Conjuring the Shroud

by Tim O'Leary



  Conjuring the Shroud

  by Tim O’Leary

  Copyright 2014 Tim O'Leary

  Cover design by Philip Malaczewski

  Thank you for downloading this book. You are welcome to share it with your friends, especially if you know a young person who may have questions about safe sex. This book may be reproduced, copied, and distributed for non-commercial purposes, provided the book remains in its complete original form.

 

  In the shadows at the base of the great Mount Darkness, a roving band of three adventurers slumbered peacefully. Closest to the dying campfire lay Dathiel, an elf archer-mage, lean and fast. His bow and quiver were set on a rock nearby, next to his bag of magical potions. By his side lay his companion Hathor, a great warrior, whose mighty two-handed Claymore rested in its leather scabbard by his feet.

  Several feet from the two men lay the beautiful Princess Dextera, the rightful ruler of the land. She had gone into hiding to escape the wicked sorcerer Malavoth, who killed her father, usurped the throne, and now ruled the land of Kazala with an iron fist, calling himself not King but Emperor. Though Malavoth was his true name, Dextera and her company called him by another name: the Snake, for his army was made up of the hideous Serpent Men of the desert realms. Malavoth was a truly monstrous enemy, and a Cyclops to boot. It was said his one evil eye could stare into your very soul.

  A gentle snow began to fall, landing lightly on the companions. Flake after flake fell onto the sleeping form of Dextera, the snow gracing the sensual curve of her lips, nestling into the heaving crevices of her bosom, melting upon impact with the heat of her skin and turning to water, the water running along the curves of her perfect breasts like a river runs through the forest, only in this case the forest is made of breasts, and the cold caused her nipples to stiffen –

  “Dude!” I yell. “I think the story might have gotten away from you a little. This isn’t Game of Thrones.”

  “What are you talking about, bro?” Steve says. “It was just getting good!”

  I sigh.

  Okay, here’s the deal. Every weekend I get together with my buddies to play our favorite role-playing game called The Scrolls of Kazala. The gang in question is made up of me, Jesse, Steve, and Pete, but we call him Twizzler, because the dude can totally house a full bag of Twizzlers in like five seconds.

  “Yeah, man!” Twizzler says, giggling. “That story was the tits!”

  “Literally,” Jesse says. We catch eyes and start laughing. Jesse is probably the most beautiful person I’ve ever known in real life, and somehow he’s even more beautiful when he laughs. I could look at him laugh for hours. We started dating a few weeks ago, but we haven’t told Steve and Twizzler. They know I’m into guys – I’ve never been into hiding anything about myself – but they don’t know Jesse swings that way. He says he wants to tell them about us, but he’s worried it might throw off the balance in our gaming circle.

  And it is all about the gaming circle. Some things are more sacred than which way our dicks are pointing.

  “I just want to get this straight,” I say. “We’re all sleeping by a camp fire, and it’s snowing, so I’m thinking it’s pretty cold. And Princess Dextera is what – sleeping topless?”

  “Not topless, just … you know … her shirt is real low cut, so there’s some exposed inner-boob,” Steve says.

  “Oh, ‘cause that makes sense.”

  The way the game works is you have one guy to act as the Story Master – in our case, it’s Steve – who dictates where the plot is going, and then each player designs their character and plays that role. Hence, you know, “role-playing game.” My character is Dathiel, the elf archer. Jesse is Hathor, the human warrior. And Twizzler’s playing the boob-tacular Princess Dextera, who I’m pretty sure he named after his favorite show about a lethal psychopath.

  Look, I’ll own it. The game’s not off to the best start.

  “I’m taking over,” I say.

  “What?” Steve says.

  “This campaign needs a Story Master who understands plot and pacing. Nice first attempt, Steve. But move over.”

  “Douche,” Steve grumbles, but switches seats with me. “All right, guys, looks like Adrian’s in charge now. Apparently you can be Story Master and play one of the characters.”

  That’s me, by the way. I’m Adrian.

  “So I’m not sure I can match Steve’s exquisite metaphor of a forest made of tits,” I say, “but let’s try a little world-building. The party is joined by a Paladin warrior named Vanyan.” I nod to Steve. He quickly fills out a stat card that explains his character’s strengths and weaknesses.

  The band of travelers journeyed throughout the land, besting orcs and fighting trolls wherever they went. After a harsh battle with a particularly nasty gelatinous cube, they were left tired and in need of healing, and so they journeyed to an inn in a nearby town.

  The innkeeper was a kindly woman, and allowed them entrance for less coin than was customary. There was but one room for them to share, with a great bed large enough to accommodate them all. They slept soundly that night, and so their energy was restored.

  Dathiel was the first to rise, and he silently slipped out of bed and went outside the inn to practice his skills in magic, with the hopes of leveling up—

  “Dude,” Steve says.

  “Sorry, I slipped,” I say.

  —with the hopes of improving his craft. He had been working on a spell that would cast a magic shroud over his enemies, robbing them of their potency, but had not yet mastered the technique. He raised his hands and pointed them toward his target, a barrel that had been abandoned by the side of the inn. He muttered the incantation and thrust his hands forward, but nothing happened. He had not yet leveled—uh, he had not yet improved his mastery over magic.

  “It will happen in time,” said a voice from behind him.

  Dathiel turned and saw his companions watching him. It had been Hathor who had spoken.

  “It vexes me that conjuring the shroud is beyond my grasp,” Dathiel replied.

  Princess Dextera approached the elf and took his hands in hers. Dathiel marveled that hands such as hers, which he had seen countless times wielding an axe to behead many an orc, could feel so gentle.

  “Your mastery of the shroud spell will come when you roll for experience points—”

  “Seriously?!” Steve blurts out.

  “Your mastery of the shroud spell will come when you gain experience,” Dextera said. “Until then, rest in the knowledge that your arrows and your bow will help to keep us safe.”

  “Let’s test that, shall we?” a sinister voice said from behind Dathiel. He turned and saw a company of orcs, whose leader stood nearly seven feet tall, towering over the others. Dathiel assumed there must be troll blood in that one to reach such a height.

  “Unless my eyes deceive me, that there be the Princess Dextera,” the troll-orc hissed. “Emperor Malavoth would pay a handsome reward if we bring her to his castle alive so’s he can marry her. Her companions, though? We don’t need to be so careful with their safety.”

  Dathiel reached for his bow as his comrades-in-arms drew their weapons. The backed into a tight formation as the hideous orcs approached them, bubbling saliva dripping from their fangs, murder plain in their monstrous yellow eyes …

  “That’s got to be it for the day,” Steve says.

  “Aw, man, it was just getting good again,” Twizzler moans.

  “Yeah, but I got to go pick up my little sister from her dance class. To be continued. And Adrian, way to totally ace the staying-in-character thing. Love how Princess Dextera talked about experience points in-world.”

  “Whatever, man. I was trying to pick up the pieces of t
he crap story you started us off with.”

  We pack our things into our backpacks, leaving the board standing on the slightly sticky table. Considering all the soda that’s been spilled on it over the years, I’m shocked you can pry anything off it. We’d set the lights low on the dimmer for atmosphere during the game, so when Steve turns them up to full brightness, we all squint. Steve’s dank basement reveals itself, and I have to stifle a laugh at how cliché this scene is: four nerds playing a role-playing game around a soda-stained table in the basement of one of their parent’s house.

  I mean, they’re nerds. Not me, I’m a rock star. And Jesse’s a stud. Steve and Twizzler, though. Total nerds.

  Okay, me, too. Full disclosure? I think about the game all the time. And it doesn’t get much nerdier than that.

  Steve waves as Twizzler, Jesse, and I head out the door. Twizzler hops into the car his parents gave him for his seventeenth birthday: a behemoth of a station wagon that used to belong to his grandmother. He kicks aside several empty Big Gulp cups as he enters.

  “Peace out, losers!” he calls to us as he drives away.

  Jesse and I both live near enough to walk, and though we’ve done the walk a million times before, I always get excited when it’s just him and me. And now that we’re dating, I really get excited. The one bummer is we both have work-from-home parents, so we never, ever get to be