Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
For the occasion, Admi could easily disguise himself as a Koala.
He would be recognised immediately.
-
Sign up or login, and you'll have full access to opportunities of forum.
The Firebird - A Crux Fairy Tale
- Thread starter Jollyrei
- Start date
He would be recognised immediately.
RacingRodent
Consul
Could come in handy, what with all this peril we all are in at the moment.
Apologies for the delay - strangely busy weekend and I'm having modem problems.
I'll try to get another chapter out before Monday.
It had better be a cheery one!Election night (in the US) special - new chapter coming in a few minutes.
Ted Parry
Governor
Can you include an omnipotent God ..... A few miracles ..... and shares in outgoing Airlines.Election night (in the US) special - new chapter coming in a few minutes.
Chapter 12:
The guards in their purple and black uniforms moved into the courtyard and surrounded them, their crossbows never wavering.
“Really, father,” said Jollyrei, “this is no way to welcome your two sons home. We’re going to start thinking you’re not happy to see us.”
“Oh, but I am happy to see you,” said the Tsar smiling. “You have brought me the Firebird. I didn’t expect it to be a lovely young woman, but perhaps that’s even better than a bird.”
“You will not win,” said Messaline confidently. “I’m sure these princes have a plan to defeat you.”
“No,” said Jollyrei. “This time I don’t think so. Phlebas?”
“I was told I would know what to do,” said Phlebas. “So far, nothing is coming to mind.”
“Your fate is in my hands,” said the Tsar. “Just like your poor dear sister. Even now, she is becoming your poor dear departed sister.”
“I haven’t even met her yet,” said Jollyrei. “First I have a sister, and then you kill her before I can even say hello.”
“Well, I still say that you will never take Eulalia without coming through me,” said Phlebas.
“Humour our mad father, would you?” said Jollyrei. “I’m thinking as fast as I can, but I don’t have a reckless escape plan quite yet.”
“That’s never stopped you before,” said Rodentsov. “I for one have had enough of this.” He drew his small sword and charged one of the guards.
The guard was taken off guard, and fired wildly across the courtyard. Rodentsov darted through his legs, and made it to the door of the castle. The crossbow bolt embedded itself into the chest of another guard. The shot soldier looked stunned for a second and then fell over.
All the other guards assessed the situation. Pointing their bows across a courtyard at each other suddenly didn’t seem like such a good idea. They all lowered their weapons and edged away, trying to get out of any potential line of fire.
The Tsar was furious. “Take these people to my throne room,” he ordered the guards, “and try not to injure yourselves on the way. Some of you find that rodent!”
Several guards grumbled to each other, but seemed happy enough to be leaving the Tsar’s immediate presence.
Rodentsov raced down a hallway when he heard the pursuit start. He found a large doorway and ducked into the large room beyond it. The room had a high vaulted ceiling, and was lit only by torches and candelabra at floor level. The rafters above were left in murky darkness. He went up the wall and out onto one of the rafters where he was neatly concealed. He needed a plan. He needed to attack. Unfortunately, a squirrel form was not quite what he needed for that. His wolf form would not be able to perch in the rafters. He thought about it a second. There was nothing else for it. He changed shape. Well, he thought, settling down to wait for his moment, at least his teeth were sharper. He grinned to himself. Someone was going to get a surprise.
Wragg, meanwhile crept silently down the stairs, cloaked in his ghost spell, a shadow that smelled vaguely of cinnamon and raisins. That aroma was almost drowned out by the smell of hot coals, from below.
Suddenly there were three large men in leather aprons running up the stairs towards him. Torturers, he thought, and the idea that these were the torturers of an innocent girl filled him with a righteous rage. He felt rather pleased with it. The three men also had swords, so they were fair game. At least it’s a fair fight, thought Wragg, which is more than they gave the girl.
He thought back to his old sorcery classes, back at good old Universitas Maleficarum. Back then, he was just a kid with talent, and a sweet tooth. He hadn’t had much use for rage. It tended to spoil the dough, and was no good for seducing girls. He professors all told him he was wasting his talents. Well, now he’d show them. He had rage to burn now.
"Hey," said one of the torturers. "Do you smell cinnamon buns?"
Something large, demonic, black, and fast flew from between Wragg's hands, or perhaps it came out of his mind, or maybe it had just always been there. He didn’t care. One second there were three torturers. The next there were three small red puddles and three melted pieces of metal where the swords had been.
“Perhaps, not such a fair fight, after all,” Wragg said to himself smugly.
He continued down the stairs into the dungeon, and saw the X cross, with a naked woman slumped on it. She was clearly barely alive, and would not be even that for much longer. The other thing he noticed was, well, everything about her. He could have stared at her happily for the rest of her life. Well, that was simply not long enough, he decided. He’d have to make her life longer.
He pulled out his knife and cut the ropes binding her to the cross. She collapsed over his shoulder. He carried her limp body over to a torturing rack and laid her on it. Then he went to work with his potions humming tunelessly to himself as he did so.
Barb woke up in a lot of pain. She screamed.
“Good!” said a cheerful voice. “You’re back with us. You must be Barb.”
There was a jovial, and not bad looking face looking down at her in a friendly manner. Her eyes focused. He wasn’t bad looking at all, and the pain was starting to subside a little.
“Who…” she managed hoarsely.
“Vasili Wragg, at your service, milady,” said Wragg. “I’m a sorcerer.”
“Barbaria,” said Barb. “Ice witch. Pain.”
“Oh,” said Wragg, “you might be a bit tetchy at times, but I’m sure a lovely girl like you is not a pain.”
“What do you do?” asked Barb. “Evil sorcerer?”
“I tried,” said Wragg. “Mostly I do pastries…and goblins.”
“I can see you’re a complex person,” said Barb. The pain was really getting much better. Now she wanted to sleep.
“No, no, no!” yelled Wragg. “Don’t drift away…” But it was too late. Barb was gone.
The Tsar moved everyone to his throne room, a large vaulted cathedral like room, the guards keeping a close eye on everyone with their crossbows at the ready. Jollyrei considered a frontal attack, but the crossbows seemed quite threatening. He counted about 20 of them, and any way you looked at the math, they outnumbered him.
“This is not going to work,” said Messaline bravely to the Tsar. “Eulalia will never serve you. You will have to kill us all.”
“Steady on,” said Jollyrei, “I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” He checked again. The number of crossbows in his possession was still easily rounded to zero.
“We may have no choice,” said Thessela. “I mean, these men have a lot of crossbows.”
“I did notice that,” said Jollyrei. “Our position does seem to be slightly untenable…”
He was interrupted by the unexpected arrival of Wragg, carrying the naked, still form of Barb. He evoked a tragically Shakespearean scene. The guards looked increasingly like they had no idea what to do with all this. They let Wragg through and into the room.
“Oh no!” said Thessela.
“Is she…?” started Phlebas.
“Howl, howl, howl, howl!” said Wragg, laying Barb on the floor. “O, you are men of stones.”
“No,” said Jollyrei, “I don’t think so.”
“It’s a very moving scene, actually,” said Phlebas.
“Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so that heaven's vault should crack. She's gone for ever!” said Wragg dramatically.
“Are you sure?” asked Messaline, crouching down beside Barb.
“I know when one is dead, and when one lives; she's dead as earth,” said Wragg.
“He didn’t talk like that back in Grud’,” said Thessela with a puzzled expression.
“I think he’s being dramatic,” said Eulalia. “Is this the way it ends?”
“It should be,” said the Tsar. “I ordered her killed myself.”
“A plague upon you, murderer, traitor!” said Wragg, pointing a finger at the Tsar.
“Please don’t burn down the palace,” said Jollyrei.
“No,” agreed Phlebas. “At least not while we’re all still inside it.”
Barb groaned.
“Good lord,” said Wragg. “She’s alive!”
“You really thought she was dead?” asked Phlebas.
“Well,” said Wragg, “these potions from my old friend Polly are not entirely predictable.” He took Barb’s arm to feel for a pulse.
Messaline pulled a tapestry off one of the chairs in the room and wrapped it around Barb like a blanket.
“So you’ve saved her life for the moment,” said the Tsar. “But I am getting tired of these interruptions. I am going to get my guards to shoot you one by one until I get what I want.”
“Will that work?” Thessela asked.
“Well,” said Jollyrei, “if his goal is to have us all dead, shooting us with crossbows would work extremely well.”
“No,” said Eulalia. “I don’t even know how to give him my powers.”
“Most of the time you don’t even know what they are,” said Phlebas.
“They are mysterious, your powers,” said Messaline. “But I think these men will not shoot us. That would be too easy. There must be a better way.” She looked expectantly at Jollyrei.
“If I can’t have the Firebird alive,” said the Tsar, “I will just have to kill her, along with the rest of you, or imprison her forever in a cage. That will be my revenge for all the times she stole the golden apples from my garden.”
“Oh, not the bloody golden apples again,” said Jollyrei. “Really, father, this fixation…”
“This is getting us nowhere,” said Phlebas. He reached out to put a protective arm around Eulalia.
“No! Don’t touch…!” Wragg started in alarm. He seemed surprised when Phelbas didn’t catch fire.
“Um,” said Wragg to Barb, who was looking a bit more alert all the time. “Does he often not burn up like that.”
“He seems to be immune,” said Barb. “I know if I even touch her dress, I burn my fingers.”
“I really don’t think it’s supposed to work that way,” said Wragg thoughtfully. “I must think about this.”
“Perhaps you should think quickly,” said Messaline.
“We may have to all die fighting,” said Jollyrei, “giving our lives bravely for our friends, lost though our cause may be.”
“Do you think so,” asked Thessela.
“I don’t think there would be much choice,” said Jollyrei.
“Oh!” said Thessela brightly. “In that case...”
“Guards,” said the Tsar, “I want you to shoot…” The guards tensed, ready for action.
“I may have a solution that will satisfy everyone,” said Wragg.
“Really?” asked the Tsar.
“I think it is true that the Firebird cannot give away her power, but your son here may be able to take it, and he could give it to you. You could simply take it from his hands.”
Messaline gasped. “That is your plan?”
“I think we must try this,” said Wragg, “if we are all going to stay alive.”
“What is to stop him killing us all afterwards?” asked Jollyrei.
Wragg looked at Phlebas. “I don’t think he will.” He winked at Barb. Barb smiled knowingly.
“I think Wragg is right,” Barb said. “We should give the Tsar what he wants.”
“Our choices are limited,” said Thessela sagely.
“Yes,” said the Tsar, “They are, aren’t they?
“Right,” said Jollyrei, “but if things go all wrong, we’re going down fighting.”
“Very probably,” said Messaline. “I shall fight like an amazon.”
“Trust me,” said Wragg. “I think it’s the only way.”
Phlebas stared at him. Wragg smiled encouragingly. Phlebas looked at Eulalia. “Do you trust me?” he asked.
“We have no choice,” said Eulalia. “But I trust Wragg, to some extent. He created the Firebird part of me. And yes, I trust you.”
“Finally,” said the Tsar. “Well, go on, my boy,” he added to Phlebas.
“And you’ll release us afterwards,” said Phlebas.
“Absolutely,” said the Tsar, “although you’re hardly in a position to negotiate.”
“Then I’ll give it to you,” said Phlebas. “I was told I would know what to do. This seems to be it.”
Phlebas gently parted Eulalia’s fire gown at her shoulders. Everyone else held their breath, except Thessela who simply said, “Oh!”
The fire folded down Eulalia’s body, leaving her naked and looking a bit vulnerable. She shivered. The guards looked uncomfortable. Phlebas looked at her with sympathy and a fair bit of appreciation. Then holding out the fire gown, he offered it to the Tsar.
“Here is what you want,” said Phlebas. “Take it.”
“You’re a fool,” said the Tsar, undulating forward greedily. He reached out and touched the gown.
The fire tore out of Phlebas hands, streaking up the arm of the Tsar and wrapping around him. He shrieked in surprise and fear as the fire engulfed him and intensified. He was a pillar of fire, or at least a short fat teapot of fire, for a few seconds, and then there was a “whup” sound and the fire was gone. The Tsar was gone as well.
“I see,” said Messaline. “You knew this would happen all along. It’s another fine rescue. Did you think of this?” she asked Jollyrei.
“Not this time,” said Jollyrei.
“I strongly suspected this would happen,” said Wragg. “Phlebas could certainly give the late-Tsar the Firebird gown. I said nothing about whether it was a good idea for the Tsar to take it.”
Phlebas looked at Eulalia. She smiled weakly at him, and slumped to the floor.
“Eulalia!” he exclaimed.
“Nobody move,” said a trembling, angry, confused, voice. It was a guard officer, holding a sword pointed at Messaline. “You have killed the Tsar. You’re lives are forfeit. Guards!...”
“Death from above!” shouted the drop bear as it plummeted from the ceiling rafters. Rodentsov, in his new drop bear form, hit the guard officer, and the rest was remarkably bloody and somewhat vicious. The guard officer was almost certainly dead, considering his head ended up in the hands of another guard.
“Anybody else want to try something?” growled Rodentsov.
The other guards gave every indication that the thing they wanted to try the most was getting out of the throne room and away from anything with lethal teeth or magical fire. They backed away uneasily.
“Always so gallant,” said Messaline, embracing the small bear, “and always here when I need you.”
Phlebas meanwhile was trying to revive Eulalia. Jollyrei was watching and looking unhappy about it.
“Not very good fairy tale form,” said Jollyrei to Wragg, “having the title character die right at the point of victory.”
“Her enchantment was supposed to be lifted when she found her prince,” said Wragg. “That was the spell. I didn’t know it would kill her.”
“I think she needs to be the Firebird again,” said Thessela. “It’s who she is.”
“Like I’m the Ice Queen,” said Barb.
“You’re an Ice Queen?” asked Jollyrei.
Barb demonstrated.
“Don’t worry,” she said, rolling her eyes as everyone looked shocked. “He’ll thaw out in no time.”
To be continued…
The guards in their purple and black uniforms moved into the courtyard and surrounded them, their crossbows never wavering.
“Really, father,” said Jollyrei, “this is no way to welcome your two sons home. We’re going to start thinking you’re not happy to see us.”
“Oh, but I am happy to see you,” said the Tsar smiling. “You have brought me the Firebird. I didn’t expect it to be a lovely young woman, but perhaps that’s even better than a bird.”
“You will not win,” said Messaline confidently. “I’m sure these princes have a plan to defeat you.”
“No,” said Jollyrei. “This time I don’t think so. Phlebas?”
“I was told I would know what to do,” said Phlebas. “So far, nothing is coming to mind.”
“Your fate is in my hands,” said the Tsar. “Just like your poor dear sister. Even now, she is becoming your poor dear departed sister.”
“I haven’t even met her yet,” said Jollyrei. “First I have a sister, and then you kill her before I can even say hello.”
“Well, I still say that you will never take Eulalia without coming through me,” said Phlebas.
“Humour our mad father, would you?” said Jollyrei. “I’m thinking as fast as I can, but I don’t have a reckless escape plan quite yet.”
“That’s never stopped you before,” said Rodentsov. “I for one have had enough of this.” He drew his small sword and charged one of the guards.
The guard was taken off guard, and fired wildly across the courtyard. Rodentsov darted through his legs, and made it to the door of the castle. The crossbow bolt embedded itself into the chest of another guard. The shot soldier looked stunned for a second and then fell over.
All the other guards assessed the situation. Pointing their bows across a courtyard at each other suddenly didn’t seem like such a good idea. They all lowered their weapons and edged away, trying to get out of any potential line of fire.
The Tsar was furious. “Take these people to my throne room,” he ordered the guards, “and try not to injure yourselves on the way. Some of you find that rodent!”
Several guards grumbled to each other, but seemed happy enough to be leaving the Tsar’s immediate presence.
Rodentsov raced down a hallway when he heard the pursuit start. He found a large doorway and ducked into the large room beyond it. The room had a high vaulted ceiling, and was lit only by torches and candelabra at floor level. The rafters above were left in murky darkness. He went up the wall and out onto one of the rafters where he was neatly concealed. He needed a plan. He needed to attack. Unfortunately, a squirrel form was not quite what he needed for that. His wolf form would not be able to perch in the rafters. He thought about it a second. There was nothing else for it. He changed shape. Well, he thought, settling down to wait for his moment, at least his teeth were sharper. He grinned to himself. Someone was going to get a surprise.
Wragg, meanwhile crept silently down the stairs, cloaked in his ghost spell, a shadow that smelled vaguely of cinnamon and raisins. That aroma was almost drowned out by the smell of hot coals, from below.
Suddenly there were three large men in leather aprons running up the stairs towards him. Torturers, he thought, and the idea that these were the torturers of an innocent girl filled him with a righteous rage. He felt rather pleased with it. The three men also had swords, so they were fair game. At least it’s a fair fight, thought Wragg, which is more than they gave the girl.
He thought back to his old sorcery classes, back at good old Universitas Maleficarum. Back then, he was just a kid with talent, and a sweet tooth. He hadn’t had much use for rage. It tended to spoil the dough, and was no good for seducing girls. He professors all told him he was wasting his talents. Well, now he’d show them. He had rage to burn now.
"Hey," said one of the torturers. "Do you smell cinnamon buns?"
Something large, demonic, black, and fast flew from between Wragg's hands, or perhaps it came out of his mind, or maybe it had just always been there. He didn’t care. One second there were three torturers. The next there were three small red puddles and three melted pieces of metal where the swords had been.
“Perhaps, not such a fair fight, after all,” Wragg said to himself smugly.
He continued down the stairs into the dungeon, and saw the X cross, with a naked woman slumped on it. She was clearly barely alive, and would not be even that for much longer. The other thing he noticed was, well, everything about her. He could have stared at her happily for the rest of her life. Well, that was simply not long enough, he decided. He’d have to make her life longer.
He pulled out his knife and cut the ropes binding her to the cross. She collapsed over his shoulder. He carried her limp body over to a torturing rack and laid her on it. Then he went to work with his potions humming tunelessly to himself as he did so.
Barb woke up in a lot of pain. She screamed.
“Good!” said a cheerful voice. “You’re back with us. You must be Barb.”
There was a jovial, and not bad looking face looking down at her in a friendly manner. Her eyes focused. He wasn’t bad looking at all, and the pain was starting to subside a little.
“Who…” she managed hoarsely.
“Vasili Wragg, at your service, milady,” said Wragg. “I’m a sorcerer.”
“Barbaria,” said Barb. “Ice witch. Pain.”
“Oh,” said Wragg, “you might be a bit tetchy at times, but I’m sure a lovely girl like you is not a pain.”
“What do you do?” asked Barb. “Evil sorcerer?”
“I tried,” said Wragg. “Mostly I do pastries…and goblins.”
“I can see you’re a complex person,” said Barb. The pain was really getting much better. Now she wanted to sleep.
“No, no, no!” yelled Wragg. “Don’t drift away…” But it was too late. Barb was gone.
The Tsar moved everyone to his throne room, a large vaulted cathedral like room, the guards keeping a close eye on everyone with their crossbows at the ready. Jollyrei considered a frontal attack, but the crossbows seemed quite threatening. He counted about 20 of them, and any way you looked at the math, they outnumbered him.
“This is not going to work,” said Messaline bravely to the Tsar. “Eulalia will never serve you. You will have to kill us all.”
“Steady on,” said Jollyrei, “I’m sure that won’t be necessary.” He checked again. The number of crossbows in his possession was still easily rounded to zero.
“We may have no choice,” said Thessela. “I mean, these men have a lot of crossbows.”
“I did notice that,” said Jollyrei. “Our position does seem to be slightly untenable…”
He was interrupted by the unexpected arrival of Wragg, carrying the naked, still form of Barb. He evoked a tragically Shakespearean scene. The guards looked increasingly like they had no idea what to do with all this. They let Wragg through and into the room.
“Oh no!” said Thessela.
“Is she…?” started Phlebas.
“Howl, howl, howl, howl!” said Wragg, laying Barb on the floor. “O, you are men of stones.”
“No,” said Jollyrei, “I don’t think so.”
“It’s a very moving scene, actually,” said Phlebas.
“Had I your tongues and eyes, I'd use them so that heaven's vault should crack. She's gone for ever!” said Wragg dramatically.
“Are you sure?” asked Messaline, crouching down beside Barb.
“I know when one is dead, and when one lives; she's dead as earth,” said Wragg.
“He didn’t talk like that back in Grud’,” said Thessela with a puzzled expression.
“I think he’s being dramatic,” said Eulalia. “Is this the way it ends?”
“It should be,” said the Tsar. “I ordered her killed myself.”
“A plague upon you, murderer, traitor!” said Wragg, pointing a finger at the Tsar.
“Please don’t burn down the palace,” said Jollyrei.
“No,” agreed Phlebas. “At least not while we’re all still inside it.”
Barb groaned.
“Good lord,” said Wragg. “She’s alive!”
“You really thought she was dead?” asked Phlebas.
“Well,” said Wragg, “these potions from my old friend Polly are not entirely predictable.” He took Barb’s arm to feel for a pulse.
Messaline pulled a tapestry off one of the chairs in the room and wrapped it around Barb like a blanket.
“So you’ve saved her life for the moment,” said the Tsar. “But I am getting tired of these interruptions. I am going to get my guards to shoot you one by one until I get what I want.”
“Will that work?” Thessela asked.
“Well,” said Jollyrei, “if his goal is to have us all dead, shooting us with crossbows would work extremely well.”
“No,” said Eulalia. “I don’t even know how to give him my powers.”
“Most of the time you don’t even know what they are,” said Phlebas.
“They are mysterious, your powers,” said Messaline. “But I think these men will not shoot us. That would be too easy. There must be a better way.” She looked expectantly at Jollyrei.
“If I can’t have the Firebird alive,” said the Tsar, “I will just have to kill her, along with the rest of you, or imprison her forever in a cage. That will be my revenge for all the times she stole the golden apples from my garden.”
“Oh, not the bloody golden apples again,” said Jollyrei. “Really, father, this fixation…”
“This is getting us nowhere,” said Phlebas. He reached out to put a protective arm around Eulalia.
“No! Don’t touch…!” Wragg started in alarm. He seemed surprised when Phelbas didn’t catch fire.
“Um,” said Wragg to Barb, who was looking a bit more alert all the time. “Does he often not burn up like that.”
“He seems to be immune,” said Barb. “I know if I even touch her dress, I burn my fingers.”
“I really don’t think it’s supposed to work that way,” said Wragg thoughtfully. “I must think about this.”
“Perhaps you should think quickly,” said Messaline.
“We may have to all die fighting,” said Jollyrei, “giving our lives bravely for our friends, lost though our cause may be.”
“Do you think so,” asked Thessela.
“I don’t think there would be much choice,” said Jollyrei.
“Oh!” said Thessela brightly. “In that case...”
“Guards,” said the Tsar, “I want you to shoot…” The guards tensed, ready for action.
“I may have a solution that will satisfy everyone,” said Wragg.
“Really?” asked the Tsar.
“I think it is true that the Firebird cannot give away her power, but your son here may be able to take it, and he could give it to you. You could simply take it from his hands.”
Messaline gasped. “That is your plan?”
“I think we must try this,” said Wragg, “if we are all going to stay alive.”
“What is to stop him killing us all afterwards?” asked Jollyrei.
Wragg looked at Phlebas. “I don’t think he will.” He winked at Barb. Barb smiled knowingly.
“I think Wragg is right,” Barb said. “We should give the Tsar what he wants.”
“Our choices are limited,” said Thessela sagely.
“Yes,” said the Tsar, “They are, aren’t they?
“Right,” said Jollyrei, “but if things go all wrong, we’re going down fighting.”
“Very probably,” said Messaline. “I shall fight like an amazon.”
“Trust me,” said Wragg. “I think it’s the only way.”
Phlebas stared at him. Wragg smiled encouragingly. Phlebas looked at Eulalia. “Do you trust me?” he asked.
“We have no choice,” said Eulalia. “But I trust Wragg, to some extent. He created the Firebird part of me. And yes, I trust you.”
“Finally,” said the Tsar. “Well, go on, my boy,” he added to Phlebas.
“And you’ll release us afterwards,” said Phlebas.
“Absolutely,” said the Tsar, “although you’re hardly in a position to negotiate.”
“Then I’ll give it to you,” said Phlebas. “I was told I would know what to do. This seems to be it.”
Phlebas gently parted Eulalia’s fire gown at her shoulders. Everyone else held their breath, except Thessela who simply said, “Oh!”
The fire folded down Eulalia’s body, leaving her naked and looking a bit vulnerable. She shivered. The guards looked uncomfortable. Phlebas looked at her with sympathy and a fair bit of appreciation. Then holding out the fire gown, he offered it to the Tsar.
“Here is what you want,” said Phlebas. “Take it.”
“You’re a fool,” said the Tsar, undulating forward greedily. He reached out and touched the gown.
The fire tore out of Phlebas hands, streaking up the arm of the Tsar and wrapping around him. He shrieked in surprise and fear as the fire engulfed him and intensified. He was a pillar of fire, or at least a short fat teapot of fire, for a few seconds, and then there was a “whup” sound and the fire was gone. The Tsar was gone as well.
“I see,” said Messaline. “You knew this would happen all along. It’s another fine rescue. Did you think of this?” she asked Jollyrei.
“Not this time,” said Jollyrei.
“I strongly suspected this would happen,” said Wragg. “Phlebas could certainly give the late-Tsar the Firebird gown. I said nothing about whether it was a good idea for the Tsar to take it.”
Phlebas looked at Eulalia. She smiled weakly at him, and slumped to the floor.
“Eulalia!” he exclaimed.
“Nobody move,” said a trembling, angry, confused, voice. It was a guard officer, holding a sword pointed at Messaline. “You have killed the Tsar. You’re lives are forfeit. Guards!...”
“Death from above!” shouted the drop bear as it plummeted from the ceiling rafters. Rodentsov, in his new drop bear form, hit the guard officer, and the rest was remarkably bloody and somewhat vicious. The guard officer was almost certainly dead, considering his head ended up in the hands of another guard.
“Anybody else want to try something?” growled Rodentsov.
The other guards gave every indication that the thing they wanted to try the most was getting out of the throne room and away from anything with lethal teeth or magical fire. They backed away uneasily.
“Always so gallant,” said Messaline, embracing the small bear, “and always here when I need you.”
Phlebas meanwhile was trying to revive Eulalia. Jollyrei was watching and looking unhappy about it.
“Not very good fairy tale form,” said Jollyrei to Wragg, “having the title character die right at the point of victory.”
“Her enchantment was supposed to be lifted when she found her prince,” said Wragg. “That was the spell. I didn’t know it would kill her.”
“I think she needs to be the Firebird again,” said Thessela. “It’s who she is.”
“Like I’m the Ice Queen,” said Barb.
“You’re an Ice Queen?” asked Jollyrei.
Barb demonstrated.
“Don’t worry,” she said, rolling her eyes as everyone looked shocked. “He’ll thaw out in no time.”
To be continued…
He can be quite a decent fellow, Wragg, although he probably wouldn't admit it.You mean I was rescued by Wragg? Naked?
He can be quite a decent fellow, Wragg, although he probably wouldn't admit it.
How can you say that? I understand that to be in service at Cruxton Abbey can be quite a harrowing experience. Lord Wragg has a habit of whipping his maid servants on his four poster bed before ravishing them, and if they break something he throws them in the cellar dungeon.
Last edited:
[taking notes...]Lord Wragg has a habit of whipping his maid servants on his four poster bed before ravishing them...
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
Last edited:
RacingRodent
Consul
Hum excuse me while I am in my Australian visa required form (they get tetchy if I turn up as a non native species) but under the rules of fairy tales and the rules of monarchy maybe the problem is that by some arguments Phlebas is no longer a prince? On the unfortunate expiration by conflagration of the Tsar, long live the Tsar, Phlebas would automatically have become Tsar.
Now technically in Constitutional English which is unto ordinary English as a car mechanic's invoice is to what you thought you had agreed to pay for, all Tsars are princes (but not all princes are tsars) but maybe fairly lore is a bit more picky?
How about Phlebas abdicates in favour of Jolly who can always if he does not want the job abdicate in favour of Phlebas?
Might be worth a shot?
Failing that maybe try setting her on fire?
Now technically in Constitutional English which is unto ordinary English as a car mechanic's invoice is to what you thought you had agreed to pay for, all Tsars are princes (but not all princes are tsars) but maybe fairly lore is a bit more picky?
How about Phlebas abdicates in favour of Jolly who can always if he does not want the job abdicate in favour of Phlebas?
Might be worth a shot?
Failing that maybe try setting her on fire?
Last edited:
messaline
Crucified Amazon
Hum, an episode a bit confused ... Messaline seems in waiting for an improbable solution ...
Aaaaah ! At least , I recognize her !!! 
Perhaps that she's searching for an
Anyway, confusion for confusion ........ she's waiting for the following ...
Don't believe all that guff about the Cruxton Abbey cellars. I exist to
Except when she's doling out demerits
Ah! Jollyrei! (And Eulalia)
You recognise my dramatic Shakespearean qualities!
A Cruxforums first! Wragg saves the day...
.... till Barb goes and b****rs it all up!
View attachment 435641
Perhaps that she's searching for anagreablewonderfulpathetic......... bref, a CRUCIFIXION ! Merde!!!
View attachment 435643
Fear not, sweet Messaline.
We'll soon have you back up on a cross!
View attachment 435633
Well I suppose being a plucked firebird is a little more flattering
than a fucked plierbird:
Well I suppose being a plucked firebird is a little more flattering
than a fucked plierbird: