Janet.
Janet...
Rise, Shaman.
With a groan, the woman stirred from her slumber, sitting up and rubbing her eyes open. A glowing sphere floated in front of her. She blinked out the sleep from her eyes before she grumbled, "And good morning to you, Gaea. I hope the poisonous air didn't hinder you much."
Smog does not affect my immaterial form, shaman, Gaea replied, undisturbed by her glare. And it seems that you have arrived here safely, and acquired a position here as historian.
"Yes, somehow," Janet sighed. She got out of bed and hastily threw on a green shirt and a blue skirt before staring at herself in the mirror. "Flattery got me somewhere, and I'm not sure if it's because the Monarch as a giant ego or he has bigger plans."
I would be careful not to reveal your hand of cards, lest you are thrown out. In the best case scenario, I believe.
"And the worst is that my skin gets to be on his wall. Probably an honor when you think about it. Think of how much it'll go for in a thousand years!"
Optimistic, aren't you.
"I try. Now, what brought you here? Because I am half tempted to sock you."
I come bearing news. Soon, I will acquire a material form, and join you as your maid. I trust you have found an ally to aid you, should it come down to fighting.
Janet combed her hair with her fingers before setting it in a braid and tossing it over her shoulder.
"Don't worry," she said confidently, "I've brought my battle fans, and I'll be able to use my powers in battle! No sweat!"
I hope your powers make up for your lack of experience. Last thing we need is a shaman becoming a pincushion to her own Cactus Bombs.
"Worrywart. I'll be perfectly fine! Watch!"
Janet took a deep breath and focused, holding her hands out in front of her. Her hair was whipped up by the winds surrounding her, her shirt lifted up. With a swift, whirling movement, she released it, winds shooting forward...
THUNK. There went the door, flying into the wall. Janet swore that if Gaea had eyes, she would be glaring at her.
You were saying?
Janet stammered, "I-It was an accident! Honest! Used too much power, yeah..."
"I'd hope so, for your sake. The Monarch does not take well to dented walls and dehinged doors."
Janet opened her mouth to retort, ready to shoot Gaea a glare, when she heard the jingling bells behind her. A glance downward and she could see the Court Magician, holding out a tray of pancakes and strawberries, along with a cup of water.
"And good morning to you, Lady Kingston," he greeted properly, with as much of a bow he could make with a tray of food, nevermind being a round, tiny thing. "I wasn't sure what you would like, so I took liberties to make you breakfast." He set the tray aside on the nightstand before looking up at the spirit floating beside his new friend. "...And praytell, what is that?"
Is this Hansel? Oh, this is rich! Wait til the others hear of this!
"Shut it, Gaea," Janet snapped. "Sorry, this is... a friend. Her name is Gaea, after the god that created the planet. She says hi!"
I say that this is absolutely stunning, how a hero has fallen so much to become a creampuff! Ohohoho!
"Gaea!"
It's true... Someone so proud became a-
"Shut up. Sorry, only I can hear him. For reasons."
Hansel turned away from her and sighed, "Perhaps for the best, given how livid you are. No doubt talking about me, I assume."
A drop of sweat slid down Janet's cheek as she thought hard on how to comfort the solemn puff.
"N-no, not like that! I mean, uh, he was just speaking about how you weakened Princess Petra, yes! With how clever you are and... um... your... handsome...ness?"
She forced a smile as best as she could, but Hansel only shook his head.
"So you've read about a Hansel poisoning the princess," he stated. "But none remember him. All remember Peter, for the Princess fell before him after a long battle. And even if they did..." His eyes met with Janet's, forcing her to stop faking her smile and raise an eyebrow instead. There was a moment's hesitation before he said firmly, "Even if they did, I am not he."
An awkward silence filled the room. Janet couldn't think of anything else to say. She couldn't retort him, because she saw no photos of the Hansel that poisoned the Princess. For all she knew, they were two different Hansels. But how likely is it that there are two Hansels as Court Magicians to the nobility? A crazy coincidence! She sat on her bed, pondering this while cramming as many strawberries into her mouth as possible. Can't think on an empty stomach, yes. And she thought and thought and thought...
It was only Hansel who managed to break her away from her thoughts, as he asked, "So, what brought you here to begin with?"
"Hmmm?" Janet replied with a mouth full of strawberries. "Oh that, um, I'm trying to become a historian because nobody ever bothers writing about history and why not do it for here?"
"...You are aware that you are singing the praises of a mad king, yes?"
"Who said I was doing that?"
"He did."
"Oh, that was just flattery! You know, 'Oh, you look so GOOD today, yes, I wish I was wearing what you were wearing! Oh, your personality is just so bright, like the sun, like Apollo on his chariot! Praise be to you' and stuff like that." The shaman shot Hansel a glare. "Did you actually think I was serious?"
The puff flailed his little arms as he stuttered, "I-I, er, um, I... I... you see, uh....m-maybe?"
"Ha! I'd eat dog shit before I mean anything GOOD about the Mo-"
"OI!" a voice boomed, startling the trio. Gaea hid himself within Janet's backpack, while Janet hurried and got her steel fans. "HANSEL, YA TWIT! GET OVER HERE, YA USELESS SACK!"
Janet glanced over to the yellow creampuff, who sighed, "Duty calls, I suppose."
"I'm surprised I can hear him over here."
"Trust me, Lady Kingston... The Monarch is very loud, indeed. But no sense in keeping him waiting..."
As Hansel set off, Janet followed along. Not before getting her notebook and pen, though. There was history to be made!
-----------------------------
"TOOK YA LONG ENOUGH!"
Hansel and Janet bowed before the Monarch, who was grumpily drumming his fingers against the arm of his mechanical throne. And boy, did he look unhappy. Janet was afraid that maybe he had seen the damage she had done, and was about to throw her out into the streets. Or worse.
"MADE ME WAIT WHEN THERE ARE THINGS TO BE MADE!" the Monarch roared. "THINGS TO BE DONE! PRODUCTION IS DROPPING BY THE SECOND BECAUSE PEASANTS CAN'T DO A DAMN THING WITHOUT ME BARKING ORDERS!"
"My deepest apologies, Your Majesty," Hansel said, bowing so much, bells dangled in his face from his hat flopping over. "You shouldn't have waited for a humble servant such as myself."
"YER AS HUMBLE AS MY WIFE FROM 100 YEARS AGO, YA DIMWIT. SHE HAD AN EGO TO RIVAL MINE! WOULD HAVE BEEN A NICE CHANGE OF PACE IF SHE HADN'T TRIED TO TAKE THE KINGDOM FER HERSELF, TRYIN TO POISON ME!"
"Do I want to know how this story ends?" Janet asked.
"I BROKE EVERY SINGLE BONE IN HER BODY BEFORE TOSSING HER INTO A COMPACTOR!"
"Oh." If she wasn't pale before, Janet was as white as a sheet now.
"ANYWAY, I WAITED FOR YOUR SORRY REAR BECAUSE SOME GIT THINKS HE'S HOT STUFF. OVERHEARD HIS LITTLE PLAN FOR WORLD DOMINATION, SAYIN' THAT HE COULD TAKE ME IN A FIGHT. LITTLE COWARD'S TOO CHICKENSHIT TO FACE ME ONE TO ONE, THOUGH, SO I HEAR HE'S BIDIN' HIS TIME, TRYIN' TO TAKE OVER TERRITORIES THAT RIGHTFULLY BELONG TO ME! SAM THE SLICK, HIS NAME WAS. LOWLY VISCOUNT AND HE DREAMS OF RULING."
"And what would you have me do, Your Majesty?" asked the yellow puff.
Janet could have sworn that behind the mask, the Monarch was grinning like a loon.
"YOU SHOULD THANK ME, BECAUSE YOU HAVE THE PERSONAL HONOR OF BEATTING THE STUFFING OUT OF THAT LITTLE GIT FOR ME!" he boomed. "DISMANTLE THE FACTORY I GAVE HIM, AND MAKE SURE HE SCREAMS FOR MUMMY BEFORE YA SLIT HIS SLIMY THROAT, EH? AND LASSIE JANE, MAKE SURE YA RECORD EVERY MOMENT OF IT IN YER BOOKS!"
Janet could hardly stop herself from stammering nonsense. Was he actually doing this? Was he really sending them out to slay one of his own nobles for insubordination? Hansel didn't seem to question it, though. In fact, she was pretty sure that now he was grinning behind that mask.
"Oh, I promise you," the puff assured the mechanical giant, "I'll make him bleed before long."
Wednesday, June 25, 2014
Tuesday, June 24, 2014
The Man History Forgot, Part 2
La Plata. If any man wanted to have the highest cliff you could build a castle on, La Plata was it. It overlooked the smaller towns below it like a king stands over his people, and would be a nice place to view sunsets if the area wasn't covered in smog. In fact, the smog was thickest here, with factories dotting the land below and spewing chemicals into the atmosphere. The La Plata Castle spewed smog as well, as all people knew that the Machina Monarch lived here, and god forbid he didn't have a factory producing materials right under his feet.
Janet wondered if Gaea found it funny that she was sent to the belly of the beast. One moment she was as far away from the factory cities as possible, the only place where greenery could grow without interruption... And now, she was where the Monarch called home, with enough crud in the air to make her cough and wheeze. She only hoped it looked nicer inside than out, because from first glance, the castle just looked like a ton of pipes and steel blocks, with chimneys spewing thick, black fog into the air. Yes, nicer inside would be pleasant...
"Fountains help me," she prayed as she trudged up the hill with nothing but her backpack full of essential items, "as I enter the realm of the mad king, the one who pollutes our planet without remorse. And help Gaea, as I fear I may sock her if he ever has a material form, amen."
The guards glare at her as she approached the doors, but they did not stop her. They simply opened the doors, watching her every move. Janet suspected that they knew that if she was going to cause trouble, she'd find her blood used on a brand new painting. Hopefully it would be used for a well-done painting, she thought to herself. If it ever comes to that.
Entering the castle was almost... blinding. All of the rooms and halls were brightly lit and made of gold. Tons and tons of gold. Chandeliers? Gold. Painting frames? Gold. Toilets? Heaven help anyone who left a permanent stain on it, because it was made out of gold! It made Janet sick. Honestly, where did these nobles get the money to indulge in these silly luxuries? Its not as if peasants like herself could afford the absurd taxes! Did gold just rain from the sky one day?!
Regardless, she could hear the sound of heels tapping against the floors, the whispers and murmurs of nobles as they looked upon the peasant's visage, and the clicks and whirrs of the machinery that worked below. She kept walking forward, unsure if that was the right direction in this giant labyrinth of rooms. She ignored the nobles that spoke harshly of her behind her back. She hoped that she was going the right direction, or else she was going to be really, really embarassed.
After what seemed like an eternity and a half, Janet finally reached the door that led to the Monarch himself, after stopping to ask a more than helpful noble where to go. Her body shook like a tree in a storm with nervousness. The beast himself was behind these double doors, and fountains forbid if she even so much implies the wrong things. With a few deep breaths, she steeled herself for the worst and pushed open the doors...
"WHO DARES?!"
Scared stiff, Janet awkwardly walked on in. This was the only room that was not layered with gold. In fact, it looked more like it was a part of a factory, with giant gears turning and steam shooting out of various pipes, and a furnace right behind the throne. And sitting on that throne was a gargantuan... Janet wasn't sure how to describe it. He was huge and was more machine than man. Was there even a man inside?! No man could ever be 15 feet tall, could they? Goodness, his hand could crush her head like a melon! Her bones were mere toothpicks!
One thing is for certain: the Machina Monarch was a giant oak of pure steel, and Janet was a mere, twiggy sapling.
"WHO DARES?!" he asks again, slamming his fist into the arm of his throne and making the whole room quake.
"I-I-I dare?" Janet stammered, whole body shivering. "I wish to, uh, speak with... with you?"
"THEN GET ON WITH IT, LASSIE. WHAT BUSINESS HAVE YOU WITH I, THE MONARCH OF MACHINES?"
"Oh, uh, I seek... I seek... employment here, yes, I..."
Janet shuddered as the Monarch narrowed his... were those his eyes?
"BOLD, AREN'T YE? NEVER HAD A PEASANT WALK UP TO ME AND ASK. BUT I DON'T NEED NO PEASANTS HERE IN THE CASTLE. I GOT ALL THE PEASANTS I NEED. MAYBE I'LL THINK TO HAVE YA... IF THIS BATCH DECIDES TO UP AND DIE."
"B-but you need me!" she retorted hastily. "I-I mean.. uh... What kind of monarchy doesn't have a historian on hand? Because I have you know, there aren't enough books about how you're changing this planet for the better, yes! Hardly a book about your graciousness!"
The gigas placed his hand upon his chin and stroked it. After a moment, he stood up from his throne- oh, fountains help us, he was much, MUCH bigger than 15 feet- and leaned in dangerously close to the twiggy girl.
"HISTORIAN, YOU SAY?" Janet can't see much behind the mask of metal, but she gets the feeling that he's smirking behind it. "TELL ME, LASSIE... WHAT KIND OF THINGS WOULD YE WRITE?"
Nothing errotic, that's for sure, she thought to herself, but out loud she said, "Oh, wonderous things, about how you came to rule, the changes instilled since your rule, how life has become so much better with your rule..." Her heart sank to her stomach as she spoke. So many lies, but dammit, flattery will get her closer to a job, and a way to end this madness.
The giant stood up straight... and laughed. Laughed and laughed and laughed until the whole room shook. He sat down and giggled a little more before staring down at little Janet.
"HA!" he boomed. "GOOD ONE, YA ARE. FIRST TIME A PEASANT GAVE ME THAT EXCUSE. BUT IF YOU'RE DETERMINED TO DO THAT WHILE HAVING THE HONOR OF LIVING IN MY PALACE... THEN WELCOME ABOARD, LASSIE! REMEMBER, THOUGH..." Janet could feel the venom in his words as the Monarch added, "YOU TRY ANYTHING FUNNY? YOUR SKIN WILL HANG ON MY WALLS."
Janet opened her mouth to speak, but she was interupted as the Monarch boomed, loud as thunder, "HANSEL! HANSEL, GET YOUR REAR HERE!"
----------------------------------
&^#!, Day 30
Another day, another time. Nothing has changed. I still remain caged with the beast that dares to rule. A trying time, for sure. My stay here has made me wish the Princess were still alive, for at least she was not as unbearable as the Monarch himself. Nor as loud. Ugh, I fear that I will eventually go deaf in the Monarch's company, and that won't aid me much, if at all.
On the bright side, I now have access to a wealth of information. The Monarch is at least kind enough to provide me with many books on the schools of magick, as well as the art of swordplay. It almost comes off as a dare, but he and I know that I'm not willing to take the risk quite yet. Eventually, though, I will serve his head on a silver platter...
On the other hand, La Plata, the City of Smog... It is my home now, and that means tollerating all the filth in the air, letting it fill my lungs each and every day. No trees or flowers to even clean it up... Not that they would survive long, given the acidity of the rains. Oh, how my heart yearns to return back to Tinsdale, back to my family... But the chains are set, and I fear I have no way of returning, not until I earn the Monarch's complete and utter trust.
Ugh. The Monarch is such a complete and utter bru-
"HANSEL! HANSEEEEEEL!"
The whole room shook with the Monarch's yelling, books falling off the mohagany desk and pots falling off the windowsill with a loud crash. The author sighed and set aside his quill pen, the bells on his jester cap jingling as he stood up from his chair, picking up his scepter from one of the hooks on the wall. He hurried on out, as there was no sense in keeping the Monarch waiting. Another minute wasted was another excuse for the blasted king to scream about him. No, he had enough screaming for the last few weeks. Any more and he feared he would fall into... into...
Brrr. He didn't want to think about it.
----------------------------
"HANSEL?! BLAST IT, HANSEL!" the Monarch swore, shaking a steel fist in the air. "HE'S NEVER HERE WHEN I CALL HIM THE FIRST TIME! ALL THOSE BOOKS AND HE HASN'T EVEN LEARNED TO TELEPORT WHEN I CALL FOR HIM! BLASTED MAGE!"
"Can't completely blame him," Janet said, in spite of her good judgement. "Teleportation is a tricky art for mages. Like tearing a rift into reality to try to get from one point to another, if I remember correctly. Usually mages end up with their arms lopped off trying to do it the first few times..."
The Monarch fumed, but he said nothing. He, like Janet, waited and waited and waited, until he could hear the distinct jingling of bells.
Now, Janet, when she hears about mages, she imagined them as tall, draped in dark robes, spindly fingers wrapped around an oaken staff. She imagined them as old and wizened, with the knowledge of a million years hidden behind their dark eyes. They would have a sort of aura about them, an aura of power, an aura that scares those of weak will away.
Whatever she imagined, though? It really didn't match up with the first, real life mage she saw. Especially not this one. He was tiny, only reaching her knees. His staff wasn't made of oak, but of black steel with runes carved into it, topped with a purple gem. He wore a jester hat with two branches, one a solid red and one orange with white stars, both topped with golden bells that jingled as he walked. His eyes were a bright yellow and he wore a mask of iron to obscure his face.
To top it all off, Janet was pretty sure that he wasn't human. In fact, she wasn't sure what he is at all. No creature she read about was round and yellow and wore orange shoes, with little nubs for hands.
She turned to the Monarch with her jaw agape and asked, "I...Is that truly the mage you were talking about?"
"WHO ELSE WOULD TAKE THEIR SWEET TIME GETTIN' HERE, LASSIE?" he asked indignantly, steam pouring from his back.
"My apologies, Your Majesty," the thing replied with a tinge of bitterness. "It just so happened that I was in the middle of something."
"I'm sorry," Janet said, taking another glance at the thing and the Monarch, "but, uh... isn't he a bit..."
"ON THE SHORT SIDE? PAH. SIZE DOESN'T MATTER. HIS SKILLS, HOWEVER, DO. MEET MY COURT MAGICIAN, LASSIE. CAME 'ERE JUST A FEW WEEKS AGO, SO HE'S STILL GETTIN' USED TO THE LUXURY, GWAHAHAHA!"
"Ahahaha, um, right. And could you stop calling me lassie? My name is Janet Kingston, I'll have you know!"
"AH, STUFF IT, LASSIE KINGSTON. I CALL EVERYONE LAD 'N LASSIE 'ROUND HERE. 'SCEPT HANSEL, OF COURSE. MORE OF A DOLT THAN A LAD."
"Thank you for the gracious complement, Your Majesty," Janet could hear the so-called dolt grumble.
"ANYWAY, LEAD THE LIL LADY TO HER NEW QUARTERS. SHOULD BE AN EMPTY ROOM THREE DOORS DOWN FROM YER OWN. AND NEITHER OF YOU TRY ANY FUNNY BUSINESS, UNLESS BOTH OF YA WANT TO BE SERVED FER BREAKFAST!"
"Yes, Your Majesty. Lady Kingston, if you would follow me."
Janet followed the yellow thing down the halls, making sure not to wander off anywhere else. The last thing she needed was to get lost in the castle again. The two were silent along the way, although it was more from a lack of things to say than any hostility.
Tired of the silence, the historian asked, "The Monarch's Court Magician? Quite the job you have there, don't you?"
"Perhaps," the thing replied in a bored tone. "If only it had much to do with actually casting spells and whatnot."
"You mean you don't?"
"I mean the title is merely for fluff. I spend more time scrubbing the toilets and cooking repulsive foods than I do spellcasting. Few dare to enter the castle, and those that are defiant are usually crushed into a fine paste by the Monarch himself."
"But... your magic has SOME use, right?"
"He finds me juggling cabbages to be of more use than my magic."
"He expects you to teleport."
"And I expect him to perish sometime soon, but I suppose that won't be happening. Ah, here we are..."
They stopped in front of a plain wooden door, dusty as a door could get. With a wave of his scepter, the dust flew off, and the door creaked open, allowing the two to enter.
The room really wasn't much. Just a plain wooden dresser, a small bed, a small wooden nightstand, a small desk, and an empty bookshelf was in the room. Janet could hardly hide her disappointment. She supposed she felt at home, but it would have been nice if she had a cushier room, for once. With a sigh, she sat on the bed, took off her backpack, and opened it up, setting aside her clothes and books and newspaper clippings and steel fans, as well as her ever-important notebook and pen and...
"Is that a flower pot?" the thing asked, taking a glance at it.
"Never seen one before? Because yes, that is in fact a real life, super duper, honest to goodness clay flower pot, o great magician," Janet replied. She then pulled out a bag of dirt and a bag of fertilizer, along with more pots and flowerseeds. "And these are what go in the pots! And when you water them, this big, green thing grows-"
"Don't speak to me as if I don't know what flowers are!" he snapped, stubby nubs wiggling about.
"I'm sorry, but you were in this place for a few weeks. And you're a noble. Nobles typically don't get to enjoy the outdoors."
The puff snorted, crossing his little nubs as much as he possibly could.
"I wasn't always a noble. I was a peasant once, too."
Janet nearly dropped one of the pots in surprise. He sounded a tad... wistful? And she wasn't sure if she was just imagining it, but she thought he had a distant stare, as if remembering more peaceful days. Unsure of how to reply, she started setting up the pots across the windowsill, planting the seeds and placing her fingers in the dirt.
Before their very eyes, the plants grew into little sprouts. And in an instant, the puff was lifting himself up to the window and staring in awe.
"H-how did you do that?!" he asked, turning to the girl as she worked her magic. "I've never seen anything like it!"
Janet smirked as she replied, "How do you conjure up fireballs, hmmm?"
"But this isn't simple conjuration! It's... It's... "
"Magic!" Janet couldn't help but giggle. "You don't need to know much more than that!"
"Oh."
The shaman regretted saying that, as the little thing turned away, dejected. He began to walk out until Janet called out, "Hey! Can you answer me one little thing, then?"
He turned towards her, awaiting her query.
"What exactly ARE you?"
Blink, blink. A sigh escaped the thing's lips, if he had any.
"A mockery," he answered curtly, and shut the door behind him.
Janet sighed, too, and after she put her clothes away, she laid on her bed and stared at the ceiling.
"That only raises more questions than answers... Hmm... his name was Hansel, wasn't it?"
A lightbulb turns on. The gears begin to turn.
"...Oh. Oh. OOOOOOOOOOH.
...Crap, that was him?!?"
------------------------------
&^#!, Day 30
As I was saying before I was rudely interupted, the Monarch is a brute.
And it seems I have company in the form of a particular Janet Kingston. Only heaven knows what brings her to a damned place such as this, but here she is, just three doors down from this very room. I fear that I have not given her a very good first impression of me... Then again, with this pitiful form, will I ever give a good first impression to anyone? It is not helped with the Monarch's insults grating on my mood.
She is a mysterious one, however. I saw her bring life to plants before my very eyes. Plants, in a place such as this! Not even a blade of grass can grow, either within or outside of these walls. Believe me, I have tried. And yet she makes them grow with such ease, as if they only needed mere encouragement. Such wizardry is beyond my capabilities, and I... I can hardly hold my excitement. I truly, truly wish to know more!
Perhaps I should take note to be kind to her and get to know her better. Maybe then will she open up to me her reasons for coming here, and the reasons behind those miracles she creates.
But what if she doesn't...?
But what if...
But...
...Bah, I need rest, and soon. No good will come out of overthinking things again.
I will say, though... It would be nice to have company to talk to.
Janet wondered if Gaea found it funny that she was sent to the belly of the beast. One moment she was as far away from the factory cities as possible, the only place where greenery could grow without interruption... And now, she was where the Monarch called home, with enough crud in the air to make her cough and wheeze. She only hoped it looked nicer inside than out, because from first glance, the castle just looked like a ton of pipes and steel blocks, with chimneys spewing thick, black fog into the air. Yes, nicer inside would be pleasant...
"Fountains help me," she prayed as she trudged up the hill with nothing but her backpack full of essential items, "as I enter the realm of the mad king, the one who pollutes our planet without remorse. And help Gaea, as I fear I may sock her if he ever has a material form, amen."
The guards glare at her as she approached the doors, but they did not stop her. They simply opened the doors, watching her every move. Janet suspected that they knew that if she was going to cause trouble, she'd find her blood used on a brand new painting. Hopefully it would be used for a well-done painting, she thought to herself. If it ever comes to that.
Entering the castle was almost... blinding. All of the rooms and halls were brightly lit and made of gold. Tons and tons of gold. Chandeliers? Gold. Painting frames? Gold. Toilets? Heaven help anyone who left a permanent stain on it, because it was made out of gold! It made Janet sick. Honestly, where did these nobles get the money to indulge in these silly luxuries? Its not as if peasants like herself could afford the absurd taxes! Did gold just rain from the sky one day?!
Regardless, she could hear the sound of heels tapping against the floors, the whispers and murmurs of nobles as they looked upon the peasant's visage, and the clicks and whirrs of the machinery that worked below. She kept walking forward, unsure if that was the right direction in this giant labyrinth of rooms. She ignored the nobles that spoke harshly of her behind her back. She hoped that she was going the right direction, or else she was going to be really, really embarassed.
After what seemed like an eternity and a half, Janet finally reached the door that led to the Monarch himself, after stopping to ask a more than helpful noble where to go. Her body shook like a tree in a storm with nervousness. The beast himself was behind these double doors, and fountains forbid if she even so much implies the wrong things. With a few deep breaths, she steeled herself for the worst and pushed open the doors...
"WHO DARES?!"
Scared stiff, Janet awkwardly walked on in. This was the only room that was not layered with gold. In fact, it looked more like it was a part of a factory, with giant gears turning and steam shooting out of various pipes, and a furnace right behind the throne. And sitting on that throne was a gargantuan... Janet wasn't sure how to describe it. He was huge and was more machine than man. Was there even a man inside?! No man could ever be 15 feet tall, could they? Goodness, his hand could crush her head like a melon! Her bones were mere toothpicks!
One thing is for certain: the Machina Monarch was a giant oak of pure steel, and Janet was a mere, twiggy sapling.
"WHO DARES?!" he asks again, slamming his fist into the arm of his throne and making the whole room quake.
"I-I-I dare?" Janet stammered, whole body shivering. "I wish to, uh, speak with... with you?"
"THEN GET ON WITH IT, LASSIE. WHAT BUSINESS HAVE YOU WITH I, THE MONARCH OF MACHINES?"
"Oh, uh, I seek... I seek... employment here, yes, I..."
Janet shuddered as the Monarch narrowed his... were those his eyes?
"BOLD, AREN'T YE? NEVER HAD A PEASANT WALK UP TO ME AND ASK. BUT I DON'T NEED NO PEASANTS HERE IN THE CASTLE. I GOT ALL THE PEASANTS I NEED. MAYBE I'LL THINK TO HAVE YA... IF THIS BATCH DECIDES TO UP AND DIE."
"B-but you need me!" she retorted hastily. "I-I mean.. uh... What kind of monarchy doesn't have a historian on hand? Because I have you know, there aren't enough books about how you're changing this planet for the better, yes! Hardly a book about your graciousness!"
The gigas placed his hand upon his chin and stroked it. After a moment, he stood up from his throne- oh, fountains help us, he was much, MUCH bigger than 15 feet- and leaned in dangerously close to the twiggy girl.
"HISTORIAN, YOU SAY?" Janet can't see much behind the mask of metal, but she gets the feeling that he's smirking behind it. "TELL ME, LASSIE... WHAT KIND OF THINGS WOULD YE WRITE?"
Nothing errotic, that's for sure, she thought to herself, but out loud she said, "Oh, wonderous things, about how you came to rule, the changes instilled since your rule, how life has become so much better with your rule..." Her heart sank to her stomach as she spoke. So many lies, but dammit, flattery will get her closer to a job, and a way to end this madness.
The giant stood up straight... and laughed. Laughed and laughed and laughed until the whole room shook. He sat down and giggled a little more before staring down at little Janet.
"HA!" he boomed. "GOOD ONE, YA ARE. FIRST TIME A PEASANT GAVE ME THAT EXCUSE. BUT IF YOU'RE DETERMINED TO DO THAT WHILE HAVING THE HONOR OF LIVING IN MY PALACE... THEN WELCOME ABOARD, LASSIE! REMEMBER, THOUGH..." Janet could feel the venom in his words as the Monarch added, "YOU TRY ANYTHING FUNNY? YOUR SKIN WILL HANG ON MY WALLS."
Janet opened her mouth to speak, but she was interupted as the Monarch boomed, loud as thunder, "HANSEL! HANSEL, GET YOUR REAR HERE!"
----------------------------------
&^#!, Day 30
Another day, another time. Nothing has changed. I still remain caged with the beast that dares to rule. A trying time, for sure. My stay here has made me wish the Princess were still alive, for at least she was not as unbearable as the Monarch himself. Nor as loud. Ugh, I fear that I will eventually go deaf in the Monarch's company, and that won't aid me much, if at all.
On the bright side, I now have access to a wealth of information. The Monarch is at least kind enough to provide me with many books on the schools of magick, as well as the art of swordplay. It almost comes off as a dare, but he and I know that I'm not willing to take the risk quite yet. Eventually, though, I will serve his head on a silver platter...
On the other hand, La Plata, the City of Smog... It is my home now, and that means tollerating all the filth in the air, letting it fill my lungs each and every day. No trees or flowers to even clean it up... Not that they would survive long, given the acidity of the rains. Oh, how my heart yearns to return back to Tinsdale, back to my family... But the chains are set, and I fear I have no way of returning, not until I earn the Monarch's complete and utter trust.
Ugh. The Monarch is such a complete and utter bru-
"HANSEL! HANSEEEEEEL!"
The whole room shook with the Monarch's yelling, books falling off the mohagany desk and pots falling off the windowsill with a loud crash. The author sighed and set aside his quill pen, the bells on his jester cap jingling as he stood up from his chair, picking up his scepter from one of the hooks on the wall. He hurried on out, as there was no sense in keeping the Monarch waiting. Another minute wasted was another excuse for the blasted king to scream about him. No, he had enough screaming for the last few weeks. Any more and he feared he would fall into... into...
Brrr. He didn't want to think about it.
----------------------------
"HANSEL?! BLAST IT, HANSEL!" the Monarch swore, shaking a steel fist in the air. "HE'S NEVER HERE WHEN I CALL HIM THE FIRST TIME! ALL THOSE BOOKS AND HE HASN'T EVEN LEARNED TO TELEPORT WHEN I CALL FOR HIM! BLASTED MAGE!"
"Can't completely blame him," Janet said, in spite of her good judgement. "Teleportation is a tricky art for mages. Like tearing a rift into reality to try to get from one point to another, if I remember correctly. Usually mages end up with their arms lopped off trying to do it the first few times..."
The Monarch fumed, but he said nothing. He, like Janet, waited and waited and waited, until he could hear the distinct jingling of bells.
Now, Janet, when she hears about mages, she imagined them as tall, draped in dark robes, spindly fingers wrapped around an oaken staff. She imagined them as old and wizened, with the knowledge of a million years hidden behind their dark eyes. They would have a sort of aura about them, an aura of power, an aura that scares those of weak will away.
Whatever she imagined, though? It really didn't match up with the first, real life mage she saw. Especially not this one. He was tiny, only reaching her knees. His staff wasn't made of oak, but of black steel with runes carved into it, topped with a purple gem. He wore a jester hat with two branches, one a solid red and one orange with white stars, both topped with golden bells that jingled as he walked. His eyes were a bright yellow and he wore a mask of iron to obscure his face.
To top it all off, Janet was pretty sure that he wasn't human. In fact, she wasn't sure what he is at all. No creature she read about was round and yellow and wore orange shoes, with little nubs for hands.
She turned to the Monarch with her jaw agape and asked, "I...Is that truly the mage you were talking about?"
"WHO ELSE WOULD TAKE THEIR SWEET TIME GETTIN' HERE, LASSIE?" he asked indignantly, steam pouring from his back.
"My apologies, Your Majesty," the thing replied with a tinge of bitterness. "It just so happened that I was in the middle of something."
"I'm sorry," Janet said, taking another glance at the thing and the Monarch, "but, uh... isn't he a bit..."
"ON THE SHORT SIDE? PAH. SIZE DOESN'T MATTER. HIS SKILLS, HOWEVER, DO. MEET MY COURT MAGICIAN, LASSIE. CAME 'ERE JUST A FEW WEEKS AGO, SO HE'S STILL GETTIN' USED TO THE LUXURY, GWAHAHAHA!"
"Ahahaha, um, right. And could you stop calling me lassie? My name is Janet Kingston, I'll have you know!"
"AH, STUFF IT, LASSIE KINGSTON. I CALL EVERYONE LAD 'N LASSIE 'ROUND HERE. 'SCEPT HANSEL, OF COURSE. MORE OF A DOLT THAN A LAD."
"Thank you for the gracious complement, Your Majesty," Janet could hear the so-called dolt grumble.
"ANYWAY, LEAD THE LIL LADY TO HER NEW QUARTERS. SHOULD BE AN EMPTY ROOM THREE DOORS DOWN FROM YER OWN. AND NEITHER OF YOU TRY ANY FUNNY BUSINESS, UNLESS BOTH OF YA WANT TO BE SERVED FER BREAKFAST!"
"Yes, Your Majesty. Lady Kingston, if you would follow me."
Janet followed the yellow thing down the halls, making sure not to wander off anywhere else. The last thing she needed was to get lost in the castle again. The two were silent along the way, although it was more from a lack of things to say than any hostility.
Tired of the silence, the historian asked, "The Monarch's Court Magician? Quite the job you have there, don't you?"
"Perhaps," the thing replied in a bored tone. "If only it had much to do with actually casting spells and whatnot."
"You mean you don't?"
"I mean the title is merely for fluff. I spend more time scrubbing the toilets and cooking repulsive foods than I do spellcasting. Few dare to enter the castle, and those that are defiant are usually crushed into a fine paste by the Monarch himself."
"But... your magic has SOME use, right?"
"He finds me juggling cabbages to be of more use than my magic."
"He expects you to teleport."
"And I expect him to perish sometime soon, but I suppose that won't be happening. Ah, here we are..."
They stopped in front of a plain wooden door, dusty as a door could get. With a wave of his scepter, the dust flew off, and the door creaked open, allowing the two to enter.
The room really wasn't much. Just a plain wooden dresser, a small bed, a small wooden nightstand, a small desk, and an empty bookshelf was in the room. Janet could hardly hide her disappointment. She supposed she felt at home, but it would have been nice if she had a cushier room, for once. With a sigh, she sat on the bed, took off her backpack, and opened it up, setting aside her clothes and books and newspaper clippings and steel fans, as well as her ever-important notebook and pen and...
"Is that a flower pot?" the thing asked, taking a glance at it.
"Never seen one before? Because yes, that is in fact a real life, super duper, honest to goodness clay flower pot, o great magician," Janet replied. She then pulled out a bag of dirt and a bag of fertilizer, along with more pots and flowerseeds. "And these are what go in the pots! And when you water them, this big, green thing grows-"
"Don't speak to me as if I don't know what flowers are!" he snapped, stubby nubs wiggling about.
"I'm sorry, but you were in this place for a few weeks. And you're a noble. Nobles typically don't get to enjoy the outdoors."
The puff snorted, crossing his little nubs as much as he possibly could.
"I wasn't always a noble. I was a peasant once, too."
Janet nearly dropped one of the pots in surprise. He sounded a tad... wistful? And she wasn't sure if she was just imagining it, but she thought he had a distant stare, as if remembering more peaceful days. Unsure of how to reply, she started setting up the pots across the windowsill, planting the seeds and placing her fingers in the dirt.
Before their very eyes, the plants grew into little sprouts. And in an instant, the puff was lifting himself up to the window and staring in awe.
"H-how did you do that?!" he asked, turning to the girl as she worked her magic. "I've never seen anything like it!"
Janet smirked as she replied, "How do you conjure up fireballs, hmmm?"
"But this isn't simple conjuration! It's... It's... "
"Magic!" Janet couldn't help but giggle. "You don't need to know much more than that!"
"Oh."
The shaman regretted saying that, as the little thing turned away, dejected. He began to walk out until Janet called out, "Hey! Can you answer me one little thing, then?"
He turned towards her, awaiting her query.
"What exactly ARE you?"
Blink, blink. A sigh escaped the thing's lips, if he had any.
"A mockery," he answered curtly, and shut the door behind him.
Janet sighed, too, and after she put her clothes away, she laid on her bed and stared at the ceiling.
"That only raises more questions than answers... Hmm... his name was Hansel, wasn't it?"
A lightbulb turns on. The gears begin to turn.
"...Oh. Oh. OOOOOOOOOOH.
...Crap, that was him?!?"
------------------------------
&^#!, Day 30
As I was saying before I was rudely interupted, the Monarch is a brute.
And it seems I have company in the form of a particular Janet Kingston. Only heaven knows what brings her to a damned place such as this, but here she is, just three doors down from this very room. I fear that I have not given her a very good first impression of me... Then again, with this pitiful form, will I ever give a good first impression to anyone? It is not helped with the Monarch's insults grating on my mood.
She is a mysterious one, however. I saw her bring life to plants before my very eyes. Plants, in a place such as this! Not even a blade of grass can grow, either within or outside of these walls. Believe me, I have tried. And yet she makes them grow with such ease, as if they only needed mere encouragement. Such wizardry is beyond my capabilities, and I... I can hardly hold my excitement. I truly, truly wish to know more!
Perhaps I should take note to be kind to her and get to know her better. Maybe then will she open up to me her reasons for coming here, and the reasons behind those miracles she creates.
But what if she doesn't...?
But what if...
But...
...Bah, I need rest, and soon. No good will come out of overthinking things again.
I will say, though... It would be nice to have company to talk to.
Monday, June 23, 2014
The Man History Forgot, Part 1
&^#!, Day 10
Time ticks slowly as it counts down to Princess Pollution's doom. I feel no sympathy for her, even now as the pain, caused by years and years of neglect on her own mostly mechanical body sinks in. Her gears have rusted and turn slowly, if even at all. The pain from rust and uncleaned grime is starting to wear on her. What doesn't affect her machinery, affects her husk of a human body. She barely notices how the poisons have affected her... but surely, it is there.
I have awaited this for a long time now, ever since she saw me as a threat and forced a dog's collar around my neck, chains around my wrists and ankles. I waited and waited as I slowly earned her trust and became her advisor in more... medical matters. Perhaps she forgot she saw an enemy in me. Perhaps she didn't think I had the guts to poison her as I pretended to give her medicine. Perhaps she actually knew, and planned on dragging my soul down with her.
Regardless, time marches on. She will regret doing harm to my town, to my country, to OUR planet. She will regret the moment she sold her soul to the Monarch over some mechanical auguments and a several dozen countries to rule. She will regret pouring sludge into our rivers and smog into our air. She will find that no amount of wealth, nor knights nor auguments, will save her from the judgement the Nether has in store for her.
And I hope that I will be the one to send her on her way to the River Styx.
&^#!, Day 17
I... I...
...I can baaarrelllye rite
what happened
thththe monarcharch he
was sudden just whisked
heard news of ch-childa onece aagin
almost died but princcesas
sssomehow
SOMEHOW
he... he...
--------------------------------
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Time marches on, caring little for the world of Mondor. The world was a land of eternal smog, puffs of foul mixtures coughed up by the many factories that lined the surface. Clearly, the Machina Monarch cared little for environmentally friendly things. He cared only for efficiency. Quality AND quantity. He didn't care how many trees he had to cut or how many tons of waste he had to dump in the drinking water, he would have his factories. He would have his forced industrialization, forcing the peasantry out of their farming jobs and into slave labor, where it was rare where they even had someone that gave them more than a couple coppers. He would get his grubby hands on everything and anything he could have, even if that meant putting it under a fellow noble's name.
The world was his, the environment be damned. Let those heroes come and try to take it from him. He will crush them like their ancestors prior. The neverending cycle of defeat.
And one day... the Fountains would be his, too.
-------------------------
"Did you hear? A six year old defeated the Pollution Princess!"
"Did he now? Hard to believe, but I guess this destined hero thing is true!"
"Man, that Peter boy got some prospects before him! He'll save Mondor, fer sure!"
Rumors floated about in the small town of Bloomington, as men and women alike went about their busy day. It was odd how the sun shined down on them, piercing through the clouds of smog and greeting the green, green town. The villagers would be proud to say that they were one of the few towns that was able to stick to their roots, because none of those machina guys paid them a visit. Farming was a huge priority here, as they were the center of agriculture for those cities that weren't so lucky. They were never out of work, and they were damn glad for that! None of that stuffy factory business, no sirree!
Listening to these rumors was a young lady, black braid of hair tossed over her shoulder as she put pen to paper.
"Peter of Tinsdale, aged six as of now, weakened the Princess of Pollution, hereinafter named Petra, and watched as she choked on her own blood, endquote."
She took a look at what she wrote and frowned, crossing it out hastily and scrunching up her nose.
"No, no... Young Boy Slays Petra for Peace of Mind!"
Scrrriiiitch.
"Ugh... How about 'SUPER CHILD DISMANTLES DAME OF DESTRUCTION'- Wait, that's a completely different noble, darn!"
She rips out the paper entirely, crushes it into a ball, and tosses it in a bucket full of other paper balls. With a groan, she flops over into the grass, staring at the mostly grayish-blue skies.
"Nothing sounds right," she complained, wiping the sweat off her brow. "And all this based on rumors rather than fact! If I want to eventually become a historian, this won't do! I'm not a gossip bookwriter."
She rolls over onto her side, at the expense of getting dirt all over her green dress.
"But everybody is claiming it as truth. A six year old went and offed Petra. Petra, a ruthless princess who always thought one step ahead. Petra, who had millions of bodyguards. Petra, who... supposedly started getting sick a year or two ago, hold on..."
The girl stood up and dusted herself off before running into a small little library and pulling up one of the archived newspapers. She thanked the heavens that someone cared enough to keep this on record. It's not like anybody really cared about history these days, at least not in this village. Sure, they had their little festivals about the First Founding and First Blooming and the traditional Stuff Yourself Silly contest on the first day of summer, as well as the Fountain Choosing, but aside from that, you don't really hear anybody talk about the old wars, the old heroes, or anything, really. It's just a hot topic for a day or two at most before poof, it's all gone.
As she took the pile of papers back outside, she wished that maybe others would care about their heritage and history a little more. She'd have to work hard and study up on becoming a historian, though. She would record every last hero, every last event, or her name wasn't Janet Kingston!
Janet opened up the bundles of papers and scanned through them.
"'Farmer Ernie won contest for Best Pet $%!* 2012', 'Sid the Sluggish complains of back pains, 'Lady Nadia claims to have the 'biggest bundle' a woman could ever have, much to the jealousy of the court...' Aha! 'Petra Ill? Pollution Princess Complains of Pains.' "
Giggling like mad, the reporter takes notes on the article.
"Okay, she said the pains started earlier... then she started feeling more and more tired as the year went on. Peter would have been..."
She counts on her fingers and stares.
"...Five. So uh, he was still burbbling and playing with plastic, I think."
She wraps a finger around a blade of grass and holds it tight. The grass began to grow, grow, grow, until it was long enough to wrap around the length of her arm. She takes a look at the other articles from later on in the year, hoping to find some sort of pattern.
"This here talks about her pains getting worse, but not much else... bah. This one talks about how she developed some nasty coughs... Eh. Oooh, this one!" She places her finger on an article that was rather small, as if it were an afterthought. She was convinced she struck gold, though.
"Petra started consulting her Court Magician, Hansel Rivendale, for help," the reporter told herself excitedly, laying down on her back and wriggling her feet in the air. "He agreed, and that was history! Then she started getting more ill and now she keeled over to that Peter kid! So if you take in all the facts together..."
She picked up her notebook and pen, scribbling down her notes as a grin spread across her face. When it all came together, she jumped to her feet, swinging her notebook round and round.
"Peter couldn't have possibly done this on his own, especially if he was six! Petra was poisoned, so he had an advantage! And who better to poison her than her medical advisor, Hansel?"
Villagers stopped their business to stare at her like she was crazy. They exchanged glances and made gestures to suggest that maybe she flew off her rocker. Only one was bold enough to face her: a young man with big, buck teeth and scraggly brown hair.
"That's where yer wrong, Janey!" he said with a smirk. "It had to be young lil' Peter doin' the work! Princess died at his feet!"
Janet glared at the man and retorted, "If your wife died at your feet, does that mean you killed her? I'd hope not, because you'd be strung up like a hog."
"That don't mean nothin'! Lil Pete's the chosen one! Who else coulda done it?"
"Oh, I don't know... someone else who hated her guts? Like her court magician, Hansel?"
"Hans-wut?"
More stares. Janet's cheeks flushed red. She was getting nowhere, fast. She had to take a different route...
"Do you have any solid proof that Peter, a six year old and probably a novice at fighting a slime, nevermind a Princess who was known for being ruthless, actually did it?" she asked, smirking right back. That would take care of it!
Silence. The man turned to the other villagers and they whispered among themselves before he turned back towards the historian.
"The Prophecy, 'o course!" he replied. The crowd repeated it like a bunch of parrots.
There went her ace in the hole. Annoyed, Janet stormed off, leaving the crowd to babble on and on about the prophecy.
----------------
"Nobody will listen."
Janet sat far, far away from the village. In fact, she sat on the edge of a fountain, standing high above the clouds, aura-like waters flowing from its spout. Her feet dangled off the edge, kicking up cloud puffs as she drummed her fingers on her cheek.
"Nobody will listen," she repeated. "The facts, however small they are, are right there... Whoever heard of a six year old defeating a princess?"
They have, of course, a disembodied voice replied helpfully.
"Yeah, but it's from this Prophecy... how do we know if it's really true? For all we know, the Princess dying at his feet could have been a coincidence."
Perhaps. But they believe. And belief makes it true to them.
"I wish I could believe their little fantasy. Oh yes, would be quite nice for a child to slay half the continent's troubles."
He has slain a few kings. Not very gracefully, but it was done. He has quite some courage and power... traits of a hero.
"But he wasn't responsible for this feat of heroism!" she yelled, spit flying from her lips. "No child could ever get close to the Princess to poison her and weaken her enough for the final blow! He probably doesn't even know what poison is! Besides, poison, in a kid's eyes, probably isn't a very heroic way of killing a villain!"
How unbecoming of you, Fountain Shaman. I thought you were more cool-headed than this.
With a few deep breaths, the woman calmed herself, letting the rage flow right out of her. She sighed, resting her hands on her chin, disappointed.
"It's just so sad, that everybody's so convinced a kid won the day. Yes, he did, but not without help. And that help isn't being recognized."
History is written by the victors. And the victors remember no such name as Hansel Rivendale.
"Thank you kindly, Gaea," she replied bitterly. "I'll be sure to remember that. Now, though... does he have any intention of doing anything else that's remotely heroic?"
To my knowledge, no. He is currently celebrating with his family. Troy reports more factories being built and the Monarch intending to replace the late Petra with another princess within the next few years.
The woman grit her teeth.
"I can't just sit here and let this happen, can I? My abilities are going to waste here, especially since the area is doing well on its own. It's better if I can use them to revitalize an area that's half rotted or something! Gaea, can't you please give me an idea of where to go?"
The spirit was silent as could be. Silent for several minutes. Janet held her hands together and waited with baited breath.
And thus, the spirit Gaea finally spoke, There is one place where your aid would be needed.
And she whispered it in the shaman's ear, her plan.
Janet's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets from shock.
"You want me to WHAT?!?"
Time ticks slowly as it counts down to Princess Pollution's doom. I feel no sympathy for her, even now as the pain, caused by years and years of neglect on her own mostly mechanical body sinks in. Her gears have rusted and turn slowly, if even at all. The pain from rust and uncleaned grime is starting to wear on her. What doesn't affect her machinery, affects her husk of a human body. She barely notices how the poisons have affected her... but surely, it is there.
I have awaited this for a long time now, ever since she saw me as a threat and forced a dog's collar around my neck, chains around my wrists and ankles. I waited and waited as I slowly earned her trust and became her advisor in more... medical matters. Perhaps she forgot she saw an enemy in me. Perhaps she didn't think I had the guts to poison her as I pretended to give her medicine. Perhaps she actually knew, and planned on dragging my soul down with her.
Regardless, time marches on. She will regret doing harm to my town, to my country, to OUR planet. She will regret the moment she sold her soul to the Monarch over some mechanical auguments and a several dozen countries to rule. She will regret pouring sludge into our rivers and smog into our air. She will find that no amount of wealth, nor knights nor auguments, will save her from the judgement the Nether has in store for her.
And I hope that I will be the one to send her on her way to the River Styx.
&^#!, Day 17
I... I...
...I can baaarrelllye rite
what happened
thththe monarcharch he
was sudden just whisked
heard news of ch-childa onece aagin
almost died but princcesas
sssomehow
SOMEHOW
he... he...
--------------------------------
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Time marches on, caring little for the world of Mondor. The world was a land of eternal smog, puffs of foul mixtures coughed up by the many factories that lined the surface. Clearly, the Machina Monarch cared little for environmentally friendly things. He cared only for efficiency. Quality AND quantity. He didn't care how many trees he had to cut or how many tons of waste he had to dump in the drinking water, he would have his factories. He would have his forced industrialization, forcing the peasantry out of their farming jobs and into slave labor, where it was rare where they even had someone that gave them more than a couple coppers. He would get his grubby hands on everything and anything he could have, even if that meant putting it under a fellow noble's name.
The world was his, the environment be damned. Let those heroes come and try to take it from him. He will crush them like their ancestors prior. The neverending cycle of defeat.
And one day... the Fountains would be his, too.
-------------------------
"Did you hear? A six year old defeated the Pollution Princess!"
"Did he now? Hard to believe, but I guess this destined hero thing is true!"
"Man, that Peter boy got some prospects before him! He'll save Mondor, fer sure!"
Rumors floated about in the small town of Bloomington, as men and women alike went about their busy day. It was odd how the sun shined down on them, piercing through the clouds of smog and greeting the green, green town. The villagers would be proud to say that they were one of the few towns that was able to stick to their roots, because none of those machina guys paid them a visit. Farming was a huge priority here, as they were the center of agriculture for those cities that weren't so lucky. They were never out of work, and they were damn glad for that! None of that stuffy factory business, no sirree!
Listening to these rumors was a young lady, black braid of hair tossed over her shoulder as she put pen to paper.
"Peter of Tinsdale, aged six as of now, weakened the Princess of Pollution, hereinafter named Petra, and watched as she choked on her own blood, endquote."
She took a look at what she wrote and frowned, crossing it out hastily and scrunching up her nose.
"No, no... Young Boy Slays Petra for Peace of Mind!"
Scrrriiiitch.
"Ugh... How about 'SUPER CHILD DISMANTLES DAME OF DESTRUCTION'- Wait, that's a completely different noble, darn!"
She rips out the paper entirely, crushes it into a ball, and tosses it in a bucket full of other paper balls. With a groan, she flops over into the grass, staring at the mostly grayish-blue skies.
"Nothing sounds right," she complained, wiping the sweat off her brow. "And all this based on rumors rather than fact! If I want to eventually become a historian, this won't do! I'm not a gossip bookwriter."
She rolls over onto her side, at the expense of getting dirt all over her green dress.
"But everybody is claiming it as truth. A six year old went and offed Petra. Petra, a ruthless princess who always thought one step ahead. Petra, who had millions of bodyguards. Petra, who... supposedly started getting sick a year or two ago, hold on..."
The girl stood up and dusted herself off before running into a small little library and pulling up one of the archived newspapers. She thanked the heavens that someone cared enough to keep this on record. It's not like anybody really cared about history these days, at least not in this village. Sure, they had their little festivals about the First Founding and First Blooming and the traditional Stuff Yourself Silly contest on the first day of summer, as well as the Fountain Choosing, but aside from that, you don't really hear anybody talk about the old wars, the old heroes, or anything, really. It's just a hot topic for a day or two at most before poof, it's all gone.
As she took the pile of papers back outside, she wished that maybe others would care about their heritage and history a little more. She'd have to work hard and study up on becoming a historian, though. She would record every last hero, every last event, or her name wasn't Janet Kingston!
Janet opened up the bundles of papers and scanned through them.
"'Farmer Ernie won contest for Best Pet $%!* 2012', 'Sid the Sluggish complains of back pains, 'Lady Nadia claims to have the 'biggest bundle' a woman could ever have, much to the jealousy of the court...' Aha! 'Petra Ill? Pollution Princess Complains of Pains.' "
Giggling like mad, the reporter takes notes on the article.
"Okay, she said the pains started earlier... then she started feeling more and more tired as the year went on. Peter would have been..."
She counts on her fingers and stares.
"...Five. So uh, he was still burbbling and playing with plastic, I think."
She wraps a finger around a blade of grass and holds it tight. The grass began to grow, grow, grow, until it was long enough to wrap around the length of her arm. She takes a look at the other articles from later on in the year, hoping to find some sort of pattern.
"This here talks about her pains getting worse, but not much else... bah. This one talks about how she developed some nasty coughs... Eh. Oooh, this one!" She places her finger on an article that was rather small, as if it were an afterthought. She was convinced she struck gold, though.
"Petra started consulting her Court Magician, Hansel Rivendale, for help," the reporter told herself excitedly, laying down on her back and wriggling her feet in the air. "He agreed, and that was history! Then she started getting more ill and now she keeled over to that Peter kid! So if you take in all the facts together..."
She picked up her notebook and pen, scribbling down her notes as a grin spread across her face. When it all came together, she jumped to her feet, swinging her notebook round and round.
"Peter couldn't have possibly done this on his own, especially if he was six! Petra was poisoned, so he had an advantage! And who better to poison her than her medical advisor, Hansel?"
Villagers stopped their business to stare at her like she was crazy. They exchanged glances and made gestures to suggest that maybe she flew off her rocker. Only one was bold enough to face her: a young man with big, buck teeth and scraggly brown hair.
"That's where yer wrong, Janey!" he said with a smirk. "It had to be young lil' Peter doin' the work! Princess died at his feet!"
Janet glared at the man and retorted, "If your wife died at your feet, does that mean you killed her? I'd hope not, because you'd be strung up like a hog."
"That don't mean nothin'! Lil Pete's the chosen one! Who else coulda done it?"
"Oh, I don't know... someone else who hated her guts? Like her court magician, Hansel?"
"Hans-wut?"
More stares. Janet's cheeks flushed red. She was getting nowhere, fast. She had to take a different route...
"Do you have any solid proof that Peter, a six year old and probably a novice at fighting a slime, nevermind a Princess who was known for being ruthless, actually did it?" she asked, smirking right back. That would take care of it!
Silence. The man turned to the other villagers and they whispered among themselves before he turned back towards the historian.
"The Prophecy, 'o course!" he replied. The crowd repeated it like a bunch of parrots.
There went her ace in the hole. Annoyed, Janet stormed off, leaving the crowd to babble on and on about the prophecy.
----------------
"Nobody will listen."
Janet sat far, far away from the village. In fact, she sat on the edge of a fountain, standing high above the clouds, aura-like waters flowing from its spout. Her feet dangled off the edge, kicking up cloud puffs as she drummed her fingers on her cheek.
"Nobody will listen," she repeated. "The facts, however small they are, are right there... Whoever heard of a six year old defeating a princess?"
They have, of course, a disembodied voice replied helpfully.
"Yeah, but it's from this Prophecy... how do we know if it's really true? For all we know, the Princess dying at his feet could have been a coincidence."
Perhaps. But they believe. And belief makes it true to them.
"I wish I could believe their little fantasy. Oh yes, would be quite nice for a child to slay half the continent's troubles."
He has slain a few kings. Not very gracefully, but it was done. He has quite some courage and power... traits of a hero.
"But he wasn't responsible for this feat of heroism!" she yelled, spit flying from her lips. "No child could ever get close to the Princess to poison her and weaken her enough for the final blow! He probably doesn't even know what poison is! Besides, poison, in a kid's eyes, probably isn't a very heroic way of killing a villain!"
How unbecoming of you, Fountain Shaman. I thought you were more cool-headed than this.
With a few deep breaths, the woman calmed herself, letting the rage flow right out of her. She sighed, resting her hands on her chin, disappointed.
"It's just so sad, that everybody's so convinced a kid won the day. Yes, he did, but not without help. And that help isn't being recognized."
History is written by the victors. And the victors remember no such name as Hansel Rivendale.
"Thank you kindly, Gaea," she replied bitterly. "I'll be sure to remember that. Now, though... does he have any intention of doing anything else that's remotely heroic?"
To my knowledge, no. He is currently celebrating with his family. Troy reports more factories being built and the Monarch intending to replace the late Petra with another princess within the next few years.
The woman grit her teeth.
"I can't just sit here and let this happen, can I? My abilities are going to waste here, especially since the area is doing well on its own. It's better if I can use them to revitalize an area that's half rotted or something! Gaea, can't you please give me an idea of where to go?"
The spirit was silent as could be. Silent for several minutes. Janet held her hands together and waited with baited breath.
And thus, the spirit Gaea finally spoke, There is one place where your aid would be needed.
And she whispered it in the shaman's ear, her plan.
Janet's eyes nearly popped out of their sockets from shock.
"You want me to WHAT?!?"
Monday, June 2, 2014
Diary of Sir Hansel, !?*$, 30
The days fly by like birds soaring on the winds. The world is oddly at peace. The weekends are the only days where the factories slow their production, if not outright stop. Perhaps the Machina Monarch knows that if he (or she. I have not gotten a good look at their face) pollutes too much, too fast, there would be less resources to gather in the long run, such as wood and crops. Plants do not grow well when watered with sludge, and perhaps he has noticed.
My mailbox was stuffed with letters from friends and family, all worried for my well being. Among them was Lady Runica, a noblewoman who was more than happy to keep me company when my mood was darkest. She expressed joy in that she was able to finally gather up the courage to write a letter, and concern that I was at the center of pollution itself, La Plata (dubbed 'The City of Smog' by many). "I worry that your lungs will be clogged and that you will develop horrible coughing fits like Sir Hugo," she wrote. "I also miss you dearly. I yearn for simpler times, when you and I could sit in the castle gardens and speak for hours on end about nothing and everything. One day, I will gather the courage to visit you, so that we may speak unrestricted by mere pen and paper."
I hesitate to ask the higher ranked nobles to allow her to visit. They may think I was planning something, or they may plan to have her marry one of those slimy gits who complain of women denying them their right to 'claim' them. Not only that, I... I rather her not see me in this state. I would only reach her knees, and that's embarassing beyond belief.
On the other hand, though, I could be carried easily, like a doll. Hmm...
Another friend, Duke Reginald, sent his regards and greatest apologies for allowing the Machina Monarch to claim me as his own Court Magician. "The Monarch scares me," he wrote, his handwriting as wobbily as a boat on the open sea, "and so, I did not object, in fear of losing all I have. My weakness lead to this terrible turn of events, and for that, I apologize sincerely."
"On another note," he added, "Peter is still a celebrated hero here in Tinsdale."
I groaned loudly after reading that, heart threatening to burst out from anger.
"He remains ever unaware, prefering to focus on the here and now rather than think of the consequences and the future of the planet. Ignorance remains bliss for him. He is, however, learning how to speak properly, thanks to the help of Countress Dia and her lessons. So I suppose that's one less problem to deal with. Unfortunately, he's still terribly young (7 as of today) and still cherished as the hero destiny has touched. I can only hope Sir Hugo can teach him how to properly weild a sword, lest he cut himself with his own blade. Then again, its a surprise he has managed to defeat many kings and even Princess Pollution with such mediocre skills, at best. Perhaps his powers are making up for his lack of sword skills...
"For now, though, he bothers not with the remaining monarchs, prefering to play pranks amongst the townspeople for a cheap laugh and gorge himself with fantastic foods with all the gold he has accumulated from his past deeds. Only when there is a more immediate concern will he bother to investigate, as we both know.
I must leave you here, however. A ball is planned later in the week, and I must prepare. I wish you well in your endeavours, and hope that your new form does not cause you much trouble."
Ha, if only he knew! Its much more difficult to cook when I have to rely on stools to reach the stove. Its part of the reason why I'm studying a form of magic that will allow me to create food without use of a stove and such.
Speaking of studies, I have been studying other stars and planets through the use of this Internet thing on this...computer, I believe the Web Wizard called it. Its facinating, seeing how much information has been put on there, free for anyone to see. I have learned so much about this Earth and how they have industrialized much like we have, and may also have a crisis like our own. I have learned about Mars and how scientists seek any sign of life on there. All this data, all at my figurative fingertips (ah, one of the many things I miss about being human: having thumbs!)...
Er, hopefully no one will see how many videos I have seen on Youtube about various hobbies I can do to distract myself from the fact that I'm chained to my worst enemies and my own jealousy. The last thing I need is for someone to laugh at how I've been watching videos of a woman and her dog cooking various foods together, and how to make these models of robots.
Sigh... The thing I miss most is being outside in the gardens. These castle grounds have no such thing, the smog too much for even grass to grow. Even if they could grow, acid rain would put them down before they could even bud. Perhaps one of these days, I'll sneak my way out and find a place to relax, for a time. Somewhere where there are no factories, no industries, no smog covering up the blanket of stars...
My mailbox was stuffed with letters from friends and family, all worried for my well being. Among them was Lady Runica, a noblewoman who was more than happy to keep me company when my mood was darkest. She expressed joy in that she was able to finally gather up the courage to write a letter, and concern that I was at the center of pollution itself, La Plata (dubbed 'The City of Smog' by many). "I worry that your lungs will be clogged and that you will develop horrible coughing fits like Sir Hugo," she wrote. "I also miss you dearly. I yearn for simpler times, when you and I could sit in the castle gardens and speak for hours on end about nothing and everything. One day, I will gather the courage to visit you, so that we may speak unrestricted by mere pen and paper."
I hesitate to ask the higher ranked nobles to allow her to visit. They may think I was planning something, or they may plan to have her marry one of those slimy gits who complain of women denying them their right to 'claim' them. Not only that, I... I rather her not see me in this state. I would only reach her knees, and that's embarassing beyond belief.
On the other hand, though, I could be carried easily, like a doll. Hmm...
Another friend, Duke Reginald, sent his regards and greatest apologies for allowing the Machina Monarch to claim me as his own Court Magician. "The Monarch scares me," he wrote, his handwriting as wobbily as a boat on the open sea, "and so, I did not object, in fear of losing all I have. My weakness lead to this terrible turn of events, and for that, I apologize sincerely."
"On another note," he added, "Peter is still a celebrated hero here in Tinsdale."
I groaned loudly after reading that, heart threatening to burst out from anger.
"He remains ever unaware, prefering to focus on the here and now rather than think of the consequences and the future of the planet. Ignorance remains bliss for him. He is, however, learning how to speak properly, thanks to the help of Countress Dia and her lessons. So I suppose that's one less problem to deal with. Unfortunately, he's still terribly young (7 as of today) and still cherished as the hero destiny has touched. I can only hope Sir Hugo can teach him how to properly weild a sword, lest he cut himself with his own blade. Then again, its a surprise he has managed to defeat many kings and even Princess Pollution with such mediocre skills, at best. Perhaps his powers are making up for his lack of sword skills...
"For now, though, he bothers not with the remaining monarchs, prefering to play pranks amongst the townspeople for a cheap laugh and gorge himself with fantastic foods with all the gold he has accumulated from his past deeds. Only when there is a more immediate concern will he bother to investigate, as we both know.
I must leave you here, however. A ball is planned later in the week, and I must prepare. I wish you well in your endeavours, and hope that your new form does not cause you much trouble."
Ha, if only he knew! Its much more difficult to cook when I have to rely on stools to reach the stove. Its part of the reason why I'm studying a form of magic that will allow me to create food without use of a stove and such.
Speaking of studies, I have been studying other stars and planets through the use of this Internet thing on this...computer, I believe the Web Wizard called it. Its facinating, seeing how much information has been put on there, free for anyone to see. I have learned so much about this Earth and how they have industrialized much like we have, and may also have a crisis like our own. I have learned about Mars and how scientists seek any sign of life on there. All this data, all at my figurative fingertips (ah, one of the many things I miss about being human: having thumbs!)...
Er, hopefully no one will see how many videos I have seen on Youtube about various hobbies I can do to distract myself from the fact that I'm chained to my worst enemies and my own jealousy. The last thing I need is for someone to laugh at how I've been watching videos of a woman and her dog cooking various foods together, and how to make these models of robots.
Sigh... The thing I miss most is being outside in the gardens. These castle grounds have no such thing, the smog too much for even grass to grow. Even if they could grow, acid rain would put them down before they could even bud. Perhaps one of these days, I'll sneak my way out and find a place to relax, for a time. Somewhere where there are no factories, no industries, no smog covering up the blanket of stars...
Sunday, June 1, 2014
Diary of Sir Hansel, Dated !?*$, 25
Oh, how I hated him. How I hate him to his very core, how he was the one who saved the world. How he has freedom, while I am trapped within steel walls. It pains me to say that he is as heroic as they say, that he holds power beyond anyone else's potential.
Yet, he acts unaware of his deeds, ignorant of the kings who laugh at him, make a fool out of him. He's oblivious! He can hardly even speak proper english! Meanwhile, I could read and write as well as any other. I learned the magicks of the ancients and crafted weapons with the aid of a blacksmith. I suffered and toiled like anyone else, letting my rage build up, using it as pure motivation!
And yet, I was trapped. The princess saw my potential. She was scared of me, I believe. Terrified, even. Maybe I speak too highly of myself, but I knew from the very moment she appointed me as Court Magician that she saw some sort of danger. She kept me on a leash, kept an eye on me so that I was not the one who cut her head clean off. She must have known that it was best to keep friends close and enemies even closer.
If only she had done the same to young Peter, assuming he was too dumb to even put a coherent thought together. Then she would have been able to tarnish every piece of land there, poison it with her smog and sludge, with all the factories her cronies produce. She'd let me watch the proceedings, force us both to watch Mother Nature cry and shrivel into nothing, watch as what was once green become a steely gray. She'd laugh and she'd laugh at our misery of losing everything we worked for, giggle at how we desperately try to live in a world covered in filth, and smile as we draw in smog and choke on it as our last breath.
If she had done that, she'd probably still be alive. But she had not, and I am left with a mixture of joy and hatred. I wanted to be the one who ended her, so that all would know that not all heroes were like oblivious Peter, who did things without thinking and everything else falls into place. That destiny and fate had nothing to do with heroism. That there would be someone who realized that there was more than just Princess Pollution out there, still destroying what little greenery we have, and that they would stand against this and more.
Alas, they cheered his name and named a parade in his honor, gave him the feast of his life, while I was forced into serving the Machina Monarch.
They certainly did know how much of a threat I could be. Why else would I be forced into such an... odd form? Honestly, they expect anyone to take me seriously when I can hardly reach the kitchen cabinets without help? I have covered my face with an iron mask so I look a bit more menacing, but a mask won't help with issues of height. I hear lords and ladies laugh at my current state as they pass my quarters, saying that I had better make up my intimidation with powerful skills.
Ugh. I have written too much. My blood still boils at any mention of Peter, guardian of Mondel. He probably is sitting on his arse, oblivious as ever. I suppose I should be thankful for my place amongst the villains, though. It allows me to challenge him and knock sense into him. It also gives me a better look into operations, so I can plan accordingly.
I must be proactive, compared to him. I must. I must I must I must I must. Because what if his impulsiveness gets him killed? Then what? Who will destiny turn to then?
My heart could not bear the pain, should the so-called "hero" fall and the planet, sucked dry, as the chains binding me grow ever tighter.
Yet, he acts unaware of his deeds, ignorant of the kings who laugh at him, make a fool out of him. He's oblivious! He can hardly even speak proper english! Meanwhile, I could read and write as well as any other. I learned the magicks of the ancients and crafted weapons with the aid of a blacksmith. I suffered and toiled like anyone else, letting my rage build up, using it as pure motivation!
And yet, I was trapped. The princess saw my potential. She was scared of me, I believe. Terrified, even. Maybe I speak too highly of myself, but I knew from the very moment she appointed me as Court Magician that she saw some sort of danger. She kept me on a leash, kept an eye on me so that I was not the one who cut her head clean off. She must have known that it was best to keep friends close and enemies even closer.
If only she had done the same to young Peter, assuming he was too dumb to even put a coherent thought together. Then she would have been able to tarnish every piece of land there, poison it with her smog and sludge, with all the factories her cronies produce. She'd let me watch the proceedings, force us both to watch Mother Nature cry and shrivel into nothing, watch as what was once green become a steely gray. She'd laugh and she'd laugh at our misery of losing everything we worked for, giggle at how we desperately try to live in a world covered in filth, and smile as we draw in smog and choke on it as our last breath.
If she had done that, she'd probably still be alive. But she had not, and I am left with a mixture of joy and hatred. I wanted to be the one who ended her, so that all would know that not all heroes were like oblivious Peter, who did things without thinking and everything else falls into place. That destiny and fate had nothing to do with heroism. That there would be someone who realized that there was more than just Princess Pollution out there, still destroying what little greenery we have, and that they would stand against this and more.
Alas, they cheered his name and named a parade in his honor, gave him the feast of his life, while I was forced into serving the Machina Monarch.
They certainly did know how much of a threat I could be. Why else would I be forced into such an... odd form? Honestly, they expect anyone to take me seriously when I can hardly reach the kitchen cabinets without help? I have covered my face with an iron mask so I look a bit more menacing, but a mask won't help with issues of height. I hear lords and ladies laugh at my current state as they pass my quarters, saying that I had better make up my intimidation with powerful skills.
Ugh. I have written too much. My blood still boils at any mention of Peter, guardian of Mondel. He probably is sitting on his arse, oblivious as ever. I suppose I should be thankful for my place amongst the villains, though. It allows me to challenge him and knock sense into him. It also gives me a better look into operations, so I can plan accordingly.
I must be proactive, compared to him. I must. I must I must I must I must. Because what if his impulsiveness gets him killed? Then what? Who will destiny turn to then?
My heart could not bear the pain, should the so-called "hero" fall and the planet, sucked dry, as the chains binding me grow ever tighter.
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