Author Topic: Silver September - Playable  (Read 176 times)

The Red Dragon

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Silver September - Playable
« on: September 01, 2005, 01:10:15 AM »
In order to offer a little springboard, a jumping point as it were, for the beginnings (or middle, or sideline) of stories that can be played out in the rooms and/or in the folders, we offer to you the following.

Throughout history, life has been suffered many speedbumps.  Natures attempts to call for intermission, or simply to provide a detour have proven many and varied.

The citizens of Rhydin, be they native or transplanted (transported?) seem a hardy type.  There are few plagues known in the history of rhydin.  So we offer a chance to create a bit of history and Rhydins first Great Plague.  But nothing so mundane as  sneeze-and pass it along (ring around the rosy...) illness.   This is different.  

**Magical in nature. Bare bones  A local(ish) good hearted but bumbling wizard type was trying to cast a major spell - peace on earth, good will to men (POG, GWTM) and something went wrong. NOT only did he poof with a pop when the spell was cast, but the ripple effect of said arcane bit of good will was a plague, magical in nature that is most severe at the point of origin (A room on the 2nd floor of the Red Dragon Inn) and longest lasting there as well. It will wear off over the space of 30 days. 30 days from its contraction.

effects are/can be:
-- Sleep effect (we'll call this the 'peace' effect). When a trigger word is said (by the infected person or someone nearby) they (the affected) fall into what appears to be amagically induced sleep - to all outward appearances. To the sleep-er they're awake, aware, and everyone else is just being bizarre. Talking/walking in ones sleep quite normal.

--Blinking spots. At first they look like blisters/boils or pox marks, complete with mild fever and body aches. They the pox/blisters begin to glow. Then blink. Blinking is the final stage before they fade entirely.

-- Whooping Sneezes. Generally occur when a 'trigger' word is said/heard. (Player picks the trigger.)

--Uncontrollable appetite/thirst.

-- Hair growth. Not just on-you-head-face hair either, but wild. Bizarre hair growth. Patchwork (blonde, brown red black) and multi texture (curly straight wavy all at once, per strand, per lock or in patches).

--Hiccups. And not just your ordinary hiccups. Every third hiccup produces either a silver crown or a black pebble depending on mood.

--water drunkness. Every drop/sip of water is like a mug of the best ale. In effect, not taste. (won't THAT make bathing interesting?).

-- Honesty. You can't help but tell the truth. AKA - think-it-say-it.

**Cure: Time (30 days) or a good-luck wish stone. Only one exists, and its currently in the shoe of a beggar near the docks.

Using magic to try and cure it will ONLY make it worse, though all effects will fade by the 30th day.

Fairies, Pixies and Dragons are usually immune. The dead are not affected (which means those of vampiric nature are only effected in their animated/ambulatory state)

Each player has the choice to use or not use the plague.  This is only a playable, not an imperative.

~~~

There was enough strife, enough anger, enough angst and day-to-day unpleasantness that Ben Gelukkig had devoted the past fifteen years of his life, his fortune even, to alleviating it. He had tried philanthropy. He'd lost a great deal of money and in the end had changed nothing (though there WAS a very nice lost-dogs home outside of the city...and the bird sanctuary, and a tiny but lovely public garden).

No, no it would take something much more drastic than mere philanthropy, than random good works aimed at individuals. No, he wanted to affect the whole world. Universe, if he but had the power, but Ben did at least, know (some of) his limitations. With that in the front of his mind he took a room at a particular inn near the centre of the city; a three story ediface that looked sturdy, the timbers marked with time, smoke and weather. Yes, it would suit his purpose well.

That had been five years before, and in the time he had come to be looked upon as an eccentric but rather sweet (how he HATED that word now) old man. You see, he'd gone quite bald over the years, and what hair remained the fringe near his ears and the long, whisping beard, had turned snowy white. HE had thought it gave him a learned, dignified look. The girl who had brought him his dinner the night before had called him 'granther'. Yes, time had passed him by.

He had spent the last of his resources both magical and monetary on crafting a spell of great magnitude. One that (theoretically) would result in a feeling of great peace in all his fellow men (and women and pirates, elves, vampirical creatures, llamas, cat-kind, and aye, even unto the lycanthrope), rendering them filled with a sense of love. An aversion to war, theft, bribery, anger, angst, teenage rebellion, lust and avarice.

It all looked so good on paper! In theorum that had been gone over, under through and inside out countless times in the past month as he had assembled those components needed. The hair of a lamb, claw of a lion, the tip of a melted down plowshare. The broken haft of a dagger, the noseguard of a warriors helm; (really the list was near endless.....). it had made his room rather crowded the last two days as he prepared the casting.

He drew the circle, using the finest of powdered chalk (with JUST a hint of pixie dust to give it a glitter). He intoned the words, chanting in just the right staggered cadence as he invoked various and sundry spirits, imps and elementals to witness his sincerity, his wholehearted wish.

They were listening. OH were they listening. Perhaps it was the imp of the Preverse (we call him Loki oft-times) who listened the closest, a sparkle of wit lighting his eyes as Ben cast (literally AND figuratively) the spell, his hands raised up so that the sleeves of his patched and threadbare robe slid down to reveal boney, pale arms as his voice rose in a shout of.. "PAX!"

There was a flash of light that glistened with every shade of the rainbow. A roar of sound like a far-off wave gliding up onto the shore.

And the smell of burnt hair and hot metal. All that was left of Ben Gelukkig was a wisp of smoke, a pile of pale blue ash and the remaineder of the casting circle, burnt into the wood of the floor as if branded.

And in the room next door where she'd been bent over cleaning out the grate, the chambermaid sneezed three times, completely unaware that her hair had suddenly turned puce. half of it coiled in tiny, tight curls.
***