- Messages
- 26
Most folks of the realm do their utmost to respect the Wylds, treading carefully and travelling with reverence to ancient formations of foliage and root. Some go further to preserve them, encouraging growth, tending to the animals and trees, ensuring all might enjoy the beauty of the dense woodland.
But for every well meaning druid and knight who tended the needs of the trees and beast, there were those who sought to harvest them for their own gain and profit, lumbering the wood much to the disapproval and direct action of the Knights of Anathaeum. These needs could be understood and negotiated with, fought at times, dissuaded and thought of as irritants to the harmony of the Wylds.
Then, there was Kazaban, who at this very moment loomed within a wicker basket, his hands uncorking miniature bottles of wine with withered fingers as the hot air balloon floated over the thick wood. The balloon itself was unmistakably his, his robes the same colour as the sphere that held him aloft.
That and his own face was adorning the balloon, a rictus grin and wild electric eyes looking down at any who might peer through the canopy of the woods.
“First we drink the components, digest them for a moment, and then, then!” Kazaban screeched to himself as he moved wildly from bottle to bottle as he remembered the exact order to which they must be consumed. He turned on the spot, his hands drawn out and wide, as if he was to reach for a knife as he heard something in his own imagination from his companion at this point, a mask which had a peacock feather within a crown, and empty wild eyes that looked as devilish as Kazaban at this point.
“Yes I know that we paid too much for these things! But that witch had the hots for me, I tell you, when I tell return to her little shack I'll tell her all about what I used these components for and we'll laugh and laugh and laugh! You'll see! Now, let me finish these scrumptious things, and then we get to work!”
The mask remained dubious of Kazaban's ability to woo anyone.
Kazaban sank bottle after bottle, and gathered the glass remnants in a messy pile by his feet. As he moved the basket rocked, and the mask pitched from side to side as if it were cocking it's head at the scheme in action.
“First, first!” Kazaban declared, and gripped a miniature bottle in his hand, and then beltched loudly as the components curdled in his stomach, never designed to be mixed in such rapid succession within a cauldron, let alone the human body. He swayed a little, dizzy. He proceeded to put on some purple tinted glasses, which only made his visage all the more garish.
“First!” Kazaban declared again, and lobbed the bottle from his vantage point. The minature bottle arced and span from a perfect punt at nothing.
“Target practice!”
Kazaban extended his fingers out and focused in on the bottle which was sinking towards the canopy at rapid pace and lashed out with an arc of azure lightning which further blackened his nails with each gout of power that he commanded.
The bottle smashed into tiny shards, providing a small rainfall of glass down on the wood.
Kazaban threw the rest of them in a great bundle in his arms, much less throwing them as just blatantly littering. His hands spread out, and a gout of white fire and purple lightning streaked out, lashing the glass and licking the canopy as it spiralled out of Kazaban's control as the components took hold.
“Wow! Ha ha! That biddy was right, these are good for the mana source! Right, now, now the next part of my scheme! I have despoiled the forest! And, uh, seems like some of it is aflame now! A bonus! Now, witness the might of Kazaban The Great, no, Kazaban the Mighty, yes, that'll do for today.”
Yet the curdling of components made him reach for his stomach, a roiling ache that made his eyes water, yet it was confirmation that the alchemy was taking hold.
He outstretched his fingers once more, and provided an all together different kind of spell. Ten tendrils of neon green snapped out towards the largest and oldest of the trees, and from Kazaban did a transfiguring spell work it's magic, warping and shifting and bending the trees. They began to grow taller and thinner for his efforts, and soon, his work began to take form. A nose began to creak into the features of each of the tree, then the mouth, in the same rictus smile as was adorned upon the balloon, then the eyes.
“My glorious face shall look down upon your wood and spit curses for you to enjoy! See how you like that, Fools of Anathaeum!”
He laughed raucously, disconnected the tendrils of magic that had transfigured the ten mighty trees that now stood as statues to Kazaban's own resemblance, and then proceeded to vomit over the side of the basket. His glasses fell down, and was splashed by the corrosive offerings, dissipating into nothingness.
All the while those new transfigured trees began to laugh in his own style, booming out, scaring animal and traveller alike, as Kazaban puked out some of the components, a myriad of colours, each convulsion matched with a raucous laugh that would not abate from both now cursed tree and balloon.
But for every well meaning druid and knight who tended the needs of the trees and beast, there were those who sought to harvest them for their own gain and profit, lumbering the wood much to the disapproval and direct action of the Knights of Anathaeum. These needs could be understood and negotiated with, fought at times, dissuaded and thought of as irritants to the harmony of the Wylds.
Then, there was Kazaban, who at this very moment loomed within a wicker basket, his hands uncorking miniature bottles of wine with withered fingers as the hot air balloon floated over the thick wood. The balloon itself was unmistakably his, his robes the same colour as the sphere that held him aloft.
That and his own face was adorning the balloon, a rictus grin and wild electric eyes looking down at any who might peer through the canopy of the woods.
“First we drink the components, digest them for a moment, and then, then!” Kazaban screeched to himself as he moved wildly from bottle to bottle as he remembered the exact order to which they must be consumed. He turned on the spot, his hands drawn out and wide, as if he was to reach for a knife as he heard something in his own imagination from his companion at this point, a mask which had a peacock feather within a crown, and empty wild eyes that looked as devilish as Kazaban at this point.
“Yes I know that we paid too much for these things! But that witch had the hots for me, I tell you, when I tell return to her little shack I'll tell her all about what I used these components for and we'll laugh and laugh and laugh! You'll see! Now, let me finish these scrumptious things, and then we get to work!”
The mask remained dubious of Kazaban's ability to woo anyone.
Kazaban sank bottle after bottle, and gathered the glass remnants in a messy pile by his feet. As he moved the basket rocked, and the mask pitched from side to side as if it were cocking it's head at the scheme in action.
“First, first!” Kazaban declared, and gripped a miniature bottle in his hand, and then beltched loudly as the components curdled in his stomach, never designed to be mixed in such rapid succession within a cauldron, let alone the human body. He swayed a little, dizzy. He proceeded to put on some purple tinted glasses, which only made his visage all the more garish.
“First!” Kazaban declared again, and lobbed the bottle from his vantage point. The minature bottle arced and span from a perfect punt at nothing.
“Target practice!”
Kazaban extended his fingers out and focused in on the bottle which was sinking towards the canopy at rapid pace and lashed out with an arc of azure lightning which further blackened his nails with each gout of power that he commanded.
The bottle smashed into tiny shards, providing a small rainfall of glass down on the wood.
Kazaban threw the rest of them in a great bundle in his arms, much less throwing them as just blatantly littering. His hands spread out, and a gout of white fire and purple lightning streaked out, lashing the glass and licking the canopy as it spiralled out of Kazaban's control as the components took hold.
“Wow! Ha ha! That biddy was right, these are good for the mana source! Right, now, now the next part of my scheme! I have despoiled the forest! And, uh, seems like some of it is aflame now! A bonus! Now, witness the might of Kazaban The Great, no, Kazaban the Mighty, yes, that'll do for today.”
Yet the curdling of components made him reach for his stomach, a roiling ache that made his eyes water, yet it was confirmation that the alchemy was taking hold.
He outstretched his fingers once more, and provided an all together different kind of spell. Ten tendrils of neon green snapped out towards the largest and oldest of the trees, and from Kazaban did a transfiguring spell work it's magic, warping and shifting and bending the trees. They began to grow taller and thinner for his efforts, and soon, his work began to take form. A nose began to creak into the features of each of the tree, then the mouth, in the same rictus smile as was adorned upon the balloon, then the eyes.
“My glorious face shall look down upon your wood and spit curses for you to enjoy! See how you like that, Fools of Anathaeum!”
He laughed raucously, disconnected the tendrils of magic that had transfigured the ten mighty trees that now stood as statues to Kazaban's own resemblance, and then proceeded to vomit over the side of the basket. His glasses fell down, and was splashed by the corrosive offerings, dissipating into nothingness.
All the while those new transfigured trees began to laugh in his own style, booming out, scaring animal and traveller alike, as Kazaban puked out some of the components, a myriad of colours, each convulsion matched with a raucous laugh that would not abate from both now cursed tree and balloon.