Peredhil

The King leaned forward in wary interest, staring at Elrohir. "What threat? My kingdom and my throne? They are one and the same. What noise is this?" "The threat is this. There is a curse on your line and lineage, a curse most dire. And as for your kingdom and throne, if you were to die, would not the kingdom endure? But both are in peril, for truly, without one of your bloodline ruling, the Kingdom would pass." Limited information. He'd been on one Plane in which Elves could not lie. But they could mislead, make unrelated statements, and play with definitions, as long as words were used consistently within a conversation. He'd gotten rather good at it. That mortals die was something he considered a dire curse. If the King were to ignore him, some day, he'd die. If Mynx continued to be honorable to her commission, and he had no reason to think otherwise, Elrohir might be the hand of the curse himself. Without one of the King's bloodline ruling, the kingdom would pass - to another bloodline. It was all in the presentation . "Know, o king, that your line was founded by a man of skill and vigor, powerful in sword and mind both." They always were. I'd keep an eye on that barbarian lad, for example. "At the head of a small force, the first of your line fought his way into the throne room, and saw cowering there the royalty of the day. Sneering with contempt at the soft helplessness of the court, one by one, he slit their throats." The kings eyes had gotten round, and his hand had moved from trying to unsuccessfully push his stomach in, to protectively covering his throat. "But there is power and majesty in royal blood, no matter how soft it has become." The king nodded many-chinned agreement. "So that when your Founder slit the fallen king's throat... He paused to take a drink from the king's goblet. "when he slit the throat..." "Damn the throat, stop saying that!" "When he slit the throat, the Founder's words gained power and became the destiny of your line!" "What words?! What destiny?" "Tell, me have any of the males of your line ever died other than of old age?" "Yes, almost every one!" "Ah... and did any of the ones who died in untimely haste die of violence?" "Yes, yes!" "Did any of them have daughters?" "Yes. Damn you, yes! What of the curse?" "Surely you know? It's your history. I only am a student of history." And the history of many worlds showed that ruling was a dangerous occupation. "NO! What were my Founder's words!" "I only have glimpses over time. I might not get them exact..." since I'm about to make them up... "The words! The words!" "Know oh king, that your founder was a commoner by birth, although very uncommon in gifts and ability!" "NO!" "Yes!" "Common?! The people must never know!" "Truly oh king, or they might think they could rule instead." "Madness!" "Chaos," Elrohir agreed gravely. "But... his curse..." The king visibly wrenched his attention from the abomination of a people ruling themselves, back to his own fate. Once Elrohir was certain he had his full attention, he continued. "His curse... was that his line would never become soft and useless. He laid a geas on his line that..." He had him now. This pause wasn't for effect, but to master the mirth in his eyes and voice. "What? What was the GEAS?" "The geas was a dire one, only the bravest and most noble of kings would ever dare it. Which must be why so many died... about your age, actually." "Died?" "Yes... for know, o king, may you live forever, that any of your line, bearing a daughter, who marries her not to a commoner, will absolutely die after. Your ancestor had peculiar ideas about breeding." "A commoner?!" "I know. Better to die instead. Fortunately, when I asked, you have no daughter yet, so you might be safe for a while." "I have a daughter!" "But I was told by a general that you had none." "I disowned her. I have a daughter!" "Then it is not too late. You can marry her to one of royalty, and sacrifice that the purity of your line may continue." "She's gone off and married already." "Oh no!" "To a git of a merchant's son!" "Oh the wisdom! You're saved!" "The hell I am, I disowned her and went to war to kill him and take her back." "Then she will soon be a widow." "Damned uppity merchants have all the money now. They've bought an army." "Then there is no solution. Surely you will win, for your cause is racial purity. You will live, but your line dies with you. She will taint the blood." "But the curse." "She's married a commoner, you should live. Pity the throne dies with you, but you will live." "But, but." "If only there were some way you could have it all!" "What if I. No. I would look weak." "I open my ears to you, o font of wisdom. You could never be weak, only magnanimous." "What if I declared him my heir, and granted his unspeakably crass parents a title? No, that would trigger the curse." "But wait! Their blood would still be that of the common, but their title would be noble. You are brilliant! You get to live AND keep the throne." "Yesssss." "But no." "No?" "No, it is too brave. Perhaps the Founder would've made such a noble sacrifice, but after so many generations... Best to save yourself and let the kingdom pass. Surely you're loved and will be cared for carefully in your dotage." "No. NO!" The King put on his most regal air. "I will do this for my kingdom. Thank you for trying to save me, but it is best for all." "Is there nothing I can say to dissuade you?" "No." He stood and postured, "No, I must do this thing, for my daughter and my kingdom." "Truly oh king, I am a lowly mage, and not worthy to be in your glorious presence when you shine forth your command like this. If there are any ways I might help? I'm a bit of a transportation expert - saves on riding on horses or carriages." "Wut?" Too subtle. Gather him back and nudge gently. "I do magic. I can safely move you over great distances. I can protect you when you get there. No one would believe if you send messengers. Only counsel from your own royal lips could not be argued or naysaid." "Oh. Uh. Me?" Really now, if he squeaked and squealed like the pig he resembled, the war would NEVER end short of him ending it, and he thought that, like Dad, Mynx wouldn't approve of massacre. Always the hard way when you're in a hurry. "Did I mention safe? Invulnerable even. You'd have to put up with being outlined with a holy aura of light, of course... Unless you've changed your mind?" "No. You're right. It must be me. I will take this burden on myself, for the kingdom, forgiving that silly slut and mending our kingdom." "Good enough." Elrohir gestured and a thin sword flew from the wall to his hand. He offered it to the king, hilt first. "If you brandish this, particularly with the light, you'll look very commanding." As the king took the sword, he enchanted the king's bioluminescence to make it sparkle in the sunlight. Over that, he layered a basic shield against weapon strikes. The king was still trying different sword poses when Elrohir spoke a Word. And they were in the King's Command Tent. The twang of strings greeted them as waiting guards filled the space with arrows. Good leadership, they weren't going to be caught twice in the same way. The smell of voided bowels filled his nose and he quickly magicked the King's pants empty and clean. Staring at the arrows at his feet, and feeling his chest, the king first examined his glowing limbs, and slowly lifted his eyes to glare at the archers. They looked at the crown and the face, and one of them pulled a coin from a belt-pouch and glanced at the visage impacted thereon. "Holy shit," he whispered, "We just tried to kark the king." There was a rattle of falling bows, and the smell of voided bowels filled the air again. While the king worked his mouth in outrage, Elrohir quickly cut in. "Yes, it is your King! Lead us quickly to the Generals and in his mercy he will spare your lives. What you did was necessary to prove his invulnerability!" Invulnerable, they murmured in awe, and the king preened. Aided by Elrohir's kicks, one of the guards led them through the camp, followed by awed murmurs. As they passed out of the tent and into the sunlight, he turned up the sparkle on the king. They were soon followed by a crowd as they arrived at another tent, this one unmarked. "Come forth and harken unto the words of your King!" he bellowed. An annoyed guard peeped out, and quickly dropped the flap. A bit of confused shouting, and officers began pouring out. He nudged the king, posturing for the crowd, and nodded to the Generals. "Ah. Yes. Well. You see, it's like this." The king seems to wilt slightly under the square-jaws and commanding stares of battle-hardened military leadership. "That is, my aide will speak for me. I'm invulnerable at the moment, don't you know." Knowing that neither a facepalm or pulling his hair would help, Elrohir took over as spokesman. These men didn't look foolish, so he rested a hand on gem set into his belt buckle. "The king, may he live forever, has decreed that the war is over." "How do I know he's the King? We never get to see the King. He could be anyone. A sparkly vampire or something." Elrohir figured there would be one, at least. Hissing at the king under his breath, he urged, "he's questioning your authority! Point the sword at him!" "What if he laughs at me," whined the king softly. "Point!" he commanded and as the king jerked to obey, he rubbed the gem with a thumb and hummed. From the tip of the sword, a bolt of lightning shot forth and the smell of cooking pork filled the air. He waited out the inevitable response - loyal guards attacking the king, weapons glancing off the shield uselessly. "Did you not know that only royal blood may shed royal blood? Elrohir shouted. "The war is over. The king has forgiven his daughter, and will sanction the marriage. Give orders to stand down as soon as the storm ends!" "What storm?" queried the officers, bystanders, and the king. Fortunately in the sound of the crowd, the king wasn't heard, and no one heard the whispered, "point the sword to the sky". This time, the king was quick to obey. Patting his belt as if he'd lost something, and humming a complex tune, Elrohir was the only one not surprised with a wind began swirling around the king - and the king untouched. The king, playing to the moment, planted his feet shoulder-width apart and held the sword aloft firmly with both hands. A whirling shimmer in the air and clouds began racing in from all directions to crash overhead. In the sudden darkness, the only light was the king, shining forth. Minutes later, a downpour began, hammering rains so thick visibility was nought and people threw their clothes over their faces to fight to breathe. There would be no fighting in this weather. Elrohir's voice cut across the howling winds and crashing rains with a clarion silver call, "The King goes to tell the other side the good news of his mercy. No more of you will need to die today!" "YES!" cried the king, caught up in moment and the fact that he was still dry and untouched, "I am going to go do what he said!" Word.

Bards of Terra - In recognition of their superior writing on the Archmage Forums, the following were given Bardic status in the Mighty Pen. In memory of Shurak Whitefist, First Namer of Bards, Former Keeper of the Conservatory, and his initiating goons in white coats. Boaz Deirdre Peredhil Grafted Greased Joat Lady Madoka Lord Angstrom Lord GeldrinHor Lord Gyrfalcon Nisassa Orlan Reverand Kannibal Korpse SAMSARA Shurak Whitefist Snypiuer Tesla the Inept Tzimfemme Ultimica Woods, the Crooner from Hell Zool, aka Runamok, aka G-Wiz, aka -DEADMAGE-, aka... Zorak

The Men of Terra Zorak, the Green MANtis. Thane, Man of Terra. Mordain, Man of Terra. HawkAngel, Man of Terra. Malenko, the Man Wit Da Plan. Corvus Corax, The Mystery Man. BelZpock, the Wise Man. Now Starlight Cid, the Party Man. Bale, the Ladies' Man. Orlan, the Sexy Sexy Man. Greased, the Man.

Demigods (also Demi-Gods) of Terra -Mattais the Wanderer's advice to his son, before he took his first trip into the Banquet Hall Tzimfemme, Bestower of Holy Power upon Demigods Birdman, Demigod of Lunacy Gyrfalcon, Demigod of Vengeance Boaz, Demigod of Madness Joat, Demigod of Insanity LlyL, Demigod of Retribution ( also Demigod of the Outer Planes according to Joat in “Are Treants too tall?”) Nim the Absurd, Demigod of Dreams Snypiuer, Demi-God of Suicide Squirrel Squadrons Sheriden, Demigod of Truth Aussie, Demigod of Nothing (probably self-named, but included for completeness)

Saints O'Terra: ~O~, Patron Saint of Wise Fools Euphorion, Patron Saint of Statistics, Master of Moles Finnius, Patron Saint of Haiku Hydrus, Patron Saint of the Mystical Muffin Kendricke, Former Saint of Legionnary Honour Misha, Patron Saint of Newbie Flames Scorn, Patron Saint of Edged Satire, Champion of Chaos Tzimfemme, Patron Saint of Nekkid Mages Wyvern, Patron Saint of Parties Zool, Patron Saint of Aspiring Bards

Oh. Dear. Just read the rules. I am SO sorry. Scritches Tanny's neck with both hands. I appear to have been confused. Although it might have been fun...

Peredhil signs up for his first ever Werewolf game. Okay then. A wolf hunt! This will be great fun, I'm certain. Do we use blunted weapons? Will Tanuchan get much of a head start? She's very clever, she'll probably run us in circles for hours! Are there limitations on magic? He bounces slightly in anticipation and kisses his wife with sparkling eyes. What fun!

Guido and Nuncio cleared the kitchen, empty but still pristine and gleaming, and peered through the half-doors at the Common Room of the Cabaret. In a smooth practiced move, they went through the doors, facing opposite directions, and quickly scanned from side to center, then slowly back out again. Relaxing minutely, they gave the Boss the "all-clear" signal. Guido moved behind the bar, taking inventory, while Nuncio went to dust off Peredhil's favorite table and chair. Peredhil strolled slowly through the kitchen, reinforcing the Pen heavily here. It had always been popular, and he hoped it would be again. Tanuchan's efforts made his nose itch every time she released part of the Pen into its primal energies. She was helping him wonderfully, but he had felt on the edge of a sneeze for much of the day. It was a definite sign that his wife was right - he'd better back off slightly or he'd forget which was his body and which was the Keep. She'd been adamant about which she preferred, and demonstrated. He covered a lewd happy smile at the memory with a polite hand and hoped no one had seen it. Opening one of the copper-bound wooden doors, he was delighted to see the preservation spells hadn't failed. There was a bounty of different foods for differing beings waiting. A quick check showed the same story for the next fourteen down the wall. On the far wall of the kitchen, however, only three of the storage rooms had survived intact. Wrinkling his itching nose at the odors behind the others, he instructed the Keep to reabsorb them all but one. That last one he sealed, thinking perhaps some future patron might see the variety of fungus, molds, slime-molds, and mildewed foodstuffs as appetizing. Passing into the Common Room, He signaled to Guido for a drink, and to Nunco to stand guard. Tilting his face to the sunlight slanting through the arched windows, he closed his eyes and began once more to administrate change. The Pen was slowly coming to life around him, and he felt it responding with delight to finding others moving about as well.

Peredhil strolled in the Paths of the Mind, in the Elven manner of resting, and considered his situation. He was alive, he was imprisoned, and he had his Ring. He knew the latter because among the many other Threads wound and bound about it were the life-bonds to his sons, and therein, he felt their lives. In his travels, he'd changed on an Intelligent Universe, a being of such intellect and power he could still only remember tiny pieces of it. They'd had several long talks about the nature of the Un, the boundaries between what existed in each universe and Plane. The IU had been astonished that he, a small corporal life, was able to survive passage through the Un, not only once, but multiple times, retaining life and sanity. The very concept had made IU shudder - and such a ripple in reality was a ripple indeed. Before he'd left, the IU and he had worked out a mathematically sound hypothesis on the subject, and as a test of proof, he'd allowed IU to attach a Thread of Power, ground through his Ring, to him, by which he'd communicate back the results. They'd practiced several times, in case the shock of transfer severed or dislocated the Thread and he needed to reachback to IU to reconnect. It had been a success, and they'd spent quite some time testing it over multiple Planes. Once taken through the Un, which appeared to separate everything everywhere in all forms, concepts of distance and time ceased to matter. It was only later he found that he could "Pull" on the Thread and IU would lend him Power and assistance. From thereon, as he travelled, whenever he came across a major source of Power, he'd sought permission, and if granted, anchored a Thread to it. It allowed IU to travel with him in a sense, and he was careful never to abuse any of the Powers lent. From the circumstances, he was in the captivity of an extremely powerful Planeswalker, one of the greater ones. It had seized him in the midst of one of his own spells, and trapped him neatly. It had not killed him, but had neutralized him. From this he deduced that it wanted to strip him of his powers and add them to his own. All the potential Threads were still there on his Ring, but he couldn't access them. Either it was purposeful or a side-effect, but it was significant.. If the Ring were removed, it would've severed the life-bonds, at the least. Perhaps it didn't realize the significance of the Ring, realized its powers had to be given freely to Transfer by removal, or simply didn't realize the Threads were there. And it was trying to break him. His body was in total sensory deprivation. It wasn't an absence of sensations, but a magical suppression. He'd tried pressing on his eyes and no lights, which verified that . At apparently random times, one or more senses would suddenly overload, accompanied by a mental pressure of brutal force and dominance. Alternating between nothing and overload, without the Paths, it is likely that this would have either driven a different mind insane, or caused it to lapse into a moment of surprise or weakness and allow the attacking Mind to overcome his own. A cheap Sauron tactic but effective. He would endure until he had a meaningful choice. His shields and wards, triggering faster than his own reaction time, still held. He'd been a warrior once, but had chosen over time to try to develop the perfect defenses. So far, they held, but in the absence of Power coming in, eventually his own stores would exhaust. Quite embarrassing, but he'd need rescue. He set up a game of Go, and set about analyzing classic variations. Until there was a change, there was nothing to do but conserve resources on every level.

Much of the bulk of the Pen was gone. He awaken in his own Pen chambers, the scent of his wife on his pillow, and smiled in affection. She'd come back and brought him with him. He looked forward to discussing her last job and examining if there were any new scars. He was protective, but respected her too much to ever try to cage her. He'd worked to keep Pen aesthetically pleasing, rather than stripping down to anorexic bones. It had been touch-and-go, but he'd managed to ease much of it into the Vaults, to serve as memory and inspiration. He was still having issues with doorways that didn't lead anywhere, or worse, led to the wrong places. As he'd begun to consider pulling out clumps of hair, an action strictly forbidden by his wife, he'd noticed a certain Wolf prowling in and out of doors, mapping them and, in some way incomprehensible to himself, fixing them as well. He'd be giving her quite the Polite hugging! Already he could detect signs of activity and life. The Pen Keep's life beat in him like a second heart. He wandered lightly from place to place, touching a memory here, strengthening a buttress there. There were signs of life in the Recruiting Office! And he could hear Door complaining and breathing threats. He snorted softly and sent a wave of love and affection at the cranky aperture. It swelled in pride at his touch; everyone inside would be trapped for a few minutes. Shaking his head fondly, he sent a pulsed code to his Bodyguards, and wandered to meet them in the Cabaret. There was still much work to be done, and would be for a while, but it was enough that he was Home.

I too enjoyed this. I'm amazed at how much context and back-story you were able to present in this teacher/student format, without me "enduring" it. Instead I actually enjoyed it. Often I'm "okay, I know this is needed, but get to the action". Nicely done!

Bring into awareness a well-remembered framework. Plug in variables, energize with Power, and say the Word. Overshot the tent. startled guards moving in slow-motion to react, adjust... Word. A sand-table, steady stream of messengers coming in one flap and out the other. Men and one woman around the sand-table, in peacock uniforms. Guards standing bored around the curtained sides. Reach out a hand and put it on the most gaudy one, adjust a small number, "Excuse me everyone, we just need to have a quick" Word. The sounds of battle wafted over a hill. The Officer starting to draw himself up in outraged dignity. "Excuse me for the interruption. Are you the King?" "I protest this! It violates any number of Accords. I'll have your ..." Tune him out to think. A quick sigh at finding him One Of Those Types, and a decision on how to focus his attention. A Gesture and pointing finger pointing down beside himself . A beam of fuchsia light from the tip, and the ground begins to flash into glass. Slowly raise the hand, letting the light smolder its way to a point that will end between the shiny boots. Tune back in. "... and if you don't. Wait. What the hell are you doing! Do you know who I am!" "Are you the King?" "No, I'm- Stop that!" He starts backing away. Make a Gesture and surge Power. The Man Who Is Not The King stops as he backs into a wall of ice. "Where is the King now?" Watch as TMWINTK straightens and braces himself loyally. Elladan says at this point, it is important not to say anything that will relieve their imagination of what could happen. Continue to raise my hand, letting the light begin to boil away steam as it comes up, ever so slowly between his legs. See the Terrible Dawning Realization that he may never get to have sex again. Oddly important to One Of Those Types. "See here. STOP THAT! Let's talk about this for a moment. I can make you rich! I could get you a court position as Sorcerer! Just - EEP!" Stop the lift as he stands on his toes and sweats. Wait a beat and... "I will not kill him, but I need to speak with him. His very throne and life may rest on my talking to him!" Wide-eyes and innocent. Give him a sop to his pride. That's right, you're HELPING... "Light save the King! I had no idea! He's in the Staff Ford Inn, two miles behind our lines. I pray you make it in time!" Drop the power to the spell, vector, angle, variable. Word. Short of the town. There are two Inns across the shallow stream. The sign with the staff over poorly drawn water lends a clue. Splash across the stream. For two inches of water, it has a deceptively strong angular momentum. Guards in front of the inn, dressed up in shiny metals and leather. This must be it. Oh! oh! This is a perfect time to do Elladan's Purposeful Walk tactic! Wiping the glee from his eyes, I set my gaze on the door, squared my shoulders, squinted a little, and began to slowly and menacingly walk at the door. I've forgotten something? Oh, a weapon. Right. Curl fingers into the Pocket, a surge of Power, and let the scabbard hang as if it has been on my belt all along. They haven't noticed yet, eyes slightly glazed and focused on the nothing of Guard Duty Haze. Flicker of eyes, look of annoyance, Guard Left, I dub the Big-Nose. You win at this position. "Hey there. This inn is closed. You can't come in." A startled twitch of the body, and Guard Right, Mole-man, is now with us. Don't make eye contact. Compress the lips to a thin bloodless line. Deepen the squint. Keep walking at the same rate. Come on, Big-nose, you're going to let me get how close? "Stop-" Heh, voice squeaked. Clear your throat, it will help. There you go. "Stop I said. You can't go in." They draw their weapons, two more steps forward, stop. Sloooowly make eye contact with Big-nose and... (I love this part. I have to rewatch an Eastwood or Wayne video again,) "Well Pilgrim. I'm going in. You going to announce me, or do I step over your steaming guts and announce myself." I'm dying here, at their expressions! Start the slow walk and, Bob's your uncle. Big-nose just opened the door. Reinforcements? Scream for help? Seek refuge? Doesn't matter, it's open. A sudden burst of Elven speed, two startled expressions, and I'm in the doorway. "Thank you. I'll announce myself. Carry on." Slam the door in their faces, Lock it, and that must be the King there are the table, looking up from meat while all else stand, looking peeved. Quick math, change this to that, adjust this, use known constants for those and, Word. Finally alone with the King. No time to feel sorry for any cats, rats, or mice or around the Inn, but the human mammals will be better for being in the battle instead of talking about it from this far away. Doing them a favor, really. Hard to understand if you're not experiencing it. Let go of Will, let time slow again, as the King's mouth goes from slow motion to "Who are you? Where are my Court?" Elrohir strode forward and pulled out a chair without answering, picking up the King's knife and spearing a slice of roast beast. Ignoring the increasing demands, he savored a few bites, then laid it back on the plate. "Have you tortured for this outrage! I've-" "I am the one who is going to show you how to save your kingdom and throne. I've discovered a threat against it, and you dare trust no one - I couldn't even let your Court hear this." Like most people in power during war, the King was ripe for charges of treason and conspiracy. The bait was simply too juicy. "You may call me ... Tim." Dad and Elladan would've died at that. They LOVED that movie.

"If the King died, who inherits?" When in doubt, seek the simplest solution. "Do NOT kill the King! Succession wars are endless. Are you insane?" She glared at him, tail beginning to lash. "Then give me a complex solution," he retorted, glancing up at the fading Rune. "Can you change people's attitudes?" she replied with a touch of sarcasm. "Temporarily. Whose? To what?" Now they were talking! Mynx gave him a look of pure exasperation. They were standing on the same planet, and in different worlds. He didn't understand 'impossible'. "Soften the King's attitude toward his son-in-law, help him give up his aspirations of empire-building through marriage, convince him that mixing his line with a commoner's isn't on the same level as with a pig's?" She smiled sweetly at him. "Right! You stay alive until I get back. Is the king at the battle? Where would he be now?" "Ummm, in the Command Tent behind the reinforced pits and stakes along the far side of the stream, at the other side of the battlefield maybe? If not there, they should know." She glanced up at the Rune, now fading from the edges inward, and drew her swords again. "Now, IF you don't mind..." FINALLY! 3D math on the same planet in the same universe in the same Plane! He didn't even need a Portal for this. When she glanced at him for a reaction, he was already gone. She considered, and decided he'd given good advice. She set about staying alive as people woke. It began with one of those who hadn't slept, of course, screaming at the confused soldiers to attack - and to see if it was safe to do so. Soon, the battle was just as confused and senseless as any other.

"You're not answering my question. What are the conditions of your commissions? And it's Peredhil's spell, not mine. Just directly answer instead of assuming conditions, please?" He took a deep breath and held it, then let it out slowly. What was wrong with her? Couldn't she give a straight answer? He might have to stop trying Dad's polite way and get impatient. Not yet - Dad would flay him, if he and Dad both lived. He tried a tentative smile. Mynx looked at him and spoke slowly between her bared teeth, a concession to a smile perhaps. She'd given a straight answer. He must get stupid when he was afraid for his father. "I. am. stuck. until. the. war. ends." "Finally! Which side is yours? If the enemy are all dead in this battle, would that end it? Do I need to destroy a kingdom? Is it over land? Trade routes? An item? How many obstacles to overcome to end the war. Could I just kill a ruler?" Breakthrough! This sort of solution was more his brother's style, but if it would get things moving, he refused to be squeamish..

He blinked at how suddenly savage she looked, blood-stripes contrasting obliquely with her own fur's pattern. "Let me explain - no. Let me summarize. Peredhil was somehow trapped and imprisoned by some incredible power capable of doing it. Yes we're capable, but we are neutralized by the presence of Elf-bane, and our deaths might not free Dad. Guido and Nuncio are lost somewhere; Elladan is searching for them. I've been searching for someone not an Elf, who might be able to sneak in and help Dad escape." He paused and mentally ticked off her questions, then nodded. "You are not an Elf, you are a capable mercenary with both swords and sorcery to command, and you have an affinity for shadow-magics, which might help. Yes, you and I are mice to the Captor's power, but mice can often go where other greater powers can't, and not even be noticed. "So what do you need to fulfill this commission, and what is your fee?"

"Yesss," he drawled slowly, trying to get time to deduce her seeming incomprehension. He knew she wasn't mentally feeble, and she was speaking the same language. Surely she wasn't a Peredhil-hater. It must be the hyper-focus of battle. "Do you need a moment to think about it?" He glanced up at the Rune. "We have about five more minutes before it's gone."

Elrohir sighed. He didn’t have TIME to search for another. It would require another spell that excluded Mynx and - He kicked back without looking, smashing the nose of the soldier charging them and deflecting him to the side, where Mynx neatly slid her sword across his throat as he went by her. Nice. Teamwork. He loved teamwork. He *needed* this one. Honor and integrity. Time to try Polite. Raising his arms into a Greater Invocation, He tried to relax his throat and allow the Words to force themselves out. As always, every syllable felt like burping and swallowing at the same time, but he always tried. He mastered the discomfort and lowered his hands in Closure. In waves of concentric circles spreading out from them, the battlefield went silent as nearly everyone and everything suddenly felt the need for a deep sleep. The ones able to resist had to fight the wave of exhaustion and nausea that accompanied the sudden loss of adrenaline. He held up a slender articulate finger to point over Mynx's head and behind her, and said, “Wait a moment, there is always one foolish...” Turning, she saw an enormous glowing Rune floating over the center of the battle. With a wrinkle of her nose, and a twitch of her whiskers beneath her Glamour, she vaguely remembered seeing it used as Peredhil’s signature on Pen Documents. As she made the mental connection, five green bolts of lightning rippled out from it and struck one of the still standing figures, almost beyond her range of vision. “You are under the Peaceful Justice of the Peredhil. Any action done to an enemy will be repaid fivefold,” His voice spoke as if from the Rune, clearly audible to each individual still awake, without echoes or distortion. He moved to stand slightly in front of her, offering her his back as a gesture of reassurance and respect. “Now is the fun part,” he gloated. “Sometimes, there is a wise one. Yes! Over there!" He placed his forefingers and thumbs into a square and a surge of power made the air in the area shimmer. Peering through curiously, she saw near the edge of the battle field an enormous barbaric figure, clothed in blood, wounds, sweat, a headband holding back raven-black hair, and a very optimistically bulging loin-cloth. The spell was detailed enough she was able to quickly note the shape of the bulge suggested it functioned more as a storage pouch than codpiece. The man had thrust the tip of his two-handed sword into the the ground, and hesitantly knelt beside one of the few surrounding him who still lived. Ripping a piece off the fallen woman’s sleeve (his loin-cloth fell in strips to the ground. Yup, two oranges and a small water bag,) he bandaged her bloody head wound. Overhead, the Rune pulsed once, and five glowing patches covered some of the barbarian’s wounds; the glows faded into some type of clinging material that stopped the bleeding, and to judge by his expression, eased the pain. With a grin, he rapidly squeezed an orange into the woman’s mouth, and then held her up and gave her sips of water, before using the strips of his loincloth to bind other wounds. The Rune pulsed in response to each action. Moving with more confidence, he began rapidly searching the dead for more bandage materials and caring for another survivor. Pausing for a moment, he took a fallen sword and the woman’s sword, and began sharpening her weapon. His own blade began to gleam... Elrohir turned to Mynx, eyes dancing, and said, “If he’s on your side, promote him or stay out of his way. He’s smarter than he looks. Now, while we have a moment, could you explain the terms of your commission, and your fee to help me rescue my Dad once it is complete?"

With a heavy sigh, he faced it. He'd have to do the math and construct an interplanar spell. He hated multidimensional math. Really. It made his brain hurt to think about it. Multidimensional math, string theory, quantum mechanics, chaos theory, Planck's inconstant Constant, matrix mechanics, set theory, all that stuff that Dad had spent centuries forcing him to learn. He didn't mind the theory as much, but the heavy math! Four or Five dimensions were fine - he could do four in his head, but - So he decided to cheat. He transported far away from the Captor, as he'd decided to label the villain of the piece. (He was the constant protagonist in his ongoing story. When things were slow enough, he even mentally ran soundtracks and background music. When your life measured in millennia, you found things with which to amuse yourself, or you died of apathy or boredom.) Fiddling with the parameters, he adjusted for characteristics, and threw in his own special Name with its affinity for spiritual beings, and Portaled again. Now he was on a world populated with multiple cultures of semi-civilized peoples, which as was typical of the template, was still rife with religions. Religions that were either adapting with their people, or dying. Few things were more desperate than a dying deity, and he searched until he found one whose attributes included math and science. In return for tips on how to manipulate believers with psychology and sociology, along with what the deity might try to adapt as they inevitably went through a phase of worshipping the science instead of the unseen, he had the deity do all his math for him. Well, Its' Scholars, as it called Its hench-beings, did it. He had to teach them quite a bit, but they just had to do the crunching, they didn't have to truly understand the why or the results. He was contaminating the cultures, and giving an unfair advantage to one deity over another, and all sorts of things that he really really REALLY hoped his Dad would never ever find out. But he had his search spell. After a well-deserved rest with some very awed worshippers, (what WAS it about Librarians, anyway? Of course, being introduced by a Scholar hadn't hurt, but once they let lose. Erhm, anyway,) he found a nexus of ley lines, scattered the purest of white sand, and used lightning to fuse the Symbols into shape. Once done, he began casting his Net through time, space, and universes. HIT! With a triumphant orchestral fanfare in his mind, the Hero signed a Glyph and stepped through - into a wall of sound, screams, roars, the impact of weapons on bodies, and smells of blood, fecal, sweat, fear, rage, and the taste of dust, oils, sweat, and tears, and - He triggered his Horse-Slayer katana into his hands and the soundtrack went as silent as his world as his focus became no-sword, no-mind and everything near him that attacked the stranger who'd suddenly appeared - died. "Well heck-fire," he thought in the space of peace he'd carved, circling his weapon to shed blood, "I hope I didn't kill whomever it was I Found." He started looking around in quick flickering glances that absorbed the scene in all directions, not neglecting up. Calmly standing on a small mound of dead bodies and body parts, was a short woman bearing two blooded short swords. Only under an excellent Glamour was an anthropomorphic tigress holding two bloody short swords. It was Whatsername, from the Mighty Pen! The one with the whole mercenary shadows thing. Chortling at his success, he began walking toward her, studying her, idly deflect or killing those in his way indiscriminately. After a few steps, combatants rolled away from before him as both sides sought self-preservation from the strange tall angular man, in the odd clothes, with the large curved killing sword. Before he was half-way to her, he'd drawn her attention, and she waited in a deceptively relaxed Horse Stance on solid ground by the time he arrived. "Excuse me for interrupting your war, but I'm Elrohir, son of Peredhil of the Pen Keep. Perhaps you remember him? Anyway, I'd like to hire your services... ... Misssss..." Blast it, what was her na- "Mynx!"

Days later, Peredhil stirred and stretched wearily. He'd had to archive and amputate the Guilds entirely. He'd updated the Guidelines as he passed through the Walls. He'd nearly lost the first Loremaster, but was able to recover him - barely. He'd sorted and pared and archived and trimmed and changed until his senses swam and he was afraid of errors. Anyone watching would've seen entire sections of the Pen waver in and out of existence, perhaps been able to stand at the door of a Chamber but unable to enter, only to have the contents, then the Chamber itself fade away. Opening a Portal to wherever his wife happened to be, he staggered through and collapsed onto the bed.

Veiled in the shadows of the evening, the Polite Ancient Elder found his way to his chambers. Undoing the Wards, he allowed Guido and Nuncio to clear the rooms, and then entered and sat pensively in his chair while they set about unpacking and dusting. The first order of business was to refresh and renew all the security. Knowing that the Pen was safe allowed even the most weak - or powerful - to relax and mingle with confidence. Being a declared Neutral territory only satisfied the lawful, it took raw power to pacify the rest. Hours later, he came back to his body's awareness, finding light cheeses and biscuits, and a pitcher of cool water on the table beside him. He ate gratefully and considered his next steps. The Pen was dying, there was simply too much to support, and too few to feed. As a Healer, he knew what he had to do. Healers were often quite ruthless when it came to saving a patient.

Elrohir decided he needed to sit and think things over. Dad had long advised such a course, and occasionally over the Planes, he'd actually had to resort to it. This seemed such an occasion as he'd never dealt with any similar situation in a long long life over many worlds on many Planes following his father. He'd hated to do it, because a peculiarity of Planeswalking was that he and his twin, Elladan, were very much more powerful together than apart, nearly as strong as the Peredhil, but needs-must drove them. Dad's bodyguards, the Giant Guinea Pigs Guido and Nuncio, weren't even lesser Planeswalkers. They were very skilled, after so much time, in a variety of matters, and even possessed magical abilities in some places and times. And they were currently lost, hopefully in the same place, but even that was unknown. As much as he liked them, he and 'Dan probably wouldn't have separated except that Dad would rather he stay in his current Trap than they have a singed hair. And, like many who loved the old Elf, that meant trying to do things his way out of respect. Even the practical 'Dan tended to try to be Polite first, and kill later. He was also a better Planes-tracker, so it had fallen to himself to find help. Which was downright embarrassing, when it came to it. He tried to gather his thoughts and stop their wandering. It just seemed so improbable. The Peredhil caught in a trap and unable to escape. Even if he could encompass that concept, that the master of Portals could be trapped, it seemed unbelievable that he and 'Dan couldn't do anything at all to help. It had been business as usual. Peredhil had become restless, driven by his own memories and sorrows, and decided to look for a new Plane to distract himself. They'd been drifting from world to world in the latest Plane - after a while they tended to blur together - and the time had come to move on. They'd scribed the Sigils and Glyphs, and taken the five positions, and Peredhil had triggered the Portal To Somewhere. It was one of Dad's signature spells, opening a portal to a semi-random place that fit the criteria - supporting their type of life being a foundational requirement. It all went well, until it was triggered. Something intercepted them. Something strong. Something that had ripped apart the spell, seized Dad, and dumped the rest wherever the energies had sent them. 'Dan had found him first, although it had taken him weeks of local time, and 'Dan nearly a year. Together they'd sought their father. He lived, at least, they knew that much. Elladan had managed to find the correct Plane, and once there, Elrohir had used his affinities for spiritual deities to hone in on the world. The precise location was blocked by a being of such power they were unable to use magical means to enter. The few local deities were sympathetic, but feared to help. Whatever had trapped the Peredhil was a Planeswalker of such power it was at war with all other powers, and had slain most of the deities of the world, and done genocide on their worshippers to ensure they stayed dead. Nothing lived, without permission, for miles around the Power's center of power, an entire Mountain. They'd decided to make a try anyway, only to find that even the physical paths were deadly. A rarity of rarities, the Entity had Elfbane, of the kind that was poisonous and toxic to them. Like kryptonite to the Ubermensch in one of their favorite worlds to shop, its mere presence rendered them helpless to proceed. And there was a great deal of it on and in the Mountain. 'Dan went to track the Guinea Pigs, and it was up to him to find help. It would take something like the Dreamer to make a frontal assault, and in a conflict of such magnitude, it would be very likely that their father wouldn't survive. So they needed subtle skills. The Jack of Shadows, a Yui, a Mynx. Someone who'd be powerful enough to enter and free the Peredhil, but insane enough to be willing to try. And so, after searching the nearest worlds, and then Planes, he found himself sitting here and wondering what to do next.

If you need to have your Pen email changed, or your password reset, email me at peredhil31@hotmail.com with the subject line "The Mighty Pen", your username and what you need in the body.

All three paused as they came to the forest's edge. The Tower bisected the setting sun, which looked as if it had come around to the west again. The entire keep looked black against the light, and he couldn't make out any smoke or lights. Was it abandoned? Under siege? With a quiet word, he stopped his bodyguards and sent his Sense flowing out ahead. The Ley Lines, Powers, Elementals, various nature spirits, even the ambient mana all tastes of Home to him and he soothed them all as he stretched and sought toward the Keep. Even the cranky ones sighed in relief at the familiar touch of the Polite Healer. His questing Senses reached the Keep, and at his loving touch, the Pen began to stir. He encompassed all the old, the Wall, the Rooms, the hidden labyrinths and chambers, the absurd numbers of secret passages which so honeycombed the walls that some were forced briefly into other dimensions to fit them all. The Keep still lived, but it slumbered. Drawing on Power, tempered and filtered through his Ring to his need, He began to enlarge his spirit to encompass the new. The Spires, many of them personal chambers, but now abandoned. So much of the Pen, abandoned. Here and there he sensed a life, and Politely bypassed it without touch. There were something that had frequented the Pen it did not do to surprise, and although his defenses had thus far been unsurpassed, it would just be rude to startle someone just for information. The Pen was nearly dead. There were sparks of the activities of life in a few places, the bits on which the Pen fed, but so few. There was much work to be done. So much that must be sloughed if the Pen would have a chance to be reborn, to live once again. He withdrew and set his jaw firmly. Tired Peredhil toward the Dark Tower came, and his Homecoming would be a harbinger of change...

He approached through one of the forests that abutted the Pen Keep. Guido was scouting ahead, his neat suit looking very out of place against the backdrop of bushes along the forest track. Further back from the trail, the bushes gave way to towering giants, trees thrusting straight without branches to fight with canopied foliage for precious sunlight. It amused Peredhil to no end that the Giant Guinea Pig stopped frequently to buff his shoes back to a shine against the back of his calves. The black fabric had obtained a patina of dust, fragments of leaves, and bits of mold - but the tips of the shoes shone as befit a member of the Bodyguard Guild of the land of Fractured Fairy-tales. Peredhil had had on numerous occasions on this trek to magically clean and adjust the clothes to fit. Guido had gone from a happy 334 pounds to a lean not-so-happy 280, and Peredhil knew that the foppish rodent worried that he didn't look his best. That the sight of a six and a half foot Guinea Pig dressed in a tailored suit, bearing a sub-machinegun might appear odd to some never seemed to occur. Although, he himself wasn't much better, he had to admit. He was dressed in a raw-silk Armani suit of various shimmering greys, although in deference to the journey he wore Corcoran boots. They currently weren't shiny at all, but Guido would assuredly fix that this evening. "Da Boss" had to maintain appearances, after all, he smiled to himself. He suppose in many ways, he still looked the same as he ever had. One Bard had described him thusly, "His hair was dark as the shadows of twilight, and upon it was set a circlet of silver; his eyes were grey as a clear evening, and in them was a light like the light of stars. Venerable he seemed as a king crowned with many winters, and yet hale as a tried warrior in the fulness of his strength." Which was true enough then, but the travels and ages had left changes. He wore his hair in a neat tapered cut, around his decidedly NOT-pointed ears, and his eyes positively shone with joy and mirth - particularly when he was reminded of his second, and new, wife. His first, Celebrían, had passed to the West after being savaged by the Orcs of Mordor. If it had been Mynx taken, she assuredly would've spent several of her lives hunting each other them down and teaching them manners. The circlet was gone, given to children on one of the many Planes he'd walked since leaving through the Halls of Mandos to wander. Silver touched his temples now, and it had been long since he'd been a warrior, although he was still deceptively powerful. Still just over six feet of height, he remained unbent by age. For those with the Sight, and very keen sight it would needs be, he still bore a Ring on his left hand. Mockingly he thought, "yea, power and skill was yet in his hand, wisdom and insight set his brow." He'd really have to find a copy of the Bard of Middle-Earth to re-read, although the universe therein recorded wasn't *quite* the one from which he'd come. Ambling along at the rear, carrying most of the packs and gear, but lacking the gun, was Nuncio. Since Guido had lost his weight, it was far more obvious they were twins. Other than superficial markings on the fur, they looked alike, and dressed alike, although they couldn't be more different in personality. Guido was an extroverted clown, while Nuncio was rather pedantic and fussy, to be honest. The thought of twins made him think of his sons, aware on their own journeys. A bend in the trail and the Tower was revealed. Stretching higher than Orthanc, it brought a familiar smile to his lips. Guido's jokes about writers and phallic symbols was simply too good to be forgotten. His mobile lips stretched to a wide grin as he saw that there were lesser spires and turrets, a true fairy-tale castle. The Pen had grown much since he'd left.

The universe. It is, by definition, everything that is. Most species of humans have perceptions in 3.5 dimensions - length, width, breadth, and one axis of time. The Scientist-Priests of several worlds have fused various sciences and decided that there are ten dimensions that describe "the universe". Which is of interest, but can one really conceive of it? For the beings in the universe, it is a self-contained boundary. In the majority of universes, entire species rise and decline on myriad worlds. But for one who is outside, viewing it, they realize that there are meta-universes. The observer finds that they seem to gather, when viewed, as threads, that are "everything" to the ones within the thread. And they are constantly expanding, constantly branching at critical points, fixed at others, in a very timey-wimey twisty way. The Scientist-Magi and the Wild-Magi know the keys to opening portals at will between these shadows and adjacent universes. These may be collectively known as the Lesser Planeswalkers, those who can adjust the quantum frequencies of the dimensions to leave their own universe and survive the passage to another. Harold Shea was one example. But if the observer were to step back further, they'd find that they are at the center of threads radiating in all directions. There are infinite universes. And they all twist and wind and writhe, and occasionally snap or die or break or blend. The fiction writers of one universe are merely sensitive to the events of another. Those who can traverse, with more or less difficulty the passages between the major groups of realities and universes at will, retaining a semblance of life and sanity, are the Greater Planeswalkers. Often they are deities, or confused for deities, and many are jealous of their powers and followers. Others are indifferent to the opinions of others, and playing great cosmic games of their own, such as the Dreamer. There are places where the boundaries are "loose". Where intersections are possible, when all the dimensions align correctly, where one can pass from a universe to another. There are places where intersections are "fixed". They are called by many names. Some endure, some are destroyed, but the places are the same in several adjacent universes, casting shadows through the realities they touch. Amber, Tanelorn, the Eternal City, The Undying West, Faerie, Albuquerque - the names are as endless as the intersections - and turning left instead of right can confuse even the most experienced Planeswalker who uses such a place as an oasis in their travel. One such place is the Pen Keep.