A brief piece
11-21-2017, 11:15 AM (This post was last modified: 11-21-2017, 07:45 PM by Bob Schroeck.)
11-21-2017, 11:15 AM (This post was last modified: 11-21-2017, 07:45 PM by Bob Schroeck.)
I came up with this a few weeks ago, and it's been percolating, so it might go somewhere. Those of you who are gamers and/or run games may recognize this conversation:
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“Here, take this box,” the old man said, sliding the object in question across the table to me.
Well, I say he was old. Older than me, certainly. He had grey in his hair, and that world-weary look around the eyes that some people get when they reach a certain age, and the world has proven to be a very trying place for them on a regular basis. He sat hunched over and walked with a cane. He spoke to himself and seemed a bit absent-minded. All adjectives that were generally associated with the word “old,” but for all I knew, he could have been merely middle-aged and overly stressed. It was entirely possible that my first impressions were off-target. It had happened before. Rarely.
The box, on the other hand, was definitely a box. I’ve seen a number of boxes in my time, and it fit all the qualifications. Six sides, generally cube-shaped, with a hinged lid and a nice lock. Very boxy. Decent piece of work, too, with sturdy hard wood construction, stained by years of use, and fine brass hinges. It looked bulky enough to slow you down if you tried to run off with it, and heavy enough not to be easily knocked over. The lock was nice, sturdy and finely made, and it looked like it had been taken care of. You could keep jewelry in it, but it was hardly fine looking enough to sit on a lady’s bureau. It was sturdy enough, but its mundane appearance was more suited to the utilitarian than the ornamental. It was perfect for storing coin behind a shop counter. Or, in this case, storing whatever mysterious artefact the old man (or not-so-old man) had put in it.
“What’s in it?” I asked.
“Oh, widgets and whatnot,” the possibly old man replied. He opened the center drawer of the desk he was sitting behind and began rummaging through it. “I need you to take it with you. It’s very important.”
“’Widgets and whatnot’ are ‘very important’?”
“Yes, yes,” he said, half to himself. He appeared to be having trouble finding what he was looking for in the drawer. He slid it shut and opened one of the deeper drawers on the side, leaning over to rummage. I craned my neck to see what he was looking through, but the desk was deep enough that I couldn’t see without standing and leaning over. That would be rude, and it wasn’t good to be rude. Especially since he hadn’t paid me yet. Plus, I think he was a mage, and it was never prudent to be rude to a mage. That’s just common sense. “Very important,” he repeated. Then he looked up at me sharply. “You mustn’t open it!”
“Of course not,” I replied, as if the thought had never crossed my mind. “It never crossed my mind,” I repeated, aloud.
Which was, of course, an absolute lie. Seriously, somebody gives you a box, especially a locked box like this one, you can’t help but think about what might be inside. I mean, just looking at the box makes you think that. Especially if someone tells you not to open it. That’s the fastest way to make someone want to open it. Any parent learns that before their child is five. The same goes for purses, bags, chests, cabinets, safes, vaults... really, the list goes on. Sometimes, you really don’t need to think very hard; a cabinet in a kitchen isn’t likely to contain the Crown Jewels of Zarinda or selections from Duke Thraven’s legendary armory. But that’s just context and location. You’re still thinking “I wonder if there’s any ham in that cabinet… I could really go for a nice ham sandwich.” You can’t help it; it’s the nature of being a thinking, reasoning being.
Mind you, it’s best not to make such assumptions all the time. The Companions of Fire and Steel is well known for storing weaponry in non-standard locations in their lodge houses. And they are also known to own a number of unpleasant death-dealers that formerly belonged to the late, unlamented Duke Thraven. Finding the Justifier sitting between the plates and bowls or among the hard rolls in their cabinets might not be as surprising as you think, if you’ve ever explored their properties. Which I most definitely haven’t. And you can’t prove I ever did.
Though, I’m fairly certain that the Crown Jewels of Zarinda are kept in the Royal Treasury, and not in the Royal Kitchens. Of Zarinda, that is. It’d be silly if they were kept in the Royal Treasury of Ludesse. Especially since Ludesse is a magocracy and not a monarchy. But I digress.
“Of course not,” says the old-and-yet-not-old man. He’s moved to the drawers on the other side of his desk. “But all the same, don’t open it.”
I can’t help it. “Why not?”
The definitely-not-young man looks up and fixes me with a gimlet stare. “Because,” he answers, then looks back down into the drawer he’s rummaging in. I hear something make a squeaking noise, and he makes a grunt of displeasure. He jabs his hands down into the drawer again, and the squeaking rises briefly in pitch and then stops. I have to admit, I’d really like to see what’s in those drawers. Almost as much as I want to see what’s in the box. “Need any help?” I ask, innocently.
“No, no thank you,” he says. “Now where is it?” he mutters, rummaging further. He leans over, and I swear he’s reaching deeper than you ‘d think those drawers should go. But, this - well, let’s call him “mature” and be done with it - this mature man has already demonstrated that he’s not your average client, and I feel that investigating this desk further would be both rewarding and just a little disturbing. Best to leave that thought for another day.
“Because what?” I ask.
“What?”
“You said ‘Because,’ when I asked why I shouldn’t open the box. Because what?”
The ol - you know what, screw it – the man looks back at me with that same gimlet stare. “You’re going to open it, aren’t you?”
“What? No!”
He nods. “Of course. Just checking.” He closes the drawer that he’s been rummaging through - eliciting another squeak in the process – and pulls open the center drawer again. Reaching in, he pulls out a key and lays it on the top of the box. “Here,” he says.
“What’s that for?”
“For opening the box.”
I suddenly feel like I’ve lost control of the conversation. Or that we’ve been having two different conversations that just coincidentally overlapped. Or I’ve been talking to a different man of indeterminate age and this one just got tagged in. “You… told me not to open the box.”
“I did,” he replies, seemingly pleased that I understood. “The key is for when you ignore my instructions and do it anyway. It’s a good lock, and I’d hate for it to be damaged.”
---------------------------------------------------
“Here, take this box,” the old man said, sliding the object in question across the table to me.
Well, I say he was old. Older than me, certainly. He had grey in his hair, and that world-weary look around the eyes that some people get when they reach a certain age, and the world has proven to be a very trying place for them on a regular basis. He sat hunched over and walked with a cane. He spoke to himself and seemed a bit absent-minded. All adjectives that were generally associated with the word “old,” but for all I knew, he could have been merely middle-aged and overly stressed. It was entirely possible that my first impressions were off-target. It had happened before. Rarely.
The box, on the other hand, was definitely a box. I’ve seen a number of boxes in my time, and it fit all the qualifications. Six sides, generally cube-shaped, with a hinged lid and a nice lock. Very boxy. Decent piece of work, too, with sturdy hard wood construction, stained by years of use, and fine brass hinges. It looked bulky enough to slow you down if you tried to run off with it, and heavy enough not to be easily knocked over. The lock was nice, sturdy and finely made, and it looked like it had been taken care of. You could keep jewelry in it, but it was hardly fine looking enough to sit on a lady’s bureau. It was sturdy enough, but its mundane appearance was more suited to the utilitarian than the ornamental. It was perfect for storing coin behind a shop counter. Or, in this case, storing whatever mysterious artefact the old man (or not-so-old man) had put in it.
“What’s in it?” I asked.
“Oh, widgets and whatnot,” the possibly old man replied. He opened the center drawer of the desk he was sitting behind and began rummaging through it. “I need you to take it with you. It’s very important.”
“’Widgets and whatnot’ are ‘very important’?”
“Yes, yes,” he said, half to himself. He appeared to be having trouble finding what he was looking for in the drawer. He slid it shut and opened one of the deeper drawers on the side, leaning over to rummage. I craned my neck to see what he was looking through, but the desk was deep enough that I couldn’t see without standing and leaning over. That would be rude, and it wasn’t good to be rude. Especially since he hadn’t paid me yet. Plus, I think he was a mage, and it was never prudent to be rude to a mage. That’s just common sense. “Very important,” he repeated. Then he looked up at me sharply. “You mustn’t open it!”
“Of course not,” I replied, as if the thought had never crossed my mind. “It never crossed my mind,” I repeated, aloud.
Which was, of course, an absolute lie. Seriously, somebody gives you a box, especially a locked box like this one, you can’t help but think about what might be inside. I mean, just looking at the box makes you think that. Especially if someone tells you not to open it. That’s the fastest way to make someone want to open it. Any parent learns that before their child is five. The same goes for purses, bags, chests, cabinets, safes, vaults... really, the list goes on. Sometimes, you really don’t need to think very hard; a cabinet in a kitchen isn’t likely to contain the Crown Jewels of Zarinda or selections from Duke Thraven’s legendary armory. But that’s just context and location. You’re still thinking “I wonder if there’s any ham in that cabinet… I could really go for a nice ham sandwich.” You can’t help it; it’s the nature of being a thinking, reasoning being.
Mind you, it’s best not to make such assumptions all the time. The Companions of Fire and Steel is well known for storing weaponry in non-standard locations in their lodge houses. And they are also known to own a number of unpleasant death-dealers that formerly belonged to the late, unlamented Duke Thraven. Finding the Justifier sitting between the plates and bowls or among the hard rolls in their cabinets might not be as surprising as you think, if you’ve ever explored their properties. Which I most definitely haven’t. And you can’t prove I ever did.
Though, I’m fairly certain that the Crown Jewels of Zarinda are kept in the Royal Treasury, and not in the Royal Kitchens. Of Zarinda, that is. It’d be silly if they were kept in the Royal Treasury of Ludesse. Especially since Ludesse is a magocracy and not a monarchy. But I digress.
“Of course not,” says the old-and-yet-not-old man. He’s moved to the drawers on the other side of his desk. “But all the same, don’t open it.”
I can’t help it. “Why not?”
The definitely-not-young man looks up and fixes me with a gimlet stare. “Because,” he answers, then looks back down into the drawer he’s rummaging in. I hear something make a squeaking noise, and he makes a grunt of displeasure. He jabs his hands down into the drawer again, and the squeaking rises briefly in pitch and then stops. I have to admit, I’d really like to see what’s in those drawers. Almost as much as I want to see what’s in the box. “Need any help?” I ask, innocently.
“No, no thank you,” he says. “Now where is it?” he mutters, rummaging further. He leans over, and I swear he’s reaching deeper than you ‘d think those drawers should go. But, this - well, let’s call him “mature” and be done with it - this mature man has already demonstrated that he’s not your average client, and I feel that investigating this desk further would be both rewarding and just a little disturbing. Best to leave that thought for another day.
“Because what?” I ask.
“What?”
“You said ‘Because,’ when I asked why I shouldn’t open the box. Because what?”
The ol - you know what, screw it – the man looks back at me with that same gimlet stare. “You’re going to open it, aren’t you?”
“What? No!”
He nods. “Of course. Just checking.” He closes the drawer that he’s been rummaging through - eliciting another squeak in the process – and pulls open the center drawer again. Reaching in, he pulls out a key and lays it on the top of the box. “Here,” he says.
“What’s that for?”
“For opening the box.”
I suddenly feel like I’ve lost control of the conversation. Or that we’ve been having two different conversations that just coincidentally overlapped. Or I’ve been talking to a different man of indeterminate age and this one just got tagged in. “You… told me not to open the box.”
“I did,” he replies, seemingly pleased that I understood. “The key is for when you ignore my instructions and do it anyway. It’s a good lock, and I’d hate for it to be damaged.”
