Throne of Shadows Application

[unflagging]

1. Player Information
Name: Caru
Username:
icarus_suraki
icarus.suraki@gmail.com
Icarus Suraki [AIM]
icarus_suraki on Plurk (locked, but I am happy to add anyone)

Current characters in ToS:N/a
Reserve: Reserved here. I didn't specify in my reserve, but I'll be taking him from volume 7 of The Dark Tower, just after his death.

2. Canon Character Information
If your character is an original character, skip this and move onto the third section.

Name: He is a man of many names. First called by the name Walter Padick when he's young and in the care of Sam the Miller and his wife in Delain (this situation doesn't last very long--see links for details). Best known as Randall Flagg, Marten Broadcloak, Walter o'Dim, and the Man in Black. Also known as (just) Flagg, Rudin Filaro, Raymond Fiegler, Richard Fannin, Richard Fry, Robert Franq, Ramsey Forrest, Bill Hinch, Walter Hodji, Walter Farden, The Walkin' Dude, and The Covenant Man. And probably a few other names which are not known. I really wish I were kidding.

I'm going to go with "Flagg" in this app to keep things simple, unless details hinge on a specific name, since the Flagg name is probably the best-known alias and it was the identity he was wearing last before his arrival in-game; in a pinch, when one gets really sick of the name changing, one can just call him "The Wizard."

PB: This is a loaded question; as explained below, he can change his whole appearance and shape. But! In the interest of clarity I'll be using the face he was wearing last, which is the volume 7 version of Randall Flagg:
For that version of the Randall Flagg face, I'll be using one, Mr. Ryan Burns.

He also has a crow form which is, you know, a crow.

He'll keep his other faces handy, in case he needs to assume them, but coming in with this face and name will do him well. If the mods need me to establish PBs for his other faces, I am glad to do that. Just let me know.

(He probably has a "monster" form too--the "thing with teeth," the "something slumped and hunched and almost without shape--something with enormous yellow eyes slit by dark cat's pupils" that turns up a few times--it may, in fact, be more like a wolf than anything, since he's hopped around in wolf-shapes before. But, regardless, the monster-shape may or may not be needed in present situations. Wait and see.)

Journal: unflagging

Age: Best guess, he's somewhere around 1500 years old, give or take (I am not making this up). This is a little fuzzy with all this jumping around in time and worlds that goes on, to say nothing of the fact that time is basically broken anymore, but within the framework of his "starting" world, he was born about 1500 years before the events of the Dark Tower series.

He doesn't look it, in part because he can change his appearance pretty much at will (more on that below), but he generally (key word there) appears in the shape of a human man in age from, say, late 20s on up to somewhere in his 50s. Eyes of the Dragon Flagg is said to look like he's somewhere around 50. Stand Flagg looks, as the character Dayna Jurgens observes, nearer to her own age, which is about 25.

Appearance:
This isn't even fair--no, no, it is. All right. Know this first, otherwise nothing else that follows will seem as significant: he can change his appearance. Although he generally looks like a human man, he can change.He can even assume non-human appearances, like the shape of a crow or a wolf.

But let's go to some source quotes:

"In a way, the face that the hood had hidden was an uneasy disappointment. it was handsome and regular, with none of the marks and twists which indicate a man who as been through awesome times and been privy to great secrets. His hair was black of a ragged, matted length. His forehead was high, his eyes dark and brilliant. His nose was nondescript. The lips were full and sensual. His complexion was pallid, as was the gunslinger's own." (The Gunslinger)

"He pushed back the hood, revealing a fair, broad-browed face that was not, for all its pleasant looks, in any way human. Large hectic roses rode the Wizard's cheekbones; his blue-green eyes sparkled with a gusty joy far too wild to be sane; his blue-black hair stood up in zany clumps like the frathers of a rave; his lips, lushly red, parted to reveal the teeth of a cannibal." (The Waste Lands and, for that matter, Wizard and Glass)

"Randy Flagg's hair was dark, tousled. His face was handsome and ruddy, as if he spent much time out in the desert wind. His features were mobile and sensitive, and his eyes danced with high glee, the eyes of a small child with a momentous and wonderful secret surprise." (The Stand)

By volume 7 of the Dark Tower series, he's tall and fair-haired, with a little bit of scruffy beard, "his face handsome, his eyes burning hot," and blue (though hidden in shadow).

He is apparently a good-lookin' guy, no matter what face he's wearing. I mean, why not? If you get to choose your own face... And it helps to look halfway decent when you're trying to destroy the world, really. (And, c'mon, if you're gonna seduce the queen of the realm, it really does pay to look the part of the seducer. It all just works better.)

The Walter face (the first quote), he says to Roland, is the face he was born with (and this may be true, but it's difficult to say, since he lies when he feels like and tells the truth when he wants and it doesn't matter one way or the other).

(It's worth noting that, yes, hooray narrative weirdness, Stand Randall Flagg has dark hair while later Dark Tower Randall Flagg has light hair. Just...roll with it. He re-uses names with different faces. Mix-and-match identities. Since he's coming in wearing his volume 7 identity, that's the PB we're going with.)

In terms of dress, you will rarely see him without a hood. He loves his hoods. He does go in for a little "When in Rome" in terms of what he wears: depending on the time and the world, he'll vary things a little, but there will probably be a hood involved. He might wear a robe, a cloak, a cape, a cowl, a jacket, whatever--it will probably be black and it will probably have a hood. And there may be a jacket on top of it, probably denim and likely faded. This jacket-and-hood combination is what earns him the nickname Walter Hodji in Garlan, as "hodji" is a kind of combination nickname based on the local words for "hooded" and "dim." It's a signature appearance, this hood and jacket. The jacket itself deserves a mention unto itself: it is denim and faded and worn in, and often adorned with patches (one reads "US Army" and the other reads "Randall Flagg") and metal pins (one is a smiley face, and one is an image of a pig in a police hat with the words "How's your pork?" written under it in dripping red letters).

Jeans are common for him (faded, old). He is also in possession of what may be all the worlds' most comfortable pair of broken-in black cowboy boots (with rundown heels). These are the best ever and he likes them. Do not question the boots.

An oddity: he has no lines on the palms of his hands. This is sometimes emphasized more often than other times--maybe he's better at hiding it some places than others. But it is something noticed by at least two characters. He is also, apparently, extremely flexible. I believe the phrase used is, roughly, "double-jointed in all his joints."

But there is one characteristic that seems to follow him throughout: he smiles.

"There was a dark hilarity in his face, and perhaps in his heart, too, you would think--and you would be right. It was the face of a hatefully happy man, a face that radiated a horrible handsome warmth, a face to make water glasses shatter in the hands of tired truck-stop waitresses, to make small children crash their trikes into board fences and then run wailing to their mommies with stake-shaped splinters sticking out of their knees. It was a face guaranteed to make barroom arguments over batting averages turn bloody."

This is the most important aspect of him, and one which carries through regardless of what face, name, or identity he might be wearing. He smiles, he laughs, he grins, he giggles. He even titters. He smiles and he is recognized for this smile and by this smile. You will know him by his smile.

History:
→"Dark Tower" Wiki page on Randall Flagg
→Wikipedia page on Randall Flagg
→Wikipedia page on the whole of the series

Canon Point: Volume 7 of The Dark Tower series, just after he's...consumed.

Powers/Talents: Magic. He's got magic. He's got a lot of magic. When he's strong, his powers are strong. When his powers are strong, he's strong. Magic everywhere. Magic, magic, magic. (It's not entirely clear how he came to have it, how much is innate and how much is learned, but it is suggested that he has learned at least some of it or parts of it from one source or another--

Okay, I'm going to get technical here for a minute, but hang on: strictly speaking (I use the phrase in a relative way because, with him, nothing is strict), he's pretty much the purest example of a chaos magician that one could ever find. And, yeah, that is kind of ironic in a way, in that he's so tied both in terms of parentage and in alliances to creatures born out of the primordial chaos (the Prim) from which all the worlds were shaped, to say nothing of the sigil spam that fills his canon and the common association with sigils and chaos magic(k). But, on a conceptual level, it works right well for him. So let's roll with that for a bit:

The idea here with chaos magick is that the force powering the magic is not an object or a divine entity or even a certain series of gestures or set of ingredients. The force that powers the magic is the will of the magician or the intention of the magician. And by that, so long as there is sufficient willpower, anything is possible. This is pretty much Aleister Crowley 101: the will to manifest desires will manifest desires. Only, in this case, it's all taken to an outrageous level, where the magician can manifest fire or bring about physical transformations. Magic begets magic, a little success leads to more success, and he's gotten to the point that he can do things with magic which would otherwise seem like nonsense.

Unlike a great many wizards and magicians in other canons, Flagg here has no specific talisman or object that he must have or keep in order to have his powers. Nor does he have to call on some external force or god or power. Nearly the whole of his magic comes from his own internal abilities and force of will. But objects can be helpful in making magic happen. This means that wands, crystals, knives, skulls, stones, rocks, bones, sigils, whatever other magical ornaments one might want are basically tools that can be used to certain purposes but no one tool is required for any particular magical act. In other words, one isn't required to use a wand for this or a cup for that if one doesn't feel like it, there is no set ritual unless one wants one. And this also means that there are theoretically no limits to what the magician can accomplish if he or she has enough will to do it.

Of course, there are certain places or items or objects which are themselves inherently magic--and these are useful too. It's not just commonplace things that can be used for magic, but magic things are magic too. Like the Bends o'the Rainbow, the magic crystal balls that Maerlyn created out of the primordial magic chaos (see what I did there?) way, way back, aeons ago. Those are inherently magic in and of themselves and are therefore useful in and of themselves. That's different.

Anyway, back to Flagg: he generally operates on manifestation by will--which is a fancy way of saying if he wants to do something, he can. So all those notions of what a wizard can do, what Gandalf and Dumbledore and Merlin and all of those famous and legendary wizards can do, that's what he can do. (And, like a lot of those famous wizards, it's not entirely clear how much of what he can do is innate and how much is learned, but it seems like it must be a fair mix of the two.)

Among his demonstrated abilities are the following: transformation into other human shapes, transformation into animal shapes, transforming others into human or animal shapes (he turned a bunch of guards into pugs, I kid you not), making healing potions, making poison potions, making medieval Viagra (yup), levitation, teleportation (based largely on drawing doors and, with the help of a crystal, willing them to open where one desires), going "dim" (it is stated that one cannot actually become invisible, but one can become "dim," or a sort of shadowy version of oneself that can only be seen by those who know one), traveling to other worlds/dimensions (some of this may have been thanks to the magic crystal ball Black 13 or the doors that open into other worlds, but he did it, so it counts), witchlights and fire from his fingertips, healing touch and pain-inducing touch, hypnosis (this is more of a sort of "snake fascination"--old stories say that snakes hypnotize their prey before they strike, and this is the same idea), remote viewing or clairvoyance, something akin to telepathy though not perfectly, necromancy but not perfectly, mass-hypnosis and post-hypnotic suggestions, and fortune-telling and premonition, to say nothing of his extended lifespan. And he could probably do more and other things, if he felt like it and had willpower enough to do them. Whatever's clever.

Obviously, no small measure of these will not work in-game (teleportation, doors between distant locations, telepathy without eye-contact, &c). I went on and listed them out to give an idea of how much he just messes around with magic--which is a lot and often.

But, know this too: for all that he has this magic in potentio, there are many times when his magic fails. For one reason or another--whether due to his own failure to realize something or to actual failure of the magic--he finds himself without it from time to time. Lacking willpower, potions start to fail. Lacking insight, the clairvoyance gets cloudy. Lacking awareness, one can get the drop on him. And, most importantly, while his magic is strong, it is also strong only in a relative sense. He isn't the strongest that ever is or was or will be.

Personality:

"He looks like anybody you see on the street. But when he grins, birds fall dead off telephone lines. When he looks at you a certain way, your prostate goes bad and your urine burns. The grass yellows up and dies where he spits. He's always outside. He came out of time. He doesn't know himself. He has the name of a thousand demons. Jesus knocked him into a herd of pigs once. His name is Legion. He's afraid of us. We're inside. He knows magic. He can call the wolves and live in the crows. He's the king of nowhere. But he's afraid of us. He's afraid of...inside."
--The Stand

The popular reduction of his personality is this: Flagg is a total troll. And that's absolutely true, but moving on, because there's a lot more to him than that.

Let us get one thing clear at the outset: he is a villain. He is not a good guy. He is, in fact, about as far from a good guy as you can get before coming back around again. Everything he does, everything he wants, everything he hopes for, everything he orchestrates is intended toward the negative, the destructive, the chaotic. It may not be obvious at first, but his intentions always lead to a downward spiral.

It can be easy to start viewing villains or bad guys or evil wizards as somehow or somewhat sympathetic, that they're misunderstood, that they have secret wounds, that they're evil but have some redeeming quality. Think of Darth Vader: downright sympathetic when one knows the whole story. Don't fall prey to that here. Flagg is an anti-hero, but not in the classic "Man With No Name" sense or even in the "Leopold Bloom" sense. He is the antithesis of heroism without falling into cowardice. Cowardice is cowardice. Here is a character who pursues antiheroism with all the same fervor and intent and drive as any hero might pursue goodness and justice. If a hero intends to rescue, restore, and save, he intends to abandon, destroy, and ruin. He's just evil. Like I said: not a good guy.

He is descended from chaos (I mean this literally), espouses chaos, cultivates chaos, and set things to ruin with wickedness. I'm getting poetic, but it's true. If he can wreck it, he wants to wreck it. Often just for the sake of wrecking it. Because...why not? It's fun and it's funny.

But this makes him sound rather grandiose--and he certainly can be rather grandiose (he has a flair for the dramatic). But, in truth and in practice, he's much more sneaky and snide and conniving and cutting than grandiose. He is not, despite all his fondness for destruction, a great brooding mastermind of a villain. He is, as noted, basically a troll.

I mean, let's not mince words, he's kind of an asshole. He's a troll, remember? An inter-dimensional, trans-temporal, semi-immortal, non-human wizard troll asshole, but an asshole all the same.

So about that trolling--this is trolling on a massive scale. This is trolling set up trans-generationally and trans-dimensionally. He'll set something in motion for a "gotcha!" moment or a victory that won't appear for years or decades. And he'll set it up so that it will befall not one person but an entire kingdom. But it's worth it. He'll lead you through hell and then send you back on your way with a carefully packed lunch (this is actually true--right down to the packets of cookies) because that's meaner than just sending one through hell and back out the other side. Did he really have to start leaving clues and signs in the burned ashes of his campfires as Roland followed him across a desert for weeks on end? Probably not. But it's more entertaining this way (and Roland didn't even care, shame). And that's essentially just a prologue to everything else.

So he is perfectly capable of playing the long game: he will set things in motion literally generations before he can expect to see the results of his actions. And he will keep up with the game, make his moves as necessary, try to anticipate any moves against him, &c. He's a bit of a mastermind, yes, though he lacks the kind of removed, cold, brooding nature one would associate with a mastermind. Think more of someone setting up a very long practical joke that requires immense planning and multiple steps. He will bear with anything if it will meet his ends. And he will go to nearly any lengths to accomplish those ends, whether it requires magic or lies or killing or manipulation. He begins an affair with Roland's mother which he carries on for years (maybe he didn't really mind it too much) knowing that when Roland inevitably finds out, it will drive Roland into his test of manhood years too early, so he should fail his test, which will result in Roland's banishment, which would be ideal to the wizard. This scheme doesn't work out quite as planned, but it's kind of all part and parcel of still larger plans which do work out. Or he will put up with addle-headed kings long enough to see the king married and children born and those children nearly grown because he has plans for one of the children. Or, cut a deal with an incorporeal succubus to give her a body after she seduces Roland so that she can be made to bear his child which is gestated half in her body and half in Susannah's body and then transmitted (I kid you not) to the succubus's body to be born and then use the birthmark on the (monster)child's foot to get into the Dark Tower to climb it and take the room at the top and rule all the universes. I mean, wow, it's so simple. That's the long game: weeks and months and years for the sake of a plan or an idea or even the first part of several plans. So, truth be told, he has patience in that regard. Trolls must be patient for maximum lulz.

However, it should be known that his patience only extends so far as his success is concerned. If he feels that things are going as he likes, if he feels he has control over a situation (even if that situation is intended to be ultimately destructive), if he's winning the game, then he can bear with nearly anything and titter gleefully while waiting for the next success to come along. He probably won't be entirely happy and will probably find some minor ways to entertain himself which are less than kind (small cruelties enacted on the unsuspecting or reading an original and unexpurgated copy of The Necronomicon), but he can endure for ages just to enjoy the results of his long plans.

But no sooner do things start to get out of his control, to diverge from his intended track, to vary from his plans, then things get ugly fast. That grin suddenly seems less like a Cheshire Cat's and more like a serial killer's. Yes, he can and does modify his plans, though it strikes him as an immense imposition and it is not welcome, but he can do it. And he can be quick about that. If something comes up that's unanticipated, he'll take it into account--if he manages to figure it out, since he doesn't always figure it out. (One gets the feeling that it pleases him to catch something before it can ruin his plans--once again, proving that he's smarter and quicker.) But if he does catch on, he'll modify and move on, though still to the same goal.

But if he can't change his plans or if something comes up that he can't easily get around, let us be blunt: he has a temper. And it is astonishing. When he gets angry, things get broken and people die. This kind of temper shows most clearly in his murderous and destructive outbursts in The Stand (he gets so mad at one point that he can't even levitate to get his good humor back), but his sharp answers of "I don't know" while telling Roland's fortune in the desert Golgotha show some measure of that temper (it should be noted that he probably doesn't know the things he says he doesn't know here, and he dislikes not knowing). It's not just a temper, it is outright rage.

He really likes his laughs, that's really what it comes down to. And what amuses him most, what really cracks him up, are cutting, biting, little acts of cruelty; backhanded compliments; turning logical fallacies back on their maker; making someone else angry or miserable and watching as that person can do nothing (or nearly nothing) to stop the discomfort or misery--he likes trolling and he likes succeeding at his trolling. It amuses the hell out of him. He brings a dead man back to life (more or less) in part because it's amusing and it amuses him--and it's part of a longer plan (the long game again).

Images and metaphors related to drug abuse and addiction run all through his canon, so it's a fair likening to say that the pleasure he gets from these cruelties is kind of a giddy high and his urge for them is kind of an addiction. He really likes trolling people--certain people more than others (Roland and his associates get some particular attention, naturally). (There's a sense to his personality--and I'll get into this a bit later--that he's very coiled up or wound up inside, like he just cannot wait for the payoff or for the win, for the thrill of victory when one of his plans meets with success. He's just grinning away, eagerly anticipating the win.)

But the question, of course, is how this pile of details comes across in practice. Let it be known: he smiles. He smiles, he grins, he giggles, he laughs, he even titters. He is amused as hell almost all the time. He plots and schemes and plans and laughs the whole time. He's just so pleased with what he's up to, he's always grinning.

Of course, it does get a bit suspicious when someone smiles all the time, and sometimes the darkness under the surface burns through those smiles and one gets an idea that he may very well be a demon in a man's shape. Cheeriness to the point of terror.

But, generally speaking, he can be quite the charmer. Call it manipulative, too, but it certainly does win people over. Yes, a lot of the time he sneers, he mocks, he bothers, he torments, but he can also be very measured and very winning. It's that patience, again. It takes a surprising amount of patience to really torment someone (or troll them, let's just use the term). The patience, the calmness, that's some of what's so frustrating. He can be chatty and conversational (if, as noted, backhanded with compliments and underhanded with meanings) and even charismatic (I mean, he had quite the little cult of personality going in Vegas). Sometimes he comes across as sort of oddly bookish or intellectual (for example, "liars use chairs, so we shall eschew them"--ain't many people who throw "eschew" in casual conversation, I'm just saying). There is a sense that he considers himself superior, dropping jokes or references that he knows no one will get besides himself because it pleases him to know something someone else doesn't know, but it's less elitism and almost more pedantic than anything. And there's something showy about it, a kind of tease that he knows more than you do--about everything. He's not gregarious, but perhaps affable. And still, somehow, he comes across as fairly American in his vocabulary and slang and pronunciation ("Toadjer" for "told you", for example--though it seems like he can manage different dialects and even languages without trouble).

Remember, of course, that he is a trickster, and these tricks come in all shapes and sizes, including a little verbal sparring and even (yes, really) jokes. Bear in mind how often he laughs and how much he grins. He does joke, but it's always barbed and cutting and even insulting, though in a subversive or devious way. One has the feeling that the object of the joke might laugh at first and then realize, wait, the joke is on them. In practice, it comes across a little like a snide know-it-all college student. He is quite willing and capable of dropping Joseph Conrad and Old Testament references into his conversations and not even caring if anyone gets the reference. He almost prefers it or sets jokes up so that he'll be the only one to really understand all the subtlety and cleverness in a particular joke (in contrast to Eddie and Cuthbert's more congenial and popular quips). He purposefully references things no one will get because it's the best and most apt likening, which is funny, of course. Or, if someone might get a reference, he will play it out for all it's worth, making the most elaborate, complicated kind of trick or joke imaginable--for example, the massive set-up for the Wizard of Oz-themed spectacle that goes down outside-over-there of 1990 Topeka, Kansas, where he basically gets to stand there and say "Pay no attention to that man behind the curtain." This kind of long set-up is like the long game, once again. Either way, the jokes on you and it makes him feel superior, more aware, and generally ahead of whoever he's dealing with.

That smiling charmer and that grinning demon are the two most basic sides to him. He is quite capable of drawing a person in before that person knows exactly what kind of monster he or she might be dealing with. He's tricky--in vocabulary, in references, in likenings, in similarities. He's a little of this and a little of that, but none of it good. He is, as some have noted, a combination of a Trickster character and a Dark Man character (he's even called that, so that makes sense). So he grins. So he grins and he smiles and he laughs and those teeth that you see are very, very sharp.

Yes, the laughter can seem almost manic at times. He's quick with answers and laughter, he moves fast to keep his plans on track, but he isn't frantic or manic, really. There is a dark intensity to his character even at the times when he's acting calm. The image of a Cheshire Cat, of something grinning in the dark, does well for him. That intensity is something like an inescapable creature chasing after you in the dark. The thing is coming up fast enough to force you to run, and it hasn't caught you yet only because it doesn't feel like catching you yet. It won't stop and you can't stop and you can't escape it either. It's a metaphorical image, I know, but that's the kind of coiled and waiting intensity and planning that sits behind even his most patient, reasoned conversations. He isn't manic, but he's never really entirely without some kind of force in him. He's just wound up and ready to spring a trap.

Admittedly, he can put on an imperious kind of demeanor. His Walter o'Dim and his Marten personae seem to act more imperious more often than the Randall persona does. More demanding, more inclined to give orders, more inclined to direct insults, certainly inclined to push the servants around. It's the same sense of superiority and certainly all the plotting and cruelty but with a lot of the playfulness put aside. (One wonders if the sniping comments and needling trolling are reserved for those he likes--or at least deems worthy). But this imperiousness is not his usual face. He's usually all grins and chuckles.

He is, it is noted, happiest when he's playing a role. He is a deceiver, to be sure, smiling away, cheerful as hell, when he's planning to rain down death and destruction sooner or later. It's another deceit, as the smiles can be. He has dozens of identities, multiple faces, numerous personae. He becomes what he needs to be for the sake of one plan or another--whether that be a barbarian with a blue-painted face or a country boy from Nebraska. It's all part of the plan.

If there is a role which he prefers, though, it is to be the power behind the throne. Time and again, he puts himself willingly in this position and uses it to greater advantage than what might happen if he were to be in charge himself. Just start with his serving as the Crimson King's chancellor and move forward from there: since the Crimson King is somewhere between insane and braindead, though still considered a major threat, he can operate behind that understood power and, with a little work, be the power without having to contend with all the responsibilities or problems therein. Think about it: all the can-toi and taheen and vampires and monsters and humans and various other servants of the Crimson King are set up in a hierarchy so that all the top level monsters report to him and he (and he alone) reports to the Crimson King. So he's the one gatekeeper through which all information moves to the King--or doesn't move, as he sees fit. That's a lot of power to possess despite not actually being in power. (Although this may not be purely true, since one has to figure that the supreme evil in this universe has a few skills and tricks of his own.) It's better than being the one actually in power: all the resources without being the focus of any ire or trouble. He can do what he pleases through his ruler and all the displeasure gets focused on said ruler, because the ruler's in charge. Simple as that. Best plan ever.

It's his favorite trick, really. He sets himself up as adviser to several kings, in fact, across different kingdoms and cities (King Roland and his son King Thomas in Delain, King Steven in Gilead) pretty much purposefully to be a directing force behind the throne. If you want to go back to The Stand, even there, he delegates responsibility or grants permission to one character or another (Lloyd Henreid, Trashcan Man, &c.) to have things carried out in his name even while he's conspicuously absent. Yes, he's more obviously the leader there, but, once again, although he's nominally in control of the Vegas side of the conflict, he's still distant, still operating through or around or by way of others. In some ways, he's the power behind his own power--if, to spin it a bit further, one considers how he has a legend built up around himself by his followers (one wonders if he didn't help it), whereas the truth might be different from what is said. So there is the imagined Flagg in power and the real one working behind that image.

Regardless, he doesn't shy away from the idea of being in control, but his notion of how best to obtain and keep control, or how best to further his ends (which would pretty much be the opposite of control, really), all hinges on being a force behind the acknowledged power--whether as adviser or threat. He wants control or to be in control or to have plans moving as he pleases--to an end because it amuses him or pleases him, as well as for the end itself.

Likewise, he wants power, he tries to gather power, but not for the sake of having power. As with everything else, including many aspects of his magic, power is a tool, power is an instrument. The idea of ruling for the sake of ruling, of conquering worlds for the sake of owning or controlling them, is not his actual motive. Power is a tool--a useful tool. And, as his particular magic attests, most anything can be used as a tool. It's just that power is one of the more useful tools in the world(s). By gathering it, he can do as he pleases--which usually means driving one kingdom or another into total ruin and then driving the ruiners into ruin. It's a classic cycle.

Of course, all this goes to the wayside when it comes to the Tower and claiming the room at the top--that is, assuming the role of a god of all the worlds. He'd be fine with that kind of power. That's different. (Or, at the very least, knowing what is or isn't in that room at the top.)

The thing is, he fails. He fails a lot and he fails spectacularly. He fails so hard so much one almost wonders how he keeps on trying. Maybe the failure is part of the plan. For instance, perched on a rooftop, watching the destruction of Gilead, the most powerful city in the world, carrying on with all the "Rule Discordia"s you can stand...and an explosion knocks the roof out from under him. Yes, he turns into a crow and flies off, but, really: way to fail, wizard.

But, truly, as an image, that sort of captures his repeated downfalls: he orchestrates or at least has a hand in the ruin and end of some good thing, only to find himself in danger in the course of that end due to his own lack of awareness or planning or foresight or giddy anger. Most of time (every time except for one, ahem ahem), he sidesteps out of the greater part of the destruction and manages to preserve himself. That's why it's better to be the adviser to the king and not the king himself: easier to set up the fall, easier skitter out of the way when it all comes crashing down.

Some of his problem is that, while he's not what one might call cocky or overconfident (certainly, that isn't the image he projects), he does fail to realize certain things, or fail to notice something, or fail to remember having done something, or (most of all) fail to put a series of things together--and when he does catch on, it's too late. As often as not, he supposes everyone is stupider than he is and ten times as stupid as he supposes they are. This is not true and this is what gets him eaten by a spider-baby/baby-spider. He gets rather caught up in his head, it seems, believing certain things or thinking certain ways or keeping on with certain notions, and that seems to make him miss or overlook certain important facts. And those facts catch up with him.

This shouldn't surprise him so much as it does and yet...it seems to surprise him every time. (If one espouses chaos and destruction, then one has to acknowledge that sooner or later, somehow or other, some of that chaos is going to splash back onto oneself. And yet, he never seems to quite catch on to this idea.)

So, remarkably, he fails--and he fails a lot. He fails to take something into account, fails to realize that someone else will think of something, fails to put two things together and realize plan, fails to remember things, or fails simply to remember that he's not the top of the food chain.

And he hates failing--when he realizes he's been had, it's generally a bad scene. Although, given how he's probably trying to make things fall down around him, it doesn't always last long. And he generally succeeds in making an escape out to another world or to another part of a world--well, every time except for one time. So he fails, but he persists. He carries on because it's what he does. He finds himself very unwelcome in one place or another, things are going south for everyone including (at last) him, things are not going to be going his way much longer, so he ends up being driven off or disappearing and picking up again in another time or place. And then he lands wherever it is he lands and he starts all over again.

So he fails, but never quite seems to learn very much from his failures, but to his credit, he does pick up and try again. Even if one might wish he wouldn't.

So he does have some sense of self-preservation--he is, after all, only semi-immortal. He can die, and he is aware of the threats to his continued existence (a gun brought from another world is a threat to him) and he would very much like to avoid them. As long as he keeps living, he won't die.

On the one hand, his failure is one of the most human aspects to him. (It is, and you may laugh because I certainly did when it occurred to me, a little bit like "phenomenal cosmic power...itty-bitty living-space" going on here: it should be awesome, and yet there are those feet of clay.) He is a creature (because "person" is stretching it a bit) capable of immense feats of magic and of arranging upheavals and revolutions, a creature that has lived for a thousand years, but who still succeeds in missing the totally bleeding obvious. What a human failing.

He is human in many ways, despite all the demonic connections and magic powers. He looks human a goodly part of the time. He eats. He gets peanut butter on his teeth. He sleeps. He is said to like sugar and sweet things a great deal. He drinks coffee. Sex makes him hungry. He lights fires at night. He sleeps with women. He carries on an affair with Roland's mother (for years). He attempts to avoid death. He gets frustrated. One would think that all aspects of humanity would have been squeezed out of him by now, that he would just be wrung dry of it. And yet, he does act very human. Sometimes it's disturbing to think of, to consider what is effectively a monster behaving in a human way. Sometimes it reduces the monstrosity--just like the charm can. Regardless, it happens. It may be easier to think of him as a monster playing at being human, but he's more like a human playing at being a monster.

Which is a moment in which one can allow a little sympathy to creep in. If he's more human than monstrous, maybe he's just misunderstood. No, probably not. But there's an odd detail that appears just before Mordred, um, does him in, that he ran away from home at age thirteen and took to wandering, before he was raped by a fellow traveler a year later. Have sympathy there, as it almost seems like, at that point, he was still more human than monster (even if he had burned down his house and run away). At that point, we are told he could have crept back to the town that raised him or he could go on "towards his destiny." Nothing more about this incident is said specifically, but this choice seems almost to be a choice between good and evil. He chose to go towards what is regarded as his destiny, which is the choice towards evil. As others have noted--I think this appears in the Wikipedia article--such an assault suggests that while he himself has become both powerful and evil, he is by no means the be-all and end-all of power and evil. Indeed, such an assault proves that he's essentially just one aspect of evil or, worse still, that he's just another victim caught in a larger web of evil. While he has arisen through it and claimed chaos and evil for himself, it neither originates with him nor ends with him. It does not seem that this incident is an overwhelming motivation in his life. Indeed, if anything, it along with his earliest name and life seem to be deeply kept secrets. It is, perhaps, just another stop on the road towards his destiny as he is, it cannot be denied, a fated creature. And he is, in some aspects, a force of nature as much as anything. He's there to put things into motion, to obey the rules of destiny, to bring about the fulfillment of prophecies, to serve as an Enemy.

In general he is inclined to magic--of a devilish, black magic sort, generally. Indeed, he seems to use magic when he doesn't need to--to light a fire when he has matches, for example, because the magic is more fun and, you know, more troll-y. He uses it to excess, he uses it for laughs. This is an evil wizard we're talking about here. But he can easily and happily contend with science and technology. It seems that he views science and technology as being inferior to magic and the supernatural, but, once again, scientific tricks can be useful tools (and, really, any sufficiently advanced technology can seem like magic). For instance, he's fully prepared to recommend that the leftover technology in the town of Fedic be put to use to give an incorporeal succubus a body--so as to answer the requirements of a prophecy, of course. And he is fully prepared to make a joke about faxing a baby cell by cell into her body. He can deal with discussing space and time and spacetime, he can wax philosophical, he can explain the theological implications of the Tower, he can consider the moral neutrality of technology and its negative or positive uses. I mean, he's got a mind in him. The best trolls are usually the smart ones.

It's also only fair to mention that there are some pretty direct parallels between him and Nyarlathotep from H. P. Lovecraft's works--some fandom sources term him an "expy" for Nyarlathotep. And, like Nyarlathotep, he has numerous personae, different pasts, followers who revere him, and skills beyond reckoning whether in terms of magic or science. He also has what is often described as a "mocking contempt for his masters" and Flagg does sneer a bit about the Crimson King. He is, likewise, as capable of charming followers and of leading them into madness and misery. He brings nightmares with him, but one still wants to see what it is that he does and who he might be. Eyes of the Dragon draws an explicit line between him and It (as in It It), which is pretty Lovecraftian all around. This is all neither here nor there, but it's an observation.

So, what do we have here, really? An evil wizard, pretty much. A creature that looks like a man, but can change its shape, that wishes for little besides cruelties that amuse only himself, that has immense magical power and knowledge and uses those skills for the sake of jokes, but who is yet bound by fate as much as any other creature. Simultaneously a trickster and a demon, capable of patience so long as his chosen games and pranks carry on as he chooses but also possessed of a temper in keeping with his supernatural connections. And yet, somehow made to seem all the more human by repeated unanticipated failures. He's about as purely antagonistic as one can come, forever ready to stymie a hero or thwart the forces of good. And why not? It's more fun to thwart than to support. But even more fun to break things down from the inside, with underhanded tricks and secret intentions. So long as it all comes falling down and one old crow can get away in time for his next trick. That's all he asks.

Why would your character be chosen?
For one thing, he's got magic--a lot of it and a thousand years of practice with it. I mean, across different eras and different worlds, he's got magic that is nothing to sneeze at (not that he's, like, totally unstoppable, because magic is relative, but he still has it). And magic, strong magic, has been relatively rare in the places he's been most recently. If he tries hard enough, he can do just about anything. His magic can be pretty showy, sure, but it's also a very useful thing to have around.

He's also really, really good at being "Dragon in Chief" (as TV Tropes puts it): in other words, if "The Dragon" is the Big Bad's strongest weapon or biggest threat, then in a situation where the Big Bad is weaker than he appears, the Dragon becomes the Dragon-in-Chief and is the one who's really running the show from behind the throne. As noted above, he likes this situation, being the power behind the throne. He prefers it to the point that he arranges it for himself time and again. So if you have a future leader (ahem-hem) who might need a little guidance without that guidance trying to take over (overtly, at least), he would be an excellent choice.

And he can navigate monarchical governments fairly adeptly (see: Delain, Gilead), so he wouldn't be out of his depth dealing with kings and queens and princes and so on and all the courtly politics and rumors (he's responsible for a measure of both in some places). He can handle courtly politics and even use it to his advantage with no trouble.

Of course, there's a caveat: he's pretty much irredeemably evil. So one had better hope to be able to contain or control that. If that can be dealt with, and if one has a weak or unwilling ruler, here's someone with experience in running things who will contentedly stay in the shadows (so long as what he wants is what's happening--contain or control, remember).

How much does your character know about nonhumans?
Since he's got his magic, since he's been alive and researching all things strange and magical for over 1,000 years, since he hangs around with vampires and monsters and taheen, since he hops around to different worlds like he's going around to the corner store, since he's fully capable of leaning on that 4th wall for the hell of it, since he can contend with the idea that he and everyone else in the various worlds may only be ideas in the mind of an author (and not go insane at the thought), since he can change his face and shape pretty much at will, since he's acting as Prime Minister for the ultimate source of supernatural evil in his particular corner of the universe, since his father was the demon Maerlyn and his mother was Selena, the Goddess of the Black Moon, and since he himself may not actually be entirely human, I think it's safe to say that he'd have quite a bit of knowledge about nonhumans. Yeah.

Why this character:
I've wanted to try my hand at a villain--a real villain, not just a sort of gray-morality or chaotic-good character, but someone actually Bad--for a while now and I am very pleased to have found one that I think suits me and matches my interests and is clever enough to provide a goodly long time's worth of trouble.

I think villains, bad guys, antagonists, whatever are an interesting crowd both in RP and in canons for their motivations, their intentions, and their own reactions, to say nothing of the immediate action and reaction they can provide to a particular crew and to a game at large. Bad guys add a lot of interest to character interactions. And that is especially true with one who is as sneaky and prone to scheming as this one. He's not just Big Bad Doom and Brood. He's not a cookie-cutter Bad Guy. He's got some weirdness, which will make for interesting interactions both in and out of his crew. I think he's interesting and I think his (sprawling, massive) canon is interesting. There's a lot to dip into and a lot to spread around. He's not one-note and I don't think he'll get tiresome or repetitive. Although I am new to this character, I'm looking forward to trying my hand at him.

And, yes, while I am new to this character, I feel like being new to playing a character means that I don't feel played out with that character. I'm still scheming ideas and thinking of dozens and dozens of things I can do--and I very much intend to do them. All of them. I've worked out a lot about his character here, but there's a lot more one can do than what can be thrown into a (tl;dr) app.

I'll also be honest and say that the rest of the Dark Tower cast helped make up my mind. They're really the ones who talked up the game and got me interested in apping--in large part because, well, they're already here.

As I said, the idea of playing this character, the effective Big Villain, against not just one but a whole pile of other characters from the same canon seemed to be an especially good challenge and opportunity. He's an interesting character on his own, to be sure, but he works so much better when his canon enemies and their respective desires and intentions can come up against his. He's more entertaining with others from his canon. The trolling is better because of the longer shared history. As it always is.

But even without them, he is, as stated, a godmod-h4x trans-dimensional inter-temporal semi-immortal wizard troll. He will cause trouble, because this is what he does, and it will be great.

AU Addendum: N/a
Past Game History: N/a

4. Samples
Please either include a first-person entry that could be your character's first post on The Network, or a third-person prose or action spam sample that could be your character's reaction to arriving in Dagaz. For the other two samples, links to previous character examples are fine.

First-Person: (5+ sentences) Journal-entry style, written in the character's own voice.

Hel--

[Can you get feedback on an earpiece like this? Yes? No? Well, there's a burst of static anyway. I mean, there's a reason he has been known to keep mostly away from PA systems and microphones.

The screeching static clears.

A cheery-sounding voice emerges--cheery, friendly, jovial, maybe even disarming. Friendly, friendly guy here. Clearly.]

Wow, wonder what that was.

[No, he doesn't wonder at all. Not that anyone else needs to know.]

Hello? Hello? Okay, okay. Sounds all right to me.

Oh, I remember these contraptions. There was a time when these things were quite the rage. I do recall it. You know, they called them "Jawbones" at the time.

[And he laughs, bright and dark at once, but he won't say what's so damn funny. Jawbones, though. It's funny. If you have to ask, you'll never know.]

Anyway, everyone--well, everyone who thought it was...cool, or who wanted to prove a thing or two about their money and their importance and ended up proving quite the opposite--wandered around with these things plugged in their ears looking a little like, well, like robots [more brightly dark laughter] and like they were shouting at thin air or phantom hallucinations like some kind of deranged madman when they were really just calling out long distance out over the airwaves. And nobody could tell the difference between galloping insanity and telephone calls. But how much difference is there, really?

That was the Zeitgeist then: everyone was always talking to someone who wasn't there.

[The slightest of intentional pauses. Can you feel him grinning on the other end?]

Are you out there?

Hi!

Third-Person: (Either a 200+ word entry or a link to a thread of 10 or more comments) Show us, don't tell, what your character is like in a prose writing sample.

He opened this eyes. He opened his eyes and he realized in that moment that he had opened his eyes. And from that realization sprang two considerations: first, that he had opened his eyes; second, that he had eyes to open at all.

He had been dead. This much was true and he knew it had been true because he had felt it and known it. He had known it before it had even happened. He had thought, then, in that moment, of the old phrase: I think I have come to the end of the path.

Not, however, to the clearing at the end of the path. That would be asking a bit much. The clearing? For him? The clearing, paradise, heaven, Swarga Loka, Nirvana, Jannah, the Pure Land, whatever one wants to call it--conceptually, no matter how many specific names it got, it's all rather archetypal. If he'd given more consideration to things, he would have likely and immediately agreed that he was not bound for the clearing, but he had no intention of finding out either way. Not so long as he had things to see through to their ends. Unfortunately, things had seem him through to his end.

So perhaps hell, then.

Except that things around here seemed more palatial, more Fairyland, more Emerald-City-meets-Rivendell, maybe even more "Algul Siento chic" than lakes of sulfur and boiling mud. Which was all rather unoriginal, as far as these things go.

Hell, generally speaking, is the more explored possibility, in terms of artistic expression, with the rather spectacular variances on torment and suffering that such a place presents. There are infinite variation on the theme of "eternal suffering" as opposed to the somewhat more uniform imagery of eternal peace. Peace was always said to be rather pleasant, if one is into peace. Not his cup of tea, really. It's one thing to live in an era of relative peace (been there, done that a few times), it's another thing entirely to hope for it and pray for it and aspire to exist in such a situation in perpetuity. To really be straight about it, it's boring. Just the same thing, day after day: all peace and nothing but peace. All peace all the time. The hippies are sitting around in a circle chanting together and pretending to raise positive energy and the Weathermen are off in a corner somewhere looking bored. Forever. Yeah. That's peace.

Suffering is inherently more creative than eternal rest and happy endings. Suffering requires no small measure of creative thought and imagination. Suffering and nightmares and monsters are just more fun. Ask any horror author you like.

Well, any except one. And he laughed quietly at the thought.

The time runs swiftly. How did the saying go? "Time is a face on the waters."

The problem (he thought as he sat up, still blinking, which was suddenly a rather pleasant sensation, blinking) was that Heaven or Hell or Clearing or pits of Na'ar, he seemed, according to the very fact of waking taken together with all vital signs and all present organs (blinking again), to be distinctly alive when he had been generally convinced mere moments before that he was, in fact, dead. As the metaphorical doornail.

Perhaps, then, that (that) had simply been the closest he'd ever come to death without tipping over into it.

No, unlikely. Because he knew better (indeed, every nerve yet knew and he had memories enough he could do without, thank you very much indeed). That bright, shining wire had bound him, and bound him in will as much as gesture. And he had made of himself an offering to the creature he had moments before named his dinh.

In truth (and this time it wasn't a lie to follow), he'd lost one eye before, ages ago, to an arrow kept for sentiment and a locket hidden for good reason. A foolish, stupid turn of events--sentiment and secrets were better left to fairytales, not lodged in his skull. It didn't matter, since that had been mended. And that was the point (or, as Jake might have said, and that was the truth).

One eye was easily mended, two eyes could have been mended soon enough. Tongues--butchers like to pretend they're delicacies, but everyone likes to pretend offal is sweetbreads. Tongues are easy to come by. A bit of flesh, a bit of bone.

His hood had fallen back, and he pulled it back onto his head, and so with great intent: the principle of the "thinking cap" was sound, he was quite sure of that, even if the execution (now that was an unfortunate choice of words, wasn't it?) of selfsame principle in a certain set of circumstances wasn't quite as had been anticipated. At all.

So, then. He was not dead after all. Or, if he had been for some period of time, he was no longer. Which was something unto itself.

Truth be told, he was in a much better situation than he had anticipated (because he hadn't anticipated much of anything thereafter, really). Dare he consider it? Yes, all right: another chance. Another chance and better armed this time. Now he knew better. Fool me once, shame on you, Mordred.

Fool me twice--the next problem, of course, was that the whole of his very mind, every intention, every plan, had been ransacked and raided by the double-fathered, double-mothered beastie (and if anyone ever thinks that monsters aren't afraid of other monsters, there is something yet for them to learn). Fool me twice, shame on me. So there were some adjustments to be made to the scheme of things. Not the overarching scheme, oh no. That could stand: follow the trail to collect the foot of the beastie that bears the mark that opens the door to the innards of the Tower which lead to the stairs which lead the room at the top. After reaching the Tower, of course. So: find the door that yet functions that leads to the path that leads to the Tower. Fire won't burn Stick, Stick won't beat Pig, Pig won't jump over the Stile and I shan't get home tonight.

He pulled himself up and sat cross-legged on the floor, because what else was there yet to do? But he was ahead of himself yet. He was here, not in Fedic (clearly not in Fedic, not unless there'd be some very sudden and spontaneous redecorating by the ghosts of all those long-dead inhabitants), and therefore two or three steps removed.

This would take doing. He would search for a door back to Fedic and from Fedic he would search for another door forward. However, the last thing he might want would be to find a door back and find that this resurrection was only a localized phenomenon. It wouldn't do any good to cross that threshold and drop eyeless, tongueless, hollowed-out, and consumed again.

Five days. Five and a half at the outside. So he'd counted it out between the one river of time and the other. Now he'd diverged into whatever sort of sidestream this might be, "like those little nooks of still water, which border a rapid stream, where we may see the straw and bubble riding quietly at anchor, or slowly revolving in their mimic harbor, undisturbed by the rush of the passing current." Five and a half days at the outside, less whatever time had been wasted being dead, and less whatever difference there might be in the speed at which that time burned between here and there.

Obviously, he was not yet too late: surely even the dead, even the resurrected dead would be no more if the Tower fell. It stood. It stood yet. And he could yet ascend that stair.

He couldn't have lost much time, though he'd have to now go back and--

--and try again.

Very well, then. He would. It was nothing new. A thousand, ten thousand times he might have to try again, but he would. There was nothing new to that. He would no sooner cry off than--

Roland. That plodding, methodical, unstoppable remnant of a world long since moved on. They were not alike. They could not be more unalike. Save in this one regard: they were both unflagging in their intentions. Perhaps it was true: perhaps, until he'd had Roland to complete him-to make him greater than his own destiny, perhaps--he had been little more than a wandered left over from the old days (just the same, the world has gone on), a mercenary with a vague ambition to penetrate the Tower before it was brought down. And it was the gunslinger who would begin the end of matters and ultimately cause the tumble of that which he wished to save. Inexorable and plodding. Roland was to be admired, as he had always said. And so things had been set in motion once again. Or perhaps they had always been in motion. Perhaps he was yet bound by some shining wire.

He stood up and found he could manage that.

The place where you made your stand never mattered. Only that you were there, and still on your feet.

At least he still had his boots.

Third Sample This is your decision. You can include another first-person post, a third-person post, or action spam.

The dark was coming down across the desert and with the wind was rising. So endeth another day. And still he was followed. That was good. Roland Deschain, that last gunslinger, followed him yet and he led forward (or perhaps they simply moved along the same path, which could be likely too), and that was as it should be.

Whether following or chasing, no, that man would not desist--with that plodding, tenacious mind of his--yes, it was something to admire. No sharpness here, no quickness, no bright flash of intelligent teeth to grip at a thought or an understanding. It was an alien country, and alien world. When Roland understood, it was nigh unto being beaten to death with something roughly amounting to logic. That was a mind to be watched and it pleased this man in his dark hood to consider the workings of that mind--like great iron wheels, like the grinding force of some old steam locomotive (all rusted and lost, o lost, alas Babylon, in this time and place). Inexorable, unrelenting, the lapping of the sea at the foot of a mountain that, grain by grain, it would wear away. Because so the sea must. The patience, too, then, of the seaweeds, carried on the tides forever. Day by day: night by night: lifted, flooded and let fall. Lord, they are weary; and, whispered to, they sigh. Saint Ambrose heard it, sigh of leaves and waves, waiting, awaiting the fullness of their times, diebus ac noctibus iniurias patiens ingemiscit.

Let them groan. The sea was still very far away now and the desert lay in defiance of it still, as though some part of the world could deny another's existence. But so it could, and so it could seem to those within the one or the other. Neither was such a place for Man. One was too much, the other two little. And which was which--?

The dark was falling, so he gathered and bundled the devil grass, the only stuff that grew in this place and the only stuff that would burn. Never mind what the smoke did (or the stuff itself, especially to those who found themselves eating it, bless their hearts). That was of no concern to him. He bound it into bundles and set to building the structures that would burn down to the scorched ideograms that marked his passing. No need to cut for sign here, gunslinger: it is written.

Not that he suspected the man who followed him--nigh a great, inescapable, following force more than a man--would pay mind to the signs beyond their presence. Truly, a disappointment to some degree, to have such signs wasted on those who would not see. He lit the fire with matches. He would light it with magic later, when he was caught, because then--then--the gunslinger would see. He would be made to.

But, then, admire the tenacity instead. For now. He thought, perhaps, that if the gunslinger following ran himself to death, his corpse itself would drag itself forward by its fingers for...who knew how many miles? But he wouldn't run himself to death. He knew that. There was yet too much to be done. Death was not for him.

The gunslinger had followed when he had fled into the desert. This was the first step. The trap in Tull had been set and sprung. That was another. Imagine that a sacrifice, if it pleased one to do so. A blood-offering to a thirsty desert--and not one alone but the whole of a town. He had been gone, long gone, when it was sprung and done, but he knew well enough how it would end. There was more yet to come. But there were not many days now left before the end--the end of the beginning, or perhaps only the beginning of the beginning. He grinned at that.

And beyond? And after? Beyond the desert, beyond the sea, beyond a hundred thousand thousand degradations of the spirit, there stood the Tower. It could yet be...

He hunched before the fire, and ate what food he had hidden in his robes. The wind pulled out his robes behind him like misplaced shreds of the night themselves. In the great distance, the footless and floating mountains beckoned. He carried his Tarot cards in his robes too and they weighted a pocket and waited in that pocket. Mend with patience, and be better at thy leisure.

The dark came down and, after a time, he slept in the warmth of his fire and paid no mind to the dreams and hallucinations and madness the smoke of the devil grass might bring. He might even welcome such things. He might even greet them as friends returning again.

***

He woke after a time in the dark with the fire burned low. There had been another time and place, "many and many-a" as they say, when he had only traveled at night. Strictly the night shift. Those were wandering days, those warm-cool American summer evenings on dark back roads and narrow two-lane highways, clocking in his miles on the glittering asphalt in the same old battered boots. Some things do not change. And he had lighted fires for another then too, yes, but the fires he had lit for her were of another kind entirely. But they had burned so brightly and for her. And later there had been a desert then too, and a fire made of what little the desert would offer. So do all things pass.

He stayed wakeful for a time and listened to his own mind in the silence. A poem, barely recalled, drifted up to the surface and through his plans and intentions laid out before his own mind's eyes like so many cards:

My darkling child, the stars have obeyed in your deliverance and laid you cold on the doorstep of a house where few are happy and times get worse.

It suited.