Luvos and Friends

LUVOS STORIES

BACKSTORY:

	Martin Brightleaf was raised by his biological mother and her husband, his true father was a member of a drow raiding party. His parents were traveling merchants and although not a perfect couple they were willing to tolerate each other quite a bit. Martin however was another story, rebellious and drawing from a seemingly endless pool of teen angst he spent any money he made working for his family on scrolls, wands, and old tomes and any moment to himself was spent running as far away as possible and sitting under an old tree delving into spell books and forbidden tomes which his father resented. The rift between them grew until Martin at the age of thirteen finally packed his things and used a tattered scroll of teleport to runaway. The scroll was like a house key of sorts belonging to a very old wizard. Simply activating the parchment would return that wizard to their home in an instant. Martin was dragged across the composite plane of getting places quickly and dropped back down a second later very far from his family.

	Martin awoke with a headache in a vast underground library, at first he suspected he had died and gone to heaven. He was discovered a few days later by the elderly sorcerer Luvos Nichto. The wizard was shocked that the boy had been there four days and had been content to just read books rather than rob the old man or even eat. He took the boy under his wing and Martin made a fine apprentice for almost a decade but over time arcane knowledge seemed almost pedestrian to him, before when his father had put this sort of study off limits he had desired it but now he had begun to crave even more forbidden knowledge. Luvos Nichto spent almost a month on his death bed weakened and calling out to his apprentice for aid. In those days he heard from the boy not once, the only indicator of his lingering presence were the yellow eyes leering at the old man from the shadows waiting for him to die.

	Years later Luvos reappeared in the world, long thought to be dead his old peers were happy to see him living happily in a younger necromantic clone, a half-drow was an odd choice for a body but he assured them that he desired only the keenest dark vision to aid in his reading. He took back his position at a prestigious mage college and taught there for several years until his curiosity for the taboo grew too great again and he began to spend less time in a classroom and more of it bargaining with demons for secret knowledge.

	In the end he was asked to leave the college and take his increasingly hazardous studies elsewhere. From then on he resented his peers, who were they to decide what should and shouldn't be known, they just wanted to sit on safe conclusions and dispense those answers to their disciples, how could they be so blind to not see the endless number of discoveries that needed to be made, how their textbooks were rewritten every year without fail, new spells, new ideas constantly pouring into the word at a ceaseless rate. The demons never questioned his desire to learn. Martin still had so much to learn after all.

ROUTINE STORY:

>Wake up
>study spells
>feed the stool
>banish any demons still lingering in the study
>brew tea
>catch up on current events in scrying orb
>walk the stool through the library
>spend the rest of the morning gathering ingredients for summoning rituals
>have lunch
>spend the afternoon to evening interviewing demons
>try to pound out a chapter of demonic encyclopedia
>spend the whole night making succubi whisper into ears instead
>get nothing done
>curse peers and ex coworkers
>fall asleep at desk


SUMMONING STORY:

	Deep underground, the scraping of chalk against stone floor echos through dark tunnels. Kneeling down, Luvos Nichto finishes the final preparations for a summoning ritual. The wizard is of early middle age, he has wispy white hair, gleaming yellow eyes, and his dusky skin is visible at the tips of his fingers and underneath his deep blue hood. He stands and tiptoes over the delicate chalk lines. Dust motes dance around him in the flickering candlelight, and there's an unidentifiable metallic stench hanging in the air. Luvos scratches his head and glances back and forth between his finished drawing and a yellowed parchment in his hand. The half-elf sighs and picks up the hem of his robe, bending down again and replacing a line where his dragging garments had disturbed it. He does a quick comparison again and then nods, seemingly satisfied.

	The shape on the floor is a complex pattern of diabolic runes, readily distinguishable is a pentagram with a word of power written in the celestial alphabet at each point, all trapped within a salt circle. There is now a low groan rumbling from the shadows in the room, barely perceptible, but to the practiced listener it is simple to deduce the sound of extra-planar beings pressing against the membrane of hell. Luvos stops his preparations and listens to the sound as well. It is as enticing as it is frightening and he decides to begin humming a happier song in tandem with the otherworldly sounds. Luvos' delicate fingers flit over jars on a tall shelf while he endeavors to soften the sound of anxious demons.

	Lining the shelf, common spell components such as the classic eye of newt accompany stranger ingredients like the seldom appreciated tongue of kobold. A wizened spell caster knows that the best tongues come from the sort of kobolds who serve metallic dragons - their predilection for benevolence is a good indicator they are less likely to lie, and lies reduce the potency of tongues after all. Luvos hops up and down a few times, reaching for a small wooden box tucked on the top shelf. He succeeds in knocking a jar down at least and is rewarded with a cloud of shattered glass and mummy dust. He coughs into his sleeve as he snaps his fingers at a broom in the corner. It bristles to life and begins sweeping up the mess, and as it works Luvos leaves the chamber to fetch a stool.

	In the dark passageways of his library Luvos peeks around bookshelves and corners. He whistles and occasionally slaps his thigh, calling out into the expanse of written knowledge. After a moment a bark answers back and a wooden claw-footed stool bounds up to its master, it yaps and runs in circles around the wizards legs as he returns to his study. Luvos shakes his head in disbelief while the broom sits proudly in the center of the room: it has gathered up everything on the floor into a neat pile of mummy dust and chalk, thoughtlessly destroying its master's summoning circle. Luvos snaps his fingers again and the broom falls lifeless as he reaches into a desk drawer retrieving a piece of white chalk.

	After a few moments the scene is set again and the low whine of eager devils is now accompanied by the quiet screech of nails scratching at some metaphysical doorway. Luvos steps up onto his stool and retrieves the little wooden box from the top shelf. He blows dust off of the lid of the box and opens it, within the box are three slender red candles. The delicate candles had been seeped in the blood of a virgin, an enticing treat for a demon. Luvos rubs two fingers together and watches sparks fizzle out of them. He pinches the candle and the wick bursts to life. He leans over the circle and places the candle at the center of it. The ambient sounds in the room grow hectic and excited, the peculiar amount of smoke pouring off the little candle slowly begins to fill the circle like it was a glass of water. Luvos pushes an armchair into place facing the circle and settles in, one hand languidly reaches for the table and a saucer and cup float towards it in response. Luvos gently stirs the cup of dandelion tea as the candle burns lower and lower. The sound of whining has become a harrowing scream which blows over the room in waves. Only an inch of the candle remains, Luvos simply waits.

REQUEST STORY: (Featuring Cata, Sigmund, and Frankie)

	Cata squinted to peer into the darkness. Most of the previous day had been one long journey, and although night had fallen, she'd not yet found a suitable place to rest her head. While her traveling companions had been content to spend the harsh winter boarding in a sleepy village, coasting on their small fortune until spring came, Cata had decided to soldier on and make her way south. She scowled in the dark as the scant light of the moon became dimmer and as fierce black clouds conquered the night sky. She peered up at them, seeing how the sky was swollen with chilled water vapor and hearing the distant rumbles of thunder in the distance. Her hand traced along the bank of a cliff as she guided herself through the dark. After a few paces though she stumbled and cursed to herself. She had been leaning against the rock wall as she walked before it had suddenly receded into a shallow cave. She stood up carefully and brushed herself off, glancing between the slight recess and the dark swaying trees around her. Smirking at her good fortune, she climbed into the cave. Take that, weather. She carefully laid out her bedroll and whispered a few cautionary cantrips around her improvised bedding area. Sighing, she laid down on her side, watching distant thunderclouds clash on the horizon as she slowly drifted to sleep.

	Near the edge of the woods aged trees protested against the bitter wind as Sigmund Caine tugged on his twisting beard. He was keenly aware of the sound the trees made, poised as he was in one of their many branches while he watched the forest floor below. A rough hand gripped the branch above him while the other tussled his whiskers, his eyes busying themselves intently watching the area below. A number of mundane beasts passed under his tacit vigil, little more than harmless denizens of the woods, accompanyed by the soft murmur of owls nestling on some distant branch. He let it all wash over him as he slowly crept down from the branch to retrieve his stowed belongings from a hollow in the roots of the tree he'd been residing in. A soft wave of sound began to blanket the world around him as rain began to patter softly against the ground. Sigmund stalked through the woods, narrowed eyes picking at each shadow, snapping toward any movement, and watching the trail ahead. These old ranger trails were isolated from the more obvious routes through the woods. The grove of dense trees and brush that he'd departed from was on the edge of a very dangerous creature's stomping grounds. He'd left a few skewered rabbits hoping his quarry would show itself before he moved any further into it's territory but had no such luck. His boots made hardly a sound as they carried him further and further toward the monster's layer, the air was colder now and the forest was quiet for now.

	Nearby, Frankie looked to the sky holding her mouth open in anticipation. A few still moments passed, and a delicate snowflake came to rest on her tongue. The sleeting rain had finally finished it's journey into pale twinkling snow. The barbarian lingered for a moment watching the snow fall and then carried on tromping through the woods. Rumors had circulated all over the area of a terrible beast living in these woods. If their descriptions were accurate, Frankie was in for a treat. The wind whipped around her and she clutched her cloak closer. It would all be worth it soon, she thought to herself as she crunched through the floor of fresh snow and crisp brown leaves. It is a little known fact that meat of a cockatrice is among the most delectable in all the realms. Frankie peered into the distance: the lack of snow told her she had reached a cliff or wall or some kind. As she approached, she could discern an opening in the cliffside, the forest was silent here and hairs stood up on the back of her neck in a way that made her grin in excitement. She padded softly toward the cave, stifling a proud chuckle at the sight of a dark figure laying within, and considered herself lucky that she'd caught the monster sleeping.

	Sigmund furrowed his brow and watched from a new vantage point. He'd finished off the cockatrice and left it to bleed out in the snow, but then the sound of crunching feet and snickering had called his attention elsewhere. He raked his nails through the side of his beard and considered the situation, pondering how these people had found themselves sleeping and stalking in the dead of winter.