Memoirs Of A Mind Mage

[Cosmik 220]

((This is an OOC diary that I'll be updating as I go. Any metagamers will be chemically castrated.))

 

Memoirs of a Mind Mage:

The Diary of Durzo Lafar

 

Entry 1

    My father, being a fan of annoying catchphrases, would always tell me: "Son, life's hard. Life's harder when you're stupid."

 

     Thinking back on those days, I still can't figure out if he was trying to teach me something or insult my pathetic ass.

     See, I'm not like the other bums that you never notice on the streets. (which doesn't matter to you, because odds are you'll never notice them for the rest of your life). I'm not addicted to any drugs. No warrants are out for my beheading. My home wasn't stolen by a furious mistress with menopause and ten pounds of makeup. My family wasn't eaten by Krug, or even a dinky little cannibal. I actually had a pretty decent upbringing if you leave out the whole daddy's-never-home thing.

     What separates me is that I can read minds.

     Before I continue, let's set the record straight. Mind-reading is just that: reading minds. It doesn't mean that you can snap your fingers, shoot lightning from your fingertips, and turn Ser Thomas InbredRoyal into your dribbling zombie. If I could do that, I'd be writing this from atop a 40-foot statue of me taking a dump on High King Syrio. Wrought of bronze, mind you. Takes longer to rust.

     My life consists of scraping together food and coin, bumming around in an Abresian bookshop, and reading the minds of travelers. No home, no job, no obligations, no worries. And for the longest time, I've been doing it without ever being discovered.

     But nothing truly lasts forever. Except taxes. And elven drama.

     All in all, it was a pretty good day when the whole shebang went down. I had spent some serious time digging around in the noggin of this elf who was writing a book in the tavern across the street. Not only was he knowledgeable on all of the latest dirt in New Malinor, he was fairly acquainted with some of the mages based out of that land. I always make sure to curtail my hobby when I suspect that someone nearby has the ability to turn my brain into creamed corn.
 
     On my way back to the bookshop, I was stopped and shoved into an alleyway by a mountain of a human that smelled of iron and cheap ale. I couldn't overpower him because I literally haven't a strand of muscle to my name (and I suspect that my hobby might have something to do with that).

     He asked if I was "one uf those damn rebels". I kindly informed him that I wasn't. He told me not to "feck wif meh." I let him know that I wasn't planning on it. Cro-magnons aren't exactly my type.

     To my surprise, the man's expression softened. He then began to tell stories: stories of a secret society acting in the shadows. A man named Vekrus and his vision for Oren. An opportunity to serve one's country without being a meatshield for a noble. In hindsight, he was doing exactly what I do when I read minds: inserting tiny thoughts like little waves in the ocean, hoping that they escalate into something greater.

     I fell for every word of it. And in a vain attempt to prove myself as a man of worth, I demonstrated to him just how valuable I could be.

     So here I am, having blown my secret to some mace-swinging ape who can't even pronounce "revolution" without choking on his own phlegm. And as it turns out, he wasn't even anybody important. I still have to be tried for "usefulness" by this guild.

     I knew I should've been a tailor...

 

Entry 2

     I leaned out from the bookstore's balcony, watching travelers bump and shove into each other from above. A few days had passed since my meeting with that idiot with the Silver Gauntlets. I haven't seen the man nor heard anything else about the guild, which only highlighted my guilt at being so gullible.

     Then, over by the Captured Kha' Tavern, I noted a pair of men in hoods and cloaks, whispering at a table. They were obviously thieves or journeymen (why dress like that in public? It's like you're begging for arrest) and shielded their mouths to prevent anyone from knowing their business.

     They'll have to do better.

     As I prepared myself for the mind meld, a third figure randomly approached the table and saluted one of the men. His voice reminded me of the typical self-righteous man-at-arms that drinks fancy wine in his castle. By the thieves' reaction, they seemed to concur with my diagnosis. Their gestures and glares indicated that they wanted him to scram.

     I used the opportunity to begin my snooping. My pupils slowly shrank down to black periods in my eyes. Every muscle in my body unclenched. Outside senses faded to nothing. I was floating in an expanse of emotion, magic and potential. To those who studied such things, I had entered the Void.

     I probed in the general direction of the commotion, experience dictating my tendrils of thought. Within a few seconds I had found the three strangers - pulsing orbs of consciousness in the milky dark. I zeroed in on the second thief, steeling myself against whatever I might find in his mind.

     He was oblivious to my presence. Dim thoughts echoed in his brain:

     "If I end this fool now, where would I hide his body…?"
     "Jean should've picked a better meeting location."
     "I better go get some cactus green after this."

     Now, at this point, there are a number of things I could do to screw with his psyche. But since I don't plan on getting burned at the stake for my crimes, I keep my influence discreet. The thing with the mortal brain is that all I have to do is give it a gentle push, a nudge in the right direction, and it'll do all the work for me. So I inserted a little thought near the bottom of his being, and like a bubble, it rose to the peak of his thoughts and he echoed back to me what I had planted.

     "I need to ditch this damn interloper while I get the chance."

     He reacted well. I may not be able to directly control minds, but if I can convince someone that I AM their mind, then… well, you trust your own mind, don't you?

     Fancy Knight asked for my man's name. I slipped another suggestion in: "Maybe a fake name will throw him off my trail." Like the clever thief he was, the man replied "Charles." Good. We're making progress.

     When the knight replied with his own name, I began to sow a seed of further distrust in "Charles"'s head. My power reached out: "…Wait a second. Didn't Jean call him something else when he walked up…?" I never heard their conversation and it was a shot in the dark, but hey, whatever works.

     Charles suddenly frowned, glaring at the knight. Beautiful. I supposed that this is what a conman feels like when he pockets a fool's money.

     Not wanting to push my luck, I tried one last suggestion that was a personal favorite of mine. I would start a thought and trail off near the end, hoping that my target would mentally finish the sentence for me. I thought myself to be very clever when I came up with the idea. Discrete, simple, and effective.

     "… I don't know why I bothered coming here just to argue with a friend of Jean's. If he weren't here, we could be-"

     I waited. And he replied.

     "…selling this quartz dust."

     I mentally groaned. All this work, and they were just drug peddlers. What a waste. It's like when you  peeks at your presents the night before Krugsmas and find a wooden shoe instead of a new dagger. Utterly disappointing.

     The first man, Jean, grew frustrated with the knight and stormed out of the city. My head gently began to throb from exertion, but I refused to allow this endeavor to be in vain. Slipping out of Charles' head, I switched gears and honed in on the stranger (who had called himself "Harold")

     But as I wormed my way into his noggin, I was hit with something I hadn't experienced before, like a brick wall to the face.

     He knew about my magic. And he knew how to keep me out. And worse still, he knew that I was trying to get in.

     I panicked and accidentally sent a blast of thought to Harold's brain as "HE KNOWS I'M HERE." The knight turned and locked eyes with my body standing on the balcony. I ripped away from his mind, recoiling from the shock of being repelled. A bit of blood streamed from my nose from the draining of my mana. I fell to my knees as Harold was suddenly tackled by Charles.

     I stared at my hands, unable to bring myself to terms with what had just happened. In the space of half a week, now TWO well-endowed strongmen knew what I could do. Life was just peachy. I briefly reflected on the thought of leaving town immediately and hiding out in New Malinor. There were more mages there, but no one would know who I was…

     Then I heard heavy footsteps within the bookstore. Followed by a dark, piercing rumble of scraping metal and ice. I turned around.

     Standing amidst the tables and couches was an impossibly-tall being, armored in black metal interspersed with dull ice. Black mist flowed from every crack in it's body and covered the floors. It's legs didn't even touch the ground. It had entered the store while I was busy and had been watching me the entire time. For the first time in my life, I stared at a Northman. A Scourge.

     I think I wet myself. I can't remember.

     Then it moved. Pointing a curved, sharp finger at a nearby bookshelf, it grumbled in a metallic language that I didn't understand. I stared in terror for maybe 15 seconds before my words escaped my parched throat.

     "…You w-want a b-book?", I stammered, wiping blood and sweat from my face. The Northman nodded slowly. I didn't bother to ask why.

     I scrambled on my hands and knees towards the shelf, clawing at a copy of Abresian poetry. Maybe the thing likes to read about trees and birds. I didn't bother looking for something more applicable. It didn't occur to me at the time.

     As I rose to my feet clutching the man's purchase, my eyes widened to see "Harold" the knight holding a sword aloft, preparing to bring it down on the Northman's head. He had snuck into the store hoping to find me, and decided to deal with the Scourge first. It saw my expression and it's head turned 180 degrees in it's socket while the rest of itself remained motionless. The Northman stares into Harold's surprised face. Come to think about it, I think this is when I wet myself.

     Harold's sword came down on it's helm. Bits and shards of ice flew in all directions and it proceeded to erupt in a chorus of screeching that would leave my ears ringing for the rest of the day. Out of my peripherals, some of the peasants outside stopped and looked at the store. A few people got up.

     For the next minute or so, Harold and the Northman dueled in the store, tables and paper flying as they bounced across tables and walls, each hoping to impale the other with something. I got a grip on myself and reached for a piece of the creature's helmet and found it to be plain ice, melting away as I grabbed it. I'm not the type to carry a weapon I could hardly use, so I was left utterly defenseless in the face of certain death.

     Then… something odd happened. The Northman floated to the top of the staircase as fog began to obscure the room and floors. Harold grabbed his sword and threw it haphazardly… but not at him. At the walls a good 10 feet away. He pumped his fist in victory as his sword clattered to the floor.

     I realized that the beast must be an illusionist of some sort. That, or Harold was a bigger dumbass than any of us could've thought. I went with the former.

     Seeing my opportunity, I sprung forward and vaulted over a table, flying over the bannister and tumbling to the bottom of the staircase. The Northmen was occupied with Harold, who at this point had pulled some sort of withered staff off of his back. I didn't stick around to watch.

     But before I fled the store, something stopped me cold. If this man knew how to circumvent MY magic, would he be able to defeat the Northman's mojo? What would happen then? Would he end my life? Erase my memory? Buy me a drink?

     My head jerked back and forth from the stairs to the door. If I stuck around, I could ensure that Harold would die… but then I would die from the monster. But if I left, I could leave and never be seen again! But I had no idea where to go or how to get there. And there might be more outside. Or maybe the travelers would block my escape. "Charles" was probably still out there. I heard the scuffles of battle continue upstairs. Time was short. I grabbed my temples and groaned.

     Against my better judgement, I turned on one heel and went back upstairs. "FFFFFFFFECK!"

     I stopped halfway up so I could see what was happening. The Northman's mist was swirling around Harold and had become some sort of freezing black vortex, repelled by a light suspended atop his staff. He was clutching onto his weapon and was too busy repelling the frost to notice my return. I stared right through him, and my pupils slammed shut.

     I wasted no time in entering his mind. This was not the time for subtlety, and he knew I was there, but he couldn't stop me and repel the mist at the same time.

     Here's the thing about my magic: if I absolutely deem it necessary, I can insert illusions just like I can insert thoughts. But it's incredibly dangerous, and not to mention, difficult. I could only conjure sensations that I had felt in the past, so unfortunately, I couldn't summon a dragon to glance into the window and roast Harold like a piece of pig fat.

     Instead, I opted for something recent. My entire body convulsed as I recalled the Northman's earlier screech as his helmet was broken, and I assaulted Harold's brain with the sound. He jerked backwards and nearly fell off of the table.

     Blood ran out of my ears and down both nostrils. I tried another blast. I could hear Harold yelling curses as his staff fell to the ground. The ice was lethally fast and began freezing his feet to the floor, all gaps in his clothing sealing shut with ice. Not content with leaving him, I continued my assault. Every part of my body screamed in protest and convulsed as I pounded his cortex with raw noise. The Northman slowly floated towards him, raising a pointed finger.

     Then one of Harold's thoughts slid through my brain like a cold knife. He was yelling at someone, someTHING, that had entered while I wasn't paying attention. I saw myself being shoved down the stairs by a muscled hand.

     My left temple collided with something thick, and everything was gone. I succumbed to darkness.
 

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     "THE POWER OF THE CREATOR COMPELS YOU!"

 

     "ARISE!"

     My glazed eyes opened but I saw nothing. Slowly and painfully, my pupils slid open and let light into my eyes. I saw a fuzzy outline of a man standing over me. My head felt like a smashed grape.

     As everything came into focus, the priest smiled and pocketed his small necklace. "Thank the Creator you're alive!", he said. I shook my head rapidly and looked around. We were sitting in one of the Abresi lifts on the other side of town. Based on how soaked my back was, he must have dragged me through the snow. It couldn't have been very long ago. There was still blood on my face.

     "Wh-what the feck happened…?", I asked as he helped me to my feet. "There was a fight. I saw you lying there. So I healed you. Simple."

     I squinted in the distance to see if there was any commotion. I couldn't tell from that distance. But I wasn't planning on waiting to get the recap. I could feel my strength slowly returning to me, and my head was slowly pulling itself back together. Whatever this holy man had done, it was working. God bless preachers.

     "… Right. Well, th-thanks for the assist, Father." I said as I jammed the lift's button and rose to the top entrance. This cold was getting to me and my sopping-wet tunic wasn't helping. I figured that I could go somewhere to warm up… New Malinor sounded lovely. Or maybe the Druid's Grove. Hell, anywhere's better than here. Half of Abresi must've heard our fight. There would be an investigation. And questions.

     The priest called after me, annoyed at my sudden departure. "Will you at least tell me what happened?" I hobbled off in the snow, yelling over my shoulder.

     "A demon wanted my poetry..."

 

Entry 3

   

WARNING: This entry contains lots of explicit language, some of which has been automatically censored by the forums. If any of it offends you, feel free to replace all offending words with the following censors: salmon; Bill Cosby; motor oil; jalepeño.

     It's been awhile since I've had time to sit down and actually write something in this old thing. If it makes you feel better, Whoever You Are, there hasn't been much to write about lately. Except for last night, which I'll get to eventually, don't get your panties in a wad. I'll take my time.

     To make a long story short, I bailed on Abresi since that run-in with the Northman in the bookstore. I hoofed it for awhile and travelled with some roaming sheepherders for a good two weeks or so.

     Never travel with sheepherders.

     Now stop for a second and read that last line again. Now say it out loud, dammit. Don't ask why. Just… take my advice on that one.

     Once I felt like the drama had cooled off, I hit the main roads and travelled all the way to the infamous New Malinor. Land of elves, edginess, and enchanting magic.

     As apprehensive as I was about the town, it's become my new favorite people-watching spot. Elves have this… MANNER about them that makes them the funniest race on the planet. Take their message board for example: If someone posts a notice rebelling against their leaders or with some sort of edgy agenda, do the elves post some sort of response? Nope - they stand there and just blurt out their thoughts like the author was right there. Never some sort of writing, just… talking. It's hilarious!

     Needless to say, New Malinorians end up in all sorts of scraps in the middle of the streets, completely contrary to how I thought elves would act. And since there's a large contingency of mages here, I see more mana being burned up in a day than I would see in a MONTH if I was back in the bookshop. It's frightening knowing that some of them have decades of knowledge compared to my peanuts of experience, but this is helping me grow. I can feel it.

     Anyway, I had left the elven forests to go visit the Cloud Refuge. You can only go so long without actually seeing the sun in the sky without massive trees blocking everything. The cold was getting to me, too. It's hard to keep warm when you're about as flat as an Oren Guard's mom's chest.

     As I neared the refuge, I turned aside and slipped into a small inn built on the side of the road. After ordering a drink and something to munch on, I quickly glanced around in search of someone who wasn't paying attention. Daydreamers make the best mind-melds, especially if they've been smoking some green lately. But sadly, there wasn't much to work with.

     I can't remember exactly when I dozed off, or for how long I was left drooling on the table with a half-eaten plate of fish in my face. What I do remember is cracking and thudding - pierced by sharp yelling and screaming. Quickly rising out of my slumber, I stumbled out of my seat and rubbed my eyes as patrons gathered near a window.

     With one last smash, the wooden frame gave way and revealed four black figures in polished armor, black mist trailing from every pore of their body. Conveniently, a flash of lightening illuminated them. Thunder boomed in the distance. Somewhere, a child was probably crying, I dunno.

     My eyes widened. "What the ****."

     In an instant, several figures leapt through the window and engaged the necromancers. From another direction, a pair of orcs surged from the forest and attacked from another direction. I still can't figure out how they managed to show up, but whatever, it kept ME alive so I'm not gonna question it.

     Their fight dragged on for an incredible amount of time. The necromancers seemed to be utilizing a magick I had never seen before; by sapping energy from the plant life, they could keep themselves actively fighting while others had to rest. Even though they were grossly outnumbered, the monsters kept the defending forces on their toes.

     As I exited the inn and circled around for a better view, I nearly collided with an elf in green robes. He ignored my presence and stormed past, clinging onto a female elf that seemed oddly short. My double-take confirmed that her legs were missing entirely from the thighs down. Ouch.

     Then it hit me. That man was a mage, and he was named Artemic. We had never met before, but one of the elves I had melded with in Abresi had been practically worshipping this man the whole time he was there. Apparently he had used magic to save the man's life, as well as many others. And here he was, in the flesh, running off with some chick who had suddenly found herself desperately in need of some glue.

     To say that the experience was uncanny would be an understatement. It's not often that I bump into people I learn about while snooping.

     The fight ended shortly thereafter. The necromancers had succeeded in overcoming their enemies (including Artemic, though I didn't see him die - maybe he fled?) and were closing in on some poor darkie boy that had literally taken a knife to a magic fight. I didn't stick around to see what would happen to him. What I /DID/ remember was that random ***** that the aforementioned mage had hauled off. What had happened to her…?

     I slipped back into the inn as the kid's screams got louder. The place was deserted (go figure) except for some sort of thumping behind the bar. When I hopped over the polished counter, I saw the woman lying there - white ponytail soaked in blood, babbling about gold in a feverish state. Her legs had been forcibly burned shut to stop the bleeding. All I could do was stand there and stare. My stomach did a somersault.

     Now, for the record, I'm not a sniveling white knight that thinks defending "milady" equals free sex. (I'm not a smart man, but I know THAT much about women) But I'm also not completely heartless. And I knew that leaving her here wouldn't bode well. I also knew that this Artemic guy (a hero, at least to one person) had gone out of his way to try and save her life. Maybe she was important to him somehow. I almost felt a pang of sorrow for the guy, not knowing if he had survived the attack. So I stooped low, scooped up the elf, and balanced her on my shoulder like a sack of potatoes. She drooled on my shoulder but otherwise didn't do much to stop me. She weighed much more than I had thought, and trying to carry her was terribly difficult, especially for a weary mind mage. And as if on cue, the storm outside reached critical mass and rain greeted me as I limped outside.

     I think I cursed more on that trip to the Refuge than I had ever cursed in my entire life. But I plodded onwards, driven on by the light of the beacons of the Refuge that glimmered in the night sky.

     As I entered the refuge, I had absolutely HAD it with the day. I was completely soaked in water and blood, I couldn't stop sneezing, I was tired, I was sore, I was hungry, whatever. I was sick of everybody and everything. So I just screamed at everybody in earshot: "I NEED A ******* GODDAMN HEALER. RIGHT… ******* … GODDAMN … NOW."

     A couple of barflies and the bartend simultaneously pointed to a monk. He had a hilariously-large nose, a set of robes that seemed threadbare around the edges, and a small cloth that he was polishing his booth with. I sauntered right up to him and unceremoniously flopped the elf onto the counter. "******* FIX her. NOW.", I growled. Blood seeped onto his clean stall.

     His eyes grew wide and he began his work, not complaining about the mess I was making. After a few minutes of incantations and some handiwork, the girl began glowing with a faint green light. But did her legs grow back? Pfft, no. All of her cuts and scrapes healed. Way to ******* go, champ. 10/10 monk right here.

     The monk shrugged, looking to me with a "It's something" expression on his face. I absolutely lost it and threw myself over the stall, grabbing two handfuls of robe in my hands. "I WILL ******* CASTRATE YOU WITH A CHEESE GRATER IF YOU DON'T FIX HER GODDAMN LEGS. YOU /GOT/ THAT, ******-CANOE?!". He flailed his arms to either side. "NOOO! I'M NEEEW! SORRRYYY!!"

     Not appeased by his meager excuses, I stood and slammed him into the wall. "THEN GO FIND SOMEONE WHO'S NOT A FAILURE LIKE YOU. AND WHILE YOU'RE AT IT, HAVE THEM FIX THAT ******* GROWTH ON YOUR FACE-- OH, WAIT, THAT'S YOUR NOSE, ****-STAIN. MY MISTAKE!"

     I released him. He tripped over himself and scrambled off, sobbing uncontrollably. Being a monk and all, I'm amazed that he didn't just burst into flames from the things I was saying. It wouldn't have improved his looks. Or his brains.

     The elf slowly woke up. Despite her situation, she didn't seem altogether concerned with her plight. In fact, after regaining most of her senses, she just did a handstand and freakishly hand-stand walked around in circles while she talked to me. Even my pipe dreams weren't as screwed up as this whole thing.

     "Well, if you must know…", she said, "…the second greatest healer in the lands now owes you a favor. And I must say, I'm quite knowledgeable in fields you wouldn't even know existed!"

     "Great, so now I'm in charge of a damn elven vegetable that moonlights as an encyclopedia?", I replied dryly.

     "A vegetable, huh?" She suddenly sprung forward, cutting off my reply ("Did I stutter?"). She elbowed me from behind and swung into my chest so as to send me flying into the floor. Visions of cabbage with white ponytails danced in my vision. "Did /I/ stutter?", she smirked. Then she did another handstand and exited the temple.

     I shook my head violently and followed her. While the rain was still pouring, it was showing signs of stopping any second now. I yelled after her, but she only increased her pace - it occurred to me that she must have done this before. Which means that she's lost her -- I didn't even finish the thought. My poor gut couldn't take it.

     Instead, my pupils shrunk down to dots in the grey oceans of my irises.

     I mentally barked at her as she clambered over the Refuge's bridge. "Hold the **** up, woman. We're not done." She shook her head angrily and tried to go faster. Recalling the Northman's metallic scream from Abresi, I steeled myself and filled her head with the horrible sound. She lost her balance and rolled to a stop, clawing at her ears.

     I let it go on for maybe 5 seconds, then I halted the attack. More thoughts bubbled forth in her noggin: "Don't make me do that again, ******* *****. I'm cold, I'm tired, and I've had it up to /here/ with your bullshit today. Come back here… and let's have a chat. Out of the rain."

     Slowly, she brought herself back up and hobbled over to the underpass of the bridge, righting her torso (the whole legless thing was still freaking me out) and leaning against the side. She frowned. "You could've just used words."

     "My way works better.", I replied.

     Over the next 10 minutes or so, she told me about herself. She was an alchemist, and a druid - which elected a stream of curses from me. After a hairy encounter when poking around in their Grove, I've never been fond of them. But she also said that she RAN the inn I had stopped in, and that she could easily fix her legs herself. She also confirmed what I had heard about this Artemic character. Apparently "Art" worked in New Malinor often, which means that our paths would eventually cross again. Good.

     Some of the passerby stopped and stared at the woman, who was still lacking a pair of legs yet somehow holding a conversation with me. One guy just turned around and puked into the river. I almost joined him.

     After asking for her name ("Isabella Deathsbane, my abrasive friend."), I briefly thanked her for her time before slipping off in the crowd. I heard her make some snide comment about not knowing my name, but I didn't care. This wasn't some sort of novel where I become one of her closest friends or some ****. I got some good information, maybe I saved a life, that's enough for one damn day.

     I dragged myself back to the Refuge, tracked down that same dumbass Nose monk from before, and rented a room for the evening. He didn't even ask for rent - he just let me stay there. I left him a coin anyway - you know, to buy some food for his schnoz. He's gotta feed that thing somehow, y'know?

     I unceremoniously flopped onto my cot and was asleep in seconds. I dreamed of necromancers beating off half-eaten fish with severed legs. Best sleep I ever had.

[Fredfort (jens6851) 283]

((Very good read.. I'm actually kind of jealous.. :) Looking forward to see whatever this is in-game))

[Cosmik 220]

Entry 2 added.

[knightly11 | lotc_fox 111]

((Wow, great job. Had me laughing pretty hard at some points))

[Ergent Seth 141]

((A lovely read Ashur. Well written and pretty damn hilarious.)) 

[Mining 129]

Excellent reads and I do hope you decide to continue with them

[Pinsir99 526]

((Great read, dearly hope you continue.))

[Cosmik 220]

Entry 3 added. Thanks for all the support.

[Birdwhisperer 1174]

Moved to the Great Library. It shall be sorted into appropriate category shortly.