A Wizard Is You SidethreadDemetrious2011/03/06 (Sun) 03:08No. 824 ID: ▼
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After my joke update, I noticed a few people suggesting that the author of Compensation Adequate and I were the same person. Just to spite those people, I invited Soluslunes (author of Compensation Adequate) to write the next joke update.
Yep, that about describes it. Fucking crocodiles. They exist as a convenient plot device to get rid of bodies, and they’re not even doing their goddamn job.
Well, at least the body count is only one.
Come on, you’re a goddamn wizard! You can make ONE dead dame disappear! You’ve done it with plenty of dead hookers before, if the number of taverns you’re barred from is any indication.
And she’s pretty heavy. All that tea apparently went straight to her hips. You set her down, say a few muttered words, and snap your fingers as Tenser’s Floating Disk relieves you of the burden of carrying a dead body.
Fuck it. There’s gotta be something good for getting rid of bodies in this mansion somewhere. Probably in the basement. Yeah. In the basement. That’s a good idea.
Now, what’s the fastest way to get to the basement without being noticed?
…Laundry chute. And there’s probably one in the bathroom.
You look around the bathroom, and lo and behold, there happens to be a laundry chute installed in the wall. And conveniently enough, it should be wide enough to dive through.
You motion the disk with the body to the chute, and tip it forward for Patchy’s body to slide off and down the chute. “Bottoms up, ladies first.” You groan inwardly. That was a terrible one-liner; your head hurts a little just from saying it. Patchy slides off the disk but twists a little, so that she’s stuck longitudinally in the mouth of the chute.
Biting back another long string of vitriolic invective, you push on her to get her to fit in the chute. Nope, not working. She’s doubled over on herself, and not going further than the couple inches you’ve managed to shove her in so far.
Fine. We’ll just start over.
You haul her body out, reorient it, so it’s head first as you drop it into the chute. It slides down and is quickly out of sight.
And nothing for it- got to get down to where the chute lets out to finish getting rid of the body.
In one acrobatic swoop, you grab the top of the chute opening and swing your legs in. Just as you let go, you hear a metallic creak from deeper down in the chute. Followed by a wet-sounding THUD on top of what your trained ears distinguish as the crack of broken bones.
I really hope that was only Patchouli and not someone else.
You really hope it was.
As you slide down the chute, you land on top of Patchouli’s body at the outlet. Her legs have apparently gained another joint right in the shins. That doesn’t seem particularly practical.
You look about for a comically squashed fairy maid, or possibly, if you’re REALLY lucky, a comically squashed Sakuya. Unfortunately for you, no squashed fairies, no squashed Sakuya. On the other hand, though, it’s probably better that way, with lack of witnesses.
You’re in the laundry room for the mansion, and there was absolutely nothing to cushion your fall at the end of the chute as far as laundry goes. A good thing you made the body go first. You recall Tenser’s Floating Disk and edge to the door to the laundry room.
Opening it a crack, you peek into the hallway.
On one side of the hallway, you have the “normally”, well, as normally as a vampire mansion could be, furnished hallway. On the other side, you have stone floors, stone walls, and ominous torches being held by skull wall sconces.
“Tasteful,” you mutter. “Who wants to guess that the human sacrifice chamber is at the end of the hallway beyond door number one?”
Unfortunately, you know you’re joking, but honestly you wish you weren’t. Human sacrifice chambers are really good for getting rid of bodies. Because, you know, they’ve got to get rid of the human sacrifice somehow. Gods can’t always be manifesting pillars of flame to get rid of sacrifices. They’re busy people.
You dash out the door, with the disk and Patchouli’s body following you, down the tasteful stone and skull hallway. It twists and turns a bit, until you find a heavy wrought iron door with a viewing grate in the top middle. A classic design.
You lift the bolt, and dash in, closing the door behind you. You turn to the room you just entered…
and it seems to be a room with a lot of cages. Cages with bones. Cages with human-sized bones.
Well now that’s just PEACHY.
Aside from the cages, there are a couple of other doors. You open one, and you find a blood-splattered room with a raised dais in the middle, with channels leading from the dais to drains so that the blood can be collected.
Bit flashy and over the top, but it’ll do. You place Patchouli’s body on the dais, and prop her mouth open.
Time for some magical-styled damage control. No witnesses, no collateral damage, and soon, no evidence.
They mocked you for studying it.
“It has no practical purpose,” they said. “Why not just use the regular version? It doesn’t take nearly as much space in your spellbook nor the levels of preparation this one does!”
“Timing,” you growl to yourself. “Magic isn’t about who can instant-kill someone faster or make a bigger boom. It’s about timing and the correct application of force.”
You’ve started muttering madly, so that means you may as well finish. Not like anyone’s gonna interrupt you now.
“I mean, sure, you can level a village with meteor swarm. That’s great. But then you DON’T HAVE A VILLAGE ANYMORE. Sure, you can command a person’s heart to stop beating with a word. Not a very subtle way of assassinating someone- that kind of leaves an indelible magic mark. No, magic is about careful preparation, and PROPER TIMING.
“Not about the biggest boom. Not about the most powerful boom. But the best timed boom. And this boom, gives me about thirty seconds of time.”
“Tick-boom,” you say, and clap your hands once. A small red bead lays in your hand. You hurriedly shove it down Patchouli’s dead throat, and hope to whatever god will grant you the wish that dead bodies no longer have a gag reflex.
You rush out the door, and hurriedly close the iron door behind you and latch it.
The entrance door has just opened, and Remilia is looking at you with an unamused impression on her face.
“Just what are you doing down here?”
shit fuck fuck shit
As you open your mouth to reply, a large, fiery blast detonates in the first room, spreading atomic charred bits of Patchouli all over the walls on top of what could possibly be an altar for some dark, demonic god in a pinch.
Now Remilia just looks angry.
And you’re rifling through your mental catalogue of evil sacrifice rituals, and hoping that you didn’t accidentally perform one.
A *pop* followed by a large WHOOMPH is accompanied by the smell of brimstone, and a large, booming voice announces for all to hear:
”I AM ZUUL! WHAT FOOLISH MORTAL HAS PRESUMED TO SUMMON ME?”
You look at Remilia, and shout:
“RUN, YOU STUPID BITCH!”
[ ] Follow Remilia's lead, she knows this place better then you. [ ] Trip Remilia and let the demon eat her to buy time while YOU run. [ ] Grab Remilia and try to escape via magic.
[X] Trip Remilia and let the demon eat her to buy time while YOU run.
Remilia hikes up her dress, little scarlet shoes pounding the flagstones as you both run like hell. Screens of dust drift floorward as the huge iron door behind you shudders with a mighty blow.
You’re halfway down the hall when the screech of the thick iron door being torn in half assaults your ears. Remilia is screeching something at you and it doesn’t sound polite.
Demons to the right of him, demons behind him, volly’d and thunder’d
And that’s the real problem, isn’t it? Most people focus on getting out of the frying pan only to end up in the fire, but Wizards see the big picture: the trick is to get out of the kitchen entirely.
And the easiest way to put out the fire is to pour the... soup from the frying pan onto the – oh to hell with this wise Wizard analogy bullshit, time to act.
You trip Remilia.
The results are spectacular, her jaw cracking a flagstone as she impacts the floor at top speed, skidding on her face. You spare just enough breath for a cackle of wicked elation as you tear down the hallway, the thunder of ZUUL’s footfalls close behind. An instant later, there’s a resounding crash. Ducking into a convenient doorway, you peek out to witness ZUUL’s fire-wreathed form sprawled on the flagstones where he tripped over Remilia.
You suck your head back out of sight when ZUUL looks up, and a second or two later, Remilia’s bloodcurdling scream ricochets down the stone corridor. Then you hear something akin to a giant orange being juiced.
Assuming ZUUL to be otherwise occupied, you slip out of the doorway and steal down to the nearest intersection, not daring to look back. Whatever is happening back their is neither sanitary nor comfortable, and you’ve got enough psychological traumas already.
Slipping into a quiet side-dungeon, you sigh with relief. Out of the frying pan, out of the fire-
“Well, what have we here?”
-aaand right into the goddamn oven.
“You’re bigger then my usual snack.” Something shifts in the shadowed depths of the room. “And I’m full anyways...”
“Kla’pon!” you declare impatiently, and your hat begins to glow. The suffuse illumination dances in the jewels of Flandre’s improbable wings. She’s reclining in a corner, holding another girl in her arms. Stepping closer, your hat-light reveals a green-haired girl about Flandre’s size, with little curled antenna sprouting from her hair. Her clothes are in tatters, and nasty yellowing bruises are evident all over her body, as well as scabbed-over bite marks. Blood is trickling from her neck, and Flandre is licking her moist lips.
“Want some?” Flandre inquires politely.
Your lips suck back against your teeth in distaste. “You eat bugs? Gross.”
“High in protein.” She shakes the bug-girl once, but her blank eyes are staring numbly through the ceiling. Flandre shrugs and dumps her limp form in the dank corner.
“Well, since we’re both fed... how about some after-dinner entertainment?” Her rubescent eyeglow lends her entire visage a ruddy hue, and her crisp white fangs stand out against the shadows. “Why don’t we play a game?”
[ ] Spin The Bottle [ ] Dodgeball [ ] Hide and Go Seek [ ] Global Th
“Sure, I'd love to play a game.” You hurriedly dig into your flowing wizardly sleeves and pull out a piece of paper you keep for this very occasion, and hand it to Flandre. “Read this. It has the rules.”
Flandre takes it, and cocks her head at the markings. “I can't read this.”
Shit. Goddamnit all that leadup for the perfect fucking joke and the bird can't even fucking READ IT. You snatch the paper from her, bellow at her face, “I PREPARED EXPLODING RUNES TODAY”, and toss the now-exploding paper back in her face.
She's entirely unfazed by this. She claps her hands excitedly. “Ooh, explosions? I can do explosions!” She points a finger at you. “Kyuu~!”
You remember once, a long time ago, a speech about how 'great power comes with great responsibility.' Uncle Ben was a wordy son of a bitch, and he only used the SAME WORDS. Family gatherings were just a BLAST, let me tell you. Speaking of blast, oh fuck explosions SPIDEY SENSE-
You dive, tuck and roll in the most graceful fashion, dodging the fireball, and on your roll upwards, you slap into the wall with a meaty thunk. A distant roar, and the now-stronger smell of brimstone tells you that ZUUL is still hot on your tail. Heh. Hot. That's because he's on fire AND WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU MAKING PUNS NOW BRAIN
You splay a hand at the wall as you scramble to your feet, and scream at the top of your lungs, “TWINKLE, TWINKLE, LITTLE STAR,” and a Meteor Swarm flows outwards from your fingers, blowing a hole in the wall, and the wall across from that one, down to make a nice, flaming highway, carved out of hallways and rooms, daintily decorated with doilies and treated wood, loveseats with decorative pillows, tea cozies, and bits of flaming meteor. It is at this moment that the side-dungeon's door implodes in a spray of wood splinters, fire, brimstone, and a very, very irate ZUUL.
You snatch up your hat that got blown off from the Meteor Swarm's backlash, jam its still-luminescent fabric onto your head, and shout at Flandre, a helpful command, as the previously mentioned ZUUL is bearing down on her. “DOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOODGE!”
Flandre dives out of the way of ZUUL's flaming claw, and shouts back at you. “Dodge?!”
Hat firmly jammed on head, you start beating feet through the passageway that your space rocks cleared. “DODGE, AS IN THE TOWN, THAT I AM GETTING RIGHT THE FUCK OUT OF!”
You vault over a table, and get running down the highway. You start doing wizardly parkour over the overturned tables, splintered chairs, and other detritus that was destroyed by the onslaught of a nickel-iron fury. And by “parkour”, you of course mean “tripping over every single one of these things FUCK JESUS GODDAMNIT FEETS GET IT TOGETHER WE RUNS OR WE DIES, I'D RATHER RUNS”
You turn left, and start sprinting down the hallway that you hope leads up and out. Behind you is a high-pitched scream, mixed with the tinkling of crystals shattering, and a triumphant “SILLY VAMPIRE! I AM ZUUL! NONE CAN STAND BEFORE ME!”
As you sprint up the steps, heart pattering a beat of adrenaline and pants-shitting fear (good thing you wear robes), you espy a silver-haired maid, balancing a tea set upon a silver tray.
You see her shouting at you. You can't hear her shouting, as you're currently screaming. But you imagine to yourself, that she's probably shouting about the explosions. And the screaming. Those are pressing concerns indeed.
[ ] Tea to Go [ ] Bird to Go [ ] Fuck it, trip her too – [ ] Then take her tea [ ] Write-in