SCENE: A grand stone throne room. Towering statues of past monarchs line the walls in alcoves, most armored and armed for battle. Rows of lanterns, seemingly floating in midair, provide a deep purple light which fails to fully illuminate the huge room’s recesses. In the center, a throne is rigidly carved into an enormous stalagmite which thrusts up through the otherwise flagstone floor. Runic script twines around the tower of rock, and the ancient skull of some gigantic horned beast is impaled on its tip. Stone steps and a smooth walkway lead down from the throne to a simple wooden table awkwardly sitting in the room’s center. It is surrounded by several ordinary chairs and bears an unrolled map, an ornate orrery and two flagons. The floor and walls are intermittently marred with scuff marks and faint bloodstains, as if from a recent battle.
AT RISE: OLORIN sits uncomfortably on the edge of the throne, wearing a flowing, verdant green cloak with a burnished gold clasp. His feet are enclosed in supple leather riding boots, and a thin circlet of silver studded with diamonds rests upon his brow. A six foot long staff of polished wood with metal bands at both ends and a globe of crystal affixed to its top is propped against the stalagmite beside him. OLORIN is entirely still except for his hands, which are fiddling aimlessly with the hem of of his robe, and his eyes, which dart back and forth without blinking as if reading the air.
(KYRA strides swiftly into the room, armored in heavy, worn plate mail and wearing a steel helmet wrought into the visage of a roaring lion. Her breastplate is covered by a surcoat embroidered with a purple spiral on a gray field. She wears a longsword with a sapphire pommel in a scabbard at her belt. KYRA takes off her helmet and drops it on the table with a clatter. The sound jerks OLORIN back into awareness of his surroundings and he hurriedly pushes himself back onto the throne, placing his hands on its armrests.)
OLORIN: Kyra– (Clears his throat, then resumes in a a markedly deeper and louder voice.) Kyra. It brings me gladness to see you return unharmed. How fares our host in the struggle for the rest of the city?
KYRA: (Rolls her eyes.) Come on, Grace, can’t we just dispense with the– (Trails off under a withering glare from OLORIN.) Fine, fine. (Turns to face the throne, kneels briefly and bows, stands.) The battle progresses apace, my lord Olorin. I myself have slain five of their champions thus far, and we expect to consolidate our grip on the teleportation nexus shortly.
OLORIN: Excellent. You shall be richly honored when this world is indisputably under our control.
KYRA: (Muttering.) Yeah, I’m really looking forward to that.
OLORIN: What was that?
KYRA: Nothing.
OLORIN: Ah. (Stands, adjusts his cloak, picks up his staff, descends the steps.) In any case, I do deeply appreciate the discipline you have brought to our forces. This triumph would have been nigh impossible without you, Kyra.
KYRA: Thanks. (OLORIN raises an eyebrow.) The torrent of my gratitude shall flow unchecked for all eternity.
OLORIN: (Sighs, then speaks in his normal voice again.) Now you’re just mocking me, aren’t you?
KYRA: Yeah, but you’re not exactly making it hard. Grace, you just can’t expect everyone to act in character all the time. It was fun for a while, but….
OLORIN: (Sits down heavily in one of the chairs, leaning his staff against the table.) So I suppose our troops haven’t actually been following my proclamations, then?
KYRA: The only reason that we’ve had such good morale recently is that I’ve stopped making them obey those ridiculous commands.
OLORIN: (Sighs.) Really?
KYRA: Yes. Once we’ve won, maybe you can indulge in that sort of roleplaying, but we just don’t have that luxury right now. I’ve been looking at the forums, and way too many people buy the Reds’ narrative about you.
OLORIN: (Indignant.) And what’s that?
KYRA: That you’re an overly serious curmudgeon who’ll take all the fun out of things if we win.
OLORIN: (Explodes to his feet, knocking over his staff.) What!? I’m the one trying to make this place into something fun! We don’t need another Earth, Michael!
KYRA: (Rolls her eyes.) There really aren’t many others who see things that way. Even I’m getting fed up with all the archaic language and feudal titles and stuff.
OLORIN: (Slowly sinks back into his chair and begins idly spinning the orrery.) I guess….
KYRA: (Takes a swig from one of the flagons.) Don’t feel too bad about it. We are winning, after– (Pauses.) Wait. I think I’m getting a package. I’ll be back in a sec.
OLORIN: No, don’t– (KYRA freezes in place.) Darn. (Sits glumly for a minute, propping up his head with one hand while the other turns the orrery back and forth. KYRA remains perfectly still the entire time.)
KYRA: (Unfreezes.) I’m back. The new antenna finally came. You haven’t gotten yours yet, have you?
OLORIN: No, sadly I’m still getting my WiFi through Starlink. It should arrive before the campaign for the Red capital, though.
KYRA: That’s good. We wouldn’t want a connection problem taking you out halfway through the battle.
OLORIN: Yeah…. (Shakes himself slightly.) But that really should be a topic for outside. We ought to get back to planning our next moves for after the city is pacified.
KYRA: Okay, but first, do you know yet if you’ll be able to make the session this Friday?
OLORIN: (Pick up his staff and sits up straighter.) Michael, I’m really making an effort not to discuss that kind of thing here. Let’s–
KYRA: Oh, stop that. Just tell me.
OLORIN: (Grumbling.) Yes, I’ll be there.
KYRA: Good. (Looks at OLORIN and smiles slightly.) Shall we commence planning, my lord?
OLORIN: (Quirks his lips into a half smile.) Yes, I think we shall. (Bends over and begins pointing to the map.) Now, our host will need to be redeployed…. (The curtains begin to close.)
KYRA: (Looks up quizzically, then leaps to her feet.) What!? We’re in a play!? Stop! (The curtains halt and recede back to the sides of the stage.)
OLORIN: (Looking at the audience.) Woah! Wasn’t there a door there before?
KYRA: (Drawing her sword.) Damn those bastards! They must’ve moved us to a different server somehow!
OLORIN: (Stands up and addresses the audience.) Do any of you good people know where we are, exactly?
KYRA: They’re not players, Grace, they’re just game constructs! The Reds could be mounting a counterattack right now, while we’re stuck here. Just log out and respawn at our rally point!
OLORIN: Oh, all right. (OLORIN and KYRA both close their eyes and vanish).
AT RISE: OLORIN sits uncomfortably on the edge of the throne, wearing a flowing, verdant green cloak with a burnished gold clasp. His feet are enclosed in supple leather riding boots, and a thin circlet of silver studded with diamonds rests upon his brow. A six foot long staff of polished wood with metal bands at both ends and a globe of crystal affixed to its top is propped against the stalagmite beside him. OLORIN is entirely still except for his hands, which are fiddling aimlessly with the hem of of his robe, and his eyes, which dart back and forth without blinking as if reading the air.
(KYRA strides swiftly into the room, armored in heavy, worn plate mail and wearing a steel helmet wrought into the visage of a roaring lion. Her breastplate is covered by a surcoat embroidered with a purple spiral on a gray field. She wears a longsword with a sapphire pommel in a scabbard at her belt. KYRA takes off her helmet and drops it on the table with a clatter. The sound jerks OLORIN back into awareness of his surroundings and he hurriedly pushes himself back onto the throne, placing his hands on its armrests.)
OLORIN: Kyra– (Clears his throat, then resumes in a a markedly deeper and louder voice.) Kyra. It brings me gladness to see you return unharmed. How fares our host in the struggle for the rest of the city?
KYRA: (Rolls her eyes.) Come on, Grace, can’t we just dispense with the– (Trails off under a withering glare from OLORIN.) Fine, fine. (Turns to face the throne, kneels briefly and bows, stands.) The battle progresses apace, my lord Olorin. I myself have slain five of their champions thus far, and we expect to consolidate our grip on the teleportation nexus shortly.
OLORIN: Excellent. You shall be richly honored when this world is indisputably under our control.
KYRA: (Muttering.) Yeah, I’m really looking forward to that.
OLORIN: What was that?
KYRA: Nothing.
OLORIN: Ah. (Stands, adjusts his cloak, picks up his staff, descends the steps.) In any case, I do deeply appreciate the discipline you have brought to our forces. This triumph would have been nigh impossible without you, Kyra.
KYRA: Thanks. (OLORIN raises an eyebrow.) The torrent of my gratitude shall flow unchecked for all eternity.
OLORIN: (Sighs, then speaks in his normal voice again.) Now you’re just mocking me, aren’t you?
KYRA: Yeah, but you’re not exactly making it hard. Grace, you just can’t expect everyone to act in character all the time. It was fun for a while, but….
OLORIN: (Sits down heavily in one of the chairs, leaning his staff against the table.) So I suppose our troops haven’t actually been following my proclamations, then?
KYRA: The only reason that we’ve had such good morale recently is that I’ve stopped making them obey those ridiculous commands.
OLORIN: (Sighs.) Really?
KYRA: Yes. Once we’ve won, maybe you can indulge in that sort of roleplaying, but we just don’t have that luxury right now. I’ve been looking at the forums, and way too many people buy the Reds’ narrative about you.
OLORIN: (Indignant.) And what’s that?
KYRA: That you’re an overly serious curmudgeon who’ll take all the fun out of things if we win.
OLORIN: (Explodes to his feet, knocking over his staff.) What!? I’m the one trying to make this place into something fun! We don’t need another Earth, Michael!
KYRA: (Rolls her eyes.) There really aren’t many others who see things that way. Even I’m getting fed up with all the archaic language and feudal titles and stuff.
OLORIN: (Slowly sinks back into his chair and begins idly spinning the orrery.) I guess….
KYRA: (Takes a swig from one of the flagons.) Don’t feel too bad about it. We are winning, after– (Pauses.) Wait. I think I’m getting a package. I’ll be back in a sec.
OLORIN: No, don’t– (KYRA freezes in place.) Darn. (Sits glumly for a minute, propping up his head with one hand while the other turns the orrery back and forth. KYRA remains perfectly still the entire time.)
KYRA: (Unfreezes.) I’m back. The new antenna finally came. You haven’t gotten yours yet, have you?
OLORIN: No, sadly I’m still getting my WiFi through Starlink. It should arrive before the campaign for the Red capital, though.
KYRA: That’s good. We wouldn’t want a connection problem taking you out halfway through the battle.
OLORIN: Yeah…. (Shakes himself slightly.) But that really should be a topic for outside. We ought to get back to planning our next moves for after the city is pacified.
KYRA: Okay, but first, do you know yet if you’ll be able to make the session this Friday?
OLORIN: (Pick up his staff and sits up straighter.) Michael, I’m really making an effort not to discuss that kind of thing here. Let’s–
KYRA: Oh, stop that. Just tell me.
OLORIN: (Grumbling.) Yes, I’ll be there.
KYRA: Good. (Looks at OLORIN and smiles slightly.) Shall we commence planning, my lord?
OLORIN: (Quirks his lips into a half smile.) Yes, I think we shall. (Bends over and begins pointing to the map.) Now, our host will need to be redeployed…. (The curtains begin to close.)
KYRA: (Looks up quizzically, then leaps to her feet.) What!? We’re in a play!? Stop! (The curtains halt and recede back to the sides of the stage.)
OLORIN: (Looking at the audience.) Woah! Wasn’t there a door there before?
KYRA: (Drawing her sword.) Damn those bastards! They must’ve moved us to a different server somehow!
OLORIN: (Stands up and addresses the audience.) Do any of you good people know where we are, exactly?
KYRA: They’re not players, Grace, they’re just game constructs! The Reds could be mounting a counterattack right now, while we’re stuck here. Just log out and respawn at our rally point!
OLORIN: Oh, all right. (OLORIN and KYRA both close their eyes and vanish).
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