Doc’s statement: Meeting the Wizard. Or is he?
Spoiler :
We're off to see the wizard, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
We hear he is a whiz of a wiz, if ever a wiz there was
If ever, oh ever a wiz there was, The Wizard of Oz is one because
Because, because, because, because, becaaaaause
Because of the wonderful things he does
We're off to see the wizard, The Wonderful Wizard of Oz
…do do do do do do do do do do
I don’t know what all those people are taking, but I want some. Especially that scarecrow.
In other news, I am very thankful to motoshead89 for their kind and “glorious” review.
As for the part about…
> Wrote: You should also bring back your reading recommendations that often were supplied with TotBP chapters.
I already sort of did in chapter B0-C03.1:
> Wrote: I marathonned I’ve became able to do anything with my Growth Cheat, but I can’t seem to get out of being jobless, then Dungeon Defense, then A Dragon’s Curiosity – it’s on “gravitytales.com” but I can’t seem to get the link working – and then Falling Star of Evolution… all without sleeping… and I got sick…
And B0-C03.3:
> Wrote: Warhawx […] recommended me Grrl Power, a webcomic about superheroines.
But if you want to know, aside from those aforementioned stories, the ones I’m currently following are mostly:
- Whisper of the Nightingale – it’s a classic.
- Midnight Moonlight – don’t read if you’re offended by polyamorous relationships… or vampires.
- Taint – light grey morality… but it’s a cultivation world with demons, so what’d ya expect?
- Binary Soul – the first chapters are a bit confusing in a “WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON???” kind of way, but it’s good and gets even better if you just let the world suck you in.
- The Daily Diary of a Mushroom – it’s very diary-ish. Maybe the story feels a bit rushed for my taste… but it’s the style of the author and the content is excellent anyway.
- Dragon Princess Reborn – hope the author doesn’t drop it this time… not that I’m one to talk.
- Those Who Aspired to Become Gods – sluggish posting speed, but loooooooooong chapters… I shouldn’t have started this one during my finals. -_-’
- Tomo-chan wa Onnanoko! – that one is actually a manga, probably the most hilarious… hilariousest(?)… I’ve read in a long time.
Aaaaand Project Hero – by Warhawx… ‘nough said.
Okay. That’s done… I hope you’ll like them as much as I do.
Now… What else? Ah. Right… Nope. Nothing pertinent to say.
So, enjoy?
PS: I shall nevertheless remind former readers of Tales of the Blood Princess to be careful about spoilers in the comments. Thank you.
PPS: Speculations aren’t spoilers.
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Chapter 4: Beyond the Mist
~ Part 3: Meeting the Wizard? ~
Half an hour later, some explanations, a blushing woman – Ingrid is her name, as I learnt – offering profuse apologies, I apologising back, mostly about eating all her apples… and giving one to a goat whose name I didn’t get… and Marcus punching Dennis in the face for jumping to conclusions… I am now standing in the middle of a small crowd and giving a quick account of the circumstances that led to this unfortunate misunderstanding.
Though, when I say “quick” account…
It still is taking me almost two hours. But that counts as fast in my book. Try as I may, I keep trailing off to elaborate on random events, causing the villagers to grow more and more confused as I go on. I think I should avoid ever trying to write a book. I’m afraid I’d put people off with my constant tangents.
…
……
………
Meh.
By the time I finally reach the part about crossing the fog barrier, everybody in the audience is speechless, jaws dropped, exception made of two people.
One is a captivated Dorothy, who has been staring at me the whole time with rapt attention. She’s a really good public. A little too enthusiastic even. She’s been reacting to everything I said rather intensely, as if her face couldn’t bear to keep the same expression for more than a few seconds and had to be constantly in motion.
That said, it doesn’t differ much from the response I get from other kids in the Wild. Most of them have never left the confine of their little village their whole life and know nothing of the outside world. They’re just typically quite wary of me on a first meeting. Villagers of all ages are naturally suspicious of strangers, as a rule of thumb. I would have to at least bring out the cookies to win them over.
Dorothy on the other hand doesn’t seem wary in the slightest. I guess she’s just more fearless than average. And she seems to be the only child around, which probably influenced her character in one way or another.
The second person who doesn’t look like he’s been turned into a frozen human fly-catcher is a strange old man. I guess the Elder. For a while now, he has been rolling on the ground, splitting his sides laughing.
“Hohoho… and… you… Hoooo… lost because… squirrel… pfffft… HOHO HOHOHO… And you walked… through… eyes– oHOHOHO… CLOSED!!! Ho… HAHa… Hohohoho…”
My left eyebrow twitches.
Likely noticing my expression, the elderly eventually sits up and waves apoplectically at me with one hand, the other pressed against his heaving chest.
“Hahaha… Hoo… Ho… My apologies, lad. It is just… Hohoho… I do not know if you are crazy, or brilliant! Hahaha!”
“…It's remarkable how often those two traits coincide,” I mumble dejectedly. He really didn’t need to laugh that much.
“Haha… What an interesting saying,” he comments while standing up with the help of an intricate wooden cane. His face is covered in tears and snot, and he uses the hem of his unclean washed-out baggy black shirt to wipe them off.
“I got it from a pirate.”
“He seems like… kekeke… a wise pirate.” He’s still having difficulties breathing.
I hope he chokes on his own laughter and die–
Faints. Not dies. I ain’t one to wish ill to the elderly. As long as they aren’t spellcasting piles of bones.
“Not sure if I’d call him ‘wise’ but…”
I scratch the back of my head, then jerk my hand away when the unfamiliar feeling of skin under my fingers reminds me of my current… capillary predicament. All during my speech, I’d been trying to avoid paying attention at how some villagers would avert their gaze and shield their eyes from the reflection of the sun on my shiny scalp.
I shake my head dejectedly, but quickly stop, unsettled by the lack of the familiar shifting weight of my hair.
Urgh… Why…
“Could we stick to ripping off a single movie at a time, please?”
“Ha… What is it that you mean, young one?”
*sigh* “Nothing… So, you’re the Elder?”
“Indeed I am, oh young crazy one. Kekeke…”
“So you just decided to call me crazy?”
“This is my village.”
“Can’t argue with that.” My hand raise towards my head again, but freeze mid-gesture and redirect my urge to scratch something to my left arm. I prefer to recall broken bones rather than lost hair. Think whatever you want.
While my inner self cries tears of blood, I take another look at the self-designated Elder. This geriatric joker possesses a rather special-looking physique, to say the least.
Isn’t he just a weirdo?
He used to be tall, I can tell. Probably as tall as me. But the years have caused him to stoop heavily. I wouldn’t call him exactly hunchback, nor deformed in the usual sense… The Elder is… err… curved. His head hangs lower than his shoulders and he leans heavily on his cane. In fact, he’s shaped like the neck of a swan. Not a form the human body should be able to take. It’s rather disconcerting.
His broad back betrays his former burliness. Maybe at one point he was a warrior or lumberjack. But all his muscles have long since melted away. His old shirt hangs loosely on his large bony frame, and the arms extending out of his sleeves mimic those of the skeletons I’ve been fighting for the past month. With the difference his are still covered in leathery skin.
His hair might one day have been blond, but is now a pallid yellowish white. Long, diaphanous and scarce, it leaves most of his wrinkled scalp naked. Though he still has more hair than me, which pisses me off somehow.
Although… No. On second thought, I’d rather be completely bald than looking like a half-plucked mop.
Of course, I’d prefer to have a full mane, but like say, “of two evils…”
The Elder’s eyes are deeply sunken into their sockets, which reinforces the image of a grimacing skull he has going on. A thick scar runs above his right orbit, forcing him into a constant wink. Curiously, his smile only exposes spotless white teeth, though at least four are missing.
To sum him up, I wouldn’t readily have accepted a red apple offered by the man. Or candies.
…
Okay, maybe candies.
But I’m still not convinced he’s not a rare mummy variant of a lich. To be careful, I don’t let him leave my sight.
After eventually recovering from his laughing fit, the Elder raises a hand resembling a skinny claw, calling for the attention of his fellow citizens.
“Hoho…*cough* Now, now. We all had our fun…”
I glare at him. He averts his gaze.
“Ahem… But our first guest in… well, in nearly forever… must be quite tired from his *cough* exploits *cough* and your stares are probably making him uncomfortable.”
Not so much as you are.
Ignoring my death stares, the old scarecrow continues: “Go back to your evening activities, all of you. And, Marcus, wake up your brother. Or at least take him somewhere else. He cannot sleep in the middle of the square like that.” He marks a small pause to make sure everyone complies, then turns back to me. “Now, Crazy One, follow me.”
“Elric. My name is Elric.”
“Elric the Crazy One, if you insist.”
“…”
Cheeky old mummy.
Giving up… for now… I follow the frustrating old man, briefly glimpsing at the unconscious Dennis being dragged away. Marcus “Bro” punched him quite hard earlier, yet nobody seemed to care. I conclude that either Dennis is tougher than he looks, or the whole village hate his guts. Maybe both.
As we cross the hamlet, nobody pays us any real attention beyond a glance and a smile, which strikes me as odd, given their earlier interest. Then again, they live at the bottom of a huge green mountain in a small haven in a country otherwise overrun by corpses. Maybe they’re used to weirder things and I’ve already ran through my entertaining potential?
…How preposterous!
Moi? Unamusing? Unacceptable! Je suis outré! That’s it. I am taking this as a personal challenge! They will soon see what an unforgettable personage I am. All shall remember Elric Walker, the Great, as a savant full or hilarious panache! For eons to come!
I feel like I should warn you that you’re getting delusional again.
Shut up! I’m delusional if I want to! I won’t let some voice in my head insinuate that I’m crazy!
Okay. Okay. I just wanted to point that out.
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Whatever…
Again, the only exception to the general behaviour is Dorothy. Since the Elder and I left the main square, the girl has been “discreetly” tailing us, jumping from shade to cover like a little incompetent rogue.
Earlier, a slender blond woman – probably the aforementioned Martha – tried calling out to her, but the obstinate little girl wilfully ignored her. The woman was quick to give up too, apparently not thinking anything dangerous could happen inside the hamlet.
And this is another thing I’ve noted. No one in the village appears the slightest bit concerned of letting a very suspicious man – I’m a self-aware person – alone with their seemingly debilitated leader and a defenceless little girl. This oddity only strengthens my hypothesis that the old man is some kind of overpowered enchanter to whom I pose no threat.
I also have seventeen and a half other hypothesises on the matter, but they are mostly illogical. I don’t believe the goats are the real masterminds behind all of this. They’re far too polite.
Or… Perhaps…
*dun* *dun* *DUUUN*
This is a trap also?!
Nick. Delusions.
Ah. Oh, well…
It doesn’t really matter anyway, whether or not the Elder truly is a mage of high calibre. Even taking him out of the equation, if the locals suddenly decide to turn hostile, I have no doubt I will be thoroughly crunched.
It hasn’t escaped my notice either, that every single villager, save from Dorothy and the old man, looks capable of wrestling a wyvern barehanded. Slender muscles, sharp movements, the occasional scar… There is obviously more to this village hidden by mist than meets the eye.
Kirigakure?
Argh. Please… no ninjas… please.
It still poses the question of why Ingrid fled before. But then again, undead rarely travel alone, so maybe she came back to bring reinforcements.
Or maybe you are just THAT ugly.
Shush. Besides, I was wearing a helmet.
Even Dennis, for all his cowardice and idiocy, is extremely well built for someone who looks no older than seventeen. Not to forget the rain of [Purity Blaze]. The spell might be low tier, but even with several mages joining their efforts, continuously casting it for so long isn’t a feat to laugh at.
That said, I am laughing, and acting casual, but in truth I haven’t been able too fully relax since the enchanted gates of the fence closed behind me. I feel a bit trapped. For all I know, Dorothy is actually a millennium-old necromancer who could kill me by blinking too hard.
“Waah!!” *thud*
Although… considering the high-pitched startled cry, and the loud tripping sound, I just heard coming from behind me, I have some doubt on that hypothesis. Otherwise, Dorothy would be the cutest necromancer ever. In which case I have no objection.
Objection!
Overruled. Please stop disturbing my thoughts.
We’re walking on what I would call the main street, if not for the fact there doesn’t seem to be more than five streets in this place. The hamlet is made up of about fifteen houses, modest but well-kept. Built in wood. One storey. Some with a small garden. The occasional vegetable patch. No fences, as expected of a small tight-knit community. I worry about consanguinity though.
During my “short” lecture earlier, I counted nineteen villagers, including Marcus, Dennis, Martha, a middle-aged couple I identified as Melk – short for Melkior apparently – and his wife Delia, Ingrid the Apple Woman, Elder Mummy McLaughter and Dorothy, as well as a young woman whom I guessed was the Meg whom Dorothy had threatened Dennis with, because she kept glancing at the passed-out young man with a mix of pity and annoyance.
After a while, seeing nothing grandiose or absurd enough to hold my attention, aside from the humongous green mountain of course, I refocus on the old man by my side.
“Pardon me, Elder…” Politeness never hurts, especially towards beings who could potentially blast me in seven different directions, simultaneously, if not dimensions. “Does this village happen to have an altar? I would like to pay my respects to the gods.”
The wrinkled question-mark-shaped human casts me a sideway glance with his sole fully-opened eye.
“An altar? There is nothing that could be called that in Kansas, I am afraid. Not that I know of at least. And I have been around long enough to know every speck of dust in this whole clearing.”
Damn. I knew it. It would have been waaaay to easy. Did you notice my subtle sarcasm, O Me?
I noticed.
Most safe zones have an altar, or some tantamount, to allow players to revive there, exception made of some special areas. And a hidden village in the depth of Undeadia, like Kansas, clearly qualifies as special. Sadly that means my nearest respawn point still is the town of Ashen, weeks, woods and illusion barrier away to the East.
Which also means I will be stuck in DO-NOT-DIE mode for a while longer.
Ahhhh… Just thinking about it tires me. I’d really like to take a break and sleep right now. The sun too, slowly descending on the horizon behind my back, exacerbates my urge to seek a bed. It’s a natural instinct thing.
Trying to keep drowsiness away, I occupy myself with questioning the Elder further about the village. As I quickly find out, for all hidden Kansas might be, its skinny leader isn’t particularly reluctant with sharing information about his beloved hamlet. Although, I have the impression that whenever my questions turn towards the history of the village – its founding, the choice of location, how has it been around – the old man subtly changes the subject.
It might be my imagination though. I am getting really tired. And all those apples hardly made up a full meal. I lack proteins.
During our walk, I thus learn quite a few things. For example, the main source of food here are apples. Go figure. Apparently the goats are used for milk.
Other interesting point, the villagers’ clothes are made from the rough silk produced by a species of giant worms. Those are raised in one of the barns I saw earlier by a taciturn man named Lagerfeld. He was the only one absent earlier, which brings the number of inhabitants to a round 20.
Also, like most Erwynians, the Kansans worshiped the God of Order.
Hmmm... Am I supposed to start a holy crusade or something?
I’ve always found hugely ironic that the most dis-orderly place I ever encountered solely worships the Embodiment of Organisation, while the majority of the continent follows the polytheist faith professed by the Temple, in which the God of Order is “only” the Head of the Pantheon. Guess which place is Chaos’?
Well, maybe that’s the whole point of praying? Like when people on Earth named the Pacific Ocean?
I’m not sure that’s exactly what Magellan thought about back in 1520.
Magellan… That poison guy from One Piece?
*sigh* No. Ferdinand Magellan, the Portuguese explorer who set up the Spanish… Well, the “Castilian” expedition to the East Indies between 1519 and 1522.
Oh. Right. That guy. Haha. Common mistake.
Anyway…
As we walk and converse, there is one thing I notice about the Elder of Kansas…
…
HE
…
IS
…
SSSSSSSSLOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOW!!
*mental inhalation*
…
……
………
AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!!!!!!!!
And I’m forced to walk at the same pace, because I don’t know where we’re going! I’ve tried to ask him, in order to… I don’t know… carry him there? Pick him up and run? Piggyback ride? But all I got in return was: “Kekeke. Do not be so hasty, Young One. The destination is only what the journey makes it to be.”
That’s not an answer! That’s cryptic Chinese kung fu master mumbo jumbo!!
And stop moving as if the ground was made of eggs!!
Urgh! Blasted gummy bear!!
If I still had hair, I would be ripping them out right now!
It’s driving me sane!!!!
…insane. I meant “It’s driving me insane.”
I can’t believe it! All throughout this conversation, we’ve barely moved away from the town square. I’ve seen grass growing faster than this guy walks!
He’s slower than zombie snails under morphine!!
Well, I can only guess he is.
…
……
………
Note to self: test the effects of opiate narcotics on undead monsters.
Noted.
I was afraid the man would to die of old age before we got anywhere.
However, eeeeeeeventually, against all odds, we reach our destination. Not an instant too soon either. I feel like I was about to bite through my gauntlets from chewing my fingers in anguish too much. I can taste blood already... Though maybe that’s from my gums.
Predictably, our destination has been the foot of the green mountain all along.
From up close, the stone appears too opaque to be pure emerald, contrary to what I first assumed. The aspect is closer to green jade, but crisscrossed by innumerable crystalline and shimmering veins. Those veins might actually be genuine emerald. I’m no jeweller, but this looks a bit like composite marble made of jade and emerald. If that’s a thing. Is that a thing? I don’t think that’s a thing.
I gulp.
Holy Spoon.
Bloody fucking genitalia in a blender…
Ouch.
I pick up my jaw from the ground and try to wipe the drool of it, but I’m afraid this is a losing battle.
“Gods…” I whisper, unable to tear my gaze away from the treasure before my eyes.
I’m not a greedy person… I don’t think I am. I’ll admit I have flaws. Probably many of them, and them some more. But I’ve always considered money as a mean to an end. You could even argue that I tend to spend it a bit thoughtlessly.
But even I can’t contain my reaction before the sheer amount of gemstone – a literal mountain – in front of me.
Ah. But I’m not really interested in its pecuniary value.
Nonononono…
*wipe some more drool*
If my mouth is watering from almost lustful desire, it’s not because I’m imagining the rivers of gold I could gather by mining this… monstrosity. No.
My interest lays elsewhere.
In Untold Tales, there exists a special mineral simply known as “managem”. As the name suggests, when it comes to magic, there is no better catalyst. Sadly though, managems are hard to mine, thus rare, and thusly expensive. Therefore most mages have to use the cheaper and less efficient alternative, which is… gemstones.
As to why gemstones are considered relatively inexpensive, though not exactly dirt cheap, it’s simply because they can be produced through alchemy, whereas managems can’t.
But never mind that.
As a rule, and this is true for both normal gems and managems, the larger the stone, the more mana they can convey.
Yes, there’s the issue of the former being less efficient than the latter, but when confronted with such titanic quantities…
*gulp*
…I’m not sure the concept of efficiency even applies anymore.
“Fufufufu…” An unsettling laughter creeps its way up my throat as my lips twitch nervously upwards and my eyes narrow into slits.
I wonder… What kind of spell could I cast using a mountain as a catalyst, hmm? That amount of mana… I’m panting just thinking about it. By Chaos. I don’t think I even know any magic that could ever even tickle the conduction limits of that thing. And I know some forbidden rituals classified as “calamity” level… Ah.
…Please keep quiet about that.
Those spells purely theoretical anyway. I mean, there is just no way of gathering enough mana to cast them.
Yeah… No way…
Until now that is.
“Fufufufufufu…”
The possibilities are just endless! I feel like my brain is overheating from the sheer amount of ideas that are jumping around inside, wrestling and fighting for supremacy, from creating my own dimension as a playground, to causing a continent-wide downpour of tap-dancing penguins!
And then we shall… TAKE OVER THE WORLD!!!
Mwahahahaha… ha… ha? Why would we want to take over the world?
Because we could!
Oh. Right. MwhahahahahahahahahahahHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA–
*cough* *cough*
Ah!
Gentle coughs snap me out of my inner pluri-directional tug of war spiralling into megalomaniac delirium. Surprisingly, my sluggish guide has actually stopped! I didn’t notice. Though I must say in my defence, the distinction between motion and rest isn’t obvious with this old one.
What is obvious however is the awkward one-eyebrow-raised stare that he’s sending my way.
Hehehe… I… I wasn’t talking out loud… was I?
* * * * *