Constellations

To Meagan. My best friend and my Love. This is a tale that is all yours. Ours, I mean.

I love our adventures and those silent moments. Mostly, I love them because they are all with you.

Every moment of mine will be spent enjoying the beauty around us and in you.

The evening had been a drowsy one. All the various residents of Kemenbar were eager to nestle beneath some covers and chase after some dreams. The stars hung low, almost within reach. A fire crackled, though it wasn’t needed. A few hobbits were still warding off sleep and playing a game of checkers from beneath droopy eyelids. The tiles that patterned the floor grew cool to the touch. It was a welcome relief from all the heat the sun had put off that day.

            Up and down the halls snores could be heard. Down one hall you might hear the deep rumble of a dragon’s snore. Then down another you could hear the rasp of the Living Plants’ deep breathing. Through one specific door, Tortellini could be heard to mutter curses in his sleep. It is said that his subconscious found it useful to practice them so that they were always on the tip of his spiteful tongue.

            The castle glistened and gleamed. It relished the cool washing of moonlight. A person who knew what to listen for might have heard it sigh. And then that person might have heard the castle tense up again. For a door had just creaked open. And a hooded figure had crept out of that door.

            The hooded figure clutched a bundle of something and padded off down the echoing halls. It snuck around, careful not make a sound.

            Once, the shadowy figure walked past an open door. A low growl breathed out from the darkness. From beneath the hood, a female voice whispered, “Quiet, Clifford. It’s only me.” Clifford Jr. wagged his little raggedy tail. He began to pant in a way that showed the deepest admiration a dog can show. His tiny paws hurried to keep up with the girl.

            In a moment, she reached a door marked with a tiny, golden crown and stopped. She grasped for the door knob in the dark. Her fingers twisted the cold metal. Inside the abyss of darkness was only silence. Then a chainsaw-like breath erupted. This was King Nate’s room. Her hand felt for the light switch. Feeling it finally, she flicked it on.

            Nate grumbled and rolled over, throwing his blankets over his head. The girl took off her hood and revealed a dark brown head of wavy hair and muddy brown eyes. Queen Meg- the figure was indeed Meagan- grinned a dangerous sort of smile. It was both beautiful and deadly. She whispered something to Clifford Jr., who ran up and pounced on Nate’s sleeping body. He shot up and yelped. Meg shushed him in a perturbed tone. How dare he jeopardize their mission?

            “You weren’t supposed to fall asleep!” She berated him. A softness in her eyes gave away that she wasn’t really put off by his lazy behavior.

            “I know. I know,” Nate murmured. He slipped out of bed and rubbed his weary eyes. “Shall we be off?”

            Meg grabbed his hand, shot him a flash of her shining smile, and said, “We shall.”

            Together, they crept silently down the winding corridors and out into the gentle night. The moon beamed at them. They were his two favorite people. Actually, the moon (or Gregory, as he liked to be called) considered himself one of their subjects. Most moons tend to be a pale-yellowish color. Gregory was not. He was always, invariably a deep, radiating orange. Nate and Meg each waved at Gregory. Gregory beamed back.

            The royalty strode up to the top of a tall hill. At the very peak, a maple tree drooped over them. Its leaves varied slightly in color. Each of the rainbow’s colors were represented on the tree. In the night, moonlight pierced through them and made the colors vibrant. Meg spread out a blanket underneath the maple tree and its fluorescent leaves.

            Together they curled up on the blanket, sheltered by the charcoal branches of the tree. Nate sucked in a deep breath. He sighed. They hardly spoke. Any words might have shattered the perfect silence.

            Like two pairs of searchlights, their eyes hungrily examined every inch of sky. Each star seemed like a whole new person to speak to. The only noise on that hilltop was the occasional, hurried breath when they could no longer hold it in. Hands locked tightly, they squeezed them often at the pure joy of the moment.

            There they huddled in that spot for hours. The night wore on and Gregory skimmed across the sky, as if it were a giant, jet-black pond that was speckled with thousands of tiny, floating lanterns.

            After many hours of staring, Meg said from beneath exhausted, yet eager eyes, “Nathan?” She didn’t take her eyes off of the one far-away star she had been staring at for some time.

            “Yes, Meagan?” came the reply that was nearly as distant as the star he was looking at.

            “This is home,” she whispered, as though if she said the words too loudly, this moment would burst like an enormous soap bubble. “I want nothing else in the world, but for it to be just me, you, and the stars. It’s nice to hear silence. It’s nice to not have anyone telling us what they want or what we should be doing. It’s good just to be here.”

            King Nate would have agreed. His words, however, got misplaced on the tip of his tongue. Right as he opened his mouth to speak, the sky cracked and a swath of bright red light cut across it. It struck the ground at the foot of the hill in the same manner as a lightning bolt would have.

            The King and Queen sat upright. Standing there, at the bottom of the hill was a man and some other unrecognizable, hideous shape. The man cackled, which shattered the peaceful starry silence. Nate felt the stars retreat to what they thought was a safe distance. As the man and the hideous shape began to tread up the hill, the man called out to them, “I say! It’s been a long time, Nate, my twin.” He sounded jovial. Nate leapt up.

            It was Mel.

            Before Nate could do any of the million and one things he wanted to, great tongues of fire stretched across the hillside, lighting it up briefly. Nate saw a few things. The man was indeed Mel. Mel was holding a sword. And the hideous shape was an enormous, black dragon. The dragon’s fire winked out.

            Mel spoke again in the dark. “It’s time we got caught up.”

            The moment he said that, they were all caught up in another flash of red light. The only thing left on the hill was the black dragon. He roared and engulfed the tree with the rainbow leaves in a stream of white-hot fire. The leaves on it crackled and burned away.

            With a satisfied snort, the black dragon lumbered towards the castle.

Ruthless One

The King of Kemenbar rubbed his forehead. Another day spent with Queen Meg meant another day of being pushed beyond his reasonable limits. King Nate was fond of his reasonable limits. When he was but a young lad, he wrote them down on a particularly resilient piece of parchment. Ever since then he kept them in a secret pocket in his shoe. To this day the parchment is safe and also very odorous.


As it has been previously mentioned, this list was dear to him. It was and is so dear that he refuses to allow its contents to be displayed in any sort of public manner.


What struck him with the sudden need to rub his upper face was this: Queen Meg had been acting much like herself. She was annoying him. What made this worse for poor Nate was that all of the Kingdom's inhabitants were off playing an intense game of tag football. Thus, annoying Nate was the absolute center of her attention. This is usually where bad things stem from.


Every time King Nate opened his mouth to say anything, Meg would shoot right back a witty retort. The witty retort would inevitably shock Nate with its harshness and he would be forced to spend several minutes regaining his courage. Nate would then scoop his pride and courage off the floor and try to say something else. As sure as the sun is to rise in the morning, Meg's next witty retort would be more violent and horrific than the last.


Now, lest anyone think that Nate possesses a weak disposition, no person could survive much more than half an hour of this. Nate was somewhere between hour 8 and hour 9. His will to live was rapidly deteriorating. Meanwhile, Meg's glee grew and grew with each verbal beat down.


Lest anyone think that Meg is a cruel, heartless creature, she honestly thought that she was being funny. She's just that kind of a person. She could probably throw a rock at your face and then smile with a certain cuteness that she possesses. Before you know it the blood, tears, and  bruises that you've acquired don't matter overly much. You're just lost in her eyes and her smile and you don't care anymore.


Nate's headache persisted. Both the actual pain and Meg. 


I can't say that this story I'm relating to you has adventure. It doesn't. It's more of an explanation. In the midst of sobs, he called her "ruthless." He was bitter and he liked how that felt. So this time he called her the "Ruthless One." She was taken aback. Soon her insults slowed to a trickle.


Nate grew happier. Meg forgot about annoying Nate and went to go catch some fish with her bare hands. Thus, the Kingdom of Kemenbar gained a Ruthless Queen and keep its King's sanity. 

Of Not-So-Mundane Wizards Who Pretend To Be Mundane Koalas Named Stan

Snoozing in their beds, the people of Kemenbar were unaware of much. They didn’t pay attention to the wind slicing through their fields and over their mountains, parting forests of grass as it zipped along. They weren’t aware of the golden sun leaping into the sky and scattering the clouds, which loomed over their majestic land. And it can be assumed that no one knew how important that crisp morning would be.

          The supreme ruler of that kingdom was lending his voice to the chorus of snores, which echoed through the castle. And that was a very good thing. King Nate would need his rest. He did not know it but later that day a visitor would spring upon him an adventure he couldn’t refuse. That is another story. Or rather, the other side of this one.

          This story begins with a peasant. A peasant who refused to admit his name. This Nameless Peasant strode up to the gleaming castle gates on that windy morning. The sun rose in the sky behind him, casting shimmering lights on the metal surface. The guard snapped out of his stupor. Wary of the odd-looking traveler, he questioned him from a safe distance behind the gate. The peasant claimed he was known as “The Nameless One,” and that he had business with the Queen.

          The poor elf at the gate was in a bad mood at being stationed with the “silent” elf. So he admitted the peasant out of spite.

          Having been let into the castle, The Peasant meandered through the halls with reluctance. It would seem he didn’t know where to go, except that he never once made a wrong turn. Somehow he ended up in the throne room. It was nearly deserted. Only a bundle of red fur huddled in the corner.

          The peasant paid no attention to the bundle of fur. He just bent down and took each of his muddy brown shoes off and flung them a great distance away. To the air, he shouted, “Now what?!”

          Silence saturated the room. Off in the corner, the bundle of fur began to get to its feet. An annoyed growl leaked from the dog’s snout. Ever so slowly, the growl grew to a bark. It wasn’t a terribly energetic bark, and spoke more of being bothered by waking up too early, than trying to strike fear in the heart of an intruder. Clifford Jr. hated to be awoken at all, never mind early.

          Thankfully, the peasant’s life was saved only by a surly hobbit named Tortellini storming into the room. “What,” he complained, “is that dreadful racket?” Clifford Jr. gave up after a few more barks and returned to his sleeping spot. Tortellini blinked the sleep from his eyes.

          He rubbed them. The grubby, poorly-dressed man was still standing there. “Who are you, Grubby Peasant?”

          The Grubby Peasant raised an eyebrow. “I am someone who wants to spend as little time as possible in your presence.”

          Tired as he was, Tortellini could see an open door for a witty retort in his sleep, which this pretty much was, “That,” he said, “shall be arranged.”

           He turned and shouted at the top of his hobbit-y lungs, “Gus!”

          The dragosaur rumbled into the room, smoke curling in wisps out of his nostrils. He looked to Tortellini for an explanation of the situation. “Rid us of this pe…”

          “As much as I know we’d both love that,” interrupted the peasant, “It’s not that easy. You see, tiny annoying dwarf, I have to stay here for a few moments longer. And you have to let me stay. That’s just how it’s going to happen. We’re better off not fighting it. For example, right now this terrible logic Im using is starting to sound reasonable to both of us, even though it isn’t.”

          “It sounds reasonable to me…” mused Tortellini.

          “Me too. That’s my point.”

          “Im confused.”

          “You’re supposed to be.”

          “I don’t get it…”

          “That’s the way it’s supposed to be.”

          “Ahh…I see,” said Tortellini even though he was still lost.

          “Do you?”

          “No.”

          “Listen, none of this really matters. No matter how this headache-inducing conversation plays out, you’ll end up retrieving the Queen for me. So, you might as well save us both some time and go get her now.”

          The surly hobbit scratched his chin, pretending to think it over. “I suppose I might as well.”

          “I knew you would,” the peasant nodded.

          Tortellini padded off in search of a Queen, who was just as sure to follow him as he had been to retrieve her. Upon later inspection, he couldn’t make much sense of the entire situation. Everything he did just seemed like the decent thing to do at the time.

          “Queen Meg!” he called from outside her door. His tiny hands wrapped on the maple door. “Queen Meg!”

          He was certain that a growl of some kind came from inside the room. The poor hobbit decided it best not to wait to find out if the Queen would come out. She most likely would. After all, hadn’t he done the peasant’s will? Wouldn’t she as well?

          With a great fear in his heart, he flew down staircase after staircase and through hallway after hallway until he came into the room where the peasant was inexplicably attempting to gnaw on his elbow. Gus was staring at him and growling.

          As soon as he heard the Hobbit-y footsteps, the peasant spun. “Where is the Queen?”

          Tortellini shrugged.

          “No matter,” continued the grubby man, “She’ll be here.”

          “What makes you so…”

          “Fate, you ridiculous, pompous dwarf!” interrupted the peasant, for the first time fury saturating his voice. His once peaceful demeanor had fled as if a troll who had been living off of drenched bagels for three weeks straight were chasing it off the side of a very prominent cliff. “Fate makes me sure. It has to happen this way.”

          “Why does it have to happen like this?”

          “Because then I wouldn’t be here. And it wouldn’t happen like this.”

          “Im confused.”

          “Im not surprised.”

          All of the living creatures in that room noticed at the same time that even silent objects grew more silent. It’s nearly impossible to understand unless you’ve been around a truly furious Queen. Believe me, it isn’t something you want to understand. Gus shuddered even though he wasn’t actually in trouble.

          “Who is he?” asked Queen Meg.

          “Who is who, Your Majesty?” piped up the hobbit, obviously with very little regard for his life.

          She looked at Tortellini with great contempt, “That red dog lying in the corner,” sarcasm dripping from her voice, “No, the grubby man, Tortellini! Who is he? And is that why you woke me up?”

          “Well, he is…um…his name is…Frankly, Your Majesty, I haven’t the slightest clue who he is.”

          “Then why is he here?”

          “He wished to speak with you.”

          The Queen turned to the grubby man, “About what exactly?”

          “About your fate, Queen Megan,” answered the peasant, trying his best to be respectful.

          “What about it?”

          “It involves following me. Other than that, I know next to nothing.”

          “I’m to follow you? What makes you think that?”

          “I don’t think it. I know it…You just will.”

          Meg harrumphed. She didn’t appreciate being told what she would or would not do. Hence the harrumph. It was her greatest sign of displeasure. That she wasn’t happy. “I won’t,” she put her foot down, “Not in a million years. Im not going anywhere.”

          “Fine,” said the peasant, walking out of the room very casually. He neared the door, half-turned around, and said “Then King Nate won’t survive until sunset.” And with that, he walked out of the room and continued out of the castle.

          Meg was dumbfounded. She shook her head. But it wasn’t all a crazy dream. “Gus!” She called. “Can you retrieve that cursed peasant for me?”

          Gus nodded. His ginormous, scaly tail was practically wagging at the thought of obeying his Queen’s command. After a few short minutes, He came back in prancing with the grubby peasant firmly in his snout.

          Queen Meg began to interrogate him. “What was that you said?”

          “You heard me. If you don’t follow me, which you will, King Nate will die.”

          “Listen to me…uh…what’s your name, grubby peasant?”

          “Apparently, it’s unimportant because you all insist on calling me such a demeaning name like ‘grubby peasant.’”

          “If I may add my opinion,” chimed in Tortellini, “It does suite you.”

          The grubby peasant glowered at him, “It’s childish.”

          Meg shrugged, “That’s not really news to us.”

          “You rule a kingdom?”

          Meg shrugged again, “Honestly, it surprises me too.” She shook her head, “As I was saying, Listen to me, you grubby peasant, I don’t know what makes you think you can just threaten the King’s life. I could have you thrown off a cliff in 30 seconds flat. Choose your next words with the utmost care.”

          “It doesn’t matter how I choose my words. You’ll follow me and I’ll stay alive. Nothing can change that.”

          “That’s it,” sighed Meg, “Gus! Drop him off a cliff.” Gus scooped him up and as a group they all headed out into the open air. Gus led them all to a cliff which seemed to have come out of nowhere. “Wow,” commented Meg, “I don’t remember this being here…”

          They all shrugged at once. Gus stretched the poor peasant out over the ledge. Strangely, the grubby man didn’t seem bothered. He just waited to be let go. After a moment to build up suspense, Meg said, “Drop him.” And drop him, they did.

          He dropped, just like you would expect. Until he stopped dropping, just like you wouldn’t expect. A giant fluffy pillow popped out of thin air and caught him before he smashed against the hard, unforgiving ground.

          When Gus retrieved him again, the peasant just sighed and said, “It’s no use. He won’t let me die.”

          Meg raised an eyebrow, “Who is ‘he’?”

          “The wizard Im taking you to see. Now, have you seen enough? Can we leave now?”

          Meg sighed an I-give-up kind of sigh. “I guess…Gus? You stay here and make sure Nate doesn’t worry. Oh and don’t let him be harmed. At all. So help me, if he ends up dead you won’t get to garden for a WEEK, Mister.”

          (Let me jump in here for a moment. I know it sounds bad. You’re probably wondering why she’d use such a lame threat to keep me alive. But it’s actually quite effective.  You see, Gus loves gardening. He thinks about it all the time. He dreams about it all the time. When he’s not doing that, he’s thinking about dreaming about it. Or dreaming about thinking about it. Every once and a while he likes to mix it up by dreaming about thinking about dreaming about it. Or by thinking about dreaming about dreaming about thinking about dreaming about saying the word “garden.” I guess you could call it an obsession.)

          Gus staggered back at the mere thought. He would give his life for King Nate with that threat looming over him. Though he was a little hurt that Meg had to stoop that low.

          Meg turned to the peasant, “Where are we going?”

          “Nowhere, yet. First we need to do some things.” He walked over to a bush and began pulling out random costumes seemingly out of nowhere. “You’ll need to have your friends put them on.”

          Meg groaned and went in search of Steph, Johanna and Kristen. About twenty minutes later, they all came out of the castle each in their very own costume. Meg was wearing a cowboy costume. Steph was wearing an astronaut costume. Johanna was wearing a queen costume, which made things a bit awkward between her and Meg for the rest of the afternoon. And Kristen was wearing a robot costume.

          None of them looked particularly pleased. “Why,” complained Steph, “do we have to wear these, again?”

          The peasant just shrugged. “Im merely doing as Im told.”

          “What psycho is telling you to do all this stuff?”

          The peasant looked around nervously. In a hushed voice he said, “Someone who doesn’t appreciate being called a ‘psycho’.” He clapped his hands together, “Shall we be off?”

          No one objected. So they began a long trek of hiking through the meadows and valleys for the rest of the day. The sun beat down on their shoulders (except for Megan’s right shoulder…) all day. Soon they began to complain of the constricting costumes. But the peasant wouldn’t relent. He refused their pleading to take them off.

          They trudged all day long, while the peasant occasionally muttered to himself. Eventually, they came to a hole in the middle of a field. It wasn’t a particularly large, but not very small either. The peasant stopped and stared down into it. He seemed to be waiting for something, so they all crowded around it. Just as they were all working up the nerve to question him on it, a small, fuzzy gray head popped out of the hole.

          “’ello!” It beamed. “How are you doing today?”

          All of them were dumbfounded. Except for the peasant. He just seemed irritated. The head grew a torso and then limbs. Once fully out they realized it was a koala. “It’s good of you to join me. My name is Stan. And this…” He pointed towards the peasant, “is Drake.”

          Suddenly, the peasant, who was now known to be Drake, morphed into a panda.

          Stan grinned, in an all-too-giddy-for-any-sane-person’s-taste kind of way, “I’d explain why you’re here, but…I’d rather not have to explain twice. So, I’ll just see you in a few hours. Goodni...”

          None of them heard the end of that sentence, because they all blacked out.

          When they awoke, they were tied up in ropes and chains. A mob of fuchsia-scarf-wearing bandits surrounded them. Much to their surprise, King Nate and Gus were tied up.

          “How did you guys get…” Johanna started to ask.

          Gus just sighed. And Nate said, “You don’t want to know.”

          The group of them stayed sullen and silent, until Stan showed up cackling with delight.

          “Now,” He began, “I would like to explain my story without any interruptions, so please, keep your mouth closed. It’s better for everyone that way.”

          Rubbing his furry little paws together, he paced around the circle of them and began to elaborate on the reason for this whole escapade, “It all started years ago when my rival wizard Drake, the panda, mocked me. He said I would amount to nothing. That my spells were useless and idiotic. He said that I was so inferior to him; he might as well have created me. He said it would take a cowboy, an astronaut, a queen and a robot telling him otherwise for him to believe that I was of any value whatsoever. He didn’t think I was worthy of the title of Wizard. So I set out to prove him wrong.”

          He grinned, “I tried the one spell that no one else had ever tried. I erased myself. Memories people had of me, my effects on the world no matter how small, even my family, I erased it all. Well, almost all. I kept one thing. I left this tiny corner of Drake’s brain open to my command on a certain day far in the future. That day was yesterday. And yesterday, I got him use the only spell that would bring me back. That was only part of my plan. Now I must finish it.”

          Stan strolled over to Queen Meg. “Stand up, please.” At his words, the chains disintegrated.  She stood, unsure of what else to do. “Now,” he said, his voice booming, “Tell me that I am a great and powerful wizard!”

          Meg froze. “That’s it?”

          “Yes. Yes, of course.”

          “You went through all that just for me to call you a ‘great and powerful wizard’?”

          Stan shrugged. “Why not?”

          “Ok…” Meg sighed and said, “You, Stan, are a great and powerful wizard.”

          “NO! NO!” Stan complained, “That was all wrong! Say it with feeling! I’ve been waiting hundreds of years to hear you say it. The least you can do is say it like you mean it!”

          Queen Megan tried it again, “You, Stan, are a great and powerful wizard!”

          He applauded, “MUCH better.” Then he turned to Drake, “Did you hear that? Did you hear what she said? I TOLD you I was a great and powerful wizard. And YOU didn’t believe me.” This sort of thing went on for nearly half an hour, while Drake just sighed and looked defeated. After he got all that out of his system, Stan turned to the group and said, “You guys are free to go now.”

           They didn’t have time to thank him because no sooner did he finish saying that, and they were all standing inside the castle. No one spoke for several minutes. Gus got bored and trudged off to find his garden. Still, no one spoke. Until King Nate’s stomach growled and he said, “I could really use a sandwich…” So he trudged off to make himself one. Most likely with bacon on it.

          When she could take the silence no longer, Queen Meg uttered one word, “Awkward…” And they all spent the rest of the evening laughing about how insane their lives had turned out to be. They even wondered aloud what their lives would have been like in a boring, reasonable place. Kind of like an alternate reality. So they named that place “Earth” and even began telling stories about it. Which King Nate wrote down in his spare time.

          On cold, drizzly nights they would sit around reading those stories and laugh about how their alternate selves could turn a boring planet into a magical one.

Of Mundane Koalas Named Stan

“You, Sir,” shouted the belligerent elf, “are an imbecilic disgrace to this kingdom and all its intelligent citizens! I hope you rot in the bottom of a very deep pit filled with diabetic cats and asparagus stalks wrapped in tinfoil until the day when the universe itself explodes into a quazatrabahzillion tiny pieces, some of which will hopefully be your pieces! Only then will my soul find rest knowing that you have ceased to exist. May your bones rot in the brain matter of all kinds of squirmy, slithering things. May your children and grand-children and great-grandchildren and their pet gerbils be cursed with terrible body odor and horrible luck with Orange juice being sprayed into their eyes on Wednesday afternoons. Good day, Sir.”

The elf promptly died of asphyxiation and a heart attack in the very same instant (which, of course, hindered him from accepting his award for “Best Insult/Curse since the Dawn of Time,” later that year. That trophy now rests on his grave stone along with a stack of papers containing the acceptance speech he wrote just in case he won that award some day. He’d been practicing all his life. Consequently, leaving a wake of sobbing lumps as he merrily went on his way pursuing his life’s goal. His family became instant celebrities as the family of the first deceased being to win that prestigious, if obscure, award. Others had died being the subject of winning insults/curses, but no one had died doing the insulting/cursing. The award society was understandably shaken by the change from the norm. So, it’s no wonder that the head of the committee had been found a week later in a RV in the middle of some desert with nothing but a pile of posters of barn owls and bowls of grated cheese, muttering something about a career in auto production. He was tossed in the nearest mental facility where he remains to this day, running a successful Chiropractors office out of his cell. His name is Henry Clydeson, for those who are curious.)

          The subject of that first elf’s fury just stood there. He didn’t respond in the slightest. This was his standard reaction. I’d tell you his name, but in all honesty I don’t know it. No one else seems to either. Those who bother to ask him usually end up having their reason to live dashed to a pulp. He never speaks, not once, not so much as a grunt. So the nameless elf continued standing there, staring at the stretched out body of the dead elf. Neither one did much of anything.

          An hour or so passed in a situation that most would deem awkward silence, but if the silent elf thought so, he didn’t show it. Eventually, a fuzzy, hunched-over Koala bear waddled over to the elf. He was out of breath; as if the exceedingly light trek up to the castle gates had been a marathon. “Don’t mind me, Master Elf,” he wheezed, “Im merely here to see the King.”

          The silent elf didn’t seem to mind much, so the small bear continued, “He should be expecting me, so if you could be a good lad and get him quickly I’d app…Say! Is that chap taking a nap?”

          The silent elf shook his head.

          “Is he dead?”

          A silent nod. Now it was the koala’s turn to be silent. He took in the scene.

          “Well? What happened to the poor chap?”

          A shrug.

          “You just gonna let ‘im lie there?”

          Another nod.

          Unsure of what to do, the koala uneasily stepped back once or twice. “Well…um…my name is Stan, short for Staniforous, but I go by Stan for obvious reasons…” Stan thought of asking the elf’s name, but decided he’d probably regret it and just mentally dubbed him “Creepy Elf.”

          “So, how about you fetch the King for me? Im in a terrible rush, what with a murderous band of thugs behind me eager to dismantle my limbs purely for their enjoyment,” he said it all with such a chipper attitude that you’d never guess it was the truth, but it was.

          The Creepy/Silent elf just stood there, staring blankly at Stan. A moment passed. Then the elf turned around and sat down staring off into distant mountain ranges. Stan sighed. He listened for a moment and thought he heard dogs barking in the distance. That was surely the murderous band of thugs. They always had their dogs with them, not because they were particularly useful. It was just that sometimes even ruthless murders get lonely.

          “Now, listen here, Chap,” he layered on every ounce of authority he could muster in his furry body, “It really is imperative that I see the King at once. A matter of life and death, I tell you! And by Wally’s Green Toenail! If you don’t open this here gate in the next four seconds, I’ll make sure you end up with a toenail of such a distinctly green color so as to cause Wally himself to become comatose purely from the lack of purpose in his life all of a sudden, as so often happens to those who lose their claim to fame.”

          The Creepy/Silent elf blinked. Which said a lot. Even though it didn’t.

          Now, as fate so often has it, our best attempts at moving life along are rendered useless. Not because we are unable to accomplish what we wanted, but because chance does it faster. It happened just like that to Stan. Just as he was boiling over in fury, the gate leapt up with the clank of chains. Out stepped King Nate into the bright, glorious sun. He was looking for some sort of amusement to pass the time, since Queen Meg had left earlier that day with most of the other Kemenbarian citizens, chasing after some legend they had heard of. Something about a wizard. He didn’t remember. (After all, he just had a dumb male brain.) He barely noticed a blur dart past him and into the castle.

          Confused, he looked to the elf. He was about to ask what that had been, when he realized who he was speaking to, “Who put you on gate duty?”

          The elf shrugged. King Nate sighed and ran inside after the koala. Finally he had something to be distracted by.

          Through the gaping doorway he entered the throne room, where a koala was lounging on the throne. His throne. King Nate marched up to the fluffy bear deciding that the chance of fun was being overruled by a threat to his throne. He shouted for Gus. (Who had insisted on staying behind for the sole purpose of a royal bonding session.)

          Stan, the koala, stood up on the King’s throne. He stretched way up onto his fuzzy toes. Taking a breath of air, he cracked a knuckle. (Just one.) It resounded with a pop. He cleared his throat and addressed the king.

          “Sire, I have come to request your service. I need to escape some…dreadful men who pursue me.”

          Nate blinked. “Why are you sitting in my throne?”

          “That’s irrelevant.”

          “No, actually. It seems rather important. Please enlighten me.”

          “Well, it has a certain cushiness that I enjoy.”

          “I can’t disagree with that. Now, give me one good reason why I shouldn’t have you beheaded right now.” He tapped his royal foot.

          “You’re bored, right? What with the Queen gone and all.”

          “Yes, I am. And how did you know that?”

          “That’s irrelevant. I can cure your boredom. At least for this afternoon.” Stan plopped down on his bottom.

          “I could always have you beheaded. Im sure that would cure my boredom.”

          “Ah, but my way I don’t die.”

          Nate thought for a moment, “I suppose that’s true…”

          “And…and…Ok, I don’t have another reason. What say you? You seem a decent chap, the very best king I’ve had the honor…”

          “I say you should get off my throne.”

          “If I were to refuse…”

          “Off. Now,” Nate ordered.

          Grumbling under his breath, Stan slid off of the comfy throne. He padded over to the King across the warm, sun-drenched tiles.

          The King nodded his approval. “Better.”

          Stan cleared his throat, promptly falling into a hacking fit. After a moment, it passed. “You see, it’s like this. A murderous, ruthless band of fuchsia-scarf-wearing bandits are chasing me.”

          “Why?”

          Stan shrugged, “Does anyone really know why fuchsia-scarf-wearing bandits do these things?”

          “I still don’t see why you need me…”

          “I need to get home today. And it’s a terribly lonely journey without company.”

          “Where, exactly, is home?”

          “It’s over the mountain that’s next to the mountain that looks like an orange tackling an emu.”

          “Mount Baresastrikingresemblancetoanorangetacklinganemu?”

          “Yeah, that one. Then you go through The Forest Peopled with Rabbits and Mice.”

          King Nate shivered. “We have to go through there?”

          “Yes, Im afraid so. It’s a tradition of mine.”

          “But it’s the deadliest forest in all of Kemenbar!”

          Stan shrugged, “Tradition is still tradition even if it is idiotic. Anyway, after that, we have to travel up the dried-up river bed which once flowed with apple sauce. Past the statue of Sally, the heroic yet needy goat. Across the field…”

          “What field?”

          “Just a normal field.”

          “A normal, boring field? This is an imaginary kingdom! We don’t have normal, boring things. Everything is either awesome or deadly.”

          “Yes, Your Highness. It is unwaveringly normal. Hence the danger,” Impatience grew in his voice.

          “Im not sure I follow…”

          “When crossing the field, it is tempting to be side-tracked to other, more interesting landmarks. Like the Alligator Hat pits, for instance.”

          “Oh.”

          “Then we have to climb to the very top of a volcano. We jump in and dodge blasts of molten lava as we plummet to the bottom, where we hope to land in the cushy pillows that no one knows how they got in the bottom of a volcano, and not the painfully sharp tacks, which are also of unknown origins. If we survive that, we have to tunnel our way out with only buttons from our clothing for a mile. Then, and only then, are we at my home.”

          King Nate raised his hand.

          “Yes?” asked Stan.

          “Why don’t we just walk around the volcano?”

          “Tunneling is more fun.”

          “Im not sure Im willing to spend the months necessary to make that trek. Maybe you should find someone else.”

          “I promise you it would take mere hours. Three at the most.”

          “How would that take three hours?”

          Stan shrugged. “It just is. Shall we be off?”

          King Nate shrugged, led the koala bear out of the room, and so began his terrifying journey with as much apathy as he could muster.

          As they walked in silence, Nate ran through all the things they would need for the journey. Out of the blue, Stan piped up, “Follow me,” and waddled off towards the gate.

          “But I need…” Nate objected.

          “It is all taken care of, Your Highness.”

          “But how…”

          “We don’t have time. Now please, just follow me.”

          So he did. For no reason in particular, except that this felt like Stan’s adventure and thus should be in his control. The King of Kemenbar was still trying to figure out why he was on this adventure in the first place. He just assumed that that was the nature of adventures. They weren’t supposed to make much sense.

          The king and the koala stepped out into the sunlight. Gus was standing out there looking a little dazed and extremely confused. Nate walked up and patted his scaly leg. “You ok, Gus?”

          Gus shrugged.

          “We have a koala here. He wants to go on an adventure. I need you to come with me. Will you?”

          Gus nodded.

          “Alright chap,” a voice bounced from on top of the dragosaur, “Let’s be off, shall we?”

          “I suppose…There’s nothing else we need?”

          “I assure you. Everything is settled. Now, climb up and let’s be off.”

          King Nate eyed him suspiciously, “You do realize Im the king here, right?”

          “Yes. Yes, of course, Sire. We leave when you wish.”

          Nate sighed. “I guess we can head out now.”

          Stan beamed, “Good. Very good indeed.”

          King Nate climbed onto the dragosaur’s back and they took off into the sky. Clouds, birds and wind whizzed by them. Gus’s wings lifted and dipped, gaining altitude with each powerful stroke. With the sun’s smiling rays on their backs, they headed directly towards Mount Baresastrikingresemblancetoanorangetacklinganemu.

          The king settled into the dragon’s scales, preparing for a long, agonizing journey to the mountain. He had just finished finding the perfect position for his oddly shaped legs, when the peaks of Mount Baresastrikingresemblancetoanorangetacklinganemu and the mountain next to it rose in the distance. They were growing closer far faster than could be reasonably expected by anyone with a relative intelligence greater than that of a chunk of tree bark.

          “Was it always that close?” Nate questioned Stan.

          Stan merely replied, “I told you it wouldn’t take long.”

          Before he could continue, they whooshed past the two mountain peaks, without even a brief moment to study the detail on the orange part of the mountain, or the grimace on the emu, or even the disappointing blandness of the mountain next to Mount Baresastrikingresemblancetoanorangetacklinganemu.

          Terror struck King Nate. There, looming in the distance was The Forest Peopled with Rabbits and Mice. Stan ordered Gus to swoop in to land. “Seriously, why can’t we just fly over it?” Nate begged.

          “If I have to answer that question again, I will take Tradition out of its theoretical existence and beat you with it until you submit to its rule over you.”

          “Im still the king…”

          “Good Yak Milk, Boy! Its tradition! We can’t go running away from it, now can we?”

          “Um…yes we can…”

          “Ah, but we won’t.”

          With that, they entered into the canopy of trees. Nate had the uncontrollable urge to keep his eyes shut. It wasn’t until he walked straight into a tree branch that Stan sighed, waddled over to him, and led him by the hand the rest of the way.

          Not more than five minutes could have passed, when the King felt sunlight once again on his royal face. “I could have sworn the forest was bigger than that.” He said, opening his eyes. Stan just shrugged. “Were there any rabbits or mice?”

          Stan shivered. “Its best you don’t know.”

          The group of three decided to skip up the dried-up river which once flowed with apple sauce. It is quite a sight to see a dragon skipping and one that usually leaves people staring at that exact point dumbfounded and with their chin resting on the grass for three or four days.

          They marched past the statue of Sally the Heroic, yet Needy goat. Only stopping to take one picture, in what is probably the third greatest show of self-restraint ever. The second is me refraining from telling you the first.

          They continued on across the field, and despite it being a ten minute walk both Gus and Nate complained of boredom so intense that they were seriously considering humming a Miley Cyrus song. But, thanks to Stan’s efforts, they stayed on the right path and out of danger. Also, no hideous songs that can only be described as disgraceful of the title “music” were sung.

           Gus looked up and saw a volcano. Lowering his head, he sighed. The poor dragosaur was weary from running around all day. Days with the King usually caused him great joy and also the urge to run around. He had been on his feet all day and was exhausted. But there was not time for a rest. They had to continue. They climbed the volcano that appeared to be thousands of feet high and stretching into the clouds, in about five seconds. Nate was understandably dumbfounded. It made zero sense. Granted, not much made sense in Kemenbar, but still it seemed like over-kill to him.

          Stan didn’t bother to explain. He just jumped into the volcano massive opening. Gus and Nate shrugged simultaneously and followed suit. Nate could never be sure, but the fall seemed to take an hour. Occasionally, they dodged bursts of lava, but all in all it was persistently boring.

          Eventually, they landed in a pile of mattresses. Nate was just relieved to be done falling, until he looked over and saw a bundle of gray fur skewered on a spike. He  gasped. Laughter exploded behind him. He spun. It was Stan.

          “Im sorry,” he sputtered, “I couldn’t resist. I had to pass the time somehow, while I waited for you to finish falling.”

          When Nate recovered from the shock, he asked, “Why did that take so long?”

          “Don’t ask,” said Stan as he padded off towards the volcano wall, with a silver button in hand. “Come. Come,” he motioned them over. “Help me get this done.”

          So the group began stabbing and scraping at the grimy volcanic rock with some spare buttons from Stan’s clothing. It took only a short time for them to get through.

          They were out into the sunlight, or what should have been sunlight. In reality, it was dusk. Nearly the whole day had been passed in that volcano. Nate looked around. There was nothing of significance in sight. Just grass. “Where is your home, Stan?”

          Stan grinned. “Around.”

          Just then, a mob of a dozen or so fuchsia-scarf-wearing bandits, popped into existence out of non-existence. Gus and Nate would have fought them, but ropes and chains also popped out of non-existence and promptly attached themselves to them. Stan would have fought, but he was too busy cackling evilly.

          He bowed, “Thank you, King Nate. You’re assistance has been most valuable. I shall be going now.”

          “You’re leaving us with these guys? They’ll kill us!”

          “I must. You see, I have some unfinished business with that Queen of yours. Besides, I wouldn’t worry about them, Sire.” His voice filled with mock-humility. “They don’t really exist. And technically, neither do I. Yet.” At that very moment, the koala disappeared. But the mob, the ropes and chains did not.