City of IF

[Thracia Alba]

"The Greatest Fantasy Story Ever"


Chapter Two: In Which the Author Flaunts Tradition and Attempts to Please Everyone

When last we left Cleothestrina the Sales Representative from the Witches' Council, she was struggling with a very important decision, one that could possibly change the course of her entire life irrevocably. Should she carry on with her assignment in Meh, the dullest town in the whole wide world, risking a very boring and pointless death, all for a mere pittance of a raise in a meaningless job that she despised anyway? Or should she rise up, cast aside her shackles, and venture off in search of a life that could truly be called just that? It was a difficult decision because while the outcome of one seemed horrible yet predictable enough, the outcome of the other was fraught with frightening change, shrouded in mystery, and could possibly cost Cleo her life. It was not a decision to be jumped into so soon, but gravely considered. But who cares what Cleo wants? On with the show!

It wasn't as if it would have taken Cleo all that long to decide anyway, though. You see, while the previous paragraph was being written, something strange and powerful was stirring deep within her heart. It was a different sort of emotion, one that she had not felt in a long, long time, if at all; she couldn't remember. But whatever it was, and however long it had been dormant, it was awake now, and it was thrashing itself against its bars, and it was demanding to be let out, and it would not be denied, and Cleothestrina knew then what she had to do! "That's it!" she cried aloud to the fog and the hilltops. "I've had enough, and I'm not going to take it anymore, and just let those old bats at HQ try to do something about it! I dare them!" Then at that moment, as if on cue, something from inside her knapsack made a peculiar ringing sound. Cleo fumed, "Oh, it's them, is it? Well, I'll show them a thing or two!" Fingers shaking in rage and excitement, she fumbled at the ties and with a squeak of triumph snatched from inside the bag a small, round mirror. She clicked a switch on the edge of the mirror and smiled somewhat maniacally, ready to unleash a verbal volley on the unfortunate caller. Unfortunately enough, though, it never came.

"Is that you, Cleo dear?" It was Magden, the Head of the High Council. The furious beast within Cleothestrina whimpered a little and slunk off into the corner, tail tucked neatly between its legs.

"I... um, ah, yeah." Cleo replied eloquently, and her shoulders sagged back into their accustomed slump.

"Ah, Cleo, so good to see you again!" The image in the mirror wasn't that of the scraggly young employee, but of a woman who was at least in her early fifties, with bone-white hair that was pulled back tightly into a no-nonsense bun. Her features were soft enough, with a roundish face and a small, straight nose, but her eyes were hard as diamonds, and they were staring straight into Cleo's.

The younger woman fidgeted and tried not to look into them. "Can I, uh... help you?" She finished lamely.

Magden in turn smiled, though it never reached those eyes, and tilted her chin up slightly. "Why, no, not at all, dear! I was just wondering how you were holding up. Is everything quite all right?"

Cleo coughed and rubbed the back of her neck. "Uh, yeah, everything's good. Great. Perfect."

"Good, good! I'm so glad to hear that, especially since our customer seemed so anxious to meet with you." She smiled again, this time like a hawk watching a limping rabbit. "Unless, of course, there's anything else you'd rather be doing."

"No! Um, I mean, no, not at all. Everything's going just fine!" Cleo straightened and did her best to smile convincingly, though it only made her look rather ill.

"Glad to hear it, dear," the Head Witch said congenially enough, and Cleo was probably only imagining the hint of venom her voice carried. "Report back when you're all done, and we'll see about that promotion! Won't that be nice?"

"Yeah, nice. Splendid," she replied miserably, though the image in the mirror had already winked out, and Cleo was staring at her own defeated features. "Well, I guess that's it, isn't it?" she sighed to herself. She replaced the mirror in the bag and shouldered it once more. So deep was her misery that she didn't see how she could ever be happy again. In fact, her misery was so deep that she didn't see much of anything, not even the dark shadow that passed over her swiftly, and didn't notice anything until the cause of the shadow was about a hundred yards ahead of her and fast approaching.

Giant pterodons weren't totally unheard of in that area. In fact, it was rumored that there was an uncharted island somewhere in the nearby sea, an island on which an ambitious scientist had taken the blood of an ancient pterodon from a mosquito trapped in a lump of fossilized tree sap, and had used it to produce hundreds of the giant lizard-beasts, and that's where they all came from. However, it was generally agreed that this story was too stupid to be true, and most agreed that the cause had probably been magic. It usually was, at any rate. However the creatures had come about, though, there were never many of them around, and they almost never attacked people.

Cleo's last thought was, 'That's just my luck, isn't it?' Then instinct took over and she dove onto the ground seconds before the lizard-bird swooped overhead. The problem with diving to the ground when one is on a hill, Cleo soon learned, is that the ground upon which you dive is extremely uneven, and if you're in just the right place when you dive, you might just keep on going. Well, the hill Cleo had been standing upon was a particularly steep and narrow one, and she had been standing right on the edge.

A long series of 'Oof!'s, 'Aah!'s, 'Ugh!'s, and a couple 'Aaargh!'s later, Cleo arrived at the bottom of the hill, none the worse for wear, except now she ached all over and had possibly broken something, though there was too much hurt to pinpoint exactly what and where it was. And she was on the back of a horse. And she was facing the wrong way.

"Well, hello, there!" said a friendly voice behind her. Cleo would have jumped in surprise had she been even remotely capable of being surprised at that moment. She strained to turn around in her seat on the horse and was greeted with an honest young face belonging to a boy who couldn't be far past twenty. He smiled as if random people falling out of the sky and onto his horse was an everyday occurrence for him. "Need a lift?"

Cleo sighed heavily and rubbed her eyes. "It's okay," she reassured herself, "it's just a hallucination caused by the trauma of the fall. My body is probably lying somewhere in the fog, broken and near death."

The youth looked puzzled. "What are you talking about?" he asked.

"I was just reminding myself that you probably aren't real. I'm just imagining you because I hit my head during the fall. It's happened to me before, at any rate."

He looked even more puzzled and pinched himself on the arm. "I feel real," he said, wincing. "I've always thought I was real, anyway."

Cleo shook her head. "No, you see, that's the thing. Hallucinations never know they're not real. Haven't you ever read science fiction before?"

"What do you..." he began, and then laughed. "I see, you're confused! What you need is to rest. This, unfortunately," he gestured to the cold, gray fog that was all around them, "is not the best place for it. Tell you what, I'll take you to Meh with me!

Now it was Cleo's turn to look puzzled. "You're going to Meh?" She sighed once more and mumbled, "This kind of thing could only happen in my life. Only in my life..."

The youth laughed once more and reigned his horse onward into, well, more fog. "It'll be about a ten-minute ride to town, so I suggest you make yourself comfortable, or as comfortable as one can be seated backward on a horse!" This was evidently the most hilarious thing the boy had ever said in his life, because he laughed a great horse-laugh that his mount would have been proud of.

Cleo wasn't paying much attention to him, though, because not only was she used to being the butt of many a joke, but her dizzy brain had been piecing a thought together. "If the Council has the magical technology to create two-way mirrors," she mused, "then why do I have to come all the way out here to talk to a customer?"

"What?"

"Nothing. I was just thinking aloud again. I do that a lot, I guess." She turned around again and peered at the back of her strange benefactor. "For now, since I seem to have no choice, I'll entertain the idea that you're not just some fever dream. Who are you, anyway? You seem far too lively to be from around here."

"That's because I'm not," he replied cheerfully. "I'm a passing adventurer, and I was just getting my bearings when you landed on my horse. My name's Goosegrass, by the way."

"You're joking, right?"

"No. Why?"

"No reason." She shook her head once more in hopes of clearing it, but it worked just as well as it had the last couple times, which was not at all. "So just how do you find your way in this fog? It's not as if there are any signposts, not that we'd be able to see them anyway."

Goosegrass tapped his head and said, "It's simple. I have what you call an internal compass."

"Oh. What's a compass?" Cleo asked quizzically.

"No idea. But whatever it is, I have it."

"Great."

---

Gray. That's what it was. The town, the houses, even the people were gray, gray, gray; gray as the sauce on a Swedish meatball, gray as the neighbor's cat that relieves itself in your rosebushes, gray as the grayest day you've ever known, only grayer. Is the point coming across clearly enough here? Good.

It had only been a few moments since Cleo and Goosegrass had finally risen through the fog to emerge at the edge of the town. They were both soaking wet and shivering, and Cleo was already about to go completely insane from the boredom. Thankfully enough, the Council had taken care to provide her with the best precautionary entertainment system that money could buy, or at least as much as they were willing to pay for. She fumbled frantically for her knapsack and practically tore it open, rooting around desperately at the contents.

"Oh my," said Goosegrass. "This doesn't seem at all like the advertisements said it would be. Where are the tall palms swaying lazily in the gentle Summer breeze? Where are the sparkling white beaches and the blue-green waves? Where's the fun, the excitement, the good times all around? What on earth is that?" he asked, staring intently at the object that Cleo had wrestled from the bag. "Is it some kind of weapon?"

She shook her head. "Standard precautions." She flicked her wrist. Ponga, ponga, ponga, went the paddleball. She had never liked those things, but now this one was her only hope. "So," she continued, her eyes following the bouncing ball, "it's been great and all, but I had best be getting off now. Thanks for the ride."

"No problem," the youth replied. "Are you sure you'll be all right here?"

"Oh, yeah, I've faced worse situations than this and lived. Well, sort of. Anyway, I'd shake your hand, but I'm trying to maintain what's left of my sanity." She slid awkwardly off the horse's rear but somehow landed on her feet, which was a definite improvement.

Goosegrass laughed that horse-laugh again. "You are the strange one, Miss... uh, I don't think I got your name."

"Just call me Cleo. It's easier that way," she said. Ponga, ponga, ponga, went the ball against the paddle.

"Well, Miss Cleo, I hope we meet again sometime!" He flicked the reigns and the horse trotted away briskly down the boring little street lined with its boring little houses.

"I highly doubt that," she muttered to herself. "The only way I'd willingly come back here is if I were being dragged by the hounds of Hell. Which wouldn't be willingly, I suppose."

To cut a long story short, which the author has so far failed to do, Cleo then set about the task of finding the customer's house. It didn't take long to find it; She had been informed that the customer, a Ms. Croquette, was going to hang a flag out in front. It was gray, of course. Cleo hesitated for a minute before the door, summoning her courage and wondering what kind of strange and boring creature awaited her inside. She received her answer a moment later when the door violently swung open and a voice hissed, "I thought you'd never come! Quick, get in!" She was roughly dragged inside before the door banged shut behind her. What Cleo faced then was not some tentacled beast of old, but was instead a somewhat grubby woman about her own age.

"Well, that was rude." Cleo dusted herself off more for show than anything. "Why the secrecy? It's not as if it's a crime to order a product in this town."

"Sorry," the woman replied sheepishly. "It's just... I don't want anyone knowing about this. It's a little embarrassing."

Cleo quirked an eyebrow and shrugged. "Okay. So, Ms. Croquette, is it? You ordered the beautifying potion."

Croquette blushed. "Yes, I did." She glanced around as if checking for eavesdroppers. "I can explain, though! It's just that it's so dreadfully dull here, I can't stand it anymore! I want to find a man and high-tail it out of here to one of those exciting cities I've heard so much about. But the problem is, well," she hung her head in shame, "none of the men around here have ever so much as glanced in my direction. So I thought I might need a little help."

The sales representative sighed and put her face in her hands. "I never ask them for an explanation," she groaned, "and yet they always volunteer one. I'm just a middleman, for crying out loud!" She sighed for what must have been the hundredth time that day and studied the girl in front of her. She was a bit unkempt, yes, but she'd probably clean up well, maybe even be passingly attractive. It wasn't Croquette's appearance that was ruining her chances, but rather her location. The people of Meh tended to go through life staring at their shoes or their eyelids, and it would take more than a vaguely pretty girl to shake the men out of their dull stupor. It was a wonder they managed to reproduce at all, really. "You know, Croquette, I could get fired for this, but you may not need the potion." A lock of hair had fallen in front of Cleo's eye, and she brushed it back, revealing a small, leaf-shaped ear.

"But I really..." Croquette stopped abruptly, and gasped. "You-- you're an elf!"

"Huh? Uh, yeah, I guess I am."

The other girl sighed dreamily. "It must be wonderful, getting to live forever without growing old.

"Not really," Cleo replied. "It sounds glamorous, but it gets tedious after the first thousand years or so."

Croquette gasped again. "You're a thousand years old?!"

"No, it only feels like it. Actually, I'm twenty-three. Anyway," she said, putting down the now-forgotten paddleball and retrieving a clipboard from her bag, "let's get down to business, shall we? We've yet to discuss your payment."

"Payment?"

"Yes, payment. You didn't think this was going to be free, did you?"

"No, I suppose not," the girl replied, unsure. "So, what does it cost? Five gold? Ten?"

"Actually," Cleo said, skimming the chart, "the standard payment for the beautifying potion is the surrender of your first-born son."

"What? That seems a bit extreme, if I do say so myself."

Cleo sighed. "Look, I don't make the rules. Do you want the stupid thing or not?"

"Well..." Croquette seemed to mentally wrestle with the decision for a moment. "What happens to the boys?"

The elf shrugged and said, "Search me. Probably something awful."

Croquette considered that a moment, and finally said, "Well, I guess so. What happens if I don't have any boys?"

"Then we don't collect, and you get off scott-free. It's a bit of a gamble."

"Well, that's good, then. My mother's line has had nothing but girls for ten generations, and we all know it's the mother that determines the sex of the baby!"

"Sure, why not?. Whatever helps you sleep at night. Just sign here." She held the clipboard out and the girl signed. Then Cleo fished around in her bag once more, produced a small, pink bottle, and tossed it to Croquette. "Here's the potion," she said. "Apply it to your wrists and the men will fall over themselves to get to you. Well, not men from around here, but I'm sure you'll manage." Cleo seemed to have a second thought and took another bottle from the knapsack. "And try some of this," she continued, handing it to the other girl. "It's called 'shampoo'. Directions are on the bottle; I suggest you read them first. And for goodness sake, wear some color!" She was fully aware of the hypocrisy of her suggestions but was too worn out to care.

Croquette's eyes were glistening. "Thank you so much!" she cried. "I'll never forget your kindness!" Fingers shaking with excitement, she pried open the lid of the bottle of 'potion' and splashed it on her wrists, soaking her sleeves in the process; immediately the smell of a thousand obnoxious flower gardens filled the air.

"Don't thank me," Cleo mumbled, coughing a little. "It wasn't my idea to come to this rat-bag of a--" She was cut off as the door banged open once more, and Goosegrass strode in.

"Miss Cleo, a villager told me they had seen a grubby outsider get dragged into this house and I..." He trailed off as a dreamy expression took over his features. "That scent... It smells just like my mother's garden in here." His gaze fell to Croquette. "And who," he began, moving toward her as if he were floating, "is this lovely lady, if I may be so bold?"

Croquette blushed. "You may, sir. My name is Croquette."

"A beautiful name for a beautiful woman. I am named Goosegrass." He took her hand and kissed it, entranced.

Croquette gasped. "Goosegrass? Prince Goosegrass, son of King Goosander? I-I am honored to be in your presence, my lord!"

"I assure you, the honor is mine alone," he said, and they gazed passionately into each other's eyes.

In the meantime, Cleo was feeling extremely uncomfortable. "I, um, I'll just leave now, mmkay?" Neither of the two were paying any attention to her, each being solely wrapped up in the gaze of the other. "Right," she said, grabbed the paddleball, and hurried out the door. "Prince Goosegrass," she muttered to herself once she was safely outside. "Could my life get any stranger?" Ponga, ponga, ponga, was all the advice the paddleball had to offer. However, Cleo was sure of one thing: It had been an extremely difficult day, and she was in a reckless mood. With a crazy grin she tore the form from its clipboard, crumpled it into a ball, and tossed it into the nearest waste-bin. "That'll show 'em!" she exclaimed, feeling suddenly empowered. As far as the Council would be concerned, that silly girl had never received her order. Of course, it would mean about twenty pages of paperwork, but it would be so worth it to finally get one over on those guys. "Anyway," she said, suddenly chipper, "I need to get out of here as soon as possible." She stopped a man who was trudging down the street with his eyes on the ground. "Excuse me," she asked, "do you know when the next air-ferry takes off?"

The man didn't reply; he was staring in wonder at the paddleball. "What is that?" he croaked in a voice that was scratchy from disuse.

"What, you mean the paddleball?"

His eyes widened as if he were seeing for the first time. "What a marvellous invention!" He snatched it away and ran away down the street, swinging his arms wildly and shouting, "Everyone, wake up! I have something new and miraculous! Come out, come out and see!" Doors and shutters swung open. Men, women, and children shook the dust from their shoulders and ventured out, gathering around the man with his amazing new toy. The clouds parted for the first time in over a hundred years and the sun shone forth, destroying the fog. Flowers bloomed, birds sang, people started showering. It was a glorious new age for the people of Thermosa, for hope and life had once more been restored to the sleepiest place on earth. Life would never again be the same for the citizens of Meh, which was soon after named Paddletown in honor of the amazing invention that had made it all possible, and it was all thanks to an elven sales representative named Cleothestrina.

Cleo herself learned a very valuable lesson that day: When living in a work of fiction, never ask a hypothetical question, because you will always get an answer.

---

"Breathe, your Highness! You need to breathe!"

"I've been breathing all my life, I don't need you to tell me! Yyaaaargh!!"

Magden sighed in frustration. She had not ruthlessly clawed her way to the top of the High Council because she had always entertained secret dreams of midwifery; frankly, babies disgusted her. Even Croquette had, for some odd reason, seemed very opposed to the idea of Magden being there, and it had taken her husband a great deal of effort to talk her into allowing it. After all, the birth of an heir to the throne of Niphti was a special sort of occasion, and someone had to be there to make sure the baby was born with the proper number of fingers and toes. Of course, it wasn't as if she had ever witnessed a birth, having gone to great pains to avoid the subject altogether. But that was what the Royal Midwife, a dumpy woman in her late sixties, was there for. Magden was mostly there to correct any complications that required magical intervention. "So how long is this going to take, exactly?" she demanded.

"It'll take as long as it takes!" the midwife snapped. She seemed irritated and more than a little offended that some big-shot Witch had been called in to supervise, as if her own skills weren't enough to handle something she had been through time and time again! "Humph!" she grunted, and placed a damp towel on Princess Croquette's forehead. Then she dropped her voice to a whisper. "It had better be a girl, or it'll be your hide for sure."

Magden nodded gravely. For whatever reason, Croquette had insisted that the child had to be female, and even though the princess was almost completely certain that it would be so, she had sought absolute certainty and had gone to Magden, who had brewed a special potion to be taken once every night. It stank and was bitter as an orange peel, but Magden had assured her it would result in a girl. Croquette, in turn, had assured Magden of dire consequences should the potion fail. Only she, the princess, and the Royal Midwife knew. However, one did not get to be Head of the High Witches' Council without a bit of resourcefulness; Magden had of course prepared a back-up plan, a plan that was waiting in a basket in the next room over. She was shaken out of her reverie when the midwife gasped, "I can see something! The little princess is on her way!"

Outside, the larger prince was slumped against the stone wall and looking as if someone had just presented him with a particularly large and slimy slug on a platter. The court magician and Royal Adviser, a young wizard named Wictred, was with him. "What is troubling you, Sire?" he asked in a voice that was highly reminiscent of oil slicks. "I assure you the princess is in the very best of care, and the young prince as well."

"Actually, I'm hoping it'll be a girl. You see, Father has said that he won't allow himself to die until he knows I have a son. So," he smiled weakly, "I'd like to put off having a son for as long as possible."

"A most touching sentiment, Sire, but surely you realize that you must have your own heir eventually?" He arched his eyebrows the way shady, ambitious wizards always do.

"Yes, yes, I know. But now, all I'm hoping for is a healthy baby. I think I'm going to be sick," he said, and slumped further. That moment, the door creaked open slowly, and the midwife stepped out. She looked pale and regarded him with a peculiar, cautious expression. Goosegrass leaped to his feet. "Well, what is it?" he gasped. "Is Croquette all right? What about the baby?"

"They're both fine," she replied shakily. "It was a girl."

"A girl!" Joy swept over Goosegrass' face. "Then what's the matter? Why do you look so worried?"

"It's, ah, nothing. A slight deformity, that's all. Magden is fixing it right now, though. She had to, um, get some supplies from the adjoining room, and will return shortly."

"But the baby will be all right?"

"Quite all right, your Highness. In a few minutes, everything will be all right."

---

"You called for me, your Highness?"

Croquette turned from the picture window to face the older woman. "Why, yes, have a seat," she said guardedly. Even after eighteen years she had never come to like that Magden, mostly because she knew the Witch must have been itching to get her claws into a son; perhaps it was fortunate that she and Goosegrass had never managed to have any more children. It both confused and vexed her, though, that Magden had never once mentioned the deal, not even hinted at it. What was this woman playing at? She supposed it didn't matter anyway, since it didn't seem like Magden would be able to collect at this point. As for the older witch, she had taken the wooden chair by the window, her hands folded neatly in her lap, her back straight as if she had swallowed a broomstick. How she annoyed Croquette. The princess, in turn, flopped down somewhat inelegantly on the window-seat, just out of spite.

Magden waited, the very picture of patience and courtesy.

"All right, it's about Kristelle!" Croquette burst finally. "As you know, Prince Goosegrass and I never had a son." She muttered, "Which is something about which I'm sure you're particularly disappointed."

A strange look passed over Magden's face for a moment, and then it was gone. "I am as concerned as anyone for the welfare of the kingdom, Princess. But I am sure your royal daughter will find a worthy husband soon enough."

Croquette sighed wearily. "That's just the problem. Kristelle is a... headstrong girl." In all honesty, Croquette's daughter had not turned out at all as she had hoped. For one thing, there was the matter of her appearance. While Goosegrass was handsome enough and Croquette herself was mildly attractive, their daughter had grown to be uncommonly beautiful. That would have been fortunate enough, but her disposition was another matter entirely; despite her parents' best efforts, or perhaps because of them, Kristelle had become an arrogant, willful, pigheaded, spoiled and temperamental brat. To say the least, it had proved rather difficult to set her up with a suitable young man. "We've brought in princes from all over the known world," Croquette continued, "and she's chased them all away. In fact, just this morning Prince Brince of the Rhyming Kingdom fled from the palace, screaming in pentameter. Kristelle claimed he was 'too wordy'. I thought he was a sweet young man." Croquette looked down at her hands. "She won't even settle for one of the more successful heroes. She claims she won't ever marry! Imagine! What woman can call herself respectable if she hasn't found a husband?"

Magden declined to comment.

"Anyway," she continued, "her father and I certainly don't want to force her into it, but she's almost eighteen, and she's got to marry for the sake of the kingdom! So," she said with downcast eyes, "I was wondering if maybe you, well..."

"Could help you?" Magden finished for her. Croquette nodded miserably, and the Witch allowed the tiniest hint of smugness to enter her voice. "This is certainly a difficult situation. But," she said and smiled in a way that made the princess shudder, "I believe I have an idea. By the way, my memory's not what it used to be, but didn't you order a product from the Council once?"

Croquette looked up sharply. "What if I did? That was a long time ago. Why do you ask?"

"No reason, your Highness. No reason at all."

---

The night was dark and windy, as nights always are in fantasy stories. The traveller hunched his shoulders and wrapped his cloak more tightly against the wind, studying the small inn before him. He had travelled a long way, five whole miles. Hey, it was his first journey. Cut him some slack.

The Drunken Dragon. It seemed like a cheerful establishment, and it would be nice to sleep in a bed again. And besides, everyone knew that a passing adventurer could always find colorful characters in any average tavern; they were practically bursting with them! The door swung violently open and a man was ejected from the building, landing in a bruised heap on the ground. Yes, it was a typical tavern, all right, just like he had always read in the story books. The youth grinned, stepped over the unconscious man, and entered the inn.

Within was all noise and tobacco smoke, and the young man inhaled deeply before collapsing in a coughing fit. Now this was what adventure was all about! And Father had always claimed farming to be a man's noblest calling. He was anxious to have a room and a bed, but first things first, he needed an adventuring companion. He scanned the room anxiously. Hmm, ruffians, villains, seedy types, more ruffians... For a moment he almost panicked. The stories had assured him there were always people of a noble sort frequenting taverns! But then, to his absolute relief, he spotted a smallish figure seated at a table in the far corner. Surely this person seemed promising, as he was the only one not engaged in debauchery or riotous behavior. The youth strode over confidently, and then hesitated. The figure wasn't a he at all, but instead appeared to be a young woman with short, black hair, a weak chin, and sarcastic eyes. She had small lips that were set in a firm line, and she was regarding the drink before her as if it held some secret. She wasn't exactly what he'd had in mind, but you couldn't judge a book by its cover. "Hello!" he chirped. "My name's Coriander."

"Charmed," she replied, not removing her eyes from the drink. "Now go away."

This seemed enough of an invitation for Coriander, and he pulled a chair up to the table. "So," he said after the young woman had ignored him for several minutes, "will you accompany me on my quest?"

She looked at him as if he had just sprouted a new appendage from his forehead. "What? Are you insane?"

Coriander appeared taken aback. "No, it's just... Well, this is my first quest and all, so I'm not really sure how to go about this. Did I do it wrong? Should I have filled out a request form first?"

She sighed and rubbed her forehead wearily. "Okay, this is crazy. You just walk in here and ask me, a total stranger, to join you on some fool quest? You don't even know my name!"

"What is your name?"

"Pfft. As if I'd tell you."

"Then why did you..."

"Never mind." She propped her elbow on the table and looked him up and down. "Let's just pretend for a moment that I'd even remotely consider doing something like running off with a total stranger to parts unknown. Anyway, I need a good laugh. What is this quest of yours?"

Coriander hesitated. "Well, I don't have one yet. I just figured I'd take care of that once the party was assembled."

She opened and closed her mouth a few times in apparent disbelief, looked as if she were about to say something, and then seemed to change her mind. "You know what?" she began instead. "I think you've got something there, what with the shabby organization and lack of concrete goals and all. I think I'll take you up on your offer."

The young adventurer practically wet himself. "Really?! D'you mean it?"

"Oh yeah," she said, and drained the last of her drink. "Let me just go up to my room to pack my stuff. You just, ah, just wait for me."

"Gee, thanks, Miss..." But any hope of getting her name was lost or now, because she had already crossed the room and was heading up the stairs. "Wow, that was fast," Coriander said to himself. "Well, I guess I'll just wait here, then."

Three hours later Coriander was starting to feel a bit impatient. 'She sure is taking a long time to pack,' he thought. He briefly considered going up to see if she needed help, but a conversation from a nearby table caught his attention.

"So did'ya hear the latest news from Niphti?" Braddox the Fierce asked his two scruffy companions. "They say Princess Kristelle's been kidnapped by some wicked sorcerer."

Garr the Wily nodded and drained his fifth beer of the evening. He was trying to cut back, after all. "Yeah, I heard. Locked away in a dark tower, guarded by a fearsome dragon. The king and queen're offering the kingdom to whoever saves her. Lucky man'll have the princess for a bride!" He dropped his voice. "Tell you the truth, though, I don't know if he'd be all that lucky. I've heard tell about this princess and what she's done to all her previous suitors."

"Here, here," added Dego Boulderfist. "It'd take a lot more than a kingdom for me to risk my neck for that broad." They all shared a laugh at this.

"Yeah, what d'you bet some fresh young punk is gonna fry trying to rescue that piece o' work?" Again laughter abounded, but it died down when a fresh young punk stepped up to the table.

"Excuse me, fellow adventurers!" Coriander smiled his best winning-people-over smile, the one that he only thought worked. "Did I hear something about a damsel in distress?"

The three exchanged glances. "Sure, why not, kid?" replied Garr, who was suddenly grinning from ear to ear.

"Oh, this is wonderful! Finally, a worthy quest! Unless, of course, you three were planning to..."

"Not at all kid! I think this could be a great opportunity for a bright young lad such as yerself." Dego snorted and Braddox elbowed him in the ribs. "Anyway, you'll wanna start looking in J'naeric Forest. I've heard that's where the tower is."

Coriander was practically bouncing. "Wow, a quest to save a princess! I'll have to tell--" He was cut off suddenly by a loud explosion from upstairs and a scream.

"Fire!" someone shrieked, and the place became a madhouse as everyone leaped to their feet as one and tried to fit out the door at the same time, kind of like passing period in a public high school, only not as terrifying. The three adventurers jumped to their feet, drew their swords, and raced toward the stairs. Coriander tried to draw his own sword before he realized that he didn't have one. He stood there awkwardly, hand on his belt, his mind racing. Already smoke was starting to pour from the top of the staircase, and the ceiling timbers were creaking ominously. It would probably be a good idea, his survival instinct was frantically trying to tell him, to break a window and high-tail it out of there. But his equally strong heroism instinct was twisting his ear and yelling at him to get up there and see if that girl was okay, whatever her name was. If he didn't have a travelling party, his quest would be over before it began! He once more bounced on his toes like a child waiting desperately for the bathroom. What should he do, what should he do?

He'd have to wait for the poll, of course.

[Shady Stoat]

:clap: Wonderful! Love the author interventions! :lol:

I definitely think he should head upstairs. How else would a TRUE HERO behave? I mean, you can't call yourself a TRUE HERO unless you're willing to lay down your life for a damsel in distress. The Princess can wait, the fire is right now! :shock:

[Chinaren]

Fantastic TA!! Great stuff! Wunerful!

There really can be no choice! Go upstairs and rescue the pri...er, girl!!
:D o-) :P

Go, go do it now!

Right, that should be enough. Next chapter please.... :-o

[Shady Stoat]

Oh, I forgot to ask. Do you want me to take down the chapter one poll for you, Thracia? :)

[LordoftheNight]

a slight deformity to be taken care of? *winces*

[Smee]

:lol: :D :D :lol:

I can only echo the Shadyren - very good reading and the author interventions are brilliant. :)

I'd like to see him go upstairs armed with a pint of ale to extinguish the fire, or maybe make him really dumb and a bottle of 'water-like' spirit. That should get things burning :-)

More, more...

Happy Writing. :)

[Thracia Alba]

Wow! Thanks, everyone! I was afraid chapter two was too long, but I really couldn't find any way to shorten it.

Shady Stoat wrote: Oh, I forgot to ask. Do you want me to take down the chapter one poll for you, Thracia? :)

Yes, please! Thanks! :D

Quote: a slight deformity to be taken care of? *winces*

:lol: Sorry, couldn't resist.

[Shady Stoat]

Voted :)

If you want to attract people's attention to a poll, just post to tell us when you've put it up. We readers don't get automatic alerts when the poll goes up, but we get a 'new post' alert when you post in this thread. :D

Had to go with Smee's option. It's got a certain compelling quality about it ;)

[Smee]

Went for the 'something with spirit' :D


Happy Writing. :D

[Prince Dakkar]

Ahhh! Has everybody gone insane! Vote the first one. It burns us my precias :-o

[LordoftheNight]

yes, forwards - onwards, go fire-fighting with alcohol

voted, and winning

[Thracia Alba]

Shady Stoat wrote: Voted :)

If you want to attract people's attention to a poll, just post to tell us when you've put it up. We readers don't get automatic alerts when the poll goes up, but we get a 'new post' alert when you post in this thread. :D


Heh, sorry. I suppose that didn't occur to me, though it probably should have. But still, shameless pimping works wonders. :biggrin:

[Shady Stoat]

*grins* Hey, nobody said you couldn't shameless pimp as well. Like the shades and the spangly shirt, by the way ;)

[Thracia Alba]

Why, thank you! Thrift shops are wonderful places, are they not? :D

[Key]

Great story, Thracia! I look forward to the next chapter.

[Prince Dakkar]

(sigh) Dakkar must admit defeat. :cry:

[Thracia Alba]

:D