Random Stories and Fragments

Jubilee was burning. Fire rained down upon its carnivals and tents, called forth by Lanun mages, while citizens and ill-armed militia fought their would-be conquerors in the street. In the center of the maelstrom, a single massive beast, one of the legendary War Tortoises, plodded towards the palace. Within the carriage atop the beast sat Falamar, still handsome despite his gray hair and world-weary eyes, flanked by a pair of Vicars. The creature crushed the wall that separated the palace from the teeming masses of Jubilee, and easily tore through the doors into the palace antechamber.

Falamar and his escort dismounted and strode purposefully into the great hall, only to be greeted by a massive balor, a red bow atop its head. “Ah, Giggles,” Falamar said. “I don't suppose you'd be willing to step aside?” Giggles roared, and in response, the Vicars cast a simple incantation to blind the beast with holy light. Falamar took advantage of that moment to sink his blade into the balor's heart. “I didn't think so,” he said, as the beast crumbled into ash.

Falamar kicked open the door, and his escorts quietly disposed of the guardsmen posted there. Sitting upon the great throne in the center of the room was Keelyn. She was a woman now, even though she still had the mind of a child. But it was a very clever mind indeed, and Falamar knew she'd been expecting them. He drew his sword and strode towards Keelyn.

“I used to call you friend,” Falamar said. “When the rest of Erebus declared you a lunatic, little better than the hellspawn you manipulate or the psychopathic father you never really met, I believed in you. When your father was slain, I convinced the Overcouncil that rather than take advantage of the anarchy in the Balseraph nation, they should trust that you would bring your people to a new golden age.”

“I remember that,” Keelyn said. “Basium wanted to kill me. But you stopped him. That was nice of you. I knew, then, you'd be my friend.” Falamar said. “I remember, you came right up and hugged me.” He smiled, despite himself, at the memory. Keelyn said, “so, can we be friends again?”

Falamar stopped smiling. “After all the things you did? You... betrayed me. You betrayed my trust. I stood up for you, when everybody else thought you were a monster... and what did you do? Prove them right. You summoned forth the vilest of hell spawn to spread mayhem, not even caring that they ravaged your people as much as any other. It was... madness. And... why? For what?”

Keelyn laughed, a high, childish laugh, oddly infectious and without anything that could be recognized as malice. “Because it was fun.” “Fun?” Falamar said, aghast. “You thought watching your own people die in droves of plagues and blight was fun?” “No. That was messy. But the world is full of people. All the other leaders, leading their little people, dividing up the world between them. There wasn't room for me at that table. Most of them hated me, or saw me as a toy to be manipulated. I knew I could never rule this world. So I decided, if I couldn't have it, nobody else would either!”

“You... did all this... because you were... jealous?” “I wanted everything. I saw the Bannor cities, so perfect, so ordered. The Kuriotate metropolises, their golden sprawl so great they could swallow Jubilee up like a fish swallows a worm. The Elohim's monasteries, the only places I ever really felt at peace. And, of course, your precious ports, so alive, so full of wonders from across Erebus. I wanted them all, I wanted to tie them all up and put them in a little box, so they'd be mine, and mine alone. But I couldn't do that. So it was either share these little wonders... or smash them!”

“Then why not share? There's plenty for everyone...” “You don't understand. It's not the same. I wanted them to be my little secrets, my little doll houses, my toys, mine, mine, all mine and nobody else's.” She paused, reflecting upon this, before changing the subject. “You're going to kill me, aren't you?” Falamar nodded, and said, “we've offered you redemption a hundred times over, and every time, you used it to stab us in the back. I'm afraid you've left me no choice.” Keelyn said, “I don't want to die.” Tears began to run down her cheeks. Falamar said, “neither did all the people you killed.” Keelyn's sadness turned to anger, and she said, “they didn't matter! They didn't understand!” With that, she drew a dagger hidden somewhere in the folds of her dress and charged, slitting a Vicar's throat before he could react. She next went for Falamar, who parried her blow, then skewered Keelyn through. “I'm sorry,” he said, as she died.

In a tent stinking of fuel and sulfur, two figures sat at opposite ends of a table, glaring at each other. The first was covered, from head to toe, in jet-black, fireproof material. His mask was removed and at his side, and the he smiled confidently at his foe as he placed three gold coins, Bannor Crowns as they had agreed, on the table. “I think we have a deal, Jacques” he said to his opponent.

“So we do, Grayson” said the man across the table. He smiled, tossing his own three Crowns on the table. The countless bells and baubles attached to his brightly-colored robes jingled as he did so. Each inspected the other's offering, making certain they were not swindled. The coins were genuine, and they begrudgingly placed them back at the table's center. “Flavius?”

The old Confessor nodded. He'd been chosen for his neutrality; he hated both equally, but would not dare betray his word. “Very well then. Let it be recorded that Grayson, Sargent of the Mechanos' 5th Firehounds has made a wager with the Jacques, mage of the Flamebringers and... Bearer of the Second Finest Hat in Jubilee?” Jacques grinned. “Three years running. I'd have added more, but then it'd be nicer then Perpentach's. Having a nicer hat then Perpentach's is a great way to get killed.”

He opened his chest to reveal this hat, an abominable thing whose centerpiece was a stuffed vulture. Its eyes had been replaced by rubies, and a miniature top hat had been stitched onto the bird's head. Surrounding the vulture were all sorts of fruits and vegetables; upon closer examination, they were made of wax. What little could be seen of the original hat had been dyed a deep purple. Flavius stifled a laugh; despite himself, he had to admit it was an impressive hat, albeit in a typically Balseraph way.

“Nice hat,” Grayson said. “What'll it take for you to add it to the pile?” Jacques thought about it for several moments, before saying, “bring me your clock. And that delightful red book of yours.” Grayson left, and returned several minutes later with an impressive timepiece, its wood ornately carved, and its clockwork engineered with precision the servants of the Order could only dream of. It was of excellent workmanship, but not especially remarkable by Mechanos standard. But their clocks were rarely exported, and this one could fetch a fine price anywhere else on Erebus. And the book... though he couldn't read its title, the image engraved on its front was enough to make Flavius turn as red as its cover, and he was certain more of the same was inside. Grayson placed both on the table, and Jacques dropped his hat, each confident they were risking nothing.

Flavius said, “the wager is as follows: Jacques has wagered three Crowns, and the aforementioned 'Second Finest Hat in Jubilee.' Grayson has wagered three Crowns, a red book of... questionable content, and a Mechanos timepiece. The challenge: since the Bannor, Mechanos, and Balseraphs are all at war with the Illian Empire, two Illian hamlets of approximately equal size, already cleared of inhabitants, shall be given to the contestants. The one who successfully destroys their hamlet first shall be deemed victorious and, with the Bannor acting as a neutral party, collect their winnings. If the winner cannot be determined, the event will be called a tie, and the items returned to their proper owners.”

An hour later, fire rained down upon the eastern hamlet, while the west blazed with artificial flames. Watchmen, also Bannor, had been posted, each with a great bell, which they were to ring when the town had been thoroughly incinerated. Flavius sat with the wagered objects. The Balseraph was much more theatrical. He was more like a showman than anything else. His spells were songs, and he danced more than he walked, clearly taking great delight in the destruction he was causing. The Mechanos was, fittingly, far more efficient; rather than rain down fire randomly, he swept the hamlet clear, portion by portion, occasionally stopping to pile up brush or undo some villager's preparations against the very event he sought to cause. If Jacques would just focus his efforts like Grayson, he'd easily win the fights, but he had no tactic beyond “if it doesn't burn, use more fire.” Then again, Jacqus had a lot of fire; he'd been preparing for this wager for days, and was not going to give up his hat without a fight.

Curiosity finally got the better of Flavius; after glancing furitively around himself, he opened the red book to a random page. After getting over his initial shock, his first thought was “is that even physically possible?” The Bannor training regime required people to be flexible, but what he was seeing seemed unlikely to exist outside of the artist's imagination. He picked a few other pages at random. “If I suggested that to my wife, she'd castrate me...” “So... how do they get down afterwards?” “I think that's actually considered a form of torture in the Bannor code of conduct... does it still count if both participants are willing?” “Never mind the woman. That hat would make Jacques' hat the Third Finest Hat in Jubilee.” “If a real woman had proportions like that, there's no way she could even stand...” “Well, I'll never look at a candle the same way again...”

The last one reminded Flavius of the wager he was supposed to be watching. Jacques had renewed his efforts, suddenly worried his precious hat might end up the property of a Mechanos agent. Indeed, Grayson had almost finished his work; three of remote farmsteads remained to be torched, while Jacques had quite a few buildings left in the center of his arena. Then again, Jacques' targets were all clustered together, while Grayson's were too far scattered for him to simply let the fire spread to them.

Grayson ran to the first farmstead, hitting it with only a few spurts. Jacques charged straight into the center of his buildings, and began a particularly complex dance. Grayson took the second farmstead as he had the first; Flavius realized he was running out of fuel. Jacques, meanwhile, was surrounded by fire, but he seemed not to notice. But they didn't spread as ordinary flames did, as if waiting... or alive?

Grayson reached the final farmsteads and attempted to destroy it, but his weapon gave a futile spit before failing. He let out a scream of rage and ran into the nearest burning building, presumably to get something, anything, to finish the job. But he had underestimated what was left in his pack, and Flavius stared in shock as Grayson exploded. Jacques heard, and was so startled by the sound that he tripped in mid-dance, falling flat on his face. The flames he had held entranced went straight for him with the fury of a living creature. Flavius remembered that Jacques was merely a mage, and unfit to summon a fire elemental. But pride had gotten the better of him...



Three days later, General Tor came into town, to investigate the deaths of a Mechanos flamethrower and a Balseraph mage. Some idiotic wager. He didn't really care about a pair of dead lunatics, but there was paperwork to be done. Apparently, the man to talk to was some Confessor named Flavius. He began talking before he even stepped through the tent. “Confessor Flavius, I'm here on official business from... sweet Junil, what in the name of the Five Hells is that... that thing on your head?!”

Cogonz was among the most popular members of the small gypsy caravan that had stopped in the small Amurite town. He was dressed up in a classic Balseraph costume - if such a thing existed - and had makeup handily smeared over most of his face. He stood and juggled with seven small cloth balls with an almost blazing speed. A small hat laid next to him, upended, for tips.

But the most impressive about him was that he evidently didn't have to concentrate to keep the seven balls in the air. He loved to trade a word with people who passed by, and often proved knowledgable when it came to both music and philosophy. In fact, although few knew it, he was also a fameous Balseraph poet, dictating poems to one of his collegues while practicing when the small caravan was on the move.

Right now, he was practicing something he had only tried a couple of times before - charming a woman with smoothtalking while keeping the cloth balls in the air. His tongue was soft like velvet, and he believed he had quite the hold of this particular woman, when an angry-looking man appeared around a corner. He yelled at the woman, but she kept talking to Cogonz, who supressed a giggle as the man blushed in anger.

Then the man picked up a rock, fist-size and nasty-looking. Nearby people were hurrying to get out of the way as the man took a couple of steps forward and threw the projectile straight towards the head of Cogonz. While telling the man's wife a particularly funny joke about three Bannor soldiers and a rabbit, Cogonz caught the rock and send it into the air along with the seven cloth balls. After a second, he returned the rocky projectile to its owner. The man was hit on the temple and went limb as Cogonz delivered the punchline of the masterwork joke. With a flourish, he caught the seven cloth balls and put an arm around the waist of the woman, who had not even noticed the episode. She giggled.
"I'm not sure my husband would appreciate if I..."
Cogonz smiled at her reassuringly. "That won't be a problem, love. Did I tell you the one about the Amurite and the Einherjar?"

The Balseraph were unstoppable. It was that simple. They were far more than the Sidar, and they mimicked the fighting style that the Sidar warriors had spent decades perfecting after only a few trade of blows. The Sidar citizens of a now conquered city on the front looked in fear as the procession of Balseraph soldiers marched into the city in a breathtaking scene, where the sunlight seemed to follow their procession. In the front of the column, the Mimic general walked next to their Religious leader, Chalid Astrakein.

What happened next happened extremely quick. No-one, except perhaps the Mimic general, could even follow the rapid chain of events. Out of the shadows dived Rathus Denmora, the lethal Nether Blade in his hand. With a quick and gruesome thrust, he brought Chalid Astrakein's life to an end.
But even before Astrakein had exhaled his last mouthful of air, the Mimic general had copied Rathus' thrusting move, forcing his own iron sword through the chest of Denmora with brutal strength that witnessed of his countless fights - both inside the arena on the field of battle - against tigers, hill giants, satyrs and trained soldier. Rathus sunk to his knees next to his own target, the dead Astrakein.
"Your champion has fallen," he whispered with his last powers.
The Mimic bowed down and took the Nether Blade out of his hands.
"Your champion has fallen," the Mimic said, in Rathus' own voice. A horrible truth struck Rathus as his sight begun to fail him. Despite the moment of hope he had given his people, the Balseraph mimics would be their end.
As his vision darkened, he saw the Mimic General straighten up his back, assuming the authoritative bearing of Chalid Astrakein. The silence of death drowned out the voice of the Mimic as the Balseraph soldiers marched deeper into the city. Rathus drifted into the realms of shadow, this time forever...

Raging Seas

Leroy Jones, greatest of navigators, guides the Failing Breeze over dark expanses. A conch horn held firmly to his left ear, his gaze ever skyward, never moving from his spot at the prow of the ship. Captives who have yet to join his crew often mistake him for a figurehead, so stiff his stature, so immobile his frame.

He makes no sound, what secrets he knows stay within his heart, no words issue forth from his lips. Yet a flick of his wrist bends the sloop to his will. East, sunwise, landwards, seawards, no pattern exists in his passage. Drawn from the stars and the moon and the void itself, the very voyage seems random and yet not once is it's purpose ever meaningless. The Failing Breeze is always where it is meant to be, never early and never late.

Catching the winds, cutting the waves, onwards and onwards. She is indistinct and insubstantial as a cloud, as certain and deadly as lightning. No reef scrapes her hull, no kelp tangles her rudder. Sails ripple, full of gust. She gathers her mists as a bride her wedding veil, aching to consummate her passion.

Clouds part, seas rise and fall and ships approach from all sides, suitors to lay her to bed. The peacock colours of an Amurite barque. The jagged smile of the crude Doviello Drakkar. Sheaim frigates, all moss and algae. Bannor galleons, proud and noble. All have suffered her sleights in the past, now her spurned lovers have come for her.

They call for justice and vengeance, tempting her with their power and majesty. Her chaperone says nothing. A simple shake of his head is enough. Rebutted once again, her suitor’s hearts turn to steam and their hands to violence.

Stoically, Leroy takes the conch from aside his ear and places it to his mouth. Thick lips, crack'd with the spray of tropic and tundra, creak open whispering secrets long distant.

He speaks of the panic of the dozen 'gainst the serenity of one, of opulence and desperation, doomed by ice alike, of rabid prophets, sermons resounding from alley to avenue, of cursed cormorants and guests delayed, of monsters and serpents, hunger enrapt, caged in angles, not-angles, of tempests and twins and love mistaken, of salt mills and salt tears and grief beyond counting.

The sea listens, and the sea remembers. Froth and spume, ripple and wave, tapestry wrought of rage and fury. Teeth as sharp as any dragon clutch the armada in their jaws. Gales and howls of sky-bound chorus join the opera of destruction. Winds whistle, waters dance and then exploding in crescendo, the sea settles all of it's scores and wood and bone and metal are torn and twisted without mercy. All is flotsam; all is debris. Gulls circle, blood lays thick within the depths, inky strains of a final breath.

Leroy Jones, greatest of navigators, guides the Failing Breeze across dark oceans, onwards, onwards, to the city, on the lake, by the shore.

Leroy is listening to tales of the sea from Earth. He gazes up at the void (i.e. another dimension) and then awakens the sea by reminding it of all it could have been.

A conch horn held firmly to his left ear
[TAB]Lord of the Flies, William Golding

the panic of the dozen 'gainst the serenity of one
[TAB]Mark 4:35-40.

of opulence and desperation, doomed by ice alike
[TAB]The Titanic.

of rabid prophets, sermons resounding from alley to avenue
[TAB]Manic Street Preachers, a Welsh rock band which had a minor hit with a song called Tsunami.

of cursed cormorants and guests delayed
[TAB]The Rime of the Ancient Mariner, Samuel Taylor Coleridge

of monsters and serpents, hunger enrapt, caged in angles, not-angles
[TAB]The Serpent is the Midgard Serpent, the monster caged in angles, not angles is Cthulhu, asleep in Dread Ry'leh.

of tempests and twins and love mistaken
[TAB]The Tempest, William Shakespeare

of salt mills
[TAB]There is an old legend concerning why the sea is salty, whereby a salt mill which can grind salt and gold and grain is ultimately thrown into the sea where it continues to grinds salt ever more.

Leroy Jones, greatest of navigators, guides the Failing Breeze across dark oceans, onwards, onwards, to the city, on the lake, by the shore.
[TAB]Leroy Jones => Le Roi Jaune. The King in Yellow. The city by the lake is Lost Carcosa on Lake Hali.

Armael blinked as another wave rocked the ship. The men were struggling against the primal force that was throwing the Storm Kestrel around like was it the tiniest of rowboats, running around the deck and desperately pulling and tying ropes. Deep in the heart of the ship, the crates containing their goods rocked from side to side, constantly juggling with the balance of the ship. Armael felt his arms aching from holding the rutter in place, but he could not let it slip as much as an inch; their arrival at the Fane with the supplies for the army was crucial. Without the rations of food, weapons, armour and medicine that the Kestrel carried, the army would fight against the Infernals weak from hunger and with poor equipment; in other words, in vain.

Armael swore as a wave consumed another of the men, the cooper, who was picked up from the deck and disappeared down into the dark heart of Danalin's domains. His comrades stood close enough to look him in the eyes as he was lifted from the planks, but could do nothing to save him. Armael sighed and renewed his efforts with the rutter when a sudden silence spread on the deck. No groans or curses. It was as if the world moved slower as he looked up, his gaze falling upon the wave that would break the Kestrel's course and spread its cargo all over the seafloor.

It was a massive wave, like a colossal wall of black glass that roared towards the ship. The mere look of it paralyzed Armael and his men, and they stood in that second, time moving unimaginably slow, staring into the cloudy reflections of themselves in the mirroring surface of their imminent death. Armael felt his hands let go of the rutter and his arms fall to his sides as the Kestrel rode straight into the wave. It was lifted momentarily, but soon the water clashed onto the deck and the ship was thrown in a wicked, sweeping move, sideways and with a force completely incomprehensible to those who had not tried crossing the Ebon Sea. With an unreal calm running through his veins like heavy salt water, Armael felt his own body being thrown over deck and into the water, blacker even than the night air above.

The sound when he hit the waves and began his submerge towards certain death was like a thousand brass shields crashing onto a stone floor, but was quickly replaced by the silent calm of the deep.

Then, as Armael felt his lungs almost exploding in their need of air, he saw the face. It was majestetic, beautiful beyond belief, yet it was cruel and harsh. But first of all, it was clean, pure, immaculately shaped. The white figure of a woman's face appeared in the water in front of his eyes, and her voice, the saddest voice he had ever heard, resonated as if the entire ocean spoke to him.
"Who is your mistress, Mortal?"
Armael's thoughts momentarily fled to Capria, his Queen and she who had sent him on the mission, but he knew that it was not the truth. As he opened his mouth to answer, he felt the water run down and fill his lungs.

"The Sea!", he yelled, awakening in the very same instant. His cry also woke up his wife next to him, who looked at him, with surprise and with sympathy. "Armael, darling, are you all right? Are you nerveous for the journey tomorrow?"
He looked at her, still in the grasp of the vision that had haunted his sleep. After a second that felt like an eternity, he shook his head and patted her shoulder gently. "A little. I just need to go for a quick walk to calm my nerves, that's all. Go back to sleep and I'll be back in no time."
She frowned at him, but he kissed her forehead and quickly got up and got dressed. She was still staring at him, concerned. "Are you sure you're okay?", she asked again.
"I am, I just need some fresh air, that's all." He leaned forwards and kissed her again, on the mouth this time. Looked into her eyes. "I'll be back shortly. Don't wait up."

He left. As soon as he was out on the small road and out of the line of sight of the small hamlet, he ran as fast as his legs would carry him, towards the coast. The voice of the sea still whispered in his ear and the image of the wall of black water was as clear as if burnt into his mind. He stopped when he heard the sound of his feet in the shallow water, and looked around.

Only a few meters away stood a strange man, his clothes deep blue and his features undiscernable in the darkness. He had a strange aura around him, giving the impression of someone who is never in doubt. His voice had the faintest resemblence of the woman from Armael's dreams.
"Armael?", he simply asked.
Armael nodded.
"Who is your Mistress, Bannor?"
Armael blinked once. "The Sea," he answered.
The strange man nodded. "Very well. Then, kneel."
Armael hesitated before kneeling. He felt the man pour a handful of water over his head, and heard the voice again. "You have seen what will happen if you return to your bed and journey on the Kestrel tomorrow. You must realize that the Sea is a harsh mistress. She requires your undying loyalty, or she might claim your life every minute."
Armael knew it was cowardly, but the dream has been so lifelike. He would not live the rest of his life fearing it might come true. Slowly, he said: "She is my Mistress. She has my undying loyalty."
The man nodded. "Then follow."
Armael followed the man away from the shore. When he looked down, he was surprised to see that his feet were hovering slightly above the surface of the water.

Footnotes

Narius, a muscular barbarian, was escorted through the twisting passageways of the Balseraph Palace, taking every single moment of it to ask questions about his new home and it’s culture. His escort answered all of his questions and gave him a brief lesson on the history of the Balseraph people, then came Narius’ most important question, a question he asked with the utmost enthusiasm.

“Will I see the king while working here?”
“You all ready have,” said the escort.
“I did?”
“Yes you did.”
“When?”
“Well you know that clown that greeted you as you entered the palace?”
“Yes, the one who then kissed me and then punched me straight on the nose after two major personality changes.”
“Well that was him.”
“Oh… I see,” said Narius awkwardly.

Narius walked in salience for a while, not quite knowing what to say next. He placed his attention onto the walls, which where covered in paintings of the king Perpenach and some other, very random out of place subjects* . Narius admired the paintings, he had nothing like this back at his village tribe, nothing at all! Only stickmen they draw in the sand. Narius didn’t have time for anything like that though, he was to busy defending himself from vicious wolf attacks.

“The paintings are quite good don’t you think?” said the escort, trying to make some conversation.
“There very good,” said Narius. “Who painted them?”
“The king did, mind you this is when his creative side kicks in.”
“And when you say that…”
“Yes I do mean when he has a sudden change of personality yes.”
“But I don’t get it. How can a madman rule the country?”
“First of all, in-case you haven’t notice, this is a madman’s nation. I’d say just about everyone is insane to some point. Even me, though I admit I’m sane enough to know it. Secondly, our king, despite the sudden changes in personality at times, seems to have an overall persona that prevents him from attempting to change our entire political system every thee minutes. Finally it’s the nobles who have the last say, most of his orders end up ‘lost’ because some careless adept burnt them all.”
“So he’s not really in command at all?”
“Not really, though it’s more from a fact that he tends to get bored when we attempt to involve him within our plans than his actual power. In fact I would hate to see this country if it was solely organized by him,” said the escort with a shiver. “And I can barely imagine it now when it’s not…”

The two men then made their way up a spiralling staircase that suddenly turned straight after a three-story climb, only to go back into a spiral. They then both, after an hour worth of needless walking, ended up on the sixth floor. The two of them then walked down the corridor, the escort said with a serious tone.

“Now remember. Be careful.”
“I’ve told you before I’ve done this thousands of times before!” Narius said laughing.
“Did I also mention the last person who had this occupation fell to his death?”
“… He did?”
“Well when I said ‘fell to his death’. I meant he jumped out the window.”
“Why would he do that for?!”
“Because he couldn’t stand it any longer. He just had to end it all,” said the escort spitefully, he then muttered underneath his breath. “The selfish bastard!”
“Is it really that bad?”
“I wouldn’t know, neither do I want to know with all the rumours I’ve heard. That’s the main reason why I hired you. I was the next one in line to take this position. Anyway I would get started if I was you!”

They both then stopped at a great huge wooden door, engraved with figures of acrobatics, lion tamers, freaks, and mimes performing in a carnival. Narius griped the handle and looked at his escort with an expression that said, “Is it really that dangerous?” His escort nodded with an expression that said. “Yes, now get in there!” Narius turned the handle and entered the room.

He entered the room, and he saw a little girl staring up at him holding a teddy bear in her hands. She then asked him.

“Are you my new play mate?”

Narius smiled and said, “Yes, yes I am. My name’s Narius, what’s yours.”

“Keelyn.”
“That’s a pretty name.”
“That’s because I am pretty!” smiled the girl triumphantly.

Narius smiled and laid all doubts to rest. After all, he was told that she was just a little girl who was mostly ignored by her farther and whose mother died in childbirth. She was just a small, lonely, four year old girl. How much trouble could she be?…

Footnotes


Narius was laying facedown on the floor with a tiny princess sized horse saddle strapped to his back. His clothes where drenched in sweat, and he smelt worse than a cesspool cleaner on a Friday night. And as if that was enough for him, he also had a tiny spoilt brat sitting on his back, kicking and shouting at him to go beyond his limits.

“Come on! Why aren’t you moving horsy?” she asked annoyingly.

Narius was quickly understanding why the last man before him decided to leap to his death. So far this child has forced him to wear a frilly dress, forced him to turn her room into a jungle, only to change her mind and turn into a desert. She also made him perform magic tricks despite the fact he couldn’t do magic, used him as a climbing frame, changed her mind again and made him return the room to normal, only to change her mind again and turn it back into a jungle, only to change her mind once more and turn it back into normal. Then she decided to slap on a horse saddle on his back and ride him like a horse*.

“Why won’t you move!” she screamed at the top of her little lungs.

She picked up a small stick, by which I mean a princess sized mace with very blunt edges, and hit Narius as hard as she could on his side. He suddenly sprung to back into life, moving about in a painful reaction. Keelyn, shocked though equally excited by Narius’ new energy shouted, “Yay, yay! You’re a lot more fun than the other nannies I’ve had!”

“Thank… you… princess…” said Narius, gasping for breath between each word.

Hours later she finally got to sleep, Narius was slowly making his way back into his room. He still smelt worse than a cesspool cleaner and his clothes simply had no more space for anymore sweat.

“Did you enjoy your first day?”

Narius looked up, it was the same person who escorted him this morning. Narius, after taking a deep breath.

“You…didn’t mention… that she…was…a little monster!”
“I kept telling you that! I even told you about the nannies before you!”
“I…am not doing this!”
“Really now? So I suppose you don’t care about her feelings? She really likes you know, she would be heartbroken if you left.”
“She…has no heart! Besides… emotional blackmail isn’t going to work on me.”
“How about regular blackmail?”
“That might work.”
“Well you see today the nobles passed a new law. Basically now you can no longer leave this occupation by your own will. Only made redundant or otherwise no longer capable of attending to your duties. I would also like to mention at this point that if you kill your self or purposely try to make your self physical unfit for the job, we will imprison your family and slowly torture them for the rest of their lives. We have checked this new law so many times and even got an Amurite sage to make sure there are no loopholes what so ever, so don’t bother trying to find them.”
“What?! All because I won’t baby-sit that monster!”
“You just experienced what babysitting her is like! If you were in my position you would do the same!”
“You barstard!”
“Yes, yes I am. I never knew my farther and never will. Now if I was you I would go to bed and gain some rest, you got the princess excited. Don’t worry, I’m sure she’ll run out of ideas sooner or later. Then you can get some rest, your room is on the right here,” said the escort with a smile.

Narius then went to be grudgingly to bed, he used to baby-sit back in his village. The worse he ever dealt with was a five year old who stole biscuits out of the biscuit basket. He also realised he made a terrible mistake sending for his family once he earned some money.

Narius entered his room and collapsed on the king-sized bed. Not paying any attention to the fine oak furniture or the red velvet carpet. What he did notice was his extremely comfortable mattress, it moulded into the position Narius was lying in and stayed like that. The pillows were soft, but still thick enough so he didn’t feel the surface below, and the bed sheet was thick and comfortable for those cold nights in Jubilee. For a slight moment Narius felt like he was in heaven.

Then he slept like a drunken dwarf for the entire night, dreaming of a happier time where he didn’t know about this country or was offered a job babysitting Keelyn. But all good things come to past, and it was morning once more. Narius was starving; as he got up he noticed the smell of a roast boar. Right there, on one of the tables was the biggest boar he ever saw in his life! Narius noticed a small note with it, but being a barbarian he didn’t know how to read, so he tossed it aside and started to eat the boar. Wolfing it down like an animal that’s been starved for months and fed nothing but the occasional thin waver biscuit.

An hour later he heard the spine-chilling yawn of the princess waking up. Narius sighed very loudly, and got dressed properly with the clothes provided in the draws. A month passed by and Narius was starting to consider ways out of his predicament that didn’t end with the torture of his entire family. However there was nothing he could think of, so Narius started to bang his head on the wall of the princess’s room whist she thought of a new game to play.

“We’ve played desert nomads, jungle explorers, horsy, dress up…” Keelyn said listing every single thing she forced Narius to do. Narius dreaded whatever game she was going to think of next, it seemed that all of her games, no matter how innocent sounding, somehow ended up with Narius gasping for breath and getting himself drenched in sweat. “Oh I know!” said Keelyn turning around quickly towards Narius, only to suddenly fall down on the ground.

Narius stopped his relentless banging on the walls to look towards the princess. Who was slowly getting back up, she rolled up the right side of her skirt up to see the her scraped knee. Then with teary eyes she stared at Narius, her expression shouting, “That really hurt!” She then cried and wailed at a record high for Narius’ ears.

Narius rushed over to her, seemingly forgetting the torturous games she inflicted on him, and held her in his arms, she in turn held him with tiny vice like grips. He whispered the words, “Shush, shush, shush,” into her ears softly, and started to walk out of her room in search for some cloth and cold water to clean the leg with. It would seem, that despite ‘devil child’ rumours about her, she was still a child**…

Footnotes

Keelyn smiled at Narius as they walked down the streets of Jubilee. It was an extremely rare occasion that the princess was outside the palace walls, since it was a dangerous place outside in the streets. She could have been attacked, sold into slavery or worse! Therefore the nobles in Perpentach’s royal court didn’t dare send her out by herself*, however the barbarian nanny Narius wasn’t about to let anything harm her… or ditch her and run away hoping to get out of a job, seeing as his entire family was to be horribly tortured for the rest of their lives if he did.

“So you know what we’re going to do when we nock on the door?” ask Keelyn, clearly excited.
“Yes princess. When I nock on the door your going to shout-”
“Trick or treat!”
“Right. And then they’ll give us the treats.”
“And if they don’t we trick them!”
“Yes Keelyn, though I somewhat doubt we’ll need to.”
“It was nice of you to get this penguin costume made for me,” she said hugging him.
“It was nothing,” he said smiling, patting her on the head.
“That ballerina costume is also very nice on you to Narius.”
“Don’t remind me….”

Narius then knocked on a door of a random house and waited with Keelyn. Shortly after a richly dressed man answered the door, and stared in shocked confusion at the two people dressed as a ballerina and a penguin.

“Trick or treat!” they both shouted, Keelyn with child excitement, and Narius who tried to sound excited, but failed miserably.
“Is this some sort of joke?!” the man snapped back.
“No sir, it isn’t. The princess would apprentice some sort of treat since she… feels like it…” replied Narius.
“And what if I refuse to?”

“We’re going to trick you!” snapped Keelyn.
“She’s correct. If you refuse to give her a treat we will trick you instead,” said Narius.
“Let’s see this trick then!” the man sneeringly asked.

Narius then sighed and took a very small crossbow** out from his corset, loaded it with a very sharp bolt and pointed it towards the man.

“I’ll just go and get the little darling something then!” he said, rushing of to find something decent so the two would simply leave with out harming him. He later came back with a bucket of sweeties and poured the lot into Keelyn’s cloth bag. Keelyn then looked up with a sweet, though slightly disturbing smile, and said, “thank you!” and with that the two went next-door to the next unlikely victim.

Keelyn’s bag quickly got filled with more and more sweeties, with the help of Narius who threatened to kill a lot of people if they didn’t give her what she wanted. Gladly no one got hurt whist the two did this, everyone gave them what they wanted and after five hours Keelyn had enough sweets to last for a couple of years.

“We should do this every year!”
And true to her word, it became a yearly tradition for her and Narius to go off into the streets and extort sweets out of the citizens of Jubilee. This quickly became a national holiday for all the children of every nation to enjoy, even little Doviello children started knocking at Charadon’s hut asking for sweets, however what was more shocking was that Mahala was with them, supervising the activity…

Aytipeegi was one of the few Amurite magic students that had been in on the Amurite-Balseraph student exchange plan and survived. And he was certainly the only one ever to have enjoyed it. Perhaps it was something in his nature, or the fact that he studied Chaos Magic with a hitherto unknown passion, but somehow he had enjoyed the years in exchange. And soon, it would be over.

He was on his way out of the School on his last day before the great graduation ceremony, stopping dead in his tracks to think of the years he had spent in the wonderful city of Jubilee. The magic capabilities of his comrade students had not been impressive to him as Amurite, but they could something with alchemy, especially when it concerned drugs. And the girls... Aytipeegi smiled. It had definately been a blast, way more interesting than staying home in Amure. There had, of course, been accidents and days of greif - as when one of his girlfriends had suddenly disappeared after having eaten a particularly interesting mushroom - but they were quickly forgotten in the company of the Balseraphs.

He continued his exodus from the large school building, passing the statue of its founder. The piedestal read, majestetically: "Ignatius XIII, the founder of Jubilee Magical Academy". On the line below, added with slightly smaller letters, was a continuation that had been added later: "and who later turned himself into a baboon". Not going as far as to replace the statue, the Balseraph sculptors had designed several stone bananas and placed them at the feet of the statue. Aytipeegi shook his head, betraying a smile. He suddenly realized that he had to hurry; he still needed a hat for the graduation ceremony. He rushed down the nearest street, finding the shop that lived richly of this one day of the year: "The Mad Hatter's Shop".

The name concerned him, since the girlfriend he had had that had suddenly disappeared - Alice was her name - had warned him about Mad Hatters. Then again, every hatter in town was mad and so had Alice been. She had also warned him about a rabbit with a handwatch and the Queen of Hearts, whoever that was, so he relaxed himself and entered. After having waited in line for some time, he finally looked into the eyes of the low, grey-haired taylor who owned the store. He told the man that he needed a graduation hat.

"Ah, yes, that's correct. First, we'll need to measure your head."
The man found a rope without any length markings and tied it around the head of Aytipeegi and nodded, knowingly. "Size human", the hatter concluded with a knowing tone. "Now, will a standard graduation hat do?"
Aytipeegi looked at him questioningly. "What other graduation hats are there?"
The old man smiled and went to find a hat, and Aytipeegi got the impression that it had been a mistake asking. The old man came back, brandishing a dark blue hat with a solid rim. "This," he proclaimed, "is the Lanun Lobotomizer." He posed proudly with the hat.

"What's so special about it?", Aytipeegi asked. The old man took a deep breath before replying, still overly pleased with himself: "Several of the mages - most of them water mages - were annoyed that their hats were ruined by falling into water, so we designed this hat. It is so waterproof that you could keep it under water longer than it takes a Drown to learn the Somnium rules and when you take it up again it'd still be drier that Os-Gabella's-"
"Why the grim name of the hat?", Aytipeegi broke the old man off.
The hatter nodded. "Ah, yes, you see, several of the mages who wanted to work under water or in strong winds - on ships and stuff - griped that it was all very fine that the hat was waterproof and all, but what good was that if it kept falling off their heads? So we designed this rim with some small, very small steel teeth to keep it fastened to the head of the mage..."
The old man pressed a button on the rim of the hat and some not quite harmless metal teeth protuded inwards from the rim of the hat. Aytipeegi thought he would be sick. "No thanks, just a standard graduation hat, then", he said.