When the Akashans Come a Knockin

[Wyvern]

The platter of spiced wildahen and its accompanying bowl of Bruteweisered punch are aligned on the long buffet table that rests against the far wall of the Cabaret Room. The elegant look of the dish compliments the wiggly cabbage safe salad and the giant pot of ogre stone soup that sit next to it, and the combined smells of the wildahen and the long rack of BBQ gorgon nearby waft through the Pen's many halls and quarters. Grimmael hobbles along the beautiful Summer buffet, brushing its many items with a feather duster that seems to let off salt every time its shaken. The faithful servant adjusts his bow tie to a more crooked position as another waiter sets down a plate of steaming news rat meatballs, and groans as he observes the excessive number of dishes that still need salting. He watches the other waiter depart back into the Pen's kitchen, then reaches with his duster to salt a chocolate casserole. His work is interrupted, however, as a loud knocking sound echoes from the front door of the Cabaret. Grimmael grimaces, wondering which pennite could have arrived so early before slowly hobbling his way over to the door to answer it.

 

"Yeeeeeesssssssss?"

 

Grimmael blinks and steps back as three unfamiliar figures walk into the room. The first figure is a regal man of about 40 years of age, dressed in fancy plated armors of purple and gold with intricate designs that tell tales of the legends of old. A billowing purple cape flows behind him, and his head of long hair is adorned with a jeweled helmet-crown of sorts that circles his head and extends all the way down to his goatee. The other two figures that accompany him are large dominions, all muscle and steel, their broad angel wings spread wide and their faces invisible under their adamantium helmet visors. Grimmael stares at the visitors blankly.

 

"Er. Can I help you...?"

 

"Why yes, as a matter of fact you can." The regal man shakes Grimmael's hand while the dominions remain silent under their visors. "I am Jacobson Avalontenium, of the Akashan Library's Order of Security. Here is my badge of authenticity."

 

Jacobson extends a highly polished platinum badge with jewel encrusted edges, which Grimmael nervously dusts with his feather duster before nodding.

 

"We are here on official business, and do not wish to take up much of your time. We have come in the name of the mythical Library of Akasha, that which has granted us wisdom and the all-seeing eye of knowledge, in search of one Wyvern Q. Almostdragon."

 

Grimmael slowly tilts one of his brows up and grunts. He glances back over at the table, groaning at all of the dishes that still need salting.

 

"W-Wyvern...?"

 

"Yes, Wyvern Q. Almostdragon. He is accused of defaming the name of the Akashan Library, through false advertising, mockery, and identity theft. The sentence for these combined crimes against the Library of Akasha is banishment to the third circle of Hell." Jacobson stares at Grimmael with steely eyes. "Would you be so kind as to take us to him?"

 

"Errr. Wyvern eh? Wyvern... er, just a moment." Grimmael jerks his head back and raises a crooked hand to his mouth. "OZY! ZOOOOOOL?! PEN OFFICIALS! Somebody to seeeee yyyoooouuu."

[Hjolnai]

A magical staff hovers into the room. A voice is heard from within it. "What is this? An Akashan? I thought-" and then the staff ceases to speak, as it realizes that it is being stared at in a rather unpleasant manner.It drops to the ground, and begins to pretend to be an ordinary carved stick. This attempt is futile, as the glowing crystal shards embedded in the wood continue to emit magical light.

 

As one of the Dominions which accompanied the messenger bends over to touch the staff, there is a flash of lightning. The Dominion is hurled to the other side of the room, and it slams against the wall, smashing several priceless ornaments before crashing to the ground, groaning in pain.

Edited May 24, 2008 by Hjolnai

[Wyvern]

Jacobson frowns as he turns his head from the dominion crash site, to the stick on the ground, to the frowning Grimmael.

 

"Is this stick your idea of some sort of twisted joke?" Jacobson stares at Grimmael with his steely eyes and points at the stick. He takes out a notepad and a pure silver quill and begins writing something down. "I was under the impression that the Mighty Pen was a community of friendly etiquette, or at least that's how the tomes of Akasha detailed it. Anyway, I'm afraid that your institution will have to pay for the damages done to my friend's armor, as well as the time it may have cost us in completing our mission. I'll need you to sign here."

 

Grimmael tilts his neck crookedly and frowns at the piece of paper, then grimaces as a waiter calls from the end of the table.

 

"Grimmael, what are you doing?! There's half a table left to be salted!"

 

Grimmael jerks his head and raises a hand to respond, but is cut short as Jacobson lifts the sheet to his face again.

 

"I'll need you to sign this immediately, lest you want the Mighty Pen to be placed in the Library of Akasha's list of dishonorable institutions."

 

"Eh uhh, err..." Grimmael takes the sheet. "I'll uhhh, yeah... you can sit, and uhh. There'll be other, err, pennites. Comin, I mean uhhh..."

[Hjolnai]

The glowing stick arises from the ground to stand tall again, hovering over to Jacobson. This time, the voice from within is somewhat threatening... "Didn't your people learn the first time that hunting me down was a bad idea? And how did you find me anyway? It should be impossible for those of your paltry divination skills!"

 

Jacobson angrily replies, "So you're supposed to be Wyvern? T-", only to be interrupted.

 

"Wyvern!" the staff laughs. "So you're not here for me after all? Such a coincidence must be fate, for only yesterday did I arrive here! So, you remember not the events of a year ago, in your so-called library? Let me remind you... My name is Hjolnai; there, does that refresh your memory?"

 

"Look, I don't care who or what you are, not even if you were Satan himself, so long as you're not Wyvern! Now, begone!"

 

The staff seems rather angry at being dismissed in such a manner, and so fills the room with hundreds of illusionary walls (meaning that no one can see more than about 1m, as the "walls" appear at 1 metre intervals).

[The Portrait of Zool]

Jacobson blinks once, then conjures a room full of illusory holes, all the same size and in the same locations as the illusory walls. The Dominion next to Jacobson grabs hold of the floating staff with a viselike grip as the other Dominion, recovered from his crashing fall, pulls what looks like an enormous pencil sharpener out from under his adamantium robes and advances menacingly.

 

"Now look here Hjolnai," boomed Jacobson, "I don't know who you are or what you're about, but I have a mission and I mean to accomplish it. If you persist in slowing us up I'll have no choice but make sure you get my point - if you get my point."

 

The advancing Dominion, holding the giant pencil sharpener with one hand, turned the arm sized crank with his other causing the blades within to whir ominously.

 

"Don't go anywhere!" said Jacobson suddenly turning to Grimmael, who had tried to slink away during the disturbance. "You are to make sure Mr. ALmostdragon shows!"

 

Grimmael gulped again, then shouted, "Hello! Anybody? Heeeeeellp!"

[Hjolnai]

As the giant pencil sharpener comes closer and closer, Hjolnai glares at it (although without visible eyes, it's hard to see that he's glaring). Just as it's about to begin cutting, the whole thing falls apart in a cloud of rust. Then, Hjolnai returns to his frantic struggling to escape, which seems to have no effect. One of the Dominions takes out an axe...

Suddenly, the whole room explodes into motion. A magically-induced whirlwind tears through, blasting everyone with freezing gusts. The warrant for Wyvern's arrest is shredded, all occupants of the room are sent flying, and even the wallpaper is being torn, but still Hjolnai can't get free, and Jacobson cancels the whirlwind with two words, before conjuring another copy of the arrest warrant from midair. Jacobson now looks even angrier, if that were possible, and he nods towards the Dominion carrying the axe, then shouts at the top of his impressive voice, "ENOUGH!"

[Wyvern]

"I have had quite enough of this immature behavior." Jacobson's eyes narrow as he re-adjusts the crown helm on his hair and brushes some stray wallpaper from his regal garments. "Between your lightning traps, illusionary walls, and whirlwind manifestations, it seems obvious to me that your Keep refuses to cooperate with our search. Very well."

 

Jacobson steps through the Summer banquet disaster zone, effortlessly avoiding the various dishes strewn across the floor as he moves towards Grimmael. The dominions that follow him are not as agile, however, and crush the items underfoot, reducing them to inedible dust.

 

"Here is the warrant for Wyvern's arrest." Jacobson hands the document to Grimmael, who struggles to grasp it from his position hanging from a Conservatory chandelier. "Until you agree to turn him in and comply to our request, the Mighty Pen will be blacklisted in the Akashan Library's list of dishonorable institutions and will be denied all access to our services and archives. I advise you to act upon this warrant soon and turn Wyvern in, as a continuous refusal to abide by our laws will certainly result in more drastic measures. A good day to you, sir."

 

With that, Jacobson Avalontenium turns with a flutter of his cape and exits the quarters of the Pen Keep, his dominion escorts treading closely behind him...

[Disco-neck Ted]

Gregor stared out of the kitchen door at the wreckage strewn about the conservatory, a tray of candied man-eating Venus's-flytrap tonsils in his hands momentarily forgotten. Shadows stretched and swayed in time to Grimmael's oscillations on the chandelier. The changing light sounded like feet shuffling on carpet, felt like being slapped with a shaving brush. The smell of ogre stone soup was a faint orange haze in the air, making it hard to be certain, but...

 

"The Akashans appear to have Kurt," Gregor murmured, averting his gaze from the chaos that was assaulting his senses. So much input was impossible to process all at once. Still, he perceived nothing of the sous-chef in the disarray.

 

Gregor focused on the tray of delicacies before him, rows of tidbits arranged in a perfect, soothing grid. The smell of the candy glaze was warm against his skin. If he took one tonsil from each corner, he mused, the array would still be orderly. It was not as if guests would be after them, not now. Shifting his grip, the food-taster produced a silver case. The clasp pinged like the twinkle of the evening's first star and he hesitated over the array of toothpicks contained within. The baobab, he decided, thumbing out a dark sliver. Definitely the baobab. The exotic wood would be the perfect complement to both the sweet, tingling glaze and the musky, silken taste of flytrap flesh.

 

Shards of broken glassware tinkled to the floor like sprinkles of cinnamon on Gregor's tongue, and an angel-wing shifted from beneath the rack of gorgon ribs.

 

Gregor paused, savoring the moment even more than the thought of the treats in front of him. "The Akashans have Kurt," the food-taster repeated. He looked down at the adamantium-clad figure that was once again lying motionless under a mound of meat and shook his head. "They just don't know that they have him."

 

* * *

Jacobson Avalontenium stalked down the corridor of the Mighty Pen Keep, his dominions clanking along behind him in perfect unison. He glanced back at the two enormous winged figures, momentarily puzzled, but uncertain of the source. Finally, he shrugged and resumed striding toward the exit. A credit to dominion training, he thought, it sounded almost as if but a single armored figure kept pace with him.

Edited December 8, 2008 by Disco-neck Ted