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-- 9/20/6526 --
As the ogre-sized elf -- with its face looking disturbingly like his
father's -- swung its bastard sword towards his skull, Aristo twisted to
one side, trying to reach his own blade in time to gladfully return the
blow.
Aristo suddenly felt himself falling and heard the steely ring of a
sword hitting stone. He was barely able to catch himself before he rolled
off of the too-narrow sofa. The action of doing so brought Aristo fully
awake, and he shook off the last image of the dream.
He cursed silently under his breath: it was bad enough to have his
family haunt his waking hours -- something he had avoided by departing his
home for good -- but now they were starting to haunt his dreams as well.
That was even worse, since he normally enjoyed what few dreams he
recalled.
Retrieving his sword from where it had fallen on the floor, Aristo
resheathed it with an angry flick of his wrist. Then he forced the anger
from his mind, having promised himself never to allow another elf to get
the better of him in any way again.
He twisted around on the timeworn sofa, sitting up and rubbing the
sleep from his eyes. He started to stretch, testing the soreness of his
stiff body, perversely taking pleasure from the twinges of pain, enjoying
at least one thing about waking up this day -- if day it were. Such was
one of the many joys of living without the distracting light of a sun.
Getting up, he tried walking around, but his leg nearly gave out
beneath him when he put weight on it because of the ankle he had twisted
when he had landed on that ogre's head. This pain, however, he did not
enjoy. Minor annoyances like sore muscles were one thing, but not being
able to walk was something entirely different. It meant that he would not
be able to freely move around, and he had never liked restrictions on his
actions -- something he had grown to hate early in his nearly two
centuries of life.
Aristo considered doing something destructive, but then decided
against it. There were already enough crater marks in the walls from
previous instances of venting his frustration and boredom in this chamber.
Instead, he focused his attention on the remaining magical items he
had retrieved from the ogres' lair. He limped over to his cache and
pulled out the scroll. He rattled off a quick spell of deciphering and
examined what spells were written on the scroll. Aside from a spell to
locate objects, there were two other spells that were a bit beyond him.
They appeared as if they might be two of the most powerful spells he had
yet discovered, and figured with a little study he would be able to figure
them out. Now, if they only proved useful once he had done so.
Turning his attention to the next item, he slipped the enchanted
medallion around his neck and wove his spell of identification over it,
concentrating on the patterns of force that pulsed within it. As the
spell faded, it drained away a large portion of Aristo's strength, leaving
him tired, but wiser.
From the spell, he had learned that the medallion held the power to
cause its wearer to be split into two separate individuals, and then merge
them back into one person again -- which did explain the incident with
that horned ogre. Aristo had never heard of such a thing before, but it
sounded quite powerful and useful. True, he had heard of creating clones
of a person, but the powers of this medallion actually made its wearer
into two separate selves, rather than just creating a temporary clone --
which explained why the medallion had the astrological symbol of Gemini
engraved upon it.
Already, plans and useful ideas were coming to his mind. The ability
to be in two places at once -- think of it! The havoc he could create!
The possibilities seemed endless! With something like this, he could have
a great deal of fun playing with people's minds.
Despite the drain on his stamina, Aristo stood up straight and called
upon the powers of the medallion, eager to see how well it worked. At
once, he felt as if he were being pulled in two different directions at
the same time. And then Aristo was looking over at a vaguely familiar-
looking grey elf.
He was somewhat surprised, and also irritated, ever disliking the
presence of other elves. But he yet again forced aside his hatred of
elves, curious that this was what he really looked like. It was not
exactly what he had seen before in mirrors on the few instances when he
had cared to look in them. He was very tall and well-built for an elf,
with long silver hair and amber eyes. If cleaned up, he would be a fairly
attractive elf. But his clothes were tattered, blood-stained, and dirty.
He was in desperate need of a bath, but such did not bother him. It said
something about him, though he was not certain what. Besides, he had done
without bathing for longer periods of time than this, and these tunnels
were not nearly as dirty as forests or swamps.
"Not bad, for an..." Both of them stopped speaking as soon as each
realized he was echoing the words of the other.
"So you're me. Not what I'd expected," observed one of the pair,
still uncomfortable at facing an elf, even if it might be himself.
The second of the pair had started to say those same words, but had
instead remained silent as they had been spoken by the Aristobulus facing
him, instead just adding, "Or wanted."
Looking the other up and down, one commented, "Too bad this medallion
has to create an exact duplicate."
"True, the multiverse probably can't handle two of me," responded the
other suspiciously. Aristo had never been one to trust elves, especially
since he had grown up amongst them... Or perhaps because of it.
"And to think, if this medallion could create more than just two of
me..."
"Yes, a legion of Aristobulus the Darks." The idea of being in the
company of those who thought the same as he did had its appeal, for it was
something he had never before experienced.
"A legion? But who would lead it? I would never follow orders from
anyone, not even myself... assuming you are indeed myself, and not just
an illusion."
"And how do I know you aren't the illusion?" countered the other
Aristobulus, not yet convinced of the effectiveness of the medallion.
"Maybe we're both illusions. Or dreams. There's a nice idea. I'm
dreaming and this is just another delusion. Or better yet, all of
existence is a dream."
"Nightmare is the more accurate term. Not to discount the joys of
fantasy. Life may be wretched, but at least I can dream."
"Are you saying that I'm a figment of your imagination? How about if
I run you through to point out that I am quite real. Or as real as anything
in this stinking world."
"Such sharp wit. Save the puns. Besides, if you were to kill me,
you would only be killing yourself."
"Which means that if I kill myself I would be killing you at the same
time."
"Well, we could both just throw ourselves upon our swords and get it
over with once and for all. It would make things immensely more simple."
The idea did have its appeal. But, "Don't tempt me. I'll never
learn anything useful down here if I kill myself. That much I have
already decided upon."
They fell into an uncomfortable silence, as Aristo tried to think of
something to say to himself. Finally, one of him commented, "I never have
been good at small talk, have I?"
"Small talk? Pah. Communication is just that, for communicating
information. All small talk is for is to waste time when there is nothing
worthwhile to say."
"Face to face with myself... I should think that I would have
something important to say."
"But then why should I? I already know everything you know, unless
you are naught more than another doppleganger."
At that thought, the other Aristobulus was instantly suspicious. "I
am not an imposter. That I know for certain. It could well be that you
are the imposter."
"What imposter? I was pointing out that we both know the same
things." But now the first Aristo was also suspicious. This might indeed
just be another doppleganger, one summoned by the magic of the medallion.
Could he have been wrong in his identification of the powers of the
medallion? It would not be the first time. "And I also am certain that I
am myself."
"That is easy enough to say, but how do you prove it? Dopplegangers
are telepathic, so you can read my mind if you are one, and then you would
know all that I do."
"If you think me a doppleganger, then kill me. If I am truly a
doppleganger, then I would revert to my true shape upon death."
"In which case you would almost certainly turn out to be a true
alternate of myself, in which case I would have killed myself."
"Look at it this way, it is a definitely unique way of killing
yourself that would otherwise be impossible."
"I said don't tempt me. Or did you say it? In any case, that is not
true. I could always find a way of travelling through time and killing my
future self."
"True, or I could travel backwards in time and kill my earlier self.
Then I wouldn't be alive now."
"Or better yet, I could kill my parents, so I would never even have
been born in the first place. That would be a lot nicer, then I could
avoid this life completely."
"And to think of the resulting paradox. It would be one way of
finding out exactly what would happen as a result of killing a past
version of yourself. Or an ancestor, at any rate."
"`The Theories, Principles, and Potential Results of Time Travel.'"
Aristo recited the title of a book he had once appropriated from his
father's private library. "Why couldn't the imbecile who wrote that book
have included a copy of that time travel spell he kept blathering about?
Not that I would actually be able to use a spell that powerful, but it
would give me a solid goal to work towards."
The other Aristo snorted contemptuously. "The old fool probably
never even had such a spell. I wouldn't trust a human to create a spell
that useful."
"But to think if he had. Ah, the fun we had considering the
possibilities of time travel. Going backwards in time and killing a
younger me before I realized the futility of existence, or doing away with
our 'honored father.'" Thinking back over the weeks of joyful
contemplation he had had decades before when he had discovered that book
brought back some wonderful plans for ending his existence in this world
in the most remarkable of fashions.
"`We?' `Our?'" echoed the other Aristo. "You sound like we are two
separate individuals, rather than the same one. I've talked to myself
before, true, but I cannot remember doing so in the second person. Or is
that first-person? I never did care to pay attention to all of those
bloody grammar lessons."
"If you talk to yourself, it means that you are going insane," quoted
Aristobulus, wondering at the source of so ridiculous a quote. What was
wrong with talking to yourself? At least then you could be fairly certain
as to what the conversation was about. That was seldom true when talking
with someone else.
"And if you respond, then you've already gone over the edge," added
the other Aristo, shaking his head. Then, at the same time, both of them
said, "Is it any wonder? Life is enough to derange anyone's mind if they
think about it too much."
Both gave a chuckle at the stereo comment. Then one of them added,
"My luck to be intelligent enough to think about it."
"I've done so too much. That's why we're here. If I were a lackwit,
we would likely still be dully plodding the family halls on some insipid
noble task, not questioning the bloody idiocy of it all."
"I cannot think that I would care to live so mindless a life. At
least I can think for myself. And yet existence curses me for it."
"If I were a lackwit, I doubt if I would have had the brains to hate
existence."
The other looked askance at him. "Are you mad? I can't be insane
enough to actually believe that, can I?"
He smiled joylessly. "Any response I give would be biased, now
wouldn't it?"
The other snorted. "Sane or insane, at least I am different from
everyone else in this stinking world."
"What if we had been born as identical twins? Then I would have had
an ally when growing up. Someone to aid me in resisting the hypocritical
idiocies of the grey elves." How he hated the things they had tried to
teach him. The ways they had tried to force him to behave. He had tried
to live his life in his own way, and they had refused to permit him. "Oh,
to have had a brother I could trust, and not the cretin I was stuck with."
A true smile crept across the face of the other Aristobulus, for
perhaps the first time in his life. "Yes. Two of me. Growing up with an
identical twin. A true brother in arms. I think not that our House would
have survived the experience of two of me. One was more than they could
stand. And two! The thought of it!" A thrill passed through his body.
What a wonderful thought that was, too.
"Now if only it had happened," grumbled the other wishfully. And
such a nice fantasy it was, as well.
The other wheeled on him and growled back, "You would have to point
out reality, wouldn't you?" He heaved a frustrated sigh, ever hating to
have his fantasies collapsed, and stared at some point in the distance
beyond the tangibility of the wall. "Reality strikes again."
"Makes me wish I could travel back in time and kill our 'beloved'
parents."
"With my luck, I would screw up the attempt and end up getting myself
killed before I could have the pleasure of having their blood bathe my
sword."
"Then it wouldn't matter, would it?" If he were dead, life would be
of no concern to him. "Unless I ended up trapped in this disgusting world
as a ghost or a specter or something."
"Now that is a nasty thought. I hadn't really considered that
possibility before. I'd always hoped I would just be lucky enough to
cease existing altogether. Or at least get the chance to drink from the
river Lethe and just forget about this accursed life."
"That would be too easy." Aristo was well aware that anything that
was too easy would never happen. Things always had to be as complex as
possible. The Fates joyfully saw to that, no doubt to relieve the tedium
of their cruel duties. "At least with time travel I would be able to
prevent myself from even existing."
"Or we would end up trapped in one of those time loops the book kept
mentioning."
"I wonder if the author didn't get his mind trapped in one of those
loops. His writing wasn't exactly brilliant."
"Since when have any humans written anything that could be considered
even remotely brilliant?"
"What about that one baron who spent the last years of his tormented
life writing all of that wonderfully morbid poetry about death and pain
and loss and the futility of life and all of that?"
"Yes," recalled Aristo wistfully. "Now there was some great writing.
Too bad everyone in our House hated it when we recited those poems. I
loved them. Or at least the way people reacted to hearing them."
The other Aristo observed, "We're still referring to ourselves as if
we were two separate people."
"Maybe we are. We look alike and share the same mind, but each of us
has his own body and his own magic items." He looked over to where the
dagger and potion and pack of supplies were sitting. "Except for those.
The power of the medallion did not duplicate them. But then we... or I,
rather... was not holding them when I activated the medallion. But still,
this cloak, these bracers, my whip, and all of the rest of my stuff was
duplicated. We are separate. At least until we merge back into one
person." Aristo did not know what to think of that. To be able to merge
these two separate bodies back into one. It sounded unpleasant. But
then, the both of him were the same person, if only in separate physical
forms.
The other of him was thinking along different lines. "Two magic
cloaks. Two pairs of magic bracers. I find it difficult to think that
this medallion is powerful enough to duplicate magic items."
Lifting his enchanted cloak, the other pointed out, "Yet both of us
have the same cloak, right down to the same sets of stains and rents."
"I wonder... There is one way to answer this quandary." He cast a
spell to allow him to sense magical forces, and was surprised to find that
there was no enchantment upon his own cloak. Instead, only the cloak worn
by his other self was enchanted. However, the bracers he wore were
enchanted, whereas those of his alternate self were not. He pointed this
out to his other self, who did not believe him.
But his other self cast the same spell as well, seeing that it was
indeed so. Sighing, he said, "So this medallion cannot duplicate the
enchantments on magical items, only their physical forms." He was shocked
as a thought shot across his mind. "Perhaps the medallion does not
duplicate the wearer exactly either. Perhaps you are naught more than a
clone the medallion generated to mime my usual actions, and you are simply
controlled by the medallion."
"Didn't one of us just cover that point? No," argued the other, "we
both just cast spells. If the medallion cannot duplicate something as
straight-forward as the enchantments on objects, would it be able to
duplicate something as complex as the ability to actually cast spells? I
personally doubt it. So I don't think either one of us is a construct
under the control of the medallion."
"You've got a point there. Besides, if we merge back together, and
are truly the same person, then I would be able to recall this
conversation from both perspectives, as if I were simultaneously in both
places."
"Also true. So we could merge back together and solve this question.
Or so I would think."
"What if there is a limit on the number of times the medallion can
split me into two separate persons? Or at least a limit on the frequency
with which it can do so?"
"There's a thought. But I did not sense one when I examined the
medallion, as you should well know."
"That doesn't mean that there isn't one. Lady Fortune isn't exactly
fond of me, you know."
"There is that. So I should try and use the medallion sparingly.
Considering how useful it could be, after all, two of me might double my
chances of finding some of the lore supposedly hidden in these tunnels.
Or at least make a difference in some of those run-ins with the suicidal
psychotics residing down here."
Gazing off into distance, the other considered aloud, with a faint
grin, "I wonder if I count as one of those `suicidal psychotics?'"
"That's another one of those `biased opinions,'" responded the second
him distractedly. He motioned to the dagger and the potion whose
enchantments he had yet to examine. "Perhaps we should make use of our
separate magical powers and identify both of those. I feel strong enough
to cast the identification spell once more, but not twice just yet. If
each of us can examine one of those two items, we can get that out of the
way now."
"Yet another good point." The other Aristo walked over and picked up
the dagger and the bottle. "Which shall we do first?"
"Well, the dagger almost certainly only has some boring dweomers on
it for aiding in combat. Useful, granted, but not exactly exciting by any
means. The potion, however, could well prove quite interesting."
"All too true." The Aristo holding the two items tossed the sheathed
dagger to his alternate self. He then sat down and started working the
spell of identification.
The other elf watched him impatiently, wanting to have identified the
potion for himself since he already had an idea what powers the dagger
likely had. It seemed to take forever for his other self to cast the
spell. "Get on with it already!" he prompted, his patience lapsing short.
The other finally looked up, a soured and angry expression on his
face. "The bloody damned thing lets you control plants. Ought to be real
useful if we run into some giant elf-eating mushrooms down here." He
hefted the bottle in his palm, eyeing the wall with the appraising eye of
a marksman.
The other knew immediately what thought was crossing his opposite's
mind. He quickly held up a hand. "Wait! If you shatter that bottle,
what are the odds we would actually run into a horde of killer plants?"
His irked self paused, considering that thought. He finally
grumbled, "An almost certainty. The Fates are no doubt watching me and
expecting me to do just that." He set down the bottle and moved across the
room, knowing he should get away from it so he would be better able to
resist his initial impulse to see how big of a splash it would make on the
wall.
Seeing his other self to be back in control -- more or less -- the
Aristo holding the dagger set about casting his spell upon it. When
finished examining its aura, he shrugged off the resulting exhaustion as
best he could. He looked up to meet the eyes of his alternate, who, with
his expression still notably sour, asked, "Anything exciting?"
"Nothing I didn't already expect," he grumbled back, now nearly as
equally irritated by this part of the treasure haul. He had hoped that
the ogres would have had some other impressive magicks. But such was the
end of most of his hopes.
The other rolled his eyes and cursed before saying, "Well, at least
now I've got an enchanted weapon." He drew his sword and examined the
silvered blade. The silver had been added to the metal of the blade while
it had been folded and shaped during the forging process, giving it a
grain-like appearance not unlike that of wood.
This served not only a decorative appearance -- which was always
important to elves, Aristo recalled with a sneer -- but the silver also
made the weapon effective against certain magical beings who were not
harmed by the metals from which weapons were normally forged.
Aristo recalled the werewolf he had fought some time back. What had
her name been? Novrissen. That was it. At the time he had been quite
happy at possessing the silvered sword.
An enchanted weapon would prove to be even more useful than a
silvered weapon, since some magical beings were not even harmed by silver.
After all, what good was silver against a spirit with no physical form?
Such beings could pass through solid objects without the slightest effort,
so normal weapons -- even silver ones -- were of little use.
An enchanted weapon, however, would be able to harm such entities.
Granted, this might only be a dagger, but it was better than nothing, for
Aristo knew that as he descended deeper into these tunnels he would
encounter more powerful and ancient creatures that would take no notice of
normal weapons -- for it to be otherwise would have surprised him -- and
he did not want to be limited to only his magical powers in those
instances which he knew to be inevitable.
"Aye. There you have a point," he agreed with himself. "But I still
wish the bloody thing had some special powers."
"You know," his other self uttered self-appraisingly, "I think I use
the word `bloody' entirely too often."
"Really," responded Aristo with an angry flash in his eyes. "I
hadn't bloody well noticed."
"Now you sound petulant..." Aristo's voice trailed off as he
realized what it had been that had raised his other self's ire.
"Baalzebul's bloody balls! I sound like our cursed father!"
"I'm glad you finally noticed." Neither Aristo cared for that sudden
revelation. Such a similarity was not one had ever strived to achieve.
Quite the contrary, actually.
"I think I need a rest. That cursed spell of identification must
really have definitely drained my mind to start acting like that. That or
that damned night mare."
"Yes, use the casting of that spell as an excuse to explain that
outburst away."
"What?!? Lest you forget, we are the same person, so you're just as
capable of doing the same thing!"
"Right now, I'm more inclined to believe you are indeed just a
chameleon from the medallion."
"You always explain away your ties to our cursed House. That or just
deny and ignore them!" Aristo became silent, realizing what he was
saying about himself.
"Definitely a clone. And an imperfect one at that." The other
Aristo started to finger the hilt of his sword, wanting to give in to the
sudden urge to see if this obvious clone would bleed or just disappear
when his silvered blade struck it.
"I think I've had enough of this charade," uttered Aristo, noting his
opposite's move towards his blade. He placed his hand upon his version of
the enchanted medallion, calling forth its powers to merge himself back
into one single being.
The other Aristo felt a tug towards what he considered to be his
imperfect clone. "Yes. Let's end it now." He too took hold of his
version of the Gemini medallion as well, invoking its powers.
The two of them seemed to shift through the air towards one another,
until suddenly Aristo experienced a moment of disorientation as his memory
was filled with two different versions of his conversation with himself.
At first, he was not sure which set of memories were the real version,
then he realized they both were. He had indeed been facing himself, and
not just a distorted reflection. And now he was having trouble keeping
both sides of the conversation separate. Both sets of memories were
blending together in a disordered jumble.
Though he still considered his new medallion to be very useful, he
did not care for certain details of the conversation -- details that could
not just be chalked up as the ramblings of an imperfect clone.
Aristo dropped back down on the couch, elevating his sore ankle. All
things considered, this had the makings of a rotten day. As such, he lay
back and pulled his cloak over himself, trying to drop back to sleep.
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