Shamajerk

"Oooffff." That was the sound of my back slamming into stone, well that was the sound I made when I hit the stone, the actual sound was more thudcrack, but you know semantics. Shamanar was pretty powerful as far as magic users go, or he felt powerful (as in I was being thrown around the room pretty easily).  His physical body was that of an incredibly muscled man, face was chiseled handsome... no I'm not making that up, guy looked like the kind of person you lose a girlfriend too.  He was shirtless with tight what appeared to be silk pants on.  Of all the magic users who have kicked my ass (and the list is in fact growing) he was the weirdest.

"Will you submit to Shamanar?" His voice was still deafening, and it seemed to be coming from everywhere.

"If I could reach my nuts I'd tell you to..." And then I was tossed through the door leading to the "well" room.  I was back in the suicide room, the ghosts that had chased me in there weren't there anymore. Shamanar slowly approached me, despite being really muscular he moved extremely slow.  This gave me an opportunity to draw my revolver and fire some shots at him, of course they did nothing and just caused him to laugh.

"This? This is the best you can do to the great Shamanar?" I tried to run but he was next to me an instant.

"SUBMIT!!!" He had hauled me off the ground and I was up in the air, but something curious was going on. I wasn't in pain? It was something I'd noticed earlier, despite being tossed around the well room I wasn't actually hurt, like I felt nothing broken, bruised, or bleeding. So despite beating me up I wasn't actually hurt.  Which is either a testament to how awesome I am (so awesome) or I wasn't actually where I thought I was doing what I thought I was doing.

I drew my sword out, "That will not harm me little one." I smiled at Shamanar and plunged it through myself, nothing. No pain, no blood, and no injury, for a brief moment in front of me the image flickered.  Suddenly I was on the ground, the handsome image of Shamanar was gone, and I was back in the same room I came into, though it was a lot more decrepit looking. The stair cases were broken down, the walls had more holes than one of my stories, and the floors were rotten.  The door that had trapped me was off its hinges and hand lazily in the wind. 

In front of me was the real Shamanar, an old frail looking man in dirty rags clutching a rotted old memoire.  None of it had been true.  Shamanar looked up at me with anger, he could see I had bested him at his own game (see being crazy in the past helps me avoid crazy in the future... yes it makes sense).  I didn't say anything to him, there was nothing more to be said, I made a deliberate motion to pull my revolver out, took aim, and blew his head off.  The frail body hit the floor with a thump, the rest of his head landed with a splat.

Mind magic is always dangerous, because you don't know what you might be doing while you are doing what you think you are doing (yes that makes sense).  For whatever I might have learned from that husk say by sucking his body dry with necromancy, I'd be risking my own sanity taking that weirdness within (and I do that enough thank you).  I burned his body, and left enough fire to destroy the rest of his house.  I figured there hadn't actually been any cultists in a long time, this was the last desperate act of a crazed old man (hence the desire for me to submit).

I found my horse pretty much where I'd left him, happily munching on some grass, from the grass he'd eaten I noticed I hadn't been gone long.  I was happy the situation was over, but kind of miffed Nidget had been so grossly incompetent (that was the first time, sadly its not been the last). At least this time I didn't end up too hurt, just my brain felt broken, but I had a ride back to fix that, well as much as I ever "fix" my head.  Anyway, I'd like to say I returned and things were aok, but no no they just got stupider.