Incantations and Blades: Cantrips part 2

The three lieutenants whispered excitedly behind their leader as the fight they were watching ended and the scrying pool turned transparent again. He dismissed the three immediately, the response was positive, his choice was made.

Alvonier Reivond strolled around his chamber musing about how plan their plan has had gone–a battlemage to help their guild’s ascension in Calimport’s long and winding streets. Of course, this means that they would need to take care of one little crease that might mess up their grand plan–the ranger.

It would be no easy feat. The ranger, with no battle experience at all, just brutally murdered more than half of the brigands with no spellcasting to aid him in his exertions. The warrior was a genius, no doubt about it. Each strike was calculated down to the smallest detail with very few mistakes–every move he made was there for a reason, may it be to feint an enemy for combat advantage or to move into a more comfortable position. It was like a perfect game of chess.

He pushed a stray hair away from his face. This leader has made plenty of difficult decisions lately and this was definitely one that need a lot of attention. But one thing was for sure: their ascension is at hand.

ok… so what if it’s a bit short for a part 2… I’m having a writer’s mental block at the moment due to sleepiness but at least I tried, right? don’t bash me if you can’t relate.

Incantation and Blades: Cantrips part 1 (A story I wrote out of boredom)

Here’s something I wrote to ease the pain I called sembreakboredomitis.

Usually, the presence of a battle mage would’ve been enough to know which way the tide would turn in every battle-

Usually.

The problem with their sword-spell tandem was that they’ve had as much experience in open battle as a barbarian has had with reading the spellbooks in the War Wizards’ Guild Library-made worse since they were unprepared for an ambush like this since they don’t look quite unlike merchants nor do they look like rich adventurers nor did they hold any item whose price was worth noting.

The bandits closed in on them, driving them to the edge of a river with nowhere to go. Almost any amateur wanderer would’ve lost hope if held in such a position as that they were in and run away like a bunch of Calimport’s resident pickpockets placed in front of a rampaging tarrasque-

Almost any amateur wanderer.

Orphen however had not lost heart and enacted a stone skin enchantment he memorized by heart on himself as was the practice of every mage before going to battle, declaring that surrender would be the last thing to cross his mind in that encounter. He summoned his spellbook with a thought, sending it floating in front of him accompanied by nothing more than a puff of grey smoke with the pages flying to his desired spell, his hand at his wand ready to call forth a volley of magic missiles on however rushes to them first.

He tried to see what his companion made of this situation out of the corner of his eye and was satisfied when saw that both of them came to the same decision and were determined to get out of that predicament with their packs fuller than when they set out of the city. His mind buzzing with incantations, he hardly heard the sigh at his side as he set his hand glowing with a lightning bolt spell, ready to be released at any given time.

<->

His eyes seemed to have taken a life of their own as they went all over what was to be the battleground in which they would fight. The area showed the characteristics of a typical riverbed, full of gravel courtesy of the rushing water behind him and his partner, highly flammable trees surrounded the area-they can use that to their advantage later, knowing what wizards can do even without blades or projectiles-giving the place a bit of shade at one side and sunlight at the other. The remnants of their campsite were scattered all over at one side with the fire of still burning with the charred remains of what was to be their lunch. He was glad to see that the bandits haven’t bothered going over their things yet and his bow, which he strung earlier that day and he forgot to unstrung, was left untouched underneath the jumble of cloth that was once their tent.

He let his eyes wander over the faces of the rogues who wore a smile so strange probably due to the fact that they have not had any victims in the past few days that he almost let out a laughter which would’ve been out of place in light of the otherwise serious atmosphere.

He quietly hooked his toe under a stone and dropped his hands calmly to his belt, his wrists hooking over the pommels of his prized blades, making him seem relaxed and comfortable yet hiding his advantage wherein he was kept in touch of his weapons, ready to draw and strike.

His plan was to bluff the bandits into thinking that they were willing to negotiate and that the last thing that would cross their minds would be to enter a battle that they would inevitably lose. The moment the negotiation begins though, he would explode into motion at the nearest rogue while Orphen casts spell after spell on them.

He played his plan over and over in his head for as much as time would let him and was to turn to his friend to tell him to hold of any incantations when he heard the unmistakable sounds of spellcasting.

He let out a resigned sigh, sending the rock he hooked his foot under flying to a surprised rogue and diving forward in a roll that launched him to the bandit in front of him, opening the bloody dance with a double thrust low.

Szordrin had always wondered why he traveled with someone who’s as aggressive as a hungry wererat.

<->

Though everything that was soon to unfold was theoretical, the possibility of failure never crossed his mind. Every single move must be calculated. Everything must be taken into account. Nothing should go amiss. The timing of his spells was crucial. His incantations should weave perfectly with every thrust of Szordrin’s blades. Their lives were at stake here. Every step they made must be synchronized to the dance they had always expected but had always hoped never to begin.

<->

Putting off the inevitable dusk that was their life, they must be prepared for every contingency. One must always keep in mind that every single dance step in their little show was always subject to change. The field was prepared for them so improvisation would be their only key for survival.

He could feel it deep in his bones. He was sure that everyone could feel the tension building. Every muscle in his body was tensed, ready to explode on the next one who presents himself as the next a sharpening stone for his swords.

Patience really played a big part in every battle. Patience and observation has had always been the key in every war. Unfortunately, the smallest twitch of a muscle that betrayed the poor bandit was the last movement it’s body did voluntarily. The blades punctured through the padded armor and sliced through the skin and bones-the smallest twitch of a muscle; the silent scream for death.

What do you guys think? Any comments?

LoLZ

Your result for The RPG Class Test…

Arcane Trickster

Brilliant and sneaky: You are an Arcane Trickster!

Score! You have a prestige class. A prestige class can only be taken after you’ve fulfilled certain requirements. This may mean that you’re an exceptionally talented person, but it probably doesn’t.

Arcane Tricksters combine arcane magic with rogue skills and sensibilities. They use their magic to confuse their opponents or to augment their more mundane, roguish skills. If you thought it was annoying keeping an eye that that rogue, the Arcane Trickster is probably picking your pocket from the other side of the room.

Both smart and sneaky, you’re probably the type of person that loves planning practical jokes… either that or knocking over banks.

Take The RPG Class Test at HelloQuizzy

Funny…

Ezias Treestrider reporting,

The sorting hat says…

Ravenclaw!

Look below to see how compatible you are with each house, and for descriptions of the houses.

House Crest	Score (0-100)	House Description
	79	Gryffindor Said Gryffindor, “We’ll teach all those with brave deeds to their name.” Students of Gryffindor are typically brave, daring, and chivalrous. Famous members include Harry, Ron, Hermione, Albus Dumbledore (head of Hogwarts), and Minerva McGonagall (head of Gryffindor).
	84	RavenclawSaid Ravenclaw, “We’ll teach those whose intelligence is surest.” Ravenclaw students tend to be clever, witty, intelligent, and knowledgeable. Notable residents include Cho Chang and Padma Patil (objects of Harry and Ron’s affections), and Luna Lovegood (daughter of The Quibbler magazine’s editor).
	83	HufflepuffSaid Hufflepuff, “I’ll teach the lot, and treat them just the same.” Hufflepuff students are friendly, fair-minded, modest, and hard-working. A well-known member was Cedric Diggory, who represented Hogwarts in the most recent Triwizard Tournament.
	65	SlytherinSaid Slytherin, “We’ll teach just those whose ancestry is purest.” Slytherin students are typically cunning and hungry for power. Important members include Draco Malfoy (Harry’s nemesis), Professor Severus Snape (head of Slytherin), and Lord Voldemort.

I’ve said it once. I’ve said it twice. Ravenclaw really is my house.

Ezias Treestrider, over and out.

Ezias Treestrider Reporting,

Here’s a small excerpt from one of my favorite R.A. Salvatore Books; Servant of the Shard:

—<O-O>—

The halfling was surprised to see her fingers trembling as she carefully unrolled the note.

“Why Artemis, I did not even know you could write,” Dwahvel said with a snicker, for the lines on the parchment were beautifully constructed, if a bit spare and efficient for Dwahvel’s flamboyant flair. “My dear Dwahvel,” she read aloud, and she paused and considered the words, not certain how she should take that greeting. Was it a formal and proper heading, or a sign of true friendship? It occurred to the halfling then how little she really understood what went on inside of the heart of Artemis Entreri. The assassin had always claimed that his only desire was to be the very best, but if that was true why didn’t he put the Crystal Shard to devastating use soon after acquiring it? And Dwahvel knew that he had it. Her contacts at Dallabad had described in detail the tumbling of the crystalline towers, and the flight of a human, Entreri, and a dark elf, whom Dwahvel had to believe must be Jarlaxle.

All indications were that Entreri’s plan had succeeded.

Even without her eyewitness accounts and despite the well-earned reputations of his adversaries, Dwahvel had never doubted the man.

The halfling moved to her doorway and made certain it was locked. Then she took a seat at her small night table and placed the parchment flat upon it, holding down the ends with paperweights fashioned of huge jewels, and read on, deciding to hold her analysis for the second read through.

My dear Dwahvel,

And so the time has come for us to part ways, and I do so with more than a small measure of regret. I will miss our talks, my little friend. Rarely have I known one I could trust enough to so speak what was truly on my mind. I will do so now, one final time, not in any hopes that you will advise me of my way, but only so that I might more clearly come to understand my own feelings on these matters . . . but that was always the beauty of our talks, was it not?

Now that I consider those discussions, I recognize that you rarely offered any advice. In fact, you rarely spoke at all but simply listened. As I listened to my own words, and in hearing them, in explaining my thoughts and feelings to another, I came to sort them through. Was it your expressions, a simple nod, an arched eyebrow, that led me purposefully down different roads of reasoning?

I know not.

I know not-that has apparently become the litany of my existence, Dwahvel. I feel as if the foundation upon which I have built my beliefs and actions is not a solid thing, but one as shifting as the sands of the desert. When I was ounger, I knew all the answers to all the questions. I existed in a world of surety and certainty. Now that I am older, now that I have seen four decades of life, the only thing I know for certain is that I know nothing for certain.

It was so much easier to be a young man of twenty, so much easier to walk the world with a purpose grounded in-

Grounded in hatred, I suppose, and in the need to be the very best at my dark craft. That was my purpose, to be the greatest warrior in all of the world, to etch my name into the histories of Faerun. So many people believed that I wished to achieve that out of simple pride, that I wanted people to tremble at the mere mention of my name for the sake of my vanity.

They were partially right, I suppose. We are all vain, whatever arguments we might make against the definition. For me, though, the desire to further my reputation was not as important as the desire-no, not the desire, but the need- truly to be the very best at my craft. I welcomed the increase in reputation, not for the sake of my pride, but because I knew that having such fear weaving through the emotional armor of my opponents gave me even more of an advantage.

A trembling hand does not thrust the blade true.

I still aspire to the pinnacle, fear not, but only because it offers me some purpose in a life that increasingly brings me no joy. It seems a strange twist to me that I learned of the barren nature of my world only when I defeated the one person who tried in so many ways to show that very thing to me. Drizzt Do’Urden-how I still hate him!-perceived my life as an empty thing, a hollow trapping with no true benefit and no true happiness. I never really disagreed with his assessment, I merely believed that it did not matter. His reason for living was ever based upon his friends and community, while mine was more a life of the self. Either way, it seems to me as if it is just a play, and a pointless one, an act for the pleasure of the viewing gods, a walk that takes us up hills we perceive as huge, but that are really just little mounds, and through valleys that appear so very deep, but are really nothing at all that truly matters. All the pettiness of life itself is my complaint, I fear.

Or perhaps it was not Drizzt who showed me the shifting sands beneath my feet. Perhaps it was Dwahvel, who gave to me something I’ve rarely known and never known well.

A friend? I am still not certain that I understand the concept, but if I ever bother to attempt to sort through it, I will use our time together as a model.

Thus, this is perhaps a letter of apology. I should not have forced Sharlotta Vespers upon you, though I trust that you tortured her to death as I instructed and buried her far, far away.

How many times you asked me my plans, and always I merely laughed, but you should know, dear Dwahvel, that my intent is to steal a great and powerful artifact before other interested parties get their hands upon it. It is a desperate attempt, I know, but I cannot help myself, for the artifact calls to me, demands of me that I take it from its current, less-than-able wielder.

So I will have it, because I am indeed the best at my craft, and I will be gone, far, far from this place, perhaps never to return.

Farewell, Dwahvel Tiggerwillies, in whatever venture you attempt. You owe me nothing, I assure you, and yet I feel as if I am in your debt. The road before me is long and fraught with peril, but I have my goal in sight. If I attain it, nothing will truly bring me any harm. Farewell!

-AE

Dwahvel Tiggerwillies pushed aside the parchment and wiped a tear from her eye, and laughed at the absurdity of it all. If anyone had told her months before that she would regret the day Artemis Entreri walked out of her life, she would have laughed at him and called him a fool.

But here it was, a letter as intimate as any of the discussions Dwahvel had shared with Entreri. She found that she missed those discussions already, or perhaps she lamented that there would be no such future talks with the man. None in the near future, at least.

Entreri would also miss those talks by his own words.

That struck Dwahvel profoundly. To think that she had so engaged this man-this killer who had secretly ruled Calimport’s streets off and on for more than twenty years.

Had anyone ever become so close to Artemis Entreri?

None who were still alive, Dwahvel knew.

She reread the ending of the letter, the obvious lies concerning Entreri’s intentions. He had taken care not to mention anything that would tell the remaining dark elves that Dwahvel knew anything about them or the stolen artifact, or anything about his proffering of the Crystal Shard. His lie about his instructions concerning Sharlotta certainly added even more security to Dwahvel, buying her, should the need arise, some compassion from the woman and her secret backers.

That thought sent a shudder along Dwahvel’s spine. She really didn’t want to depend on the compassion of dark elves!

It would not come to that, she realized. Even if the trail led to her and her establishment, she could willingly and eagerly show Sharlotta the letter and Sharlotta would then see her as a valuable asset.

Yes, Artemis Entreri had taken great pains to cover Dwahvel’s efforts in the conspiracy, and that, more than any of the kind words he had written to her, revealed to her the depth of their friendship.

“Run far, my friend, and hide in deep holes,” she whispered.

She gently rerolled the parchment and placed it in one of the drawers of her crafted bureau. The sound of that closing drawer resonated hard against Dwahvel’s heart.

She would indeed miss Artemis Entreri.

—<O-O>—

My thoughts about this part is so hard to put to words right now so I’ll probably just save that for later…

Anyways…

I love R.A. Salvatore’s work. In every page of the book, you can always pick up something that tends to be true in our society, something that tends to be useful and something to reflect on. From the eccentric Harkle Harpell to the opportunistic and sly Jarlaxle Baenre, there is always someone people can relate to. I can’t wait to get my hands on more of his books-

Well… Time to go to class….

Ezias Treestrider, over and out.