Tuesday, July 8, 2014

Mondorian Tales: Character Profiles

You know, so I don't forget. Yeah. Uh huh. Also with extra deets.

TINSDALE RESIDENTS

Name: Hansel Rivendale
Age: 22
Species: Kirby (Cursed Human)
Occupation: Court Magician
Ranking: Peasant
Prefered Weapons: Scepter and Sword (Phantasm)
Favorite Item: Jester Hat

"I will find a way to end this farce... and help the earth heal from the Monarch's wounds."

Once a child hero who saved Dutchess Dia at the tender age of 10, now he's all grown up and faced the living horrors that is being in an overindustrialized, feudal system, with the Monarch at its head. He uses his own hatred of injustice to push himself to higher heights and improve himself in all areas, for the sake of all that have suffered under noble hands. He values respect and loyalty over all, treating everyone he knows equally (aside from the villains, of course), and isn't afraid to be humble.

The problem is, he's a bit... too humble. Maybe it was from hanging around nobles for so long, but his self-esteem slowly broke during his stay, his anxieties becoming worse and worse. And there is news that an incident had actually broken him so completely, he lost his mind.

He worked under Princess Petra, slowly working to poison her until he was able to finish the final blow. Unfortunately, Peter took that honor, and the sheer surprise of the Monarch visiting to whisk him away, along with nobody crediting him for his own efforts... That didn't end well. Especially not with him turning into a puffball that is never truly taken seriously.

The three things he is never without are his magical scepter, his trusty sword, and the only thing he feels actually looks good: His jester hat. He also has a diary detailing all his exploits and possibly quite a few love letters to a certain lady....

Used to be a handsome young man with short brown hair and bright blue eyes, wearing leather armor most of the time. Now, he's just a yellow kirby with a jester hat, sometimes seen with a mask.






Name: Amie Runica
Age: 22
Species: Pretty sure she's Human.
Occupation: STRONGEST WOMAN OF TINSDAAAAALE
Ranking: Marchioness-to-be
Prefered Weapons: FISTS OF FURY
Favorite Item: Tiny Locket

"Oh, you guys should have waited until I finished ironing my dress! It's not nice to start a fight without me!"

A young lady who was expected to become more... tender. Unfortunately for her parents, after someone hurt her feelings and someone encouraged her to become stronger, she took it a bit too literally. The nobility give her odd stares because she's more than eager to go out and adventure, in spite of all her ladylike ways. Hell, they probably didn't even expect her to break their bones.  She's strong of body, mind, and soul, and while she does tend to be a bit dense at times, she has a soft heart beneath it all and loves everybody to pieces

She aided Hansel in rescuing Dutchess Dia, using a combination of martial arts and magicks that enhanced her own power and Hansel's. Oh, and her own raw strength. She claims no credit to this, if only because she wished for Hansel to be recognized and hoped that it would be enough for the nobles to realize that even someone from a low ranking can do great things. (Spoiler alert: It doesn't affect anybody all that much. Except the Duke and Dutchess.)

Currently, she lives with her parents beyond the borders of Tinsdale, although they live pretty close to it. She keeps a locket with a picture of her with Hansel close to her at all times, wishing to see him again before her parents pass the responsibility baton over to her.


Name: Peter Rustal
Age: 7
Species: Human
Occupation: Little Hero
Ranking: Peasant
Prefered Weapon: don't axe questions like that
Favorite Item: Superhero Comics

"Bad guys are gonna go boom on my watch! Boom, boom, BOOM!"

Rumored to be the destined one, Peter managed to leave a lasting impression by starting to adventure at the age of 5 and working his way to chopping down lowly viscounts with nothing but an axe and a whole lotta willpower. Sure, sometimes there's close calls, like with the Princess, but luck tends to favor him! A lot! Maybe. His heart's in the right place, hating injustice as much as Hansel and pals do, but he doesn't think before he leaps, just going all out without thinking things through and hoping for the best.

Not much is known about him that isn't just rumors, however, aside from that once Dutchess Dia gave him superhero comics, he never. let. them. go. He would beat anybody who tried to steal them.

He's just a little boy with short black hair and leather armor, no biggie.

Name: Jessica Dia
Age: "How RUDE!" (Probably 32.)
Species: Augumented Human
Occupation: Fashionista
Ranking: Dutchess
Prefered Weapon: Clothing, fabrics, sewing needles
Favorite Item: Mittens the Kitten

"Dear, oh dear, what will I do? Those pants simply do not go with your complexion! No, no, no, stop screaming, I will make your dreams of being an angel of fashion come true~"

Apparently, Jessica Dia was the Dutchess that needed saving from Count Clockwork, with the help of Hansel and Amie. Not much is known about her at the moment, but judging from her alternative title of "Goddess of Fashion", she is the leading mind of fashion trends everywhere, especially in Tinsdale. Rumor has it that her factory and clothing line only produces the best of the best, at the most affordable prices for Nobles and Peasants alike.

Don't wear mismatched socks around her. And for god's sake, don't kick her kitten. She will use your skin for her next project and wear it down the catwalk.

Appearance? Please. She looks different every day!

---------------

BLOOMINGDALE HEROES


Name: Janet Kingston
Age: 18
Species: Human
Occupation: Reporter/Fountain Shaman
Ranking: Peasant
Prefered Weapon: Steel Fans
Favorite Item: Notepad and Paper

"Time to make history!"

Overenthusiastic and a bit cocky, Janet seeks the truth and nothing but the truth about Mondor's history, when it has gone unwritten for far too long. Even sacrificing her own freedom to do so! Within that hyped up body lies a girl with a love of fashion and practical jokes, and terrible puns, too! She also holds the power of Purification, an ability known to bring life to even the most barren of areas.

She got lucky in knowing a community that knew how to read and write, so she grew up reading from a young age and enjoying the learning process along the way. Somewhere when she grew up, she wandered off and found a Fountain, where she was then chosen by the spirit Gaea to aid in the earth's great rebirth. Unfortunately, she wasn't able to actually do much of anything until she got out of the town of already growing flowers and aid other areas instead.

In her neverending quests for truth and ressurection, she is never without pen and paper. Her lifeblood, her soul! How else would she be able to record the heroism of all? Taking them away is like taking a fish out of water: you just don't do it.

Usually seen with black hair in a braid, a butterfly hairband, and a green dress.


Name: Gaea
Age: Ooooooooooooooooooooooooold
Species: Fountain Spirit
Occupation: Fountain Spirit
Ranking: ????
Prefered Weapon: His/Her Own hands
Favorite Item: N/A

This world must not fall to ruin. Janet Kingston... I trust you are up to the task of aiding us in reviving our world.

A spirit that follows and protects Janet, fulfilling its duty of protecting both the Fountains and the Fountain shamans. It acts like a summon and a guardian. Not much else is known, particularly because Janet hasn't even bothered to ask. Usually seen as a woman of stone, with moss, tree branches, and other things growing on her, and lichen hair.

Sunday, July 6, 2014

Hat Side Story: Cirque de Doom, Part 1

"No..."

A fedora, tossed aside.

"No...."

A straw hat, sent flying and landing safely in a hat rack.

"No no no no NO!"

Hat after hat after hat flew until there was a decently sized hat pile on the floor.

Tinsdale Castle was home to many fashion-concious people, who always knew what to wear, when to wear it, and how to wear it proudly. One would see them strut onto the catwalks with whatever new trend was in style, primp as a peacock and as showy as one, too. It was the home of the "Goddess of Clothing", Dutchess Jessica Dia, and heaven help you if you strut through the glamorous halls with mismatched socks if she was there to see.

Not that Hansel particularly cared about fashion. With leather armor, acne scarred skin, and light brown hair, he figured he was already a walking fashion disaster. Granted, everybody said the acne was getting better, he was paranoid a zit would pop up in the middle of his head just to spite him. Today, though, he just wanted a hat, digging through Duke Reginald's massive collection of them in a vain attempt to see if they even looked good.

The Duke stared down at his sad, sad pile of hats and picked the straw hat off the rack, turning to the young boy and asking, "Are you sure this one does not suit you, Sir? I found it rather fitting when hiking through the mountains!"

Hansel reluctantly put it back on and stared at himself in the mirror before handing it back.

"Not to your liking?"

"It's nice," Hansel admitted, pulling up a chair and sitting down, drawing his sword only to prop himself up, "but it's not really... it wouldn't be any good for adventuring. And you talk about hiking up mountains as if it's safe to do that anymore."

"Oh, right," the Duke said, deflating like a balloon. "The smog, yes... my deepest apologies, young Sir."

"Don't call me Sir, Your Grace. I'm not exactly nobility."

"But you are a knight, one that saved my wife, in fact! How could I not-"

The boy stood up and thrust his blade to the floor, the sound of steel meeting floor ringing through the elegant room. The Duke took a few steps back, staring at Hansel with wide eyes, before the teenager looked away and frowned.

"Everybody keeps forgetting I had help. If it wasn't for Lady Runica, I might have been pasted. It wasn't all me, and I shouldn't get a heapload of the respect. Nobody even bothered cheering for Amie, who could bend the Clockwork Count's steel like it was nothing at all! Really, she was the star, not me!"

"B-but Sir, no one would believe that! I-I mean, I... well, nobody would believe that a woman did most of the work, not even if I was the one saying it! And... aren't you being a bit too humble?"

Hansel harumphed and crossed his arms. "Just another thing I have to change about this stupid place," he grumbled. "And I'm not being too humble! Amie actually did most of the-"

A creak startled both of the men as a young girl ran in, tickets clutched in her tiny hands.  "I finally got them, everyone!" she said cheerfully, long brown hair flowing behind her. "I got the tickets to the Circus! I got them I got them I-"

She stared at the two men, then at the pile of hats. Both stared back at her, the younger of the two sheathing his sword and fiddling with his fingers.

After a moment, the girl put her hands on her hips and asked, "Did you guys go and have a hat fight? Without me? Again?!?"

Hansel glanced over to the Duke and added, "We actually have hat fights?"

"No! No, it wasn't that, dear Lady Runica!" Reginald protested. "Oh, no! We were just talking about how Hansel's deeds should go rewarded, after he rescued my wife from the clutches of the Count!"

"And I'm telling you, I didn't do much at all!"

 The girl stepped between them and wrapped her arms around Hansel, pulling him into a hug.

"Ssssh," she whispered, stroking the top of Hansel's head, "Calm down, Hans. We all know you did a great job with all your illusionry!"

"B-but-"

Amie smiled at him so brightly, he could have sworn for a moment, she was the sun.

"We did it together, and that's what matters most! I don't really care if I don't get attention. You deserve some of it!"

It was hard to argue when someone was smiling at you, knowing that they appreciated what you did. Hansel found it even harder, especially when his heart was fluttering like a thousand butterflies were released within. He awkwardly hugged her back, cheeks flushed with red, before they parted.

"Anyway," Amie continued, "I got tickets to the Circus! I got one for me, I got one for Hans, and I got one for you, Your Grace! Oooh, I've been waiting so long to get these, but they always sell out so fast! But not this time; I managed to get tickets with the allowance my mom gave me earlier!"

The Duke and Hansel each grabbed their ticket, although the Duke looked at his in confusion. "Pray tell," he said, "what is a circus? I have been so busy, I had never bothered to find out!"

"Only the best thing ever!" the teenagers said in unison, eyes sparkling with excitement.

"It has acrobats that can walk on wires high in the air without being scared and some that flip through the skies through rings-"

"-And women that ride on elephants that are just so adorable, Your Grace, and the elephants can do tricks and-"

"There are men that tame hungry tigers-"

"Lions, Hansel! They're lions!"

"I'm not lion, they're tigers, last I went."

"Anyway, there are people who can juggle so many objects at once, fantastic dancers, and there's always that Strongest Man in the World act! Oooh, I want to see it so bad, and maybe challenge him to a fight!"

"I remember when Ulrik was the Strongest Man in the World... He was working in a circus to get some more money for us! It was really sweet!"

Amie gasped before she crossed her arms. "You didn't tell me, Hans! I could have asked him for a battle!"

"I didn't tell you because he'd leave with more than a bruised ego."

The Duke chuckled and placed a hand on their shoulders.

"Ah, sounds splendid! Then let me get ready. We must not miss our opportunity!"

Reginald headed off, shutting the door behind him. Hansel blinked before digging through the pile of hats and pulling out a trilby and setting it upon his head. He stared at himself in the mirror until the wave of disgust hit him and tossed the hat aside. The boy sat down in a chair, mumbling grumpily and letting out an exasperated sigh.

Amie peered over his shoulder and asked, "Still don't think any of the hats don't fit you?"

"Yeah," Hansel replied, slumping over and putting a hand on his chin. "None of them feel right, you know? It doesn't help that everybody around me dresses better than I do. Heck, even with your sort of out of place Eastern dress, you at least look miles better than I do!" He slumped more before letting out another sigh, fidgeting around with his fingers. "The nobles already hate me for getting the chance to save Lady Dia, nevermind actually saving her. They hate me for even living here for a chance to learn. I... I'm... I'm scared they'll just find this another reason to try to ruin my life..."

"And I won't let them, Sir Hansel."

He looked up at Amie, who stood up straight and had a serious expression on her face.

"They can try to deny it all they would like, but the truth is this: You were chosen, not them. And you rose up to the challenge. Whatever hatred they have is just pathetic jealousy because they didn't have the chance to show off how skilled they were. If they had taken the call for aid earlier, there wouldn't have been any choosing from a hat to see who went along with James, and you wouldn't have gotten that chance. But no, they did nothing, you did something! So they can stuff it!

...Besides, I think you look absolutely adorable just as you are, Hans!"

Hansel had barely any time to react as the little lady took his hand into her own and led him away.

"Now come on, let's go and get ready! We can't keep the Duke waiting, can we, Hanny?"

The boy said nothing, only following along with the butterflies in his heart fluttering faster, the negativity washed away with thoughts of being by Amie's side to enjoy the circus.


Friday, July 4, 2014

The Man History Forgot, Part 4

 The skies rumbled as shaman and magician reached the great gates to Sam's factory. Steel cut outs of a fearsome tiger and a chinese dragon rushing towards each other sat above the gate, obscuring the rounded, caged top of the... well, calling it a factory was a bit of a stretch. It looked more like one of those "Thunderdome" cages Janet would see at the circus sometimes, where men with gas powered bicycles would circle around over and over and perform tricks off ramps. She could hear the bikes reving up from out here and the wild screams of hooligans having too good of a time.

She turned to Hansel, who held a wrapped present in his hands, and asked, "Are we really in the right place?"

"Indeed we are," he replied, knocking on the gate doors.

"But... but... this isn't a factory, it's a... a dome... thing! Where are the chimneys? Where's the smoke?! The whirrs of machines?!?"

"He is a lowly Viscount for a reason, Lady Kingston. His production levels are virtually non-existant. It's a surprise he didn't anger the Monarch until now."

Janet shrugged. "Guess he was just testing him out," she said before peering over her puffy companion and staring at the present. "Why'd you bring a present to someone we're gonna murder, anyway?"

If Hansel replied, Janet couldn't hear him amongst the steely gates opening, creaking as loud as nails across a chalkboard. The duo walked in, the lady marching in behind her smaller friend.

The inside was not quite as impressive as Janet thought it would be. It was a lot of dirt and mud everywhere, with steel ramps  on every side. Lightning crackled along the sides of the dome, as three rings of fire hung above. Men with steel arms and steel legs clutched onto wheels and used motors installed in ther backs to ride around the dome, yelling and cheering at one another. They quickly took notice to the duo and, after pulling tricks in midair, they transformed into more human forms, landing on their feet and towering above shaman and magician.

Janet assumed the skinniest brute with the slimy black hair was Sam and gagged at the sight of him. For a noble, he had absolutely no sense of fashion, picking the gaudiest clothing he could possibly get. She trembled at the sight of the others, especially with their height and agumented arms. This was one bike gang she hoped wouldn't turn her into roadkill.

"Oi, if it ain't the Monarch's little doggy," Sam jeered, pointing right at Hansel. "What brings his lil' court magician here into the Thunderdrome, eh? Suddenly feel like working for the real hotshot?"

 The shaman cletched a fist, eager to punch Sam in his stupid, gold-laced face, but Hansel calmly replied, "While I kindly thank you for the offer, I am afraid I must decline. I am here for more serious matters... A discussion of your production levels. Do you have anywhere we can sit? I tire of standing, and I would greatly appreciate a cup of tea."

The gang looked at each other and snickered before Sam rubbed his hands together.

"That can be arranged, mage. I'll get Baldy right on it. BALDY!"

A giant of a bike man stood up straight and was at the Slick's side in an instant.

"Go set up the tables. And make it snappy!"

Baldy mumbled a "yes boss" before heading off to get everything. Janet figured it would have taken a while, but within a few minutes, she was sitting at Hansel's side, surrounded by the bike gang. Sam crossed his legs as Baldy poured him a glass of red wine (or was that oil? It was so dark, she couldn't tell), while Hansel poured himself some tea and took a sip.

"Now, you wanted to discuss somethin'?" Sam asked, holding his glass up and swirling his drink around. "Or are you just here to waste my time?"

"Waste time? Ha, you and I know the danger you are in, and I would like to discuss your options before the Monarch does," Hansel replied, glancing over at Janet, who was trying to sneak a peek under his mask. She turned away and whistled, twirling a pen between her fingers, before the puff continued, "Forcibly, I might add. He does not look favorably upon the lazy."

"Pffft, like I give two damns about what the Monarch has to say! Thinks he can drive me like a slave. Produce this much! Produce it this fast! Blah blah blah!" The Viscount slammed a fist onto the table. "Frankly, I'm sick of his fat ass breathing down my neck. So I'm gettin' prepared to kick his ass to the curb and become the NEW king! And I'll be the one givin' the orders!"

Janet rolled her eyes. Just another tyrant to be. She eyed his lackeys warily, especially with those lustful looks they were giving her.

Hansel took another sip of tea before he said , "And I suppose you will be doing this with the weapons you haven't produced, and the army you haven't gathered. Your production is 0% because you chose to build a playground rather than a factory, and you think you can stand up to the Monarch with resources you can't even afford."

"Feh! My gang and I are enough for him, aren't we?"

His cronies nodded, laughing and licking their lips. One snuck behind Janet, who promptly punched him in the face.

"But really, puffball," Sam continued, taking another sip of wine, "don't you hate the Monarch as much as we do? You're probably just boiling with hate in that tiny little body."

Hansel stared. "Your point?"

The Viscount broke into a grin.

"You've got the smarts and the power and the reason to take him down," he pointed out. "So why don't ya join us? We may be fine on our own, but with you? We're unstoppable. I'll give ya anything you need, long as you serve under me when all's said and done. Hell, your lil' gal over there can even be one of our little sluts. What do ya say?"

Baldy reached out to Janet, trying to grab her when a beanstalk shot out and pushed him  against the cage, coiling around him and  binding him. He struggled against his makeshift chain when the others also approached the shaman and promptly got kicked for their troubles.

"Honestly, give a lady some privacy!" she hissed before she pointed at them and started firing bullet seeds  in their eyes. They groaned in pain, leaving an opening for her to whip out her fans and blow them away with a gust of wind. She stood up trumphantly, giggling behind one of her fans, when two of them shifted into motorbike mode and tried to run her over.

"Well, shit."

Janet yelled as she forced her legs to run as fast as they could, bike cronies tailing behind her. Pipes sprouted from their sides and launched balls of sludge, one of them nailing the shaman right in the face.  She tripped and fell, unable to tell where she was going, and the bikemen passed her by, ripping a part of her dress and leaving tire marks. Groaning, she stood up like a drunk and wiped her face off in time to see them rush towards her again. Thinking fast, she summoned two flowers with sharp petals and tossed them, watching as they turned into beautiful buzzsaws that grazed against their arms.

Sam gripped his glass tightly and glared at Hansel as the bikemen and Janet faught all across the Thunderdrome, launching fireballs and flower petals all over the place. "Hey, ya little shit," he growled, "tell your little whore to cut it out!"

"I believe her name isn't 'Little Whore', Lord Riley," snapped Hansel, before he dropped his box, some of its contents spilling onto the ground. He quickly scooped up the heavier item back into the box and closed the top before placing it back on the table. "If you wish to address my cohort, please address her by her proper title, if you will. And please, forgive her. She is a bit... rowdy."

The puff slid the present over to the Viscount, who took it into his own grubby hands and smirked.

"Yeah, whatever. She's puttin' on a real show with whatever she's doing. And how very nice of ya to bring me a gift! Guess you really do know who is callin' the shots!"

"That I do, Lord Riley. Please, accept it with my humblest apologies and well wishes. I hope it will serve you well."

Sam's grin was as wide as a watermelon now as he opened the gift and reached inside. He pulled out sword from within, runes carved into the golden hilt. "Nicely made," he said. "Got lucky tryin' to get this made, eh? And for me? You're too kiiiiiaaaaaAAAAGH!"

The steel arm Sam that held the blade began to melt, a ghastly will o wisp engulfing his arm. He let go with a scream, the puff catching the blade in midair and sheathing it on his side. The Viscount hissed with anger and took a step to try to punch him, but a loud pop warned him that it wasn't a good idea. One glance downward showed that tacks scattered the floor, puncturing his world class tires.

 "What the fuck did you do?!?" he demanded, his arm still dripping with molten metal. "What the fuck was that?! I thought you were on my side!"

 The little puffball's body trembled as he laughed and laughed. Once his gigglefit was done, he stood on his chair and pointed his scepter at his host.

"Your side?" he sneered. "Ha! You jest, for the only side I am on is my own!"

Sam hissed as he was greeted with bolts of lightning and swiped at the puff. Hansel dodged, countering the blow with another bolt and scurrying away. He watched as Janet still ran from the cronies and conjured an oil slick before them. The bikers skidded off course and crashed into the table and their master, sending tea and wine flying. As they struggled to get back up, the puff landed on Janet's head and casually flicked fire at the oil, discouraging the others from following them.

"Gee, I wonder what made you decide to help me," Janet said bitterly. "Its not like I needed the help or anything."

"My apologies, Lady Kingston, but I had that planned from the beginning. Should I have warned you?"

"You should of, because I'm on your side!"

The puff took a deep breath and said meekly, "I... I'm sorry."

Janet raised an eyebrow when she could hear the roars of engines coming back to life and wheels hitting the dirt. She figured now was a good time as ever to start running, but Sam and his cronies thought it would be a better idea to ride along the cage and gather momentum. They leaped from the highest point and rained sludge upon their enemies. Hansel evoked flames to counter them, while Janet snapped her fingers and sent beanstalks to grab two of the bikers and fling them into each other. The remaining ones tried to slam into the two, and while Hansel was able to dodge, Janet had the misfortune of having her foot crushed.

She yelped in pain before she stood up again, summoning a cactus and hurling it at one of the bike men. He tried to run over it, only for his wheels to pop, spinning him out of control and crashing into a wall. Another snap of the fingers, and the cactus exploded into needles, raining into whatever fleshy bits it could hit on the augumented humans. They didn't have enough time to scream, as their arms were cleaved off by something sharp. They cried in pain and collapsed, leaving only Sam as a major concern, even if one of his tires were blown and his arm melted.

With a roar,  pipes rose from his engine and launched flames that scorched Janet's cheek and legs, leaving her vulnerable to a punch from his one good arm. Then another and another, then a kick. Janet stumbled backward and coughed blood into her hands, staring at it for a moment, realizing too late that maybe she shouldn't have joined the battle. She was about to be socked again when the Viscount struggled to pierce through a barrier that was placed around her. Without waiting to see who did it, two lilies wrapped around her arms and sprayed a cloud of nectar and pollen in Sam's face.

With a hiss, he stepped backwards and was assaulted with sword slashes to the back. He whirled and tried to hit his attacker, only to hit nothing but air. A blast of lightning caught his attention long enough for beanstalks to slap him aside  and into a wall.

 Janet wobbled away, trying to create as much distance between her and the stunned Viscount as possible. "God, I should have thought this through more," she grumbled to herself. "I wasn't expecting to be kicked around like a soccer ball today. Oof, my poor foot... Gaea was right, the little bastard, but one of these days, I'll get better! Now, what's that spell he taught me again?"

She sat down, cursing the pain in her foot and panting. She racked her mind for the spell the ancient spirits taught her, a spell that would bring life in even the most barren lands. What did they call it again? Plantification? Personafication? No, wait, it was Purification! And all she had to do was sit down and concentrate like a plant doing photosynthesis... whatever that meant. Yes, concentrate, let magic flow, yadda yadda. Yes, ignore the totally innocuous clanking happening, its probably nothing at all...

Clunk. Clunk.

"Concentrate concentrate concentrate..."

Her body started to glow yellow, a patch of grass growing underneath her body.

Clank, clank.

"Okay first step done now concentrate more! Think like a flower, smell like a flower... No, not right, BE a flower..."

THUNK. THUNK. THUNK.

"Come on, come on, we don't have much time-"

Janet heard something that sounded like a gun being reloaded and pointed at her. She looked up and paled, as a flamethrower was pointed right at her face, Sam the Slick glaring down at her.

"Actually, little Lady," he growled, "I think you don't have any time at all. Ready to say your prayers?"

Oh sweet Gaea have mercy on my soul, Janet thought, losing some of her concentration and her glow. I'm going to end up being more roasted than a pig on Thanksgiving oh sweet god I'm too young to die is this how peter felt when he was almost dead oh god I HOPE A MIRACLE SAVES ME PLEASE SOMEONE TELL MY MOM I LOVE HER

Out loud, she said, "G-g-get fucked, you goddamn twit!"

"Feh, your fueneral, little bitch!"

Janet closed her eyes, praying to dear Gaea she wasn't going to die painfully.

A minute passed. Then, she heard the Viscount roar, "WHERE IS SHE?!"

She opened her eyes. Sam was right in front of her, but he was ignoring her very existance, whirling around and snorting like an angry bull.

"WHERE IS THAT LITTLE WHORE?!" he roared again. "She was right fuckin' here!!!"

Huh. Gaea actually has a heart, saving me like this! Now, what was I doing again? Oh, right.

She concentrated hard, trying to gather up all the power she could muster before she was found again. Sam searched under rubble and  even above his head, grunting and growling like a wild animal. An aura surrounded her again, but when Sam looked at her again, he didn't even notice. In fact, he was about to walk right into her, like she was nothing but air, and hoped he didn't step on her.

And then, she heard it. She heard the bloodcurdling screams and gurgles of a mechanical man malfunctioning. She could hear a rush of water blasting into something, smell the smoke rising from the man's engines. Sparks flew from Sam's body as the engine went out of control. By the time he actually noticed her again, the yellow glow had consumed her, and she was smirking.

"MotherFUCKING SHIT"

"Shit for you, at least," the lady said casually. "Sadly, this is where we part! And by the way...

I'm not a whore."

All the energy released from her body at once. Beanstalks and trees forced themselves to rise from the barren ground, grasses and flower and shrubs growing in their wake. Cannopies forced their way through the dome, causing the whole structure to shudder. Janet stood up once more and wobbled her way out, feeling something soft and light land on her head. She ignored it for now, focusing more on escaping before the whole place fell apart.

-------------------

Outside, puff and shaman watched as the seeds of life spread throughout, roots and vines dismantling what remained of the Thunderdrome. Flowers and grasses grew at their feet, in spite of the smoggy, dark skies. A giant oak rose from the dome, growing taller than any other plant, reaching its branches up to the very skies.

Janet smiled at her handywork, putting a hand near her mouth and stifling a giggle.

"Wow, I never knew I had that much power behind that!" she said with a laugh. "Man, Purification has some awesome power behind it!"

"Is that what its called?" Hansel asked, left in awe of the growing forest. "I... I've never seen anything like it."

"Well, neither have I! First time for everything, you know. And to think, I wouldn't have done it if Gaea didn't save my ass at the last minute!"

A shiver went down her spine as Hansel glared at her. Irritated, he said, "It was not the work of some god or spirit behind the miracle. I was the one who cast the invisibility spell upon you and shot water into his engines."

Janet blinked.

"Really? You can do that?"

"I can, yes. I am not known as a Court Magician for nothing, Lady Kingston."

Janet stared for a moment before taking out her notepad and pen and writing things down.

"Hansel capable of using illusionry and conjuration and evocation... Check. Saved my bacon? Check. A miracle? Damn right it is!"

The puff only sighed and facepalmed.

"Bah! I'm not a worker of miracles. Never have been, never will be. I merely cast a spell at the right place at the right time."

"Don't be so humble, Hansel! Ooh, wait, isn't this the part where the girl gives the guy a kiss?"

"L-Lady Kingston, that is hardly necessary-"

"Oh shut up and lemme kiss you you little hero!"

"N-n-no! Wait! L-lady Kingston..!"

And so, Janet chased Hansel around, trying to give him the smooch she thought he deserved, with the little puffball running like the dickens to avoid it.


-------

!?*$, Day 1

I saw it.


I honestly saw the true worker of miracles before me, making flora bloom where none dared to grow. And... and she called ME the miracle worker, for saving her before the Viscount burned her to a crisp! I am undeserving of such praise when... when she performed such a feat. Sure, she is a bit...overeager and bit off more than she could chew, but...

The question remains, haunting my mind...

Who is she? WHAT is she?

Will I ever know?

And will I ever be able to rise to her level of miracle working? I... I...

I daresay I'm curious, but...

I'm afraid...

Tuesday, July 1, 2014

Bonus Post: Diary Entry 1, 10th Day of %^&!

%^&!, Day 10, 2002

My very first diary entry! Mom got me a blank book, even though she said it cost her a lot of money. I took a lot of time studying up on my words and stuff. It's really nice to know how to read and write, and I wish I could show everybody else, but I'm just a kid, and knowing the higher ups, they'd probably build a school made of dirt with tattered books and bugs all over the place. Yuck! 


It's weird how the nobles say they care about us, then they turn around and start building more factories. More factories won't help if they don't even pay anybody well! Only the nobles get anything worth spending right away; my parents have to work 'til their hands are full of red, ugly bumps to even get enough money to feed me and my brother for a day or two. It's just so stupid! That's why I'm planning on rising through the ranks and beating them at their own game! I'll fight them until I knock sense into them and stop them from making life any harder than it is now!

Oh yeah, mom said I had to put my name somewhere here. So I'm Hansel Rivendale! I'm 10 years old and dad says I have my mom's eyes and his hair. And my grandpa's nose or something. I have a brother named Ulrik, and he's super strong! And I have a mom and a dad and a grandpa and they're all really nice! Mom makes the best beef stew, Dad loves woodcarving, and Grandpa says he can talk to animals!

...Not sure if I believe him, though.

I'm the only one in my family who is li...li... literate, that's the word! That means that I'm the only one who can read and write well. I'm really proud of myself! Well, except for the fact that I swiped a whole ton of books from an unsuspecting noble that visited. Then again, he should have kept an eye on his book stack. He didn't even bat an eyelash at the one book I left! He just grabbed it and left with his butler trailing behind him. I don't think it matters much, though, because now I have a whole library of books I got from some of the nicer nobles on all sorts of things!

Some of these things are books on swordplay and the types of weapons there are. Other things are like, the schools of magic, what they conist of, all that sort of stuff. And then I have a biiiig dictionary and books on how to read and write! And books I can read for fun. A really nice book was all about how a normal girl got to go to the ball and then beat up a mean jerk who said bad things about her! It was super cool!

Right now? I finished practicing some swordplay and one of the blacksmiths promised he'll finish a special sword for me tomorrow. He said that there was some sort of choosing thing that was happening, since one of the nobles of Tinsdale Castle was kidnapped. I think he said that the noble that wanted to save her was pretty bad at talking about anything other than himself. Oh, and bad at swordplay. The Duke wanted to make sure that he didn't get hurt or anything, so he'll be choosing someone from Tinsdale, whether noble or peasant, to accompany him!

I kind of hope it's me, but at the same time, I don't. It's like... weird. I'm nervous about going on an adventure to save a noblewoman, who is probably cute beyond belief... I think it's because I'm kind of... lower class, I guess? That and I'd be stuck with a snooty nobleman. The snooty ones are the worst. It'll be great practice for my swordplay, though! And magic, too!

I need to practice more evocation, enchantment, and illusionry spells. If I can get those down, conjuration, abjuration, and divination should be a piece of cake! No necromancy or transmutation, though. I don't like the idea of bringing the dead back to life as zombies. And transmutation sounds like it would involve too much reading about every single object and its properties. Boooooooring.

Well, sounds like Mom's calling. I'll write in this every day! Can't let it go to waste; there's a LOT of paper here! I think it'll last me an eternity!

...Okay, maybe 40 years. 30? 20? Whatever.

Wednesday, June 25, 2014

The Man History Forgot, Part 3

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."

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.

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?!?"