Title: Origins
Rating: PG
Disclaimer: I make no money off my fanfiction, and it is done purely in fun. I do not own anything except my own plot lines. Incidentally, the sapient pearwood reference belongs to Terry Pratchett.
The box is made of sapient pearwood and varnished with one of the magical Jumanjus trees sap. This makes it inherently magical and very easy to meld to your own uses, if you have the right training or natural power (and with a little luck, both). It also attracts those of said power, or in lack of those, anyone who has the right sort of spirit to finish the game. The Box does not make mistakes.
The pieces are made of marble from the Halls of Magic located in the golden city of Jumanji. Thus, they sometimes change shape or color, grow and shrink, and occasionally grow wings and fly around the room. However, they were carved in the shape of the monkey, the rhino, the elephant, and the crocodile, and still take those shapes most often.
The person who carved, painted and fitted the board together was one of the wizards of the Order of the Griffin, a highly secret and slightly criminal society that existed among magical people of the day. He is one of the leading members and it is best that his name not be revealed.
Jumanji is not a nonsense word, as some would believe. In the ancient tongue, it is a word of power- one that falls somewhere between "change" and "beware". In the language of the time, it was possible to make such words not only represent their meaning, but actually do what they reflect. However, it must be said with spirit, with meaning, or it will only be another set of syllables.
In short, the game thrums with magic.
The game…
The game itself is simple: roll the dice and move your piece, face you consequences. Above all, do not cheat. The game does not appreciate cheaters of any sort, and deals with them very… creatively.
But no matter what anyone will say, the game is not cruel or ruthless. It gives you a chance, but that's it- one chance. It is fair to whoever plays it, caring not about age, race or species. However, after it sends out the results of your roll, they are beyond its control. They will act independently of the rules, and until the game is over, they can and will reek havoc in whatever way comes naturally to them.
Excuse me, I must sound paranoid. I'm not, really- I have seen all this happen, over and over in every language and every century. I created it, this game. It was never meant to make it out into your world, but in the way the universe works, I'm afraid it did. I am the rules, I am the rhyme, and when the game was finished, so was I. I put myself into this game, and every time you play it, I wake up and deal it all out. I am older than you can imagine, and will survive even after the world has ended. I am the Gamemaster, in every aspect, nuance and meaning. I am Jumanji!
This is a recording… This is a recording… This is a recording…
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