Itelebobaal018 (Director's Cut)

[0xDEADCAFE]

Itelebobaal018 (Director's Cut)

This is a one-party story uploaded in multiple posts. It seems there is a length-limit to individual posts, or perhaps it's just that the internet is just too sluggish today to allow all of it to go in one posting. Either way, please keep reading from one post to the next. You can be sure that there is no dramatic reason for where the breaks are, as they will be wherever necessary to get the story posted.

(If the moderator would be so kind as to combine the multiple posts into one, my thanks in advance. In that event please delete this introductory post as well.)

[0xDEADCAFE]

“Cut! CUT!”

On the second level of the Worldstone Keep, a middle-aged man with a scraggly beard and disheveled hair spat these words with apparent dismay, hopped down from a tall, wooden, canvas chair imprinted with the word DIRECTOR, and, whimpering, proceeded to tear at his hair with both hands, producing a further dishevelment and a tense and worried aspect in his crew, each member of which suddenly became very busy or stood trembling, casting furtive glances at the undoing of their boss’s ‘do, as if it were a portent of subsequent, sinister events into which they would be irresistibly drawn.

After a minute or so of gradually diminishing hair-clawing and whimpering, the man with the, now, particularly wild coif sighed and walked slowly toward his alert and ready assistant, Hassan, asking: “So what happened this time?”

Hassan, looking over the rims of his milk-bottle glasses and under the bill of his wrinkled baseball cap, said: “Um, well, she started out pretty well, uh, got past the bone mages in the first turn here, made some quick teleports into the southeast corner, got into a bit of trouble with a pack of rat-men, but she pulled out, quaffed a potion or two and was just about to head up toward the eastern edge when she was cut down by a Pit Lord. A couple of quick strokes and it was over, sir. I really thought she had a chance that time too, sir.”

“I see. Alright. Well let’s go again, she’s bound to get it one of these times,” said the director, climbing slowly back into his slumping chair.

“Right, um, right away, sir, except the thing is, sir, um, she doesn’t want to go again,” said Hassan, scratching under the lip of his baseball cap with his pencil eraser and trying not to look his boss in the eye.

“She what?” said the director.

“The sorc’ is refusing to tele, sir,” said Hassan, trying hard to hide beneath his cap.

“Well she’s got to! Didn’t she make the game? What was it a called, 'Itele'-something-something, doesn’t that mean she has to go?” said the director.

“Um technically no, sir, it seems it’s rather common, you know, to make a game with the “Itele” prefix hoping to draw a full party with no real intention of tele-ing and hoping that someone else will come in and do it. Not quite kosher I know sir, but, well that’s the way it is.”

“And the bo part?”

“It’s much the same story sir.”

“Well, I suppose could talk to her. God! I hate the temperamental ones. Has she got any special clauses in her contract?”

“No sir.”

“Well thank Tyrael for small blessings at least. Oh, what’s her name?”

“Well, it’s written on the cast sheet as ‘XxPrins3SSL31axX’ but everyone seems to call her Princess Leia.”

“Princess is it? Alright, where is she?”

“Over there sir, right next to the waypoint, she’s the scantily clad beauty with the braided hair and bejeweled bellybutton.“

“Scantily clad? Why, why - she’s stark naked! Hey what’s she up to? You know I don’t make that kind of movie anymore!”

“No, course not sir, it’s just that her body is still back by that Pit Lord that slew her on the last take, and she won’t put anything else on, something about not being able to pick up her corpse in one piece.”

“Well how did she get it back after all the other takes? I don’t remember her looking like that on the last one and I think I’d remember something like that, you know, the bejeweled bellybutton and all.”

“Yes, well we hired a corpse retrieval unit, standard procedure, but apparently they’re only contracted to do sixteen a day, and we reached our limit. The crew packed up and left twenty minutes ago.”

“Well can’t someone else get it? Look there are lots of people just standing around. What about that kid with the clappy thing, he’s not doing anything.”

“Oh no, no, no, no-can-do sir, union rules are very specific about that sort of thing.”

“Union, eh?” The director sighed. “When did everything get so complicated? Making films used to be fun. I remember when me and a few mates would just grab our axes and an old camera and head out to the Bloody Foothills without a care in the world. We’d chop a few heads, save the odd barbarian or two, capture it all on film, oh! That was fun. Now it’s rules for this and rules for that, and the ‘No-demons-were-harmed-during-the-making-of-this-film’ committees all over us. Now I ask you, what’s wrong with harming a demon or two? It’s not like there endangered species.”

Hassan replied with a silent look.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, I know, time to talk to her highness!” said the director turning from Hassan and walking slowly toward the woman standing by the waypoint. She stood slightly hunched with her arms wrapped about her bare chest and shoulders, and seemed to be shivering. As he drew near he changed his face from a sour grimace to a smiling, almost dancing mask of winks and nods. “How I hate flattering the talent,” he thought.

“Hello! How are you, uh, Princess! All ready to start the next take are we?”

“N-n-not likely! I’ve h-h-had it. S-s-seventeen runs and I h-h-haven’t even s-seen the exit yet! And can s-someone g-get me my b-body please. It’s f-f-freezing in here!”

“Um, about that, it seems we’ve had some, er, labor problems. I’m afraid we can’t get your body this time.”

“Can’t get my b-body? What am I supposed to d-do, t-teleport out there like this? Do you know what my r-r-resistances are right now?”

“Well my dear, now you did put down ‘Itele’ in your application didn’t you? We don’t want to disappoint the party now do we? Beside I’m told that you are really quite the uber sorceress, everyone says so, I’m sure you can do it this time.”

“Uber sorc! Without my b-body? W-where have you b-been for the last seventeen r-runs. I’ve been chopped, stabbed, clawed, beaten, poisoned, half-eaten, I had a rat-man b-bite me in the b-butt a few runs ago! I don’t need this I tell you, it’s been hell, just a p-pure hell!”

“Now, now, my dear, now you know this isn’t hell. It’s only nightmare. And nightmare’s not so bad is it? Why I’ll bet once you’ve warmed up a bit you’ll feel much better. I’ll have someone get you a blanket and some hot chocolate, yes? Won’t that be nice?”

“No, don’t you get it, I haven’t even come close yet, even with my body. I’ve got no maphack.”

“Maphack?”

“I don’t know where I’m going; I’m teleporting in the dark. Can’t you do something?”

“Oh yes, maphack. I’m afraid the sponsors frown on that sort of thing, plus it’s not in the budget, nope, no maphack, I can’t help you there.”

“But I don’t know where the exit is and when I teleport past a corner half the time I materialize right in the middle of a boss-pack and if that’s not bad enough the lag is just awful. Like that Pit Lord killing me on the last run. One hit – no way! I had just drunk two super healing potions and was at full health. I had teleport pegged and the next thing you know I’m looking at the ‘you have died’ screen. As if the game isn’t hard enough by itself. Lag! It was all lag!”

“Ha ha ha. Now, now, my dear. Just this week I had a long conversation with the sponsors about this so-called lag. They assure me it’s only a myth invented by whiners and malcontents as an excuse for their poor game skills. I can assure you good lady, on the fine reputation of our fine sponsors, that the realms are absolutely, one-hundred percent lag free.”

“But I’m scared. I don’t want to die again. I’m sorry, I know I made the game and all, but I’m not even level 50 yet. I just wanted to leech a few levels, is that so wrong? Everybody does it! When I’m 70 or even upper sixties, I’ll start to tele, I promise!”

“Yes about that, I didn’t want to mention it but, as you just admitted, you did make the game and, well, there are certain contractual obligations, not that we would want to, of course, but we could force you to tele.”

“What are you going do, kill me? Look, I am sorry and all, but after getting killed seventeen times there’s really not much you can do to me. All my gold’s gone, my merc’s dead, my experience is at zero, I mean mister, what are you gonna do?”

“There is of course your CD Key.”

“W-w-wait a minute! Hold on!”

“I’m afraid so, I could get it banned it from the realms.”

“No! You can’t! My brother will kill me! It’s not mine I’m just borrowing it!”

“I’m sorry but if you leave me no alternative…”

‘Okay. OK! Fine, anything, just don’t kick my CD key. Man! But look, what’s the point? Even if I try I’m just going to get killed again – I’m totally lost out there.”

“Well…,” said the director looking around him a few times. Then he stepped closer to the sorceress and pulled out a map entitled Worldstone Keep Level Two. “I’m really not supposed to do this, but we do have cameras all over the level. Look, see the northwest corner? Teleport straight toward this area, then turn left at the boss pack of black souls, and…”

“Black souls? BLACK SOULS!! New game! NEW GAME!!” interrupted the sorceress with a look of sheer terror.

“Now enough of that! We’ve been through all this. We don’t have the time or budget for a new game, we’re all set up right here. It has to be this game and it has to be now.”

“Oh, god! Black souls! Whatever! FINE! But look you’ve got to do one thing for me. This path I’ll be taking, see, it goes past about a hundred rat-men.”

“So?”

‘”So? So they stink! Just eight of those disgusting things made me sick to my stomach on the last run. But a hundred! I’d feint dead away at a stench like that.”

“Oh really, I don’t think we can hold up production of a major motion picture like this for a little unpleasant odor, now can we?

“Unpleasant odor! Have you ever caught a whiff of one of these things?”

“Well no, I don’t think I have”

“I see. Well how’s it going to look if I lose my lunch all over your major motion picture? You know, blow chunks on camera? Spew during the close-up? You going to edit that out are you?”

“I see. Well, no promises, but I’ll see what I can do. In the meantime try to find a blanket and get warm, we’ll be starting again in a few minutes.”

The director turned and walked away from the still very cold sorceress hearing over his shoulder her pathetically muttering the words ‘black souls’ over and over and crying. “Really, what a fuss she’s making!” he thought.

Reaching Hassan the director stopped and said “Well that’s all settled. Guess I’ve still got a bit of the old magic left, ay?”

“Yes sir,” said Hassan.

“Oh, um, Hassan, can you do me a favor? I promised her that I’d do something about the rat-men, apparently they smell a bit.”

“Oh, you want Raynor the Rat-Man Wrangler, sir, not me. He’s your man”

“Who?”

“Raynor, sir”

“Raynor?”

“Yes, the Rat-Man Wrangler. He’s right over their, sir, the tall skinny fellow eating the corn dog. Excuse me sir, I’ll just run and get a hot chocolate for our sorceress.”

“Hmmm? Yes, alright. Raynor the Rat-Man Wrangler, eh?” The director walked over to the man with the corn dog and said. “Excuse me, I don’t think we’ve met. I’m the director of this little picture and I would like to ask you…”

“Oh I know you sir! Director, of course you are, everyone knows you. I’m Raynor, Raynor the Rat-Man Wrangler. How can I help you sir?”

“Ah, so you are, yes what I wanted to ask you…, say is that really a corn dog you’re eating?”

“Yes sir. Least I think so, that’s what the sign said in front of old Nihlithak’s place, ‘Corn Dogs – 1 gold piece’ I bought three of them, though I’m down to my last one here. They’re a little salty but tasty nonetheless!”

“But, do you suppose it’s a real corn-dog? Where would he get the hot dogs, or the corn for that matter?”

“Can’t really say sir. It’s a good question, but I learned a long time ago not to look too closely at local cuisine, if you catch my drift! What don’t kill Raynor, makes Raynor stronger – that’s my motto! But I know you didn’t come over here just to ask me about my corn dog did you sir?”

“No indeed. The matter is, well the sorcerces says, it seems that, well, it’s the Rat Men.”

“Yes sir?”

“Apparently they stink”

“So they do! So they do sir.”

“Well, do you suppose you could clean them up a bit, maybe bathe them or something?”

“No need to sir! See they’re very clean, kind of like cats. They lick themselves.”

“Lick themselves?”

“Yes sir, daily sir, and the are very thorough about. Plus they groom each other. It’s quite touching really. Normally they’re vicious, they are, quite vicious, but quite tender in their own way to one another when they’re grooming.”

“But they do smell?”

“Oh yes, stink to high heaven they do! Remarkable stink really.”

“How? If they’re so clean that is.”

“Oh that would be their breath sir. See a Rat-Man’s mouth is about fifty percent of their body by volume. So you see, a little halitosis goes a long way if you know what I mean. Plus there’s the matter of their diet.”

“Diet? You mean what you feed them?”

“Yes, very good sir. See they’ll eat almost anything. So I figured, why waste good food on them? I mean with the budgetary constraints and all. If they’ll eat anything - why not feed them anything!”

“So what do you feed them?”

“Well, anything sir, anything we happened to have laying around. Garbage mostly, old items, the odd corpse, whatever. It’s really quite economical sir, not only do we save a nice pile of gold on regular monster food, but we saves the tab for hauling garbage too. Not that the ‘No-demons-were-harmed-during-the-making-of-this-film’ would be too pleased if they found out. We can keep this our little secret I’m sure, can’t we sir.”

“Of course, of course, your secret is safe with me. But, uh, getting back to the smell, can’t you do something about their breath?”

“If you mean like brushing their teeth, well, no sir. Believe you me, you don’t want to be puttin’ nothing near a Rat-Man’s mouth that you want to be keeping. And that goes double for your hands!”

“Well have you tried breath mints?”

“Breath mints? I hadn’t thought of that sir. You know, that might work! Old Malah had a big bowl of complimentary ’Diablo II – The Movie’ peppermints in front of her shop this morning. I could lob a few handfuls of those at them if you think it would help.”

“Please.”

“For you sir, absolutely! Consider it done.”

“Thank you, Raynor.”\

“No, thank you sir, it is my pleasure to be of service. By the way, would you like me to pick you up one of them corn dogs on my way back in?”

“Oh, that’s very kind of you Raynor, but no, please, I mean, uh, I’ve already eaten today, but thank you.”

“No problem sir, good-day.”

The director squelched a gag reflex and walked quickly back to his chair where Hassan was just returning from his own errands.

“Alright then Hassan,” said the director, slapping his assistant lightly on the back “let’s do this!”

Hassan nodded, walked over to the waypoint and spoke to the crew through a bullhorn. “Places everybody! We’re ready for the next take.”

The bored-looking boy with the clappy thing began to rub at the clappy thing with his sleeve. Then he wrote ‘18’ on it with a piece of chalk, walked over to the camera, held it up and said “I tele bo Baal take 18.” CLAP!

The director climbed into his chair and yelled “Action!”

The sorceress took off her blanket and stood naked on the waypoint. Her ivory flesh reflected the eerie light of the Worldstone Keep and in her eyes shone the glint of fiery determination. She stood motionless for a few moments then turned and whispered inaudibly to the proud barbarian standing a few feet to her side. The barbarian stood silent and unmoving. After a few more moments the sorceress again turned to the barbarian and spoke, this time loudly enough for everyone to hear, “Bo me!”

But the sinewy and silent barbarian just leaned on his two-hand maul scowled under his winged helm.

“I said bo me you idiot!” said the sorceress again to the barbarian, this time screaming.

The towering barbarian looked down his nose at the bare sorceress and said “Hussy! I should report you to the board of indecent gaming. Why, I never!”

“CUT!” yelled the director, jumping down from his rickety chair. “HASSAN! “Hassan what’s wrong? Why isn’t she tele-ing?”

Hassan ran over to the waypoint and after quick conversations with the sorceress and barbarian, returned to give his report. “The barb is refusing to bo as long as the sorc’ has no clothes on. He says he doesn’t do that kind of movie anymore.”

“Doesn’t do that kind of movie anymore?” said the director, squinting at the figure of the tall barbarian on the other side of the room. Thinking to himself: “I thought he looked familiar. I remember him now - the bleach-blonde barb with tattoo on his – shoot, I hope he doesn’t recognize me!” Then he said to Hassan: “But did you explain about the sorc’s body, the corpse retrieval unit, union rules, and all that?”

Hassan nodded.

“I suppose I should talk to him?”

Hassan nodded again.

[0xDEADCAFE]

“Tyrael give me strength,” said the director quietly to himself. He took a few steps towards the two actors standing with their backs to one another, then he stopped, turned around and opened his mouth to ask Hassan a question, but before he could speak Hassan said “Bjorne.”

The director nodded a silent thank-you and then resumed his short walk over to the scowling barbarian. The whole time he kept thinking “I hope he doesn’t recognize me!” and as he got closer put his hand up to scratch a fake itch on his forehead and let his hand linger there to hide his face.”

“Bjorne! Bjorne my good lad, how are you? Ready to bo are we?”

“I’m not working with that trollop. The nerve! What does she mean prancing about that like that? I for one don’t do that kind of movie anymore,” said Bjorne.

“That kind of movie! Ha, ha! Bjorne, you’re quite a kidder aren’t you!” said the director as his face face reddened under his hiding hand. “I can assure you this is an entirely respectable outfit. You know the sponsors would never allow anything unwholesome or offensive on the realms. Why, the whole place is filtered and monitored constantly!”

The barbarian was entirely unimpressed. “Respectable? So how come no one has any lines? Most of the movies I’ve seen where the actors don’t have lines aren’t entirely respectable.”

“Really? Well I’m sure I have no idea what you talking about!”

“Don’t you? How long have you been a director anyway? Say, don’t I know you?”

“No! No, I’m sure we’ve never met before.” said the director turning away and trying to find an even more concealing itch to scratch.

“I’m sure we have. Didn’t I do a film for you? What was it called, ‘Debbie does Duriel’?”

“No, no, no – I tell you you’re mistaken. I’ve never even heard of that one!”

“No? Well what about ‘Diablo’s Delight’ and ‘Randy Andy Goes to Hell’. I could swear it was you.”

“Ha! Ha, you’re really quite a kidder! Not me! No, no, no, not I!

“Hmmm. I suppose I could be confusing you with someone else. Do you have a twin brother by chance?”

“No, afraid not.”

“I see. Well, anyway, I’m tired of this noob sorceress. I don’t think she could teleport herself out of a phone booth much less across a whole level. What is this, like, twenty runs now?”

“Seventeen,” answered the director.

“Seventeen! I could have walked the whole act by now, or been to Baal and back half a dozen times. Look, if you want some good action let me go. I’ll show you some real Baal running! See these biceps! HRAAGH! Those Pit Lords won’t know what hit them!”

“Oh, I’m sure you’d make a splendid hero, Bjorne, in fact I’ve got some very exciting, er, uh, opportunities that I’d like to discuss with you after the shoot, but, see, the thing is the script quite specifically calls for a sorceress to do the tele, although the barbarian role is a very, very important part of the script. Why, it’s your bo that makes is all possible, you see? Without you the run would be a complete flop!”

“But that’s all I do. It’s ‘Action!’, bo, sorc’ tele’s, sorc’ gets killed. Do I even appear on camera?”

“Well, no, not exactly, but your bo is quite visible.”

“See that’s what I mean, I’m tired of being treated like an extra. No. I won’t do it unless I get a line,” said the steely warrior looking quite adamant.

“Look, Bjorne, I’d love to give you a line but that’s really not up to me. You see the Writer’s Guild is very powerful and I’m afraid the writer has complete creative control on this film.”

“Does he? Point him out, I’ll show him some creative control.” Bjorn said fingering his gigantic maul.

“No, no, wait, I suppose I could talk to him. Why don’t you wait here, I’ll see what I can do.”

“Fine. But remember, no line, no bo.”

“I’ll remember.”

The director walked back over to Hassan and asked him where he could find the screenwriter.

Hassan said: “Actually, I don’t see him right now, but he might be in the back near the caterers. Some of the girls complained he’s been hanging around,trying to hit on them between takes.”

“Well of course,” replied the director “you now writers, they’re all a bunch of perverts!” And he walked off in search of the writer. As we walked he asked people where he could find the writer but they just kept pointing further and further into the level. He had crossed the bridge and was almost at the first pack of bone mages when he recognized the voice of the screen writer coming from around the corner.

“Oh baby, that outfit is hot. Yeah, baby, you’re dynamite. You definitely rock my worldstone if you know what I mean!”

As the director rounded the corner he saw the writer leaning lazily against a wall talking to Stygian Witch hovering a few feet away and a few inches off the ground. She looked hungry. Quickly the director grabbed the writer by the arm and offering a polite “Excuse Me!” to the fatally feminine demoness dragged the protesting writer back towards the rest of the crew.

At this the writer protested: “Leggo! Do you mind? I had something going there. Did you see the look in her eyes, I’m sure she liked me. Look, I’ll bet if we asked her nicely she’d be able to find a friend for you!”

“Are you out of your mind! Liked you! She’d have liked to eat you is what she’d have liked,” said the director still dragging.

A lecherous grin crossed the writer’s face. He winked and said: “Well, whatever baby, when in Rome do as the Romans do is what I always say!”

Upon reaching a safe distance the director unhanded the writer and took a moment to catch his breath. The writer half-stood, half-stumbled, seemingly not at all sure of his balance and held his right hand behind his back as if hiding something.

“Now see here, you can’t just go wandering around with demons about, you must know there are safety precautions that all employees are…,” suddenly the director broke off his impromptu lecture, leaned forward and sniffed the air about the writers face.

“Have you been drinking?” queried the director.

At this the writer smiled sleepily and from behind his back produced a large glass vial filled with a dense lavender liquid. “Well, now that you mention it sir, yes I have, and since you mentioned it, I don’t mind if I do,” he said taking a long draught from the bottle.

“Not the props, you haven’t been drinking the props have you! They’re expensive as anything!”

”Not to worry, shir, not to worry, thish here bottle is from my very own pershonal stash,” slurred the writer, holding up the bottle and tapping it lightly with his finger. “I purchased it myself just this very morning from a lovely young thing in the village.”

“I see. Well it’s still improper to be drinking on the job, besides do you even know what’s in that stuff? I don’t know anyone who drinks it!”

“Oh I know – tastes awful! But it tingles going down...,” said the writer smiling broadly and hiccupping. “And it makes me feel all warm, and, kinda’ groo-oovy,” he said taking another long slosh, wiping his mouth on his sleeve and staggering in a small circle about the director.

“Oh stand still, and give me that!” said the director grabbing at the bottle which the writer deftly pulled out of reach.

“Get yer own. Thish ish mine!” slurred the obviously inebriated writer.

“Oh! This is pointless. Look, don’t wander off! In fact, come over here and sit down. Here’s a nice comfortable chair for you, come on, there’s a nice writer.”

While the director spoke the writer continued to take sips from the bottle which now appeared almost empty. The writer began to look very sleepy and said “Okee-dokee.”

The director got the nearly dozing writer off his feet and finally managed to grab the bottle. “What a day!” he said to himself. “It’s not bad enough I’ve got idiot actors, I’ve also got a drunkard screen writer to deal with. Writers! Oh my aching head. Well at least I know I feel better than he will when he wakes up.”

Walking back to the barbarian the director rubbed his aching temples. He had completely forgotten his promise to secure a line for the barbarian, in fact forgotten his whole conversation with him. When he got to the barbarian he just continued to rub his aching head and stood in front of him, not saying a word. Finally, the barbarian said “Well?”

“Well what?” the director wondered aloud.

“My line?”

“Your line? Your line!” suddenly it all came flooding back to the director like a wave of seasickness on an endless voyage. “Your line, um, well, yes, the writer was, um, very inspired, yes, that ‘s what he was inspired!”

“By what?”

“Well, by your professionalism, yes, when I told him of your dedication to the craft of acting, of your insistence to have a line, well, he was most inspired, yes indeed.”

“Inspired.”

“Yes!”

“So what is it?”

“What?”

“My line!”

“The line! Yes, yes, the line. The line is, um, ‘I’, er ‘Bjorn of, of, of, Barbaria,”, uh, ‘do’, ‘do’…”

“Do what?”

“Bo thee!”

“Your joking?”

“No, no, that’s the line. Isn’t it great? Oh, how I wish I was in your boots with a great line like that!” said the director with all the bouncy, winking, convincing smiling he could muster, but even he wasn’t convinced.

The barbarian sighed heavily and said. “To think I gave up a part in King Lear for this.”

The director just stood there doing his best to keep the completely false smile from falling completely off his face.

With another heavy sigh the barbarian said. “Fine. I know someday I’ll regret this, but what’s my motivation?”

“Motivation?”

“For the line, my character has got to be motivated to say the line or he wouldn’t say it would he?”

“Motivation, yes, yes, well he’s Bjorn of Barbaria isn’t he?”

“So? And by the way how did the writer know my name was Bjorn? I don’t remember being introduced.”

“I told him! I told him all about you which was why he was so very pleased to come up with this line. And when I told him your name was Bjorn, well he said that was just perfect, and came up with the line right away!”

“I see. And my motivation?”

“Your motivation, well you are the powerful, no, the great, yes the great Bjorn of Barbaria, famous, yes very famous for your very, um, famous battle orders and commands. Why whole legions of sorceresses and druids and paladins, etcetera, flock to your side just for the inspiring, and very famous, battle orders, before rushing into battle!”

“Hmmm, that’s not too bad. But what am I doing in this place? What brings me to this waypoint and why would I want to bo this noob sorceress?”

“Well in the story she’s a not a noob at all, but a high-level hard-core princess! In fact she’s the beloved princess of the barbarian tribes ravaged by Baal, the Lord of Destruction, on whom she has sworn an oath of vengeance, on her own life and the lives of all barbarians everywhere.” The director started to get the feeling that the barbarian was buying his story, so he continued with even more emphasis. “And, and, and knowing that she would come here personally to risk her life for this sacred quest, your many devoted followers beseeched you to come here and fill her with the divine spirit of barbarians everywhere, to send her hurtling off towards the hated demon lord, driven by all the fury and spirit of the unconquerable barbarian horde!”

“Yes! I can see it! I’ll do it! said the barbarian.

Even the still-shivering sorceress had turned around to watchthe director’s performance and she gave an admiring nod as he walked by her on his way back to the director’s station. “G-g-good show!“ she said approvingly.

Hassan too stopped the director to pay his compliments.

The director smiled in earnest now, very relieved and not just a little impressed with his own fabrications. With his head full of thoughts like “this old dog’s got a few tricks left,” he didn’t notice until he had almost started to sit down that there was an enormous Pit Lord sitting in, or rather perching on, his directorial throne.

“Hassan! HASSAN!”

“Yes sir!” said Hassan running quickly over to the director.

“What’s this thing doing in my chair!”

“Oh, I am sorry sir. It’s just the crew’s pet Pit Lord, sir. He’s quite harmless. They found him during one of the company picnics smelling flowers and drawing pictures in the sand with his horns. One of the crew threw some corn dogs to him and then he followed them back to camp. It turns out he’s handy for putting up the lights so they keep him around.”

“Get him out of my chair!” the director bellowed, and as he did the throbbing in his temples returned.

“Right away sir. Here boy, come on Frazier, that’s a good boy.” Hassan took the monster by his huge olive-green claw and gently pulled him down from the chair. As the muscle-bound monster stepped down, the spindly wooden chair creaked miserably, let out a few pops and pings, and one sharp cracking sound.

The director stepped forward and examined his chair. The canvas seat had a long gash in it, the left arm rest was badly clawed, it no longer appeared to be quite level. Though it gave all the outward signs of a carriage unsafe at any speed, the undaunted and undefeated director climbed bravely up into it, his seat of authority, with all the stoic serenity and faithful determination of a caption going down with his ship. Which is just what he did.”

No sooner had the director managed to load his entire weight into the chair when he with a loud crack the chair collapsed sending him crashing down on the floor of the Worldstone Keep. The director came down hard, cracking his elbow and banging his knees, and, splintered and bruised, reeled from the pain of his aching joints, the combined pain of which made him forget all about his migraine headache.

At the sound of the crash Hassan and a small crowd of actors and crew came running over.

“Sir! Sir are you alright?” cried Hassan.

“Yes Hassan, I’m okay, I just need a moment,” whispered the director.

“Can I help you up sir?”

“No, no, just let me be for now. I think if I just lay here a little while I’ll be fine. Tell everyone to take five.”

“Yes sir. Take five everyone! Everything’s alright, nothing to see, back to your stations please,” said Hassan loudly to the spontaneous crowd. Then came back over to where the director lay and gently tugged on his arm saying “Now sir I really think you should try to get up. No use laying around is there?”

“Oh leave me be. I just need a few minutes. I hadn’t realized how tired I was until now, please, just give me a moment.”

“Really sir, you know it’s not a good idea to stay in one place for too long. This is the Worldstone Keep after all, and you know how Baal is.”

“Oh, what are you talking about Hassan? Baal is under contract just like the rest of us. What’s he going to do if I take a few minutes to recover?”

“But sir, you know how temperamental he is, and he really is quite stubborn about this sir.”

“Oh Baal be damned! Now go away and stop tugging on my arm. I’ll get up when I am good and ready!”

“But sir …”

“HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA!” boomed Baal’s unearthly voice and slowly a green cloud began to envelope the director. Immediately Hassan jumped away from the director who, with his eyes closed, didn’t notice the cloud at first, especially as Baal’s booming voice made his headache once again the dominant pain in his body. But after a few seconds he began to notice something was different.

“Ugh! What is that smell!,” the director cried opening his eyes. “Oh no! Oh my god, the stench! Help me up, help me up, my eyes are burning! I can’t breath!”

But for once Hassan made no move to help his ailing director.

Somehow the director managed to get to his feet and exit the rancid yellowish green cloud. He emerged into the unfouled air coughing and madder than a swarm of hornets.

“What did they serve for lunch today!,” the director screamed at his assistant still keeping his distance.

“I think it was rice and beans sir.”

“I told the caterers no Mexican food on Baal runs! Ugh, I think I can smell the hot peppers; oh they’ll pay for this! Oh! This smell is unbelievable, my eyes are still watering! I’ll have to burn these clothes!”

One of the crew who was still hanging around remarked that he thought the clothes might burn for quite a while, which was greeted by muted giggles and smirks from the other crew members.

The director heard the giggles and his tempered flared even more. Shouting, he said “Alright, that does it. I’ll get this scene if it’s the last thing I do. PLACES! Places everyone! I know it’s been a long day but as soon as we get this done we can all go home. Now you know what to do. Everyone get ready!”

The director turned back to Hassan and said “Look I don’t want to take any chances on this so turn the sound recorders off, run video only. Got that? We can do voiceover later if need be - by the way I heard that Larzuk character works cheap.”

Hassan nodded his assent but asked: “Is that really necessary sir, according to the script no one’s got any lines to mess up and if we don’t record audio we’ll definitely have to add sound effects later, which, as you know sir, cost quite a .. “

“No time to argue Hassan we’ve got a film to make,” interrupted the director.

“Yes sir’ said Hassan with a slightly suspicious look on his face “sound recorders off.”

Speaking to the whole crew again the director said. “Alright this is it. You there, boy! Do the clappy thing.”

The boy with the clappy thing held it up and said “I tele bo Baal, take 18”. CLAP!

The director shouted, “ACTION.”

The barbarian stepped forward and spoke, “I, King Beyourn-ya, Leige of the Mighty Barbarian Tribes, do bo thee for kin and country. Hork! Hoork! HOOORK!”

Flipping through the pages of the script Hassan whispered to the director “Sir, I don’t remember that line and I can’t find it in the script. Sir, you know how the screen writer’s guild is about this sort of thing,” and one eyebrow rising in suspicion began to ask “Did you authorize …”

Again the director interrupted “Shhh. He must have ad-libbed it, Watch!”

The statuesque young sorceress stood for a moment, her pale and smooth skin shining in the glow of the barbarian aura, then waving her arms dramatically, vanished in a shower of sparks and crackles.

Immediately the director and Hassan walked over the monitor to watch the sorceress as the automatic cameras tracked her progress. Hassan said: “Look at her go, sir! She’s headed straight for the exit to level three,” Hassan paused for a moment during which time his other eyebrow raised itself slowly, “I wonder how she knows where to go this time. Sir did you …”

“Oh pipe down Hassan. Watch. See! I told you this would be the take! I knew she could make it this time! Look, she’s almost reached the boss-pack of Black Souls.”

“Black souls sir?” said Hassan worrying his eyebrows to new heights.

Then as the two filmmakers watched helplessly, the monitor flared with the intense and eerie light of twelve streaks of lightening surging across the screen from somewhere off-camera, neatly intersecting the silhouetted figure of the frantically teleporting sorceress, and leaving a smoldering pile of ashes at the terminus of her last teleport.

At the same instant that the formerly shivering sorceress permanently lost her chill, two screams were heard: one, from the speaker next to the glowing monitor, the electric rage of hellish lightening, the other, from the middle-aged man standing in front of the monitor, hands planted firmly in the unfortunate locks of his disheveled hair, a blood-curdling wail like a Stygian Witch lamenting her insatiable hunger.

“CUUUUUUUT!!”

[0xDEADCAFE]

End of story.

Feedback is Welcomed! :howdy:

[raphiel20]

Excellent great story. :thumbsup: kepp up the good work ;)

l8rz :howdy:

raph

[Christmas]

Nice and funny and remind me of those funny moments of my Baal runs. I look forward for part 2 if there is one.

[sdgeffre32]

yes plz do part 2 i usually dont read the storys bu t i read this and it was great part plz

[0xDEADCAFE]

I really haven't been thinking about a sequel, but who knows, maybe someday...

Thanks for the kind words. :thanks:

[Banehero]

excellent it had me laughing for ages, good work (wouldn't, mind seeing more of it) :lol:

[Relapse_]

Haha this one is hilarious. Normally I don't read DII fan fictions -all- the way through (I personally think the setting is a bit exhausted), but try anyway so as not to be rude in expecting people to read my stuff.

But this one I'm gonna read all the way through. When I get around to it. I really like the concept and the witty satire. However, I cant sit on a chair and read for too long because of my back problem :(

From an editing standpoint, the first paragraph seemed to have many opertunities for you to add in periods and fragment things into sentances. After all, everyone likes pauses when they read- makes things easier to remember, and isolates the good metaphors, similies, dialogues or whatever. Sort of like shining a spotlight on your work.

The trick is to not fragment the sentances into... sentance fragments! At least for the most part. I haven't yet written something where Word hasn't highlighted a few sentance fragments here and there. The trick is to isolate these fragments so they don't occur over and over again in the same paragraph. Just keep them sparse and colourful so nobody notices.

So, in synopsis, more periods are needed. ;) When you started slicing the paragraphs up, though, it got better. But that's mainly because they weren't chunks, but slices.

A+

[Mikedn]

Wow man, great work. I don't usually read all of the stories in the Fan Fiction forum, but this one kept me going. Great story, and I would love to see another from you.

[0xDEADCAFE]

So, in synopsis, more periods are needed.

.................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. .................................................. ............

Is that enough? :evil:

[Disco-neck Ted]

Don't be quick to dismiss the advice to punctuate your first few paragraphs into more sentences. The "breathless" nature of the opening on this piece led to a quick exit-and-forget-it on my part. It can work in dialogue, if not done to excess, but in narration should be kept to a minimum. Very tiring (note: not "tiresome"- don't mean to be offensive here).

Only passing curiosity over what the hell "bo" meant eventually tuned me back in to read the rest, but in the final analysis, that turned out to be a good thing since the tale was amusing over all. Interesting and imaginative.

Also, learn to use the verbs "lie" and "lay" correctly. I'm not kidding.

[0xDEADCAFE]

Don't be quick to dismiss the advice to punctuate your first few paragraphs into more sentences.
I don't dismiss it. I'm just not sure what to do about it. Its good criticism, my writing does tend toward wordiness and long sentences, I can understand how it might turn-off some readers, but I'm not ready to change yet.

I get real enjoyment from crafting breatheless opening paragraphs like the one in this story, and I still enjoy going back and reading it. Of course, I'm not my audience. If I could I would give the world the advice I gave my daughter when she complained to me about how difficult Great Expectations was to read. Slow down. But of course I can't.

Now I realize that I probably sound like an amateurish, noob, beginning writer. Well, I am. I read once that before you write anything really good you will have to write a lot of crap first. So I am in my crappy phase right now. Hopefully by being open to criticism I can gradually reduce the crap content over time. I guess my flippant reply was a way of avoiding the issue for now, but it's officially in the vault.



Only passing curiosity over what the hell "bo" meant eventually tuned me back in to read the rest
(Note to self: include obscure jargon to pique reader interest.) :lol:



Also, learn to use the verbs "lie" and "lay" correctly.
Good call, but that could take some doing! For the benefit of all, this usage note from www.dictionary.com (http://www.dictionary.com):

Usage Note: Lay (“to put, place, or prepare”) and lie (“to recline or be situated”) have been confused for centuries; evidence exists that lay has been used to mean “lie” since the 1300s. Why? First, there are two lays. One is the base form of the verb lay, and the other is the past tense of lie. Second, lay was once used with a reflexive pronoun to mean “lie” and survives in the familiar line from the child's prayer Now I lay me down to sleep; lay me down is easily shortened to lay down. Third, lay down, as in She lay down on the sofa sounds the same as laid down, as in I laid down the law to the kids. ·Lay and lie are most easily distinguished by usage. Lay is a transitive verb and takes a direct object. Lay and its principal parts (laid, laying) are correctly used in the following examples: He laid (not lay) the newspaper on the table. The table was laid for four. Lie is an intransitive verb and cannot take an object. Lie and its principal parts (lay, lain, lying) are correctly used in the following examples: She often lies (not lays) down after lunch. When I lay (not laid) down, I fell asleep. The rubbish had lain (not laid) there a week. I was lying (not laying) in bed when he called. ·There are a few exceptions to these rules. The phrasal verb lay for and the nautical use of lay, as in lay at anchor, though intransitive, are standard.



Thanks for the criticism. :howdy:

[neoplatonic]

I'm just not sure what to do about it

Go ahead and try adding the periods.

Also be sure that breathlessness is the effect you do want to achieve. For some, the word might suggest a jarring, halting, vocal pattern, as one speaks, catches breath, speaks again. Excuse me, I’m sort of out of breath here; just a moment, please. Almost there. Hang on. Thanks. What? On the other hand, a flowing, rambling pattern might be one marked by endless clauses, added one after the other, as the wily speaker--or writer as it may turn out--delivers one idea, but then sort of decides that there’s another brilliance to add, and just keeps going because there’s so much to say, and the ready receiver of course is just a cheap yellow store-bought sponge (you know, the kind with the raspy green side that always wears out after two weeks) out there anticipating every little drop of creativity the world has to offer. So fill ‘em up! don't stop keep going!

These are my own interpretations, natürlich. My main point is to use punctuation and word selection together to achieve better results!

PS. Hi, DnT!

[0xDEADCAFE]

Yeah, breatheless was the wrong choice of words. That's not what draws me to paragraph-long sentences nor is it the effect I am trying to achieve. I'm not sure what it is exactly. I know that I greatly admire the writing of authors like Dickens and Faulkner, whose writing is chock-full of highly satisfying long sentences. Maybe I am just trying to capture in my own work the feeling I've gotten from reading some of their best passages.

But there are least two problems with this attitude: one, I am not a genius; two, fan fiction might not be quite the right genre in which to attempt literary greatness in the classic sense. Since I am basically writing for enjoyment, my own and that of my readers, I should really focus on developing a style that is enjoyable to read.

In any case I've made an effort to use more periods in my latest effort, parts of which I have recently posted. If anyone gets a chance to read it I would appreciate some feedback on how I am doing with my more-periods initiative.

[jagermeister]

dead, you accomplished your goal....a very enjoyable read. Your writing style would seemingly cross genre's very well.