Posted: Sat May 10, 2014 9:42 pmby Nightkill the Emperor
Nationstatelandsville wrote:In the darkest dark of the dark night sky, there sits on the horizon a palace invisible; and in this place, there is a study lit always by flickering candlelight. This study contains a labyrinth of ancient tomes stacked atop each other - a collection more comprehensive than Alexandria or Lucifer, and all copied by the hands of one diligent monk in a language no one had ever, ever spoken aloud. At the end of the labyrinth is a writing desk, its owner always hunched over it, scratching away on yellowed parchment with a dove's feather. From laughter this author was created, and he has five heads, none of which fit properly. His stomach is large, and in it he holds everything that ever was, ever is, and ever will be, could be, or should be. His fang is broken, but he has another. He was a man, but he was not a man at all.
There was a plume of black, black smoke which snaked up to the desk's side and quietly shifted into a second man; Loki bowed dramatically.
"Ekadanta," he said, "I have a message."
"Fly away, raven," the writer growled, "Fly back to your keeper."
"I am unchained!" Loki laughed, "Free now; and I have a message. There has been a theft."
"I care not."
"No, Ganesh, you don't understand - there has been a theft. A mortal woman sleeps tonight in the lion's den."
Ganesh looked up from his scroll, "This is impossible."
"Evidently not," Loki smirked.
"We must stop this!" he roared, rising from his stool.
Loki placed his hand on the chest of the twenty-handed, "There is nothing we can do."
"But we must!" Ganesh spat.
"But," Loki sighed, "we can't. We can only hope he kills her swiftly."
William looked out his window at the babbling brook and took a very stiff drink.
"Ah," he smacked his lips, "Shit."
They were dancing; he couldn't stand to see them do that. They always wanted him to join them.
"You see them?" asked the other man, whose name had slipped William's mind. "Al" something.
"Don't you?" William grumbled, "Don't answer that, I already know you don't. Maybe I'm just crazy; or maybe they're just playing with me. But they sing to me, all night, all night. And whenever I go near he- don't look at me like that!"
"Hmm?" Al inquired.
"Pity," William sighed, "It's always pity."
"I suppose I have some human left in me," shrugged Al, "To be honest, I hadn't noticed. Listen - what you're seeing is real, I promise you that."
"Ha!" William laughed spitefully, "All the more proof against it, then. You call yourself a 'wizard'. I know they told you I'm superstitious, but I'm not stupid."
"Well, they're not real, exactly," Al corrected himself, "Not in our sense. They're real somewhere else - you're just seeing them. The power of prophecy; a curse I've never had, but I know some who do. Drinking helps."
"Welcome to Ireland."
"What you're seeing is another world, William" Al explained, "A world we like to pretend doesn't exist."
"There are other worlds," William said, "They eat them."
"We know."
"They take people."
"We know that, too."
"They took Georges."
Al hesitated, "We know. There's nothing we can do."
"Then get the fuck out."
Like a ghost of a thought, Al was gone. William drank long into the night.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand.
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.
Molly sat in an empty banquet hall, at an empty table, before an empty plate. Long away stretched the table, ending at a throne; unoccupied. She was a fine young woman; like a doll. She loved to laugh.
She was laughing not too long ago, and dancing.
They had been dancing first, you see; around a ring of mushrooms, laughing like she did. They asked - she answered. For an eternity, they danced together, a fairy-ring; 'til her feet were bloodied and her ankles swollen, 'til her heart gave. Then there was a flash of light, and she knew she was dead. This was just a detour.
Molly didn't laugh anymore. She should've known, but no one told fairy stories anymore.
There was hurried footsteps down stone stairs and old hinges creaking open; entered two kings in yellow. They were pale creatures, wretched in their beauty, and smug in their kill. They raised horns to their perfect red lips and blew triumphantly; together they summoned the King of Kings, these goblins, these elves.
Slowly he entered - a tall man, with piercing hawk's eyes and the nobility of the eagle. His expression was a silent and weathered stone, a gravestone perhaps. He was old, yes, but he was handsome; a human handsomeness, not like the twisted beauty of these bloodthirsty sprites. He wore a simple tunic, brown, but a cape blossomed out of it, a flurry of reds and browns and yellows.
The Autumn King entered the room, with a chill; but nonetheless, Molly smiled at him. She couldn't help it.
"Madame," his voice like smooth milk, "I apologize for keeping you waiting. It will not happen again, I assure you. I ask you only forgive an old man's vanity!"
Molly smiled, "I do."
"Excellent!" he cheered. He marched up to the young girl and touched her chin gently; silver claws cut into her flesh and drew the slightest bit of blood as he tilted her head and placed his blue lips, pulsating with maggots, onto her cheeks, leaving black bile upon them. She didn't notice it, only the warm feeling which filled her heart, her stomach, and her loins.
With that, he resumed his throne, across the table from her. No food was eaten - neither were hungry. For a long while, they simply stared at each other.
"Madame," the King said, taking a sharp breath, "I feel you are at a disadvantage; I know your name, but you do not know mine. I am called Oberon."
"I'm Molly," she said.
"I know," Oberon replied.
"Oh," she giggled.
"I want to ask you some questions about your home."
A sense of danger suddenly overcame Molly, "My h-home? Wh-why?"
"You are a student of Elfen High in the year 2014, no?" Oberon asked."
"Well, yes, sir, oh yes," Molly nodded, "but why? It's just a private school."
"No," Oberon shook his head, "it is not. That is where I might find Yahweh's son, is it not? You call him 'Crowley'?"
"Yes," Molly frowned, "but what's this about Crowley for? He's an angry old pervert."
Oberon sighed, "So my soldiers think as well, but no son of that bastard is without his tricks. One is enough hell to deal with."
"What do you mean?"
Oberon rolled his eyes, "Do they teach you nothing at that school? Most likely, actually. Ignorant apes."
Molly frowned even deeper, "I don't know... I don't know if I'm going to answer any more questions."
There was laughter, like a bag of air being drawn across a bed of nails; a dusty laugh.
"Yes, you are," the King said.
"Or what?"
"Or," Oberon smiled, "I will pull your intestines out through your nostril and fuck with you them."
Molly blinked.
The Fae nodded, "Right. I'll do this the difficult way; I was hoping very much I would have to!"
Molly screamed.
Oberon licked blood from his fingers and picked a piece of bone from his teeth. He silently noted he would a new pair of boots.
"I didn't notice you come in," he said.
"My liege," his lieutenant said, bowing - Oberon always got a kick out of that, "Ganesh knows what happened here."
"Doesn't mater," answered the King of the Fae, "Our attack begins soon."
"But, sir - are we really ready?"
"They aren't; no one tells fairy stories anymore."
With a horrible sloshing sound, Oberon turned on his heels and walked towards his next appointment; unlike his cousins, he walked everywhere. It gave him time to think.
You've gotten two oneshots with Ireland this morning.
We're working hard on setting up Ireland as a dangerous villain.