I started to stand up, but thought better of it - if I ran out the door after overhearing their conversation on a missing person, two and two might be put together. And I knew the workers here didn’t mind talking to the military. I sat back down, passing it off as repositioning on my stool. The bartender was idly wiping down a cup. I could wait for him to turn around before leaving… but I felt unsettled. I had to stop Kevin from showing the (potentially) incriminating dagger to anyone.
I tried to muster my nonchalance, but suddenly couldn’t remember where I kept it. Didn’t matter - wasn’t going to waste time. I stood and started for the door.
“Heading out already?” asked the bartender. At first it sounded slightly accusatory, but I was probably overthinking things.
I turned and smiled without slowing. It felt like he was watching me a bit too intently, though, so I said, “Save my spot, will you?” as I darted out the door.
The street wasn’t quite as busy as yesterday. If I had to guess, it was a cross between people not wanting to be in sight of the blackened pile of char that was a city block, the hit to the total population because of those that were caught in the blackened pile of char that was a city block, and the presence of soldiers patrolling around because of the blackened pile of char that was a city block. The people that were out, however, weren’t as lively as yesterday. Only a couple diehard vendors manned their stalls, forcing unreturned smiles to the few who walked by. I hoped I could ask around for locations without attracting too much attention. Kevin said he’d start with the locksmith.
I saw a man reading on a bench. “Excuse me, sir?” I gingerly walked up to him, trying to portray some semblance of meekness from my large frame. “Could I ask you for directions?”
He pointed his hooked nose at me. After a couple blinks and a snort, he went through a showy display of placing a bookmark, closing the book, setting the book next to him, and finally looking back up at me. “Yes?” he said, at last.
He was a pompous idiot that wanted me to wait so I’d be more respectful of him. “I’m sorry for taking up your time,” I said, trying to sound reverent, “but I was wondering if you could direct me to the local locksmith?”
With an irritated sigh, he looked down the street. “If you go three blocks that way and take a right, you’ll see a sign for Dunbar’s.” He sounded like he was being perpetually strangled. “I don’t believe he’s in, however; I just saw him walking towards the forest a few minutes ago.”
“I see.” Didn’t we pay him to head to Marisa’s first thing in the morning? Didn’t matter now - if he was out, Kevin was likely done with that errand. “Thank you. And, if I needed someone to examine… say, a magical item. Where would you recommend?”
I could tell he was reassessing me when a child came up. “Mr. Merkz? We can’t defeat the dragon….”
Dragon? Just to be sure, I looked towards the other kids. They were lying on the ground, breathless, wooden swords lying inches from their fingertips. There wasn’t a dragon, but down the alley was a large crate with a reptilian head painted on it.
The man - Mr. Merkz, I guess - went through as much rigamarole before talking to the boy as he did with me. “Keep at it, Billy,” he said, “and make sure the others are doing the same.”
The child stared at his feet, shifting on them uncomfortably. “We… we’re worried about Tim…” he said quietly, his eyes shifting from the ground to the incinerated block of homes. “He didn’t come today….”
Mr. Merkz looked up at the sky, probably to figure out what time it was. “Well, clearly Tim doesn’t take his education seriously. Don’t you fall into the same rut. Now, get back to it.” Education? Kids in Dungeonia were taught to defeat dragons? I looked back at the crate. There was nothing special about it.
Dismayed, Billy ambled off. “Yes, Mr. Merkz,” he sighed, too disheartened to be frustrated. Children under twelve shouldn’t know how to sigh like that.
“Kids today,” said Merkz, shaking his head at the kid’s back. “Not enough gumption.”
I was in too much a hurry to comment. “You were saying about magical item identification?”
“Oh, yes,” he took a second to show that his ample mind was gearing down to deal with me. “He’s a bit out of the way, but you want the old blowhard, Finknottle…” he proceeded to give me directions, but I wondered about their veracity when he finished with making three lefts in a row.
“…And you’re sure they’re the only place in town?” I asked.
He nodded. “The only one of which I’m aware.”
I thanked him for his time and beat tracks. On the way my longsword drew the attention of a patrolling soldier or two, but I wasn’t stopped.
The directions led me to a remarkably dank part of Woodsedge - surprising, because I didn’t think this town was large enough to have such variances in character. The buildings were misshapenly thin, and crammed so tightly and awkwardly that I wondered if walking into one would put too much strain on the set as a whole and violently pop a roof off into the sky. They were tall enough to block the late morning sun. Wasn’t cheap land the draw of settling a small town in the middle of nowhere? Why make buildings like this? The area seemed darker, the streets seemed more worn down, and the people seemed surlier than everywhere else. I kept my head down, finally coming to the third of the consecutive left turns, where I wound up in an alley.
Maybe “alley” was too generous. It was ten feet deep, maybe four feet wide, with three doors - two of which were boarded up. Over the third was a sign, “Finknottle’s Finest”. Whereas most signs for businesses try to suggest a combination of welcoming intrigue and accessible class, this sign gave the impression of quiet desperation and suicidal escape. It struck me as an odd place for someone who deals in magic. Well, not ‘odd’, just… crappy? There were no windows, so I walked up and tried the door handle. It was unlocked. Not wanting to seem threatening, I undid the belt with my sword and set it next to the entrance. I said a prayer and walked in.
“Open for business?” I asked cheerily.
The place was small - just a few shelves, a counter, and a door leading to the back. Behind the counter was a man, small, late fifties, holding some kind of ornamental stick. In front of the counter, leaning on it was Kevin, red hair and all. On the counter was a small book.
And the dagger.
The man with the stick, who I assumed was the proprietor, Finknottle, only spent half a second looking at me before fixating again of Kevin. “Well, two customers in one morning? Aren’t I popular,” he said, for Kevin’s benefit more than mine. I realized then that he was pointing the stick at Kevin - a wand. Did I get here too late? Kevin wasn’t moving at all. Was he afraid? No, none of his muscles were even twitching. Why was he frozen?
-Most likely due to a Hold Person spell from the wand-
Ah, yes. My day wouldn’t be complete without the arcana skill.
I was too late. He must have recognized the dagger and assumed the worst. If he also assumed I was with Kevin, I’d get the wand next. I took a gamble. “Oh, if you’re busy, I can come back later,” I said.
This time he spent a full second looking me over. “No, leave and bring a soldier with you, now.”
I allowed my own fear to color my next words. “What? Why? What’s going on?” I looked around the shop in a panic.
He held up his free hand. “Don’t worry; I got him,” he assured, sounding very pleased with himself. I could use that.
I had to find a way to stay without Finknottle turning the wand on me. “What, the elf?” I asked, cautiously stepping forward, eyes glued to Kevin like I expected him to pounce at any moment. “Why isn’t he moving?”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
Finknottle grinned, making tiny circles with the wand. “Froze him in place, the little bastard.” He was enjoying showing off his success too much to really care if I delayed. “He’s just lucky I didn’t have a wand within reach that would kill him.”
Good - if he needed a wand, he wasn’t a wizard himself. I think. Pretty sure anyone can use wands in fifth edition. A glance at him was enough to tell me he didn’t have any pouches for spell components. Making it to the counter, I slowly leaned around to look Kevin in the face. “What did he try to pull on you? Shoplifting?” I asked. Kevin could breathe, it seemed, and could move his eyes and eyelids, but nothing else. Interesting. And freaky. When our eyes met, I gave him a wink out of sight of Finknottle.
“He tried to sell me the Consul’s own dagger of office, the cheek of it! And not half an hour earlier did the soldiers come in and ask for any info on where he is! Bad timing.” He leaned in. “You murdered him, didn’t you, you little bastard? I’m thinking I should just slit his throat and get a hefty ‘thanks’ from the military.”
I nodded seriously, but switched to a frown. “So the Consul’s missing? When did this happen?”
“Last night, I guess,” said Finknottle.
“Then, wouldn’t they want him alive to say where he is?”
He sneered. “Eh, you’re probably right,” he grumbled, disappointed. “So run and get them, so I can get on with it.”
“Shouldn’t you tie him up first? Just to be safe?” I flicked Kevin on the nose. He lacked the control needed to glare at me. “Do you have any rope?”
“This wand’ll do just fine,” he said. “I’m pretty quick, you know. One move out of him and zap!"
Think. Wands can only cast their spells a few times a day. Hold Person just lasts a minute, and the afflicted gets to try to shrug it off every six seconds. It had to have been almost a minute since I walked in, so Kevin should be free soon. “Oh, you can hold him for a while? I didn’t see very many soldiers on the way here, so I don’t know how long it would be before I could get ahold of one….”
His finger tapped thoughtfully on the wand. “What do you have in mind? I have some rope, I suppose….”
I smiled, pulling out my dagger. “I’ll hold this to his throat while you find the rope. When he unfreezes, you tie him up and I’ll stick him if he tries anything.”
I watched him look me up and down. Was he suspicious, or trying to figure out if I could cut Kevin’s throat quickly enough? Confidently, I moved behind Kevin and held him tight with my blade to his Adam’s apple. “I suppose that’ll work. Probably best - easier to move him outside the shop. Don’t need the military up in my business,” he groused, lowering the wand. I stifled a sigh of relief. He stepped toward the back, but turned. “I’m Finknottle, by the way. What’s your name?”
“Call me Jack.” Dang it, why’d I give him my real name?
“Jack,” he grinned, “we’re going to be heroes.”
I gave him a slow, appreciative nod back. “Looking forward to it.”
He disappeared into the back room. I got close to Kevin’s ear and whispered, “Let me know when you can move.”
“Ten seconds ago,” he said.
“Really? He couldn’t tell it stopped working? Doesn’t he have to concentrate to maintain it?”
“Guess not when it’s done through a wand. And thanks for the nose flick, dickwad.”
“Is that any way to thank the guy saving your ass?”
“We’re not out of this yet. What’s the plan? We can’t run or he’ll call the guards. Rather not kill him, either. Gonna cast Sleep?”
“I don’t have the components, and playing my lute would give it away. Plus, it’d catch us in the radius.”
“Elves are immune to sleep spells, but alright. So, what, just jump him together?”
“And tie him up with his own rope,” I shrugged.
A few seconds later, Finknottle returned, winding rope while still holding the wand. “I was really quite sneaky about it, too,” he said. “I took the wand and waved it around like I was going to cast something on the dagger, then zap! Never knew what hit—“
“Now!” I ordered, exploding into action. Kevin and I tackled a startled Finknottle to the ground. I tried to wrestle the wand out of his hand while Kevin went for the rope.
He was surprisingly slippery and strong for an old guy - my hands couldn’t quite snatch the wand away. A jolt of panic set in at the thought that, while he might not be a wizard, he might have levels in another adventuring class. I supposed many esoteric magic store owners would. He freed his hand from my grasp and jabbed the wand into my side. “Paralatorpefyze!” he bellowed, loudly and clearly like he was addressing a packed Carnegie Hall.
All my muscles went tense. Or rather, not tense, but just… stopped. I couldn’t move. Not quite balanced, I tipped head first into Finknottle’s chest, knocking the wind out of him. He regained his composure quickly and shoved me hard to the side, my face taking the brunt of the fall to the floor.
I laid there, body locked in mid battle, my face, elbow and knee forming a tripod. I had to move. My brain tried to send word to my muscles, but something kept killing the messengers. I knew everything was still there - I could feel the floor, my clothes, my breathing, but couldn’t control my body.
It was terrifying. At least when someone’s stuck in a cage or a straight jacket, they can beat against the bars or strain under the belts, but being completely cut off from control is… hard to convey appropriately. Panic crept up my spine; a cold, furious panic at the realization that I was completely trapped in my own body. I’d have screamed if I could, but a long, mad exhale was the best I could manage. I breathed harder, partly from fear and partly because it was the only thing I could really do. Well, my magic limb could move, which was somewhat reassuring, but being unable to move or speak prevented any kind of magic.
Grunts and the sound of a scuffle were coming from out of my sight. I couldn’t tell who was winning, but I prayed it was Kevin - Finknottle might just kill us now, to be safe.
“Paralato—opf!” At least Kevin got a good blow in. I heard the wand fall to the floor, making a wooden rolling sound. I felt it hit my elbow. What was a wrestling match turned into a fistfight, judging by the noise. That would be a problem - Kevin wouldn’t resort to lethal blows, but Finknottle might.
Stay calm. I pulled my breathing back to a steady rate, but panic demanded it quicken again. Whatever - I could think this through, regardless. There’s a way to break this spell, and it’s not just about rolling high enough on a twenty sided die. The saving throw is linked to wisdom - that usually means it’s a matter of willpower. Images of Uma Thurman telling her big toe to move came to mind. Should I start with something small and hope that starts a chain reaction that breaks the spell, or should I try to overthrow the entire spell at once? My panic was screaming at me to break it altogether, but maybe that was the point - ignoring what the fear was telling me and focusing on something small.
With no good idea where to start, I tried to move my mouth. It was still clenched in the scowl I was giving Finknottle. I demanded it return to normal. Nothing. Panic kept screaming at me to break the spell, but I did my best to ignore it. Unclench your teeth. Nothing. Panic. Try to smile. Nothing. Panic. Kiss the floor. Nothing. Panic.
There was a loud crash, spilling the contents of a shelf all over, ending with Kevin loosing a very pained “Uhgh!” He wasn’t winning. Panic. I’d have to break this for us to get out of it. Panic. The sounds of fighting had stopped. Panic. Panic.
I could hear Finknottle breathing heavily. “Yeah, taught you maggots not to mess with a Guilder, that’s for sure!” Panic. Panic. Panic. Wait, I felt I knew what ‘Guilder’ meant, but—Panic. Panic. Panic. “I don’t think anyone’ll care if I bring them two traitor’s corpses.” Panicpanicpanicpanicpanicpanic—STOP!
I silently screamed at myself to stop panicking. “Fear is the mindkiller” were the truest words of wisdom in all literature. I was better than my fear. I didn’t care if primal urges demanded an adrenaline response from my predicament - I wouldn’t let it topple me. I choked down the panic without succumbing to defeat. I could fight this.
Then a curious thing happened; my stomach clenched. I unclenched it and clenched it again. Then my back. Then my chest. Buttocks, arms, legs, fingers, toes, neck; they all started coming back online.
I’ll admit to being slightly disappointed - I’d only just really decided to fight, but apparently the will to do so was all that I needed to do to break the enchantment. Or a minute had gone by since it was cast, but I’d rather call it my triumph more than Kevin’s ability to delay.
Finknottle must’ve seen me convulsing. “Oh, got some guff left in you, eh?”
Hell yeah, I did. In an amazing display of isometrics, I flexed all my muscles at once. Like a old rubber band, the spell snapped off me with a crack. I rolled away from him into a kneel, pointing his own wand at him. He stopped, startled.
Wait, there was a word he used to activate the wand. And I couldn’t remember it. My face went cold as the color drained from it, and Finknottle could tell. A slow, superior smirk blossomed on his face.
Son-of-a—what was the word he used?
-‘Paralatorpefyze’, a curious amalgamation of the words ‘paralyze’ and ‘torpefy’, reminiscent of the Profanologia school of thought when choosing trigger words. The idea is, by choosing two words with similar meanings and mixing them in a fashionable sense, one can easily remember the trigger word while still being difficult to guess for one who doesn’t know it. Now, when Profanologia artisans gave way to Terranologia-
Damn it, Arcana, not now! “Profanolog—I mean, Paralatorpefyze!” I belted.
Though there was nothing to see, I could feel energy burst from the wand, and I could tell it hit Finknottle square in the chest. He recoiled slightly, and began to slow like he was trapped in molasses. His eyes bored into mine. Fixated, he roared and seemingly muscled through the slowing, proceeding unhindered.
But the delay was enough. Kevin, lying in a heap until the right moment, shot out from the wreckage of the shelf, colliding with Finknottle behind the knees. The old man’s arms flailed wildly, trying in vain to keep balance. He tumbled to the floor.
I stood, switching the wand to my off-hand. I didn’t care if I hurt this guy anymore. I pulled back a fist.
I’m big. I’m not just tall, I have a large frame. I have a lot of extra weight, as well. I know on paper my strength was 16 at the end. I know that means an unarmed strike should do about four points of damage from me. But when I, somewhere between an eighth and a seventh of a ton, bring my full self down on someone’s face with my fist, I don’t care what the rules say - that sucker’s going down.
There was a massive crack. Finknottle was out for the count, victory was ours, and my hand hurt. I made my way to the counter, leaning on it and breathing heavy with my head sagged. I closed my eyes, let the adrenaline drain from my system.
“You alright?” Kevin asked.
“Yeah. You?”
“I’ll live.”
I kept trying to catch my breath. Suddenly my nose got flicked - twice.
“The second one was for calling me Keebler.”