Mad Ramblings

Finally back to regular posts ...

2009-11-25T22:11:00.000-08:00

Here's today's offering! I need to have a prolific day on Friday, but at least I have no school that day!

Suddenly, the sword slid itself into the scabbard withough Man’s direction, startling him. Somewhow, the enlarged point of the sword went smoothly into the smaller channel of the cabbard, without cutting into its edges as he thougt it should. He could feel a an aura of smugness emanating from the sword somehow as it slid home. “Thought it wouldn’t work, ejh, boy? I’l have you know that not aonly am I a magical weapon, but even my accessories are magical! There’s no way I would allow my majectic ans unizue shape to be oscured by an ungainsly conker of a scabbard!” it muttered firther about the unsightliness of a scabbard that obscured one’s particular beauty as Main shrugged and strapped the scabbard to its his belt with the starps that were attached to it. He turned to the Librarian and said, “let’s go. Those party members won’t find themselves!”

CHAPTER 7
>in which Main finds his party members, gets a room, and has dinner. It is good.<

Main and the Librarian went into town, Main looking around nervoiusly for the creepy herb wivefe who had drugged him earlier (he was afraid hshe was going to cathch him and drug him again in the belief that any more movement would kill him, whi ch at the moment he wanstn’ so far from believing), and th e Librarian looking at him lovingly, wondering why hae was quite so nervous looking. She hoiped it wasn’t her.

She led him to the Three Daggesr and a Mace first, as it was the choice tabern of many an adventuring party as the beer was good, the rooms cheap and the women of questionable virtue numerous and flirtationus. As she approached the tavern actually it was Main who approached the innkeeper, winking covertly at a few blowsy women inb the hope that they would notice and the Librarian wouldn’t, as the Librarian herself waited in the common room, sconsidering buying some food to eat on the way, as she had not eaten that day. She was not igiven thae chance, however, bedcause main’s covnversiaton with the innkeeper went somewhere along these lines:

“so … have you have any ew travelers lately?”

“deoends on what’s asking.”
Coins clink into the man’s hand. “three silver is asking.”

They clink some more as the innkeeper hsakes hisn hand thoughtfully. “names? Appearance?”

“pale man, kind of creepy? Flirtations elf woman? Confused looking guy? Muscle bound idiont with almost no hair? Elf iwith a lute and al lotof eagerness? Disgusted looking guy? Any of these ringing a bell?”

He frowned, then pocketed the coins. “Nope. Sorru. No dice.”

Main frowned back, unhappy at the prospect of losin tthree silver to a hopless cause, but turned anyway justa a s the Librarian was about to hail wone of the serving girls, who looked like they moonlighted as the lblowsy ladies currently hanging three to a man, and garabbed her elbow again, towing her out tof the tavern. “that was a dead end,” he said curtley, disabppointed at having lost his three isilver, “what’s the next one?”

The Librarian took him next to the next most expensicve inn in the town, the King’s Kneecaps. This inn had wine in addition to its excellent beer, and rather fewer rflirtations women clogging the inn roon. However, main had as little success in this inn has in the last one, and again lost three silver (this time it cost him an additional copper) and toewed the Librarian out before she managed to get any food.

When they reached the last remaining inn in the town, the Fox and the Curiously Shaped Button, they didn’t need to bribe the innkeeper, much to Main’s relief; however, he wa less relieve to find out that his praty appaerently thought seducing the local maen in droves, being drunk before noon, annoying the local populace, fighintg in bars, skulking in dark corners, and glowering while yuelling for tea were acceptanble behaviousr for a an adbventring party on an off day. Main first dealt with Polo, who was at that o=point nursing a black eye after being tossed onto the bar by a man twice his size, but by upending a cup of water over his face. He slputtered, and shook his head, the maddened look on his face dissipating wuickly. Polo looked at Main regretfully, saiying, “I was fighting, wasn’t I?”

Maim looked at him sardonically and said, “Yes. Yes, you were.” Polo looked dwon at his toes, mumbling something about regrets. Main left it at that and went off to try and stop Charlie from drinking himself unconscious. He decided to calle the oeffort a dubious victory when he conviced Charlie that a nap would really be great right noew. He wasn’t even close to as successful with Someone – ihe was so deep into his musical bliss state that he only interprseted Main’s orders ans requests for more songs. He finally gave it up as a bad job, writing it off in him s hmind as the bard practicing (although he was seriously reconsidering having a bard in their band), and moved on to Last First Milddle. He was as unsuccessful with her as he was hwith her pbrother – all the succeed3d in doing was transferring her attentions from shop boys to himself. After extricating himself, Main went gasping obver to Mr. Iam Woon., as he llokked a lot less menacing than Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants did (although it was a tough call for him). However, Main soon gave it usp as a bad job (as Mr. Ian Woon dumped the scalding remains of the tea that had been brought but deemed unsatispfactoruy) and retreadted to a safe corner, loking for the innkeeper. After the innkeeper had been located, Main loked around him for any irate or flirtations party members, and quiclkly scuttled over to him. “How much for a room?” he asked furtively.

“Copper for the floor, copper for the stable floor, copper ofor a five man roo-“

“How much for a one man room, eh?” Main had his hand clapped to his belt pouch (he attached it there after he found that his new pants didn’t have thte same money hiding properties hie kilt had had) and a desperate look him eye. The innkeeper tired a little subterfuge.

“Weell … it’s usually two copper … but I’ll let you have it fer one if you buy yerself a bath and a meal.”

Main was glad of that; he had been planning on getting those thinks anyway. “Deal. I want stew with real meat, a tankard of … ummm … actually a bottle of wine and a cup, and hot water in my bath.” He sifterd through his money pouch, before looking up a little sheepishly and asking, “How much does that come to?”

The rather unimaginative innkeeped r said, “ … Three? Three copers?”

“Done,” said main instantly, amaze d= at his good fortune. He dumped the coins upstairs and wae in hthe mans hand and headed upstairs with the chit the man handed tp him rather dazedly. Main took the stairs two at a time and located his room with eashe, dumping down the small pack he had begun to ignore due to its smallness, and stretching out happily on a real mattress (that was actually mostly lump free and softer than he excpected, which was only a scotch softer than the ground). He was pleasantly surprised onwhen only a few minutes later, kan attractive oyoung lady entered his room back first, as she was carrying a trya laden with stew in a bowl cleverly fashinoned out of the bread that was meant to accompany it, alnong with another slice of bread to scoop the stew out with in case Main didn’t have a spoon (which was, thankfully, not the case), and a pottery ug and cup, marked with the dormouse shape that featured on its sign, which Main presumed was his wine. Main judges the wine wouldn’et be enough to make him drunk, which would be unsioghtly this early in the day, and with a greatful smile that mad e the serving maid swoon, took his tray, wetting it beside him on the dabed. She similed at him soppily and backed out again, only to reemerge a few momentys latre with a rather sizeable tin tub, which Main moved over to the hearth (which had a nice fire laid in) for warmth. She and a few other maids took the next few minues to cart in a number of seteaminig kettles to empty into the tub, which became hot to the touch. Main decided, upon seeing the temperature that the tub reamianed oat was still pretty uncomfortably warm, to eat his dinner fisrst , then bathe in perfect warmth. The ladies had left another kettle waring on the fire, so e shoud be able to keep his abathe nice and warm.

The stew was delicious; full of potatoes, carrots, beef chiunks, and sage herb, it was filling and hearty, and not so soupy that the bread was soaked through before he finished it. The gravy was flavorful enough the at the bread didn’t nee d any butter to add salt; Main used the slice to sop up excess gravyk, then ate the bowl chunk by chunk. The wine, he sacved for while he was f after he was finished bathing; it would be very enjoyable to soak by the fire in a wram bath, while drinking cool wine. He sample the wine first, though, to make sure it would bw enjoyabky to drink; Main was satisfied with oit, though.

Main dfished a sliver of soap out of hie small pack and plopped it into the water, along with a small cloth and – he hoped nobody saw this – a small wooden duck. That duck was a part of his childhood. He never batherd without it, although now it was more a friendly presence thanm a plaything (although occasionally Sir Quiacky was still called upon tho save the kingdom from the mighty Kraken. Or even some rogue dolphins).

He quickly striped off his new clothes, separating heis braies from the reast. They neede to be cleaned. H efished a new pair out tof the pack, then carefully hung his chain mail over the back of the straight wooden chair that stood in one corner. It was best not to let it get wet. He folded his shirt and breeches on the chair as well, being a meticulous soul in some ways, and carefully placed his new braies, stockings, and boots aon top of them, and positioned the chair well away from the hearth and the tub, or at least as far as he could (the room was rather small). Finally, Main cautiously unwoulnd his bandages, seeing that his stitches had scabbed over slightly; he resolved to sit in his tub upright enough that they wouldn’t dissolve. With a sigh of contentment, knowing that his room ata least was in order, Main slid into the tub, which had cooled off a I mean Main dipped a finger into the tun to test its warmth. Finding it a little chlilly ofor his tastes, Main got a mi I mean some iron tongsd, Main stook the kettle off the fire and dumped its contents into the tub. Main stirred the water around a bit with an arm, then finding it warmed to his starifactcton, he slid in, sighing happily. After soaking for a few moment, he got out his soap, working it up into a lather, washing first his body (being extra careful about his scabbed over stitches), then wetting his hari and cleaning that too. IHIe noticed that his wounds didn’t appear to be bleeding anymore; he was cglad that his exertions had not irritated them.

Main soaked until the water cooled too much for it to mbe comforatable abnymore. He heave d himself out of the bath, bdrying himself off with the small towel provided by the inn’s staff.
--

2009-11-24T21:13:00.000-08:00

HUUGE WALL O' TEXT! I've been sick and behind and tired and haven't updated in a blue moon, so here's everything I've written since the last post. It's ... um. It's a lot. Grab a chair.

On the one hand, Charlie was so hung over that he wasn’t likely to attack Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants if he was force-fed raw eggs in milk. On the other hand, Someone was certainly not on the same ohysical par as Charlie, at least at first glance; however, elves had a way to I mean of exceeding excpectations, ecpesially in the arena of physical strength, and Sopmeone had already demonstrated his erraticness with his crazy popping up and down and his pitiful little need for coffee. (lord Squigglebottom Fancypants had nothing bt scorn for those who had addictions. He explained away his obsessive need to drink humans’ blood with the excuse that hunger didn’t count as an addiction. The fact that he was dead and didn’t need anything to stay alive was beside the point.) After a short period of deliberation, Lord Squigglebottom Fancypatns decided Charlie was the better mark, and he swirled the eggs and milk in the glass, saying, “Oh Charlie – how would you like something to help your heada—“

“COOFFFFFFEEEEEEEE!!!!!!” shouted Someone, and he shot up, snatched the glass out of Lprd Squigglebottom Fancypants’ hands (who was surprised, but smugly amused at this turn of events), and gulped down every drop of the odd, fake hang over remedy. When it was all gione, he stared at the glass in confusion and betrayed confusion, then looked up at Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants in utter disapprobation, reproach, and disappointment, saying, “That … wasn’t coffee.” He sat back, his headache ameliorated, but with the curious and rather unpleasant taste of egg and milk in his mouth. He dropped the cup on the bedspread, then slumped against the headboard, despondent. Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants could harldy stop himself from laughing, although everyone else in the room could hardly keep from weeping along with Someone, the pathos thick in the room. Finally, Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants decided to leave the four alone, thinking to himself that there was little more fun to be had with this bunch. As he closed the door, Someone picked up the glass again, filled it with milk, cracked two eggs into it, and moved over to Charlie. Something was possessing him to pull the same trick on Charlie that was played on him, perhaps because he wanted to make his bad mood a little better (he told himself it was because the weird combination actually worked somewhat, and he wanted to share with Cahrlie). He poked Charlie. “He,y Charlie,” he said. Charlie cracked open an eye.

“Wha … ? What is ift Somwone? Is Lord squigglewhatsisface fancy pants or whatever gone?”
---

“Yes, he’s gone,” said Someone, looking shifty eyed at the others in the room. Mr. Ian woon, while awake, was absorbed in self pity, and Polo appeared to be having a slient argument with himself that looked to be rather heated. That was fine with Someone, who was rather unexperienced with this whole treachery business. He really wasn’t sure why he was being so mean to Charlie at the moment. It was probably that Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants’ influence (or his raging headache). Someone nudged Charlie again, saying, “Come on Charlie. I have a dirnk for you. It should make you, er, feel better. Go ahead and drink it. Go on. COIME ON – I mean, it’s, um, nice. I, er, I had some too. Here it is.”

Charlie looked blearily at the glass, then at Someone. “Oh … kay … if you say so …” He took the glass in that cautious anner of people who atre tiresd enough or unaware en0ulugh of their surroundings that it is evident that they are concentrating very hard on one simple movement (though in Charlie’s case, he may have had to act like this all the time, and he wasn’t trying as hared to disguise it at the moment). He drank the potion quickely but carefully, attemption to avoid spilling any, as he was wont to do when preoccupied by amazing amount of hang over. [THIS IS SO BAD GUYS I AM SOO SORRY] He looked at the glass when he was done, then looked at Someone. “You need to put some oil and pepper in there,” he said in the same deliberate way. Then he flopped down on his bed and curled into a fetal ball. Someone looked at the glass, shrugged, and went back to his bed, suddenly attacked by pain from his hang over. Polo looked over them and shrugged before going back to his internal argument. It was going to be a slow morning.

****

Main woke up from his drugged slumber hopping mad. She drugged me! He thought. She tricked me! That old … biddy! How dare she treat me like that? And insinuating that I didn’t know when to stop! I am a prince! I am a swordsman! I know when I need to reast, and believe me when I say, lady, that I am in top form! I don’t need a woman telling me what to do! Without as admitting such to himself, he decided to do his best to jump I means escape this place as soon as he could. He sat up and began to scan the room, dark as it was, to rty and see if there an opportunity he could exploit. Scanning the room, he suddenly noticed a great, plush looking bed, that at the same time managed to look rather raggd and second rate. Without attempting to reconcile these two apparent conrtradiction , um er, he noticed that the dark skinned crazy woman appearaed to be in it, ostensibly sleeping. Main adecided to test this assumption by slowly slipping off the table, wincing once or twice when his stitches pulled oddly. When she didn’t move or change the noises she was making, main decided to maeke a run for it while he csitill could. He tiptoed to the door, opening the relatively simple rope lock easily and with minimal fubmbing, qand crept out, carefully pulling the lock through the door again to lock it, effectively making his escape untraceable. Main smirked, pleased at his victory, and turned fro the hut (which appearaed to be rather smaller on the outside than th inside, though Main rejected this as a silliy misconception) to the reset of the town.

It was not a large place, being centered around the road which extended past the town in both directions. However the variation between the businesses and buildings of on the road was rather astounding. To the north side oof the road, a busy marketplace thrived, with shops selling everything from second hand goods to wrought iron accessories from the blacksmith. To the westo of that, aseveral tenements, I mean a few residential buildings there are no temnements here, stioold, from humble wattle and daub residences like that the dark skinned herb wife’s oddly proportioned hut to srudy stone cottages, and even a few muliti story houses. It also appeared that there were a few shops withing theis residential area.
To the south, there was a reather shady area, which contained the hut Main had seescatped from ust a few seconds ago, and a number ot oft ovther rather run down businesses and residences. Seaparated from this area by a large building, probably th e local town hall or the plac of worcshilo (or both)Kandrie, there were a few myusterisous buildings, alwo large, that didn’t seem to serve any pruopose, as there were no indications that anyody inhabited, them, and they certainly didn’t seem to be places where anything was bought or soled. Main decided to go into that area, as it seemed the least shady and certainly the least likely place for him to e spotted and perhaps taken back to that two faced double crossing lunatic.
His mind makde up, Main turned to his right and headed west which incidentally happened to be the direction he was planning on heading in the first place, for it was the direction in which the wswarthy, deceptive overlods’ stronghold lay. Main didn’t take in to account his rather racist attitude at theat particular moment, tbut the fact remain ed that he was distrucstful fof anyone who did not fit his standerad s , however subconscious, or fof “goodness:”, which for him included the iappearance of a operson whith pakle skin. This was a rather unfair stipulation ion his part, wecspecially because his family was a relatively new addition ot the area, and as such had dramatically different apperaences from their subjects. KPniceplacesrs were known to have curly black hair, skin that ranged from swarth y to daownright dark, and rather … strong noses, while main’s family, the Characters, were renowned for their light skin, pretrernaturally straight berown hair, and the interesting penchant for growing antlers, a trai Main had inheridted from his father [I swear this was in his character description fro mthte beginning]. As he was rather fod of self decotration, main used his antlesrs for hanging a number of hats on, most of which were missing or trather battered from hsis misadventures in the forest. Remembering his hats suddenly (fo r he was not party to this frather unflattering revaelation about his character), Main felt atop his head, encountering only a rather abused gary fetl cap and a scrap of fur that was probably once a head ornament, but now only served as a warning to animals everywhere. He abruptly decided that it would be necessary to find himself some porper attire, his fashion sense ruling over his caution for the moment (for although he was begingging to tolerate a kilt, hanign suffered it for a while, and his bandages temoporarily fooled him into forgetting his lack of a shirt, which had been stolen you will remember by the enraged women who had bopped out of the questionably colored outhouse, heis lack of hats was , simply, unacceptable. Reaching in to the pocket sewn into the from not of his hkilt, (it ws designed to be worn with or without a belt purse), Main felt for his belt purse, whilck although ists was huge and heavy with copper, silver , and ever a few gold couins , failed to even make thie pocket bulged slighty; in fact, the kilt hung persfectly too, for all intents antd puporsedsdljk sfea kl adsf adsfk lkj completely devoid of enough coinage to purchase the contents of a medium sized cltothing store, or perhaps even an entire bakery, shop, ovens, and merchandise. Satisfied that he had enough money for a little warbdrobe revival, he crossesd the main road, wahich was paved with large , well fitted stones, his boots clicking in a determined and confident manner. He was slightly disappointed when he corossed to through a puddle, which muffled his steps somewhat; however, there was a very nice cobbled area that the market place faedced, which made quite satisfactory clacking noises when he wlaked his confident walk across it. He strode across the squreare, inspecting the various shops until he found one to his liking: a tailor who evidently knew his clientele (travelers who weren’t interested in waiting two weeks to have their clothing made) and had prefabricated clothing available tfor sale in the shop; in the manner of tailors everywhiere, Main awas sure that thie owner of this shop would be more than thappy to charge Main a little extra and fit them for him. He trode over to the door and opened it manfully, pleased that the door swumng open in a satisfactorially dramatic manner (which ws slightly dflated by the cheerful little tinke of a bell attached to the door to let the ttail or know when someone had entered his shop). Main immediately went to the tailor, unused to the concept of a shop in which one shopped before being served, and told him, “I want some clothes. What do you have in leather?”
The tailor looked at Main from his bench, where he was siting cross legged in what was known as sitting “tailor style”, hunched over a rather ornate looking dress (for as everyone knows, when one has a town larege enough, espercisally one that had a marketplace nice as this, had to have a noble family or several living enaerbly, and occasionnaly flouncing into town (the lords were especially notorious for hitsis), fiding craftspeople they condescended to patronize, and ordering extremely difficult to procure or create items, and flounced out of time I mean town again without a fare thee well) that he was sewing for the Duke of Dukington’s lovely (e.g. amazingly hideous) daughter (whome everyone suspected was actually a son who awas rather more addicted to flouncing than the rest). He gestured expansively around the shop. “See for yourself,” he said in a bored tome of voice. “My assistant will I manean my apprentice will fit them for you after you find garments to your liking. Please remember that although ewe are absolute experts at siizing a garment donwnw, we unfortunately cannot amake a garment bigger than it was originally sewn, so please be sure to get a garment that is the same or bigger than your acualy size.” Main gaped angrily at the man, who had already hunched over his fluffu dressa again and peering at hit in the actually rather good light issuing from the water magnified lanmpd and sunlight hcoming in from the unshuttered window. After a few moments of incredulity, Main decided toa all ow this insult to pass and huffily spun on his heel and headed to the nearest shelof, which appeared to have linien shirts stakced on it. If he wants me to look for m y own clothes, fine, he thought snippily. I’ll look for my own clothes, and Il’ll find your sniveling apprentice myself, and I will be th e most unobturusive thrice benighted customer your hole in the ewaiill shop has ever had! He sorted therough the shirt s snippily – these garments, at lesast, sididn’t really get fitted. Their point was to be large, baggy, and comfortable, and they managed this swimmingly. Main had only to find a shirt that was wide enough for his shoulders and had cuffs and a collar that fit will well without suffocating him or cutting off his circulatopon, while at the same time not gaping open at his neck and writst like he was some kind of skeletal, emaicatiated, pitiful little rcreature. After he found such a shirt in a pleasant shade of brown tan, with a high collar (important for another item of clothing that he had just remembered), he headed over to another set of shelves, looking for a pair of leahther trews. These, unlike the shirt, absolutely had to be fitted. Main was extremely proud of his legs (although they were a little on the skinny side, nobody could tell Main that) and insisted on weill fitted breeches in order that everyone could see them on display. Of course, he wasn’t uncouth – he always wore a proper tunic over his tight trews; it wasn’t proper to … reveal the family ewels to the world, as it were. This looseness and shapelyessness of the kilt was aontother reason whiy he detested it so much – it completely concealed the shape of his manly thights (which spported very nice quads, although again thery were’nt nearly as large as he imagined them to be), and made him look curious with his calves in his tall boots looking oddly small against the size of the man skirt. Finally, Main found the pants and stood antd stared trather shockedly.
They were the strangest pants the world had ever seen. Dyed in a eye burning pattern in clashing slhades of a pucey green and near fluorescent purlple, and constructed in such a way that they wouldn’t fit the moost wide hipped woman, decorated in curious ways from swirles of tsparkling and shining metal disks sewin to the cloth, to ruffles going from the knwwee to the hem all the way around the dwide calves of the pants, to the gaudy patches uselessly adorning the knees and seat of the pants. Main looked at it for a few moments, one eye helplessly twitching as the other longed to tear itself from Main’s face, roll around in agony for a few moments, and then douse itself for a few yeaers in strong bleack, then carefully folded the terrible pants, hididng then thouroughly underneat a pile of ordinary (and not so ordinary) breeches, four of which hse noted with puzzlement appeared to be made of silk satin. After the monstrosity was hidden from sight, he carefull moved on to the next shelf and continued searching for proper attire.
Main finaly found leather trews amongst a number of wollen and linen ones (he couldn’t imagine why anyone would wear linednen trews, unless they were under another pair, but he suppose d he should leave every man his own), and sorted through them until he located a pair that were a pleaseant asandy grey color – light enough tahat they wold be nifine enough for fancier weaqr (and would look quite manly and dashing), and dark enough that hthey wouldn’t stain too balcdly. They would be invaluable during the long hours of riding he would have ahead of him (once he obtained a horse, orf course), for they would help his him grip the leather saddle more effectively (and probably would chafe less than wool). He eheld them up to himself to see if they were big enough to be fitted down to his seixze, and noted with pleasure that they were the perfect size. They would probably only beed a little shaping in the knee and calf, as at the moment they were the same width all the way donwn. He also checked the color of the breeches against his boots, which also were in a tan shade, and was pleased o see that he had an outfit that matched in pleasanct shades of earth tones. Main wended his way to the back of the small shop, and found what looked like a fitting from – a alcove, curtained off with schaep muslin. Main drew the curtain back imperiously to find the aforementionsed paapprentice, dozing lightly over yet another pair of trews for the shelf beyond. Main tapped hism on the shoulder, deciding to ne nice this once and not tell the tailor his apprentice had been sleeoping on the job (and anyway, Maini could see several bruises on the red haired teenager, signs that perhaps the Tailor wasn’t terribly forgiving of amny mistakes). The teenagesd apprentice awake immediately, brief terror in his eyes that faded when he saw Main’s face, rather imperisous but not really angry. The boy put the sewing away with a cough and said timidly, “Is … is there anything you need me to do , sir?”
Main proffered the the trews and said loftily, “I nessdd these fitted, apprentice.”
The apprentice tooke thenm, ashook them out, and looke d a Maind and then the pants with a practiced eye, making sure that they would actually fit on the man. Satisfied that Main was competent to actealyy pick a pait of pants that would fit, the apprentice turned them inside out and said confidently, “Would you come intside the alcove sir, remove your, er, kilt, and stanf on this stool please?” His voice was imbued with sudden confidence, perhaps because he was woring in his own element. It was cleasr that although he may be a bit brutalized by his master, and rather mousely, the apprentice was staying with his master not out of fear, but out of passion for his work. As Main complied, the apprenticed busied himself with organizing he his rather small workspace in preparation; he carefully folded the soon to be fitted trews over a chair, then got out a rather spacious sewing kit from a low chest, arragning a large pin cushion stuck thickly with pins along with several needles in a paper, a spool of the thick thread necessary to sew leather, an awl for tough spaces, and several thimbles on the smooth wooden surface of the chest. Then he looked up, completely disinterested in Main except for his usea as a model on whom to fit the pants he now picked up. Main looked at hie nervously, concerned that the apprentice in his new self confidence would try and put the pants on him, as he seemed to suddenly view Main as a doll now that there was sewing to be done. However, the apprentice merely handed the inside out pants to him and ordered, “Here. Put these on. Please. Sir,” the ast two words clearly afterthoughts. Main took the pants gingerly, wondering why a skinny read heared youth was making him act this meek, and worked the pants on over his still rather clean linen braies, which as ai mentioned were pretty clean although tyhey were two days old (Main hadn’t packed any new clothes for himself in his exceittemnt to leave). It took a little adjusting to get the mid thigh length linen shorts to lay right under the trews, but eventually Main got it right and stood still for the apprentice to fit them.
-----
The apprentice Looked at the hang of the trews first, to get a feel for he ought to fit them. He decided, as Main had, that theyr were too hide wide in the leg , and asked absently as he got out his pins, “How tight do you want these? Sir?”
As Main stammered, “Er, well, snug but not tigh—“ the apprentice eyed him, nodded, and moved to Main’s left leg, pinching a bit of fabric I mean leather in his left hand while pinning it deftly with his right hand. Main was about to correct him, but realized that the boy had gotten the fitting exactly right, and was continuing to do it right. He was even accounting for the size of Main’s feet (which, truth to tell, were not exactly large, and could even be considered rather small. But don’t tell him that) and at the same time making the pants look pretty goo.
It took quite a hwhile, though; Main was trying not fidget as the minutes stretched on, with the apprentice looking over his work, taking in an infinitiesimal patch of cloth leather heare, letting a but bit out there, stragighteneing, tugging, adjustcing, and of course, putting in and taking out pins. Finally, the youth straightened, looked at his work critically, and said, “Alright. Good enough. Will you please take those off, sir, and then we’ll get to work sewing them.”
Main looked at the boy curiously, hoping the “we” was not referring to Main in any way, aw as he undid the laces at the waist of the pants, and carefully dropped them, attempting not to dislodge any pins. As be he pinned on his kilt again (wretched thing), the apprentice wsaid absently, “Your trews should be ready in about an hour. Please come back tehn sir, when we will discuss the matter of payment. If you prefer, you may leave the shirt here as well, and pay for both items together. Or, you may keep it for now … I notice you don’t seem to have a shirt of your own.” The apprentice looked rather askance at Main, clearly wondering juwst how he managed to be walking around in a kilt, rather battered boots, two alequally abused hats, and bandages around most of his torseo, exposing only a few slivers of uninjured flesh (although several peepholes appeared to reveal axwfully bruised skin).
Main waved him off whihth a laught. “oh, no, you may keep the shirt ofr now. I’m off to do a few more purchases, and I’m sure this will be fi-“
The apprentice pushed the shirt into Main’s arms and said firmly, “Air, I think it would be much more prudent to piut on the shirt right now.” Main, surprised, pulled the shirt over his head obediently, and took a few coppers out of his belt I mean pocket. “How much?”
“Eight,” said the boy absently, as he began to oull out his supplies in erarnest. “to the master, at the till.”
Eight? Though t Main as he walked over to the master’s booth by the window, getting a few more coins out of his coin pouch. that's actually rather cheap! He
felt the material of his shirt between his first finger and his thumb, consider = ing the texture. It's actually rather fine quality! he decided. IA good value! when begot to the booth, Main proffered the coins to the tailor, saying, "It's for the shirt." The tailor squinted st the coins, and the then he imperiously snatched the coins from his outstretched hands counting them carefully. Then he looked myopically up at Main, saying petulantly. "Trews are five silver for leathered.”

Main nodded as ire half turned away, tucking his new shirt into his hated kilt before venturing out to purchase the rest of his new wardrobe. As Main strode confidently out of the shop, he looked around,
looking for the distinctive shield and helmet sign of an Armored, For a moment, he feared there would be nowhere for him to purchase a mail shirt, but then he saw a helmet shaped sign and sighed in relief. He walked over to the shop, his boot nails clicking on the cobbles, and sunlight glinting softly off his antlers. another bell sounded when Main entered this shop as well [hello Do RD), but this. one had more of clanking sound, largely because it was just an iron cow bell. Main located the armored easily, because he was on a stool, buffing a plate armor greave in the strong sunlight coming in through his own window.
The shopkeep looked up as Main clinked over to him, and said interestedly, "Are interested in a custom-made telnets my good sir? I offer perfectly sized helmets that are easy to put on no matter what you have on your head! (expect those handsome horns make helmet shopping difficult H, eh?" Main looked at him coldly. "They're antlers, actually, and my helmet is a family heirloom, if you must know. what I'm looking for today is just a mail shirt _ long sleeves, high neck, easy to put on, split at the hips, and mid thignt length, please."
---
The armorer looked distinctly disappointed (obviously, the man specialized in helmets, at and didn’t get amny chances to branch out from regular heads) and said, “Well sir, here are our selections. I can adjust a shirt for you if you’d like, but it will cost 20 silver extra and take a couple of hours. We don’t have anything with quite your specifications, but I can take this shirt –“ he proffered a long sleeved shirt with a tall neck that fastened at the right with several leather ties “– and put a split up the sides, no problem. And because it’s so easy, I’ll throw that in there for just 10 silver more – of course, you’ll need to pay the flat fee of fifty silver.”

Main snorted. “Fifty?” he said derisively, knowing that this man, in contrast to the tailor across the square, was silling and happy to haggle. “Look at that shirt! It’s not even backed with leather to keep its shape , and I would be willing to bet that it shadsn’t beed buffed in months. Forthy for everything.”

“Forty? My good sir, examine this workmanship! The links, soldered, not bolted! Every inch shining! Why, leather backing would be overkill with such a fine piece resting on your shouleders! I couldn’t sully its worth by taking any less than forty seven silver.”

Main looked daringly at the man. “Forthy four and five copper.” He raised ihis eyebrows in a manner strangely reminiscent of Lor Squigglebtottom Fancypants when he was extorting the poor stupid innkkeeppper, but since Main is being honest and fair right now we’ll let ist sliede.

The armorer gave Main a look right back that told him, “I know exactly what kind o nonsnsense yoyu’re trying to feed me, and I’m playing along anyway.” He said in a mosck daring voice, “Forty six and ten, and it’s yours.”

“Done,” Main said in exactly the same tone of voice. He counted out the couins fron his kilt pocket and carefully placed then in the man’s hand, who looked at them to make sure they sewere good, then waklked over to his till, locking them away in side. He then got out a heavy duty pair of wire cutters (for the steel of the hauberk was tempered steel, and took makjoyr heavy dyuty tools to cut) and got to work on the shirt. He looke d up at Main, who had remained, and told him before beginning, “This may take a while; I’m going to reconnect a number of these links to maintain the shape of the garmen. Perhaps you would like to caome back for your purchase?”

Main considered, them said, “Certainly, sir, but I’d like some … assurance, shall we say, that my shirt will be waiting and ready for me when I come back.”

The armorer nodded and said, “Certainly sir! I’ll ust … get out a lsip out for fyou …” He looked around his desk for ust such a litp , and his eyes lighted upon a small brownish corner. “Aha! Here we are!:” He took out a quill, licked it, and carefully dipped it into the ink well set inot a corvner of the desk, covered with a cap (usually, of course) that now sat to the side of the ink well. Bringing pen to paper, whe wrote carefully, “Hauberk, one, to the bearer.” He blew on the paper to dry the ink, then handed it to Main, saying, “There you are! Come back in half an hour or so and it will be all done, okay? I mean all right because that was an anachronisnm?” He llooed up into Main’s eyes, bright and scheerful, and placed the paper in Main’s palm, closing his fingers over the little slip as Main looked ast him in confusion and a little er not disgust but something akin to that. Main turned , skaking his head, and left the little shp as the armorer began to cut into the mail shirt. Main steped into the strong after noon sunlight. Suquingting a little at the strong light, he Looked for the last shop he would be frequenting before he was out of things to buy: a millinger, ofor just the right hat to replace he rather rather terrible and battered ones (they’re battered, okay guys? MAIN IS NOT NICE TO HIS HATS. HE BEATS THEM WHEN HE COMES HOME FROM WORK) that remained on his heatd. He diecieded, after much agonized deliberation, that he simply wouln’t dbe able to wear more than one hat at a time for this adventure, because as he his hats advocated, he simply wasn’t able to keep more than one happy [I knew I was going to type that, and I COULDN’T STOP cries]. This reality dampened his sprirts – the whole reason he loved his antlers was because of his ability to multi hat, as it were – now, this amazing feature that was ust on eof the asy that he was truly awesome would be dampened and exclipsed by the other things that made his him the amazing person he was, because of his circumstances. This was ust one of the many ways that the inimical Overlord was ruining his life! He growled ferociously for a moment, before shaking his head to rid himself of this mood, and looking around for a milliner’s. Finiding a shop sign decorated whimsically with a patnting of a large, “cart wheel” type hat that was favored by ladies of styplre, he marched over, his gait affected by his sudden anger, and threw the door open perhaps slightly dtoo quickely, the bell that was abover this door too, as the innovaton of a door bell had been started by I mean introduced by one of the shpoplkee[pers in this town, and they had long sice become ubiquitous in every shop in the towm. When he entered, he notciede that this shop was rather different from the others he had been in – where they had been lit proimarily by swindowns, this shop had only a skylight in the roof (because it couldn’ t be anywhere else) and numerous oil lamps; where they were arranged so that the whop’s wares were displayed along with strong indications ot the shopkeepers’ occupations, this shop only had a few hats on display, clearly as diplay peicese only and not for sale. Main looked thourough the shop, trying to find where he could actually bpurchase a hat, when suddenly the door came shut [that sounds bad, sorry] with a bang, and a voice issued from a dark, cloth shourouded corner, saying, “I see that you need a hat, sir. Would you be intrestied in buying?”

“Er, yes,” said Main, uncharacteristiacally nervous. “That’s, er, what I came here for.” He shifted his weigt from foot to foot.

Th e shadows in the cloth shrouded corver shifted, and a silhouette became visible. The voice came again, saying, “Well, then, I need a look at you.” A hand, dusky skinned, protruded from the shadows, and light glinted off various earrings, rings, braceltets, and the odd necklace as the hand extended a single, slim finger and beckoned. Main , clearly nonplussed, walked closedr, and shadowy eyes narrowed as she surveyed him, his rather ragged and dirty looking ikilt and hats looking distinctly out of lplace against hies sclean, pressed shirt, and his boots, which had been buffed by the herb wife whern we weren’t looking. Her exposed hand reached up and took the most abused looking hat (the gray felt one) off Main’s antler, feeling the wool through her fingers, and tossing it aside with a snort. “That is too far gone,” she said, and snatched the other hat off Main’s heatd. “This one too. You need a hadt that is bold, sir, bold and dashing. You will be buying one hadt, yes?” He she looked at hism sharply, light glingting off her eey as she turned her head.

Main stammmere,d, “Ye – yes,” wondering how wshe knew. The woman nodded sharply, the effect uted by the shadow in her cornere, but expressive tenough that Main nearly felt it.

“Very good,” she said. “I will get you hats. We will see what is best for you.” She turned swiftly, her myyuriad jewelry pieces clinking as she pushed aside the hangings and endtered a workroom that had previously been invisible. Main stood, bemused, as she looked for hats. He wondered what was going on – he had entered the shop with the intention of pickin g out a uitable hat for himself, and here he was having his hat chosen by a woman he couldn’t even see. However, he didn’t seem to have it in him to naysay her; she had the same kind of forceful personality Jeeves had, only Jeeves was a lot more passive aggressive than she wasy. Main was struck mby a sudden wave of nostalgia, even though he was ony a day removed from his home; he had never left home proior to this quest, and he misside it. He was startled from his homwesickness, though, by the reappearance of the shadow swathed woman, holding a hat in each hand and one on her head. Hshe brought the third hat down after taking the I mean pitting the others on the shelf that separated her and Main and pread then pout carefully, displaying them all to theit best advantage. Ato the left, a tall I mean flat hat in an attractive shade of blue sat, one edge of hits brim rolled up, the other side left flat with a long white plume that had to be made of at least four individual feathers sewn under the hatband. Beside it, nestled between the two larger hats on either side, was a hat in a daring shade of read, with the back of its narrow brim flipped up so it had an interesting arrow shape, and the top of the crow pushed in so it appeared to have two rideges on either side of the top of the hat. This hadt also had a plume, although it was much more conservative in length, and not so unnatural in color, being a lpleasant tan. The last hat was made of leather, unlikte the other two, which ewere wool felt; its wide brim was also brought up, but unlike the others was sewn to the tall, cylindrical crown in three places to amake the hat have an overall triangular shape. Main looked at hthe two felt hats critically; he felt an immediate affinity to the leather hat, thinking it looked very dashing, daring, and other manly adjective s beginning with the letter “D”. the woman uch must have had a reason tfor taking all of these hats out, though, so he didn’t dismiss them immediate.y.

The woman picked up the blue hat and pbeckoned oMain over. “Come here,” she said, unncecessarlity expounding on he r already sufficiently eloquentl hand movement. Main obediently moved sclosed, I mean closer, and the woaman immediately snatched Main’s other hat, threw it down, and carfeyully arrange the that on his head. HShe was very deliberate about this; she moved the hat this way and that, looking at ti critically, then oveing it once more. She finally put the hat don and picked up the next hat, the red one. She arranged this , too, on Main’s head, maneuvering tas best she could although he his antlesr really limited the rancge of possibility. Finally, tshe tried out Main’s favorite, the eleather triangular one, before putting it down again. She said in though for a moment, then said deliberately, “The hat will be twently silver. I do not replace hats, adnd yoi must pay for prepairs.” She took up the red hat and put it on Main’s head and helpd out her hand for the moenyl.

Main looked at the woman in disappointment, wanting the leather hat. “Ma’a, theis isn’t the that I want, I want the –“

The woman interrupted him sharply. “You cannot have what you want al lthe time, boy! This is the hat hyou get! The leaster is not fogood on you; it needs to sidt on the scalp, not antlers – this one is meant to be askew, it is perfect. Now. Twenty silver.”

Main scowled, but saw the that the woman was adamant and would not buged. He sullenly dug the coins out of his belt purse I mean pocket, and dumped them in the woman’s hat. Hand.
--
Main left that store faintly disgrungtled and very confused. Ilt was the fist time in a long ever I mean time that he had bee been coerced into buying something he didn’t actually want. It was seldom that he found a person with a stronger will and personality then he himself did. He moved over to the village well, trying to see if he could find a reflection in the low, shallow trough for sheep and cows. When he reached it, he looked down at the sun dappled surface of the water, with very few inclusionds fof straw of or spittle, and adjusted his hat a little. It sat at ta jaunty angle on his antler, the red cheerful and a sdaring as he. He looked at it, his spirits lifting a little. Although it hadn’e been his first choice, it was a terrible piece of tripe thatn nonbody liked. I mean it was actually turning out to be something lovely and wonderful, like happy butterflies frolicking through sun drenched meadowns with their rabbit friwnds. (dbefore Laord Squigglebottom Fancypants kills them and drains them of their blood, of course. Although frolixkcing zombie bunnies would ee entertaining.) Smiling in that debonair, self assured way that Main was so famed for in his home country, Main turned, making his kilt swirl dramatically, and took himself off to the tailor to check the preogress on his pants.

As he pushed open the doors dramatically (again, the effect ruined =but by the cheerful little tinkle of the silver), he called, “Tailor! How goes the work on my breeches?”

Despite the fact that way less time tha an hour had passesd, the tailor boredly held up a folded bundle and called, “ten skilver, and they’re yuours,” he called [again, knew it was coming and COULDN’T STOP]
Main laughed fakely. “Ten? My good man! They couldn’t be worth more than five!”

“You think kleather grows in on trees? And my apprentice did good worlk on those trews! You will starve him! Nine.”

Main tried the tried and true head tilt and said beguilingly, “Seven and five?” The tailor looked at him sourly.

“nine and five. Last offer.” He said, his voice flat and unamused. He held up the pants, knowing that Main needed them.

Main started to portest that nine and five was more than his previous offer of nine, but one look at the man’s sardonic and utterly umnmoved face and heis protests were quelled. He silently and unhappily dug more couins out of his belt, thinking that all his purchases were conspiring to break the bank today (unless, of course, he had the secret which powered his coin pouch – it was a magical portal to his father’s treastury, wo his funds would never run out withing reason). He dumped the coints onlto the man’s work bench, a glum scowl on his face, AND snatched up his pants, looking at the man with a look that was meant to lmake him regret everything dbad he’d ever done, and especially this recent slight against ain himself. The tailor looked back at main , urrerlu unmoved, and flicked his eys toward the door in a clear indicatrion that Main had overstaued his welcome. Main didn’t even wait to change into his mesw didds, but promptly sniffed ant strode out the door.

Main headed over tho the armoreers in a very bad mood indeed, his frustration at the milliner, his anger at the tailor, and his general hatred for the current circumstances blending into a full on strorm cloud that was litteraaly chaning over his head, and kicked the main’s door open. The armorer looked u in surprise and then smiled happily. “SirQ! You are back aearly! That is no matter – I have finished your shirt! What do you think?” He held up his handiwork proudly , only to dhave ti snatched out of his hands by the irate Main.

“Do you have a changing booth?” Main growled.

The armorer looked at him concernedly, then said, “Yes; it’s in the back –“ Main stormed to where he was pointing without a second world.

Asfter he had gotten thte booth’s curtain drawn behind him, Main unwoulnd his kilt and dropped it unceremoniousl to the ground. He shooke off his boots and socks, as well. He picked up the trews, shaking them out to inspect them, and, satisftied, hee pulled them on, adjusting hie braies as before. When he had gotten his pants on and laced, he pulled on his bots on, then tucked in his shirt loosely into the trews’ waistband. Unlacing his belt from the kilt’s loops, Main set it aside, in preparation to cinch in the loose mail shirt. Finally, Main undid the laces on the mail shirt’s neck, then slid it on, allowing its weight to settle on his shoulders before wrapping his belt around his waist and threading the end around the metal loop in the opposite end, knotting the belt around his waist in a practiced motion. The loose end flopping against his thighs as he walked , he brushed aside the curtain, his confidence and mood boosted phenomenally by the proper clothes. He left the kilt on the ground for wuite a few paces before remembering that it helped all of his money, and he quickly ran back to it, pulled the money bag and a few other possessions out of the kilet pocket before discarding it again and striding out the door, ignoring the armorers’ confused and jumbled protests.

Walking out into the bright sunshine, Main stood with his cheest puffed and arms akimbo for a moment, posing a little for whomever may have been watching, before catching a sudden glimpse of a fluttering cloak out of the corner of his eye. Wondering who was wandering around in a cloak when the waeather was so fine, he noticed a brief flash of dark, curiously cut hair before it was obscured by the cloak’s hood. Main immediately recognized the hairstyle – the only person he had ever seen with shoulder length hair on the left side of his head, but close cropped hair on the right, was none other than the dastardly Overlord who had caused all this trouble! Main didn’t pause to think why the Overlord had decided to reamin in this smallish town instead of continuing on to his home citadel – obviously, he was traveling slowly to sow chaos thickly along his path. Main launched into action, running after the small flutter of a cloak that had fisrts caugh his eyes. Small visual and audial clues – the flutter of a hem or the edge of a boot clothing a running foot, the deep breaths or heavy footsteps of a powerfully built man being pursued – guided Main in his tracking down of the man who had turned his life and the lives of many within and without his kingdom upside down. Finally, the trail led Main to a large, forbidding building, with many doors and few windows, and a few mysterious fixings on the sides, like the bronze faced slot that was built into the side of the building, about waist height (or perhaps a little higher). Seeing nobody by the building, Main rushed inside to investigate.

The interior size was the first thing that struck main. Although it appeared to have levels built around the edges, each reached by greaceful stairways, the center atrium was as tall as the building, with a small oculus in the very center of the ceiling (although it was sheltered by a cone shaped baffle for quite a ways, the sky was visible through it). The ceiling was obviously beautiful once, although the ancient mosaics that once decorated it now were largely patchy. All around, on every one of the seven levels (quite a feat, especially in a builgind so old as this one), shelves of books stood among the buttresses that flowed gracefully from the level above to the wall (and outside, continued to semi separated columns, to share the load of the heavy books and stone), with chairs, wheeled ladders, and low tables scattered liberally along every floor. After a moment of shocked silence – he was certainly not expecting such a grand library (for that was what it was) to be in this rather small town! – Main noticed a little movement in a rather drab looking room that peeked out from behind a door that hung a little ajar (which temporarily confused Main, since he was expecting it to be, well, a door), which was in turn sheltered by a curving desk, which was mostly bare except for a large ledger, quill pen, and accompanying inkwell that sat dead center, and row upon row of small drawers, all marked with series of numbers and letters. Main quickly skirted the desk, hugging the wall in case of ambushers, and peeked into the doorway. Finding nobody hiding directly beyond, he edged the door open just enough to slip in, and slunk into the drab room.

Inside, he found out at least where the braasss edged slot I mean bronze edged slot gave out. There was a great bin, also made of bronze, that was bolted to the wall below a wide, sloping chute, at the end of which Main could just see sunlight from the flap that closed the slot’s mouth. Inside the bin appeared to be books, of all shapes and sizes, although many seemed to be restrained with a narrow band around their longitudinal sides, to keep them closed. The bin was about half full with books. Main looked around the small room for any clues as to the wheareabouts of the man he sought, but the professional, spare office of a room offered no clues as to where the Overlord could be found. Main realized he must have been misled in his assumption that the man had fled into this building, because just as the central stacks had been open enough that there was no way a person, especially a man of the Overlord’s impressive stature, could have hidden amongst the bookds, so this room offered absolutely no cover for a man to hide. The cupboards were segmented and bolted to the wall; the desk was merely a table, and its attending chair a simple wood construction with a thin leather pad; even the book bin was too low to hide a man, even if he was I mean even if it was completely empty. Main was about to give up on his chase for the time being (fot all that running had been hard on him, especially as his stitiches pulled every step unless he took very small mncing steps) when he heard murmuring voices without, brought into the office by the amplifying properties of the smooth, bronze lined chute. He recognized them, too – one voice clearly the powerful, resonant tones of the Overlord, and the other the rodent like snuffle of his chief attendant.

“Thank you, Sigos,” said the Overlord in hushed tones. “You don’t know how much joy your timely help ahas given to me! I’m not sure why that young man was chasing me, but he certainly did seem irate. And even if he didn’t hurt me, he would be certain to bring my presence in this town to light, which would certainly derail our plans.”
--
“Certainly, my lord,” came the snuffle of Sigos’ voice. “ It would be … quite the shame, should your [plans be voverturned. And if the townspeapole found you … they may have been derailed permamnently.”

Mian sucked in air as he heard a confirmation of his as yet inchoate theories. The Overlord was plotting something dastardly! Something so bad that, unless he had misheard or miscontsruted the attendant’s words, the Overlord would be lynched for it if he were discovered. His eyebrows drew together as he realized that the only way the Overlord could have hidden from him in this area without ogoing inside a building was through magical maeans. The fiend! He thought. The townspeople will no stand a chance against sorcery!

Suddenly a hand closed aroung Main’s bicep, and he was hauled up to his feet (he had crouched by the chute to stem listen) in form front of a very angry looking woman. She looked at him sardonically and asked, “And just /what/ are you doing in here? I’ll have you know that this ias a restricted aread! Get out! Now!” She shoved out at hi until her was forced out tof the office altogether. Main looked back angrily – now that the Overlord and his flunky knew there was someone listening to thenm, they would be sure to flee. Main checked out the door nearest him, to have his fears confirmed: there was no one to be seen. Grumpily, Main stomped back into the library, to find the fierce Librarian brandishing a stack of books at him. “Put these away, you miscreant,” she said, her voice brroking no argument. “And aybe next time you’ll think twice about trespassing! Now go. Fourth floor. The titles will be shelved alphabetically by name. Get going.”

Grumbling, Mian took himself off to the fourth floor, as ordered. However, swhen he got there, he realized he wasn’t in wuite as good shape as he thought. He was panting, sweat an unpleasant sheen on his skin, and his stitched up wounds were seeping blood into his bandages (which, thankfully, were good enough to keep the blood from his shirt). He sat down on a nearby chair, whose back was to the railing of the edge of the floor. He opened up a book at random to improve his reading skills, and read with growing earnest.

He read:
Let me tell you a tale, a tale of the long ago …
At first, there was only Chaos. And out of Chaos sprung the elder gods. And one of these was named Gaia, the Earth.
Gaia was lonely in the midst of Chaos and its children (though they were not children in truth, for each was unique to himself or herself, and had only been brought into being by Chaos), who were dark and frightening, like Nyx, who was night. And so Gaia called a god into being herself, asking even greater powers than she for a husband.
And so was brought forth Oranos, the Sky, who was as a husband to Gaia, who like the other elder gods was shapeless and without form, for at this time there were no mortals, and the gods were unconstrained by the imaginings of men. And with Gaia, his wife, Oranos called into being the Titans, who were just as shapeless and without form as he and Gaia and the rest of the elder gods were.
When Cronus, the youngest and craftiest of the Titans, was made, Gaia and Oranos decided that there were to be no more Titans. But Oranos and Gaia were lonely yet, and loved each other much; so together they performed the long rites that would call into being the Cyclopes and the Hundred-Handed Ones. But when they had made the Hundred-Handed Ones, Cronus decided that he would not have more potential enemies created, and having no feeling for the one who had made him, bound and injured Oranos so that he could not make any other powers. But Oranos told him in his anger that just as he himself had been bound by his own creation, so in time would Cronus be brought down by a god he had created. And Cronus was afraid.
But Gaia knew that there were more powers that were yet to be made. So she spoke to her creations, that she called her children, telling them to create. But only three heard her, and they were Prometheus, Epimetheus, and Rhea. So Epimetheus went first, and being a creative Titan, he made many different kinds of beasts, and gave each of them interesting and unique attributes. But he refused help from Gaia, and so these beasts were mortal, unlike all that had come before.
Prometheus went second, and he, like Epimetheus, scorned Gaia’s aid. And he created mortals also, but he was unlike Epimetheus, for he desired not to create strength, but cunning, for he did not love his fellow Titan Cronus. And Prometheus was jealous of Epimetheus, so he did not want to make creatures like he had made. So Prometheus made man, who walks differently from beasts, and who is naked unlike beasts, but who is more crafty than the serpent. But because he did not accept help from Gaia, these were mortal too, for all their cunning.
Rhea, seeing that the creatures her fellow Titans were making were mortal, and desiring to make gods like the elder gods, enlisted her mother Gaia’s help, and Cronus’ help also, although he did not know what he was doing. And so she brought into being six gods, who were like the mortals that Prometheus had made (for Rhea admired men and found them beautiful), but they were immortal and had great power. Cronus was jealous of their power, but found Rhea pleasing to be with, and so consented make gods with her as long as they did not give them the ability to create, which all the gods to that time had had. And so the gods were made, each unique, but so that they would need to lie with each other, like mortals, to beget offspring, instead of using the mysterious ways that the elder gods had.
But Cronus was still not satisfied with his promise, for he remembered the prophecy of the bound Oranos; and so when each of the gods was made, fully grown, he swallowed them into his formless essence, and bound them there. Rhea was angry that Cronus broke his promise, and she tricked him after they had made the sixth. This god she made an infant, not an adult, and when he was made, Rhea took him away secretly, giving Cronus a stone to bind instead. At this time Cronus was fatigued from the creation rites, and in his haste did not notice that the sixth god had escaped.
At this time the Cyclopes and Hundred-Handed Ones rebelled against Cronus, and he fought mightily with them. When Cronus was occupied by his battles, Rhea stole away and hid her sixth creation, whom she named Zeus (for he was a male) on the surface of her mother Gaia, and bade Gaia’s handmaidens, the nymphs, to care for him until he was grown. When Rhea returned to her fellow Titan Cronus, he had defeated the Hundred-Handed Ones and the Cyclopes and hid them deep in Erebus, the underworld. This angered Gaia, and she began to care for Zeus in secret, and train him to be even more mighty than a Titan.
The seasons passed, and Zeus grew to his prime as a shining youth. Because of his training by Gaia, he wanted only to free his fellow gods and defeat Cronus. So, he went to a secret place on the face of Gaia and consulted the elder gods, asking for a way to fulfill his greatest desire. Metis came to him there, and gave him a fell draught that would weaken Cronus’ power, allowing the gods to come free, and would irritate his formless essence, so that it would vomit them out. Zeus took this draught gratefully, and travelled to Cronus’ residence in the paralyzed essence of his father Oranos, the sky. Cronus was suspicious of Zeus, and rightly, for he seemed to be a human in shape, but also seemed like one of the Titans in a way he could not understand. But Zeus succeeded in convincing Cronus that he was the flower of humanity, and had been sent as a sacrifice to serve Cronus as a cupbearer. And Cronus was pleased, for he desired greatly the libations of mortals. So he took the cup that Zeus gave him, and he absorbed it into his formless essence.
At once Cronus knew he had been tricked, and he convulsed mightily as the draught worked its power on him. And out of his essence came the first gods:
Poseidon emerged first. He was tall and mighty. He had a full beard and long hair that were white as seafoam. He was volatile, quick to anger but just as quick to calm. He was the fifth born.
Hades emerged second. He was tall but lithe. His hair was black as Nyx, and he had no beard. He was quiet and moody, but slow to anger. He was the fourth born.
Hera emerged third. She was beautiful but small. Her hair fell in loose curls, and her skin was white like cream. She was nurturing, but fiercely jealous. She was the third born.
Demeter emerged fourth. She was generously built, tall and broad. Her hair was tightly curly and the color of wheat, and he skin was dark like the seeds of rye. She was protective and fertile. She was the second born.
Hestia emerged last. She was tall but she was not beautiful, for Rhea and Cronus had been inexperienced when they had made her. Her hair was wavy and she bound it up, and her skin was neither dark nor light. She was a caretaker, but she was timid. She was the first born.
The newly freed gods thanked Zeus for freeing them, but Zeus was quick to tell them there was no time to celebrate. He asked them if they knew how to find the Cyclopes and Hundred-Handed Ones (Gaia had not been able to tell him, for she did not love Erebus, and she did not know that the Cyclopes and Hundred-Handed Ones had been bound within him). Hades stepped forward; he shared an affinity with Erebus, because Rhea had thought of Erebus when she was creating Hades. Hades followed his affinity to Erebus, and asked him where the Cyclopes and Hundred-Handed Ones were. Erebus led Hades and Zeus to them, and with his mighty strength Zeus freed them. The Cyclopes and Hundred-Handed Ones were angry from their long imprisonment, but grateful to Zeus; and the Cyclopes made weapons for the gods to wield, and the Hundred-Handed Ones pledged themselves as soldiers to Zeus.
For Zeus the Cyclopes made javelins of power and light, that we now call thunderbolts.
For Poseidon the Cyclopes made a spear that had three sharp points, which they called a trident.
For Hades the Cyclopes made a spear like Poseidon’s, with two prongs instead of one. They also made him a helm of darkness, which would make him invisible, because he was not as mighty as his brothers.
For the three goddesses the Cyclopes did not make weapons, but Gaia gave Hera poison made from plants, and she gave Demeter the narcotic power of the poppy, and she gave Hestia the power of fire.
With the help of the Cyclopes’ gifts, and the strength of the Hundred-Handed Ones, who did not have weapons but instead were given great boulders by Gaia, which they hurled at their enemies, Zeus and his brothers Poseidon and Hades, and his sisters Hera, Demeter, and Hestia attacked the stronghold of the Titans while Cronus was still weak from Metis’ draught. They fought mightily with them, although Prometheus, Oceanus, Epimetheus, and Rhea did not join the fray, but instead hid with Gaia from the battle. Finally, Zeus and the gods prevailed, and they imprisoned the Titans in the body of Erebus, where their siblings had been bound, and in the body of Gaia, to ensure that they could not rise again.
The gods returned to the stronghold of the Titans to celebrate; they did not know they were in the body of Oranos, who was invisible. And Gaia could not tell them, for the Titans within her made her retreat far into her essence, to retain her power over them. And so Oranos remained bound and injured by Cronus, as he is to this day.
When they returned to the sky, Zeus saw that Hera was beautiful; and Poseidon saw that Demeter was beautiful; but Hades did not find Hestia beautiful. And consulting Rhea, the gods realized that it was permissible for them to lie with each other, because they were all unique creations. But Rhea warned that it would not be permissible for their offspring to lie with each other, and it was not permissible for human siblings to lie with each other, and that if they did the gods must punish them. And the gods promised they would.
Hera was pleased to lie with Zeus, and they claimed each other as husband and wife. But Demeter was not pleased to lie with Poseidon, for she preferred Zeus; and this was a source of strife, because Zeus was a lover of many women, but Hera was jealous and would not permit it. And Poseidon, too, was jealous, and pursued Demeter often in many forms.
In a time when their tensions were calmed, the gods decided that they should claim areas of dominion. Because Hestia was the oldest, she was entitled to claim her sphere first; but because he was the most garrulous, Zeus spoke first.
Zeus claimed the sky as his domain, not knowing it was the body of his grandfather; he desired it because it overlooked Gaia’s body. He claimed also the office of the king of the gods.
Poseidon spoke next; he claimed the realm of Oceanis, because he and Oceanis shared an affinity; he desired it because it encircled Gaia’s body.
Demeter spoke after him; she claimed the realm of Gaia, because she and Gaia shared an affinity.
Hades spoke next; he claimed the realm of Erebus, because he and Erebus shared an affinity; he did not desire to live there, but he could not claim the surface of Gaia because it belonged to Demeter.
Hera did not claim a realm, but instead claimed dominion over married mortal women, and over married goddesses as well; she wore a high crown, which proclaimed her the queen of the gods.
Hestia, too, did not claim a realm, but instead claimed dominion over the hearth, because she had fire. Hera was scornful of her because her realm was similar to Hera’s own; but Hera was not jealous of Hestia, because Hestia was not beautiful, and not even Zeus desired her.
And so, the gods chose realms and subjects. Zeus and Hera went to a great mountain, called Olympus, which extended high into the sky, and created a great citadel at its peak, which they inhabited along with Hestia. Demeter wandered the surface of Gaia, the Earth, scorning to make a palace, but instead stayed in mortals’ fields for a night at a time, enriching their fields and moving on. Poseidon went to his watery kingdom and created a vast palace, made of coral stone and precious gems. Because Demeter spurned him, he took a wife from amongst his subjects, the nereids or sea-nymphs; her name was Amphitrite.
Hades descended to his cold, dark realm and created a palace for himself, too, but he did not take a wife for himself. Instead, he concentrated on maintaining the balance of the universe by ensuring that the dead remained so. But Hades was not satisfied.
This is how the gods came to be, and how they were given their domains. So Mote It Be.
--
Main closed the book and looked at ti curiously. He had never heard of these gods – he suppose d it must be a story created by some bored storyteller’s overactive imagination. He picked up another, not noticing its title: Bedded By Her Lord. He turned to a random page, instead of the beginning as he had with ther odd religious text, an read:

Gerturd sighed, pulling the neck of her blouse down further. Lord Harnibal leant in further, his eyes dark and mysterious. Gertrued leaned in to meet him, her lips parted, her eyes inviting him, begging him to –

Main quickly shut the book and stared askance at it. He had heard that women enjoyused what they called “romance stories,” but he never knew they were like that. That was practically … well … it wasn’t something that Main thought women ought to be reading. Or men, for that matter.

Main let the book slide to the floor as he sat back, allowing himself to relax briefly. Little as he liked to admit it, he was falggins, and a lot earlier than he had hoped. That run, especially, had done him in, and the climb up to this level, though relatively easy, had exhausted him. He tried in his mind to blame his fatigue on the residual leffect of the drugs her had been fed tby the craxy herb wife, but he knew that his previously sedentary lifestyle had left hoim more out of shape than he knew, and that, combines with the attack he had had so randomly just the day before made him easily tired and caused him additionaly pain when he moved too rapidly, as his blood moistened bandages now attested. Knoet I have no idea what I was trying to say there, so let’s move along: without consciously making ad decision t rest, Miain lay his head against the tall back of the confortable armchair, intending only to rest his head there for a moment while he caught his breath. Unbeknownst to him, the process of catching his breath at this particular time wsa going to require a four hour nap. Main dozed lightly for a few moments, his princely patooshlkie unused to sleeping sitting up, but thern his fatuge and exhaustioin and tiredness and depletion and many other words that signified his amazing amount of enervation overpowered him, and he fell deeply aslepp. However, because he was a protagonisht and beautiful and handsome at all times despite the fact that he rearely esxercised and was at the moment catatonic with weariness, he was not drooling or snoring or doing any of the other things that males (and humans in general) tend to o when they’re sleeping, but in fact rwas resting in the chair in an attitude that conveyed his physical beauty perfectly, while also suggesting a certain vulnerablilty that was imply irresistible to femalses, and at the same time giving him a mystique wihic also made him terribly alluring.
All these ideas were running through Ancalade Frid Mohn Hoots’ mind as she looked at the softly slumbering supine silhouette of the shagged out superman. In the way of all adventure heros, main immediately attracted aenvery woman who got withing twently feet of him, and though thshe wasn’t terribly attractive herself, and had sworn herself off men years ago, the fierce Lirbrarian of tinytown was inexhorably drawn, in the way of the penny dreadful she was addicted to, to hithis man. It was really slightly ridiculous – he was notihing like the numerous cutouts she owned of sleek, beautiful elves, or muscle boutnd human men – but womehosw, this … miscreant managed to attract her, from his absurd antlers to his tight apants. Which fit him very well. By the way. Even though she couldnb’t even see most of them, thanks to the tall booths and the long skirted mail shirt (which wasn’t actually all that long skirted; it just wseemed that way to the admittedly love straved Ancalade Frid Mohn Hoots.) She wondered how he managed to look so good while sleeping – even the fact that he was a protagonist (which she didn’t actually knew, at last concsciously; being a librarian and therefore possessing a spceical connection with books in general and this one in particular, seeing as she was a character in it, she subconsciously knew that this man was Important with a capita “I”, and therefore worthy of her attention, but this information was forbindden from hier conscous mind for the same reasons as Marco was forbidden to blaspheme) didn’t fully explain for here the odd attraction he held for her. What she was forgetting, of course, was that in all good fiction (read really really bad fiction), the main character (usually a Mary Sue or Gary Lou) is always the most attractive person in the world (even if theyr’e not the most beautiful, they always have a mysterious force that attracts them fo the people they wish to be attracted to , and often those they don’t) and always hads fan bays and girls hanging, noy dripping, off their arms and various other body parts, which of course does not makde them conceited, because theyre the main character, after all. (she would remember theis important parcel of information when Main was using a club to fight off his would be lovers.)

Aftger gazing at Main for a little while, the Loibrarisam noticed the books that had slid off his lap. Although she couldn’t find int in her self to blame the sleeping and obviously catatonic Main (and ofdd situation for hthe Librariam to find herself in, because she oculd usually find it in her heart to hold the most adorable child, even her own mother, guilty if she found them ieven tangetniallsy connected to a crime against book kingd) (this cleasyrly showed just how smitten she wasy at this moment), she couldn’t let those poor books remain on fthe floor, fair game for wa unwary feet and the chewing chjaws of mice and silverfish, and theyir pages open for any bright light to fade. She carfeluly gathered them iunp one by one, and found their places on the shelf, carfeull replacing them in such a way that their delicate pages of parchment, vellum, or less popular linen paper were protected and uncrumpled. Them she went back to watching Main. Because that’s really awfully boring (I mwan, the only interesting thimg going on there is that tshe actually is drooling more than the person swho’s sleeping), let’s take a lood at Ancalade Frid Mohn Hoots instead.

Ancalade Frid Mohn Hoots is a tall woman, and not delicately built, although it is clear she tries to emphasieze her shape by tying a bright saffrom yellow sash around her wais. However, the she hasn’t stooped to the lows that Last First Middle inhabits daily, as she still retains a sense of dignity and modestly, and her dress is a prudish turtle neck in a russet red, that reaches clear to the ground. Her boots, heavy hobnailed affairs, do not help her in the delicate feminine respect, weither.

Ancalade Frid Mohn Hoots’ adherence hto her standarsds does, unfortunately, help drive away potential suitors. Her face is dominated by a strong curved ship’s prow of a nose, and her strong, wide chin does not help matters. Even then, she could manganedgs to be pretty looking, but she unfortunately compounds her sever features with an even more severe bun that is evocaticve of the unimaginably strict spinster schoolmarm that every small boy feared terribly sewhen he was a young lad. In addition, years of wquinting at the tiny, crabbed handwriting of ancient scholards has permanently damagesd her eyesikght, which she has fixed with a small pair of the iconic eyeglasses, which do nothing for her looks as a woman and only pushed her further into spinster schoolmarm territory. these, compounded with her uncompromising mode of dress and her general unhappy witht the world demeanor, crate a tryuly formidalbely woman, who unfortunately is stuck in an unenviable position with regards to romantic prostpects: all the men who are brave enough to woo her are also completely uninterested (or married, or both), and all the men who are actually attracted to her are, to a man, wither too timid to approach her, or living in a foreign country, or both. As she is, as previously alluded to, a rather old fashioned woman, she absolutely will not pursue men herself (a descision that was, regrettably for her, arrived at as a direct sconsequence of a ong sequence of humiliation, heartbreak, and sexual manipulation), which her left her, lonely for love but denied it, and with regularity. And here came this cheeky young protagonist, and began changing (slowly at least) Mai I mean Ancalade Frid Mohn Hoots’ opinions on exactly what was proper for a young (or at least not old) lady.
--
CHAPTER 6
>In which Main gets a weapon, a new party member, and learns more about the plague of chaos.<

Main awoke in again a singularly uncomfortable position. Eh thought to himself, it’s positively peculiar how I have been waking up in odd circumstances for literally the past three days straight. He looked around him. H ewas slumped in a n old, windgeback chair, his legs splayed out before him, and his neck cramped for from the odd position it had fallen into. Looking uo., he noticded rows and rows of books, aalong with a coffee table as old as the chiar he had fallem aslepp ein, which confused him for quite a while until he remembered his mad headlong dash which had ended in this unexpectded servitude to the oddly forceful and sever looking woman. He ythen nearly jumped out of his skin (metaphorically, of course) when he realized that this same woman was looking at him with a asappy smilye, that was quickly wiped off her face when she realized he was awake. She cleared ther througt and tugged on her robe oto stragihtedn the wringkels as Main stared at her in abject horror, thinking to himself, If she gets it into her mind to that I’m her soul mate, there is nothing I can do to hide! I need to make myself unavailable in some wau! He made half-formed planes to finally respond to some of the comely efl (thwat was her name? Final?) ‘s advances, before his thoughts were interrupted by a gruff statement from the formidable, matronly woman before him *(although at least she wasn’t fat, just masculinge in a singlularly plain way). “I, er, I put those books away for you,” she said, embarrassment roughening her voice. “You were … um ... debilitated. Unwell. Ill. Incapacitated. Unconscious. Physically har-“

“Er, yes, thatnk you,:” said Main hurriedly, thrying to stop the flood of synonyms that the woman was vmomiitting forth in an obvious outpouring of her nervousness. “You’re … you’re very kind.”

The Librarian blushed; Main, disheveled, sleepy, and obviously terrified, was tewice as attractive not was he had been asleep (although the terror was a little off putting and insulting, the adorable confusion was more than made up for it), and the :Librarian was certainly not immune to his considerable charms. Even the antlesr didn’t sdissuade her (she was insisting to herself that they meade him look like a primeval god of the hunt, shwhich was sort of working on her, because it reminded her irresistible of research). She mumbled, “Oh it wasn’t, really – it is just a serveirce, we, er, here at the , u, National, er, Library are ,erm, ah, obligated, yes, obligated to , er, provide to our , um, patrons, ah –“ She broke off, thankfully, as she rucshed away, her hands to her bruningn cheeks.d

Main waved his hand, mock carelessly, and saidm, “no matter the cause, my lady, it was still a kind gesture. Is there … any way I can reopaly you?” He fervently siwhsied there wasn’t, but his role as a protagonsit iunfortunately forcwd him to act gallantly when someone did him a fovr. (Ususlaly he didn’t mind this too terribly much, because he reckoned ti was better to gets his debts apid (escpescially those of the moentary sort) before they were old enough to haunt him, but at the moment, with this terrifying woman making sjheep’s eyes at him, he felt he had reson for alarm.) as she thought, suddenly pensive, He thought desperately to himself, Pleaste don’t ask to come with us please odon’t ask to come with us please odon’t ask to come iwht us plase don’t ask to come with us please don’t ask to co—

She stoo up straight suddenly asn asked, “Are you a travelling adventurer?”

Cringing in dread, but suddenly unable to lie, Mian suttered, “Well, er, if you wnt to put it that way p—it’s just a one-time deal – er., us, that is, travelling yes but adventures … ?” He treailed off as the lLIbrarian ‘s face gained the stern determination he had begun to assiociate with the Librarian, and his heart sank at the way tshe was obviously thinking.

“Well, I think ou ought to have some sort, er, some sort of, well, historian, don’t you? To, you know, record your, um, feats of, er, derring do? That sort of thing?” The Librarian statmmer ed a little more, obviousyly uncomfortable with the rather large bono she was ogoing to ask for, but her attraction to Main and her latenet thirst for adventure (which had led her to the job of Librarian and the love of books in the first plavce) overpowered her nervoiusness and her embarrassment, and she said (with perhaps a little too much determination), “I want to join your adventuring party.”

Main’s face stiffened as he held as mask of polite excitement over the face which he awaws not allowind to crumple in ablsolute crushed dejection. “ewe’’ll, of course you can,” Main said in a controlled voice. “That weould of course be alright with me because I olove to have new people oin my taeam. WElcom e abouard.”

The Librarian’s eyebrows rose, and she said in a voice utterly unlik her normal personality, “R – Really!?” She was obviously controlling her voic e very carefully so as not to squieak like a rabid fangirl at this revelation.

“Ye,s of course,” said main, whio was at this point full of crushing dieassapointment. “Come on, let’s go to … er … wherever in this town someone can get a room to stay. I’m sure the rest of my party is in a, um , tavern. Or something.”

The Lirbrarian , who at his point was really too exceited to nitice Main’s dismal mood, grabbed his arm and said, “We’ll, why don’t I pack and you re – I mean wait here. We’ll go to each ofht the tavermns in town and see what there is to see. I mean, there aren’t many taverns in town – and I really on ly have a few things I need – I’ll juest be a momomnet. Wait here.” The Librarian bustled off, to go get all the things she really needed otr travel. Main flopped don’t down on to her I mmean his chair and put his head in his hands, wicshing that just once he wouln’dn’t go al flustered and chivalrous whenever a nearby damsel happened to be in any kind of distrsess. It was ont of those unforthiunate throwbacks to his heritage that he regretted deeply – the heroic instincts tha rans so strongly in the Character’s’ bloodline that any thing that looked or acted remotely monsterlike, anything that breathed anything resembling a flame, any woman I mean female (usually virginal, but that wan’t essential) who found herself in a tough spot, woke in them a strong urge to protect and fight. Even, as this circumstance prove, when they didn’t seesc=pecially want to. Main sighed deeply and wwaited fot the woman. The only good thing that had come of the day so far (or at least as far as Main was concerned) was that Main had gotten wasy away from that fcreepy, most probably insamne herbalist woman, and had gained a well deserved rest (the fact that he had overheard a conversation between his nemeses was eclipsed byt the fact that hthey had run him ragged and escaped him besides). He stayed in that dejected attitude to for wuitea a while aftr, waiting for the librarian to gather her belinongings and get a move on.

The Librarian bustled happily, excited to be going somewhenre (and feeling bubbly and girlish inside because she would be going there with Main). HShe opened the door to her office again, and went through it to t he door that Main had been unable to find when her he had gone in illicitly (or more likely, that he hadn’t noticed. Because it wasn’t magically hidden or anything like that. No way. It was a completely noremaly door. It wasn’t’ even ajar. Just a plain ordinary door). The Librarian, who was swhisting merrily (in such a way that she exhuded “do not interrupt me” vibes through forcwe of habit, since that was the only wasty to fend off less thatn complertley annoying or furious compliangts) pushed open the door is iin a complertely mundane wasy, because as I said, there was no agical I meran there were no cmacigaical components to the door, nor were there magical spells on it, and in fact thre was notihing magically about this dorr in any way. She bustled through this sroom, which was a cluttered as the office was Spartan (so cluttered, in fact, that there waeren’ tany immediately appearant signs that this was a bedroom, which was in fact what it was, although as I said three was no immediate way to identify it as such), and picked up items along the way that she felt might be useful:

Foirst, wshe sifted through her tall, glass fronted cabintet to find some samall items she felt she oculdn’t live without. She picked up fodndly the wooden rabbit her father had carved her for her tenth birthday – the year before he died – and dropped it into her seemingly bottonmlyess carpetbag. That, thand the worn, yeloiwing swquare of parchment he had sent her for her birthday throught the era uselseess postal service before his untimely death at the hands of the old Great and Mighty Overlord of the Evil Castle of Doom’s dreadfull Legions of DOOM!, were the only things she had to remind her of her father. She dropped the dard into her carped bag with a little sigh. Then she turned to the shelves to check for more things. She noticed a large book that she didn’t think she had ever read. Turning it over , she read in glit letters, the words WAR AND PEACE imprinted on its thick, leather and wood cover. Frowning, she put it in her parck too. She hadn’t ever read it, which worried her, because she had read every book itn this library. She must have missed it – or even better, it was a product of those odd anomalies that had been plaguing the town for the last few days. When she had turned back to the knoick knachs and found nothing, she closed and locked the cainnet.

Second, she went to her desk, shwere she hkept most of her important items (sinedce that was wehre she usually was anyway). She quickly snatched up such essentials as food (a loaf aof bread, some sweet bars of candy that had appearead in her larder the other day, probably because to the anomalies again, and a n apple), soap, a timn of polish for her boots (wouldn’t do for them fto go all dry and leak), a pack fof playing card sin case they were needed (those night oaround the campfire were sure to be long and broing), and after a little deliberatin, a spanner wrench. She figured it would probably be useful. She also acarefully akced her best quills and some ink , carefully wrapped in cotton, and some of the money that she had collected as library fees. She picked up a note (probably and IOU) and read its contents with a sneer. It was ostensibly from the money lender in towm, but the Librarian knew it hadn’t been handed to her by him, and anyway his signature was wrong. She had memorized the signatures of all the major diginitartis in towyn in order to forestall just such a forgery. She ripped the ting up after noting the signature and storing it away in her maemory. She woln’dt forget it, and when hshe noticed its owner, she would nab him faster thatn he could sneeze.

Finally, she turned to her dresser, taking out clothise and untedrthings, the very mudane things she relied upon. She packed four spare robes, all in the same scolor as this one (she dint’ really get the idea of “new clothers” very well, not the nor the idea that spare clothiong and new changes of clothes were as much for others as for oneself), and several nmoer waist scarves, which at tleast came in a few comlplimentary colors (she even had one in a daring for her srtripe pattersn, which was only barely perceptible); she also brought along a few pairs of drawers, some petticoats and chemises for colder weather, and seven pairs of stockings, three limnen and four wool, which she felt would come in handswy for cushioning as well as wramth, as fall was closing in rather rapidly. Along with her clothes a, a few things tumbled out of her drawrers, which according to a rather predictable pattern she bloamed on the chaose anomalies: an odd, prepackagesd translucent cream colored disk like thing, which when she unpakckaged from its odd, crinkly , transparent pack I mean enclosure, unfolded into a flimsy, sclose ended tube about six inches long, which She reaised atn eyebrodw at before tossing away; a fglass pill bottole pilled with small whire white lozenges, which rattled and smaelled and tasted bad; a flimsy piece of paper, on swhich was printed I mean painted a dsmall, blurry, glossy imagae, which the Librarian supposed was fairly true to life, although the woman it depicted certainly had an odd shape to her – almose wapsh like in the thinness of her waits – and was weraring terribly peculiar clothing, and which was painted so carefully that no brush strokes were visible, weven thought it was made with that curious blurring effect (a note in the margin said ontly, Paris 1898; and a hcurousi, heavy round clock of bronze, that rang lougdly when the Librarian prodded it (she immediately suspected sorcery and destroyed it).

Shen wshe had finished, she looke arougn the room, trying to see if anything essential was missing. AHe immediately noticed to beloved things: he r potted rhododendron frommt her excurision to the Fire Swaymop a few years ago (where she had sseem a few ROUSes, or Rhododendroms of Unususaly Size, but unfortunately noe fire spouts), and her much worn Dictionalry. Although she regretted it, there was simpy no room for the ported plant in the carpet bag, so she went to the small window and carefully placed it outside where it would get rain and sun’; for the Dictionary, thought , ther was no chance of being left behind. It was the Librarian’s “security blanket,” as it were; te little piece of home she carried with her everywhere. It had been her first possession she had won her very own self, in a spelling contest years ago, and it hadn’t left her side for a day after.

She Looked around the room wone las time, looking at all the things she had collected over the lyears. Ahe wished she could take them sith her, byut at the same time she longed to sheld hthem all an d start aanesw. She was beginngin to tfelli like the things she had collected for so long were now onlky the lithings she had used to ewally herself in; she felt likt the thlaws and rules and protections wshe had walled herfeself off with ewre more hur than help. Swith a decisive getsture, she took her key out of a pockedt in her voluminous wool skirt and locked the windoeswn’s shutters firs, and then the door itself. Leaving ther sparse office, she locked it too, and hung a sign on the door: “Unavailable for serviedce. Away fro the time being.”

She bustled up to the third floor I think, to go retrieve main. She found dhim sitting with his legs splayed, his head in his hands. The Librarian looked at hkiim with tender pity, thinking he had a headache.d after a moment of watching him, she cleared her throuaght itn what she hoped was a delicate gesture (although she really didn’t have the slightest idea of how to cough delicately, and so only sounded like thse was ill). Main immediately straighetened, and seeing her carpet bag, her nodded so as to obsicure the way heis chin was wobbling uncontrollably. Corssoing over to her, he said hurriedly, “Well I suppose we ought to get going!” His voice was forcedly cheerful and overly birght (hello again, DoRD). He grabbed her elbow – the smalleset and most impersonal body part he thought to grab, since he had the sinking feelingin that she would have linked arms with him if given the cahnace – and steered her to th stairs, although he was in truth the one much nin need ot of steering, since the long nap ha d in mean the rather short nap had only served to stiffen his muscles and the areas around his stictches; he was starggering rather badly even wit the tenuous suupoort of the Lirbrarian’s elbow. However, they managed to make it down all here three (?) flights of stairs before Main tripped too majorly. The Librarian put an arm around him to keep him from rfalling, looking into his face in concern (although she awas secretely (or not so secretly) enjoying touching Main wihc more than an elbow) and said worriedly, “Are you alright? Are you still weak? I mean unwell?”

Main waved her off weakly and managed to disentangle himself (a feat, since the KLibrarian was evidently concvicned that to let go of Main would bmean his instant deadth), assaying, “No, no, I’m fine, I’m fine – just tripped, you know how it its 0 didn’t even notice where my feet were going, you know, captivated by your, er, stunning, um, wit! Yes, wit, and plumb forgot to watch where I was going, silly me. Lets’ upm, let’s get on now – best not to be lollygagging about while my atryt wnaders abou twithoug by guidance, wouldn’t it be at terriblye shame? Conme on. Let’s go to those taverns you told me about. Remmeber?” Main stood panting after this rather lengthe discourse, and with an inner sigh of distated accompanied by a short lived outward shudder of ditaste, Main held out an elbow for the Librarian ho to hook onlyh onto. She latched onto it with evidnent glee, and steered him toward the double doors that were nearest while Main concentrated on not acting unhappy while simulataneously forcing himself not to collapse in unconsciouaylness. He managed to continue being conscious as the Librariam towes him out the doors. She deposited him on a bench, saying something indistince about locking the dors, and Main watched her blearily as she produced a different key, attached to the first one she had locked the window and two doors with by means of a piece of string, and locked each set of double bdooers with it; it was much different fro the first key, benng a large iron skeleton key instead to fht e small one toothed brass hkey she had used before. When she had finished securing the building, the Librariam wne t over to Main, who was develpopoing a truly dreadful headache, and asked him, “Do you have any pasteboard?” Main shook his head, and cast about on the ground, hoping to find some so she owould sotp hovering. He found a blank, irregular piece about three feet away ,and he pounced, turinging it ove r to make sure it wasn’t rotten. It wasn’t, althougght the lettering on the other side suggested that someoneds sesle had painted a sign on thise peiece in the past. He shrudgged an dhanded it tho the Librarian, who lhad followed him over there. She loked at it as well, eventually shrugging and turingn to her carpet bage, unearthing the quills and ink she had placed in there only a little shiwle before. She carefully wronte in her beast handwriting, The Library is Closed until Further Notice. Please come bak Back when the Librarian returns. Thank You. She found a bit of string hin a pocket and tied it o the pasteboard, which she hund decisenveloy on the doulbely doors that were olocated in the cerntert of the building’s impressive, dark, roungh granite edifice.

She returned to Main, dusting her palms briskly, when she noticed he had slumped forward, presumably in sleep. She approached him cautiously anyway, and prodded his souhoulder with equal caution. This didn’t do much more thsn wake him halfway, but he was wakened rather abruptly as, right after the Librarian shifted a little more to his left to look at his face in profile, as his hair and hat were obscuring it from the front, a sword fell point first into the ground, juddering from a quick stop. Main immediately was awake nd on his feet, while the .Lirariab merely stared at the ting in horror. It was a goodly sized weapon, being about two and a half feet from end to end. Its hilt and guard were one solid piece of what appearaed to be gold (Main figured it was some less precious and less malleable metal, like more steel, or even a wooden piece, that was merely overlaid with gold. An Overlay of gold was better than solid gold, though, as a layer of gold would mold to his hand, while the underlay kept ists shape and wouldn’t break; a solid gold hilt would be useless and far too soft), and set in the pommel was a blue oval cabochon, with a curious stylized eye carved lightly into it. The stone was very luminous, though – main thought it was poroboably sapphire, although it was quite a large sapphire it that was fture. The guard swept back towards the hilt in talon like curves (the tips of the guard, which extended past the hilt toward the blade, could probably puncture skin, Main noticed uneasily) and the golden melta of the hilt and guard pread up the blade for a few inches, and even more in the fuller – it made the blade look like it had been dipped in gold, and the molten metal had crept up the sides and center groove of the double edged sword. The pont was invisible at this point, as it had been buried a handspan ofr more by its … unorthodows arrival. Main, overcome but by admkiration for the fine blade (his weekly sword fighting lessons had not been for naught!), curled his fingers around the blade, noting with approval the pinprick pattern in the methal of the hilt which roughened the grip; he figured the pattern had once been more prominent, but years of use had worn it down. Main knew somehow without a definite reason that this was a very, very old sword; he wished he could figure out what told him that, but all he knew was that when his fingers touched the worn golden hilt, he could feel the weight of decades, centuries even, of use and battle and display. He couldn’t think of why such a well preserved relic should be doing such a curious thing sa falling from the sky.

Main wrenched at the sword which aws buried in the ground, in unconscious and compleytely accidental imagersy very reminiscent of a certain knig completely unknown to the populace of this particular wordl (except for the few people who found Le Mort d’Arthur chillaxin’ in their backwyards or proches or roofs or dens or cave complexes or oliving rooms of or various other living spaces, as book showers were one of the mysterious phemnomina that rolled around quite a lot; the fact that most people couldn’t erald and therefore couldn’t enjoy said showers was mostly eclipsed by the fact theat most of them endevaoured to seel those books for rather large sums of money), but nevertheless this inadvertent symbolism is so useful at the moment that I’m going to keep it. Anyway, there he was, grasping the sword all heroic lke, then riping in it forth itn a smooth arc, dirt and small stones flying from the eatrth’s exit wolnd and off the blade itself as it arced through the noonday air (that … doesn’t make much sense. MOVING RIGHT ALONG!). Main brought the blade before his face and noticed that ssomehow the sword’s curving path through the aire had somehow cleaned all the debris and soil from its flawless steel surface. Its inexplicable cleanliness even blinded him to the usual shape of the sword’s point for a moment, until its point came even with Main’s forehead as he gazed at the swrod’s lfat, holding the blade before him like a fencer salulting his poopnent. Then he realized that the very end of the blade didn’t continue on tin the prescribed manner, e.g. in a straight length topped with a triangular pint (as this was a double edged sword), but istead had a hide diamond of steel topping the blacde, with another one of those odd eyes careved inato the bare, gflat steel left between the chamfered edges of the blade’s edges. As Main looked at it puzzledly, suddenly the eye topping the blade blazed with blue light (along with, unseen by Main, the blue cabochon set into the pommenl, which was a sapphire just as Main had predicted). And a voice boomed into the air around Main (and the Librarian, whom Main had temporarily forgotten).

“WHO HAS AWOKEN THE GRAEAT AND AWEFYL BLADE OF THE ALL SEEING EYE?”

Main merely stared at it, until it vibrated gently and said in a much softer voidce, “come on. What’s your name? You must be some kind of hero type guys or I wouldn’t have landed in from ont of you after being launched nearly into spacde by that sutupid guy who used to wield me after he stupidly set a volcano exploding. Come on now! Don’t nbe shy – I’m sure you’re a better hero than he was.”

Main stammered (and he never stammered, except when faced with particularly rabid fangirls or glowing talking swords), “Er, it’s, um, Main C-Character, of, of, of, the city state of, um, um, K-KPniceplace. Heir to the throne. I’m, unm, I’m ona a quest. Of, um, revnge. On the, er, ethe rGreat and Mi - Mighty Overlor – lor - lord of the, er, um, Evli , um, Ca – castle of Doo, er, Doom.”

“Great and Mightly, eh? Evil Castle of Doom? Nothing we can’t handly, my boy! Now, come on, I need my sheath, or at least a scabbard of some kind. You know where it’s gontr? Come come, now, don’t’ just stand there gawping. You’re a hero, I can … er … let’s say smell it, and let’s face it, a hero is nothing without his weapon. Or weapons, as the case my abe, and I’m really a rather jeaolous jguys, and I won’t share. Unless you somehow find a lady sword. And I doubt you’d wield such a thing, being such a manyly man yourself. Now. Scabbard. Importabnt.. Fingd.” The swonrd babble a bit more, talking about himself but mostly about how impaeritive it was to have on’e s scallbbard when one is being carried off into battle, while Main looked at lthe Librarian questiongingly (as she was the only wone who had witnessed the intore process, other than himself). The Librarian was staring rather wide eyed ly at the sword, but quiclkyl snapped out of her confusion. One gets used to such curious occurrences when one’s entire life has been lived in a fantasy wordkd full of magic and fell beasets, and anyway the past week or so had been so absolutely trippy that the Librarian didn’t go to shcok with eveyry new and improbably occurrence – even such occurrences that uinculude being narrowly missed by a falling sword that would have trasnsfixed her if she had been only a few feet to her left, and subsequently hearing the arforedsaid sword speaking to her newly found beloved. The Librarian truned to Main and murmured under the sword’s constant prattle, “I suppose you ought oto keep it. You look like whyou need a sword anyhow.”

Main muttered back, “But how am I supposed to shathe this thing? The bottom bmeans it wont fit in any scabbard unless it’s stupidly wide, tand that’ll just mean it will rattle in its scabbard. Is there a special scabbard for this ting …?”

“I think there is,” the Librarian whispered. “At least, it seepms to think so.”

At that moment, their questions were answered when a scabbard exactly shaped like the Great and Aweful Blade of the All Seeing Eye fell to the ground a little to Main’s right, beyong the bench.. He turned to pick it up, ahten puzzeled over how, exactly, the sword was supposed to fit inside the main channed of the shath, when its point end was about tewicw as wide as the scabbard itself.
--

Dropped off the face of the planet - sorry ^^;;

2009-11-10T22:06:00.000-08:00

Sorry you guys! I know I went a little AWOL there, but I lost a day of writing and I've been writing a little furiously to get back up to par. Fear not! I am at the prescribed 16,667 for today. So, without further ado, extra-long blog post GO!!

Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants blinked slowly and insolently at the man, who didn’t really understand what was going on anyway, then turned indolently away from him and sauntered over to Polo, who was the most accessible looking person in the party; Someone was blissfully unaware, completely absorbed in music; Last was in a similar state as she sampled the tavern’s specialty, a dormouse stew; Charlie was becoming amazingly raucous as he sung along with Someone, absolutely wasted on the pale ale he had purchased at the bar; and Mr. Ian Woon was absorbed in his own thoughts, similar to Last and Someone, only his thoughts were quite clearly not ones of any kind of bliss, as his face was about as stormy looking as a face can get without growing some cumulonimbus and shooting out lighting bolts (the source of his irritation was unclear; Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants was beginning to formulate a theory that Mr. Ian Woon created his own dissatisfaction field from inside, much as a slug creates a trail of slime). “Polo,” Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants said, turning on his charm in an effort to confuse the already befuddled young man, “Sorry my comfortably worn undershirt of softness, but I’m afraid the biggest room they’ve got is a five man room, and we’re six, see? So you, the elf twins, that overly muscled chap, and the unpleasantly grumpy fellow all share that room, and I’ll just … suffer alone, shall I?” Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants looked at him in a manner he had used to great effect on the innkeeper only a paragraph ago, but as Polo only suffered from chronic confusion, and not stupidity and greed, he wasn’t quite as affected as the innkeeper had been.

“But … isn’t that elf a woman? She shouldn’t ought to sleep wit’ us /men/ --“ He was cut off by Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants hurriedly speaking after glaring at Polo for half a second in the anger of realizing that he wasn’t falling for the conspiratorial attitude.

“A /woman/? Polo, polo, Polo! I know all those elves look like women, but really! That’s terribly rude, you know.”

“No, no, I’m sure of it – she’s got, you know, breas –“
“Nonsense! Your unfamiliarity with elves is clouding your judgment! Now, now, no more protests. Here is your key –“ Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants deposited the key which he had gotten from the innkeeper in the very short time in which the spotlight had been off him into Polo’s unresisting hand “—now, don’t forget to tell the others! I’ll just … mosey, you know? Ta!” Lord squigglebottom fancypants wiggled his fingers fruitily at Polo and melted into the crowd in a manner that had taken him years to master. Polo stared after him with an amazingly confused expression, then stared at the key in his hand. His eyes unfocuswed and glazed over as he accessed a peculiar part of his mind, thinking, /What do/ you /think is going on?/

/I think he’s tryin’ ter pull the wool over yer eyes, is what I fink is going on,/ a belligerent voice snapped. /’e’s playing you for a sap! Look, you know that broad is a broad, yeh? An’ you know he’s up ta no good, don’cha? Hark at ‘im, won’cha! White as a sheet, ‘e is, and don’ act half posh! And hark at my dreadful accent, won’cha! What, am I supposed to be some kind of Cockney urchin? You carn’t write a Britishman ter save yer life! An’ what’s the obsession wit’ Britain anyroad? What’s wrong with America, eh? EH???/ There was a sound of frenzied panting in Polo’s brain, form a personality which certainly didn’t belong to him – that much was certain.

Polo also mentally panted, nervous – he knew Marco couldn’t and wouldn’t hurt him, but his occasional blasphemous outbursts made him nervous, and anyway violence and anger were the two things he feared most – which was why he was glad to have Marco around to protect him, though Marco’s own truculence and belligerence and hostility and antagonism were frightening enough at the best of times. /Marco, you shouldn’t talk like that! You know it’s forbidden to refer to …/ her.

/her? ‘oo is this ‘she’ then, eh? An’ why does I still sound like some twisted, misshapen lump of arccents, yeh eejit?/

/Marco!/ Polo’s “voice” was quavery and even more nervous than before. /You know! She of the Spork! She of the Letter Keys! SHE!/

/Whatever, mate. Why am I from Australia now? I hate you SO MUCH. Now, polo … I knows this Lord Squigglbottom Fancypants feller is really suspicious and bad news all the way round, but we carn’t zackly DO anything bout it right now. So I guess we jus ort to do what the man sez, an’ sleep together in the five man room tonight. ‘s better than sharing a room with that stiff, anyroad./

Polo was shaken enough that he didn’t argue with Marco, even though it seemed he was being hotheaded and irrational again (Marco never thought things through). He got up and went over to where Sommeone and Charlie were warbling, joyfully singing songs that were slowly becoming more raucous as Charlie fed Someone liquor when he wasn’t looking. Polo came up behind Charlie, paralyzed by indecision – on the one hand, he needed to tell him about the room arrangement before he was too drunk to remember, but on the other hand, Charlie was right now nearly the embodiment of what polo feared. However, as Marco roase to ascendance, polo pushed him down in panic. The very last thing he needed was to be involved in a bar brawl with Charlie of all people. The man was built like gaston from beauty and the beast – lasrge amounts of muscle all over, concentrated in the pectoral, upper back, neck, and thigh areas, although there was certainly prevalent everywhere else (including, in both cases, between the ears). The only difference between them, really, was that Charlie’s face was much more simple and honest looking, with small eyes, a large nose, a silly grin, an his entire head shave except for a shock of hair on his forehead. If he could make his hair somehow stand straight up in a spike, he would look like a human unicorn. (OH GOLLY GUYS WHO COULD HE BE BASED ON I HAVE NO IDEA.) although charlie seemed to view the world through a pair of rose-tinted lenses, with him as drunk as this, there was really no telling what he’d do – and as polo was actually rather attached to his limbs in every sense of the word, he wasn’t exactly anxious to have them removed. And he was pretty frightened of what lord squigglebottom fancypants’ reaction would be, if a few gouges on main were enough to make him go a little AWOL.

Lord Squigglebtoom Fancypants himself was actually not too terribly far away. He was hungry and on the hunt – he knew when he killed them that those rabbits would not be sufficient to quench his thirst, and he intended now to rectify this redoubtable situation. It always caused problems when he attempted to drink men; humans always mistook hunger for arousal for some reason. Normally he didn’t mind in strange towns, which were the places he did all his major feeding. Although slaves were useful for keeping one sated in the interim between major meals (usually months or even years apart, depending on the hardiness of your slaves and their numerousness), they were such a pain to drain because then one had to dispose of the body, which always caused a fuss amongst the slaves, even in their anemic state; it was always a better plan to preserve the fiction that he was in some way “good” and didn’t kill humans, and find his meals in distant towns while snacking at home. Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants smirked to himself as he hungrily surveyed the tavern common room, swarming with prey. Silly humans nowadays, trying to reassign labels of “good” and “evil”; except on the part of the muddled humans themselves, none of the races did any soul-searching as to what side they were on. Of course, this was probably due to the fact that mucky humans bred like flies, whereas every other race in the world was practically sterile, to go along with their being completely immortal. They had all chosen their sides long ago, and a new immortal hadn’t been born for five hundred years. Even the vampires’ society wasn’t growing, due entirely to the shortage of spirits to inhabit newly dead bodies; a vampire’s host cadaver didn’t decay like a zombie’s did, although unlike a zombie a vampire needed blood to remain reanimated, and so when the number of spirits to inhabit bodies ran out, the population of undead was fixed. The only time a vampire needed a new body was when his (they were nearly exclusively men, for some reason) body was destroyed by some overzealous hero or by a rampaging mob, and for some reason the idiocy of humans had increased in recent years, causing them to think perhaps vampires were really only misunderstood, depressed immortals, instead of malevolent, possessed cadavers out to kill humans. Lord Squigglebotton Fancypants shook his head and turned his attention to his attire, making sure he was arrayed properly to feed. The most important thimng was the pair of thickly padded drawers, painstakingly created to provide protection while hiding the fact that he was, essentially, wearing a man sized diaper (these were necessary, because of course a diet completely composed of liquids, namely in this case blood, is going to create quite a spectacular amount of urine, which in the natural course of things needed to be voided before he was quite finished feeding). He had other clothing needs, of course – easily cleaned collar, dark suit, handkerchief, and of course, a dagger the length of his foot. It was amazingly hard to bite people properly without getting flesh all mixed in with your nice blood, and it was simply amazing how well people put together two and two when a slick, pallid gentleman was seen carrying off a woman and she’s found the day after, completely drained of blood with only two tiny puncture wounds to show for it. Nowadays, vampires had gotten wise – they slit their victims’ carotid arteries, drank their fill, and then made the body look like an ordinary murder. Lord Squigglebtoom Fancypants smiled as he singled in on his victim, a strong looking, rather plain woman wearing a russet turtle necked robe cinched in with a yellow sash, and carrying a rather large tome under her arm. A woman like that would be more than enough to sate his thirst, and would be too flattered by his interest to question his motives. The large, leather and wood bound tome bound in silver claspos that she carried worried him, but he was confident that having the strength of five men and no invulnerabilities would probably help out if she tried to do anything like throw the book at his head.

Suddenly, something came careening across the room and hit Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants in the back of the head. He made a weird sound that sounded like “Guh!” and his head shot forward, carruing the rest of his body with it. Rubbing the back of his head in a good imitation of pain (because in reality all he had felt was the momentum transfereed to his body and the initial surprise; vampires are dead and they learn to turn off their pain receptors after a while, because someone who’s only going to die if you cut off his head, stuff his mouth with garlic, stab a stake in his chest, bury him in pieces at a crossroads, and exorcise him regularly is not going to bother with paper cuts or even things that would bruiswe or even maim regular, living humans)
--
, Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants turned slowly, fury growing in him. Just because he was invulnerable didn’t mean that he didn’t feel the pain of insult (ooh symbolism!), and Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants felt that having a heavy object chucked at the back of his head probably constituted insult. He looked around on the ground and located the projectile that someone had attempted to take him out with. He picked up a heavy wooden plate, which still had a little stew in it, and looked at it with scorn. Looking around, he saw that the only people who could have thrown it were Charlie (who was, by now, completely roaring drunk), another, equally wasted hunk of hired muscle, and a cloaked man who was haunting one corner, as all of them looked strong enough to hurl a plate with some force, and none of them had a plate before them. After a short period of deliberation, Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants decided to leave the woman with the tome alone for now; although Charlie was out as a potential blood slave, and the cloaked man looked sinister enough that Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants decided to pass him by (it wouldn’t do to lose another player for the Evil team to friendly fire, as it were), there was still the other drunk hulking brute to punish. He looked like he had quite a lot of blood in him, and although he was pretty drunk, it would probably only give lOrd Squigglebottom Fancypants a slight buzz (numerous experiments with his human shell over the centuries had given him an idea of how intoxicants or other impurities in the blood affected him; as he was dead, things like diseases in his victims didn’t really hurt him, though he had learnt to keep away from them regardless, because they tended to do gross things like vomit or sneeze mucus all over him in their fear or just out of general wretchedness; alcohol only affected him slightly, and was more of an automatic reaction than actual, chemical changes, upholding the hypothesis that drunkenness is a state of mind as well as a state of body). He took one more look at the tall woman and made up his mind. She was smaller, sober, and armed, however dubiously. He would be more filling, just as easy to overpower, and would titillate him a little. True, he would be looked at with some suspicion and curiosity, but he could easily make up an excuse and a front. And anyway, this was war. He would pay for that plate, regardless of whether or not he had, in actual fact, thrown the thing.

Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants, his mind made up, stood up abruptly, tossing aside the trencher as he made his way over to the drunk man. As soon as he got close enough, Lord Squigglbottom Fancypants bowed slightly, murmured a social nicety, and then slugged the man right across his jaw. The man’s head snapped back for a moment, his wide arc down saying he hadn’t been ready for Lord Squigglebotom Fancypants’ punch at all. The man ooked blearily at Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants as he cam up, clearly not realizing that the two were antagonists quite yet. Lord Squigglebottom Fancypatns made sure this concept was good an firm in his mind by punching the drunk man savagely in the gut, then straightening his cuffs as he he stood straight upright once more, quite as if punching a man while he was down was quite the regular activity for him.

This time, when the man got surfaced, he knew just what was going on. He punched at Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants, a wide hook that carried him all the way around, but that ufortunately missed his opponent altogether. Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants, moving nimbly, had sidestepped out of the way of the ham sized fidst, then gently pushed his antagonist so that he continued twirling in a circle. The backs of Lord quigglebottom fancypants’ thighs touched the table behind him, and he mentally set a limit to his movement backwards – it wouldn’t do for him to be bested by a man too drunk to see straight because he was tripped by a table!

The drunk man threw a few more punches, all laughably off target, and Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants danced around them all, trying to seem as if he were as skilled as his opponent, just … less drunk. It did mean that he had to let a few punches at least come close, though it hurt his pride. Finally, he was done with thiese preliminaries, and landed a punch squarely on the man’s nose, which broke with a satisfying crunch and an impressive spray of blood. Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants almost froze at the sight of it; it reminded him forcefully of his hunger, and it took quite a feat of self control not to attack and drain the man right there. He almost licked the blood off his knuckles, daring the man to attack, but with herculean effort, he merely mopped it off nonchalantly with a pristine white handkerchief, acting unfazed. He looked insolently at the man, his eyes half lidded, as the man wiped off his face, then held out his hand, seeing the blood on it. The drunk man, glared up at Lord Squigglebottom Fancyoants, then bellowed wordlessly and launched himself at his opponent.

However, it seemed as if Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants was going to have the last blow. As he had planned on when he began, the innkeeper’s bouncer finally decided it was time to add his two cents to the pot. He waded it amongst the onlookers, saw the drunk man’s charge, and grabbed him around the midsection halfway between his original position and Lord Squigglebottom Fancypnats, making the man say “OOF” in all caps with no punctuation. Lord Squigglebottom acted as if he was pleased he wasn’t being nabbed in an effort to misdircert the onlookers, then put on a very convincing facsimile of shock as the bouncher grabbed him by his collar and dragged him along with his drunken mark out to the back door and tossed them outside wordlessly. Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants was forced yet again to sacrifice his dignity in the name of food as he allowed himself to sprawl in the ground while the bouncer closed the door to the alley with a slam. As soon as light left, though, Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants stood and brushed himself off spotless before advancing on his stunned victim, his dagger appearing in his hand as if by magic (and knowing Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants, who’s to say it wasn’t?). The a cloud passed over the moon, and now only a slight glint betrayed the presence of the knife.

There was not a sound until, a few moments later, the man’s body fell to the cobbles with a soft thump. Another gleam: blood on sharp teeth as Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants grinned. He hefted the body once more with nary a grunt, and jumped eaily to the roof. Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants looked to the sky while bearing the pallid corpse of his prey, then smirked as he noted that the moon, which was far from even half full, was and would be covered with clouds for most of the remainder of the night. He crouched to spring, then off he shot to hide the body, another tactic he had picked up along the centuries to help misdirect attention form himself (ofr although it was possible to get a new body simply by contacting another one of his undead fellows, he would be partially under their control ever after – and that assumed that one of his fellows would even be willing to do the deed. Many vampires were of the opinion that the less competition there was, the better, and that faction was growing); Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants’ strategy was to lie low and attract as little attention as possible, while living in an area that was so used to being under vampires’ thumbs that they didn’t even bother with attacking castles with pitchforks like other areas’ peasants were wont to do.

***

Back in the tavern, Polo had finally screwed up his courage and notified the rest of the party of the sleeping arrangements, due in no small part to strangely accented prodding from Marco. He did, as he feared, run into trouble when he nervously told Last that she would be spending the night with the rest of them while Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants spent the night doing who knew what; she stared into the remains of her stew for a full thrity seconds until she stared up belligerenly at Polo, saying, “That’s ridiculous. I refuse to spend my nights with four men, only one of whom is related to me, and none of whom are entirely or even remotely sane. I’m getting my own room.” She stood decisively, adjusted her neckline to display the maximum amount of bosom without being indecently exposed, and sauntered over to the innkeeper to flirt her way into a single person, which knowing her would either be full of food or men by the time she vacated it. Polo watched her go nervously, then deciding that regardless of the outcome of her little escapade (which, as she was really exceptionally beautiful and adept at flirtation and manipulation, was looking pretty hopeful for her) it was No Longer His Problem (due in no small part to Marco yelling, “It AIN’T YER PROBLEM, POLO! If tha’ fat innkeep wants ta give that hussy a room, LET ‘IM! TURN AROUND, YA BOLLOCKS!”) and turned to go. Polo got tired out easily, due entirely to the fact that the small rodent that lives in everyone’s brain was on the ascendant in his, and kept Polo on full, supercharged alert at all times; it had been a long day for him, in the presence of a man that put all of his already preternaturally high defenses on overdrive, constantly trying to keep Marco from preemptively attacking in the perfectly rational belief that Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants would bnot hesitate to kill him (them), and walking for a long ways besides. He would get a plate of stew from the serving maids, hope they didn’t accost him or anything of the sort because it would absolutely kill him with nervousness, take it up to the room, and eat it before sleeping.

Mr Ian Woon had similar plans for the evening, although he did have a rather ambitious period of sulking planned before retiring. Mr. Ian Woon was of the firm belief that the only way to end one’s day was to muse on its events, in order that no experience of the day went unsavored. Of course, in Mr. Ian Woon’s case this translated to large amounts of sulking and bemoaning the fact that the entire world seemed opposed to him, and rather small amounts of anything resembling savoring (in fact, if someone were to analyze this practice of Mr. Ian Woon’s, one would be tempted to conclude that the entire point was not, in fact, to savor a thing, but to catalogue in his mind e ery grievance that anyone had committed against him during the day, for the purpse of getting his own later. Due to the long day, this particular evening Mr. Ian Woon was combining his evening sulk with his dinner, which did dim whatever enjoyment he may have gottem out of it, but since the food was unfamiliar and therefore detestable, there wasn’t much enjoyment ot be had for him this night.

Charlie and Someone, in contrast, were expereinecing perhaps a little too much enjoyment. They were by this time so thoroughly drunk that they had lost not a few brain cells, and had their memory making functions erased temporaritly by intoxicaiont. They continued to sing, however, belting what were by now rather thoroughly crude songs while snacking on the salty little dishes the innkeeper’s wife made for drunks to eat so they would buy more beer.
--
Mr. Ian Woon looked over at them with an extremely miffed expression, irritated at the amount of noise they were able to create.

****

When Polo, Mr. Ian Woon, and the very drunk Someone and Charlie had all crashed in their room, Polo lay in his bed, thinking about the events of the past few days. Just three days ago, Polo had been a regular farm boy – well, perhaps not quite so narmal as all that, what with having another personality that he could talk to in his mind who would occasionally take over – and now, here he was, adventuring with his crown prince and perhaps saving the entire populace from this overlord person, who was apparently causing all the chaos that had been plaguing KPnicplace for the past fortnight since the overlord had arrived. When he saw the ad in the tavern for Main’s traveling party, well – he didn’t know what possessed him to apply, though he had a niggling suspicion that it had been Marco (Marco was mum on the subject). Now, he had traded his quiet life for trudging along a dark road with suspicious characters by, sleeping next to drunk men by night, and the constant fear that Lord Squigglbottom Fancypants was going to kill him. Was it worth it? He wondered. He was unable to waste any mnore sleep over his philosophical musings, however, as the strains of the day caught up with him and he fell into a sleep that, while not resembling that of a log, a baby, or a dead thing, was still restful.

CHAPTER 5
>In which Main wakes up, eavesdrops, gains a new party member, and finally gets himself some pants.<

Main woke up, and for the first time in three chapters, sat up and rubbed his head and his back in pain. The only differences between now and Chapter 2 were that a) it was dark, b) he was lying on a table and not the ground, and c) instead of being hung over, he had been mauled by a crazy woman. Alright, those were actually pretty major differences, but that was okay because what was really the same about this moment and the same time yesterday was that Main was confused, out of the loop, and in pain.

“Ohhh … what happened? Where am I?” Main groaned. He put a hand to his forehead and noticed that one of his fingers had been splinted in the time between when we saw Main last and now. He looked at it confusedly, then suddenly remembered the woman who had attacked him completely out of the blue the day beofer. He remembered the cuts and gouges she had given his chest and looked down concernedly, especially worried that the perfect skin of his pectorals and abdominals would be ruined by infection and unsightly scars. Small, narrow scars were okay, because they made a man look strong and … weathered, he supposed, but larger scars were only disfiguring. Main was relieved, therefore, to find his wounds cleaned competently and wrapped with clean linen. If tended properly, all Main would have would be the masculine, strong scars he approved of, and none of the unsightly things that were due to infection, burns, or messy wounds. When he moved further and felt stitches pull, however, he looked down in panic. Who had approved stitches on his pristine body? Stitches were terribly disfiguring! They made a man look like he had been stitched together even when the stitches had been taken out, and besides, they made a scar look twice as big as it would have if it had been left alone! This was a DISASTER!

“So, you’ve woken up, have you? Yes, yes, I’ve stitched you up. I’m sure you’re terribly concerned about the state of your poor, beautiful, defiled flest, but don’t worry. It’s not going to FALL OFF YOUR BONES like it would if I had let it fester, which I’m sure you’re grateful for.” The wman the voice belonged to moved out of the shadows in the corner, light from the sun lieaking through te thatch of the roof and glinting off the woman’s white teetch, exposed in a wide, mad grin. Main’s eyes, accustomed to the darkness, widened, and he scooted backwards on the table, taking the thin cloth covering of the table along with him, until his hands couldn’t find any more table to scootch along. He compromised by clutching the back of the table surreptitionsly and staring at the crazy woman.

“W-who are you? Why am I here?” Main’s eyes darted aroung the room, noticing that he appeared to be in a rather sizeable wattle and daub one room cottage. There sadly, however, did not seem to be an avenue of escape that hadn’t been blocked by the crazy dark woman. He knew an amazing amount of strategy ofr the once a week strategy and swordplay classes he had been engaged n when he had still been ensconced in the castle in his hometown, and he oculd tell that at least in this circumstance, the womane had the upper hand, having access to weapons (theoretically), superior knowledge of the terrain (theoretically), and superior physical health (thoretyically), in addition to certainly being crazy enough to try any dirty fighting tactic you cared to name. Main decided that in the absence of a violtent attack that was possible for him to take [awk],he would be forced to negotiate. “Are you a healer, woman? Is that why you’re here?”

“Healer? Aye, young man, I am this town’s herb wife. And I cleaned you up and stiticed you up, yes I did. You were in a rather bad place, bleeding all over and in fronto f /that/ man. But no matter! I cleaned you upk, I did! But now I have to keep you under tight watch, yes, yes! You are hurt, sir, and you do have limited amounts of strength. I knows you kind, yes I do! You would be up and travelling in a heartbeat! That is nbot to be borne, no it is not! You need to stay here! You need to REST. And rest you will, oh yes yes! I will be watching you, and I will make sure you rest if I have to feed you full of drugs to do it! And I can do it, too,” she threatened. “I know enoought herb wifery to drop a horse in a minute and a half if I have to! And II will not squabble if I need to do the same to you. So sit down, sire, and I will make you some tea.”

Main watched the woman, thoroughly terrified now, as she bustled around, still grinning in a disconcertingly insane way as she took a few leaves out of this jar, a couple dried flowers out of this sack, and a dash of powders here and there, combining them all in another square of the linen gauze hse had used to bind Main’s wounds. Main looked puzzledly at that last – he had never seen tea being treated in quite that way. Usually one would simply take some predried leaveds from a tin, put then in a kettle or teapot, and boil water for them. All this nonsense with herbs and linene was rater unfamiliar for him. Fianllay she produced a cup and some boiling water and poured it over the linen square, which she stretched over the mouth of the cup. She swirled the tea a few times to make sure any sediment was properly included in the drink, then handed the steaming cup to Main, ordering him, “Drink.” Main looke at the cup distrustfully, looked up at the firm face of the dark herb wife, whose grin was gone to make her face truly siister, and took the cup with a gulp. He looked at the tea – it was a worrying shade of purple – and took a sip cautioslu. When it didn’t cause him to die, transmogrify into anything strange, or to do something else distressing, he looked again at the violet drink and sipped it warily. When he had finished it, he patted himself down cautiously, and noticing not changes, he said in an increasingly happy voice, “Hey! I actually feel a bit bett – “ he stopped abruptly and flopped over, fast asleep. The herb wife looked at her handiwork smugly, her mad grin slowly coming over her face like an extremebly disturbing sunrise.

“I told you I’d do it, dod I not?” She said quietly. “you need the sleep, boy, shile you still have the ime t osleep in. For there is coming a time [oooohhh foreshadowing] when you will not have much time for laying about – a time when you will be fighting for your life.” She patted his head, solemn again, then grinned amdly again. “And I got you pretty good there, didn’t I? Ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha.”

****

Charlie was awakened with a horrible pounding headache as Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants said loudly and with obvious relish, “Wakey wakey! Come on, you strapping young lads! It’s the dawn of a lovely new day!” As Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants muttered indistinctly about how days weren’t really terribly lovely at all, Charlie groaned and blearily rubbed his eyes. HE smacked his lips and blinked indistinctly a few times, then said in utter misery from the terrible pain stabbing him between the eyes, in the eyes, and generally all around his head, “Lord Squigglbottom FAncypatns … wha … wat’re you doin’? We’re … we’re sh-shleepin’ here, man. Go ‘way.”

“Go /away/? My dear chap, are you going to lie abed all aday? Come on! Wake up and smell the … er … what is this black stuff anyway?” Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants shook something in his hand that appeared to belong tpo the breakfast tray that was laying on the table that all five beds shared. Someone immediately shot upwards.

“COFFEE???!!” he shouted. Lunging towards Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants, he wrenched the black whatever it was out of the rather nonplussed man’s hands. He looked at the blackened piece of toast in his hand with supreme chagrin and looked at Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants with an expression of disappointment that would have made anyone less granite hearted than Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants weep with regret. “It’s toast,” he told Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants flatly as he handed it back, then flopped back down to his bed, clutching a head that ached just as much as Charlie’s (for he had become drunk, inadvertently as it was, at least as much as Charlie had been last night). Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants looked down at the burnt toast in his hand and shrugged.

“I was just wondering. No need to get all defensive.” Lord Squigglebottom Fancypats shrugged in that nonchalant way that really mean people do when they know they’ve just done a supremely mean thing, and they know it, and pretend like nothing they’ve said was cruel in the slightest. He tossed the toast back to Someone, saying, “Go ahead and keep it. You’re skinny enough to need it. There’s extra butter.” This was another time honored mean person tradition, namely the little witty thing they say after their particularly cruel trick just to rub salt in whatever wounds they can reach. Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants, on this particular occasion, knew he had struck a nerve because Someone reached out his hand, caught the toast slice in midair, and crushed it to crumbs with his fist. Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants wasn’t affected by this gesture, in the manner of bullies everywhere, but only raised an eyebrow and said enigmatically, “Excitable.”

Polo chose this moment to get up – he had been awake for a little while now (actually, since the moment Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants decided to be obnoxious), but he figured he ought to get up and dispel the awkward moment before it got so amazingly awkard that bad things happened. “Um, well, er, hey, um, Lord, er, Squigg … Squigglebottom, er, Fancypa - pants, er, sir, could I, um, have some, um, some of that, er, um, food, er, please?” Marco cringed inside Polo’s mind; for a guy who was trying to dispel awkwardness, that was the most amazingly awkward sentence he had ever heard uttered, even by Polo. Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants turned the awesome power of his raised eyebrow to Polo after he heard this rather impressive string of ums, ers, and heys; what wasn’t immediately evident was that what with having rather a nice meal last night, complete with some pretty nice alcohol (everything tasted nice when in the bloodstream), Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants was having a pretty nice day, and being hiself, this basically translated into him enjoying himself by torturing everyone in his general vicinity with more physical jokes than he usually indulged in. For a person like Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants, it could be at times difficult to discern whether or not he was in a good or bad mood, because his stress remedy was basically the same as the outpouring of his good humor; it was best simply to assume to that he was in a bad mood all the time, because if you angered him in a good mood, you’d only get maimed a little or put on his “enslave later” list, if you angered him when he was already having a bad day, it was preactically a one way ticket to a shallow grave.

“Food was it? Would you like some toast? I’m afraid our mutual friend Someone wasn’t terribly enthused about it.” Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants got another slice of the amazingly burnt toast (the bread it was made from was black already, but the burnination that these slices of toast got was simply phenomenal. They really did crumble into, er, crumbs if you squeezed them hard enough) and chucked it at Polo, much like he did to Someone. Someone still won the prize for awesome catch, however, because while Polo was all the way awake and not hung over, Someone was still an elf with reflexes that, while not as fast as lightning (which travels at the speed of light, which even elves cannot even attain), were still pretty darn fast, and certainly were faster than Polo’s feeble human ones, especially considering that Polo was kind of a loser and didn’t expect anything of the kind (and Lord Squigglebottom was really going for the gold on this one, and actually chucked the piece of toast a Polo’s face instead of tossing it nonchalantly as he did in Someone’s case). Polo actually lost the unofficial toast catching contest mostly because he did not, in fact, actually catch his slice of toast at all; it hit him squarely in the face, bouncing off his nose with a dull, crumby sound, and leaving a smear of butter on his cheek. This caught even Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants off guard (he had been expecting Polo to duck or something); he lost control of his face for a split second as an expression of pure delight and glee, before he coughed embarrassedly and set his face in the usual sardonic expression he usually wore. He held up a mug and said cheerfully (for he was about to mess with Someone some more), “would you like a little coffee with that?”

Someone shot up again. “COOFFFEEEEE???!!!!!” he shouted even more wildly and excitedly than before. Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants looked dwon in the mug and smirked.

“I hope not,” he said, “because the innkeeper only gave me this tea junk.” He looked up slantwise at someone, just in time to catch the face like death warmed over that Someone now wore.

He looked wild eyed over at Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants and said pitifully, “Cooooooffffeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee … coooffffeeeeeeeeeeeeee …” before collapsing yet again with his hands clutching his aching cranium, which was suffering badly from all this shaking about it was getting. Lord Squiglebottom Fancypants smirked at Someone’s prone figure before carefully cracking two eggs into the glass of milk he had expressly ordered, trying to figure out which of the two hung over men he should try his remedy on.

2009-11-06T21:13:00.000-08:00

Look at that shiny little widget over there! Now y'all can really see that I'm on track! I'm glad that OLL got them up :D

Also: today's offering is the first official use of Write or Die by Dr. Wicked! I have to get up at 8 tomorrow and so I wanted to be done quickly. And I was! Here you are:

She was a dark woman, immigrated from the exotic lands to the south, most likely along with some valuable ivory, gold, and spices. Her curly brown hair was streaked with tawny strands and was teased back from her head, standing straight up in an onion shaped pouf. The dim, yellowish light glinted off her white teeth, revealed in a huge, mad grin as she moved up to the table to examine Main. The grin faded slightly as she began to examine Main’s wounds, and disappeared completely as she turned away from him, muttering fiercely, and produced a mortar and pestle and began to grind some dried herbs in it, her biceps moving under the skin as she crushed leaves, twigs, and fresh plant pieces in the pottery mortar. She muttered soflty over the mush, then added some water and more plant pieces, crushing it all into a paste. She heated water over the fire and dipped a rag in it, wringing out the water before cleaning out the wounds on Main’s chest and ribs. The wounds, which had begun to clot, began to bleed freely again as the herb wife cleaned away the dirty scabs. Last moved forward in an abortive attempt to stop her, but the walrus put a massive flipper before her, saying softly, “Let her be. She know vhat she be doing.” Last looked worriedly at the walrus and then back at Main – she was very fond of him for a reason she couldn’t really fathom, and she wanted him to be okay. Lord Squigglebottom FAncypants was also staring at Main, but his face had a frightening expression on it: his eyes were wide and bright, and his mouth slightly open, exposing sharp, white teeth. In the dim lighting, he looked especially sinistier – until, that is, he seemed to suddelnlyy recollect where he was, cough, and look away.

The herb wife, having finished cleaning Main’s wounds, took the paste she had made earlier and spread it on the bleeding gouges; the adventuring party looked on in amazement as the bleeding stopped after mere seconds, all of the wounds being covered with the salve. The herb wife, finished with ther secret methods, took a roll of clean, loosely woven linen cloth and began to wrap Main’s chest in it; she was thrifty and only covered wounded places, which meant that for a little while she looked as if she were only rolling the gauze randomly around Main’s chest, until it became apparent that every actual wound would be covered, even if it took a little doing and time. Finally, she got out her mortar and pestle, cleaned them, and put them away. Sighing in relief, they moved forward to collect Main, but were stopped by the herb wife’s salve covered hand. “You may not take him away,” she said, taking a cloth and belligerently wiping her hands on it, grinning ini an especially sinster manner.

“But … why not? Is it a matter of payment? Look, he’s a prince, I’ sure he has loads of --” Last was cut off by a sharp bark of laughter from the herb wife.

“Money? Pfaugh! I do not need your money. If anything, all I need from you is an escort for a distance. No, he is not released from my care yet. This man needs to be cared for … well, he should be bed ridden for at least a couple of days, yes, and no travel for at least a week.” The herb wife crossed her arms across her ample bosom, daring the party embers to challenge her authority on this subject at least.

Last moved forward in anger. "THere's no way! we're on a mission, woman, and if you can't see that, well -"

the walrus looked at Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants for amoment, as he looked like the moset sane of the group, in a worldless look (which Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants seemed to be gettin a lot of lately) that said without words, "is she an idiot or just insane?" (answer: an idiot), before flopping forward to Last First Middle and asking hjer, "Vould ju rather he died? Bummuck knows what she's doing. THat's the absolute minimus time Main needs to recover. Etierh you trust her enought to let her have the say on this one, or you don't trust her at all and you force Main to kill himself. Your choice. And where is my accent? is it too hard for you or something? Aakes alive, can't a man keep his accent around here? I've lost my newscasting job, on account of mmy losing my ability to be human, which I really miss, by the way - I lost my bukkit, which I don't even know what it is, except that it was blue and now it's gone - why, any day now I won't be able to smoke! What's the world coming to?" The walrus shook his large, whiskery head, muttering to himself, then flopped away, shoving Charlie out of the way as he went to the road. er oh not what to do next okay

Charlie and Someone looked at each other, not really understanding all the heavy stuff that was going on, and shrugged in unison. They went to the door of the hut, and Someone called out, "Shall -- shall he be staying with you then?'

Bummuck shouted at him, "Yes, you bollocks! DId I not just tell you that? He carn't be moved, I tell ya! Otherwise," she changed tone, a huge creepy smile coming over her face, "He'll swell up and he'll fester and he'll DIE! Ha!" she burst into hy sterical laughter, then slammed the door shut in Someone's face! someone blinked for a few seconds, stunned, as Mr Ian woon looked disapprovingly at the exclamation point in the previous sentence, clearly not approving (duh) of such excitability in a narrator. There goes the fourth wall.

the party members looked at each other, clearly flummoxed, thenb all shrugged in unison and turned away from the small hut. Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants offered, "I think I saw a tavern a ways back - the Fox and Dormouse, I believe." the others, desirous of a bed, a meal, and, in Last's case, a bath with a man in it, agreed roundly that perhaps it would be in their best interest to investigate such a potential house of sin and ruckus.

when they reached the aforesaid house of sin and ruckus, it turned out not to be named the Fox and Dormouse, as Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants had averred, but instead the Fox and the Curiously Shaped Button - apparently, a popular folk legend recounted the tale of a fox seeing a button carved by a master carpenter to look like a dormouse, desiring it, and subsequently stealing it. Although this was ostensibly a folk legend, it didn't seem to have anything like a moral attached, but perhaps there was one that was only ever alluded to and never spoken outright.

the party headed in, not caring one way or the other about this absolutely irrelevant bunny trail except as how it humiliated Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants in that he had though the curiously shaped button was a dormouse when it was, in fact, a button. the fact the the button was deliberately shaped like a dormouse and, in fact, was the same as a dormouse in nearly every respect, especially as it was painted on the sign of the tavern, did not matter to the party members who wished to mock Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants (this group encompassed only mr ian woon and someone, beecause mr ian woomn wanted to mock everyone, and someone thought it was humorous - nobody else dared to mcok lord squigglebottom fancypants because he was really too darn scary). as they all looked around the tavern, which was in reality quite a nice place, especially for a rather small town on the outskirts of a rather large forest and not on any major road, the party members reacted with a range of reactions, from absolute glee from Charlie to burning scorn form mr ian woon. As the others moved to their favorite places, ranging from the corner with a lute for Someone to the bar for Charlie, Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants sidled over to the innkeeper, asking him quietly, "How much for rooms, my good sir?"

"Rooms?" the man squinted at Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants, scratching his posterior at the same time as his large, bulbouis nose. "Well, we has the floor in the barn fer a copper, the floor in here fer a copper, a room for five fer a copper, a room fer two fer a copper, and the room fer one fer a copper. the floor an' the barn's all full up, so ye'll have ter pay me a copper fer the room fer five."

"Room for five? here, I'll cut you a deal: how's abput I give yuo a copper, you give me two rooms for two, and you don't die, eh?" Lord squigglebottom fancypants held out a copper, and raised an eyebrow conspiratorially, as if he had let he innkeeper on a pretty awesome deal, and didn't want anybody else to know about it. the innkeeper's face had a idiotically confused look on it, and his lips moved slowly to try and suss out what exactly lord squigglebottm fancypants had offered him; however, before he had a chance to actually determine what lord quigglebottom fancypnants had said, lord squiggleb ottom fancypants had already pushed the coin into the innkeeper's hand and closed his fingers around it. the feel of copper in his hands eradicated any doubts he had, and he nodded, hesitantly at first, but then enthusastically as lord squigglebottom fancypants smiled at him in a way that suggested that the innkeeper was really quite a smart man for finagling this deal out of lord squigglebottom fancypants, although lord squigglebottom had nothing but utter contempt for the man. “I’m so glad we came to this understanding,” he said.

2009-11-05T19:15:00.000-08:00

Annnd for the second post of the night! Enjoy my wordcount for today, people - which I'm proud to say is exactly 8333 as of right now! Yay for celebrating mediocrity.

(Chapter 4 starts! Finally! Plus: a new character!)

As they became more and more restless, the slightest items of interest began to spawn more and more conversation, from the initial comment from Last (“Why, what a piquantly shaped mushroom! I wonder what type it is”) and Mr. Ian Woon’s swift scorn (“Probably poisonous, you dunderhead”) to the long and philosophical discussion Last, Someone, Charlie, Main, and even the confused young man (who during the discussion revealed somewhat nervously that his name was “Polo”) had had regarding whether or not fairies did, indeed, create fairy rings (Charlie and Main’s insistence), or if they were actually evil hive minded mushrooms that intended upon overtaking the forest (Last and Someone’s opinion). So, when Polo suddenly noticed a bright red outhouse, it accrued an overabundance of attention from the entire adventuring party.

“What – what in the /world/ is /that/?” Polo said in melodramatic interest, leaning forward to peer through the thick shadows at the blaringly, near fluorescent red object in the distance.

“Why – it’s a red outhouse!” shouted Charlie, exhibiting his knowledge of not only the exclamation point, but the much beloved en dash as well.

“Red? My dear chap, that is an outhouse to be sure, but I believe you will find that it is /orange/, and not red at all,” Lord Squigglebottom said from the sjhadows, from whence he had not ventured for the entirety of their admittedly short journey. The rest of the party members looked at him with interest not a little motivated by extreme boredom and desperation – for as Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants had not involved himself in any of the conversations that had sprung up so far (with the exception of the snarky little exchange he and mr. Ian Woon had shared in the campsite), he was far more interesting than the dull musings, curiously shaped pinecones, and amusing squirrel exchanges they had had to divert themselves with for the several hours they had been tramping through this forest.

“Oh, no, Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants,” Main said, coming to Charlie’s aid with no little relief. “I believe that if one examines the outhouse properly and accounts for the dimness of this forest, one will be forced to admit that the redditude of this outhouse is so exemplary that there is no way that any orangeyness could make itself seen – in fact, any yellowitude at all is so far from tainting this redliness that this outhouse may even be proclaimed (a little boldly of course) a paragon of redness.” Nobody even flinched at this overly pompous and clearly trumped up statement of ridiculousness, because they were so desperate for conversation that they (including Main) were willing to speak in Verbose Gentleman Speak in order to obfuscate their conversation and stretch out the time it took to say anything. In fact, Main preened a little at his small speech, because he could have said his point in four words, namely, “I think it’s red.”

Mr. Ian Woon piped up. “No, my good sir - you see, it is because of the dim lighting in this great forest, which dampens the yellowitude of this paragon of orangeyness, that you poor plebians are mislead into believing this outhouse of such outstanding orangitude is a mere red outhouse. If you could but place it in full, unobstructed sunlight, even your blind eyes would be opened to the exemplary amount of orangeliness that this outhouse possesses.” This statement also elicited interest fform the other party members, because Mr. Ian Woon, like Lord Squigglebottom Fancypabts, had remained (sourly) silent for much of the amazingly boring tromp that today had yielded. Mr. Ian Woon tried to preen at his contribution, but since his statement (which could have been said in only three words, namely, “No, it’s orange,”) was a full five words shorter than Main’s, he hadn’t managed to elicit the same amount of awe [bad word] as Main had.
However, they were unable to continue their verbose exchange, because at that very moment the door to the outhouse flew open to allow a person egress (who, because of the distance that still remained between the adventuring party and the outhouse of questionable color, was rather indistinct). This person, although rather far away, flew toward them fleetly – in fact, this person was fast enough for the party to decide she was female after five seconds although she had been a mere ant moments ago. The adventuring party began to fear they were experiencing a random encounter as the woman drew nearer. Their assumption proved correct, as within the minute she had reached them; as soon as she saw Main, she fell upon him in a rage and began to maul. The whole adventuring party was taken by such surprise that they could do nothing but stare as she gouged savagely at Main; then, as suddenly as she had fallen upon him, she grabbed his shirt, ripped it off him, and ran off with it, growling like an angry tiger.

They all stopped in shock, still staring at Main, who was lying on the ground, panting. Then, they all looked up at each other in near unison, and asked each other wordlessly, “Anybody have some healing experience?” They each cast about the entire party, but as nobody stepped forward, they realized that the only thing they could do would be to bring Main to the next town. They fashioned a makeshift stretcher for Main, who was now irritably insisting they do something while slowly slipping into unconsciousness from lack of blood (fortunately, Lord Squigglebottom FAncypants knew that that was what was happening, and stopped the bleeding as best as he could, for his own reasons). They set off down the road again, hoping a town came along soon.

CHAPTER 4
>In which Main visits a healer, investigates the veracity of the claims that chaos has been spreading throughout the realm, eavesdrops, and finally gets himself some new clothes.<

The traveling party was in luck, for the (debatably) red outhouse was the harbinger of a sizeable town. They walked into the town rather hurriedly, because Main was not faring terribly well. “Hello!” shouted Someone, with the strong voice he had cultivated for music. “Hello! Is there a healer in this village? Please! Someone is hurt!”

The few people walking about in the heat of the day (which was rather hot indeed, because the town itself was in full sunlight and unprotected by the forest which ended rather abruptly after the arguably red outhouse) looked at him oddly, as if they did not understand. Suddenly, a huge bull walrus wearing a top hat and a monocle while smoking a thick cigar burst through the seven people clustered around the saloon thing, barking in a loud, German accented voice, “Was ist das? Ein doktor? Come vit me, ja, I vill show you to him.” He flopped forward along the street, moving at a strong clip despite the fact that he was a walrus and not exactly built for land. The adventuring party was more than slightly flabbergasted at the sight and experience of a behatted, monocle wearing, cigar smoking German walrus who could speak, but as he was moving quite rapidly and Main was in a steadily worsening state, they followed at a near run, trying not to jar Main while at the same time trying to keep up with the amazingly fleet walrus.

After a short but harrowing run, trying to keep up with this incredibly agile walrus, the adventuring party came to a stop before a small hut on the outskirts of the town, which was thatched in reeds and clearly made from rather aged wattle and daub. “Go insite, der herb vife vill fix him up qvick, ja!” the walrus urged, taking a long drag on his cigar, then using his flipper to knock the ash off against his tusk. The members of the adventuring party looked at each other, unsure, but one look at their leader, to whom most of them were becoming awfully attached somehow, impressed upon them the pressing need to get him some help, any help, and soon. Charlie was chosen to carry Main in (for it was clearly too small for two people to carry him in on his stretcher, and Charlie was after all the strongest person in their party, with the possible exception of Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants, who was in any case making it abundantly that more blood would be shed if he was forced to carry out any kind of menial labor), and he gingerly scooped up Main, who was by this time looking rather alarmingly pale (though not as pale as Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants, although it would be awfully hard to manage this side of death) and carried him into the hut, saying cautiously, “Excuse me? Herb wife? Are you there? Please we need your help!” (It was a very valiant effort for him, what with the three question marks he was forced to pronounce, and he could be excused for leaving out a mere comma.)

“Yes child?” a crackly voice asked, the owner of which was still enshrouded in shadow in much the same way as Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants perpetually was. “Ah, I see! Yes, this one has lost a lot of blood. Yes, much, much blood. Was it the pale one? Oh, no, I see, it couldn’t have been him. Yes, yes, child, place him on the table, there, yes.”

Charlie, confused by the amount of punctuation this woman seemed to be familiar with, did not notice this then, but when he left the hut, he felt it was much bigger on the inside than on the outside. And indeed, Charlie had plenty of head room and space to maneuver in order to place Main gently on the canvas covered table the woman had instructed him to. As Charlie backed away from Main, the owner of the rather aged sounding voice moved forward into the relative light of the section of the hut which contained the table where Main lay.

2009-11-05T19:10:00.000-08:00

Sorry guys! Last night I finished my word count at 2 AM and was in no shape to post my progress. Here are my words for you lovely (seven) people! (They finally eat! It's a miracle!)

Last pouted, her obvious ploy to learn more about the reticent Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants having failed utterly, and resentfully turned back to the coneys, which she had skinned and spitted, as Lord Squigglebottom FAncypants had gutted and exsanguinated them before hand. She started to turn the spit sullenly as Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants Looked archly over at er, clearly pleased at his victory. Main and Charlie looked at both combatants, each feeling as if something significant had just happened, but each also feeling a little out of the loop as to what, exactly, was significant about that little exchange. They looked at each other, both clearly confused, then shrugged in unison and headed over to the campfire, Charlie to accost the sour-faced man who was huddling near it, and Main to ogle Last, who clearly didn’t mind, and even adjusted her neckline (which already plunged quite low enough) to tease Main a little more. She smirked at Main’s obvious entrancement – she loved to manipulate men with her looks (which, in her defense, were rather spectacular), and this Main character was shaping up to be a truly effortless mark. Why, if this adventure shaped up like she hoped, then she would be able to afford a new outfit! And maybe even a tumble or two with the men of the party. She enjoyed a good tumble. It was one of the few things in life that gave her pleasure, after cooking and manipulation. And this party looked as if it could provide some quality entertainment, with the muscle bound idiot and the amorous dunderhead for more … carnal pleasures, and the sour-faced one, the angry one, and the mysterious and pale one for manipulation. And the pale one could clearly provide food for her to cook – that he had already demonstrated with the wonderful gift of these two coneys that he had produced. However, she knew she needed to keep an eye on him – the man had too many secrets, and didn’t seem to be swayed by her charms, great though they were. And he didn’t seem to be any kind of being she knew of – not a human with that pale, nearly yellowish skin and those faintly pointed ears, but surely not elven – his ears may have been pointed, but nothing close to the long, elegant spearheads that full elves sported.

Last’s thoughts were interrupted by Charlie, who went up to the sour-faced, reticent man although he was exuding extremely strong “do not come anywhere in my immediate vicinity” vibes and shook his hand as vigorously as he had shaken Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants’ hand. “Hello how are you my name is Charlie how are you what’s your name!” he said exuberantly. The sour faced man scowled harder and extricated his hand from Charlie’s suffocatingly strong grasp.

“I /was/ doing perfectly fine, /thank/ you,” he said sourly (as was his wont, being a sour faced and generally all around sour person), adding, “But if you’re so /intent/ upon knowing my name, I suppose I ought to tell you, if only to get you all to stop bothering me. My name is Mr. Ian Woon, and I would /prefer/ if you would use my honorific. I wish to keep my association and familiarity with this particular group of /miscreants/ to an absolute minimum.”

Charlie’s face fell. Literally. Off his head. Sorry, I digress:

Charlie’s face fell. His hand went limp in dejection, and Mr. Ian Woon took the opportunity to pull his hand away huffily. Mr. Ian Woon turned aaway, effectively rejecting Charlie, and stared determinedly at the fire. Charlie stared at Mr. Ian Woon for a little while, still flabbergasted, obviously unused to such rudeness, until he finally shook himself out of his shocked stupor and turned hopefully to the remaining members of the party: the other elf twin, Someone, and the angry young man, who oddly didn’t seem to be terribly angry anymore. Charlie took one look at the blissfully unaware look on Someone’s face, who appeared to be playing a musical instrument, and recognized a kindred spirit. He bounded over to Someone and said excitedly, “What are you playing is it a lute I played a lute once but everyone said I sounded like a dying cat and made me stop but I didn’t think I sounded too bad can you teach me!”

Back in the thick shadows of the oak to the back of the campsite, Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants said sourly, “Is the man incapable of forming anything other than a run on sentence?”

Mr. Ian Woon muttered back, “I think he only recognizes exclamation points as true punctuation.” He and Lord Squgglebottom Fancypants shared a look that said, “At least there’s another intelligent person amongst all these dullards.” Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants’ side of the look tried to communicate some overly posh Britishism, but as Mr. Ian Woon was too stolid an Englishman to say anything even slightly resembling a posh Britishism, even in a wordless look, the short addition withered and died without even a short life in a wordless look. Dear Heaven I am grasping here.

Someone’s face lit up (with real, visible light. I’ll stop now) as he realized that he and Charlie were kindred spirits, much as Charlie had done a mere two paragraphs ago, and he grabbed both of Charlie’s large, tendony hands in his fervor, saying, “You’re interested in music too? Oh I’m so excited why did you know music is my entire /life/? I’m excited to get started aren’t you excited? I’ll teach you everything I know? And we’ll be like best friends? And our party’s bards? Only you’re like a fighter right? That’s okay, you can take music lessons on the side right?” He looked expectantly at Charlie, who reacted to Someone’s enthusiasm with an equal amount of zeal.

As the two chattered on, fast friends, Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants stared at the rest of the band in abject horror (Mr. Ian Woon, being more of a sarcastic person than an actually intelligent one, was wallowing in self pity rather than actually reacting to his surroundings), wondering how in the world he had managed to get himself stuck with such blithering idiots – and in a written contract no less, which unfortunately he was bound by his own thrice cursed rash oath of years ago to honor. He raged at himself briefly, wondering what kind of idiocy could have possessed him to even think of joining an adventuring party in the first place, instead of remaining in his own comfortable castle, easy to get to for him at least, and placed perfectly for as much easy hunting as he could please. Then he recalled the reason he had left in the first place – the boredom, the loneliness, the desire for fresh experiences. And slaves. Fresh slaves … they were always better than the ones that he had had for a while. And what better marks than the ones he found here? He smirked to himself as he lounged in the heavy shadows of the mighty oak, watching the farce playing out before him: the leader of their party, ostensibly on a mission of honor but doing nothing other than ogle the pretty young elf maiden (if maiden she was); the elf girl herself, who was long on looks and short on brains (although she was certainly cunning enough); Someone and Charlie, still conversing in rapid fire, both rather brainless themselves, and obviously the “motivation” of the party (“motivation,” in this case, being the motivation to kill something, anything, as long as you could imagine it was one of those two – at least in Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants’ mind); the angry and confused young man, who had yet to reveal his name to the party (or, if Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants was right, /their names/); and the sullen Mr. Ian Woon, whose sarcasm and dissatisfaction Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants had initially thought was intelligence. His train of thought, however, was swiftly derailed as Last called suddenly, “Coneys are ready!”

The adventuring party fell joyfully on the food, devouring the two fat rabbits completely. As they ate, they continued to examine each other, covertly or overtly as were their own respective wonts. Once they had completely demolished the rabbits, Main imperiously directed the others to break camp; the adventuring party holding whom it did, this translated to everyone lollygagging about, with the exception on Charlie, who ran around breaking camp all by himself, Someone, who was singing an invigorating breaking camp song, and Last, who was blissfully absorbed in cleaning up her cooking supplies.

After Charlie had completely reduced their small camp to seven very unproportional packs (Charlie’s pack having nearly everything, and the other party members’ packs holding only their own personal belongings, which were admittedly legion, especially in Lord Squigglebottom FAncypants’ and Last’s cases), the other party members shouldered their burdens with variable amounts of complaint, and they set off along the shadowy road to the next town, which took them out of Main’s father’s kingdom entirely.

After only a few minutes of silent tromping, the party members were beginning to get restless. At first, this only translated into Someone briefly breaking into song, which Mr. Ian Woon swiftly squelched. However, the restlessness on the part of the other party members began to make itself evident as Last began to wordlessly flirt outrageously with Main, who miraculously didn’t notice because he was too deep in self pity regarding his current lack of trousers, and as Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants began to regard the other party members with less contempt and more interest (since they were more interesting than the boring dirt, rocks, and trees that were all they could see of the forest, with even the odd flower being an object of extreme interest).

2009-11-03T19:28:00.000-08:00

Feeling less crappy today, but still crappy enough to be as underachieving as possible while still getting my wordcount. That is why my word count for today is only 5009, which is exactly 9 words over the required word count. Also, the terrible typos are not quite as prevalent as yesterday, but that's because the typos were making my heart hurt. Also, snarky narrator. Look for it. You'll find snarkiness, especially near the end. And the foreshadowing is still continuing. Looky:

The pale gentleman made a curious face, a grimace of sorts, and shook his head. "Perfectly all right, thank you," he said. "THe lady's comment ... took me by surprise. I, too, was under the imression that elves were ... herbivores to a fault."

The elf woman smirked as she rose gracefully from her bedroll, her hair perfectly falling across her shoulders as if she were rising from the sea. main stared at her again, then coughed again and looked away. Last looked at him, obviously pleased her tactic worked, as she told the pallid gentleman (whose name, oddly, didn't seem to be coming to her mind either), "We elves like to spread that fiction whenever we can. It helps people to ... lower their guard. an seeing as many of our professions require the utmost secretiveness and caution, you would of course understand why we don't like to make people ... uneasy."

The pale gentleman gave an answering snerk as he said, "I understand perfectly, Miss ... Middle. I, too, often find myself in situations where caution is ... preferable. To the alternatives."

Last looked at him with a look that clearly said, "I know exactly what you are, I am not afraid of you, and if you try anything with me you will be so very sorry."
The gentleman's look said right back at her, "I couldn't care less what you thought of me, my dear; if I were to try soething with you, you wouldn't know until it was all over."
Last crossed her arms at him. Main finally figured out something was going on and looked at her, suddenly realizing that the woman who had looked so fragile the day before was clearly more than capable than taking care of herself, though her bumbling brother, who was off fiddlinig with something while the fire from last night still smoldered as mere cinders, was clearly an idiot; he was a little alarmed that he could have been so easily mislead (for Main prided himself on being an excellent judge of character; a genius perhaps he was not, and yes, he wasn’t the most politic person, but he felt he had at least one area in which he had some level of expertise – with this revelation that the elf twins (and indeed, that pale gentleman with the exceedingly difficult name) were so vastly different from the initial impressions he had had of them, his ego was suffering a truly agonizingly dreadful and patently alarming blow; in fact, main was feeling that perhaps it would be a good idea to re-interview his intrepid band – if the elves and the pale gentleman with the name that was clearly meant to torture people were as different as he now saw they were, perhaps it was no so far-fetched to assume that the other members of his adventuring party (whom Main had initially assumed were like the others – harmless as far as treachery went, and useful as far as their job descriptions went – but now realized had the possibility to be as frighteningly threatening as these two he had witnessed facing off) were hiding identities as different as innocence is from treachery, or dark is from light, or intelligence is from idiocy, or even as different as life is from death – a difference that Main intended to exemplify for as long as possible, and a probability that could possibly be fulfilled if his party members were hiding a dangerous secret. Main turned to the others in the camp, who had woken up between the time Main had walked around them attempting to waken them and the time at which they now found themselves, and said, “You know, I didn’t have the time to get to know you all yesterday –“

“Yes – we were busy getting a move on,” said the sour-faced man. “You didn’t even ask our names – just ‘yes, yes, you answered my ad, now let’s get a move on, hut hut hut,’ with nary a ‘yes my good fellow, how /are/ you today?” He sat sourly on his blanket and moped as the muscle bound fighter fellow sat up perkily and said, “I didn’t really mind – I like to be proactive and forward moving. But it /would/ be nice to get to know you all … I mean, we will be working with each other for quite a while, and we can’t just walk around in silence /forever/.” He sat expectantly on his blanket, in hilarious contrast to the gloomy, unsatisfied man to his left, and smiled a child’s smile at Main. The last man shot up out of his bedroll and stomped over to main, shoving his finger into his chest. “Who do you think you are, huh?!” he screamed. “Just because we’re working together DOESN’T mean we need to ‘get to know another’! I’m just FINE not knowing /anything/ about of any of you saps, and I sure as blazes don’t want to tell any of you about myself!” He folded his arms, scowling determinedly. Main’s eyebroews knitted (how odd. Genereally they just, you know, sit there and are unproductive, but I guess main’s eyebrows like him to stay warm) and he scowled and stood arms akimbo.

“who am /I/? /i/, sir, am the man who /hired/ you, and as such I am the man who is authorized to ask you any question I please, to make sure you’re not, for instance, plotting to kill me and steal my father’s throne!” Main scowled mightily for the second time in this book, and looked at the angry young man who had his eyebrows just as frowny as Main’s and his arms crossed so tightly that his elbows were going white, who returned Main’s suspicious look in spades. The muscle bound young man looked from one to the other and back again, then shrugged and turned to the cranky man beside him. However, this avenue was also closed to him, as the cranky man took one look at his earnest, wide face, and sniffed and turned away huffily. Unperturbed, the young muscular man got up with a bit of difficulty and went over to the pallid, gentlemanly fellow whose name was so difficult to remember for all of them that it was a distinct possibility that he hadn’t even mentioned it, and stuck out his hand. The gentlemanly fellow looked at him, raising an eyebrow, and then lowering it again in avarice. He extended his own hand, letting it hang slightly limp at the wrist, and looked sidewise at the earnest, young, muscular man (who happened not to be wearing a shirt), saying, “Would you be so kind as to make known to me your name?”

The young man took the pallid gentleman’s hand with obvious excitement and glee and shook it vigorously enough that the pallid man’s head bobble slightly. The pale man’s surprise at this vigorousity was evident as the young man exclaimed, “I’m so glad to meet you my name is Charlie I am so excited to have this job everyone says I’m pretty strong so I became a fighter I’m so excited this is my first job I don’t have much experience but I make up for it with enthusiasm I’ve told you my name now what’s yours!”

The pale man took a moment to digest all the information packed into that extremely long and punctuation free sentence, then said with perfect elocution, “My name is Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants, and I would prefer that you would call me by my full name, please. Also, did you say that all in one breath? If so, good show, because that was quite the sentence, and at what volume!” Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants put one elegant digitus minimus in his ear and twisted slightly in the universal sign for “that was really quite loud, my old chap.”

Charlie nodded. “Yes! Everyone I know thinks I have excellent breath support! I’m not exactly sure what all that means, but I’m pretty sure it means I’m loud and talk a lot. I’m glad everyone can see how much I want to be a … speech sayer person … thing.” He cocked his head at Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants, his train of thought clearly only just then arriving at the idea of Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants’ name. “You know, you don’t really look like a Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants,” he said, his tone of voice curious.

“Don’t I?” Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants said, obviously offended. “And I’m sure /you/ have just the name for me?”

“Well …” Charlie said, “You’re really looking more like an … /Edward/ to me.”

“An /EDWARD/?” Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants roared. “The NERVE! Giving me such an effeminate and /obviously/ homosexual name? I, sir, am a Fancypants, descended from a long line of Fancypantses, and will tolerate no such aspersions you care to cast on my character! Why, if you were not a member of this noble band (whose nobility I am beginning to seriously question), I would challenge you to a duel immediately! And believe me when I say,” he growled dangerously, “that I have no doubt that I would be the victor!”

Last looked up from the fire where until that moment she had been cooking the rabbits like the boring person she was, and looked from the tall, slender figure of Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants, to the paragon of masculinity that was Charlie, and raised an eyebrow, saying with obvious skepticism, “I seriously doubt that, unless you have some elf blood to give you greater strength than you appear to have.”

Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants smirked at her and said, his eearlier anger forgotten, “I’m sure you’re just /dying/ to know what I am, but believe me, my dear, it’s going to take you ore than mere curiosity to figure out my personal species.”

2009-11-02T17:09:00.000-08:00

I feel absolutely crappy. But I am powering through my wordcount, even though it means absolutely dreadful spelling. It pains me to see the vomit all over this book, but oh well. That inner editor is good and locked up, as this (unedited bleh) section shows. I hope y'all can see the foreshadowing in here, though, because by golly it is there. Look for it. If you can guess what the pale gentleman is, five bajillion bonus points.

CHAPTER 3
>In which Main awakens in rather difficult circumstances, has difficulties with elves, gets to know his party, and continues to search for his trousers.<

Main groaned and sat up. His back, his legs, his hips, his shoulders, his /head/ -- it seemed as if every part of him was hurting. He put out a hand to steady himself as he out the other to his pounding forehead and felt, instead of plush velvet over swans' down, dirt, pebbles, and dry, sharp blades of grass. His eyes popped open, his hand left his forehead, and he lifted the dirty hand to examine it and make sure that ist was not just his imagination. As he brushed his hand off, he stared at the tiny rocks and soil that he found unti lsuddenly his memory caught up with him. /Of course!/ he thought. /We're on the orad, to catch the fiend whi humiliated me!/ Hie confusion gone, he brusehed off his hand entire ly and stood up, cracking his bakc to get rid of the residual stiffness. As he stood over the small campsite, he groaned again, nand prepared to wake the rest of the trtavelling party. /he/ was the one hwho whad hirded them, and by bthe Tmeple of Sheu, he would get his moeny's worth out of them.

"Come on, you ruffians! Wake up and see the sunshine! It's a bright new day and there is a camp to be broken, a road to get on, and a prince to feed! Look lively!"

Muffled groans, moans, and assorted other waking up noises issued fro the woollen lumps that were the other team members' bedrolls. Main noticed one looked suspiciously small, so he ventured over to it and gave it a poeke — some of the report s had mentioned people mysteriously being replaced by small animals, rocks, stickes, items of clothing, and sometimes even foold. Nobody had the heart ito tdo much mor e than throw these away, though Main secretly hoped that he had been turned into a pair of pants. His continuing lack of pants still irked him, and anyway a kilt provided way more ventilation thatn Main really preferred. When he got to hthe bedroll, however, it was evident that it hadn't been slept in at all. Main looked around in confusion. It appeared that one of his party members had gone missing! as he prepared to call out his name — la what was it? Lord someting or other? — when ihe noticed a note pinned to the front of the blanket.

"I have woken early. Gone to get breakfast. Be bakc. ~LSF," read the terse notea. the elaborateneddss of tehe handwriting, hoewever, belied its shortness. THe capitals were adorned lavishly with embellishments and curlicues; even hthe lower caese letters ewere beautifully rouinded and penned. Main fingered the note; it was thikck parchment, with ink black as ebony. AAARGH PURPLE PROSE LETS CONTINUE. as Main continued to stare at the note, absolutely flabbergasted that anyone would try this hard at writing a simple note, he heard lthe leaves to left crackle with his preternaturally sharp hearing. he looked up sharply. The pale gentleman whose name still escaped Main was leaning nonchalantly, a slight red stain on his otherwise immaculate tall collar, and a pair of bunnies, clearly daead, dangling from his other hand, whoese finger seemsed limp even though it was evident that the bunnies' legs were firmly in his grasp. /the gentlyeman raised and eyebrow and said languidly, "I hppe you did not miss me. I did not wish to alarm, but ... my sleep habits are, whow you say ... unusual. I do not sleep much, so I decided to help out our /intrepid/ band and catch us some breakfasst. I hope you do not mind, but I have alreadly eaten. i prefer my food ... fresh." He proffeered the bunnies, slthough he kept to the sahodows. "Would you like thsese fro your breakfast, or shall I dispose of the ... carcasses?" The gentleman (whose name was irritqatinglyu wiped from Main's memory) looked sidewise at Main.

Main frowned at him, then acrefully took the rabbits from the hands of the gentleman whose name was stubbornly refusing to make itself known to him. "... Thanky you," he said deliberately, then took a long stwp back and turned, keeping one eye trained on the gentleman with the difficult name. he walked over to the dbedrolls which he believed belogedt to the androgynous elf twins, sitill stepping lightly out otf perturbation frojm his odd encounter with the pale gentleman, and carrying the rabbits as far away from his body as he possibbly could. when he reached the twins, he lightly nudged one of tehem with ihis foot, trying to get the elf bnearest him to wake up. "Are you awake?" Main asked, pushing the elf's arm with his big toe. "Hello?"
The elf's head lolled to the side, revealing a small sore. Main sscowled and squinted at hit, leaning down to investigate further. The limp bunnies' feet dangled mere inches above the elf's chest as Main poked the sore with a cautious finger. he wondered what could have causes it - the brisk aiutumn air of the forsest discouraged insects, and he didn't see any footprints near the bedroll which would mean a small creature had bitten the elf. Pale hair pilled out of the blanket as Main pushed the elf's head further to the siede. he leaned in for a closer look, and the rabbits' feet brushed againtst the elf's chest.

"BROCCOLI!" the elf exclaimed, sitting up in his blankets. Main jumped back to avoid having his nose crushed by the suddelnloy energetic elf. "Whoa there!" he yelled, surprised. "Are you alright? You seemed a bit ... limp."

"Me? Oh, I'm completly fine! I sleep very deeply — it takes quite a bit to wake me up. Usually my sister is the one who wakes me up."

"Your sister, eh? What did you say your names were again?"

Teh second elf sat up, shaking out her long blonde hair. "My name is Last Fisrt Middle, and my brother's name here is Someone." She gestured gracefully at herself and her brother as she spoke. Main was temporarily entranced by her, unused to elvish beauty, then shook his head and porffered the limp dead rabbits. "I remembered that you mentioned you had some skill with cooking. Prepare thses for our breakfast."

"Rabbits, hmm?" she looked them over. "When do you need them by?" she looked up into Main's face, deliberately transfixing him with her bright blue gaze. "If I have at least five minutes, the quality will be much better than food I need to make in a hurry."

Main looked at her in surprise and astonishment. "What? No, we shouldn't be moving out for half an hour or so. take all the time you need." he truned away, then suddenly had a thpought (a rare occurence) and turned back to her. "You can eat rabbit, right? You're not, like, vegetarian or anything?"

"Vegetarian?" Last smiled, revealing sharp, long canines. "Of course not. Elves are carnivores. Exclusively."

Main nodded in releif, then started as he heard a violent caughing and stumbling from beihind him. He spun around and saw the pale getnleman with the extrememly difficult name to remember teaning over, his face a pale pink color, pounding his cheast and coughing. Main frowned at him and said in concern, "I say, lord ... whatever your name is, are you all right?"

2009-11-02T08:17:00.000-08:00

First day is over! I've written a little over 2000 words :D However, I've come down with something and am running a slight temp - may need to skip Chem (it's OK because I already know most of the material in that class :P). Yesterday ... any idea that this novel is anything but ridiculous completely flew out the window. I'll post the text for that day ... you'll see. (Keep in mind that I'm writing this on Q10, which is pretty fabulous but doesn't let you do crazy stuff like make italics, so ... I've surrounded the chapter titles with side carats (> <) and italicized sections with forward slashes (/ /). So now, without further ado ... Day One.

CHAPTER 1
>In which Main is confused, is humiliated unduly, discovers an enemy, and swears revenge.<

"Where in blazes are my pants?!"

Main Character launched into the hallway, clad only in a tunic and braies. He held before him an odd skirt like garment, smooth in the front and pleated closely in the back. "Jeeves!" he bawled, shaking the skirt thing. "Jeeves! What is the meaning of this?!"

A smooth haired man swiftly slunk into the hallway, not a hair or thread out of place. He bowed slightly and said, "My lord, is there a reason your kilt offends you? Does my lord wish to have another? Shall I have the royal tailor begin a new one for my lord? Blue, or green? It grieves me that --"

"Jeeves! /What is this thing?/ Why is it in my room? Where are my /pants/, man? I cannot be /seen/ in such outlandish attire for my address today!" Main shook the kilt at Jeeves angrily, his fists creasing the waistline as he gripped it in anger. "I need my breeches! Where are my breeches? Why are they gone? /Answer me!/"

Jeeves opened his mouth to speak, but then thought better of his statement and closed it again. He looked at the kilt in perplexment. "i ... I'm not sure, my lord," he said slowly. "For some unknown reason I have been until now convinced that my lord's attire of choice was the kilt, but ... my lord, I am not sure your royal tailor will be able to make them for you. He ... according to my memories, which for some reason appear to be false, he was hired for his ability to pleat and fit a waistband. He is proficient at kilt making, my lord, and little else."

Main's brows came together and he scowled mightily, tossing the kilt at Jeeves. "Well, do something, Jeeves! /I need pants./ I don't care how you get them. I don't care what color or cut they are. Just get me a pair of breeches that are not too crudely made and cover my legs, and I will be satisfied. Now go!" He pointed at the end of the hall, where a small, narrow dorr led to the servants' stair, a mazy rat's nest of stairways and passages that Jeeves navigated with amazing alacrity and promptness.

Jeeves bowed. "As my lord wishes," he murmered, scuttling smoothly to the door and disappearing invisibly behind it. Main remained in the hall a little longer, breathing a but heavily from his outburst, then shook himself a little, stood straight, and stalked into his own suite again and slammed the door shut.

Main stomped across his sitting room to a couch and threw himself down on it, then stared down at his socks, his mind roiling with anger and bafflement. What mysterious force had taken all his perfectly fine breeches and transmogrified them into the bizarre garments that now filled his wardrobes? And more than that -- this was evidence that the wider reports that had been reaching the capital of KPniceplace were more than superstitious overreaction, but were valid incidents that he now saw needed immediate attention. He briefly ran over his speech for today in his head — originally, he had planned to spout some soothing nonsense and eventually promise nothing, the usual way he responded to queries he did not wish to trouble himself over, but now that he realized the danger was real, perhaps he ought to rouse the people, ending his speech with a rousing promise to look into the problem /personally/. After a brief deliberation, he decided to change the tone of his message only, in order to avoid rousing the people overmuch. He would speak to the people, assure them that the problem would be looked into, and then proceed to delegate the issue until /someone/ caught the miscreant who stole his pants and made him pay. Main brought his right fist into his left hand's open palm, decisively signaling his decision made, then got up and paced his room. What was taking Jeeves so long? Surely he knew that Main was due to speak to the townspeople in under half an hour! Main was unfortunately running late due to the bottle of wine he had soothed his own nerves with the night before. He had woken only an hour before with a demon sent headache and a dry mouth, but luckily the white wine he had had with his breakfast of pastries, exotic imported "zocalatal," freshly caught salmon, ostrich eggs, pomegranates, oranges, bananas, and marzipan subtleties had soothed his headache and even what nerves he had before this address to the city. He had had to take on a firghtful load of resoponsibilities after he had been forced to fire the city's secretary of affairs — the stress preyed on him, but the man's insubordination had been unforgivable. Why, daring to inform /him/, the prince's heir, that he had had enough of Main's parties, mere get togethers with a few friends? Even worse, /demanding/ he stop? The man clearly was drunk on power and needed to be stopped, for the good of the city. But, the unfortunater result of this act of justice on Main's part was that he was forced to take on the responsibilities of the deposed man, on orders from his own father. Main had at first resisted the addition of more duties on top of his weekly lessons in the art of swordfighting, but after realizing that this was a duty only he could do, Main decided to take this job head-on. Of course, it was also his responsibilty to make sure he was in top form and ready for tue the many speeches he waws required to present to the city council and the city at alrge — and wwhat could be wrong with a glass of or two of wine or ale to soothe his nerves and lubricate his throat?

Main paced a little longer, then slammed a fist into the wall in sudden frustration. By Heaven, where /was/ Jeeves? Main muttered to himself as he stalked over to his dressing room, intent upon finding himself some pants if it was the last thing he did. He began to search through his wardrobe, tossing kilt after kilt aside in frustration. The vandals coudn't have taken every single pair of pants he woned! he had over seven hundred and twenty five pairs of pants! He threw so many kilts out of the closets that they began to form a small mountian outside the dressing room on his sitting room floor. after every one of his five wardrobes was emptied of every kilt he could find, Main began to search through his shirts and jackets in despair, hoping desperately that he could find even one pair of breeches or even hose, even though he avoided hose as they were unmanly and out of style anyway. Finally he gave up and sat down on the mountain of kilts ouside his door. As he moped on Kilt Mountain, Jeeves suddenly slid through the door holding the kilt that Main had handed to him when we weren't looking. Oh wait, now we rmember — Main threw them at Jeeves. We actually never saw Jeeves pick them up, though, so the comment still stands. Jeeves stood and stared at Main with a supremely confused expression on his face, then shook his head and handed the kilt back to Main.

"My lord, I am sorry, but as I predicted, it will be impossible to get you a pair of any bifurcated garment. You will be forced to wear this kilt to the speech today. I have prepared a podium on a balcony for you to hide behind, my lord; I hope it will be sufficient."

"That is unacceptable, Jeeves!" Main raged. "Are there no breeches in the castle?"

"None in your size, my lord, and not even ones in close sizes. My lord does not have the time to have my lord's father's pants fitted for him."

Main considered this, then nodded. Considering his father was a half-giant who weighed upwards of five hundred pounds, it would take a power of doing to make even his tightest pair of hose fit. He looked around in desperation, and noticed Jeeves' attire for the first time — a tailored, natty black suit. He twitched two fingers at Jeeves and said imperiously, "Jeeves. Your pants. We're the same size. Give them to me."

Jeeves bowed. "I am sorry, my lord, but that will not be possible. I have not removed this suit in twenty years, and I do not intend to ruin it now. It is a tradition for KPniceplace castle butlers to be sewn into their suits to ensure they fit perfectly. This suit has been washed and laundered with me inside it ever since its sewing. I cannot remove these pants, my lord." He oozed out the door, leaving the kilt behind him. Before he completely disappeared, Jeeves paused and said, "Please put the kilt on, my lord. You have seven minutes."

Main looked at the kilt in absolute dejection, then unhappily slid it on and fastened it at the brooch to the left of his waist. He pulled his socks higher in an attempt to cover more of his legs and pulled on a pair of his best boots, thninking that perhaps his footwear could partially atone for his dreadful kilt. He hung his head and slunk out of his suite door. as he closed it behind, he felt Jeeves fluttering around him, adjusting and straightening his clothing. As he turned back around, preparing to go out and speak, he felt Jeeves forcefully shove a hand in between his hunched shoulder blades, causing him to straighten abruptly. Jeeves narrowed his eyes at Main for a moment, then nodded sharply and steered him to the balcony door. "Go get 'em, my lord," he said, with perfect elocution. Then he shoved Main out the balcony doors and before the crowd.

Main was blinded by the strong sullight and deafened by the crowd's roar of applause. Finally, after an interminable time, his eyes and ears cleared. He went up to the podium and began to speak. "Good citizens of KPniceplace, I have gathered you here today to —"
As he spoke, a strong wind picked up out of nowhere and began to blow through the square where the people were gathered. The walls of the castle made it swirl, and a tornado began to form, picking up leaves, kittens, chickens, and even small people as it picked up speed. Up on the balcony, Main's kilt was caught by a blast of air, plastering the front to his face. Main wrestled it off his face, his cheeks vermilion with shame, and looked down in the square at the screaming people below. He thought their screams of fear were screams of laughter, and began to shake in impotent rage. He stormed off the balcony and back into the hall, screeching for Jeeves.

Jeeves reappeared at his side in seconds. "My lord! What happened? You are so disheveled! And such a great roar outside! Diod the people revolt?"

Main glared ahead. "No, Jeeves. An enemy of mine has sent a freak wind to humiliate me! He must be punished!" Main turned abruptly to Jeeves and said, "Do you know of any enemies of my ... father's realm?"

"Only the Great and Mighty Overlord of the Evil Castle of Doom, my lord, and he was just here for some very successful peace talks —"

"I knew it! His visit was merely a ruse to spread chaos in the realm! I must stop him!" Main posed dramatically in the hallway, the suspense high despite the dampening affect of his disheveled appearance and unmasculine kilt, and said in melodramatic terms, "For myself, my country, and my - the world, I swear revenge on the Great and Mighty Overlord of the Evil Castle of Doom, and all his vassals!" He turned to Jeeves. "Jeeves, have a proclamation posted in every tavern in the city. I need to find an adventuring party. We will stop this man."

CHAPTER 2
>In which Main finds an adventuring party, hires on several colorful characters, and begins the journey of his lifetime as he sets out with his intrepid band to revenge himself upon the Great and Mighty Overlord of the Evil Castle of Doom and all his vassals.<

Main surveyed the ad's takers: a pale gentleman, a pair of elves, an overly muscled brute, a sour-faced, skinny man, and a confused-looking man. "Come," he said, "it is time for the adventure of a lifetime."

Dares Down

2009-10-14T09:12:00.000-07:00

Got all my dares on notecards now! I have a bit of a vague plot - I'll probably put together a little tree showing the vague chronology and organize the cards according to that.

I have officially chosen Main and the Lord of Chaos as my NaNovel! The synopsis is on my profile and everything :D

Intro

2009-10-11T21:50:00.000-07:00

Hello all! (e.g. nobody, but oh well ...) This is my little blogspot specifically for NaNo '09. I'll be posting my words for the day along with whatever random insanity I want to bore you with as soon as November rolls around. Until then, I'll be posting erratically with the status on outlining.

This year, I've just about decided to write a satire/comedy/trippy fantasy pastiching all things RPG and classic fantasy. When Main Character, the heir apparent to a tiny, as-yet-unnamed country, has all his pants transformed into kilts by a visiting Overlord, and is subsequently humiliated as a consequence, he sets out on an epic journey to revenge himself upon this Overlord. Along the way, he acquires an adventuring party by the sheer force of his charisma, including Someone, the adoring elf minstrel, a cutout-toting Librarian, and Lord Squigglebottom Fancypants, the handsome, incontinent vampire. Also starring Gerald, the chain-smoking, monocle and hat wearing lolrus. The best part is I actually have a plot that attempts to explain this all.

This novel would not be possible without the Dares thread in the NaNoWriMo forums. The plot is based on dares from last year's amazing thread.

Right now, outlining is in its nascent stages. I am in the process of putting every dare on a notecard for easy access. It's going ... slowly.