Dragon story redux

This is the actual first chapter of the dragon story. It's still only like half as long as a real chapter, but If I made them all actual chapter length then my story would be a depressingly short two and a half chapters, so I decided to delude myself into thinking it's longer by making them each about ten pages. Anyway, this is mostly stuff you've already read, but that was a long time ago and I've added descriptive passages and quite a bit of dialogue - all in all, fully a page of new material - and I also replaced several sections I didn't like or found akward. This comprises the first 6 or 7 old chapters.

Prologue

Where does a story begin? Aside from the creation narrative in the Bible, no story really starts where the narrative does - they tend to have at least a little background. Even if a story begins with the birth of the main character, there are still older characters whose early life and background will be alluded to, and thus an earlier part of the story remains untold. My story begins more than ten thousand years before I was born - but I'm a little sketchy on the details of that part. So I'm going to start at the earliest part where I can have some degree of accuracy, about a hundred and seventy years ago.
In 1856 in the town of Riverview, Indiana, population two hundred some, a stranger showed up. His name was Skyler Woods Brimmer. Skyler had no parents, and no family history to speak of - he said he was found by his mother on her doorstep when he was a baby. The woman who had raised him, he maintained, had lived alone, and she had just died, so he had come to Riverview to seek his fortune. Of course, none of this was true, but they had no reason to doubt it, so they all believed him. Hoosiers are simple folk, not used to deception, and ready to accept anyone who's willing to work hard and support themselves.
Skyler was well-liked by all of his neighbors, and set about making a life for himself. Four or five years later he got married. His wife was pregnant with his first son when the war broke out. Most of the men in the town signed up to fight on one side or the other, but Skyler had no desire to fight. Pressured by his friends, though, he eventually gave in. He fought with distinction but was put on the front lines at the battle of Shiloh. As his body was never recovered, he was proclaimed MIA, but his wife pretty much gave up hope when she heard the news. She named the boy Skyler Woods Brimmer Jr.
The second Skyler Woods Brimmer lived a fairly normal life, had two sons and three daughters, though what befell his daughters is information I've been unable to acquire. His second son died in a fire at the age of fourteen, His first son he named Skyler Woods Brimmer III, and the name has been passed down ever since. Interestingly enough, only one male heir from each generation has survived - any boys not named Skyler Woods tended to perish at an early age. In 1955, Skyler Woods Brimmer V gave birth to a daughter, Lisa Brimmer, my mother. Number five had the unfortunate distinction of being the first not to bear a son to carry on the name, though he did have three daughters. He was rather distraught about this fact most of his life, and it was his dying wish that Lisa name her son Skyler Woods Brimmer.
In 1983 Lisa married Wallace Tamsworth, a funeral parlor owner from Minnesota. When she married him, she insisted that their first son be named after her father, to honor his wishes. He found her obsession a little eccentric, but he was in love with her, so he agreed. They first gave birth to a daughter, my sister Katherine Tamsworth, and then 3 years later to me, Skyler Woods Brimmer VI. Three months later my mother disappeared. My father remarried a few years later, but it left me in the difficult position of being the only member of my family with my last name. Even more difficult when I learned the import of that name.
Skyler Woods Brimmer the first was no ordinary man. He passed on certain... talents to his descendants, and with them a name both famous and infamous in circles most people don't even know exist. I would discover all this eventually. But at the time, all it was was a long, cumbersome name, inherited from a woman I never got a chance to meet. I was an ordinary kid, with an ordinary life. But all that was about to change.

Chapter 1

Aside from a few isolated events that were lost on me at the time, the trouble really started when I was 16. The year was 2004, and anti-magic sentiment was sweeping the nation. The presidential election had been a close one, with magic–related issues at the forefront of both campaigns. The Magical Security and Protection Act, a conservative initiative that would allow the government to lock up suspected part-dragons and other semi-magical creatures, had just failed by a narrow margin in the Senate, but a provision had recently passed to cut off government funding to arcane research. On top off that, the supreme court had just upheld the decision of a Kansas schoolboard to remove any mention of the Arcane age from history classes. The officials claimed the so-called history was based on “rumor and speculation” – and contradicted biblical sources. They didn’t want their children exposed to it.
I personally didn't care much either way. As far as I knew I didn't know any part-humans, and there were so few left I thought the whole thing was blown way out of proportion. My older sister, however, had recently taken a fervent magical rights stand I didn’t completely understand. In fact, she had spent the past few months campaigning for a democratic Senator named Sean Walsh, who had eventually won reelection by a close margin. The presidential candidate she’d been supporting, however, had lost. I was a little upset, but it really didn’t matter all that much - I was just focusing on teenager things, trying to get through school and learn to drive.
My constant companions throughout high school were Jason Anderson and his little sister, Fay. Jason was my age, Fay was a year younger, and the three of us were inseperable. I probably spent as much if not more time at the Anderson home as I did at my own. The fourth member of our little quartet was Fay's best friend, Zhong Hua. Her parents had moved here from China before the first war, but she’d been very young then, and she was quite Americanized. I had acquaintances besides these three, but none were close friends, with one possible exception who I'll tell you about soon.
As close as they were, Jason and Fay were about as different as a brother and sister can be. Physically, they were both blonde and blue-eyed, but the resemblence ended there. Jason was a few inches taller than me and fairly well-built, but liked to make himself as small as possible. Fay, a diminutive 4'10", filled the room with her personality. She flirted incessantly with everyone, but had no desire for a boyfriend (or a girlfriend for that matter, though people did talk). Fay saw everything as a game, and dedicated her whole life to having as much fun as possible. This, combined with her inexhaustible energy, made her very attractive and a lot of fun to be around.
Jason, on the other hand, had until a few months ago had trouble even talking to anyone he didn't know. He seemed to have gotten over that and was now hopelessly trying to romance a very attractive young woman with whom he had no chance whatsoever. What was amusing was the zeal he put into it. It was as if instead of creeping out of his shell like most shy people do, he had done a complete one-eighty into being a vibrant, dynamic, and almost intimidating personality. He had lost all inhibitions and no longer cared what anyone thought about him. So far in his quest to win her heart had had tried everything from making her a new origami animal every day for a month to writing a song in four part harmony and mustering a quartet to sing outside her window. The girl, her name was Marissa, was either incredibly dense or just had a cruel sense of humor- she appeared to be totally oblivious to his advances. Jason, undeterred, continued to come up with new and increasingly absurd plans based on shaky or nonexistant logic. I watched this all unfold with a mix of bewilderment and pity.
The only other person I spent any amount of time with was a girl by the name of Mora Bridges. We met because we were seated in study hall together, the seating arrangments having been made alphabetically. Mora was an anomaly. She was fed up with the prevailing high-school culture, and as a result tried to get as far away from it as possible. Somewhere along the line, however, she discover these attempts had alligned her with a subculture, smaller but no less ‘fake’, as she put it, than regular culture. She was also openly gay, the one change from her counterculture days that had stuck. All these factors combined to create a very interesting person to be around. Her hair had been dyed so many times no one remembered its original color, but was currently black streaked with green. Her skin was pale and acne ridden, and her features severe. Her sharp nose was frequently ornamented with a small stud – she had given up on large rings, saying they were for ‘attention whores’. Her clothing was mostly black robes and cloaks from her ‘goth’ days combined with bright colors, tie-dye, and items she bought at vintage stores. She always wore layers, though, and flowing clothing which made her body type hard to determine. She was interested in various occult things – most of them on a purely scholarly level, although she had retained some pagan beliefs. Frequently, she would show me something from a book or website, and through her I learned a lot of seemingly useless trivia about the Arcane age. She had some very interesting theories about everything, and while I found them amusing, I seldom payed too much attention. Recently I wish I had.
So that’s what my life was like when all this started. One day, I came into the lunch room and sat down with Jason and Fay. Jason was looking, as always, across the table to where Marissa was sitting talking to her friends.
"How's it going?" I asked him
He sighed plaintively.
"Nothing's working," he said eventually, "I've tried gifts, singing, quoting the Bard... even baking cookies. No luck,"
"Everything short of, you know, asking her out," answered his sister sarcastically.
"Not my style," he answered, "I mean, eventually, of course, but first I have to win her over. She'd never say yes now,"
"How do you know if you haven't tried?" I asked.
"If I try and she says no," he explained, "I'll have to try again later, and asking for a second date after you've been rejected is just pathetic,"
"And following her down the hallway reading sonnets isn't?" asked Fay.
"I should go on a quest for her," said Jason suddenly, ignoring his sister, "Too bad there's no more dragons to slay,"
"Half-Dragons?" I suggested jokingly.
"Look," Fay cut in, "Jason, here's your problem. Well, one of many problems,” she snickered. “Every attempt you've made has been anywhere from a few decades to a few centuries out of date. If you want a quest that will impress her, you need something modern,"
"That's it!" cried Jason suddenly, as if an idea had coming flying from the sky like a meteor and hit him in the back of the head, "I'm going to steal Harvey!"
Ok, perhaps I should explain about Harvey. Jason and Fay's grandparents, Samuel and Samantha Anderson (people called them Sam & Sammy), were a little bit crazy. When they were in their late sixties, about eleven years ago, Sam found out he had a brain tumor and was going to die in a few months. So he decided, since he had nothing to lose, he would go on a motorcycle trip zig-zagging across the entire U.S., visiting every state along the way. Sammy decided she would go with him - it would be like a second honey moon. So they went off for their last hurrah. Along the way they sent fifty post cards to their grandkids - Fay keeps them all in a little box. I've read them. They're very funny. Sam was quite the character. In them he refers to the motorcycle as "Harvey" - Harvey the Harley.
He died two days after he got home. About two years ago, Sammy died. In her will she left "Harvey" to Jason and Fay. They were thrilled to hear this - their parents were less enthusiastic. They said the thing was a death trap, and neither of their children was getting on it. After months of convincing, they finally conceded to let Jason take classes and get a motorcycle license. For a while he drove Harvey around and he was happy. Then one day he very nearly got in a fatal accident. His parents locked up Harvey and forbid him to ride it again until he was eighteen.
Jason had talked about stealing Harvey many times since then, but he had never worked up the guts to actually do it. I figured this time would be the same.
“Like you haven’t said that before,” said Fay.
“I’m serious this time,” answered her brother. “I mean think about it. What could be more romantic than riding up to her on a motorcycle and asking if she wanted a ride?”
I could think of quite a few things, but I didn’t see much point in bringing them up. One thing I’d learned about Jason was that once he’d made up his mind, it was hard to argue with him. So instead I just said, “I suppose I’ll end up being involved in this,”
“’Course,” answered Jason, “I mean, if you want to,”
“Why not?” I said. I’d been in on enough of Jason and Fay’s schemes to know it was better just to go with it. “We should get together somewhere to plan how we’re gonna do it though,”
“Well, our house is out,” said Fay.
“Ya think?” answered Jason sarcastically. “How about your house, Sky?”
“There’s never any good food at Skyler’s house,” protested Faye.
This was true. My stepmom was something of a health nut, and junk food was severely regulated. Scheming was no fun without root beer and cheese puffs.
“Yeah,” replied Jason, “Good point. How about Zhong’s place?”
“Oooh, Asian junk food,” said Fay, “I could go for that.,”
The lunch bell rang. There was a bustle of activity as everyone scrambled to get there things and say goodbye to each other.
“I’ll ask her next period,” I said, picking up my backpack. “Call you tonight,”
My next period was study hall with Mora. Zhong was confined to the other side of the cafeteria by evil Nazi woman, but occasionally managed to wander over on false pretenses. Today Mora was pouring over a rather large document she'd printed off the internet.
"What's that?" I asked, with the sort of half interest I reserved for my dealings with Mora.
"My friend hacked these from the FBI site," she answered. She was probably lying, but I thought I'd indulge her. "They're records of all the known Draconics and part-dragons with ties to the twin cities area," She looked at it for a minute. "A through I," she added.
"Cool," I said.
"Yeah, theres a lot more than you'd think. Let's see..." she started reading, "Name: Thadius Hawkins. Status: Missing, presumed dead. Last seen October 23rd, 2002. Classification: Blue. You know how these work?"
"How what work?"
"Classifications. See, there are a bunch of different kinds of Draconics, each with different powers and skills. It's all super classified but I've figured out some stuff. Black is the least dangerous. The most dangerous is either gold or silver, I think. You generally don't want to cross any that are metallic sounding, though,"
"What's the difference?" I asked. I was actually somewhat interested at this point.
"Oh, you know," she answered. "Size, power, if they can fly, if they can breath fire or anything, that kinda stuff. Some types also tend to folow weird codes,"
"Like what?" I asked.
"Well, the Asian ones follow some kinda code of honor, and the European ones don't have anything like that. They think of themselves like Samurai or something. I don't know much about it,"
"Samurai are Japanese," I said. "Dragons are Chinese,"
"Whatever," she answered, then went back to reading.
She read in silence for a while, then looked up.
"Hey," she said, "Brimmer. Any relation?"
She held up the picture. The last time I'd seen that face in person I was three months old, but I'd memorized the picture. The text confirmed it. Name: Lisa Brimmer. Status: Captured, January 13th, 1989.
My initial reaction was just sort of a numb shock. I didn't say anything. I just kind of stared at the picture, wishing it wasn't there. At first it was just the shock of discovering that my Mother was a criminal. Then I realized it also meant she was probably alive. It hadn't yet sunk in that if my mother had dragon blood, I, by extension, also had it. I was taking it one step at a time.
"You ok?" asked Mora.
"Fine," I said, "I'm fine," I didn't want it to get out that my mother was in prison, or that she was a Draconic - they weren't exactly loved by the public right now, what with everything that was going on in the political arena. Still, I wanted a closer look.
"Can I have a copy of this?" I asked.
"Sure," she answered, "I can get another. I saved it all on to a disc. Why do you want one?"
I am terrible at impromptu lying. I tried to think of a convincing reason, but my imagination failed me. So I told a modified version of the truth.
"She looks familiar," I said, "We might be related, I'd like to find out,"
"If you're related, that'd make you part dragon, wouldn't it?" Mora said, "That'd be sweet!"
That's when it hit me. I was part dragon. If this got out, it could ruin me. Being a white male, I didn't have much experience being discriminated against, and I wasn't eager for that to change. People don't like Draconics. Can you blame them? With all the stories about Draconics burning down buildings and things – I could understand why they weren’t well liked. Still, whether I went Draconic or not, this would be bad for me. It could keep me out of colleges, work places, any government job, especially if these new laws were passed. To me it was a terrifying prospect, and Mora’s making light of it made me irrationally upset.
"What do you mean sweet?" I asked. "People hating you, not letting you do things because of something you have no control over, why would that be cool?!"
"Because," answered Mora, "You'd be able to shape change and burn people's houses down if they mistreated you,”
"Only if I actually go Draconic!" I answered.
"And why wouldn't you?" she asked, "Look, I know a thing or two about discrimination, and I can tell you, it sucks. But if people find out, they’ll discriminate against you just as much whether you use your powers or not. I mean, if you were gonna get the bad part anyway, why not get the benefit's too?"
"Because they put you in Jail!" I answered, "Yes, being a part-dragon sucks, but all they can do is discriminate against you in small places, you know, like keeping you out of jobs and things. If you go Draconic, you don't even need to commit a crime – once they pass this “Magical Security and Protection” law, anyway. You have no rights,"
"You don't think being able to fly and breathe fire is worth the extra persecution?" She asked.
"Not really," I answered truthfully.
"Well I would,” she answered, “Not going draconic seems kind of cowardy to me, actually,”
“How so?” I asked.
“I dunno,” she said. “Like trying to be something you’re not,”
"It doesn't matter," I lied, trying to get off the subject. "We're probably not related anyway,"
"Too bad," she answered.
I went back to looking at he paper. There wasn't a huge amount of information on my mother. Her classification was listed as silver. Height: 5' 8 (human); 6'6 (draconic), Weight: 140.
Member of the influential Brimmer family. Married, two children. Suspected leader of the Northern regional cell of the MFA. Has been involved in at least two robberies and one assasination. Currently being held at the Camelot facility.
I desperately wanted to be able to click on that link. My mother, a cell leader for the MFA? Why had this been kept from me? I wanted to find out. I thought about asking my father, but I didn't know how he'd react. There was really only one person I could trust with this, and I decided to try and get in touch with her when I got home.
Just then Zhong approached us, having somehow escaped her side of the cafeteria. That was good. I needed a distraction.
"Zhong!" I called. She looked startled, then saw me and wandered over.
"We need to use your house for plotting," I said, "Is that cool?"
"Tonight?" she asked, "No. My parents are entertaining guests. Some of my dad's investors, very important. Tomorrow good?"
"It'll do," I answered.
"Is that your mother?" asked Zhong, pointing to the papers.
Zhong had been to my house enough times to have seen the pictures, and she had a notoriously photographic memory. So much for keeping this secret. I had to try though.
"No,” I said, trying to appear cool, “The resemblance is striking, though, isn't it?"
"Yes," answered Zhong sarcastically, taking the paper, "And with the same name, too. How unlikely is that?"
"Wait a minute," said Mora, "Your mother? So we weren't talking hypotheticals a minute ago! You're actually a -"
"Shut up!" I said. I lowered my voice, "Guys, seriously, we have to keep this low profile. If it get's out, it could ruin my chances of getting into a good college or getting a good job. I could end up in prison. This isn't a joke,"
"Your secret's safe with me," said Mora, "But I would so start trying to develop your powers,"
"No," I said.
"What a waste," she answered.
"Is this what we're plotting about?" asked Zhong, suddenly very serious.
"No. That's just something silly. But I'd prefer you not tell anyone about this - even Jason and Fay. Is that alright?" I asked hopefully.
"Don't worry," said Zhong, "I'm good at keeping secrets. I've been holding on to some for years now,"
"Good," I answered, "I need time to figure this out. It might not even be real,"
"Ok," answered Zhong. "I'll see you tomorrow then, no?"
"Yeah," I answered, "See you then."
The bell rang, and we got up to leave. All the way home I went over all this in my head - what I'd do when they came for me, why they hadn't already - I mean they had have my name in a book somewhere, didn't they? I wonderted if I could really trust Mora. And I wondered if my mother really was still alive in some cell somewhere. I didn't know where the answers to these questions were, but I knew where I was going to start looking. I decided to put it out of my head for a while and think about stealing a motorcycle.

These things are fun.

Canadian PC - the adventure continues

Lame PC #2

Motivators

I have to post these here first so I can post them on the TWOP PC.. provided my account is verified in time.

Chapter XVI

Because it's been too damn long since I've written anything.

Erdyn paced the lobby of the Sorcerer's guild Pyramid. Not fair, he thought. He had rushed through his breakfast to get here exactly on time, and he'd been waiting for nearly half a fig.* This was absurd.
He looked around the large, rectangular room. The sorcerers, it was obvious, liked to show off. The two large couches on either side of the entrance changed color every few twigs, oscillating from red to orange to yellow and all the way down the spectrum, inexplicably stopping off at plaid in between blue and turquoise. The door on the opposite side had a few simple wooden chairs by it, perfectly normal except that they occasionally got up and walked around the room on their four legs. On the floor surrounding the door, carved into the wooden floor, were two concentric rings, with an ornate pattern strung between them. Every foot or so was a tiny circular indentation, inlayed with silver. On the right wall was a large portrait of a dark-skinned, bald human. He was quite muscular, in a turquoise vest with silver trim and sparkly silver pants and holding a wooden staff with a shining gem in it. The staff Erdyn recognized - Xindor had been carrying it when he first arrived. The inscription on the portrait simply read "Damien Windhammer, first Lord of the Stargem." This confused Erdyn - he wasn't one humdred percent sure what the stargem was, but he didn't even know it needed one lord, much less several. The only other ornamentation in the room was definately the most bizarre - and enormous, pulsating pair of human-looking ears on the left wall.
"I'm sure they'll see you as soon as they can Erdyn," reassured his brother. "They must be very busy,"
Just then, an unfamiliar elf stepped through the door. He was short, for an elf, bald and quite wiry, and he was holding a clipboard.
"Erdyn son of Indryn?" he said, looking down at the clip board. Erdyn nodded. "The council will see you now,"
"Finally," said Erdyn.
"Erdyn," said Halyn sharply.
The younger gnome glared at him.
"This way," said the elf.
Erdyn and Halyn followed him out the doorand to the left. He led them into a long hallway filled with portraits of various sorcerers in decisive, take-charge, action poses. All carried the same shining wooden staff. After two right turns, they reached a small, black door. Well, not exactly a door. More sort of a doorway. It was pure black as if no light could possibly escape. As if looking into it too long could be spomehow dangerous.
The elf spoke some words in a language Erdyn couldn't understand, and suddenly the doorway changed. Now instead of pure darkness it was sheathed in pure light. Erdyn shielded his eyes and turned away.
"Step through please," said their guide.
What? said Erdyn.
"It's safe," said the elf. "This is the entrance to the floor. Your brother and I are going to the gallery. They're expecting you. Step through,"
Erdyn took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and stepped into the light. RThe light was so bright he clould feel it with his eyes closed. He kept walking forward. He was about to risk opening his eyes when he heard a shrill, female voice.
"Close the damn gateway!" it said.
There was a flash, and the light was gone. Erdyn opened his eyes.
He was standing on a large, circular platform. The room was dark - the main source of light was a ring of blue lights on the cieling and a bright white rectangle somewhere far above him, which vanished shortly. Actually, the platform he was on appeared, inexplicably, quite well lit. It was empty except for a lecturn and a bench next to it, and another black doorway, which appeared to lead nowhere. Beyond the platform however, was total darkness.
"Clear the lecturn," said Xindor's voice. The lecturn and bench vanished.
"Welcome, Erdyn, son of Indryn, of the Hills of Gloob," said Xindor. "Why have you come before the Elder Council of the Sorerer's Guild?"
You could hear the capitalization.
Erdyn thought this was rather silly. Xindor obviously knew why he was here. But he decided to play along anyway.
"I want to become a sorcerer," he said clearly.
"The guild is not for everyone," said another voice, this one lower and gravelly, "What makes you think you posess the innate magical skill required to manipulate the universe?"
Damn he's dramatic, thought Erdyn. He wondered whether it would be better to seem humble or confident. He thought what he could do was pretty good, but having seen the wonders he had since coming to Errilliance, he was no longer quite so sure.
"Well?" asked the rumbling voice.
"I have powers," said Erdyn. "In the past couple of months I've realized I could do things - not normal things,"
"Have you any bloodline?" asked the grumbly voice.
"Yes," said Erdyn. This part he had rehearsed, "My Great, Great, Grandfather, Sildyn son of Moolyn, was a member of the guild,"
"That is all?" said the low voice.
"That I know of," answered Erdyn.
"These powers," said a third voice. It was higher, female sounding, and somewhat shrill, "Can you control them, or do they happen spontaneously?"
"They basically only happen when I want them to," said Erdyn. This was mostly true.
"Would you care to demonstrate them, then?" she asked.
Erdyn nodded. He took a deep breath in and beban to concentrate very hard. He was glad it was dark. That would make this more impressive.
"Take your time," said Xindor, "We're in no hurry,"
Erdyn clasped his hand together and focused. Then he opened his hands just slightly and peeked in. A bead of light was nestled in his palm. He closed his hands again and concentrated even harder. Finally, he opened his hands. Four tiny circles of light, like bright fireflies, floated out. There was a mix of sounds from the group, mostly murmurs of what Erdyn hoped was approval.
Spurred on somewhat by this, Erdyn moved on to his next trick. He raised his hands into the air and thrust them forward, willing the lights to follow. The little beads zoomed off in the direction he was pointing, straight out into the gallery, until the illuminated Xindor's face, which Erdyn saw had broken into a small smile.
Erdyn pulled his hands in, beckoning the lights to return to him, then winked them out.
The crowd was murmering excitedly now, which Erdyn thought of as a good sign. There seemed to be quite a few more of them then he'd originally thought, though.
"Is that all?" asked the gruff voice.
Erdyn considered for a moment. Aw, what the underrealm? he thought, Might as well give it a shot. "There is one more little thing," he said uncertainly.
"Well, by all means, show us," said Xindor.
Erdyn nodded. He concentrated again, this time on his ears. He had decided some time ago his large, gnomish ears made the best demonstration of this ability. He concentrated on shrinking them.
After a minute or so, he reached up and touched them. They were smaller, but he wasn't sure the change was enough to be noticable.
There was hushed talking going on in a language Erdyn couldn't understand. Then the female voice spoke up.
"Is it just your ears, or can you resize anything?" she asked.
They'd noticed! Erdyn breathed a sigh of relief.
"I've only managed my ears, nose, and eyes. I tried to grow my whole head and I got a massive headache,"
Xindor laughed - a brief, percussive laugh that stopped almost immediately.
"SO it's a real change then - " he said, "Not illusory?"
"As far as I know," answered Erdyn.
"Then I would stop experimenting with it," said XIndor, "Transmutation magic can be very dangerous in the hands of an amatuer. Is that everything?"
"Yes sir," said Erdyn.
"You may go then," said Xindor."We'll let you know our decision by tomorrow. Thank you for your time,"
The black doorway behind Erdyn flashed white again. Erdyn closed his eyes and stepped through. He strode through the portrait hall with a little bounce in his step. He'd impressed them, he was sure of it. And he was on his way to becoming a sorcerer!

*A fig is a period of 9 lengths. A day is divided into 18 figs.

Picture!

Unfortunately, you can't see the tail in this one, but it's better than nothing.

Mutants!

X-men has never had one unified canon. There was one canon for the comic books, one for the, TV show, and an entirely different one for the movies. The characters and events are basically the smae, but what order they happen in and who's involved in them, and even who's a good guy and whose a bad guy, changes with each incarnation.
This will be both a blessing and a curse as far as Mutants! the Musical is concerned. On the one hand, it can have it's own canon, designed to incorporate the maximum number of mutant song and dance numbers. On the other hand, a lot more writing will be involved.

Nightcrawler log, day nine

Finished costume. All that remains for tomorrow is hair and make-up. There will be pictures.

Nightcrawler log, day seven

Made shoulder pads and sewed them into vest. Started sewing trim onto pants. Broke sewing machine. Cut trim for arms and sewed it together by hand.

day eight:

Finished sewing trim on to legs by hand as various people tried to fix the sewing machine. Must find a way to attach the tail. Time is of the essence.

Nightcrawler log, dax six

Finished other sock. Learned more about sewing, including that you get a much nicer product when you do it inside out.

Made orange trim for both socks.

Decided to affix the trim to the bottoms of the pants instead of the top of the socks.

Nightcrawler log, day four

Cut fabric for vest thingie. Pinned shoulder pads.

Made one two-towed sock. Man, that took forever. On the plus side, I learned a lot about sewing.

Nightcrawler log, day two

Accomplishments yesterday:

Purchased tight black clothing from Goodwill. Began making pattern for vest-type thing.

Meanwhile, my amazing girlfriend constructed for me pretty much the most awesome tail possible. The tail problem is officially solved. (actually, I still need to figure out how to affix it, so we'll say almost solved.)

Nightcrawler log supplemental

This is something like what I'm going for.

Nightcrawler log, day one

Accomplishments today:

Started log

Made list of materials

Scoured the basement and located my vulcan ears

Attempted, unsuccessfully, to clean my vulcan ears

Purchased orange fabric, socks, and gloves

Cut holes in one pair of socks, cut fingers off of gloves, and combined them into my Nightcrawler gloves, which now need only orange trim to be complete.

Tried to convince Jonah not to abandon his Cyclops costume.

Nightcrawler log, Preliminary entry

With just two weeks until the premier of X-3: The Last Stand, it is entirely too late for me to be just starting on one of my most ambitious costume projects yet. But I am. And I will be journaling my experiences here, for you, the many dedicated readers of this blog. Oh, who am I kidding. For you, Erin.
Anyway, yesterday I scoured Google for a good image of Nightcrawler's costume from the TV series (so as to match Tim's excellent Gambit outfit.) I found several, and came up with a comprehensive plan for completing my costume before the premiere.

Step one: secure materials. I will need:

A long sleeved grey shirt, preferably skin tight.

Grey Pants in as similar a color as possible, with belt loops.

Orange fabric.

Two pairs of white knee socks, preferably with Orange trim.

One pair of those cheap strecthy gloves, also white.

Index cards

A wire coat hanger

Blue fabric.

Blue duct tape.

Blue face paint.

Vulcan or elf ears.

Vampire teeth.

Hair Gel.

Black spray dye.

This afternoon I hope to secure as many of these materials as possible. I intend to complete the hands and feet this week, so I can dedicate the last week to dealing with the problem of the tail.

Chapter XV

Dukalb was having trouble thinking of anything not stupid to say. So he decided simply to say what was on his mind.
"You're a goblin," he said after a moment.
"Hobgoblin, actually," Grosk corrected him irratibly, "And you're a Dwelf. What of it?"
"Goblins can't do magic," said Dukalb, confused.
"I beg to differ," said Grosk. "And Thurigen obviously agrees with me, as he asked me to teach you how to do magic, which I will find increasingly difficult if you don't stop insulting me,"
Simile sniggered. Grosk attempted to bat her away with his walking stick, but she flew out of the way.
"Have fun guys," she called, zooming off.
"Sorry," said Dukalb after a while. "It's just I didn't think.."
"Didn't think hobgoblins would be allowed in Erilliance?" asked Grosk, still clearly annoyed. "Well, I've been here a lot longer than you have. And I would think someone with your particular heritage would be.. a little more sympathetic towards my plight,"
"What do you mean?" asked Dukalb.
"We have a lot in common," answered Grosk. "We're each the only member of our race in the whole city. And we're both very far from home. And, I suspect, niether of us really thought of it as home to begin with,"
"There are plenty of Elves and Dwarves here-" Dukalb began.
"But no other Dwelves," Grosk said with mock sadness, "And no other hobgoblins. How sad for us,"
"Is that why Thurigen assigned you to me?" asked Dukalb.
"It's possible," rasped Grosk, "But I think it's more a matter of us having compatible essences,"
"Essences?" asked Dukalb quizzically.
Grosk stared incredulously at him. "You really have had no training to speak of, have you? No wonder you've developed only rudimentary powers in three years. Well, if you have no grasp of theory, we'll just have to start at the beginning. Do you honestly not know anything about essences?"
"Well of course I do!" answered Dukalb, indignant. "I'm not an idiot!"
"Well, what do you know about them?" asked the hobgoblin, walking over to a stump and sitting down.
"Umm..." said Dukalb, trying to figure out where to start. "The whole world is comprised of the four elements earth, wind, water, and fire. Every creature, plant, rock or cloud has the essences of these elements inside it in some combination. Druids gain our power by communing with these essences and manipulating them, changing the balance of essences in something to produce the desired effect,"
"So you're not completely stupid," replied Grosk with some relief. "What confused you?"
"I don't understand what you mean when you say we have compatible essences," answered Dukalb.
"Hmm...," went the Hobgoblin. For several seconds he said nothing, as if trying to collect his thoughts. Then he began.
"Have you ever wondered why Dwarves are more comfortable underground? Or why wood elves like to live in the trees?" he asked.
"I figured that's just what they were built for," said Dukalb.
"Kind of," said Grosk. "Actually, it's because the balance of essences is not constant from race to race. Dwarves have rather a lot of earth in them and little of air. Cathedral Elves have almost no earth and a double share of air essence. Only humans tend to have some measure of balance in their essences,"
"Okay..." said Dukalb, taking all this in.
Grosk continued. "A druid derives his powers from his own elemental essences - your ability to manipulate each element is dependant upon the strength of each element within your own essence,"
"Ah...," said Dukalb, with a look of revelation. "So that's why Thurigen likes to appear as a whirlwind,"
"Yes," said Grosk, "He is, or at least was, an elf of the Citadel, just like Xindor. Now. Dwarves, as I've said, have a double share of earth essence and almost no air essence. While wood elves have balanced essences except for an almost total lack of fire essence. So you, as a Dwelf, ought to have a the largest part of your essence connected with earth, and the smallest with fire. By sheer coincidence, this is exactly how a Hobgoblins essence breaks down,"
"But Goblins love fire -" objected Dukalb.
"I'm NOT a Goblin!" bellowed Grosk, suddenly becoming defensive. After another pause of a few seconds he recovered himself enough to continue. "Now naturally each of us having similar essences gives us similar abilities - obviously a natural affinity for stone, but also one for trees - since trees are composed of the earth they grow in, the water they drink, and the air they breath, we have a lot in common with them. They identify with us. Weather control is mostly about air and water, so both of us have limited succes with that, but not too much because we're basically devoid of fire essence - although you have a little more of that from your Dwarven side, which explains how you were able to call a lightning bolt,"
Dukalb was silent, taking all this in. Grosk stopped for a moment, unsure of what to say next. Finally he spoke up.
"That's your first lesson," he said, "Runes, incantations, hand motions - none of that matters to us. Leave it for the wizards and witches to worry about. A good druid needs no sound, no motion, and above all no components to work his magic. We manipulate primal elemental forces simply by being. That is the power you've tapped into, and that is what you can learn from me. If you stop insulting me, that is,"

Chapter XIV

It was with considerably less ceremony that the Wild Abandon left the Port of Xarnip that morning. For Clayton, however, it was a much happier occasion. Finally, for the first time in eleven years, he would get to talk to his son. And there really wasn't any other choice - he was the only person on the boat who spoke Human. So he was a bit surprised when his son addressed him in Xarnipi.
But of course. He should have expect Human-proper would only be a second language to his son, raised in this backwater as he had been. I should have taken him with me, he thought, not for the first time in the eleven years since he'd fled his wife's wrath on the back of a stolen attack whale.
"Good Morning, son," he replied in his son's native language. His brief conversation with his wife the previous night had been the first time he'd used his Xarnipi in nearly eight years, but he had a good memory and it was coming back pretty easily.
"Mornin' Dad," said Brandon.
There was a pause. What do you say after eleven years? thought Clay.
"Oh," he said finally, "I brought you something!"
This had been his Ice-breaking plan for years. In the old days, every time Clayton had come home he'd brought a gift from wherever he'd been. He headed towards the hold, explaining as he went.
"I didn't know what kind of powers you'd manifest," he said, as he opened the door to the hold, "Sorcerer powers can be finicky. So I wasn't sure what to get you. You know, wouldn't want an invisibility cape if you could do it on your own,"
"I turn people into animals," said Brandon, with a strange mix of confusion pride.
"Oh, Transmogrifier, eh?" replied Clayton, clapping him on the shoulder. He stopped and sat down on a box, "Takin' after your old Grandma! She used to turn me into all kinds of useful things. Why I remember once, during my mercenary days, I needed to infiltrate a Goblin camp, and - Say.... You could go into business with me! Been a long time since I had a good transmogrifier at my side! But I'm getting ahead of myself. Come."
He led his somewhat perplexed son through the dank hold until he came to a large box.
"Here it is," he said. He took the top off of the box, bent down and pulled out a small,smooth silver egg. He handed it carefully to his son, who looked it over with confusion.
"What is it?" he finally asked.
"It's a nullifier," said his father. "That little egg can render the most powerful wizard into nothing more than an old man with a stick. You see, it contains a tiny chunk of oblivium,"
Brandon laughed. "Nice one, dad," he said. "Seriously, what does it do?"
"I'm serious," Insisted Clayton, "It has chunk of oblivium in it strong enough to nullify all the magic in a ten-foot radius. Right now it's effects are being suppressed by the silver in the shell. But it's thin. You can break it by throwing it down really hard or smashing it, and then you'll have an approximately twenty-foot radius circle inside which no one can use any magic. Like plopping down a chunk of the badlands right in the middle of Erilliance,"
"Wow," said Brandon, surveying the small metal egg,"Thanks," he continued, mesmerized,"If this is really oblivium, it must be worth..."
"Hey," said his father, "I have eleven years of birthdays to make up for! Speaking of which, we've got a lot to catch up on. You want something to eat?"
"Sure," answered Brandon.
"C'mon," said Clay, "I'll show you the mess. I hope you like Banannas!"

*Sorry it sucks. I just gotta keep writing.

Dune!

I was cleaning my room today and I found this. It was, as far as I can tell, my attempt to convince someone the Dune would work as an opera. I sort of remember the tune.

Chorus: Arrakis. Dune. Desert Planet. Arrakis. Dune. Desert Planet. (Repeat under soloists)

Duke Leto: Now we prepare for the move to Arrakis,
The planet that's come to be known as Dune.
And for now that creates quite a ruckus,
It will make things better soon.

Gurney: Leaving our home on Caladon,
The waters that we love so much,
For a planet you can't even make a salad on,
And the vegetation's far from Lush!

Thufir: Though the climate may be inhospitable, The spice will be quite profitable.

Gurney: While the spice may bring us fame and fortune,
The planet we're getting is basically crap!

Thufir: Also we need to proceed with caution, or risk falling into a Harkonnen trap!

Yueh: Harkonnen trap?

Thufir: Harkonnen traaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaap!

Leto: And not only Harkonnens! The Emperor and his Saudaukar too!
Ruthless death troops from a hell like world, too take back Arrakis -

Paul: What can we do?

Gurney: All of our armies, working together,
couldn't stop a single Saudaukar!

Yueh: They're as unstoppable as the weather,
All we can do is Surrender!

All: Surrender?

Yueh: Surrender!

Leto: Wrong! We have a force at our disposal,
as powerful as them, men!
Duncan Idaho is gone to make a proposal
to the leaders of the Fremen!

Paul: You plan to make the Fremen,
The wild, native inhabitants of Dune,
Ruthless death troops, it's a hell-like world -
Defending Arrakis - It just might work!

Thufir: His plan may be permittable, the Fremen are quite formittable.

Yueh: They fight off sandworms, it's the harshest life!

Gurney: Even their women, who one would take as a wife!

Paul: Anyone who can endure such strife -

Leto: If anyone can do it,

All: They caaaaaaaaaaan!

(curtain)

And length wouldn't be an issue - that sums up a good fifty or sixty pages right there.

Chapter XIII

Erilliance is a city of wonders - massive towers that let off a fiery glow, sorcerers throwing spells everywhere - even the pigeons frequently burst into flames. Yet for years it was impossible to get a good sandwich on the go. If the current Archmage was to be remembered for anything, it would be this - he had offered a large stipend and the lifelong protection of the Wizards of Erilliance to any good restauranteer willing to set up inside the city limits. Slowly, the fear of being turned into a hamburger by a disgruntled customer gave way to greed, and local businesses began to set up shop. One of these young entrepreneurs had been a friendly, optimistic Dwarf named Durner Ruckfendursteen.
Sixteen years later, Durner (Durney to his friends) had a booming business - the only Dwarf restaurant in the city. Dishes like his famous Stone roast stew and Potato smashes offered a little taste of home for the Dwarves of the city, and a hearty, slightly exotic flair for the others. It was well-known that Durney's Dwarven Diner was one of Xindor the Incredible's favorite restaurants, and it didn't hurt his business the plenty of young sorcerers ate there in an attempt to get in on his good side.
Therefore it was surprising how empty it was that morning as the two Gnomes came in.
"Good day to ye!" called Durney, as he walked briskly (for a portly Dwarf) to the door. "Welcome ta Durney's Dwarven Diner, delectables Dished out Daily! Ye ever been here before?"
"No," answered Halyn with a friendly smile, "But you come highly recommended to me,"
"Well, yer in fer a right treat then!" said Durney, "Can I int'rest ye in our breakfast special - Three of our famous thundercakes with sausages and a drink fer eight spiggins a piece! And fer firs' time customers, I throw in a coupla' flundusters fer' dessert!"
"That sound good?" Halyn asked his brother.
"The only word I understood was 'sausages'," Erdyn answered, bewildered.
"Right," said his brother, suddenly coming to a realization, "You've never had Dwarf food! Two of the special, my good man - do you serve Gnome-size portions?"
The Dwarf thought about this for a moment. "Not much call fer that around here, but how's about we make everything half size and charge ya' half price fer' it?"
"Sounds fine to me," said Halyn.
"And ta drink? How about some Dwarven ale? It's never too early fer ale!"
'Water's fine," said Halyn.
"Ye sure?" asked the Dwarf, "No extra charge,"
'Yes," insisted the Gnome, "Water is fine,"
"Alright, then," said Durney, "Two Gnome-sized breakfast specials, commin' right up!"
As he rushed off to prepare the food, the Gnomes sat down.
"Dwarves don't understand that no one else can handle a mug of their ale," said Halyn, as the soon as Durney was out of ear shot. "So, we have about a length and a half until your appointment - that should be plenty of time. You feeling up to it?"
Erdyn held his hand up to his face and stared intently at it. After a moment, three of his fingertips began to glow.
"Yeah," he said, "Once I get some food in me, I should be fine,"
"Good," said Halyn, "Just don't be shy, ok? Don't be afraid to show them everything you got."
"I just hope it's enough," answered Erdyn optimistically.
"It will be," said his older brother, patting his hand, "It will be. So, Xindor wanted me to extend his humblest apologies for his niece's behavior. He also wanted me to let you know that random acts of magic are actually really rare in this city, and you got really unlucky,"
"His niece?" asked Erdyn, a little confused.
"Yeah, the girl who attacked you last night. She was aiming for Bogue... Probably some little feud between them. It happens rather a lot here - sorcerers are known for holding grudges a long time, and I think it just kind of rubs off on everyone else. Why, last time I was here - are you listening to me?"
He waved his hand in front of his brother, who was gazing dreamily out the window.
"Wuh?" he said, "Oh, sorry. Spaced out for a moment. Go on,"
"What is it?"asked Halyn, "Something bothering you?"
"Just... er... Nervous about today," lied Erdyn hastily, "That's all. Don't worry about it,"
"Erdyn," said his brother sternly, "You're a good liar, but you never were able to fool me. What were you thinking about?"
The younger Gnome looked at his brother for a moment, as if trying to decide whether or not he should say what was on his mind.
"Amora," he finally sighed.
"Oh, that's just an after effect of her spell,"said Halyn, blowing him off. "Trust me, sometime tomorrow it'll wear off and you'll be pretty pissed off at her,"
"I don't think that's it," argued Erdyn. "She's beautiful, and she's Xindor's niece, and-"
"And that's all you know about her, that and the fact that she attacked you. You're not in love with her. Trust me. Now, let's talk a little about what Xindor and the rest of the sorcerers on the admission council will be looking for..."
He was interrupted by Durney's return, with breakfast.
"There ye go," said the Dwarf cheerfully, "Two Gnome-sized breakfast specials. I'll bring ye yer flundusters in a little while,"
"I'm... Not sure I'll still be hungry," said Erdyn uncertainly as he surveyed the breakfast.
"That's alright, I'll wrap 'em up fer ya! Ye can't decide how ye feel about Dwarven cuisine without tryin' a flunduster!"
"Of course," said Halyn, "Wrap them up. And could we get a third?"
"Sure thing!" answered the Dwarf, "I'll get them fer ye momentarily!"
He shuffled off to finish the desserts.
Erdyn stared horrified at the thundercakes, large blackened cylinders filled with so many little holes they resemble Swiss cheese. He looked up questioningly at his brother.
"Dig in,"said Halyn, his mouth already full of thundercake, "We only have about a length and five before your appointment,"
Erdyn picked up a thundercake and cautiously bit into it. As he crunched on it, a smile broke across his face.
"This's actually pretty good," he said. "A little crunchy, but it tastes alright,"
"Of course it does," said Halyn, "It's even better with syrup. Now eat up, we haven't got that much time,"
They ate on in relative silence, the only sounds those of contented crunching. As Erdyn munched away at his thundercake, he wondered what other surprises Erilliance had in store for him, and whether they would all be this pleasant.