#storyfragment — Public Fediverse posts

Does the mysterious figure come across as too villainous here? I'm trying to go for 'scheming mastermind but for the good guys' and I'm not sure I nailed it?

Vodrin was slipping, unable to walk. The light grey stone beneath his feet was slick with water, small waves from the pool lapping on the elaborately carved steps of the staircase. It was a strange place; everywhere he looked, the half-orc could only see desert. An endless dune sea, except for right where he stood. An oasis, a pool of water and some ferns in a rocky outcrop, and in the center of the pool stood a smooth light grey tower reaching up into the sky. A carved staircase wrapped around the outside, and he climbed without thinking. Something inside him
cried out, ordered him to turn back and abandon this place, for it was a trap. It urged him to return to the forest where he lay dying. He was dead, wasn’t he? That’s what this was. Some kind of trek to the afterlife, perhaps? But none of his studies into the arcane or spiritual had hinted at any of this. So, he climbed.

Vodrin eventually reached the end of the staircase, a landing that fed into an open-air octagonal atrium with a high arching ceiling. The landing was covered from top to bottom, left to right, in the paraphernalia of academia. Books, scrolls, carvings, rune stones, desks, chairs, blackboards, crates of chalk sticks, half-written journals, and more. It reminded him of his office, back in the day. As did the figure sitting at the cluttered desk on one side.

“Director Masozi?” Vodrin asked. “How are you here? You’re still alive.” The figure at the desk looked up; the face froze the blood in his veins. It was…familiar, in the way a half-remembered dream suddenly happened in real life. It was Director Masozi, a pale-skinned human man. And it was himself, when he was younger. And it was the old woman at the fishmonger’s, the minotaur woman standing over his bleeding corpse, the bandit that stabbed him. All of them and more. But the voice was none of them.

“Is that who you see?” The voice was…strange. Like hearing a familiar voice from
several rooms away.

“Demon!” Vodrin cried, clutching at his chest. An amulet containing Detect Good and Evil hung there, but he dared not use the one and only charge.

“Demon! Hahahaha!” The person slapped the desk, the storm in the distance suddenly closing. “Demons wish they could do this. No, no. I am a mortal man. Just with more magical power than I know what to do with. I’m offering you a deal.”

“No deal.”

The figure spoke on regardless. “The deal is this: I return you to life, add you to my
network of informants and actors, give you all the intel and gear you could ever need for a task. And all I ask is that you kill a dragon for me.”

“No. Deal.” The storm continued to roll in, threatening to claim the tower in minutes.
Vodrin stepped backward, ready to throw himself to the water below.
The figure pinched its brow and sighed, leaning back in the plush chair.

“Even Blackwind was easier to manage than this. I don’t want your soul, I don’t even want your worship. I want you to kill a dragon.”

Vodrin snarled, the half-orcs’ tusks dripping with saliva. He paced back and forth, wind whipping through his cheap clothes and sand passing through his short hair to scrape the scalp beneath. He faced down the arcane thing that had trapped him here. Near death though he was, he wasn’t going to be enslaved without a fight.

“Oh, stop doing that.” The figure said. “I can hear your thoughts. It isn’t slavery.” The ever-shifting figure with a male voice leaned back in its plush chair and sighed. “I’m almost tempted to ask you to stay longer to beat Blackwind’s record, but your body isn’t going to last that long. Make your choice.” Sand whipped through the open-air chamber, scouring the wooden shelves and scattering the books, scrolls, and knickknacks.

“This is textbook extortion!” The figure smiled, its’ ever-changing face locking in that one specific detail.

“It is, in a way. But would you rather be dead? Or learn the secrets of the creator of Blackrazor?” Through the wind and slicing sand, Vodrin perked up his pointed ears and gritted his teeth. His heart twisted in his chest, forcing his hand forward.

“Deal.” The tower and its’ mysterious occupant disappeared in the howl of desert winds and the laughter of thirsting gods.

#story #storyfragment #sneakpeek

Does the mysterious figure come across as too villainous here? I'm trying to go for 'scheming mastermind but for the good guys' and I'm not sure I nailed it?

Vodrin was slipping, unable to walk. The light grey stone beneath his feet was slick with water, small waves from the pool lapping on the elaborately carved steps of the staircase. It was a strange place; everywhere he looked, the half-orc could only see desert. An endless dune sea, except for right where he stood. An oasis, a pool of water and some ferns in a rocky outcrop, and in the center of the pool stood a smooth light grey tower reaching up into the sky. A carved staircase wrapped around the outside, and he climbed without thinking. Something inside him
cried out, ordered him to turn back and abandon this place, for it was a trap. It urged him to return to the forest where he lay dying. He was dead, wasn’t he? That’s what this was. Some kind of trek to the afterlife, perhaps? But none of his studies into the arcane or spiritual had hinted at any of this. So, he climbed.

Vodrin eventually reached the end of the staircase, a landing that fed into an open-air octagonal atrium with a high arching ceiling. The landing was covered from top to bottom, left to right, in the paraphernalia of academia. Books, scrolls, carvings, rune stones, desks, chairs, blackboards, crates of chalk sticks, half-written journals, and more. It reminded him of his office, back in the day. As did the figure sitting at the cluttered desk on one side.

“Director Masozi?” Vodrin asked. “How are you here? You’re still alive.” The figure at the desk looked up; the face froze the blood in his veins. It was…familiar, in the way a half-remembered dream suddenly happened in real life. It was Director Masozi, a pale-skinned human man. And it was himself, when he was younger. And it was the old woman at the fishmonger’s, the minotaur woman standing over his bleeding corpse, the bandit that stabbed him. All of them and more. But the voice was none of them.

“Is that who you see?” The voice was…strange. Like hearing a familiar voice from
several rooms away.

“Demon!” Vodrin cried, clutching at his chest. An amulet containing Detect Good and Evil hung there, but he dared not use the one and only charge.

“Demon! Hahahaha!” The person slapped the desk, the storm in the distance suddenly closing. “Demons wish they could do this. No, no. I am a mortal man. Just with more magical power than I know what to do with. I’m offering you a deal.”

“No deal.”

The figure spoke on regardless. “The deal is this: I return you to life, add you to my
network of informants and actors, give you all the intel and gear you could ever need for a task. And all I ask is that you kill a dragon for me.”

“No. Deal.” The storm continued to roll in, threatening to claim the tower in minutes.
Vodrin stepped backward, ready to throw himself to the water below.
The figure pinched its brow and sighed, leaning back in the plush chair.

“Even Blackwind was easier to manage than this. I don’t want your soul, I don’t even want your worship. I want you to kill a dragon.”

Vodrin snarled, the half-orcs’ tusks dripping with saliva. He paced back and forth, wind whipping through his cheap clothes and sand passing through his short hair to scrape the scalp beneath. He faced down the arcane thing that had trapped him here. Near death though he was, he wasn’t going to be enslaved without a fight.

“Oh, stop doing that.” The figure said. “I can hear your thoughts. It isn’t slavery.” The ever-shifting figure with a male voice leaned back in its plush chair and sighed. “I’m almost tempted to ask you to stay longer to beat Blackwind’s record, but your body isn’t going to last that long. Make your choice.” Sand whipped through the open-air chamber, scouring the wooden shelves and scattering the books, scrolls, and knickknacks.

“This is textbook extortion!” The figure smiled, its’ ever-changing face locking in that one specific detail.

“It is, in a way. But would you rather be dead? Or learn the secrets of the creator of Blackrazor?” Through the wind and slicing sand, Vodrin perked up his pointed ears and gritted his teeth. His heart twisted in his chest, forcing his hand forward.

“Deal.” The tower and its’ mysterious occupant disappeared in the howl of desert winds and the laughter of thirsting gods.

#story #storyfragment #sneakpeek