The idea behind Wicked is that it a dark infested world with demons,Monsters, and almost anything that has the desire to cause harm to the human population of the world and bring about the downfall of the human population. The humans are however not going to die without a fight, many who are born into the world have some type of past event that drives them. It may have been the death of their family or a loved one that keeps their hatred for demons alive and burning in their hearts. The humans who have decided to take up arms and fight the monsters are that of a Higher order or those who just seek to fight for the hell of fighting and gaining an amount of Gold or prizes from the bounty of killing the monsters they hunt.
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Mictlan had been hearing the stories all day. People had been playing games with this Lumious guy and nobody had won. They were even being allowed to pick their own games and still nobody could win. He had dealt with the con artists who did the shell games and the like before. He had seen honest gambling tables that would have insured that any game that lasted long enough would eventually go in the house's favor. The only way you beat these people is to cheat. But surely those playing would figure this out and have methods to prevent it. So, the key would be to find a game that could not be lost, but would seem like it could be. A game the relied on no luck or device that could be manipulated to alter the outcome in favor of the opponent.
The very idea of figuring out the game was interesting enough and worthy of diversion from what he had been planning. So, he found himself riding at the front of his wagon, leading a pair of skeletal Gaurs to meet with the Master of Games. They were great beasts standing over seven feet tall and working in perfect unison. Their horns were polished to shine and capped in iron. Their bones had been painted by children, but were in perfect condition otherwise. Each had its own style. One had petals of various colors painted onto its vertebrae with each of its ribs painted in green with black thorns. Its skull had yellow petals around the black voids that were its eyes giving the impression of sunflowers. The other just had each rib colored as a rainbow with random splashes of color on the skull and limbs. No part of it was left unpainted except those deep black eye sockets.
Mictlan, for his part, was wearing a silk kasaya dyed a lovely blue as opposed to the normal browns and yellows. He sat on a lovely cushion of silk stuffed with down. It took up the entire bench and had prayers to various gods of travel for safe passage embroidered into the white silk in golden thread as its only decoration. He cared naught for any of the gods, but figured it could not hurt to have the prayers there. He needed a cushion and this solved that problem quite well. The rest of the wagon was made of weather proofed fabrics over a frame with a simple set flaps that could be laced together serving as the door. It kept things protected from the weather and offered a basic level of privacy when needed. The outer most covering had been tie-dyed and was a riot of colors and patterns making it easy to spot in a crowd even when markets were packed. He wanted people to be able to locate him from a distance should they need him. Even if they could not make out the odd beasts they would be able to pick out the colors. He might not have a lot of call for people to be looking for him just yet, but someday people would come from all around to benefit from his magics.
Benawia will be the first to admit her flaws. She is human, she’ll point out, as that is a given, and she will assert that by being open of her hindrances she is working to offset them with other, better, qualities. However, the one flaw she does not often admit to and has been a long time crutch the woman leans on over the years, is her pride. Of course the other nuns and her own teachers had instructed Benawia to work on her pride and Benawia would smile, nod, and then not do anything about it. Others knew this wound in Benawia’s personality just as much as the monk did herself, except Benawia would not talk about it. Mute acknowledgements, but never words. It is this very “flaw” that led Benawia to P.S. Lumious’ estate.
P.S. Lumious.
His very initials were a game. A post script to whatever grand life he lived or whatever kind of game he was trying to play. And, by the heavens, did Benawia want to try and crack it. Or beat him. Either way would suffice for her. She had spent that morning outside of the estate watching people enter, their hopes spreading lips wide, only to see them leave (some faster than others) with varying miserable emotions plastered onto their faces. By the time the monk decided she too would try the challenge, walking up to the door guards, it was too late.
‘The master wants more challenge—he is now only accepting two opponents working together to face him. You must have a companion.’
Benawia took the words as graciously as she could, thanking the men before turning around and scanning the ground. She needed a worthy partner, or at the very least an interesting one, who could help her devise a game and beat the “king.” And that’s when she saw him. Or rather it. There was no missing the bold display of colors, a wagon that was equal parts intriguing as it was a stark contrast to the dulled grey colors of its surroundings. Then there were the beasts. Could she still call them beasts when they were dead? How could she speak of their existence? Unless they were simply skeletons bound together by magic and it was the magic that made them move, like strings made a puppet move. The puppet was not alive because he moved by an outside force. Talk of sentient undead was a higher discourse at her nunnery—one Benawia enjoyed, but often had mixed feelings of. Not to mention these bovine skeletons were painted as if the street urchins had gotten ahold of them. It was a complex matter.
Then there was the driver himself. A short study of the man surprised Benawia. What he was wearing belonged more to her realm of life than that of a necromancer, but who was she to say who did and who didn’t commune with the gods? The stranger could be both. Or one. Certainly not none, though, at least not with his undead beasts of burden. Regardless, he would do.
Walking over to greet the man, keeping pace with the shambling wagon, Benawia called over to him. “Are you here for the game challenge? If you are, they’re demanding that teams of two now challenge Lumious and I’m in need of a partner. What do you say?” Her voice lifted above the rabble around them and Benawia kept as much eye contact as she could without walking into someone or shifting a curious look at the moving skeletons.
I know by now that you'll arrive by the time I stop waiting
When the woman approached he reigned in the beasts to make it easier for them to talk. If she wanted to talk, he wanted to give her full attention to do so. He had not known about the need of a partner, so he was in luck that she knew and was willing to partner with him. This would add an interesting dimension to the challenge. New possibilities opened up with a partner and others vanished. He pulled to a complete stop and said, "I'm indeed here for the challenge and would be happy throw my lot in with you to do it. Hop on and we can discuss how on the way."
He engaged the brake on the wheel next to her and offered his hand to help her up to the bench. It could be a bit difficult to get up and ordering the skeletal footmen to come was more difficult than it was worth. The process of disembarking, coming around, helping her up, and reembarking was more complicated than just helping her up himself. He normally had them holding on to the sides rather than in the back, but the streets were hard enough to navigate without more people hanging on the side. In the wild they offered a valuable service clearing the way, but here they tended to just get in the way.
He figured anyone who was looking to challenge the master of games had a good reason to think that they could do it. If she was looking for a partner she had the skills to hold up her end. They would simply have to discuss how best to mesh their skills and strategies for the game. He did not want to pester her with questions right off the bat, so he went with helping her up first and they could have discussions about how to do things as they rode.
He made sure to smile and kept his voice warm and welcoming. it was the sort of voice one developed from constantly having to sell yourself. It was the sort of voice that you hear from people who have been in retail too long. That sort of overly happy and friendly voice that seems a little too excited to help you. There was nothing sinister to it. It was just that he was happier to help than one would normally expect from a stranger. His smile was similarly plastered on. It was another way they kept the wheels of social interaction lubricated back home. Everyone needed others to need them and knew that everyone else was out to screw them. Everyone wanted to seem like everyone's friend. Everyone wanted to seem like they had nothing to worry about. So, you formed your face into a mask until you knew you could trust someone. It was part of why he left. He was not great at the game. Good enough to survive, but not good enough to climb the ladder above the little niche he had carved for himself. He could not even be sure that that would last. All it took was someone who could offer what he offered better. But habits were hard to break. When he met strangers he cooperated and did his best to seem like someone they would want to keep around. A part of his value still came from others. He tried to move as much of his self worth as he could to be internal, but he could not help but want others to want him.
“Wonderful,” the monk answered, giving him a cautious smile. There was something about the way he spoke that didn’t sit quite well with Benawia. It wasn’t as if he was being slimy or hostile, the man certainly appeared cheery, especially with the tone of his voice. But maybe it was that cheeriness which was off putting. Like he was a pleasant chorus of bells, but one of them was slightly out of tune. Then again, maybe she was thinking too much—overanalyzing a stranger whom she had come up to and asked for help and partnership with. Plus, who knew how Benawia appeared to the stranger. A slightly abrasive monk who’d come out of nowhere offering information and a deal. The least that Benawia could do in return was suspend her judgment of the fellow.
She took his hand with another smile, this time the look was warmer as if Benawia was truly thankful for the gesture (which she was). “Thank you,” she spoke, noticing the man’s body and decided she’d use most of her own core strength to help her up onto the wagon rather than pulling the stranger over with her weight. He didn’t seem much like a physical kind of person. Once on top of the bench, Benawia introduced herself, eyeing up the cushion they were sitting on. “My name is Benawia; I’m a monk from the northern mountain regions. And from the look of today’s competitors, Lumious has had no real challenge.”
As she spoke, glancing up to look at her new partner, she also thought about the prayers lining the cushion. They were generic prayers to multiple gods—not a specific cult, worship, or even pantheon. Either this man was more devout than her or he was simply covering his bases. The answer to this would be revealed in his actions and words, though if he was or wasn’t a religious person was no matter to Benawia. They would either have that in common or they would not. She was not the missionary type. He also wore religious garb, monk ware in fact, but that too could be explained away by markets and fashion trends. One did not need to belong to anything nowadays in order to buy and wear their colors. No matter the reason, his very being interested Benawia.
It’s not like the nun wore any of her order’s colors of symbols. She kept to a very plain outfit that left her looking like an average traveler. However, she carried little (no weapons at all) and it was clear that part of her life was an ascetic one as well as peripatetic. As she waited for the stranger to continue their travel to Lumious’ estate, she nodded over at the bovine skeletons. “Your creation?”
I know by now that you'll arrive by the time I stop waiting
Once she was aboard he disengaged the break and ordered the beasts to resume march. When she asked about them he nodded vigorously and said, "Yes! I'm responsible for their current spark of life, but the lovely materials I had to work with were due to generations of effort on the part of breeders and some of the best ranchers I have had the pleasure of meeting. They could trace the bloodlines of these beasts back thousands of generations and had honed their skill in caring for them for all that time. Each generation of rancher benefiting from the knowledge of those that came before. Devoting ones entire life to the perfecting anything is quite remarkable. That thing being the cultivation of other lives is more impressive still. Getting to bring life to such wonderful creatures was a great privilege. But I digress."
Looking a little embarrassed about gushing over something like that in response to a very simple question. She was only being polite. She did not care about farmers and ranchers. She needed a partner for a game, not lectures on the nobility of the common man. Especially from an man who had not seen hard labor in his life. Sure, he worked slaughtering them, but he never had to work a field or tend a herd. He got to spend his life protected by a community of mages who could do away with much of the hard labor in life. And it was not like a monk would have intimate familiarity with such things either. She had likely spent much of her life almost as cloistered as him. Monasteries and the like might keep gardens, but generally had better things to do than work the land. They had to work out the wills and ways of capricious entities beyond comprehension. They had prayers and rites to do. They could not waste time on silly things like making their own food.
He was proud to be able to give life back to such magnificent beasts. He was proud of the magics he could work, but materials were key. Those beasts and their bones were fitting materials for his magics. A master craftsman could make beautiful things out of tin or iron, but the ability to use gold and silver to truly allow ones work to shine was a privilege. The same went here. He could have animated any beasts, but these glorious things were what his magics deserved. They were the gold of bones. The top quality materials that allowed him to show off how great his magics were. Knowing how great they were was a reflection on how great what he had made of them was.
His excitement showed as he spoke. He was almost giddy. He loved getting to talk about his magics and the wonders of it. Even as a low level mage he was awesome in his own mind. The embarrassment marked the end of that excitement as well. He was cooling his own jets to not seem like a mad man and tried to turn the conversation towards something more constructive asking, "You said you were a monk. What sort of applicable skills does that bring? Riddles and games should be child's play for the keen minds that work out gods, but if you have any particular focuses or things to bring to bear we can work on a strategy."
He knew his own abilities and would inform her of them so that she could work on ideas too, but immediately launching into an explanation of his abilities after asking as to her abilities would be rude. You do not ask questions and proceed to yammer without giving the person a chance to answer.
The skin OTHERWORLD was made by JAWN of WICKED WONDERLAND.
WICKED site created by Hexx AKA Johnny, WICKED concepted credited to staff. The background image was created by Johnny.
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