![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
Entry tags:
RPG fun
I do not understand why does sister laugh at me. Duan-Hundt is a perfectly valid name for a stuffed dog. So is Creutzfeld-Jakob. No, really. :P
Something that occured to me a while back:
It rained. As rain goes, this particular case was right up there with natural disaster warnings. What it in fact was, was two irate gods fighting for the right to sit back and accept drinks from the other, but the mortals couldn’t exactly know that, could they? So far the score was even: a river broke a dam and flooded a village, fertilising all the neighbouring fields. For those unfortunate enough to be wandering across the mortal plane, the only sensible reaction to the weather would be to stay indoors with a mug of hot ale, steaming in a thick cup.
Heero was one of the few forced to take to the road during the divine drinking game. He was waddling through mud, or what he hoped was mud. He wasn’t sure because it was covered by a layer of water five inches deep. He was up to his knees in cold wetness, most unhappy with his situation. Not that it was any surprise. There was the occasional tree, but as fate would have it the land he was walking through was hostile to all vegetation, so that only the most stubborn pines were clinging to the ground.
Heero looked up from underneath his wide-brimmed hat. The sky showed no sign of wishing to relent. “Bloody gods,” he muttered.
Over on the horizon, roughly ten yards away, there was a flat rock. Heero reached it gratefully and raised his staff over it. With a couple of muttered words he brought it down three times. The top of the staff sparkled and burst in flames. It wasn’t much, but now he could see a few yards further and his hand was now a degree warmer.
Heero sighed and trundled on. He had a destination in mind for which he needed no maps. Actually, he never needed maps - Heero was a professional adventurer, no route was alien to him, should he choose to follow it. Now he was following the way to the little hut of a renowned witch, hoping to gain her support for the quest he’d be commissioned to undertake. Mother Maxwell was elderly, but she didn’t like to be reminded of the fact, so Heero was sure she would agree to follow. Heero set his mind on her cooking he remembered from his last visit and continued.
Lady Luck, it was a known fact, had a soft spot for adventurers. Within another half an hour Heero was still wet, cold and irritated, but he was knocking on the door of the hut that was his destination. It took another five seconds for the door to open and admit him inside.
“What are you, insane?” demanded the voice of the person ushering him in. “This is not the weather to be walking around in!”
“I’m looking for Mother Maxwell,” Heero replied. He took his hat off and looked at his host. He was a young man, of about his own age, with eye colour that indicated Fae ancestry. He was also looking rather apologetic.
“Then I have to disappoint. Mother Maxwell died a couple years back.”
Heero blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“Mother Maxwell died, two years back,” the other man repeated. “I’m sorry.”
Heero stared. He had, of course, expected that problems would arise, but not at this stage. Definitely not at this stage. The course, possibly. Even his flawless sense of direction wasn’t faultless, after all. It could be confounded. The rest of the team, true. Getting into a fortress full of dryads and wood elves? It wouldn’t be a picnic. The dragon, that Heero knew for sure, would be a pain. The dragons were irritable and sleepy. Woe to him who woke a sleeping dragon. Transporting the Grail, shit, was there a creature among the Five Peoples who wouldn’t assault them then? Heero was well aware of that. In fact, he told the king all of it and more, when he demanded the price he had. He wasn’t counting on Mother Maxwell being dead!
The other young man was speaking again. “But if it’s a witch you need, I can help.”
“Excuse me?” Heero paused in his efforts to wring excess water out of his cloak.
“Witchin’,” the man said, pointing to a substantial cauldron hanging over the fire and all other assortment one would expect in a cottage of a witch. Truth be told, he got a little distracted as he looked around. He was wet and cold, and the roaring flames were lovely as they were, never-mind the delicious aroma drifting across the low wooden room from the old cauldron.
“But- You are a man,” Heero said eventually. As far as he knew magic was restricted to women. No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t just as far as he knew - it was common knowledge, like the fact that women bore children or water flowed downhill.
“Wow, you must have been something at school. Got top marks for stating the obvious, did you?” The otherwise pleasant voice bore a hint of irritation. “Good thing most of the business happens via mail, or else I’d never get anything done, the way everyone complains. ‘You’re a boy,’ they say. Bugger to the lot of them. I’m good at witchin’! Not my fault I was born flat-chested. Name is Duo Maxwell, by the way.”
“But-”
“What was it that you wanted?” Duo asked turning to the cauldron and stirring the contents. Heero watched the concoction with a wave of desire building in his gut. A seasoned traveller learned to distinguish the subtle aroma of good cooking from everything else, and his nose was telling him that whatever was brewing was mouth-wateringly good. He hoped he would be invited for dinner.
He also needed a witch, and Mother Maxwell was the one witch he knew he could trust. He’d dealt with her many times, she was smart and-
Wait a minute.
“You said Mother Maxwell died two years ago?” Heero asked suspiciously.
“Yes, what of it?”
“I got this staff from her last summer.” Heero brandished the staff in question, like it was the claim to win all arguments.
Duo took it in his hands and looked at it carefully. “I made it. Mum passed away, so I took over the business.”
Heero, once again, stared. He thought the staff was a bit different from the one he had before. It’d been more suited for him, like it was made by someone who understood the plight of a young man travelling alo-
There really was no way around it, was there?
“I’m on a quest,” Heero said, “for the Holy Grail. Commissioned by the king himself, and trust me when I say it is a generous commission. I need a witch.”
Duo gave him a long look, but Heero could already see the merry sparkles dancing in his eyes. “Sure. Business is slow, so I guess I can spare a while. If the pay is good.”
“It is.”
“Then count me in.” Duo grinned. “I guess you’d be staying for dinner then?”
Something that occured to me a while back:
It rained. As rain goes, this particular case was right up there with natural disaster warnings. What it in fact was, was two irate gods fighting for the right to sit back and accept drinks from the other, but the mortals couldn’t exactly know that, could they? So far the score was even: a river broke a dam and flooded a village, fertilising all the neighbouring fields. For those unfortunate enough to be wandering across the mortal plane, the only sensible reaction to the weather would be to stay indoors with a mug of hot ale, steaming in a thick cup.
Heero was one of the few forced to take to the road during the divine drinking game. He was waddling through mud, or what he hoped was mud. He wasn’t sure because it was covered by a layer of water five inches deep. He was up to his knees in cold wetness, most unhappy with his situation. Not that it was any surprise. There was the occasional tree, but as fate would have it the land he was walking through was hostile to all vegetation, so that only the most stubborn pines were clinging to the ground.
Heero looked up from underneath his wide-brimmed hat. The sky showed no sign of wishing to relent. “Bloody gods,” he muttered.
Over on the horizon, roughly ten yards away, there was a flat rock. Heero reached it gratefully and raised his staff over it. With a couple of muttered words he brought it down three times. The top of the staff sparkled and burst in flames. It wasn’t much, but now he could see a few yards further and his hand was now a degree warmer.
Heero sighed and trundled on. He had a destination in mind for which he needed no maps. Actually, he never needed maps - Heero was a professional adventurer, no route was alien to him, should he choose to follow it. Now he was following the way to the little hut of a renowned witch, hoping to gain her support for the quest he’d be commissioned to undertake. Mother Maxwell was elderly, but she didn’t like to be reminded of the fact, so Heero was sure she would agree to follow. Heero set his mind on her cooking he remembered from his last visit and continued.
Lady Luck, it was a known fact, had a soft spot for adventurers. Within another half an hour Heero was still wet, cold and irritated, but he was knocking on the door of the hut that was his destination. It took another five seconds for the door to open and admit him inside.
“What are you, insane?” demanded the voice of the person ushering him in. “This is not the weather to be walking around in!”
“I’m looking for Mother Maxwell,” Heero replied. He took his hat off and looked at his host. He was a young man, of about his own age, with eye colour that indicated Fae ancestry. He was also looking rather apologetic.
“Then I have to disappoint. Mother Maxwell died a couple years back.”
Heero blinked. “I’m sorry?”
“Mother Maxwell died, two years back,” the other man repeated. “I’m sorry.”
Heero stared. He had, of course, expected that problems would arise, but not at this stage. Definitely not at this stage. The course, possibly. Even his flawless sense of direction wasn’t faultless, after all. It could be confounded. The rest of the team, true. Getting into a fortress full of dryads and wood elves? It wouldn’t be a picnic. The dragon, that Heero knew for sure, would be a pain. The dragons were irritable and sleepy. Woe to him who woke a sleeping dragon. Transporting the Grail, shit, was there a creature among the Five Peoples who wouldn’t assault them then? Heero was well aware of that. In fact, he told the king all of it and more, when he demanded the price he had. He wasn’t counting on Mother Maxwell being dead!
The other young man was speaking again. “But if it’s a witch you need, I can help.”
“Excuse me?” Heero paused in his efforts to wring excess water out of his cloak.
“Witchin’,” the man said, pointing to a substantial cauldron hanging over the fire and all other assortment one would expect in a cottage of a witch. Truth be told, he got a little distracted as he looked around. He was wet and cold, and the roaring flames were lovely as they were, never-mind the delicious aroma drifting across the low wooden room from the old cauldron.
“But- You are a man,” Heero said eventually. As far as he knew magic was restricted to women. No, that wasn’t right. It wasn’t just as far as he knew - it was common knowledge, like the fact that women bore children or water flowed downhill.
“Wow, you must have been something at school. Got top marks for stating the obvious, did you?” The otherwise pleasant voice bore a hint of irritation. “Good thing most of the business happens via mail, or else I’d never get anything done, the way everyone complains. ‘You’re a boy,’ they say. Bugger to the lot of them. I’m good at witchin’! Not my fault I was born flat-chested. Name is Duo Maxwell, by the way.”
“But-”
“What was it that you wanted?” Duo asked turning to the cauldron and stirring the contents. Heero watched the concoction with a wave of desire building in his gut. A seasoned traveller learned to distinguish the subtle aroma of good cooking from everything else, and his nose was telling him that whatever was brewing was mouth-wateringly good. He hoped he would be invited for dinner.
He also needed a witch, and Mother Maxwell was the one witch he knew he could trust. He’d dealt with her many times, she was smart and-
Wait a minute.
“You said Mother Maxwell died two years ago?” Heero asked suspiciously.
“Yes, what of it?”
“I got this staff from her last summer.” Heero brandished the staff in question, like it was the claim to win all arguments.
Duo took it in his hands and looked at it carefully. “I made it. Mum passed away, so I took over the business.”
Heero, once again, stared. He thought the staff was a bit different from the one he had before. It’d been more suited for him, like it was made by someone who understood the plight of a young man travelling alo-
There really was no way around it, was there?
“I’m on a quest,” Heero said, “for the Holy Grail. Commissioned by the king himself, and trust me when I say it is a generous commission. I need a witch.”
Duo gave him a long look, but Heero could already see the merry sparkles dancing in his eyes. “Sure. Business is slow, so I guess I can spare a while. If the pay is good.”
“It is.”
“Then count me in.” Duo grinned. “I guess you’d be staying for dinner then?”
no subject
no subject
no subject
This fic makes me happy. ^_^
no subject
Thank you!
no subject
Duo is amazing at witchin'! He has bewitched me already! *is pummled for terrible pun*
... *punnled?* DD:
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
no subject
for a second i got confused and went,,, wasnt Duo a panther and a shape-shifter?
then i realized that was merula31's fic, something furry.
and this one is something new, yet just as interesting.
no subject
I wrote a gazillion weird AU one-shots for GW. Duo is a sweetheart to play with, in any given universe. Now though I have to say the same for Goku, so...
no subject
i read all the GW fics in moonsilverfic's lj
and am going through all of merula31's tags - almost done now
and now i'm going through your tags...