-------------- /+==============================+\ Anarchy Inc. and || Rhadamanthine Dungeonwriters || -------------- \+==============================+/ present a classic retelling of the mindless wandering's by a not-so-distant storyteller.... [R/Dw: Before we begin, this story was going to appear as the next Xanth novel. Because of a twist of fate in the interlocking of the last story, Crewel Lye, Tye as the dimensioner gave way to Dolph as the changer. There was no way to get away from this, but we will try to present (if it goes over well) for your enjoyment, volumnes containing two chapters of the supposed book about once a month. If the turnout is not so great, we will try somewhere else. Oh: Don't try to pronounce our name, you'll probably get it wrong. We now commense with the retelling, with no offense to Piers Anthony in mind. If you don't understand it--read some great fiction/fantasy books by Piers Anthony and get with it!] Indirect Lightning ------------------ The supposedly next Xanth Novel! [Chapter One] Tye pushed his dark hair away from his eyes with a sigh and adjusted himself in his seat. Somehow, this was not what he wanted to be doing. Mundane was so much like it's name it wasn't even funny. He longed to be home--Xanth was a beautiful place. Why his father had sent him here was understood, but, Tye still didn't really like it. Well, that was alright, soon he would be going home for pretty well much the rest of his life. This long stay in Mundania did help him understand it, but some things were still too confusing for a sixteen year old to understand. He thought of the lakes and the rivers and the blue sky and some of the friends he had left at home. His parents, his sister, they all seemed so much better from a distance then when he's been with them for a while. "I guess the saying about 'being away from things makes you want them more' is true," Tye told himself. Oh well. He thought of all the different details of Xanth he remembered, but something wasn't right. Something disturbed him in his thought. What could it be? The land is different? No. It's something else. "Hmmm." "Tye? Tye? Helloooo?" At this time the teacher was standing in front of Tye, with his hands on his hips. "Tye? Are you with us this morning?" "Huh? Wha-" Tye caught himself almost too late. His muscles tightened, h is throat became desert sand, and his heart skipped a beat. "We were wondering what your answer to the question might be?" With a sly look the teacher stepped back into the front of the room. The teacher had time, and by the look of unreal innocence the teacher had, he seemed ready to give Tye a year to get his answer out. Tye knew better. Teacher's purposely do not re-state the question originally intended so they can put the student in a very bad and awkward position. Fortunately, there were ways to avoid the question without giving in answer such as "I wasn't paying attention," and Tye quickly picked one. "I am confused, too," he finally stuttered out. Since Tye seemed to of lost about five minutes of his life in Mundania to his images of home, he had no idea what the current conversation was. So his answer carried some risk. If the teacher had asked him a new question, that nobody had answered, Tye would be at foolish fault. That seemed unlikely because if it was a new question, the teacher would of stated the question so everyone knew it. The other thing is that the teacher is just picking Tye because he wasn't paying attention. There was a risk, but Tye believed the answer he Tye gave should even out the chances of an incorrect response. "Well," the teacher started, with a small frowning look, "try to pay more attention next time." One point for Tye. One small conflict ridden out. With a fleeting smile, Tye decided to pay attention for the rest of the lecture. Outside Tye walked over to his box, which had a little "dial" on it that one has to twist and turn in such a way as to get the box door to open. By this time, Tye had mastered the art of the dial, and he expertly opened the door. Inside were more books, to go along with the ones he was carrying at the time. It seems this place liked to give their listeners reading material in the form of many hard-bound books. "Too many," Tye concluded. Out of the corner of his eye Tye caught a figure approaching. From the wa lk and his looks, Tye knew it was his Mundane friend Dean. A red-haired, pudgy, small kid walked up. His shirt tucked half way in and half out, his pants scrubbing the ground, Dean was a sorry sight, but a good person. "Hi Tye! How is everything? Oops, can't talk now! I'll catch ya later!" And with that the figure disappeared down the hallway. One nice thing about Dean, you never need to say much, he'll just hold a conversation to himself for you, if need be. Lately, Dean seemed to have been in that sort of one-to-oneself mood. Tye didn't mind. Fastly approaching was a dirty-blond, tightly dressed girl, about Tye's height. This was Urica, the person who used the box above him. In the configuration the boxes were in, two people could not get in to their own boxes at the same time if the boxes were in the same column. Tye, backing away after closing his box door, gave her room to get in. He knew her alright, but he never did have any "special" feelings for people of the opposite sex, at least not like people like father had. "Just a fact of life, son, you'll soon get to love them." His father would tell him thus, but only when his mother was present did his father tell of the optimistic sides of the situation. Old guard Crombie would say, "They're all no good. You can't live without them, but you can't live with them. Of course, my wife isn't so bad." Maybe he was mellowing out, but Crombie just seemed to be contradicting himself a little more and more when the subject of life with the opposite sex arose. Tye guessed it was hard to get rid of old thoughts when one really believes, or use d to believe them. Urica showed Tye a fleeting smile as he moved away, then turned to her box. During this time, several friends of her's had moved in and were now blocking and talking at each side of her. Tye smiled a little, and casually waved and said a "hello". Urica turned and greeted him with a warm smile that was strangely unfamiliar to Tye. After already turning to leave, Tye did a double take and re-turned to face Urica when he caught the glipse of her turning so he could so ak in every word that she might direct to him. "Hello! You know you really--" she said, pausing, "Oh, forget it." Oh no! There is nothing more worse in the world then the trajedy of the unfinished sentence. With his resolution to never cause anyone so much frustration because of it, Tye turned to leave, pondering what she might of wanted to say. Tye wasn't interested in her as anything more then a good friend, and maybe that was impossible, too. Urica turned to her flocking admirers, and Tye directed himself toward the next room in which he would probably drift off to the thoughts of Xanth again, but, if the people can't keep his attention, should he have to give it? Oh well. With a sigh, he entered the room. The lecturer turned, and with a muffled glee gave Tye what he felt was a look that said "Oh, hurray! Another victim!" Such morbid thoughts usually don't enter Tye's carefully sifted imagination process, but maybe they were well founded, for as Tye turned to sit down, he saw the other people his age who were with this lecturer before, and on every pale face there was a look of dead boredom. "Oh no," he morbidly muttered. /\________________________________________________________________________/\ \/ \/ -------------- /+==============================+\ Anarchy Inc. and || Rhadamanthine Dungeonwriters || -------------- \+==============================+/ present a classic retelling of the mindless wandering's by a not-so-distant storyteller.... Indirect Lightning -------------------- The supposedly next Xanth novel! [Chapter Two] Queen Irene almost jumped down the stairs, her green hair flowing underneath her small, clear-crystaled crown. With her light green, elegant gown, she seemed to be like grass on the wind. She hurried down the stairs, not giving her feet a chance to pace a steady beat to her thoughts. Castle Roogna was hectic, making ready for the weary adventurer who was to return home, and the Queen was right in the middle of it in every way, form, and shape possible. "You Zombies there, please don't drop anything in the food! Thank you!" The main floor was filled with tables and plants that outlined every wall. Thus was the Queen's specialty: plants from seeds in mere seconds. As her age pushed her into maturity, her power increased and the time in which she needed to do her talent was shortened. She was in her (later) prime. The Zombies, on the other hand, here via the Zombie Master, were probably shot past their prime by several centuries. Not one of which could be said they complained during that time. Not only would complaining do no good, but it seemed whenever they tried to talk they would disgust the person they were talking to, as they tried to catch the pieces of molded skin and tongue that would usually come off from the vibrations. Nevertheless, when they had a job they stuck to it. Today their job was to the foods. A poor decision by whoever made it. As the Zombies hazzardly collected foods and breads from the plants and placed them on the trays marked "food", there seemed to be more than the ordinary amount of flesh and ligaments being lost to the ground or the food, making the latter obviously too harsh for mortal tongues. More Zombies s weeped up the messes made by the food Zombies, but the sweeping Zombies left trails, too, so, essentially, they were making more work for themselves. It wa s not a sight to remember for posterity. Meanwhile the Queen had rushed around and was picking up this and that and doing the best she can to get things straight. She didn't care if she wasn't supposed to get actively physical when doing something, she just wanted to do things her way. She tried to be the best Queen she could be, and if getting down to pick things up seemed right to her, thus would she do. "Could two ghosts please go check on the Princess and get her down here to help me straighten my thoughts?! Oh," she paused for a quick, late, thought, "Then, please, attend the King! I must make sure they are not in need of anything, and I just don't seem to have the time to...." She trailed off as she spotted four ghosts orienting from either the hallway upstairs or the main floor, flying towards the rooms specified. "Thank you!" She called. Even if she was Queen, she believed being polit e was the best way to handle things. In the middle room on the top floor the qhosts fluttered in to attend to Princess Ivy. Her hair tinted only a little green, she was dressed in a formal gown, and she figured she didn't look to bad. In the past years she had really grown, in every direction, but her waist stayed tight and she had hundereds of suiters waiting just to see her. One ghost fluttered to her side, avoided her swinging arm, which was engaged with fixing up her hair, and whispered something to her. She jumped up, "Oh my! I will do so at once!" And headed out the door towards the main f loor. In the corner room, upstairs, King Dor wasn't having such a terrific time. His talent, speaking with the inanimate, now seemed only a burden, and not much as any help. The chairs and tables and rugs were at it at full force. "I don't care what you say, King Dodo, my plaster is coming loose and if I lose too much more, that's going to mean rubble for you!" No inanimate object ever has a good sense of humor, not excluding walls. No matter how hard they try, jokes don't work for something that doesn't even have a mouth. "Well," this was the floor, "at least you don't have ol' bluegoo here covering you up! What a pain in my boards!" The finely woven blue-outlined rug on the floor would not let the remark go unchallenged, "Consider me doing you a favor! I'm covering you up so you don't have to be ashamed of your dusty, muggy, wood." Oh boy. The floor gave a loud creak and almost sounded like it would cave in. King Dor got fed up, and decided to 'lay down the law' right after his pants, which he was having trouble getting into, started saying something about "Nobody knows the troubles I've seen". Of course, he couldn't get the chairs quiet before they put in some remarks about "Overburdening". Dor was quite upset with his pants and the situation in the room in general, and he, being King, was not going to fight it. In a calm, easy voice, he spoke slowly and pronouncing every word, "If anything says anything more they will be burnt, dismantled, or torn down." It may of been noisy when he stated his decree, but as "the walls have ears", so seemed everything else, because a beautiful silence was covering the room, except for from the door, which was being pounded down by the very shouts and complaints and reports going on all over the Castle. "Much better. I thank you all." King Dor got back to the business at hand, and just as he was halfway in the slightly small pants, the two ghosts drifted into his room. A little red in the cheeks, the King started, "Heh. Well. You see--these pants must of shrunk since last I've worn them. Could you get me a little size larger?" With that, one ghost grabbed the pants, and disappeared down the hallway toward the room the clothes were in. King Dor hadn't changed much. He was a little bigger since his marriage, and his power was about at its peak, maybe slightly on a downfall, but his hair and face still revealed the boyish look he was ever so destined with. He was not fat, but maybe "the pants were older then he thought," at least, that's what he told himself. Ghosts usually don't speak, and when they do, they aren't usually heard, but in the semi-quiet of the room, the second ghost seemed to be nervous, and after the King asked how things were going downstairs, the ghost seemed pressed into revealing its source of nervousness. "Sire," he began, in a soft, lightly shrill voice, "I have noticed that the Zombies seem not to be holding together as good as usual. I feel that the Castle is in the same condition. And, as you know, if the Castle goes, we will be gone. Sire, we do not know what to do, is there anyway we can get stop this?" "Ghosts usually were not bold enough to talk, so this one ghost must be really worried," King Dor thought to himself. If Castle Roogna crumbled, King Dor would have a problem, but the ghosts wouldn't be so bad off. After floating around for an eternity in a halflife state, death or life could give great relief. Of course, the reason they entered halflife would not be solved, so it is uncertain whether the ghosts would fall into the non-element life or stay the way they are. In either case, it is a good enough reason to check it out and figure out what's happening. "Alright. Thank you very much. I'll look into it personally." King Dor now was a little worried. At this time the ghost with the pants came flying in with some new, larger sized bottoms. The second ghost, still surprised that the King would even take time out to handle the problem, started saying "Oh, sire, that's not--" and was cut off with a hand and a nod. With that the ghost left, not quite so shaky. Putting on the pants King Dor found them a good fit. "Thank you. Now go down and tell the Queen I'll be there in a minute. She is so fussy sometimes." A little laugh. And with that the ghost was off. Why would the Castle crumble? Especially since it is supposedly the strongest one built in Xanth? "I wonder how the Good Magician's Castle and the Zombie Master's Castle is holding up," Dor said to himself. How come Dor hadn't noticed the Castle's bad condition himself? So the wall wasn't kidding when it jested about turning to rubble! Why didn't Dor take suspicion then? But, really, who listens to walls anymore?