You are strolling down the street on a fine day, enjoying the lack of rain, and turn the corner onto Shop Street.  A new computer store is there, and curious you decide to check it out.

Inside, a new line of the latest computers arcs across the shop floor.  All of them have little yellow labels affixed on the front.

"Scriff-enabled."

A salesman comes by and explains.

"Latest thing. Supposed to have some really interesting properties, but proprietary on all that. What you need to know is that it makes your computer run faster."

He then leaves you to play with the computer on your own.

It is faster.

You turn away to leave, thinking about buying a new computer when you smell a tinge of smoke.  You turn back, and see smoke drifting out of the PC you had been using.

Your pointing finger attracts an arc, and white light flares around you.  Light filled with yellow globules.

And you see the exploding screen receding from you as you are flung up and back...

======================================================================

You wake. Your eyes are closed. A faint tingle runs down your skin, and you notice a moistness on your back.

You're laying on something soft and giving, a bit moist.

The air is filled with birdsong, and the buzz of insects.  You're sweating from the heat, but only a bit.

The fragrance of green leaves and the undertone of rot drifts in the calm air.

Playtester
OOC: Welcome to the game.

For a moment, I feel peaceful, like I'm coming out of a really relaxing dream. Then, I remember the explosion and am immediately confused because, last time I checked, I didn't live in the jungle, which is what this place seems to be.

The slight smell of rot disturbs me, but the moist, giving surface disturbs me even more, as it's just so wrong and definitely not the shop floor that I should be lying on.

I sit up slowly, cautious about the extent of my injuries, and take a moment to look around me, too dazed and confused to be anything else right now.
This message was last updated by the player at 18:14, Fri 02 June 2006.

Looking about you see to your left a broad canyon that recedes down into a swamp.  And to your right are dozens of what seem to be rice paddies.  Beyond them, about two miles distant is a stone-walled city sitting on a hill of dirt in the midst of a small lake.

Two bridges arc from it to the land, and the one in front leads to a road which extends out your way, passing but fifty feet above where your head lay, and descending into the swamp which swallows it like a snake a mouse.

The grass under foot is moist, and green, and the mud underneath a little unstable.

However, you seem to be feeling just fine, other than a state of confusion, that is.

PT

Even though I don't like it, the conclusion is unavoidable, and if I were just a little more twee, I'd probably be mentioning Kansas about now. I get a horrible sensation in the pit of my stomach, as a knot of worry and fear ties itself there. Knowing what I'm like, I realise that I'll just sit here and despair if I don't do something soon, so actively think about explanations. I come up with four possibilities:

1) I'm dreaming (though I don't really believe this as my thoughts are too coherent)
2) The explosion triggered some kind of psychotic episode
3) Something too weird to think about happened at the point of explosion
4) I'm dead

'Right', I say, standing slowly. Knowing that I can't really explore these options on a questionable surface, I attempt to carefully make my way towards the road.
This message was last edited by the player at 11:41, Tue 06 June 2006.

Although at first the ground seems a trifle too interested in moving, it soon firms up, and by the time you reach the road, its good solid terra firma.

Once on the road, you can see its made of stone.

Toward the swamp, you see a dozen fishermen, some armred with poles, and a couple with nets, and two with light spears are either fishing from the end of the road where it dips into the swamp, or actually wading in the swamp.

You also see two men, both dressed in the same clothing of the others, but they are more visible.  Tunics on top, and loose trousers tied up to their knees on the bottom.  No shoes are evident.

These men are keeping watch from a platform set in a tree overlooking the water.

They have heavy twelve foot long spears in their hands.

Toward the city, you see workers in the fields, and far away something that might be a cart.

PT

I take in the sights with some measure of disbelief, the knot in my stomach tightening at the sight of the guards with those spears. I decide it's time to eliminate one of my options and perform a dreamcheck; this seems especially promising as this apparently less technologically advanced world I'm in is a theme that crops up often in my dreams. I tell myself very firmly that I might be dreaming, and decide that if I am dreaming, then I should be able to fly.

To that end, I start jumping on the spot, willing myself to take to the air and fly.

You jump up and down in one spot, pinch yourself, and jump up and down some more.  A fisherman turns, looks back at you, stares, and then motions to his fellows to look your way.

You're a good hundred yards away from them, and you can tell from the hand to the eyebrows, almost like a salute, and from the barest suggestion of the their faces that they are trying to get a good look at you.

OOC: Had to think about this a bit, but I think considering what you said, I made the right choice. You've decided it won't work if you are not dreaming.   Also, as to your Ceremonial Magic, I'm going to call that, if its okay with you, a Psionic skill of Luck Alteration.  Psi skills in Multiverser are innate to the person.  Magic is exterior.  Your intention is not to call on the Powers, but to create your own luck by pschyological manipulation.

Failing to fly, I eliminate the dreaming option, and the movement, silliness and relief serve to loosen that knot a bit. The sight of the fishermen taking an interest in me soon takes care of that however. I turn to look in their direction, and wonder whether any of my three remaining options entail these fishermen speaking English. There's only one way to find out of course...

I walk towards them at a leisurely pace, waving to try and make friendly contact, and call out, 'Excuse me! Would you happen to know where I am?'

OOC: All that's fine. Though luck alteration would be specific to that one spell; would I be able to push my luck (har!) later if he puts any magic into use and argue that different spells would represent different psionic skills?

About four of them get up, and come part of the way to meet you.

They are bleach-blonde with large hats over the sun-baked skin of their faces.  None is more than five foot tall, but all give you the impression of ropy strength, like they could use their whole body to move something if they needed too.

They babble something back to you, with many bows.  Seeing non-comprehension, they turn and wave to the others.  Soon you have eleven short men standing in a curve facing you about nine feet away.

One tries another language, more liquid vowels.  Still nothing.

They turn to one of the guards.  One guard is like them ethnically.  The other is seven foot tall, coal-black skin, and his hair is greased back, and tied in a short pigtail.

He shrugs. Speaks a language. Then another. Gets irritated looking, and another.  Still nothing.

They stare at you.

PT

I spontaneously decide to drop option four because, really, it doesn't seem to cut it. In the current situation, with these thirteen strange people facing me, throwing multiple languages at me but still failing to get to anything I recognise, options two and three seem to be in a dead tie. After a moment or two I realise that I'm day-dreaming in self-defence and my heart starts racing as the situation itself comes to bear fully on my consciousness once more.

'Sorry, I don't understand', I say, bowing afterwards in an attempt to mimick the customs of whoever I'm dealing with, 'Um... I speak English. Je suis Anglais. Ich bin Englander', I throw in the couple of languages that I remember from school, though I wouldn't be able to converse properly in either of them, in the hope that they'll recognise one of those at least.

I also fall back on my fail-safe emergency situation plan of looking as harmless as possible whilst smiling at everyone in a friendly manner.

OOC: Could I get a description of the ethnicity I'm dealing with here? The allusions sound oriental to me, but this is the multiverse, so they could be purple for all I know! :D

OOC: Two different ethnicities.  One could be Earthly, the other looks possible but unusual.

The tall guard is seven feet tall, coal-black, well-muscled, and there is a steadiness and dignity to him.  You doubt that he's terribly quick.

The others are 41/2 to 5 feet tall.  Ropy muscles.  Very blonde hair.  There is a quickness to them.  Their faces are weathered from the sun.  If anything there is faint red tinge to their skin underneath the suntan.  They have no epicanthic folds on their eyes.

IC:

They jabber among themselves, and after a bit, its decided that two of them will go with you.  The tall man inserts himself, and suddenly its three.

They then make hand gestures for you to go toward the city, and they will accompany you.

Meanwhile the rest of the crowd goes back to their fishing.

PT

The possible reddishness makes me think of Native Americans, but the the incredible blondeness makes me think of the Swedish. For want of a better label, I start to think of the small ropey guys as Red Swedes, though I feel a little guilty at being so un-PC, and also slightly amused because Red Swede sounds like a vegetable.

When it becomes apparent that they will take me to the city, I smile widely with gratitude and start with the bowing thing, hoping they get the message. I decide that I like the tall, black dude, and hope that his self-insertion into my escort has good motives.

'Thank you', I say, figuring that trying to communicate might at least get something across, despite the language barrier. I then wait for them to lead me on towards the city.

You pass a cart pulled by oxen, and enter the city through a gate.

The guard at the entrance carries a short sword, and wears a tunic with a red bird design sewn on it.  You can also see banners with that symbol.

Your entourage leads you through the narrow, winding streets of the city.  There are more ethnic types here, but most fall into the two you have already met.  The Red Swedes, and the Tall Man.

You do see one red-headed fellow whom the crowds part around. He's carrying a longsword, and wearing enammelled armor.

Merchants come up to try to sell you things, but you don't recognize their languages either.  A beggar asks for something, but the Tall Man shoves him back.  Not hard, but insistent.

pt

I walk along with my escort, taking in the passing scene, retty much too overwhelmed and confused to really take much else in.

I do start to wonder about how the Red Swedes and Tall Men have come to be the society they seem to be, and try to work out if there is any immediate difference in the social stature of each race; do they appear to be equals, or is one apparently 'lesser' than the other?

The Tall Man's treatment of the beggar embarrasses me somewhat, but I try not to let that show.

There seems to be a rough parity between the Tall Men and the Red Swedes.  They both seem to have different ways, but to have merged them somewhat.

However, you did note that the Redhead was of a different ethnicity, and everyone was very deferential to him.

They take you up to something that screams monastery or temple. Outside it is what you would call a statue of a Chinese dragon.  Its about twenty feet long, and it looks upon passerby's with a stern gaze.

Inside, you see men of a number of different races, but all dressed in yellow tunics with a dragon stitched on the outside.

The fishers talk, and the priest they talk to nods.  He then pulls out a jade figurine, and kisses it.  You notice its broken in two pieces.

He then touches you between the eyes, and on the larynyx with his index finger.

"Welcome stranger to the city of Miesloke, and the Temple of the Great Dragon."

PT

I fancy myself as something of an anthropologist as I take in the apparent quality of Red Sweded and Tall Men. The ginger guy who is receiving the deferential treatment is intriguing, and I think of him as the Ginger Prince. I'm impressed by the temple, though the dragon symbolism has me feeling a bit nervous; part of me starts to think about ritual sacrifice and I shudder, hoping that this particular dragon is more like the honourable, valiant, heroic type dragons.

I'm feeling very uncomfortable as the priest approaches me and does what I take to be a strange greeting ritual, but immediatley smile widely when I hear him speaking in English, unable to hide the relief at hearing familiar words in such an unfamiliar place.

'Thank you', I say, then start to feel foolish, as I'm really not sure what I should say next, 'I'm afraid I need your help', I say, deciding that if this guy can speak English, then maybe he might have some understanding of what happened to me; I'm aware as I think this of how irrational that conclusion is, 'you see, I don't know how I got here'

He talks to the others who reply in now understandable language.

"We saw this man on the road.  He waved to us. Obviously with his fine clothes we thought him a chieftain's son, and since we could not help him we brought him to you, Priest Veor."

Veor nods.

"You have done well." He pulls an amulet out of his robe. "A blessing on all your fishing for this day and the next, Sons of Mies, and Warrior of Loke."

They bow with smiles, and leave.

He turns to you.

"I would be glad to assist you, if I and the Great Dragon can, but I am uncertain as to the nature of your problem.  Have you lost your memory from a blow to the head? Were you kidnapped by relatives and exiled to this land?"

He looks at your face, and shakes his head.

"Ah, I see."

He walks with you through several doorways, the last being guarded.  Inside a small, stone court that despite its enclosure still manages to feel air, he points to a basin of water upheld by a marble pedestal.

It is the only furniture in the room.

"With your permission, I shall endeavour to look into your past, and see what happened to bring you here."

PT

Ahhh, Babelfish, I think to myself with satisfaction. Clearly, whatever is happening is either unreal or so far out of the realms of the ordinary that it may as well be considered unreal until such time as evidence is acquired to the contrary. I ironically remind myself that I'd been arguing that reality was an illusion for years but somehow don't seem to be able to take pleasure in the possibility that I may be proved right. For the time being, I just accept that the priest did something that has made me able to understand and be understood by these people.

I look at the marble pedestal and consider the priest's words with gladness; I'd like nothing better than to find out what had happened. 'If it helps', I say, certain that it won't help, 'I was in a computer store, trying out a new scriff-enabled PC. I got up to leave, and there was an explosion, then I was lying on the ground by the road out near the swamp', I smile in a manner that I hope doesn't seem too deranged, 'but I don't appear to be injured, so I really am quite confused. And yes, please do look into my past to find some answers; I really should work out how to get back'

He smiles.

"Peecee. Explosion. Why do you buy a mathematically trained slave in a storehouse of grain?  Most unusual you are, young man."

He holds out his left hand, and it takes you a couple seconds to realize he means you to hold it.  After the cultural oddity, he raises his right hand over head, and cries out in a loud voice.

"O Great Dragon, grant thy faithful servant the right to turn back the pages of the Book of Ages that we may glimpse the truth, and aid this poor fellow. Let us do all in accordance with your holy will."

With that, he pulls down his hand, kisses it, and then touches the surface of the water with his first fingertip.

It glimmers, and the room shakes. On the wall, the mosaic of a dragon seems to stir.

And then you see a ghostly book under the water.  It shows words in English--well not quite--but you can read them anyways.  It also has drawings of you, and the situation you found yourself in.

It claims you died and travelled to another universe.

PT

I'm impressed by the show of magic, and when I read what's written in the book that apparently charts what happened to me, I'm not sure how to react, so for a moment just stand and stare at the pool of water.

'I travelled to another universe?', I say eventually, 'How is that even possible?'

I look to see if the book says anything more to clarify the situation, such as how I travelled here or why.

It just has a bald statement..."And then the electrical explosion of the scriff-enabled computer infected and killed Michael, and took him from his own universe and deposited him in the Empire of the Phoenix, in the universe ruled by the Great Dragon.  Behold, he is a twice-living man."

The priest is staring back at you.

"My lord, I had not even considered the existence of other universes. Except for the Blessed Hills of the Dragon where the Faithful rest, or the Pits of Nebixzond where the wicked are punished."

You notice he has gotten a lot more respectful.

"The Book of Ages does not tell everything that we would like to know. And in some respects it is discreet, or subtle, or we lack the proper understanding.  For, I still do not see the 'computer' you wished to buy in the storehouse of grain. I see a strange box, but where is the slave?"

PT

I feel a hysterical moment of wanting to laugh pass over me as I remember an episode of The Simpsons in which Lisa becomes the ruler of the strange world she grew. There are too many possibilities here, and I start to feel like I'm too overwhelmed to react.

'In that world, the strange box is the slave', I say quietly, 'the computer is the strange box, and it can perform logical tasks at tens of thousands times the speed of human beings'

I look at the priest; his respectful tone doesn't reveal much. I've seen enough movies to realise that there is as much chance of me being revered as the next ritual sacrifice as there is of me being a living God here, and I'm not sure how comfortable I am with being called 'My Lord'. I decide that I just need time; time and information, then I can work out whether I'm mad or not.

'Please... this is all very confusing for me. Is there somewhere I could rest? And... is there someone who would be able to talk to me after I've rested; someone who can answer my questions?'

He nods.

"Of course, we have spare cells for the novices."

Cells doesn't sound good.  But when he takes you there, you see a small four by ten room with a slit exterior window, and no door...just like the several dozen you've just passed.

He orders them to give you two pallets and a blanket, a new chamberpot, and a small three-legged stool already sits in the corner.

The room looks like its been freshly swept out.

"It is not much, but it is what we have." He says a bit defensively.  "Rest here, and when you wake, come to the common eating room. Anyone there with a rope belt which means an accreditted priest will be glad to talk to you, unless they are busy."

PT

I thank the priest and enter the room. When he's left, I cover the pallet with the blanket and lie down. Alone, I'm confident I can get some grip on my thoughts.

I review my options:

1) Psychotic episode
2) Infected by scriff-enabled computer and sent to a different universe
3) Miscellaneous other unexplained option

Mmm. I give it some thought, and eventually come to the conclusion that, if it is a psychotic episode, then I won't be able to think myself out of it. I already tried the dream-check, so if my brain's reality circuits have gone screwy, I'll be trapped in the psychosis until some plucky head doctor can get me out; it's like the brain in a vat problem in this way, there is no way to think myself out of it.

Option three is really just a placeholder option. Which leaves... acceptance. I decide to accept what's happening at face value, with a secondary option on psychotic episode should something crop up, and the miscellaneous option as a last resort. All that leaves is how I'll deal with a world in which I might possible be revered or sacrificed for being a twice-living man.

Twice-living? Where have I heard that before?

Then it hits me; the Brahmin. In the Hindu caste system, the Brahmin are the twice-born, the only people to get a second human incarnation. I wonder if this is how things work over here, and hope they do, because that would make me an aristocrat, which appeals to me much more than being a ritual sacrifice.

Having cleared my head, I decide that I should go speak with a priest to see how things stand. I head for the common eating room, hoping that this is easy or obvious to find, to look for a priest.

It takes a little wandering, but the temple is not all that large a building, and the smell of food guides you.

You enter a main common room with two rows of tables, and individual stools for most.  The head table which crosses the two tables at the far end of the room has chairs, and so do some of the spots for the more elderly priests.  Although you still see a couple very old priests sitting upright on stools.  The habit of a lifetime would be hard to break.

The room is about a fifth full with about twenty-five men in this room.  You realize you have seen women in the temple, but only as servants, although you have seen women outside the temple who obviously had some power since they themselves had servants.

There is a wide array of priests in this room.  Its spartan, except for the mosaic on the walls that sparkle with beauty and color.

The mosaic shows the Dragon teaching writing to humans, and then teaching laws, and then mercy.  That fills up the walls of the room.

PT

This Dragon sure seems to be where it's at... I wonder if he blew up that computer... and what is it I'm infected with?

I look around, daunted by all the unknown people; priests no less. I wonder how I should go about asking the questions I want to ask, and wonder if that other priest has already let them know that I'll be coming; surely, in a small community such as a temple like this would have, word of a strange arrival like myself would travel fast? I'm not sure I even like the idea of that.

I decide to go for the direct approach. I look for a nearby priest, preferably someone by themselves and friendly looking, approach and say, 'Excuse me... sorry, but I was told I would be able to come here and ask some questions about this... uh, world I'm in', I think for a moment, then add, 'I'm a twice-living man, you see, and need to get my bearings'

You look about, and see one guy looking up at you with a curious smile.  So you sit down across from him on a stool.

"The Hierarch said to treat you like you were a man without memory.  I am Rogio, a second-rank priest of the Great Dragon.  We are in the city of Miesloke which is the administrative center for the Mies and the Loke tribes in the Empire of the Phoenix, also called the Red Lords Empire."

He bids you lay your right hand palm down on the table.  He then points to the the second knuckle on the finger to the left of your pinkie finger.

"Miesloke."

He points to the next knuckle to the left.

"Timwrath. Where the Tim and the Wrath are ruled.  There are eleven peoples, no twelve.  Well, perhaps thirteen.  The original Ten Tribes such as the Mies and the Wrath.  And these humans always shared the land with the Fey.  But then came the Red Lords, the Children of the Phoenix to rule over us.  And now, there is a new group, nearer the center of the Empire, you meet people who are of every tribe in their own blood.  Imperials."

He points to the center of your hand.

"The City of the Singing Birds.  The place of the Feather Throne."

PT

I try to follow this. The history of this world is secondary to my main concerns at the moment, but I wonder how much any privelege being twice-living might afford me if I'm revealed as being completely clueless, so I take in his words and try to make sense of them; this would all be useful to know later in any case.

'So there were ten original tribes, and then they were conquered by the Imperials?', I ask, genuinely curious, 'Also, please tell me about the twice-living'

"No,no, I mean well yes. No, let me try again. Ten original tribes, yes." The words rush out of him, and then he slows.  "The Red Lords, the Children of the Phoenix conquered them with their superior magic, and their violent ways, and let us be honest, their superior organization.  The Imperials are those of mixed blood from all the tribes for before the Red Lords came, most of the tribes did not intermarry."

He leans back, and smiles.

"Ah, the twice-living.  Now you come to the heart of legend.  For know, we have Holy Sayings handed down by the Dragon which we must obey, and then we have stories of great holy men which we do not have to obey, but offer insight. However, sometimes the line between madman and holy man is thin. So Hiram the Broken-Armed, who was so holy that he could eat poison, and the assassin would fall dead, was sitting on a mountaintop communing with the Dragon.  And then he saw from the City of the Feathered Throne, rise up a great Phoenix.  A bird of flame so great that it covered the sky.  And it challenged the Dragon.  And so the Dragon and the Phoenix made war on each other in the vaults of the darkness.  And then the Dragon was bit and fell down to earth in the Smoking Mountain.  And the Phoenix came, and took his dead body, and put it in a place where no man could reach it to revive the Dragon, for only the Dead could walk into the Cave of Ages, and only the living could walk out.  For the Cave of Ages is the passageway from this world to the Blessed Realms or to the Pits of Nebixond."

He smiles.

"I think Hiram was mad. I think the Dragon chose to leave this world because of our sinfulness."

Now he looks sad.

PT

I begin to wonder if maybe I'm talking to the right person, as his min seems to wander. Having said that, I decide that I like him, partially because his mind wanders, but mostly because he seems to live within the explanations he gives.

'I see; so how long ago did the Children of the Phoenix conquer the ten tribes?', I ask, 'And what's the connection between the twice-living and the death of the Dragon; can only a twice-living person bring the Dragon back? Do holy men now commune with the Pheonix instead?'

"Almost two thousand years ago.  Records are confused from back then.  Many were burnt, and then many were written a bit haphazardly since the primary concern of the priests of the Dragon was saving the holy tablets, and with raiding parties chasing them, accurate record-keeping took third place behind survival.  Some of our greatest legends come from that time.  Heroes, villains, great magics..."

He looks into the distance seeing something in his mind.

"In ways, I'd prefer to live there with things so on the edge.  We live in a dry age without great men and we know that the magic of our ancestors was mostly tales they told to encourage themselves instead of bare fact."

"According to the ancient legend from a thousand years ago, when the Dragon fought the magician's creation, a twice-living man would be the only man able to rescue the Dragon.  There are a number of theories as to the spiritual significance of what this means."

He drifts a bit.

"Commune with the Phoenix? Hah, no. Very amusing.  Only a Red Lord may summon the Phoenix.  And besides, the Phoenix is not interested in holiness.  It is power, so the Red Lords say.  And glory.  Holiness is a form of silliness they say."

He shrugs,a nd fingers his priestly robe.

"Obviosly I disagree."

PT

Uh-oh.

I'm not sure about this twice-living man rescuing the dragon part. I wonder if it's something I'll be expected to attempt, though the priest doesn't seem all that excited by the idea, so maybe that's just the healthy paranoia of a man who's been exploded into a new universe.

'So the Phoenix is power and is summoned by the Red Lords, whereas the Dragon is holiness and can't be communed with until it is, uh, rescued by a twice-living man', I think for a moment, 'do twice-living men turn up very often?'

Inwardly, I realise that I've already started rationalising the situation. After all, if it's possible to traverse universes, then maybe the legend is rooted in fact. In which case, maybe the Dragon and the Phoenix are metaphorical interpretations of things that were brought here from another Universe, beyond the understanding of the original ten tribes.

"Yes, and the whole bit about them is rather blown out of proportion.  Like the Rainbow Tower in the center of town. Supposedly a Red Lord magi raised it in a day and a night, but we know thats ridiculous.  One magi raising a hundred foot tall tower by himself?  Really now.  By the Gifts of the Dragon we can speak to others, even animals.  Heal. Purify water, and smell gold, but the legends of shapechanging are just that, legends."

He thinks a bit.

"Well, there's a story that a twice-living man turned up about ten years ago in Timwrath, but he disappeared so most people think he was not such, although the High Magister at Timwrath's Winding Circle Tower is convinced he was one, and this fellow is probably the brightest Circle magi of his generation, at least in the border marches, anyways."

He turns to face you.

"My favored idea is that what is meant by the twice-living man is that someone will come,and with a fresh eye re-read the Tablets of the Dragon, and give them new life by a new eye.  This is what is meant by taking the Dragon from the Cave of Ages."

PT

It only now occurs to me that the Ginger Prince would be one of the Red Lords, and I suddenly have an image of a world rules by Imperial highlanders, all wearing kilts and feasting on haggis. I have to stifle a smile at this thought.

It then occurs to me that the priest might be looking at me expectantly.

'So... you would want me to read these Tablets?', I ask tentatively, 'Is that allowed; aren't they holy and protected or something?', I think for a moment, 'And would I be able to meet the High Magister you mentioned? You say he's a Circle magi; what does that mean? Do you have many different types of magi?'

"Yes, the Tablets are sacred, but I think you, being the twice-living man, would be able to see them."

He pulls out a scroll from a deep pocket in his robe.  And then carefully clearing a space, and making sure its clear of any food or even food stains, he unrolls it.

"This is Tablet Four, given to the Hierarch Lantos as he was imprisoned by Sliv tribesmen."

You can't read it.

"Um, to answer your other question, Timwrath is about two weeks away by Imperial roads.  I don't see why you couldn't visit the High Magister there, but do you have a horse?  And it is sad to say, but its better to travel in a small group."

He then gathers up some eating utensils to make a model.  With each type, he puts down a knife, or a pepper shaker, or...

"There are many sources of magic. We call on the power of the Dragon, we priests, but holy men could do great miracles which are not in the Tablet #7 which tells of priestly powers.  The Red Lords can summon the Phoenix, so it is said, and use this power for magic, but I don't really understand that.  Each of the ten tribes has a magic as well.  The Wrath can call lightning, and the Mies can bless a field, and the Loke can turn to smoke.  Now, not all of them can do this, only few.  Shamans and others.  The Fey can do magic, but they have many rules laid on them.  And the magi of the Winding Circle preserve magic by intricate and mind-numbing rituals involving things like algebra and the sacred calculus."

PT

I am disappointed by not being able to read the scroll, and hope this doesn't make me suddenly expendable. For a second, I consider the possibility of faking it, but I'm too honest to consider attempting to dupe some kindly priests and so opt for fessing up instead. 'I'm sorry, but I can't read the scroll', I say remorsefully. As an after thought, I add, 'I looked into ceremonial magick back in my world for a while... it used lots of rituals like the Winding Circle magi, but not so much algebra and calculus... it was all mainly psychological anyway, so...'

"Oh, right.  The Hierarch only granted you the ability to speak and hear, not to read."

He then begins to read it off to you with a wooden stylus to point to the words.

"Pschyological? The study of the soul?  No, Winding Circle does not do such."  he pauses, and then crinkles up his face in question.  "But you can read, in your native language?  I am surprised, only high nobles and priests can here, along with a few scholars such as the Winding Circle mages."

He then shows you more of the text, and begins to teach you their method of letters.

PT

'In my world, most people can read. Even the poorest children go to school... well, in the wealthier nations, that is', I say by way of explanation, 'study of the soul would be a good way of putting it', I add. I then concentrate on his attempt to teach me some of their letters and try to make sense of as much of the tablet as I can.

Over the next several days, you get accustomed to your new surroundings, and learn to read the local language, Imperial.  You're still constantly finding words you don't recognize, but the alphabet is down in your memory, and you have reached the reading level of what you would call a first grader.

Your companion at the cafeteria has been detached from his regular duties to teach you which seems agreeable to him.  He finds you very novel, indeed.

The Tablet seems to be a discussion of the duties owed to one's oppressors or rulers even if they unjust.  Its also interspersed with words of comfort about how oppression eventually fails, and advice on how to 'fight city hall' without getting impaled on a stick.  But the main part of it is a defense of the notion of absolute moral standards even in trying times.

PT

Whilst I enjoy the chance to grow accustomed to this place, and, to be fair, can't say I feel any less connected here than I did back in my homeworld, the message from the tablet I find quite depressing. It seems odd to me that the Dragon would encourage its followers to just roll over and take it. I start to wonder if rescuing the Dragon might not be some way of saying that the Dragon needs to be rescued from itself... at least, that sounds pretty Zen, which would at least appear profound.

I track down the priest who is guiding me to ask some more questions.

'I'm wondering about the history of these Tablets', I say to him, 'how long ago were they given to you and how? Could it be that the Dragon meant only for these rules to apply to other followers of the Dragon, that he never foresaw his own defeat, and so saw the collapse of oppression as inevitable because, to his way of thinking, the oppressors would also be his followers and so subject to his rule in the end?'

"They came to us before the coming of the Red Lords over a period of a thousand years.  The Tablets have numerous authors.  One, Tablet Five was writted by a Fey Lord.  Nine was written by the Preacher and the Daughter of Sorrow.  Twelve is commonly called the Sayings of the Wise in Council, and was written by eight different magi.  The rest had individual authors, but all were empowered by the Dragon as shown by their great works, and holiness.  Plus after the arrival of each tablet, many people saw the Dragon, and some heard it quoting from the new tablet, thus letting us know that these were the intentions of the Dragon."

He smiles.

"Thats the orthodox view.  I'm a little less enthused about a couple of the Tablets myself.  However, you must see the context.  The Hierarch at that time was about to be enslaved although he didn't know it by the Sliv.  And the Sliv were at that time, the most warlike and powerful of all the tribes.  If he told his fellow tribesmen to come rescue him, they would in all likelihood been slaughtered.  Instead, from his prison cell he preached to the Sliv...who did not listen.  And then before he died, he added an appendix.

'For the days of shadow come, when men shall not see what is, only the imaginings of their hearts shall they see.  And in that day, shall the oppressor be cast down, and a tenth part shall remain.  The Dragon shall fall.  And while there is peace upon the land, so shall the oppressor be a peaceful man until the day the Dragon rise to make war upon the great oppressor.'

When people first read that, they thought it meant the Dragon was going to attack the Sliv, but what we think it means is that when the Dragon falls, so will the Sliv.  About a thousand years ago, the Sliv Rebellion against the Red Lords occurred.  Nine of ten of their fighting men were killed.  The rest were forced to take the Oath of Peace to never strike another human being.  To this day, the Sliv are the weakest of the tribes, and utterly pacifistic.  At least, so the passage seems to say until the Dragon comes back, so it will be."

PT

'Where is the cave that he has supposedly been taken to? Does legend give any likely locations, or is that believed to be a simple metaphor too?', I ask, 'and would I be able to arrange for an escort to this Circle Magi you mentioned. I'm not sure what to make of my place in this world'

"Well, according to legend, and its not even written in the Tablets, the Cave of Ages is in Mount Visance, which overlooks the City of the Feathered Throne.  There seems to be some details here and there which support this idea in the Tablets, but its pretty sketchy."

He spends the next hour going over them with you.  He's right.  The references could be interpreted several ways.

Except for one reference.

"And the chosen of the Dragon, the twice-lived man, shall go to the altar of Quetzalcoatl."

"We're not sure what this means. Quetzalcoatl is a mystery word.  A fair number of scholars think its a scribe's error.  Someone fell asleep while copying..."

He takes you to the Hierarch for your last question.

"Young man, I could offer you counsel if you were an ordinary man.  I'd say look to your skills, and your joys, but you being the ...well, I am not sure I am wise enough."  He pauses, and murmurs to a scribe. "In two days time, we will be sending a merchant train to Timwrath.  Or I can simply escort you across Miesloke now to the Winding Circle tower here."

PT

'I think Quetzalcoatl was a South American God in my world... Aztec or Mayan or something... do those names mean anything to you? What about America or Mexico? The god was some sort of feathered serpent I think, a kind of representation of the world in some way', my eyes widen, 'maybe the Phoenix is really Quetzalcoatl, and the mountain is its altar... would that make any sense?', I think for a moment, 'but then, the Red Lords don't look like Mexicans or South Americans'

I look to the Hierarch, 'Perhaps I might try to find this cave? Would the Imperials forbid this or would it be allowed as a research outing?'

"The Dragon is the upholder of the eternal principles on which the world was made.  The Phoenix, well, I don't know.  All these names, I don't know. Very strange. Mezta, Azmeri, uh..."  He flounders a bit.

"I do know the Phoenix is a bird of flame.  I have seen one myself, rather impressive, wingspan of ten feet."

He looked thoughtful.

"No, I don't the Imperials would block such.  They sneer at us in the privacy of their courts, although they are careful not to do so in public.  We are peddlers of superstitions, and they don't fear anyone studying their knowledge for only a Red Lord may summon a Phoenix.  Their tribal magic is much greater than any other tribes' magic."

pt

'Yes, the phoenix was a bird of flame back on my world too; though mythical there, no one would say they had seen one. So this other serpent must be something different', I reply, thinking through the puzzle but getting nowhere with my limited knowledge of this strange new culture, 'I would very much like to try and find this cave, though. That is, if it would be possible to arrange an expedition; if you can spare people and resources'

The Hierarch chuckles.

"You are a chosen instrument of the Dragon. I think we can spare resources to help you."

He chuckles again.

"Would you be ready in about four days time to leave? We can combine several needs into one then, by bringing some copies to the City of the Feathered Throne, and to make some buying of supplies.  Also, do you know how to ride a horse? If not, it would be a good time for you to learn.  Riding horseback is far more pleasant than sitting in a wagon and eating the dust of the mules in front of you."

He sighs, and looks like he can already taste the dust.

PT

'Four days would be most adequate, Hierarch, thank you', I reply politely, reassured that my place as a twice-living man affords me some status, though at the same time uncomfortable with being referred to as the Dragon's chosen.

I take the hint from the Hierarch's obvious experiences and request that someone teach me whatever basics of horse-riding I can get a grip on. I would then spend the next four days learning what I can on horseback, and continuing to talk to my priest-tutor about the Tablets, trying to find out as much as I can about what they say and the traditional interpretations that surround them.

OOC: Will we skip the next four days (I'm happy to if you want) or play out further developments?

Over the next four days, you study more, and learn how to be a decent rider.  You take rides in the city, and out in the rice fields, and the longest up a trail alongside a canyone wall to a tower made of purple, pink, and orange stone of a pastel hue, all melted together so that the tower looks like it was made in one piece.

"One of the many magi towers from the old days.  According to legend, each was made in a day and a night which is ridiculous, of course.  Nowadays, we don't know how to get in to them."

You ride the ten miles back, and spend the next day getting ready.  Early the next morning, you and a dozen others set out for the City of the Feathered Throne.  You're soon joined by several merchant wagons who hope to participate, and thus not have to pay for guards.

By the time the southern gate dwindles to nothing behind you, you have nearly fifty people in your group.

PT

Talking to my priest tutor, I ask him about this need for guards and safety, 'Don't the Imperials keep the roads safe? Is it roving bands of bandits that we're in danger from?', I think about this, 'What are the chances of them attacking us anyway?'

I also ask about our new travelling companions, curious to see if there is anyone particularly interesting I could go talk to.

"The Imperials try, but the Fey and the bandits come back, and money is tight, and sadly," He pauses, and keeps quiet. "It gets harder year by year.  My grandfather on my mother's side told me how in his day it was safe for just two people to go by themselves.  Now, any less than ten is sheer foolishness."

He paused.

"We should be safe. Fifty is a goodly number, even if many of them are not all that militant looking.  And priests of the Dragon are capable warriors, and wield magic.  Of course..."  He pauses meditatively. "Some of them for us, might not be."

He nods up ahead at four riders on nice horses.  They all look like the type of person you'd find on a police line-up in your world.

PT

'They're priests?', I ask, a little surprised, 'How does one become a priest here? There must be some qualification', I think for a moment, 'would you tell me about the Fey? I don't think I quite understand who they are and how they fit into the history of Miesloke'

"Oh no, not them. When I say 'us', I meant us as in this whole motley caravan of priests, merchants, a couple soldiers, and even that minstrel fellow who can barely hold a tune."

He leans back on his horse.

"Oh, yes, many years of training are required.  Plus a devotion to the eternal principles of righteousness and to the Dragon who embodies them, and gives them life.  At least so its supposed to be, but some priests are here just because they want a job that is not as taxing as working in the fields,a nd they have rich parents.  We try to put such as those to work in some place where they wont' do much harm."

He smiles as he talks of the Fey.

"There be many who argue the Fey were not created by the Dragon.  Back before the Empire, they were plentiful. Any well, or pass through a mountain, many bridges had one, and he could bless or harm as he willed.  Forrests were often full of them.  They seem to enjoy bedevilling humans, and aiding us at the same time.  Often the same gesture that solves a problem creates one with them.  They do, according to legend, respond well to nobility and beauty.  They hate meanness of spirit and ugliness of body.  But when the Red Lords came, the Fey fled before them like sheep before a wolf.  And the Red Lords were not amused by them either, and deliberately drove them deep into hidden places.  Or so it was said.  Some thought the Fey were dead, but of late they come back, more and more."

PT

I am somewhat relieved to hear that the 'usual suspects' up ahead aren't priests, and think that the priesthood as described by my tutor sounds similar to the old monastic orders from back home a few centuries back, with intelligent young men becoming monks more for the perceived easier life than the religious call. Though that raises the spectre of home, which I'm still not equipped to think about clearly yet.

'It would be interesting to meet the Fey', I reply, 'In my homeworld, we have many myths about faeries and so forth, and they are often called 'fey', though they are very much a childhood fiction in my world, not something you would actually come across for real'

I look around at those travelling with us, and ask my tutor, 'Is there anyone particularly noteworthy travelling with us? Anyone who might be inclined to help us on our own expedition?'

He laughs.

"I think upon meeting a Fey you would be disinclined to that desire."  He scratches his jawline.  "Hmmh, the well-to-do merchant, second in line, the one with the six mule train is considered fairly devout.  If you approached her, you might find help.  But what help do we need?"

Hours pass, and you find that your training was not adequate to the journey.  And then a horseman from the 'usual suspects' comes up alongside you.  He slaps your thigh hard with an open hand.

And you're about to react when you realize your leg doesn't hurt anymore.  He grins at you with a mouthful of broken teeth.

PT

I smile at the horseman and say, 'Hey, thanks!', curiosity gets the better of me and I ask, 'Why did that make my leg feel better?'. I figure that if the group do turn out to be trouble, there are enough strong types in the caravan to deal with them.

"I am Kra Tribe. Magicman for my tribe. Strong magic we have. Pain to drive out pain.  Make us good warriors."  He circles around you, and slaps the other leg.

Its hard enough to leave a bruise, but there's no pain now in that leg.

"Now you can ride.  Get strong."

The surcease lasts for several hours, but then it ends, and now you have bruised thighs, and horseback legs as well.  Luckily, there's only an hour more of the pain before nightfall.

The priests hand you some salve to put on, and tell you to relax.  They will handle the camp duties.

PT

Weary, I realise that I'm probably going to hurt like hell in the morning. With the evening and the firelight, I'm feeling kind of light and adventurous, so I decide to go look for the Kra Tribe Magicman so I can talk to him about his tribe and his magic.

The priests look at you a bit disaprovingly, but say nothing as you walk over to the Kra magicman.

He scoots aside a spot for you, and hands you a wine bottle.

"Rithdarok. In the old tongue.  Make you very strong if you drink all. Or kill you."

It smells of milk and fermented drink.

"What you want, twice-lived man?  And are you now immortal, can't die?"

PT

I smile apologetically at the priests, and say, 'I'm just curious; I'll be right back'

I sit down and take the wine bottle. Smelling the drink, I remember som fermented milk I tried in a Syrian restaurant once and hope this tastes better than that. Before I drink, though, I think about the magic man's words.

'Immortal?', I ask, 'I don't know about that'. I think hard about this, and am suddenly forced to recognise that I did actually die recently. Or at least, I got blown up and somehow appeared in another world, which must presumably mean that I died, seeing as I turned up with no real injuries.

'I died in my old world', I say, 'I was caught in an explosion. When I woke up, I was in this world. Not sure if that makes me immortal, lucky, or just plain bizarre'

I brace myself and take a large swig of the fermented milk, hoping that it doesn't make me go blind or something, and trying my best to anticipate its strength so I don't end up choking all over the magic man.

The drink is fresher, and stronger. You take a swig, and hang onto it, until you can swallow it.  It hits your stomach and sets it roiling.

"Explosion. What this mean?"  One of the Kra asks.

"Shush, magicmen are talking." The Kra magicman tells his fellow.

"Yes, the twice-living man.  You are strange.  The Chosen of the Dragon. Do not fear this.  It is simply the way it is. Each man is strange, and only your strangeness is more obvious.  And so you must bear the pain of this.  But that is what it means to be a man, to endure."

He slaps his own chest hard.

"Pain cannot defeat you unless you let it.  Do you believe me?"

PT

'Explosion?', I say, concentrating on holding my stomach together, 'Um... there's a loud bang and a fireball and a force that's a bit like being hit in the face by a hurricane. Anyway, that's what killed me', it feels very strange to talk so casually about a death that I apparently survived, so I decide to follow up my last swig with a new one to take my mind off things.

'I believe you about pain', I say, 'pain doesn't even live in the body, it lives in the mind. The nerves that detect the pain live in the skin, but the sensation of pain is up here', I tap my head, 'in the mind. So if you can get over the idea of pain, it shouldn't be able to defeat you', I think for a moment, 'there were lots of people back in my world who claimed they could use the power of thoughts alone to ignore pain'

"No this is not a power in you, except for courage.  You must have courage.  No, we make a sacrifice of pain to appease the Powers Between, and if they are pleased by our bravery and faith, then they give us a lack of pain."

He then goes on to explain the Powers Between. In his understanding of the world, the Dragon formed the world and Made the Law by a sacrifice of one of its scales, and then gave to lesser beings the right to shape the world, and give it life.  There's dozens of these, including one, the Scorpion, who is the patron of the Kra.  The Fey in his mind are the servants of Chaos, and the enemies of the Dragon and thus of Good and Order.  And the Phoenix is the breath of the Dragon.

"Which just goes to show you that children can be ungrateful little rascals."

He laughs and then tells you a story of how one becomes a Kra magicman....you get tossed tied hand and foot into a pit of scorpions.  If you get out alive, you're a magicman.

PT

I listen with genuine interest, wondering if my priest-tutor would think better of these Kra if he knew how they thought. Or perhaps he already knows how they think and considers it their equivalent of heresy.

'You were thrown into a pit of scorpions?', I exclaim, 'Did you get stung and survive or do something to stop them stinging you?', I think about it for a moment, 'I think if it was me, I'd probably die and end up in yet another new world'

"I was stung many times, but I maintained my focus, my will, and so the Scorpion was pleased, and granted me my wish that I might be able to talk to the Scorpions.  Then they stopped biting me.  But I was still dying because I had many hands of bites.  I then asked the scorpions if they would bite me again, and take out their poison from the spots it sat in my body. They had put their runes on me. They consented, after telling me it would hurt, and I must not scream.  So I didn't, but I ground my teeth so much that I broke two hands worth of teeth."

He displays his dentist's nightmare, a jagged tooth smile.

"Perhaps twice-lived man.  But that is good, it means you can do things no sane man would do."

PT

'Like get myself thrown into a pit of scorpions?', I ask with a smile, 'I suppose so. Though I don't know if that would be the case; maybe it was just fluke this time round. Maybe I didn't even die; could just be some freak occurrence... they could make a sci-fi film out of it'

Sighing, I hand him back the bottle, 'Well, I should get back to my companions. Thanks for the drink, and the help earlier; maybe I could come visit your tribe after I've finished looking for this Cave of Ages place. I always fancied being an explorer back on my own world... guess I'm free to that now'

The magicman bows.

"You will be welcome among us."

You can see that they are much impressed by your mention of the Cave of Ages.

You head back to the priests who have a bedroll laid out for you.  Their section of the camp is the most orderly, and they are having their nightly prayers as you walk up.

You wait, and find the rythmic phrases to be calming, orderly, and...very restful.

You wake the next morning to the smell of meat cooking and the sound of fat popping.  They give you a dish similar to bacon and eggs, except its more fat and salt, more fatback, and the eggs seem to be wild bird eggs.

After that, you get hoisted back on your horse, and wincing set out on the road.

PT