Fae Folk

Have you ever had a day where everything just seemed to go wrong?

Mine didn't start until last night, when I made the first mistake in a long line of mistakes - purchasing a replica sword from a booth at a games convention. I fully admit, it was a stupid desicion and I knew it at the time, but I make terrible purchasing desicions after a pint of Stowford Press, and a pewter mug or video game poster just didn't seem like appropriate souvenirs. The only major issue I had with the thing was that it didn't have any label describing the maker or what franchise it was based off, but it was small and fairly cheap, and the man running the booth seemed all too happy to get rid of it. And hey, it looked vaguely like the Master Sword, so there was that going for it.

This small victory was immediately crushed when I returned home and my mother flipped her lid at the sight of it. I'd spent years procrastinating on finding a job and wasting my university degree, so money was a touch and go subject, and as far as she was concerned the huge, impractical replica blade was close to the last straw. A lot of screamed words and accusations got thrown about, and threats to cut off the Internet or kick me out of the house got aimed my way, and we parted in a sour mood fuelled by mutual resentment and my own self-loathing. When we sat down at the television that night, we didn't banter or guess at plot points like we used to - our relationship had been severely strained by my frivolous purchase, and we both knew it.

I knew that in the morning the whole thing would have been smoothed over and life would probably proceed as normal, even if the atmosphere would be a little frosty at first. But as I placed the sword against the wall next to the games consoles and crawled into bed, I felt as though all of my internal organs had been transmuted into lumps of lead. As childish as this is going to seem, I honestly wished I was somewhere else instead of some backwater town in the arse end of England - somewhere more interesting, where I didn't have to put up with my parents or dodgy neighbours and the reek of 4am booze and vomit.

With all that considered, though, I slept like a log. Cider will do that to you.

-------

I was woken up next morning by a buzzing noise close to my ear.

I groaned - it had been a pretty hot Summer, so the explosion in the insect population was pretty much a given at this point. Despite my best efforts, things like craneflies, ladybugs and the occasional wasp would breach the flimsy defenses of my room's windows and make a scene until I could shift them or get them with the bug spray. But I was comfortable, and couldn't be bothered to drag myself out of bed just to deal with the one annoying insect. So I merely swatted at it with one hand, thinking nothing of it and merely wanting to lie in until I felt ready to face the world at large.

That was the second mistake. Because then the buzzing thing swooped down, landed on my shoulder and bit me on the ear.

"YEEEOOOW!" I shrieked, leaping about a foot into the air. Have you ever been bitten by a swarm of ants, or stung by nettles? Because this was like the two had fused together, Dragon Ball style, into some kind of super-sting whose sole purpose is to make your life an utter misery - a tingling, ice-cold spike of pain that radiates thorny roots into the rest of your skin just to drive the point home. It was the kind of bite, I figured as I clapped a free hand over my ear, that wasn't going to shift any time soon, and that made the whole experience worse.

But my agony became trivial when the thing alighted on my other shoulder and said:

"Ah've bin tryin' ta git yer bloody attenshun fer 'alf an hour, ye sod! Are all 'umans this bloody daft, or is ye a special case?"

Somehow, despite the pain in my neck, I managed to twist my head around to facew hat I had assumed was a talking insect. Except that instead of some miraculous discovery in the field of entomology, there was a very small, very naked woman standing there, with fiery red hair, deep green eyes and an expression like she was scolding a puppy for chewing the furniture. For someone about eight inches tall, she was built like a Roman gladiator - broad shoulders, thick limbs and muscles that looked like they could knead my blood right out of my own pasty body. That and the shiny, beetle-like wings folded up over her back should have been my first clue that this was not the thing that children's storybooks were written about.

But I was still half-asleep and still getting over the pain of the first bite. So I made my third mistake.

"Excuse me," I mumbled. "Are you a fairy?"

For reply, she leaned over and bit my other ear.

"Ah'm a bloody pixie, ye daft booger!" she snapped, once I'd stopped screaming and realized she was hovering just in front of my nose. "If I wuz a fairie, Ah'd be wearin' clothes, fer wun thing, an' doin' a lot warse tae ye reet noo! An' stop squallin', t'wern't nowt but a love bite!" The stranger's voice was surprisingly baritone, for such a small creature - despite being clearly a female voice, it sounded as though Barry White and that girl from Disney's Brave had some kind of horrific love-child.

"Give me one reason," I hissed, massaging my forever-ruined earlobes, "why I shouldn't just swat you into a pulp right now. Because even if I wasn't hallucinating this, I don't have any time for this shit right now."

"Ah'll give ye two," was the reply as the pixie - if that was what she was - folded her arms over her chest. "Wun- ye couldnae squish me if ye tried. Ah've got enuff strength in me body tae hoy yer sorry arse oot yonder winder, so a book or shoe wouldnae do shite tae me." Given the close-up of her muscles I was getting as she buzzed, humming-bird style, just a little too close for comfort, I was ready to believe her. I normally had no qualms about squashing bugs, but one look at those rippling abs and biceps left me ready to reconsider my options.

"Two," she added, pointing to the aformentioned window, "there's a knucker diggin' oop yer ma'am's garden."

It took all of two seconds for me to register that bit of information. Then, even more bewildered beyond belief, I leaped up out of bed and dashed to the window, peering past the glare of the morning sun and down into the garden below. Sure enough, there did seem to be something rooting about in the bushes at the foot of the lawn, kicking up dirt over the grass as it dug - something which, on first glance, could have been mistaken for next door's orange-and-white cat, with it's hunched back and front end hidden from view.

Except when I looked closer, it was clearly too big to be a cat.

-------

My fourth and stupidest mistake was thinking I could run downstairs, leap out of the double-doors that lead to the back garden and try to shoo the thing away.

Because the moment I got close, it whipped around to face me, and it dawned on me immediately just how woefully underequipped I was for this. The creature looked like somebody had taken a lizard and stretched it on a rack - all body, neck and tail, with equally-gangly limbs and sharp claws still covered with soil from the digging it had been doing. The eyes were too big for the horn-studded skull, rolling comically back-and-forth in their sockets, but the effect was ruined by the angry hissing noise that came from parted jaws, accompanied by glistening fangs and a stench like an upturned pig farm.

The knucker, if that was what it was called, was clearly not happy about being interrupted, and was also more than capable of killing me in various agonizing ways. And all I had on me was my dressing gown and two hands that were only good for either furious wanking or typing on a computer. For a brief moment, as the snake-like monster manouvered itself into position between me and the flowerbed, I wondered if this was some sort of horrible nightmare I hadn't properly woken up from, and if I should stop reading so much Tolkien before I went to bed.

But then the buzzing of the pixie's wings came cutting into my thoughts, and she shouted into my ear too loud for it to be a dream.

"Dinnae panic, laddie!" she yelled. "Joost mind oot when it lays it's ears back - that's when it spits venom at ye!"

"Spits what?" I said, my attention divided between her and the horrible thing.

Then I saw the creature's bat-like ears flatten back, and I leaped to one side just in time as the knucker lunged forward and coughed out a stream of something purple in my direction. The foul-smelling liquid missed me by a hair's breadth, but splattered over the paving stones, gravel and fence in great globs, and a sizzling sound like bacon on a frying pan ensued, accompanied by great clouds of fumes from where the substance had struck. I shuddered as my brain conjured images of dissolving flesh and liquifying bone, which I quickly pushed out because I wanted to eat breakfast, thank you very much.

"Git the sword, ya gutless fanny!" shrieked the pixie in tangible frustration. "Lop it's fackin' 'eed orf!"

"I can't!" I howled back, trying to put distance between me and the snarling knucker. "It's in my room!"

"Oh, fer fack's sake..."

The buzzing rapidly vanished, which meant the pixie had left me alone with the slavering snake-dragon thing. It wasn't a very comforting desicion, since the creature was still very cross at me and seemed to be inching forwards to get in range for another strike, which was precisely what I didn't want right now. Putting the clothesline between me and it would be a stupid idea - if it's venom was able to melt stone and wood like that, then what chance did a flimsy metal pole have? Precisely ten seconds of my life passed by where it really didn't seem as though I was going to walk away without some part of me missing.

Then something like a toothpick was hurridley pressed into my hand.

Everything happened fast after that.

For a moment, I caught a glimpse of the replica sword in the palm of my hand, before it suddenly grew back to it's usual size and weight, making me stumble with the sudden change. Reading my panicked flailing as an attack, the knucker lunged again, this time to bite - and a higher instinct kicked in that took control of my body and made me twirl aside, the teeth missing my thigh by milimetres. The head lashed around again, but met the blade coming the other way, and there wasn't anything I could do to stop what happened next with my arms acting on autopilot.

There was a crunch as bone disintergated like a biscuit liferaft, accompanied by a fountain of black, stinking blood.

And then it was over. I'd just killed a monstrous dragon in the back garden, with a magical size-changing sword, wearing my pyjamas and dressing gown, because a foul-mouthed naked pixie told me to. And nobody was there to congratulate me. No mayors or kings were offering me land, no princesses were kissing me on the cheek, no parties were being thrown with cake or pizza or booze. It was just as though I'd merely gone outside to mow the lawn or buy a paper for my grandmother, a mere footnote in the day's events, worth no more notice than an itchy nose.

Not a great start to the week.

As I stood there, heaving with terror and wondering how to wash the blood out of my clothes, the pixie alighted on my shoulder again. I could sense the satisfied grin on her face without having to look, and the vague impression that she was scoring my efforts on a scale of one to ten went through my mind. It occurred to me that I was probably not awake enough to make sound character judgements, but I still couldn't help the feeling that this tiny muscle-woman knew far more than she was letting on, and that made me uncomfortable. On top of terrified, confused and nauseated, I mean.

"Nut bad, laddie," she remarked, "Ah reck'n ye'll 'ave a knack fer this afore long!"

I blinked, resisiting the urge to vomit from the stench of knucker gore. Then I pocketed the sword - it shrank, of course - and headed down the garden path in the direction that, I knew, would ease my mind of these troubled events.

"Whoa, 'ang aboot!" cried the pixie woman. "Where'z ya gawn tae?"

"To the garage," I muttered thickly. "That's where I keep my cider."

"Ach, dinnae bovver wi' that! Thatcher's is piss in a bottle!"

 I turned, ready to snap back at her for talking shit about by beloved tipple, only to find her suddenly carrying a very large jug of what looked like melted gold, which sloshed heavily as I came to a stop just short of the garden gate. The fact that she was carrying it without a hint of a struggle - in one hand, no less - made me wonder where the hell she'd been when I needed to move my old bookshelf out for the council to collect. Would have saved me a lot of bother.

"Naah, this," she cackled, "is a proper bevvy!"

-------

Three swigs of pixie rock cider (which is fucking delicious, by the way), and I was calm enough to let my new house guest explain things. Which she started off by suddenly growing to about my size - which was a bit of shock, but honestly? After killing a dragon, I was just about ready for anything between a charging rhino and a meteorite strike, so a naked woman sitting next to me with a glass of fairie booze was hardly anything to get worked up about.

Her name was Belinda. And yes, she was a pixie. They're kind of like the value-brand, low-budget cousin to fairies, and the relationship bewteen the races is like that between the rich and the poor in the average Charles Dickens novel. She'd run away from home because she couldn't stand the prejudice and oppression any longer, and had pretty much blundered into this part of the country by accident - which made sense, because if she was being smart about it she would have come somewhere more exciting than here. And that, apparently, was when she felt the thaumic signal from my sword and made a beeline straight for me.

"So the sword actually is magic," I groused, unsure as whom I should be blaming.

"Aye," nodded Belinda as she knocked back another swig. "Faecaliburs be dead rare, mind. Only a few o' em left, and nae many livin' wot could forge anuvver. Yer bloody blessed ta get yer mitts on one, Ah'll tell ye - we wudnae be 'aving this chat reet noo, ovverwise."

I blinked. The pieces were starting to come together in my mind - all of this had happened after I'd got the sword, it didn't look like anything I recognized from nerd culture, it could inexplicably change size...

"...the sword is letting me see you."

"Och, yer noo' as daft as ye look!" The pixie slapped me on the back - which was like being hit with a sledgehammer, and made me jerk forward and spill cider on the carpet. "Dinnae fash yersel' aboot that, it vanishes in aboot a minute."

Then she told me the rest of the story - and guess what? All that stuff about fairies and dragons and all the folklore of the British Isles? It's all real. Don't ask me to explain how, but basically they decided to hide themselves with magic years ago, and now regular people can't see fae - that's the collective noun for all magical beings, by the way - because they explicitly don't want to be seen. It's only when a normal person interacts with something made by fae hands, or gets blisteringly drunk or high, that they can see them; and most just blame the alcohol since, as far as the real world is concerned, fairies simply don't exist. Weird shit, I know.

"So wait," I interrupted. "If I went to Derby right now, would I see that giant ram standing over the city?"

"Naa, that's 'is great-great-great grandkid noo. 'Ee's a reet arse'ole when the footie's on."

"And Nottingham?"

"Robin dinnae taak many visitors noowadays. But aye, 'ee's there."

"Scotland?"

"Och, best not tae, laddie. Nessie gits aal cranky durin' July - matin' season fer kelpies."

"...and why are you Scottish?" I asked, the question only just occurring to me. "I thought pixies were from Cornwall."

Belinda shrugged. "Me great grandpa moved oop there durin' the war, when bloody Nazi's looked like they wuz gonna invade. Ah wuz born and grown in a brownie neighborhood, an Ah reck'n Ah joost picked oop t'local flavour. Mind ye," she added, grinning widely, "at least Ah'm no' born Irish! Bloody money-grubbin' leprechauns can kiss me arse, bunch o' swanky fannies!"

I sipped my cider again, and made my fifth mistake.

"So," I summarised, "I have just brought a magical sword made of fae metal, which lets me see all the folkloric beings of the British Isles, made the acquaintance of a pixie, killed a dragon-"

"Knucker, laddie."

"-knucker, right, and now I've just learned that fairies are real and living among us. And I know I'm not dreaming any of this, because I'm not anywhere near smart enough to make up this kind of shit. So, the big fat question hanging over all of this right now is... what do I do with all this? Because if it means I'm now the Chosen One or something and have to save the world from some terrible evil, I'm not doing that."

Belinda looked at me when I finished that statement, as if judging me for a job interview. And her eyes were like polished emeralds boring through my body - I got the uncomfortable feeling that she was reading me like an open book. It made me squirm a little in the sofa, and it didn't help that I wasn't sure where to look, torn between not wanting to be rude and not staring at the naked woman sitting right next to me. This was something the pixie had clearly had experience in, wheras I had none of that at all.

"Weel, noo" she replied, "ye divvent need tae do any o' that. But Ah cannae lie to ye, laddie, it's nae aal roses an' clover. Ye'll nivvor see things the same agin, on accoont o' knowin' that yer boss might joost be a dragon or elf, or yer neighbour's got a barghest fer a dog. There's a lotta dangerous beasties an' beings oot there, warse than knuckers, and quite a few pricks wot'll taak an interest in ye fer ownin' a Faecalibur and bein' able tae see us. Ye could verra weel git hort or warse, if ye divvent knaa wut yer doin', an' folks wot cannae see us will taak ye fer mad, mebbe even try an' lock ye oop if yer try an gab any o' this tae anywun."

That statement wasn't very comforting to anyone, let alone a twenty-three year old nerd who's world had made complete sense until now. Never mind the fact that I'd be considered insane if I divulged this information to any other human being (as if I would), there was the distinct possibility that my drunken impulse purchase could lead to me ending up in a dragon's stomach or getting my head cut off by mad elves. For a moment, I wondered once more if I really was dreaming and was going to wake up at some point.

Once again, fate dealt me a bum hand when Belinda threw an arm around me, and my shoulders whined in protest.

"Ye'll joost stick wi' me, aye? Yer a canny lad, nivvor mind wakin' oop in the morns, and a promisin' 'and with that blade - ye'll sharp larn 'ow tae git bey in the Faelands. We's an odd and scattered folk, nae lyin' aboot it, but us Fae be a bonny lot when we's noo layin' doon curses or makin' heedlines in shite tabloids! Ye'll 'ave a gran' old time with us - whey, give ye a month or three, ye could verra weel pass fer one o' us, if ye keep a mind on wut Ah tells ye!

"Now, 'old still," she finished, letting me go. "Ah gots tae put this in yer lug'ole."

"...I beg your pardon?" I asked.

For answer, Belinda reached into thin air and pulled out something that looked like a failed experiment to crossbreed earwigs and blenders. It shrieked and snapped its six pairs of mandibles at my face, wiggling its stubby legs as though it severely wanted to get back at me for insulting it a mere sentence ago, and yet the pixie held onto it as thought it was a harmless earthworm. It was the kind of scenario where I wished that, between the size-changing faeries and the magical swords and the poison spitting dragons, I could find a box of Chicken McNuggets to reassure myself that I was still on Planet Earth.

I couldn't tell you the name of that insect - it's Gaelic and requires a pint of phlegm in the throat to pronounce properly. But I can tell you that having it crawl into your ear so you can understand the fae language hurts like a goddamn bitch.

-------

Three months later, I had learned a lot of things. 

I'd learned how to step between the world of humans and the Faelands just by thinking about it, and where the best places to do so are. I learned about fae currency and why it can't come into the human world, and that the leprechauns are in charge of the only fae bank in the whole world. I learned how to tell the different between an seal and a selkie, how to haggle with a cait sith for a pint of milk and some ham, where the best place to tickle a wyvern is and why you should never call Herne the Hunter a scrublord to his face. I lost a bunch of weight, won a wrestling match with some out-of-town pixies, killed an erkling preying on children in the New Forest and, as Belinda predicted, had a generally good time.

And yet, when the legendary giant Gogmagog called me a twat as he fished my hungover form out of the River Thames, I still felt completely clueless.

So, did you ever have a day like this?

Because I tell you straight - it can only get better afterwards.

Non-Canon Silliness Shorts 1: Spell 'Me' (NSFW)

"Hey, Ash."

Ash didn't turn around. "Yes?"

"Spell 'Me'."

WTF Is Up With... Pooh's Adventures?

Nostalgia is a double-edged sword.

On the one hand, it influences such things as Kickstarter, where Mighty No. 9 and other retro-inspired creations can flourish, free from the more toxic influences of this cutting-edge world of ours. It's gratifying to see that the best of the old ways can persevere in a culture that normally won't even spare at glance at anything if it doesn't dynamically render ever drop of sweat on Marcus Fenix's forehead as he chainsaws yet another alien to death. And in many ways, we should be thankful that the things we were brought up on as kids shaped us to be the people we are, instead of decrying the new stuff that's trying to shape the kids of the future in the same way.

On the other hand, Pooh's Adventures.

The smiles are all false, trust me.

I hesitate to classify Pooh's Adventures as a web series, but that's the closest I can get to describing this loose collection of crossover films made by various different people. Mostly a YouTube thing, the basic premise of these films is to shoehorn Winnie the Pooh and his friends, along with fifty other characters from different franchises, into the plots and scenarios of other cartoons, films and related media with about zero respect for continuity, age groups or common sense. I can only assume this to be an offshoot of the Disney crossover stuff made by actually talented people, spawned from the flabby folds of nerds and dorks alike who want to imitate such grand works but only have Windows Movie Maker pre-installed on their laptops.

Just in case you think you've accidentally stumbled across one, keep an eye out for these reoccurring tropes that infect the genre like an inoperable cancer:

• The creator styles themselves as a "studio" much like Disney and Warner Bros., despite having none of the resources or talent. Usually have poorly-spelt usernames, or ones with "movies", "films" or "studio" in them.
• Each video begins with a lengthy series of idents or title sequences. Usually starting with the creator's own, but also adding in those from the franchises used. These can take up half the first video, in the worst cases
• The other characters are brought in through spliced-in footage. The intention is to assume the character's are performing the same actions in the footage, just in the new scene they are in. However, because the creator can't/doesn't cut out the background, it looks as though everyone's standing in different places.
• When a character needs to speak lines they didn't say in the source material, the footage is abruptly muted and subtitles are thrown in. These are uniformly white and in a font that is both simultaneously hard to read and obscuring the actual video. Often, a small segment of dialogue is muted just to get a character to say somebody's name, creating a really jarring effect.
• This is often used to have characters say lines offical characters used, and then have the character that originally said that line respond with "I agree" or some other inanity.
• On that subject, the writing is usually poor as fuck.
• The "film" itself is loosely based on the original film/show being adapted, but every scene is padded out to include the other characters as well. Usually every character, because we have to know just how Snagglepuss and Scamp are reacting, don't we?
• There's almost always a gathering of heroes and a gathering of villains. Often, the villains will be beaten in the same way they were in the films, just with other characters doing it.
• In the very, very worst cases, crossover ships will happen. Dear sweet Poseidon, do they happen.

Or, you know, just look at the video title. Then you should probably run screaming. Hit the jump if you want to know more.

The Gallows

Night had fallen on the village of Wensdale. Taverns and shops had been shut up, lights had been turned off, market stalls packed away. The shutter of almost every house was closed, doors had been bolted and whatever security measures were needed were in place. Even at night, the place was a village of contrasts – medieval folk on the cusp of modern enlightenment. Electric lamps lined the streets where horse and cart roamed, some villagers would be tuning in to late-night television and cheeky children would be playing games consoles under the covers. Ancient and modern lived side-by-side in non-judgmental harmony, unlike in the rest of the world where they sat on opposite sides of a fence and snarled at each other.

Another noticeable contrast was the figure standing by the gallows, watching the body swing from it.

The figure was large, not just in height, but in proportion as well. There was a person who would fit the great, obscuring coat that it wore, but this was not that person – too tight around the shoulders, too baggy about the trunk. Legs like great columns peeked out from beneath the hem of the garment, arms like tree trunks stood placidly at the person’s sides. An eerie red glow permeated from underneath the hood, aimed like fiery spotlights at the corpse that hung from its neck and illuminating the blood and puke that stained the front of it.

The body had belonged to Meredith Forsythe, the authorities had claimed. She had been hung this very afternoon, guilty of charges of fraud, grand larceny, petty theft and more than a few incidents of sexual deviancy. She’d been oddly silent and calm as she’d been lead up to the gallows, not saying so much as a single syllable as the executioner grimly fitted the noose around her neck. The only flicker of emotion, as the final rites had been read out, was a small smirk as the priest attending the execution had croaked out in his humourless drone “May all the Gods and Goddesses, from Armadon to Raijin, have mercy upon thy soul”. It had been quick and painless, the authorities had said.

The figure waited and watched, watched and waited. A crow came down onto the gallows, hopped over to the body and began pecking away at the eye sockets.

The thing about the authorities, however, was that they only knew what suited them. If there was anything that they didn’t understand, they ignored it - it was more convenient that way. They could not explain how two hundred and fifty thousand dollars, stolen by Meredith, had gone completely missing, with all possible sites turning up completely empty. They did not account for why the Duchess of the Moorlands insisted the one who had visited her in the night and charmed her silken garters off had been a tanned brunette, not the fair-skinned blonde they’d hung.

They probably would not have explained the cracking noises from within the body, either.

They explained themselves in short order.

The corpse bulged horribly, the crow squawking in fright and flapping away. The sternum tore in half and ribs snapped like breadsticks as the entire front half of Meredith Forsythe split in half like a clam shell. With a choking gasp and a gush of fluids, Amanda Dime slid out of the body she’d grown around herself and collapsed to the ground, rolling down the wooden ramp that lead to the noose and leaving a sticky trail behind her. The huge figure did not move until she’d come to a stop at the foot of the ramp, writhing in the dirt and clawing at her own throat until she found out she could breathe again.

Then it approached her with slow, measured steps, procuring a bottle of water from its pocket, and knelt down.

“Some Water, Miss Dime?” it asked. The voice rumbled like a grindstone wheel, and each word was deliberately pronounced, as if the speaker was assembling them out of instructions. 

The prone woman said nothing, but yanked the bottle from the other’s hand and practically tore the top off in her haste to unscrew the cap. That was the one issue with being a Changeling – whenever you shed a body, you felt, for the first hour or two, all the sensations your last vessel went through before you ditched it. In this case, the tightness of woven hemp constricting the windpipe, a problem that could only be solved by gulping down the entire bottle in one go, which Amanda Dime demonstrated with surprising speed.

When it was all over, she looked taller and fuller, and there was more shine to her brown-tanned skin. She yanked the bottle away from parched lips and gasped once again.

“I liked that body,” she groaned, hauling her nude form into a sitting position in the mud she’d created. “It was slim, it was active. I could do things with it!”

“I Do Not Doubt That,” rumbled the tall figure.

“And those fuckers ruined it!” Amanda practically howled, trying to stand up. But the ground was like a skating rink, and her feet slipped out from under her, throwing her onto her back with a splat. “Still,” she groaned from where she lay covered in mud, “at least we still have the money. Good job with that, by the way, Crank.”

“It Was My Pleasure, Miss Dime,” was the response. A massive paw of a hand was offered, and the Changeling clasped it with both of her own and hauled herself up it. Her feet found purchase on dirt not smeared with unidentifiable liquids, and soon she was standing up and looking at her massive companion with glinting, iris-less eyes.

“You still got it?”

In response, Crank reached inside his coat. There was a sound akin to a mouse trying to perform opera and a series of clicks, and then the hand probed deeper into the shadowy recesses before withdrawing. A large bag, full to almost bursting, rustled and clinked its way into the open air, and was practically snatched away by Amanda, who looked as though she might burst into crowing at any moment as she weighed it with both hands.

“Just think,” she whispered, nearly hissed with glee. “Those fucking guardsmen looking everywhere, and they never thought to look for a really tall man in a suspicious coat!”

“Everyone Knows,” droned Crank, “That Amanda Dime Works Alone.”

“Everyone is a git, Crank,” the woman responded as she handed the money back. “And some are bigger gits than others. That’s why we do this – to show the world that gits don’t deserve to swan about in fancy fucking coats and dresses, pretending to be people.”

“You Grow Bodies To Hide Your Identity, Miss Dime,” retorted Crank as he put the money back into who knows where. “Does That Not Count As Pretending To Be A Person?”

Amanda shot the man a look that could melt metal, were it capable. “Hey, at least I’m honest about it. Not like the rich folk I pick on, lying about how influential they are and their cousins being in some foreign government somewhere. They all make me want to puke, the Agaryulnaerea.”

“As You Say, Miss Dime.”

That was the funny thing about Crank. He asked questions, yes, but he never seemed to linger on them for long. He wasn’t like most sidekicks Amanda had been with, who challenged her way of thinking as though it were a personal affront to themselves or the world – they usually ended up in prison or dead, or she simply abandoned them after a quick fuck and minus their wallets. Crank just… accepted things, even though he posited the kind of questions that most human con artists would stumble to answer without um-ing and ah-ing. 

Amanda, though, was a Changeling. Concepts such as morality and philosophy didn’t enter her head very often, and when they did they fit in there like old furniture in a space station. In her experience, this meant that she could think clearly about the more immediate things, as well as some way into the future, and not get sudden changes of heart as she handed forged coins over to fat, bristle-chinned gentlemen. It was simply better to not care, sometimes.

And right now, as she looked over the sleeping town of Wensdale, the immediate situation did not look very good.

“We can’t stay here,” she muttered, an air of disappointment in her voice.

“We Cannot,” agreed Crank in his rusty growl of a voice. “The Watch Was To Come Here To Collect The Body At-“

“No,” hissed Amanda, throwing up her hands, “I mean we can’t stay here. On this fucking world. What’s left for us, Crank? We’re wanted people here, in Ardea, Todenwald’s poor as shit and full of vampires and ghouls, Barrath hates me for fucking their queen – can’t blame me, she was hot – and Ostaria hates everyone, me included. And we can’t just take a fucking boat to somewhere else, because half the kingdoms over their either want me dead or think I am, or want to melt you down!”

“I Understand,” droned Crank very patiently, “That Zindovia Is Still Open And Welcoming.”

“Yeah, if you like sand and camels.” Amanda shivered at the memory of that place – there was no way in all the hells that existed anything she did there had been worth it. Sultan’s son was rather cute, though, and by now he’d probably grown up to be a fine young man, assuming they stopped feeding him roast peacock every dinnertime. But still, that wasn’t worth all the dust storms and scorpions and palm oil. Okay, maybe the palm oil, but still…

No, she decided. There had to be something else out there. Somewhere where she – and, by extension, Crank – could make a fresh start, with a clean record and no royal soldiers out to kill them. Where she could do what she did best, to her heart’s content, and have all the excitement come back again. Walking into a town, putting on a show for the people and lining her pockets with the results. Getting caught, running away, sometimes fighting and getting away, sometimes getting thrown in prison only to escape in two days. And all the little pleasures on the side, too – the food, the booze and the sex, sometimes two at the same time and sometimes all three at once.

Oh, yes. She loved being a con artist.

“Crank,” she said slowly, after a moment. “What do you know about the Star Festival?”

Crank took a moment to respond. “The Star Festival Is Over, Miss Dime,” he rumbled. “There Is Nothing To Know.”

“I mean in general,” sighed Amanda with irritation. That was the other thing about Crank - you had to be specific, otherwise he didn’t understand.

There was a creaking noise from somewhere.

“It Is My Understanding,” said Crank slowly, “That The Star Festival Is The Chief Meeting Place Between The Peoples of Porphyrion And Those Called The Star People. It Is During This Time That The Two Sides Interact And Trade Vital Goods Between Each Other For The Purpose Of Building Trust, Good Will And Strong Business Ties. Occasionally, A Group Called The Kobbers Descends To The Planet To Right Some Wrongs And Save A Kingdom Or Two. The Details Are A Little Fuzzy On That One.”

There was silence as Amanda turned this over in her head. 

“And… where do these ‘Kobbers’ come from, Crank?”

“Most Appear To Originate From A Planet Called Earth, Or Terra. It Is A Highly Developed Planet, With A Technology Level Far Above Ours. It's Culture Has An Unusual Fascination With The Female Posterior, There Is A City By The Name Of Las Vegas Which Is Dedicated To The Pastime Of Gambling, And A Woman Named Celestia Canicco Is Famed For-"

But Amanda had long since tuned out her associate's rambling spiel. Did she hear that right? An entire city dedicated to gambling? Of course, she was no stranger to casinos and other luck-based shenanigans - she could still recall Brightfields and it's dazzling lights and freak shows, as well as how completely gullible the townsfolk were. They'd even fallen for the old fake diamond ring act, a ploy so old it was gathering dust with the fossils in the Natural History Museum of Orvance by now, and all for the mere chance of winning a few extra thousand gold.

But an entire city...

Something went click in the Changeling's mind, whirred, and brought up a very attractive picture. It involved elaborate disguises, silver tongues, sleight of hand and distracting attention with a flick of a wrist. Finding a good contact, gathering information, targeting the biggest and most smuggest of stuffed shirts. Sneaking in, pulling off, getting caught, running for the hills, sneaking back in to do it all again but bigger and better. And, somewhere along the line, a very handsome man or pretty girl to weasel a sneaky double-cross out of.

And this picture was captioned "Greatest Heist Ever."

"-Which I Cannot Understand, As I Do Not Find Skeletons To Be-"

"Crank." Amanda rounded on the tall figure, eyes gleaming with the excitement she hadn't felt in years. "You are going to pick me up and take me out of this miserable shithole of a village, out through the north gate, right now. Do it."

"...As You Wish, Miss Dime."

Without further comment, Crank leaned down and reached out with an arm that could crush the ribs and lungs of a man with the lightest of movements. Yet the way it picked up Amanda and hoisted her onto one massive shoulder had all the grace and care of a mother bear carrying her cubs, and the brunette reveled in the feel of the cold night air on her skin as her transport set off down the streets. The cobbles echoed with each heavy footfall from the huge unknown, yet not a single soul stirred in their houses - the Changeling was more than thankful for that.

"What Is Your Plan, Miss Dime?" came the rumble, the reverberations of Crank's voice traveling up its cargo's spine.

"Plan?" Amanda grinned at the star-dotted sky above her, seeing dollar signs and possibilities written in every glimmering pattern above her. "Who said anything about a plan?"

"You Have Not Spoken So Eagerly," comes the retort, "Nor With Such Determination Since The Great Eggplant Caper. You Must Have A Plan In Mind."

The cackle that comes from the brunette in response rings off the streetlamps. "Simple, Crank! This planet's done, finished. Nothing left for us to do or exploit. So we go to this Earth place, yeah? Fresh start, new cultures and sights to take in, no gguardsmen trying to kill us everywhere we go! And we start in this Vegas place, where everyone throws their money away so willingly they don't even care if the diamond is really a polished-"

“But Miss Dime, We Cannot Go Just Yet.”

“Why not?”

“Because You Are Naked And Covered In Mud.”

Amanda looked down at herself, noticed that Crank was right and sighed with disappointment. Where she in any other position, time or place, naked and covered in mud was something she’d be more than happy to be – especially if there was a young, impressionable prince on hand. But there wasn’t one, and her plan of getting off-planet relied on not being noticed long enough to sneak aboard a shuttle. So in this case, being naked and covered in mud was not really an option. A pity, that.

“Fine,” she muttered. “Let’s get me cleaned up and find me some clothes. Maybe I can grow a new body whilst we’re on the shuttle.”

“Which Shuttle Will That Be?” asked Crank, not changing pace for an instant.

A smile cracked across Amanda Dime’s face, like a shark seeing it’s dinner being wheeled in.

“The one to Earth.”

TO BE CONTINUED

(Probably)

Book of the One 1/3 - How Dragonus Made The World

This tale, detailing the creation myth of Dragonus, was taken from the Gold Anniversary publishing of “Old Father Bindlestein’s Fairy Tales and Fables”, adapted from the Book of the One. Many different translations from the original Dragonian text exist, some omitting or adding details, but the one featured in the aforementioned biblical text is the version most frequently recited at gatherings of the One Faith. Those wishing to indulge curiosity about other religions and myths, such as those preached by the Church of Claudandus, may be directed to "Mythes and Legendes for the Curious Mind" by Gloria Varrus, found in all good bookshops.

-------

Long ago, in the very beginning, there was nothing. There was no sun or moon, no stars in the sky. There were no hills or valleys, no deserts or forests or oceans. There were no plants or trees, no insects or beasts or birds. In the very beginning, the sky was grey and lifeless, and the land was flat and barren. And instead of animals, horrid shapeless things lived on the land, sucking the moisture from the air and slithering blindly over each other. These were the First Things, born from the barren Earth itself, and they were so numerous they covered the whole world.

Then it came to pass that, who knows after how long, the sky itself opened up, and there came a great Being, unlike any that had come before. He was like a mighty Dragon in shape, yet so much bigger, for His wings scraped the sky as He flew, and His shadow blotted out the world. He was Dragonus, the Maker, for He had been born in the fire and wind of the Aether, that great void where all spirits are born from. And His eyes shone like great torches and illuminated the early world.

When the First Things saw Dragonus, coming down from the clouds, they cowered in fear. For they could see how majestic and powerful He was, and were ashamed to be in His presence, ugly and formless as they were. And when He first landed upon the world they screamed in terror, for they thought He had come to rip them to shreds and devour them. And they began to crawl away in fright, wishing to escape him, and many of them burrowed under the earth to the Caverns of Solitude, where they spent their days wallowing in shame and self-pity. These Things would eventually come back to the world as the Uruk-Hai, and wreak the worst destruction of all, but that is a story for another time.

When Dragonus saw the First Things, He was filled with pity for them, for they were so miserable and wretched. And He called to them with His great voice, like a gong of brass, saying, "O small and frightful things, why do you flee from me? I do not wish to harm you, for I feed only on light and heat, and have no desire to kill such small and helpless things!"

And those First Things that had stayed behind heard His voice, and stopped trying to escape, for they now knew He would not hurt them. But still they feared Him for He was so big and powerful, and spoke to him saying:

"O mighty beast, we do not flee from you because we fear you will harm us. We flee from you because you are so mighty, and we are ugly and misshapen things. We do not deserve to be in your presence, for we are ashamed of ourselves and the world we live in, even though it is all we have to call our own."

"Nonsense!" said Dragonus as He looked upon the flat and barren world in front of Him. "It is not right that you should be so miserable, and all this world should be so flat and lifeless, when the universe is so full of wonderful things! It is in my mind that I should take this world and make something out of it, so that it might be like a jewel in the cosmos."

"What can you do to change this world, O Great Dragon?" asked the First Things. And they were filled with wonder, for they had never heard of anything that could do such things.

"Watch and see, O First Things!" cried Dragonus. "Behold what power I have, and how I can change you and this world for the better! I shall give you new forms, so that you need not be ashamed of yourselves, and give you a new world carved from the old, so that you will be happy always."

And so Dragonus spread His wings, so that they touched the sky, and lifted into the air to begin His work.

First, He beat His great wings and blew a wind upon the grey mist above, so that it all parted to reveal the sky above. And in that wind were the clouds formed from the mist, all packed together so that they would not cover everything as they once did. And that is how His Wings made the sky.

Second, He took a deep breath and spat a great Fire into the sky, so that it lit up all the world. And when it reached the highest it could go, it became a great shining ball that began to crawl lazily across the sky, so that sometimes the world was in light and warmth, and at other times in darkness and cold. And that is how His Fire made the sun, the night and the day.

Third, He took from His body Scales of shining silver, the like of which is not found in the world today. And He threw them up into the Sky, so that they stuck to it and glimmered, and a scale from His great belly grew shining white and began to crawl across the sky. And that is how His Scales made the moon and the stars.

Fourth, He unfurled His mighty Tail and began to beat it upon the earth below him, with great strength. And wherever it struck it pushed the earth downwards or upwards, forming mountainous peaks or great valleys. And sometimes it swept the land, forming flat plains or deserts instead. And that is how His Tail made the earth.

Fifth, He blinked His great eyes, and let his Tears fall from them. And wherever these Tears landed, clear water gushed up from beneath the earth and formed mighty pools. Some flowed down from the mountains and formed rivers to feed these pools, and little by little the pools grew bigger and bigger, until they formed lakes and oceans. And that is how His Tears formed the water.

Finally, he blew a gentle Breath along the new world below him. And wherever His Breath touched the earth, the first grasses and trees sprouted and grew, and the first flowers bloomed. And when His Breath touched the First Things, they began to change shape and take on marvellous new forms. Some grew wings and became birds, flapping their way into the sky. Some grew small and became the first insects. Some grew legs and became the first beasts of the land. And others grew fins and became the first fish. And that is how His Breath formed the plants and animals.

Then Dragonus, the Maker, said to the animals and birds, "Look, I have made this world for you to live in, so that you will no longer be miserable. Rejoice, First Things, and play in this gift I have given you!"

And the animals and birds and fish and insects all gave thanks to Dragonus, and went away to play on the land and in the sky and in the sea. And in those days all the animals lived for a very long time, and were all good friends with each other and ate. The wolf was friends with the deer, the salmon was friends with the bear and the weasel was friends with the basilisk. It would be a long time before many of these friendships would be brought to an end, and the One would write the new laws of the world, but that is a story for another time.

And so Dragonus yawned and flew away, for He was very tired, and found a cave many leagues deep in the side of a mountain. And He crawled into it and went to sleep, the first of his many Great Sleeps to come.

-------

Some notes on the text:

• "First Things" is not the accurate translation from the Dragonian - the proper word would be "First Ones." It is assumed the change was made to differentiate the First Things from the One, the central deity of the One Faith alongside Dragonus.
• "Aether" is just one of the possible translations from the original text - the word can also mean void, or nothing, and is also the Dragonian term for outer space. Aether is often spelt as "Ether" in some translations.
• Whilst the Caverns of Solitude exist as a real place, many take it to be a euphamism for Hell. This is debatable, as the One Faith usually avoids depictions or mentions of Hell or satanic figures.
• Some scholars argue that it was the Claws, and not the Tail, that shaped the world. This is due to confusion over wherever the original word translates into one or the other.
• Some translations, especially in Drow culture, omit the scale of the belly being made into the moon. To the Drow, the belly of a dragon is an unclean place, and it is the one portion of it they will not eat. Associating it with the moon, their primary god-figure, would not be a wise move!
• Unlike the Behemoth and Leviathan of Christianity, the Basilisk is an actual creature on Porphyrion. It is noted for its virulent poison despite its diminutive size.

Bear Accessories - A Killer Instinct Song

So Maximillian recently posted a silly video where he sings about Chief Thunder's bear costume parts in the new Killer Instinct, to the tune of Bare Necessities from Disney's Jungle Book, and you can find it here. Anyway, after watching it, I suddenly started making up extra lyrics for it, and now suddenly this is here. So get playing the video linked below and prepare to sing along.

Look for the Bear Accessories,
The simple Bear Accessories.
Forget about that ninja and his knife.

I mean the Bear Accessories!
The bear is dead, but he agrees
That brings the Bear Accessories to life!

Wherever you're playing,
Chief Thunder's your main.
So use those two axes
To bring the pain!

You can't do damage from afar,
So get in close and let us spar.
And when you're stomping on noobs like ants
Then take a glance at the fancy pants
And maybe buy a few!

The Bear Accessories of life will come to you!
They'll come to you!

Look for the Bear Accessories,
The simple Bear Accessories.
Forget about that werewolf's shitty life.

You need the Bear Accessories,
So bust those combos out with ease
To bring the Bear Accessories to life!

Now when you drop a Triplax
Cause you stood over there,
And your face Orchid's fist smacks,
Well, next time, beware!

Don't pop your ultra when you jump in!
When you pop your ultra, do it from the spin!
But you don't need to use the spin
For the Call of the Earth, you can just jump in!

Have I given you a clue?
The Bear Accessories of life will come to you!
They'll come to you!

So just try to relax, yeah?
Cool it, fall apart in Thunder's yard.
Because if you're like Glacius, playing keepaway...
Uh-uh. You're trying too hard.

And don't spend your time in the Dojo
Just messing around.
Trying for combos that can't be found.

When you find out you look swag with them on,
And play along climbing ranks with them on,
I'll tell you something true:
The Bear Accessories of life will come to you!

Look for the Bear Accessories,
The simple Bear Accessories.
Forget about that ninja and his knife.

I mean the Bear Accessories!
The bear is dead, but he agrees
That brings the Bear Accessories to life!

That brings the Bear Accessories to life!
 

100 Post Special: SK's Cutting Room Floor 2013

So, this is it. RP for 2013 is finally over, and we're off into the golden age of next year. And the best way to enter next year, as always, is arse first with eyes drunken gazing back on the events that have passed. Pairings have formed, controversies were had and jokes were laughed at, but as always there are hidden secrets - things that were considered to occur in RP but never panned out, for one reason or another. And depending on the number of characters involved, the amount of unused stuff varies.

And so, in post-RP tradition, and also in celebration of this being my 100th post on this blog, I would like to present the Steel Komodo Season 3 Cutting Room Floor, full of ideas and stuff that never got used for one reason or another. Hey, it's not Monster Mash, but at least it's something!

1) Section Zero refers to a place in Rutledge where the worst mutants are kept. In pain, insane and dangerous to themselves and others, they're hidden away in padded cells until a cure can be found for their condition. Robbie actually came from Section Zero - his psychic powers are actually quite deadly, despite being a shadow of what the Observer could do, and his cell was specially designed to dampen them in case he went as crazy as the others did. How did Daniel and Carol get him out? He's the only one allowed out for a few hours every day, so he can have a walk and stuff. Also, they give him Sparkle, which is a kind of depressant that some residents began making out of the wild mushrooms that grow outside Rutledge. Sometimes they give it to Section Zero inmates to stop them braining themselves against their cell walls.

There was also a sequence planned where, via UTG or sifter or whatever, some guys would have visteted Rutledge, probably because Robbie got kidnapped. You'd have learned a bit about how things worked there, and met the priest guy and stuff. Also, there was going to be a parody of this song when the mutants of Section Zero tell the Kobbers to take Robbie and GTFO.

2) The guy who runs Rutledge is a priestly guy who is partly based on Gill from Street Fighter 3. He's hoping that, somehow, he can find a way to make the mutants he has in his asylum to rebuild society, which is why I mentioned the activities Carol and Daniel did. His power is twofold - with one hand, he can awaken dormant memories or implant knowledge in a person's mind, and with the other he can either delete meories or edit current ones to make people forget. That second power is the most dangerous one, and he knew it, so he always gave people the choice, when it came to it. He didn't want to risk doing something he'd regret, with powers like that.

And yes, that power was themed on the Truth vs. Ideals thing Reshiram and Zekrom had going on.

3) I was gonna showcase Crusoe's "true" form at some point, but the best I could do was make a shitty recolour of Bills from Battle of Gods. So I said "fuck it" and never used it, because with Daniel's appearance being based on fanart of Bardock we already had enough DBZ.

4) Three Fears that never turned up due to the change in setting where the Plague Doctor, an eccentric old spirit of disease and plague who cared more about alien biology than winning the Grand Game, the Grotesque, a living embodiment of nightmares that would have most likely attacked someone in their sleep in the form of a nightmarish carnival, and the Deep, the Father of Fears who is actually either Poseidon or Jormungand. There was going to be an amusing scene with him where he invited visitors for tea and scones.

There was also going to be an appearance by the Quiet, the Fear of Nothing that is fated to wipe out all life on Earth after the War of the Fears occurs. There was going to be an end-game sequence after defeating Slender Man, where the Quiet turns up and thanks the Kobbers for preventing what was basically Armageddon. But I was so tired after doing the final battle I just said "fuck it" and didn't bother.

5) Swain and Mr. Scars were going to have bigger roles, but that didn't pan out due to time constraints.

6) Originally, the Killer Instinct character was going to be Sabrewulf, searching for a cure to his lycanthropy. I had been looking forward to writing scenes with him interacting with Lyall, and he would have eventually acquired the cybernetic arms from KI2 at some point.

7) While not mentioned in the Mega Post, Firebrand and Persolus spent some time recuperating on the ZFS before returning to Earth. They were also waiting for the heat to die down after Gorr'Rylaehotep and Barghest got so soundly trounced - the Fears would have been mighty suspicious after that.

8) I was originally also going to have a go at the Red Cap, but if you looked her up you'll know why I didn't do it. I also felt it would have been trying too hard to recapture the essence Dirk pre-taming - there isn't much that can capture that particular spark.

9) Concerning Dirk's book plot, it was actually going to be longer. Richard Longshore would have sued Dirk for attempted libel, and it would have lead to a courtroom scene that would have properly cemented the centaur author as a dick and a money-hungry egotist - a kind of mirror-universe Dirk mixed with General Cleft. This was also an opportunity for Dirk to call him out (i.e. quote more Nostalgia Critic) and end the plot on a more desicive finale instead of the off-hand newspaper review I had to do.

10) "Barghest" was an extremely last-minute name for Black Dog's entry into the Halloween Brawl. I could have used the names given in those documents, but I wanted to be a bit more creative. Also, those documents on Fears (at least, Black Dog's and Slender Man's) were actually written a long time ago out of boredom - I didn't anticipate CW and Harpy would actively go looking them up.

11) On the subject of those documents, there was a heavily encoded .zip file in there labelled "HABIT". I'm kinda glad you guys didn't open that one.

Basically, it refers to the character of HABIT from EverymanHYRBID. In ZFRP, Habit would have been one of Slender Man's servants, but not a Proxy - he was a guy with serial killer tendancies possessed by a Jigsaw/Hannibal Lecter-ish demon thing. Collectively known as Habit, they were a wild card in the Collective, and what hints I would give in the files lead to the conclusion that they are either dead for some reason or missing. One certain thing was that he was exiled from the Collective for... some reason or other.

12) There was a sequence planned where the Monster Hunters would have faced of against Dire Miralis. Who is basically the Monster Hunter equivalent of Satan. Alatreon was gonna play a bigger role as well, but then Stan got tied too much to the Society and the plot.

13) The plot point about Rock suffering a memory overload from absorbing weapon data from living beings was gonna be bigger, but there were so many plot things on my hands right now that I didn't want to do it. Also, I was totally going to pull a "Babe the Sheep Pig" and have Rock ask Sine if it was okay for him to call her mom. But I didn't do it because... I didn't want to.

14) Jewel Man was the only Robot Master I was sure of sending up on the outset. Guts Man and Plug Man were the result of a lucky Random.org roll. On the subject of Jewel Man, I was going to defy the stereotype and make him just flamboyant but straight, using his girlish mannerisms to mess with people's heads. But then I lost some brain cells to cider and now he's a horrible characature.

15) There was a bit after Chaosplot where Stan idly mentions tasting copper. If you paid attention in school, you'd know that's one of the first symptoms of an impending heart attack. I was gonna put Stan in peril, for once, so Gemma could be the one saving the day, but then I completely forgot all about the plot. No excuses of tiredness or alcohol here, I just completely forgot it was going to be a thing.

16) Also, to clarify, Robbie is a future version of the Observer, rendered powerless and amnesiac by the Cleansing - the event where the Quiet wipes out life to stop the Fears from fucking everything up. By being exposed to Robbie, the Observer became aware of what was going to happen and the change in timeline that was to occur. He had a plan to pull a Starscream and gain Gorr'Rylaehotep's powers for himself, to try and prevent the War of the Fears, but of course that didn't pan out.

And so there you go. Stuff that didn't make it into ZFRP, or was pushed aside for something else. Hope you enjoyed reading this, and if not then you can simply chase the memories away with a stiff drink. Kind of like what I'm doing right now :U