Agramant's Bargain

Latest revision as of 15:51, 13 January 2022

These staffs often bear grim reminders of the fate that awaits all mortals.

Description

These staves are usually made of dark pinewood, or carefully shaped and sanded oak bleached white. They are soaked and cleaned in a weak solution of beggar's lye, and carved with runes such as Kyrop and Lann. Many bear staring faces, skulls, or in the Marches the appearance of carrion creatures such as rats and crows. They are usually unsettling things to look upon.

They are sometimes called a Draughir's Bargain. Both names mean roughly the same thing - a bargain where both parties are weakened or harmed, but one of the parties is capable of enduring or mastering the pain or debilitation to the detriment of the other party. In the hours after bonding to this staff, some wielders seem overcome by a sense of paranoia or become dismissive of hardship. Generally these feelings wear off, though occasionally bonding to this staff has tipped Draughir into madness.

Rules

Form: Weapon. Takes the form of a staff. You must be wielding this implement to use its magical properties.
Requirement: You must have both the magician and battle mage skills to bond to this item.
Effect: You may cast the weakness spell as if you know it.
Materials: Crafting an Agramant's bargain requires no special materials. It takes two months to make one of these items.

Casimir stepped out of the tavern into the city night, groaning momentarily as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and his thin, bedraggled frame rebelled against the chill air. Grumbling to himself, he leant heavily on his staff before lurching forward from the doorway into the cobbled street ahead. Vendors called out to him from various doorways, hawking sweet-smelling treats to delight his senses but he ignored them all. He just wanted to get back to the inn and get a good nights sleep before heading on in the morning.

It wasn't long before he realised that he had made a wrong turn and cursed himself for not paying more attention. Turning round to the alley entrance, he saw it blocked by three shadows, long and thin on the ground but less impressive in silhouette. Damnable guttersnipes, presumably. He grasped his staff tightly and walked forward in confidence. Damned if these rotten urchins were going to get the better of him.

One of them stepped forward, a meagre knife glittering in his outstretched hand, while the others flanked him.

“Hand over your goods, old man, and we'll let you live”. The kid was unwavering in his speech and Casimir wondered how many times the three had robbed others before. Never mind, this would be the last.

“And what if I don't?” rasped Casimir, feigning an air of decrepitude beyond even his advanced years. The robber paused for a moment, No doubt he wasn't used to being answered back to.

“Reckon you can take us all on, do you? I don't fancy your chances.”

Casimir began chanting and pointed his staff at one of the two followers.

Divide and conquer, he thought.

This wasn't magic he was using – not yet - just some impressive sounding words which usually worked to drive off the uninitiated. True to form, the wretch took to heel almost immediately.

One down, two to go. Steady now..

The second follower began to falter in his advance and spoke to the lead urchin. “Nathan, we picked a wrong one here. This one's magic! Let's get out and find some easier pickings over on Southside!”

The leader didn't budge, even when his second henchman turned tail and skittered off, leaving him alone.

And then there was one.

Casimir resumed his chant, low and menacing; but this time there was meaning to the words, and mana woven into the pauses.

“You won't fool or scare me so easily, old man!” Nathan ran forward and tried to get in close to use his knife but even with Casimir's reflexes he was too slow. The bleached tip of the old man's oak staff hit Nathan squarely on the knee, knocking him flat in the mud.

Now we're equal. Not so confident now, are we?

Nathan was still quicker though, and rolled to one side before standing up and squaring off against Casimir, his eyes stinging with embarrassment and hatred. He summoned all his strength to teach this old, unarmoured man a lesson ...

... But the strength didn't come. Afraid, unsure what other tricks the old man had up his sleeve, he ran off into the night with one last hateful look back and a threat on his lips..

Casimir took a deep breath and continued on his journey. There may not have been a spring in his step, but there was a smile on his lips.

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-{{stub}}
+{{CaptionedImage|file=Battlemagister.jpg|caption=These staffs often bear grim reminders of the fate that awaits all mortals.|width=300|align=right}}
 ==Description==
-These staves are usually made of dark pinewood, or carefully shaped and sanded oak bleached white. They are soaked and cleaned in a weak solution of beggar's lye, and carved with runes such as [[Kyrop]] and [[Lann]]. Many bear staring faces, skills, or in the [[The Marches|Marches]] the appearance of carrion creatures such as rats and crows. They are usually unsettling things to look upon.
+These staves are usually made of dark pinewood, or carefully shaped and sanded oak bleached white. They are soaked and cleaned in a weak solution of beggar's lye, and carved with runes such as [[Kyrop]] and [[Lann]]. Many bear staring faces, skulls, or in the [[The Marches|Marches]] the appearance of carrion creatures such as rats and crows. They are usually unsettling things to look upon.
-They are sometimes called a ''[[Draughir]]'s Bargain''. Both names mean roughly the same thing - a bargain where both parties are weakened or harmed, but one of the parties is capable of enduring or mastering the pain or debilitation to the detriment of the other party.
+They are sometimes called a ''[[Draughir]]'s Bargain''. Both names mean roughly the same thing - a bargain where both parties are weakened or harmed, but one of the parties is capable of enduring or mastering the pain or debilitation to the detriment of the other party. In the hours after bonding to this staff, some wielders seem overcome by a sense of paranoia or become dismissive of hardship. Generally these feelings wear off, though occasionally bonding to this staff has tipped Draughir into madness.
 ==Rules==
-* '''Form:''' [[Magic overview#Staffs|Staff]].
+{{Staffs}}
-* '''Effect:''' You may cast the [[Spell list#Paralysis|paralysis]] spell as if you knew it.
+* '''Effect:''' You may cast the [[weakness]] spell as if you know it.
-* '''Materials:''' Crafting a scrivener's seal requires seven measures of [[Materials#Beggar's Lye|beggar's lye]]. It takes one month to make one of these items.
+* '''Materials:''' Crafting an Agramant's bargain requires no special materials. It takes two months to make one of these items.
+<!--- Had to move IC-text as copy/paste error had put wrong spell on this staff, sorry. Raff --->
+<!--- Current IC-text by Liam Spinage --->
+<ic>Casimir stepped out of the tavern into the city night, groaning momentarily as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and his thin, bedraggled frame rebelled against the chill air. Grumbling to himself, he leant heavily on his staff before lurching forward from the doorway into the cobbled street ahead. Vendors called out to him from various doorways, hawking sweet-smelling treats to delight his senses but he ignored them all. He just wanted to get back to the inn and get a good nights sleep before heading on in the morning.
-<ic>
+It wasn't long before he realised that he had made a wrong turn and cursed himself for not paying more attention. Turning round to the alley entrance, he saw it blocked by three shadows, long and thin on the ground but less impressive in silhouette. Damnable guttersnipes, presumably. He grasped his staff tightly and walked forward in confidence. Damned if these rotten urchins were going to get the better of him.
-"Sit down and I'll tell you a story."
-Tom had heard them all before, every story Granny told, every night like this with the fire crackling and the rocking chair creaking its way back and forward. He could recite them, word for word, down the lilt of her thick Bregas accent, or the way her eyes grew wide with mock fear when the tales turned to Feni, or monsters, or barbarians. He was too old to enjoy them like his little sisters April and May did, sitting in a spellbound cluster at Granny's feet, and too young yet to listen the way Ma did, stopping from time to time in her spinning to listen to the old woman's voice. But he listened anyway- it wasn't like there was anything else to do.
+One of them stepped forward, a meagre knife glittering in his outstretched hand, while the others flanked him.
-"See that staff hangin' there?" She gestured with one knitting needle to the ugly, gnarled oaken staff, high on the wall over the fireplace, without bothering to look. Tom didn't look either. He could have drawn every detail of the room with his eyes closed, from the boots at the door to every bannister of the stair that led you up to Ma's bedroom overhead where she shared the big bed with Granny. He'd asked about that staff a dozen times, though, but Ma would only ever say that it had been his Da's, then clam up tight shut. Ten years dead, and Tom could barely remember him, but still Ma could barely say his name without welling up in tears. Tonight though - maybe there'd be a new story, and a few answers.
+“Hand over your goods, old man, and we'll let you live”. The kid was unwavering in his speech and Casimir wondered how many times the three had robbed others before. Never mind, this would be the last.
-"I made that staff," Granny said, her voice in counterpoint with click of her knitting needles. "Made it for your Da when he was a lad, when he was first prenticed to the Landskeeper. That was Upwold Peter, back in those days; a proper Landskeeper, even though he was a Townie, not like the sorts you get nowadays. Anyhow, some folks said the staff was an ill omened thing, cut from a storm-blasted oak an' bleached in Beggar's Lye 'till it was white as a ghost. Made my hands red raw, too, dunkin' it in and out of that lyebath, washin' and dryin' an' all that. Then it was carvin' it, sandin' it, waxin' it an' polishin' it - every day for a month till it shone like the moon on the water. He wasn't much pleased with it, either; he had his heart set on some fancy jade bound wand or somethin' like that, boys bein' what they are. But for once he took a tellin', and once the staff was in his hand he didn't lay it down for fear of gettin' a skelp round his ear.
+“And what if I don't?” rasped Casimir, feigning an air of decrepitude beyond even his advanced years. The robber paused for a moment, No doubt he wasn't used to being answered back to.
-"Turns out it was for the best, seein' as how one day he's out on the fen, walkin' the bounds or some such when he sees a Feni warrior, comes stalkin' through the reeds, bold as brass, teeth all filed to points an' a rusty sickle in hand. So your Da weighs up his chances an' doesn't fancy any of them much, but he starts walkin' like he hasn't seen a thing, walking along the path, over the boards and along the water like he doesn't have a care in the world. An' this Feni hunter, he's followin' after, thinkin' that he's stalkin' your Da unawares. Your Da leads him on, lettin' him get closer and closer, pretendin' he don't see a thing, and pretty soon he's lead that Feni out onto the marsh, an' just when he's right behind him and that sickle's about to come down on your Da's throat, your Da turns, quick as a flash, an' whacks him quick smart with that white oak staff, right in the pointy teeth.
+“Reckon you can take us all on, do you? I don't fancy your chances.”
-"Now, your Da weren't much of a hittin' type, an' that staff ain't much when it comes to power. All it does is stop you dead in your tracks for ten seconds or so, same as it stops whoever you're hittin' with it, an' where's the use in that, you're thinkin? Well, there's your Da on the path, an' that one swipe with the staff's enough to knock the Feni back - just one step, but out of the marshes one step's enough if it takes you off the path. An' ten seconds in the marsh is a long time when you've stepped off that path, with that black mud suckin' at your feet, draggin' you down, an' sure enough when there was blood back in your Da's limbs enough to get him movin' again, there weren't hide nor hair of that Feni, savin' one hand stickin' up with a sickle grasped in it, and soon enough that was swallowed up by the Fen an' all."
+Casimir began chanting and pointed his staff at one of the two followers.
-"So what're you saying, then, Granny?" Tom, slightly surprised by his own daring, found himself too irritated to stay quiet. "Granny knows best, is that what it is? Da did what he was told an' it was all fine? Ain't it a shame you never told him how not to get killed by them orcs?"
+<i>Divide and conquer,</i> he thought.
-Silence fell in the farmhouse, broken only by the click of the knitting needles. Tom heard the sharp intake of Ma's breath from the kitchen, saw April and May's saucer eyes turn from Granny to him, felt the blood rising to his face with shame. Granny's eyes narrowed, just a fraction, then she nodded to herself, as if making a decision.
+This wasn't magic he was using – not yet - just some impressive sounding words which usually worked to drive off the uninitiated. True to form, the wretch took to heel almost immediately.
-"Anyroad, I bin speaking to Martha Landskeeper." The chair began to rock again, Ma's spinning wheel whirred back into action, even the fire began to crackle again. "Turns out she's after a new 'prentice." With a creak from the chair, or perhaps from her old bones, Granny got to her feet and lifted the staff down from the wall. She weighted it carefully in her hands for a moment, then offered it at arm's length to the elder of her two granddaughters. "This one's for you, April. Martha says she'll take May an' all, next harvest time when she's of age.
+<i>One down, two to go. Steady now..</i>
-"An' as for you, Tom, there's an oak shaft in the shed an' a barrel of lye, an' come mornin' I'll be out to see what manner of a start you've made. Time I taught on what I know, an' time you learned to take a tellin'."
+The second follower began to falter in his advance and spoke to the lead urchin. “Nathan, we picked a wrong one here. This one's magic! Let's get out and find some easier pickings over on Southside!”
+The leader didn't budge, even when his second henchman turned tail and skittered off, leaving him alone.
+<i>And then there was one.</i>
+Casimir resumed his chant, low and menacing; but this time there was meaning to the words, and mana woven into the pauses.
+“You won't fool or scare me so easily, old man!” Nathan ran forward and tried to get in close to use his knife but even with Casimir's reflexes he was too slow. The bleached tip of the old man's oak staff hit Nathan squarely on the knee, knocking him flat in the mud.
+<i>Now we're equal. Not so confident now, are we?</i>
+Nathan was still quicker though, and rolled to one side before standing up and squaring off against Casimir, his eyes stinging with embarrassment and hatred. He summoned all his strength to teach this old, unarmoured man a lesson ...
+... But the strength didn't come. Afraid, unsure what other tricks the old man had up his sleeve, he ran off into the night with one last hateful look back and a threat on his lips..
+Casimir took a deep breath and continued on his journey. There may not have been a spring in his step, but there was a smile on his lips.
 </ic>
-[[Category:Magic Items]]
-[[Category:Staffs]]

Agramant's Bargain

Latest revision as of 15:51, 13 January 2022

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