The Wand and the Ship

PART 1.

The second trial has been completed. A mechanism activates and ancient mechanisms come to life and open the next door for the Scholar to pass through on his mission to solve the underground ruin’s mysteries.

The party following him can’t help but gasp in awe, impressed by his ability to decipher and manipulate the magical formulas barring their way to the treasured key at the heart of this ancient labyrinth.

His party consists of himself, Royal Scholar of the King, a master arcanist, spell-scribe, and all around class act, The Knight, loyal warrior of the territory’s lord, The Dancer, beautiful envoy of the Moonwalkers, whose people hail from this land that is now owned and ruled by another, and the Scholar’s Assistant, young and eager, keeping track of his notes and data for him.

The great stone and metal door swings open dramatically and locks in place with a click. Light floods the previously dark ruin, emanated by the very thing they are here to retrieve. The Vitamore, Great Wand of Infinite Eros, said to be the key to what’s left of the Dancer’s culture’s ancient treasures.

The Wand floats on it’s own power in a glass case, determined to be admired even if the vast chasm before them prevents it from being caressed and enjoyed.

The Lord’s Knight exclaims “this quest hath taken a turn for the impossible it appears…” The Assistant shakes his head, shook by the bottomless pit before them. The Dancer, who up to this point has mostly been mildly amused or otherwise uncocerned, smiles, excited by the challenge before them. She steps forward, barefoot, her leg bracelets gently clinging with a bell like tone, to the edge and just quietly enjoys the sight of the artifact and the meaty pit before her.

The Scholar, amongst many things, is confident that to every problem there’s a logical, natural solution waiting to be found. But even he’s a bit stumped by this obstacle. Regardless, his determination does not wane. The Lord of the Land called on him to solve the mysteries of his property, and the Scholar can’t resist a juicy problem.

He steps forward, in his black cloak, brown hide boots and the leather cuirass and pants assigned to him for this mission, and walks to the edge of the Pit, standing side by side with the Dancer. She glances at him, barely noticeable, but the Scholar is, amongst many other talents, very observant, and catches her smiling at him, before she turns back towards the pit.

Both their hearts beat a little faster for the encounter as they return their attention to the mission. A little more blood flowing to his loins and to his brain standing in the Dancer’s presence, he has an idea. He sweeps the ground for them and picks up some loose pebbles, and in a wild toss throws them towards the wand. Of course they don’t reach, he’s not a master of projectile tossing, but they land in the pit, and as they cross the threshold, he catches a ripple of magical energy as they fall and pass through. “Hmmm…” he hums to himself outloud.

“What the hell is he doing now?” the Knight is impatient and annoyed in playing second-fiddle to this man of learning. The Assistant smiles, “he’s observing…watch, good sir!” The Knight glares at the boy, who shrinks, aware of the arrogance with which he spoke.

The Scholar directly faces the Dancer: “Lady of swift foot, and beautiful poise-“ The Dancer blushes a bit on hearing that, “describe for me those pictographs, the ones above the wand.” She obliges.

She points at the collection of 5 pictographs displaying two beings moving together, hands touching and crossing over each other. “That’s the Dance of the Immortals. The dance two souls who have committed to each other perform before the Gods as an act of devotion.” The Scholar nods and looks directly in her eyes. “Show me how to do it, please.”

She’s surprised, but not too surprised, he’s already figuring it out. She hadn’t intended to help, but something about him feels trustworthy. The part of her, deeply connected to the spirits of her culture, implore her to show him their sacred dance.”

The two drop their packs and she takes his soft, hands, optimized for writing and reading, and she begins to direct him through the dance. The Knight and the Assistant are surprised, The Knight complaining “what in the hell are you two doing? there’s a job to be done!” The Scholar ignores him, and so does the Dancer, and they spend a good hour simply dancing together and practicing.

It becomes quite clear to the Scholar that the Dance of the Immortals is not an expression of technique and precision, but of feeling and intuition. The Dancer seems to be supernaturally gifted in transmitting the correct attitude, and it probably helps that they feel particularly open and comfortable with each other.

As suddenly as they started, the two stop. “Finally! Are you two ready to do our Lord’s work??” The Scholar glares and snaps at the blustering Knight. “Yes! We are! Watch and learn, you impatient, blathering fool!” The Dancer maintains her poise but subtly swoons, ever more impressed with the raw character of the Scholar, and takes his hand and squeezes it, smiling warmly at him. The Scholar nods and returns the squeeze. The two walk to the edge, and take a deep breath…and then…

They begin to dance. They take a few steps together starting at the pit’s edge, and then the two both connect with the mana flowing inside of them, and connect their mana flows with each other, and begin to glow, and their feet begin to shine with a warm red-orange glow. The two move as of one mind and step out over the pit.

“WHAT ARE YOU—“ The Knight begins to shout but the Assistant, jumps in front of him and shushes him and points.

The two are floating, dancing together across a thin membrance of magical energy over the pit. As they move together, coming apart, coming together, moving around each other, switching from leading to following and back again, feeling into the flow of each other’s energies, the magical membrane adjusts to catch and support them.

As long as the two stay in sync, and present, and in connection to the greater Magic in and around them, the membrane supports them. The two can feel the truth of the dance. They feel guided around and across the pit, not in a straight linear path, but in an unseen flow. They go forward, backwards, across, diagonally, until all of a sudden, to the onlookers’ surprise, the two find themselves standing on the platform across the pit where the Wand awaits, shining patiently, bombarding the pair with it’s radiance.

The Dancer and Scholar take a deep breath, look up and into each others’ eyes, both in a bit of shock and surprise aat how deep they went. They share a quick smile, and then hesistantly let go of each other, to finish the job. The Scholar faces the treasure he was brought to retrieve. “Milady of the Dance, would thou like to do the honors?” The Scholar bows. “No, milord, that wand is for you, I think.” The Knight raises his eyebrow at that. So does the Scholar. Curious. The Scholar turns toward the case, there’s a switch at the base of the case, and he flips it, and the Wand is exposed to the air, vibrating even more fiercely, overjoyed to be released.

The Scholar reaches out, and grasps it in his hand.

Everything stops for an indeterminate amount of time, as the Wand binds itself to his soul-frequency. The Scholar’s consciousness expands out, rapidly, insanely fast through out the fabric of reality and he feels the totality of the grand mana, the life force flowing through the Universe animating and enlivening all within it’s embrace. His body’s nervous system comes alive, filled with the wand’s unique mana, his muscles, heart, organs, drink deeply of the electric warmth and when they’ve had their fill, the Scholar’s time begins again.

“Oh, oh my.” The Scholar is sweating and breathing deeply, flooded with warmth and life force he’s never experienced before. One hand grips the wand, the other grips the Dancer’s hand, who took his as he took the wand. She smiles at him. The Spirits spoke true, this wand is his. She’s overjoyed it went to such a worthy mage and dancer as him.

The Scholar looks deep into her eyes for a bit, and then turns towards the pit, and raises the wand. As he does so, a platform raises up, allowing them to simply walk across and rejoin the Assistant and the Knight. “Impressive, sir Scholar.” “Thank you for your…patience.” The Scholar stifles a laugh and a smirk. The Assistant fails to stifle it and giggles. The Dancer doesn’t even try and just laughs, overjoyed at the great time she’s having.

The party heads towards the exit and ascends into the refurbished compound.

The Scholar, is finally, despite the trials he just passed through, a bit worried about what comes next.

PART 2.

“WELL DONE ROYAL SCHOLAR, WELL DONE INDEED!! HAHAHAHAHAHA!!” The Lord, granted stewardship of this refurbished Moonwalker temple, laughs heartily and with great pride, at having long last gained access to the key to powering and wielding the ancient Moonwalker artifacts.

The Scholar, the Dancer, and the Assistant stand before the Lord and his Knight, the Lord seated at a nice table, with his wife. Some nobles are milling about. The native Moonwalkers are also hanging around, doing maintenance, chatting, staying alert to the goings on, all of them highly aware of the Scholar’s possession of the great and mysterious Vitamore.

The main room, was once the…for lack of a better word, cathedral, sacred space of the ancient Moonwalkers before they mostly dissapeared for mysterious reasons. The few left behind, maintaining what was left behind, with no real interest in claiming the lifeless relics. Until this moment, that is.

The Scholar and his party bows in fealty. “It’s my honor and pleasure to serve, my Lord…and the thrill of the overcoming was a nice bonus I might add.” He quickly glances at the Dancer as he says that. His look is not lost on, well, everyone in the room. She shamelessly returns his gaze and smiles. The Lord feels a bit awkward and starts speaking again.

“Well then…let’s make use of this key at long last!” The Lord looks up, and through the moon-roof installed in the temple, everyone can see the beautiful, but inert sky-cruiser anchored on the temple. “Yes…let’s…” the Scholar kneels, and hands over the wand to the Lord, who’s excitement overflows. “Yes!! My star will rise so high with this!” He laughs and twirls around and points the wand and lets off a little fireball towards one of the temple walls, which pops and scorches it. One of the Moonwalker artisans looks visibly annoyed, and all in the room are distressed…except for the Dancer. The Scholar is extremely distressed.

He can still feel the pulsing heat and electricity of the wand’s mana in his body. It stayed with him despite handing over the wand. He can feel a wild lust running rampant through his nervous system, his loins, his brain, his heart, his muscles. He longs to dance with and ravish the Dancer. The Knight stares fiercely at the Scholar, and he tries not to notice.

The group follows the Lord up to the skyport and all embark on the ship following him to the console at the bridge of the cruiser, where a velvety slot awaits the wand. The Lord smiles, in his long awaited moment of triumph, and inserts the Wand.

Nothing happens. The ship is as lifeless as ever. “Hmph. There it is.” says the Knight who begins to walk towards the Scholar. “The Wand and it’s mana is bound to that man. And he didn’t say anything.” Everyone turns towards the Scholar, who is desperately trying to hold back the wild energy inside of him. “I…” “Is this true Scholar? You’re going to pay for humiliating me like this.” The Lord’s joviality disappears quickly. “I bet if I kill him the mana will return to the wand.” The Knight draws his sword and walks towards the Scholar, full of jealously and bloodlust.

The Dancer steps between them. “The Vitamore belongs to him now. This ship belongs to him now. This temple is his now. You will do nothing. You will kill no one.” She’s unmistakably clear in her intention and her words. The Scholar is mortified. This was not his intention. He did not plan on inheriting anything. He came to do a job, not be burdened with the life force of a dead culture. “Stop! Stop all this! Give me a bit and I’ll pass on the energy to you, my Lord.” The Dancer sighs. “No, you will not, my love. That energy is for you, and you alone, to build on what my people started.” The Scholar is a bit surprised by the ‘my love’ part, but he’s still quite pleased.

The Knight disagrees and grabs the Dancer’s head and throws her across the cruiser, and moves towards the Scholar and swings his blade to take his head…

THUMP.

Everything stops for the Scholar, again. The mana of the wand, it’s infinite, unending Eros causes a great quickening in the Scholar’s bodymind.

The Scholar finds himself standing above the whole scene, on the mana-sail of the ship, looking down at the Knight swinging his blade, the Lord’s furious glare, the Assistant’s despair and panic (he didn’t realize his assistant cared so much for him), the Dancer recovering from being thrown, looking extremely upset and concerned. All around,

“What is this? Why now? Why me?”

‘Why not you?’ the energy answers back.

“This isn’t who i’m supposed to be. I’m not a dancer. I’m not a lover. I’m not some…gallivanting, wandering…whatever the hell this energy is trying to make of me.”

‘How do you know?’

“I…well, I guess…” the Scholar’s impeccable capacity for logic fails him, finally as the truth is unfortunately obvious due to his scientific mind. “I don’t know.”

‘Well, why don’t you find out?’

“Fair enough. So much for my hard earned tenure.”

‘Better things await.’

Time begins again and the Scholar simply twirls and bounds away, with the lightness of air itself, from the Knight’s killer slash.

“Sigh…” The Scholar looks at the Dancer. “Would you like to have tea, and break bread with me after this?” The Dancer smiles warmly and narrows her eyes, “Yes, absolutely.” “Fantastic.” The Knight swipes at the Scholar again and the overflowing mana in his body moves him away again. The Scholar reaches out, with both his inborn mana, and the new energy surging forth, and calls the wand from the console, and it spins through the air into his hand.

He whispers and a blade of fiery, radiant light emerges from the wand and blocks the Knight’s next cut. The two find themselves in a dance, with the Knight furiously and desperately trying to cut the Scholar and prove his worth, while the Scholar dances and flows and parries, deflects, and dodges every strike until the Knight simply collapses from exhaustion. “God…god damn you. The King will hear about this…” The Lord nods. “Yes, he will!”

The Scholar, brilliant as ever, has an idea. “Yes, he will hear of it from me.” He waves the wand and giant hands of light pick up the the Lord, his Knight, and anyone else he does not desire on his ship. While that happens, the Temple’s Moonwalkers all dance and laugh and hop aboard the ship, overjoyed to see their ancestors’ dream revived.

“DAMN YOU! DAMN YOU ALL!” The Lord and his retinue are left alone to take care of themselves.

The Scholar, embracing his new destiny, strides towards the console. The Dancer joins him and stares into his eyes, and walks forward and wraps her arms around his neck. “You are such a pleasant surprise, Mr. Wise Man.” The Scholar smiles, moved by her warmth and the energy raging inside of him, gives her a kiss on the lips. “Yes, I suppose I am.” He gently, but firmly, slides the burning, excited wand into the console.

The Dancing Ship comes to life, runes appearing and glowing across it’s ancient wood. The sound of a happy, freed bird echoes out across the forest, as the Scholar, the Dancer, and his new crew fly off into the horizon, to share their triumph with the King. Who, perpetually amazed by the Scholar’s accomplishments, grants him Lordship of the Temple, and ownership of the Dancing Ship. And maybe the King himself bears a bit spite for the useless Lord.

Now the Lord-Scholar, and the lovely, lively Dancer, travel the world with their merry crew, as they learn about themselves, and love, and life, in alignment with the life force of the Universe, dancing to the world’s rhythm.

THE END.