battle had settled. The clock had just strucken 10.00 PM and he was ready to fold himslef up in a sheet taken from the nearby toilet paper roll when he heard someone muttering in an unknown language. As he turned around he saw this giant green beer bottle attacking him. He did what he had to do: Make a Reflex Save against Old Beer Bottle. Diego has some class levels in Rouge so his Reflex saving throws are quite high. He Rolled a 17 and the DC was only 12. Diego was also happy that he got the Improved Evasion feat because now he could avoided all the damage instead of taking half damage.

So, he rolled away from the any harm and as soon as he was on his both legs he pulled out his two Katana’s, both magically enchanted which he once found under an external hard drive. It was now Diegos turn and he made a move towards the Beer Bottle and then swung his main hand Katana which unfortunately missed. He then swung his off-hand Katana which hit and dealt 10 physical damage. This nearly broke the bottle but due to the Toughness feat the Beer bottle lived. The Beer Bottle fealt that it was time to use his special attack which can only be used one time per day. Shoot Bottle Cap, as it is called, triggered the bottle cap to shoot forth at an enormous speed and it forced Diego to make a new Reflex save. Diego successfully saved against the Bottle Cap as well and when it was his turn to act he rolled his attack roll and added his Dexterity modifier instead of his Strength modifier to the roll. This time his main-hand Katana made a critical hit which resultet in 16 physical damage. The Giant Beer Bottle shattered in thousand pieces filling the table with glass dust. Diego fealt curageous, of course, but that feeling changed when he thought of how the Over Lord Andreas would react when he saw that all this glass pieces were all over his desk.

Happy but nervous, Diego rolled himself up in a sheet of toilet paper and fell asleep only to wake up the next day and face new adventures.

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