Author: mesmerelda

He had brushed his little tusks and now Rennik snuggled under the thick moorbinder hide as his Granny placed another peat slab on the glowing fire.

‘A Story, Granny’
‘What Story my Love?’
‘Ragnarok’

She smiled, it was always Ragnarok. She cuddled in next to his and tousled his hair.

‘Ragnarok was an Orcish Chieftain who united the 7 Tribes of Wildemount under the banner of Gruumsh, The Ruiner. In the depth of the Great War, on the march towards Vallenheim, his son Odar fell ill with a mysterious malady. Ragnarok prayed to Gruumsh and made sacrifices of scores of warriors, burning them on huge pyres, asking for his son to recover. But Gruumsh was an impatient God and told Ragnarok to kill his son and continue the attack. Ragnarok prepared to do his bidding but as he raised his axe, a great gale arose around the campsite. Whole trees were swept up in a whirlwind that obsured Ragnarok and Odar from the rest of the army. Then suddenly the wind died down and there standing facing Ragnarok was his son, Odar, seemingly healthy and restored. Odar told his father that he had been spared, not by Gruumsh but by Melora, the Wild Mother. She offered his son’s life if he would turn around his armies and take no further part in the coming battle. Disillusioned with Gruumsh and grateful for the salvation of his son, He took his Axe and broke it in two, vowing to return to his home and fight no more.

Tiamat’s wyrms had been guarding the skies above the Orcish Army and when they saw that Ragnarok had betrayed the forces of Evil, they flew to tell their mother. Infuriated, she came rushing from her lair, intent on seeking revenge. She caught up with the army on the outskirts of the Penumbra Mountain Range and attacked, laying waste to much of the Orcish Army. Mounted aboard his Griffon, Saoirse, Ragnarok took to the skies and fought Tiamat for three days and three nights. Saoirse clawed at the Goddesses eyes while Ragnarok rained down blasts of eldritch energy on her hide. As blood fell from her gargantuan body, the trees below of the Vermaloc Wildwood became infused and have kept her chromatic markings to this day. At last, with a swipe of her Venomous tail, she smote the Griffon, sending Ragnarok tumbling to the ground. As he lay there bleeding, her five heads arguing over which one would do the final deed, he cried out to Melora. As he reached out to stop her maw, A huge gust arose and his axe appeared in his hand, reforged anew. He swung the axe with all his might, driving a deem gash down her side and with an invocation, eyes white, shoved her backwards, through the wind, through the edge of this plane, back to the depths of avernus, to skulk and scheme her revenge.

Ragnarok looked at the destruction the three day battle had wrought on the landscape and saw the bright red tunic of his son. Odar had been slain, frozen in Ice by the dragons breath. He wept for his son and carried his body home on his shield.’

She paused as his tiny snores interrupted. She slipped out of the hide and resumed her knitting with one eye on her grandchild and one on the door. In the hearth, the embers crackled and glowed.

Captain Al’Ocean Pokrock-Sea stood in the early morning sunlight of Pier 6 and gazed up in wonder at the galley. Overhead a pair of Dwarves were standing on the scaffold finishing the lustrous final coat of Buccaneer Black. Another worker was finishing the fine detail one the lettering of THE HELLHEISTER. Seeing this beauty, it’s sails furled, ropes coiled, the very definition of ship-shape, the little Kenku felt a small tear forming in his eye. He pulled himself together quickly. Pirates never cry.

‘You Old Poo-head! What’s this pile of poo?’ The captain whirled around, recognizing the mocking voice of his first and best mate. ‘Tabby, you poo-eater, glad you could finally make it. It’s a long way from Felderwin but being late on your first day? You poo’.

The tabaxi laughed and slapped his old friend on the back. He looked up at their brand new ship with a smile.

‘Look at us. Hey, look at us’
‘Look at us. Who would have thought’.
‘Not me’.

They had been through a lot together over the past few years. Hard times in the off-season when the ferries were empty, cold nights when the rum ran out and the huddled together on their little keel boat. There were times when Captain Pockrock-Sea wondered if it was worth it. The years at Darktow Pirate Institute, the jibes and insults. The voices haunted his dreams sometimes, ‘A little bird told me you want to be a pirate’, ‘Hey Seagull, eat poo!’ ‘No pirate is going to take orders from a Kenku’.

Tabby Mul-Lamphrey looked at his captain and saw the quiet contemplation.

‘You earned this, captain’.

The Dwarves were finished now, one gave a long, high undulating whistle and the scaffold descended to the deck. The captain looked down along the pier and spotted a large Orc, Oarnoc Yevlaf kissing his mum on the cheek and slinging his axe over his shoulder. A Tortle he recognised as Whalin’ Tony was kneeling beside him, giving a giant hug to his two kids. One-eyed Euain was cheerily signing goodbye to his fella, a burly Were-bear who owned an artisanal bakery in Ice-haven. His crew assembled and walked down the pier, their smiling faces causing Al’Ocean to once again choke back a tear.

He thought about all their hard work and the support of all his funders, he knew he wouldn’t let them down. He thought about their past adventures and all the adventures to come. He looked back at Tabby.

‘We earned this, old friend. We earned this together’

He hoisted his knapsack over his back and for the first time, started up the gangplank as the snow started to fall.

The chatter subsided. It was late in the night and inside the tavern, it was heading towards closing. The little squat halfling behind the bar could keep serving all night but the crowd were growing tired and outside the window, below the horizon the dawn sun threatened the moon. Soon the mist and smoke would clear and the patrons would doze and snore but there was still a dram of ale in most of their mugs as Pancho the Grimm turned to the bard.

‘Play us one more Red? An old one for the road.’

They murmured appreciatively. It was tradition, a way to say goodnight to the evening with respect. Even now, maybe especially now, the old traditions held weight.

Red shifted in her chair and pursed her lips.

‘An old One? I don’t know any old ones. Sure I’m only a kid compared with you old bastards’

Another roar of approval- She had them eating out of her hand.

‘I’ll sing one in the old style, will I? Just check that Herself isn’t hanging outside the door!’

Pancho jumped up and wrenched open the door, exposing the drunkards to the silvery pre-dawn blue. He Gasped comically and fell to the ground crying, ‘She’s disintegrated me, the fucking witch!’

As the roar of laughter subsided again, Red began the pluck the Viol and sang out clearly in a voice that seemed to come from a far off plane.

The Old Cut Purse

Trad Arr. Clink

When I first came to Kossos I was only a child

With an apple in my pocket and hanging of thirst

I went down to the Tailstones looking for work

And i soon ended up on the Old Cutpurse

There the demons and the devils were bartered and sold

And the old men with the money would flash you a smile

In the dark of an alley you’d work for a gold

For a swift one off the wrist down on the old Cutpurse

In the Throat in the winter we shivered in rags

But there were boys in the taverns who’d give you a smoke

If you didn’t have the money you’d simper or curse

You’d be flying on the Marrow on the Old Cutpurse

There were husbands and workmen, green, pale and tanned

They would all come down searching for invisible hands 

And they spit and kicked us and sometimes much worse

And they joked about meeting the Old Cutpurse

One evening as I was lying down by Butcher’s Halls

I was picked up by the Reavers and kicked in the balls

On the steps of the Pagoda I was beaten and mauled

And they ruined my good looks for the Old Cutpurse

In the Spillway the old ones who were on the way out

Would dribble and vomit and grovel and shout

And the Reavers would come along and push them about

And I wished I could escape from the old Cutpurse

And now I’m lying here I’ve had too much booze

I’ve been shat on and spat on and raped and abused

I know that I am dying and I call for a nurse

Who would save me and take me from the old Cutpurse

There’s no fanfare as she enters the room, the royal horns having being disbanded and sent to teach music in the rural schoolhouses. Indeed, many vestiges of the grandeur of the Red Room have been stripped away as devout iconoclasts continue to measure, weigh and value the remaining statues. One gets the impression that ornaments or jewellery would would look out of place on her- she has more than enough gravitas in her posture, the confidence of her speech and her searching, inquisitive eyes. She is undeniably impressive, even more so when one considers her years. After interviewing emperors, actors and executioners, I am accustomed to feeling uncomfortable, with her it’s a different sensation- sitting across from this young gnome, I sense a barely contained and lethal power- as if standing on the bank of a mighty river during a storm.

CV: Ms. Phantagone, How should I address you now?

M: However you like, You can call me Mes, Lady Phantagone, Attorney General, Supreme Ruler, Goddess, God-killer. Whatever you like kid.

CV: Lady M?

M: It Doesn’t matter to me. Don’t worry kid, I’m not going to get angry over what you call me.

 CV: Okay, well thank you so much for taking this interview.

M: Well I’m not the original Mes…

CV: Of course, I mean I appreciate any of you speaking to me, it’s rare.

M: She doesn’t like to advertise.

CV: I understand, but she must be aware that there are so many citizens who want to know about her? As a new queen, sorry, leader, so little is known about you, er, her. 

M: We are aware of the reservations the citizens of Kossos have and I have been sent  to answer questions. We are really committed to being a transparent and accountable leader.

CV: Ok, well it’s been just under a year since the slaughter, the battle of Hellhest and the Moonfall. Since then, we’ve had a change of government, a lot of rebuilding and new education programs but also a lot of tribunals and trials. How do you feel you’ve dealt with your new role as leader?

M: Look, I will say, first of all, I didn’t want the job. I asked Ernodal to do it, but he had his own thing going on. So I took the job reluctantly and yes, there were definite teething problems. I was on my own back then, before the simulacrums and clones and unseen servants. You have to remember, I hadn’t even finished wizard school. I hadn’t travelled much, I was carrying alot of anger around my father’s death. So I was overly-defensive, I admit that. There was a lot of opposition to my taking over. I suppose I could have been a bit more lenient, maybe a few banishments instead of defenestrations, but I find that if you leave a problem fester, it turns into a cancer. Sometimes the harshest punishments are best. But, you know, with our re-education programs in full swing now, we’re starting to see a major decrease in insurgent behaviour. The people of Kossos are getting on board with our message: ‘One for all, all for Vaul’. 

CV: Do you think your administration has done enough to help the people transition from theocracy to em, social democracy?

M: There’s always more we can do. What happened in the slaughter was deeply traumatic for the people. Many died, many more lost their livelihoods and people are still suffering the effects. To ask them on top of that to accept a new way of organising society is a lot. But the fact of the matter is that the entire ruling class of Kossos was killed either in the slaughter, the battle of hellhest or the weeks after. The people wanted a new stability. With our water programs, back to work schemes and Flesh to Bread initiative, thousands of kossovians are beginning to feel the benefits of a society that treats all of its citizens equally.

CV: Let’s talk more about those first few weeks. I’m sure you’re aware that there are a small number of people who still believe that it was in fact Sub Optima who killed the Behemoth and started the chain reaction of deaths. 

M: *Laughs* Look, you’re going to have conspiracy theorists with any situation like this. An independent inquiry found beyond any doubt that the beast was killed by the onion wizard, acting on behalf of…

CV: I know, but Sub Optima were there, in Kossos…

M: Don’t interrupt me when I’m speaking.

CV: I apologise Lady M.

M: I’m getting tired of explaining this. Sub Optima were in Kossos on a diplomatic mission, trying to finalise a deal to share our water supplies when the Behemoth was attacked. We attempted to save the beast but we were too late. The trauma of the slaughter left many kossovians disoriented and confused. We spent a lot of time over the past few months healing as many as we could, but there are still a small few who insist on an alternate reality. I feel sorry for them. We’re doing everything we can to reach out to them.

CV: What is your biggest regret?

M: I try not to have regrets. With dunamancy, there’s little need for them. If I had to pick one, I’d say it was giving Mario the benefit of the doubt so many times. He nearly destroyed us all.

CV: You’re known for being everywhere now, there’s a Mes in every neighbourhood. How many simulacrums have you made?

M: State secret. *laughs* Let’s just say, I’m number 38 and there’s plenty more after me. Cracking multiple simulacrums was one of our proudest achievements. It’s taxing on the mind but the timesaving and increase in production is outstanding. If I had to point to one thing that has aided the rebuilding effort more than anything else, it’s the multiplicity. And the determination of ordinary Kossovians of course.

CV: And the original? Mesmerelda Prime? Where is she?

M: You sound more like a spy than a journalist, Casey. She’s on leave, I believe on one of the islands off the coast. I think if anyone deserves a break, she does. I can’t say more than that without a risk to her security. 

CV: Do you suspect a threat against her?

M: It just pays to be vigilant, don’t you agree? Kossos still has plenty of enemies, but rest assured, we’re tracking down and eliminating threats at a much improved rate.

CV: Well thank you for your time, can I finish up by asking what does the future hold for Mesmerelda Phantagone?

M: A really pertinent question. The future is an area of research we are very interested in. In fact, we are learning that how we perceive time may be slightly more complicated than we thought. There are many ways to get from A to B, speaking arcanely, if we can decipher the codes of the future, the possibilities are very exciting. We’re pursuing a number of lines of research. Hopefully we’ll be able to move assets out of counter-insurgency and Justice into research as the need for policing lessens. 

CV: And any men on the horizon? Will there be a royal wedding any time soon?

M: Would you ask a male politician that question?

CV: I mean, eh, I just mean, it’s something our readers are interested in I’m sure.

M: I think that’s our time.

CV: Of Course, thank you for being so generous with your time.

M: It’s no problem. You spend six months in a pocket universe crossbreeding modify memory with mass suggestion and then you find out that one interview in the paper has the exact same effect. 

CV: *laughs* There’s no such thing as bad press. Our readers will be heartened to know that our new leader is so capable and innovative.

M: Yes. They will.

As an aide whispers in her ear, her eyes narrow and she rises, nods briefly and strides out of the room. I am tempted to snoop around the Red Room, a room of such historic significance but I get the feeling that now it is just the same as any room in the city. As I walk down the palace steps, I feel only slightly more enlightened than I did before but at the same time, I do feel charmed. One for all, all for Vaul.

CASEY VARGOLIS- The Kossovian Tribune Sep 16 2251