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Just a guy named Joe
Nothing matters but the reader of what has been written. Not his exhaustion. Not the terrible pounding of the drums. Not Larry. Not the dame. Not the big guy. Not a thing. Even to worry about preserving the integrity of the spell book is a luxury he must not allow himself. The surest way to lose both the casting and the book is to be distracted. And the work MUST be signed and the tools of his art must be well used. He reads, not even noting the passing of the angry dwarf through the barrier, nor that the barrier itself still stands. And as he reads the air about him thickens and the wall of the chamber twists in shape as if being drawn to the thickening air.
The writing over which he had labored so long disappears from the page and, after the writing, the page itself simply fades to nothingness. The book however is intact and he quickly closes it.
“None shall contest our claim!”
He casts only a the briefest of glances in the direction of the source of the angry shout. Nice and easy, he tells himself - don't let on that you're tired or worried. “Don’t look at me, Jack. I’m just a guy named Joe and I was just on my way outta here.” He steps to his side and vanishes into the seam of twisted shadow formed from the wall of the room. “Grab the others and let’s get going!” He shouts to the warrior as he does so.
"And tell the kid to stop it with the melodrama," he mutters and then, his strength spent, he falls - a graceless arrival to a point of safety. He should stand and get his bearings before the others enter, but there ain't nothing left in the tank.
[ 05-18-2006, 04:31 PM: Message edited by: Cyril Darkcloud ]
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