Chameleon

THE FIDDLER AND THE MOUSE

Born through necessity, came the blackest night ever known on Planet Yarn.
Not a cloud or aurora dare mask the sky because in it's clarity; a manifestation at the point around the Draco constellation.
From that manifestation, a single fellow they'd call The Chameleon landed upon the ground.
His objective: to find a few insolent (but valiant) morons to resolve the guide dragon crisis for him.

The Chameleon travelled lightly, free from restraints of the materialistic. Just him and his prodigious chip he had affectionately named - Allan.
His first stop, Gheywood. An underwhelming little town, plain, featureless and barely worth a description. Some might say it merely existed. The residents bustled, some swaggered about with their guide dragons heeling obediently by their side, they looked ferocious but no longer were as their internal fires had been extinguished. There were lots of screaming little brats charging about the place getting into all kinds of mischief and the occasional satisfying “Thunk” of a clipped ear.
His attention shifted to an old donkey that was roaming freely along the dusty cobbles. It looked sad and lowly. The chameleon glanced at it thoughtfully and considered its practicalities. He pursued the animal for a short time until it picked up speed. Too tired to give chase, he stumbled upon an alleyway.
Down that dusty dimly lit alley, a fat cat was taking a twilight nap. The Chameleon shoed it out of his path.
“Fickle feline” he sneered, before realising he knew the cat. His attention lifted to a sign hovering majestically above his head.
‘Milo’s Bakery’ he was rather peckish and stepped inside. The warmth met his bitter cold breath which soon became uncomfortable beneath his heavy scarf.
He eyed rows upon rows of bread and pastries when his concentration was stolen.
“Fresh!?” The voice was that of an unhappy customer who slammed a loaf down onto the counter. It’s ‘freshness’ almost cracked the display cabinet; instead it shook. A few depressed looking cherries rolled off the counter and across the floor. Not quite clearing the door, it became apparent they were doomed to be consumed.
“I paid 2 shrabn’l for this presumed ‘fresh bread’ and on my return home, my wife found it to be stale and non-the-less, housing a small rodent. Where do you stand?”
Milo, the baker and proprietor of the raggedy establishment fondled his beard prudently.
“I have no explanation as to how this rodent became embreaded (he sniggered) and can only assume the goggled gawk of said wife, has turned this loaf into stone within an inch of its shelf life”
He examined the loaf further
“It is not of this establishment and there will be no reimbursements made, that is my final word on the matter”
The customer did protest, for it was his last 2 shrabn’l. The Chameleon stepped up. He offered the customer his shoulder (not the one where Allan resided of course) and purchased a loaf of bread which he traded for the stale, rodent infested loaf Milo had baked.
“From one old fool to another” chuckled Milo. “A moving display now move along, you’re making me fetch up my dinner”
Well, The Chameleon was deeply insulted. He had never met such an audaciously rude individual (well, he had, but he was striving to be a better person this time around he truly was) the customer left in a hurry. “Thanks Mister” he paused and looked up at The Chameleon before siding his way past.
“Now then” said The Chameleon stroking his brow. “You’re obviously an intelligent individual Milo.” He paused for a second with a half-smile. “Can I call you Milo?”
“So long as you’re paying you can call me whatever you like” scoffed Milo standing up tall and proud.
“You make a decent living from your vocation and your sharp tongue; will you teach me how to make a simple loaf? I will pay you with this gold sovereign ring” he dramatically thrust forward his hand.
A gold sovereign eh? Thought Milo, he almost laughed out loud, could not believe his luck. This strange looking fellow was clearly a nimwit of the highest standard and knew no gain of money.
Yes of course he would show him how to make a simple loaf; he would use his cheapest ingredients and overcomplicate the system of course.
Take something simple and overcomplicate it, he was proficient at that. He even fantasized that The Chameleon may look up to him afterwards. He did just say he was an intelligent man after all didn’t he? He savoured that idea for a moment.
“Erma, yes okay, do me a small favour and flip the sign to closed on the door will you? We do not need to be disturbed”
The Chameleon followed Milo into the kitchen where he was handed an old moth-eaten apron. Upon securing the strings, he noticed it would not tie at the back. There was a large knot at one end and nothingness at the other. It showed signs of a hasty removal.
“Are you a family man Milo?” Probed The Chameleon.
“Used to be” confirmed Milo “A wife and son, used to both work in here, not terribly hard mind you. They left about a year ago, squatting 2 towns north from here. Pretty sad really, people have said they seem happier than ever but how can they be with nothing? I know deep down they’re miserable, but I doubt they’ll return anytime soon. That’s what pride does to you, leaves you out in the gold-I mean cold” All the time, Milo was eyeing the gold sovereign ring.
“So let us get started” said Milo, “There are 5 vital ingredients to a loaf. The first is flour. I get this flour from the old mill; have a loyal friend who works there if you know what I mean?” He winked and nudged The Chameleon.
“The second is yeast, a controversial ingredient. There are some who believe it has magical properties, contains knowledge no less and swells the bread like a brain absorbing said knowledge. Ironically, these people have no brains whatsoever.”
“Oh?” Said The Chameleon.
“It’s caused by a chemical reaction, Carbon Dioxide to be precise. Those little Co2 bubbles rise causing the dough to rise, none of that hocus pocus I mentioned aforehand. You’ll find no pyrotechnics here I’m afraid”
“We also need butter, salt and tepid water.” He continued “You can check the temperature of the water agen your wrist, it should be neither hot nor gold”
“So, we add the flour, and the yeast, mix in the water. It sounds easy enough sir, but you can never be too certain of yourself. This is the secret of good bread which I only share on a knead to know basis”
The Chameleon scoffed at the terrible bun.
“Now we use a wooden spoon to mix it all together, you’re familiar with the concept of mixing aren’t you sir?”
The Chameleon raised his eyebrows and nodded. He could mix exceptionally well; in fact, he was mixing up a hideously delicious spell alongside these 5 vital ingredients.
A little spell he’d been saving up for some time and for such a person as Milo. Kneading the dough had never been more pleasurable for The Chameleon. He thrusted his palms and into the concoction and with every twist and turn of the dough the spell had imprinted itself into the mixture.
“Lastly we seal the dough with water” added Milo.
An excellent way to bind this spell The Chameleon smiled to himself.
Milo handed him a small pot and watched him transfer the dough.
Both pots sat alongside each other in the clay oven and Milo produced a pipe from his pocket and was chuffing along hazily for some time.
“They may double in size sir, though yours is unlikely to do so as I explained earlier, baking is tricky. Very easy to get wrong sir, very easy.”
When it was time to retrieve the bread, The Chameleon looked pleased. Not only had his bread risen, it looked more appetizing than Milos’.
Of course, Milo was having none of this. “That’s my loaf!” He said shiftily.
“I specifically remember potting my loaf in that exact pot” The Chameleon did protest.
“The proof will be in the taste” said Milo. “When things look too good to be true, it is usually because they are” With that, he tore into The Chameleons bread. He simply could not take his greedy mitts off it.
It was in this moment of greed that the first curse was born. Where there was once a short, fat imbecile baker now stood a lively, lanky, moronic fiddler.
His attire was foreign to him and the green waistcoat with matching long jacket didn’t appeal much. The trousers were obviously very uncomfortable.
The Chameleon looked mighty pleased with his handiwork.
“Now then my rude little baker man. From this day forth, every word to run from your tiny small mind will have rhyme and reason and Oh yes, here is your fiddle.” He picked up a pastry which on contact, immediately warped into the tiny instrument.
He presented it to Milo with a smile.
“If your request is for the curse to be lifted, you must travel into the dragons’ territory and complete a task, the nature of which will become apparent to you soon. On your journey, you are likely to meet others on a similar quest for enlightenment.
They too will be dimwits like yourself so you shall be in constant good company.
He continued...
“I can be of no further assistance for now; you must now help yourself, a skill you have already acquired at the expense of others”
The flabbergasted fiddler did protest as he danced a merry jig and said;
“A journey to the Dragons Cove?
A dangerous and lonely road?
With a band of men, as dumb as hell,
In a bid to unlock and break a spell?”
Well, The Chameleon was delighted and chuckled to himself. He nodded.
This was actually funny as hell; he may well tag alongside the morons for entertainment purposes.
He dismissed this idea immediately of course; the conditions of his own redemption were to rid himself of these intrusive thoughts. He shook it off, turned his back and headed in the direction of the alleyway.
The fat cat had returned and managed a half opened eye as The Chameleon passed. He knelt down and presented the mouse loaf to the feline.
“An easy catch for you today Twain.” He said.

 
THE CONGREGATION

Roughly 10 miles across the wilderness (as the crow flies) a murder of crows congregated in a clearing outside a well-known tavern ‘The Sad Spider’
They were heckling a lady inside.
“Lady Oktober, Lady Oktober come outside and play with us. Let us peck out your eyes and nest in your hair.”
One particular crow was carrying a large ruby ring in his beak which in fact, belonged to Lady Oktober. It glimmered and glowed faintly as the day was drawing to a close.
Inside the tavern, a log fire roared to drown out the buffoonery. The locals were full of merriment (and indeed ale) however, something was stirring.
From the darkest corner of the room, a darker shade of black shadow emerged. It was Lady Oktober. She had become a permanent fixture at the tavern for several months now, for the crows outside had been threatening to peck out her eyes for some time.
It was evident from their voices that they hadn’t eaten in a while.
Lady Oktober had taken their mother from their nest when they were born - a mere ingredient for a spell which she’d cast upon King Merlot. They had held a grudge ever since.
For it was Lady Oktober that introduced the guide dragons into the towns. Enticing and snaring them as they sipped from her pools within the forest. Everybody knew dragons were unable to resist the Heliotrope waters; these pools were polluted with spells.
Each cooling drop sipped, resulting in ‘brain freeze’ which would freeze the beasts’ brain and extinguish its inner fire.
These dragons were no longer a threat to the people and made very good slaves, they also generated a very good income for Lady Oktober as she operated an establishment over at Gheywood which was the sole source of food for these guide dragons. ‘The Vera Plant’ this plant kept them in check (or so she’d have people believe) Fed on anything else, they would turn and nobody wanted that.
She was a witch in almost every which way; hideously ugly, ratty hair and she had a wart on her big cranky old nose! She slouched against her broomstick. Her cat had recently gained a fair bit of weight and had ran away (or rather slinked off as cats tend to do) One crucial element was missing though; she possessed not one magical power. Not an ounce of hocus pocus.
It hadn’t always been like this, Lady Oktober was once feared by many, inhabiting the woodlands on the outskirts of the town and nobody had dared to enter them except to purchase a dragon from her. Those with money could pass.
It was the ring that gave her power and she was nothing without it.
A short way from the tavern, a unicorn came a galloping, except it was no ordinary unicorn. Where there should have been a single horn, lay 2 rather large, ugly bulls’ horns. Noticeably distressed it trotted into the tavern.
The locals gasped, for they’d never seen a unicorn with sideway horns before. It was a rather odd situation.
“What is your name oh wondrous creature?” begged the locals.
Clearing his throat, he replied “My name is Fyn and I come from Norwood (the next town along) less than an hour ago, a man with a chip on his shoulder passed through our town. I offered to show his fortune in exchange for a ring he wore upon his finger.
His future looked cloudy so I couldn’t give him an accurate reading. He became enraged and accused me of getting smart. He called me a stubborn twitard!
The locals gasped.
“Before I knew it, I was on all fours, growing a tail and these great things” He gestured towards his horns.
He failed to mention the countless people he’d conned that day and how he had actually tried to pilfer The Chameleons gold sovereign ring during a palm reading.
The locals looked baffled but carried on nonetheless, there was ale to be sunk, it was a remarkable story but generally quite accepted in these parts as it was indeed the age of wizardry and witchcraft.
A large pitcher of ale was poured for Fyn and placed onto the bar. “Any chance of a straw?” He asked.
As the attention was soon bought back to horseplay, Fyn found himself a resting place near the open fire. It warmed his spirit ever so slightly (though this could have been the ale) he felt a cold touch upon his mane.
“Aren’t you supposed to be on some trivial pursuit across land?” It was Lady Oktober.
“How, old lady, is it possible, that you know that much when I didn’t go that far into detail?”
“The Chameleon that is what they call him. He passes through every couple of decades when the gods decide there’s a good vs. wicked contrast. Like they would know” Fyn felt uncomfortable as Lady Oktober eyed him. She was ghastly in every sense but she had his full attention nonetheless.
“I can help you” She continued “But you will need to do me a favour first before I can raise the spell”
“What is it you ask of me? I am incapable of human tasks”
Lady Oktober paused for a moment, her stare fixated.
“There’s a mass of crows outside with a vendetta. I picked their mother from their nest to use as part of a spell etc. They’ve never forgotten.
The ringleader holds a ruby ring in its beak. Without this ring, my spells are weak and pointless. With the ring, I can lift your curse.”
“What do you suggest?” asked Fyn candidly.
“Did the crows watch you enter the tavern?” asked the witch.
Fyn shook his head.
Together they concocted a dastardly plan.
Outside, the crows were constructing a pecking order. Each wanted to be the first to scratch the witch’s eyes out.
They were disturbed by a commotion outside the tavern and flew close-by to listen in.
“Help! I’ve caught a witch, her feeble attempt to turn me into a unicorn has failed and I now have her tied to this here string” Fyn’s voice was desperate and sounded genuine, the crows flew to assist, in turn they each held onto the string and heaved. They were eager to drag the witch outside and get at her.
They just weren’t strong enough to pull her out.
The ringleader grabbed hold and took flight, at this moment, the ruby ring slid quickly down the piece of string and behind the tavern door.
All fell silent.

With an almighty “roar’ the witch flew through the tavern doors, she teased the crows as she circled them.
“Now change me back” shouted Fyn as the witch was circling overhead.
“No chance” she cackled “There is only one who can lift the curse; you were foolish to think otherwise. I can see now why The Chameleon would like to turn such an imbecile into a ridiculous looking creature. Follow your trivial pursuit, you might learn a thing or two” She rode off into the nearest forest, the crows hot on her tail.
Where is that blasted cat? She thought to herself.

SOUR GRAPES

Deep in the destitute woodland it was raining ever so lightly. The raindrops appeared to be bouncing off of the leaves and onto various surfaces of green shrubbery.
Those that did not conform, preserved themselves for the matinee and became a collection of raindrops which would eventually form a ‘main drop’ and that was enough to give anybody a good soaking.
It was dawn and the birds were united in chorus. Unbeknownst to them; something sinister was creeping through the overgrowth - An animal with the intelligence of a dead gnat.
His name was Bo, he snippety snapped as he heavy footed the fallen foliage.
Bo was the resident poacher around Norwood; he had been taking advantage of Lady Oktober’s absence in recent months and had been trespassing and living off her land.
Slowly does it, he thought to himself. Don’t be too hasty for I have all the time in the world. He marvelled at the beautiful creature in front of him. Finally he would have one and would get to taste the fabulous flesh he’d heard so much about.
The bird with 100 eyes, (affectionately known as the peacock) was stood only yards away from him, teasing a beetle that had the misfortune of landing on its back. He could almost taste the marinade he would prepare. It would be wonderful, maybe he would share with his friends? Who was he kidding? he didn’t have any friends, let’s not get carried away.
He inched his way forward and lifted his weapon, fumbling for the trigger when suddenly, the largest ‘main drop’ splat splattered onto his ear which startled him. He fired the gun up into the air. The peacock which in turn, flew up (very badly as peacocks do) to the safety of a nearby oak tree.
Bo jolted as if a lightning bolt had charged though him. Furious, he shook his fist and yelled.
“You had a mighty lucky esc” He was interrupted by laughter. Full of rage and adrenaline he investigated the source.
Bo saw a foot dangling down from the branch where the peacock had landed. There sat a man carving a piece of wood. He had a chip on his shoulder and a smirk on his face as his eyes made contact with Bo’s.
“You nearly had me there didn’t you? You’ve been living off this land for far too long don’t you think? A very dishonest way to earn a living in my opinion” said the Chameleon.
“I’ll do as I please when I’m in possession of this gun” laughed Bo, waving the weapon about “You will fear and respect me and look up to me now.”
Looking down, The Chameleon could not believe what he was hearing; he let out a little sound. Not quite laughter but a squeak of sheer delight.
“Sir, from where I’m sitting you look like a tiny little man it’s almost laughable that you would demand respect! How can you demand something immediately that can only ever be earned over time? Oh and sir? I know you fired your last round so your weapon is good for nothing now” he added.
Bo looked rather red-faced
“It won’t stop me climbing up there and giving you what for” he sneered.
“Go right ahead” said the Chameleon and he continued to carve whilst an angry Bo embarked on his latest catch.
When he had reached the branch where The Chameleon was resting, he was rather out of breath and very irritable.
“Maybe you’d appreciate a little rest?” inquired The Chameleon. He blew the loose shavings from the lamp he’d carved. They danced about and glistened in the morning breeze for a couple of seconds. Even Bo could see the beauty in this surely?
The way in which they lingered seemed rather odd and unsettling for Bo so he backed away. They spun into a vortex, turned on their imaginary axis and headed towards him. Swallowing him whole, they sucked him quickly into the lamp.
The Chameleon secured the lamp by placing a lid on the top but not before peering in and having the final say.
“I’m sure you’ll be very comfortable in there Mr Bo, others will be along shortly and at least one of them will be foolish enough to set you free, if only for a short time”
He carved a message on the lamp
“Knock 3 times and say hello to Mr Bo”
With that, he set the lamp down under a rock, beside the winding pathway.
He looked upwards and could sense eyes upon him; he knew Lady Oktober had returned to her territory.
She was of no threat to him but was likely to cause a fair bit of mischief for the travellers on their expedition.
He hoped so anyway.

CURIOSITY ALMOST KILLED THE CAT

Sauntering along, the fat cat from the alleyway decided it was time to put in an appearance. Maybe Lady Oktober would appreciate him now. His name was Twain, and he was rather a precocious feline.
There had been no evidence of Lady Oktober at The Sad Spider, the place they had lost touch and unfortunately there were no animals allowed at the tavern “GIDE DRAGUNS ONLY’ as the painted notice stated.
All foam, no beer he sighed.
What use was a dragon as a guide anyway? Everybody knew how fickle they could be. One minute they’d be helping you across marshland or carrying your shopping, the next you’d be on the barbeque at one of their tea parties. Dragons always always had an ulterior motive. The imagery humoured him somewhat.
His attention shifted to a grasshopper, boinging boldly through the barley at the side of the blue dusty track which seemed to glow in a peculiarly subtle way. The ferocious feline gobbled the grasshopper after one almighty fell swoop. Much more satisfying than the mouse loaf – he thought.
As He slinked down the dusty pathway, occasionally pouncing on his shadow, he caught sight of something mildly stimulating sticking out from under a rock. Curiosity was unlikely to kill the cat on this occasion he thought. He pawed it a couple of times and it rolled out, and down a small slope. It bounced, once, twice, three times.
Out popped Mr Bo rather disorientated. He turned to look at the moggy that shrieked and scarpered into the nearest woodland.
Clinging onto a sturdy branch with all his might, his voice bellowed throughout the land.
“Nooo” He echo echo echoed as he was sucked back inside the lamp.
Milo, who was now a fiddler; had been watching from behind a large boulder, How appealing he thought a genie in a lamp, perhaps with such a lamp I can use my 3 wishes to lift this curse and use the other 2 wishes to secure a brighter future for myself. (Fortunately his internal monologue was exempt from the curse)
Quite out of character, he skipped jovially over the where the lamp was resting, and he rubbed it 3 times... Nothing happened so he rubbed it again... Still nothing.
He examined it closely and read the inscription aloud.
“Knock 3 times and say hello to Mr Bo”
It rhymed vaguely so technically, was in accordance with the curse.
He knocked 3 times and placed the lamp on the ground afore him. With a sudden jolt, Mr Bo was projected from the lamp.
He looked around suspiciously and set his eyes upon the fiddler.
“Who on earth are you and why are you wearing such a ridiculous outfit?” He asked.
“I am a fiddler, 10 miles I’ve roamed
Discovered your lamp, near an overturned stone.
Once a baker, But it was revoked
By a man with a chip and a long overcoat.
He sent me forth, for a cure I now seek
On a path of enlightenment, with 3 others to meet”
Well, Mr Bo was in hysterics. The Chameleon had a wicked sense of humour obviously.
He stared at the fiddler in astonishment.
“What is your name sir?” He enquired.
“Milo is my name, fiddling all night and singing all day.
Tell me sir, why it is so, he carved your name as Mr Bo?”
“Because my name is Bo. Short for Bob”
The fiddler giggled, at least The Chameleon had granted him that much.
Bo looked at the fiddler thoughtfully.
“I too have fallen victim to this Chameleon person you speak of. I’m now trapped inside this lamp. He said people would come along to join me on a quest, we’re supposed to be seeking enlightenment though I can’t see how I’m going to be able to do that in the dark” he scoffed.
“Oh Mr Bo, you can travel with me and in return, reward me wishes three” Milo watched and waited for a reply.
“I don’t think I’m one of those magical genies Milo” Snorted Mr Bo.
“I’ve been wishing my way out of this lamp for the past couple of hours. I think it was punishment rather than for the benefit of others”
Except the Chameleon he thought. I guess he was still laughing about it now and very much benefiting from it.
“Do you have any Idea for what or whom we are searching?” asked Bo hoping Milo would be able to shed a little ray of light on the situation.
“Because all I’ve come up with so far is that we just keep following this road out of Norwood until we have an epiphany and at the most, all I’ve realised so far is that I’m feeling a little peckish”
He crouched down and picked up an apple snail, eating the apple and discarding what was now a slug.
The slug glared malevolently at Mr Bo, it had taken him an awful long time to develop his apple and now he’d have to start over again. Slugs weren’t as desirable as snails, he slowly slithered off somewhere to sulk and plot his foolish revenge.
Milo stared at Mr Bo with reservations dancing in his mind. He thought it were possible that Mr Bo did possess magical powers and that he was just after a free ride so to speak. He would be keeping a close eye on him for sure.
They set off down the murky beaten track together, when I say together, I mean Mr Bo was back inside his lamp and Milo was carrying him.
A little further down the way. Milo was looking for something to eat; he spied some berries on an overhanging tree.
He knocked x 3 on the wooden lamp and Mr Bo appeared as expected.
“Can you eat the berries, the colour of red?
I had to be certain, lest I ended up dead”
Mr Bo examined the berries.
“Yes, these will be fine I’m sure” he sighed. “Though if you do feel odd after eating them, be sure to leave my lamp somewhere it can be found, there’s a good chap” He descended into his lamp.
Milo popped a couple of the berries into his mouth; they were a little bitter but did him no harm. Something was occurring through the trees; he leaned closer to get a better listen.
In a clearing, he spotted a rather forlorn looking unicorn. He crept upon the wondrous beast, he’d heard about unicorns inhabiting this part of the woodland before, he was yet to see one though, until now.
As he drew closer, he realised it wasn’t quite a unicorn for it appeared to have 2 bulls horns.
“I’m Fyn” interrupted the unicorn
“Please excuse my appearance; for I was recently transformed into this hideous creature by a man they call The Chameleon”
“A lonely road, I travelled light. On the Chameleons terms which, born from spite. At first there was one, Lonely as can be, then Mr Bo, and yourself makes three”
Milo shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot.
Fyn collapsed in a fit of laughter.
“Whatever is the case with you, you silly little man? Has The Chameleon put a hex in you too? Why else would you speak in such a strange manner and who is Mr Bo? A mere figment of your imagination perhaps?” Fyn smirked and rolled his eyes.
“I am looking for Lady Oktober, she is the resident witch of Norwood, she played a wicked trick on me and I’m going to track her down and leave her to the hungry crows”
Milo produced the lamp and showed it to Fyn, he knocked upon it x3. Sure enough, Mr Bo appeared; he had been listening to the entire conversation.
“Greetings, I am Mr Bo and I shall explain the situation because Milo here will be making a song and dance of everything” He smiled at Milo.
“Which means we’d be here all day, Milo is a baker by trade, the was transformed into this fiddler by The Chameleon, he can only communicate in verse and play his fiddle, it’s very annoying. Same story for me except I was a, erm... a groundskeeper in these very woods in fact. The Chameleon gave me to this lamp through no fault of my own and told me to wait for others to come along. There will be 4 of us eventually.”
Just then, there was a tremendous crash, they carefully moved towards its source. It was a guide dragon, captured in a net hanging from a tree. They were sought after creatures and had monetary value. Milo rubbed his greedy little mitts together just as a face was appearing from behind the trees.
A tall fellow with splints on his legs emerged.
“Aha! finally caught meself wun” he grunted with delight.
“I’d advise against that” Fyn protested.
“For that guide dragon belongs to Lady Oktober and they’re very difficult to domesticate unless they’ve been drinking from the pools.”
“I know all about the witch and what she gets up to” Snapped the stranger. “But she aint here anymore is she? She placed a curse on me a long time ago, used me as a pin-cushion she did. Voodoo Billy is my name. Bin no injuries for months now, I say the ode witch is dead – good riddance and this dragon is my property now.”
“Can you tell us where her house is within this woodland?” Asked Fyn.
“What’s it worth?” He replied with a greasy smile.
“Okay, what if I were to present you with a lamp, a lamp that granted you not 1, not 2 but 3 wishes?”
Voodoo Billy looked sceptical but he was talking to some kind of unicorn so he decided he had nothing to lose really.
Fyn signalled to Milo who, in turn, presented the wooden lamp to Voodoo Billy.
He couldn’t believe his luck.
“Why would you want to present me with such a lamp?” quizzed Voodoo Billy. “I could assign all your souls to the devil with just one wish if I pleased”
“Why would you want to do that?” quizzed Fyn
“And who is this devil character you speak of? Surely that would be a waste of one wish. We’re just 3 I mean 2 decent fellows, looking to right our wrongs”
Mr Bo was inside the lamp, listening to every word.
“Mr Bo eh?” scoffed Voodoo Billy.
“Doesn’t sound very magical to me”
He tapped x3 on the wooden lamp and Mr Bo appeared as anticipated.
“Greetings good sir, I am the genie of the lamp Mr Bo. I shall grant you 3 wishes, whatever your heart’s desire, I can give you riches beyond your wildest dreams”
Voodoo Billy was astounded.
“Well, for my first wish, I want to tame this dragon, possess his soul and for him to call me master”
“As you wish” Mr Bo waved his arms around in the air and muttered magical mumblings under his breath, something that sounded like a spell but had no substance whatsoever.
“The spell is complete Mr Voodoo, step forth and claim your property”
Voodoo Billy untied the dragon; at last, he owned the essence of his very own dragon. It embraced him and quickly burnt him to a crisp. The others watched in amazement. The dragon bowed its head in gratitude and flew off.
“We almost believed you had magical powers for a moment there Mr Bo” Joked Fyn as he slipped a sample of the pools glowing water into a vile.
He thought it may come in use further along.

 
Twain’s Big Day Out

Tiptoeing through the bluebells, Twain quietly crept into Lady Oktobers humble abode. Actually this was an understatement. It was an absolute tip, looked like a bomb had gone off with no survivors to tidy up. Even an insurance evaluator could have been fooled into believing this house had been broken into. Though they were all in the slow cooker on the sideboard.
The walls were caked in oil and grease and the woodchip was slowly peeling away. Twain secretly liked to pick at the woodchip when nobody was looking. The feeling of the wood flaking underneath his claws was somewhat gratifying, he didn’t care if he’d be strung up for doing it because he enjoyed it so. Anybody else would have painted or upgraded to something slightly more modern but Lady Oktober had really let the place go.
There were empty tubes, half-filled test-tubes and a rainbow of ooze on the floor.
There were cobwebs and jars of lizards with their gizzards hanging out. Unsecured jars, (Lady Oktobers’ nails were frightfully long which is probably why she couldn’t close them.) A newt with his face pressed up against the jar was Twains favourite though.
Retiring to his old resting place; a blue woven mat next to the cauldron which was strangely still bubbling.
Dreaming of a PC world, he was rudely awakened by a vile long knobbly finger.
“Oi, pest”
It was Lady Oktober, she had finally returned from being held up at The Sad Spider.
“You good for nothing mog, I’ve been at that tavern for 6 months now because of those pesky crows. I thought cats chased birds; you made no effort to get my ring back whatsoever! I had to use my brains in the end and recruit some useless old fool. We tricked them good though Twain, they’re unlikely to be showing their beaky faces again anytime soon, out of sheer embarrassment if anything” She cackled in a way that only a witch could.
“So what tricks have you been up to then Twain, while I’ve been away? Have you been keeping a watch over the dwarflings at the Vera plant factory?”
“No” He replied.
“I’ve been waiting here patiently for you to come and feed me, the ring pull on the tins of cat food are rather difficult to open when you lack thumbs.”
“You sarcastic little sourpuss” she roared “I shall turn you into something different, something amphibious like a... like a frog, only less cliché though.” She paused while the cogs turned “A platypus, I shall turn you into a duck billed platypus!”
“A Platypus is not an amphibian” replied Twain.
“Lays eggs don’t it?”
“Yes” sighed Twain. “However, the young feed off the mother’s milk that is the difference between a mammal and an amphibian”
“Perhaps it’s time I traded you in for something with a little less cheek then.” Said Lady Oktober in a threatening manner “Something bigger that I can ride around on, the broomstick is a little cliché don’t you think?”
Twain shrugged his shoulders; he was a talking cat after all.
“Having a pet is a big responsibility” He said
“You have to feed them, pet them occasionally and constantly reassure them of how pretty they are, I suspect this is why I have an inferiority complex”
“Interior what?” quizzed the witch, poking in her ear.
“What’s wrong with the interior? This is a palace and it’s your privilege to be living here. I see you’ve been at the woodchip again Twain!” She wagged her finger before the profanities began to roll of her tongue like slicken black tar”
Lady Oktober took to her place of rest; a hammock in the corner of the room which was fixed to the wall by industrial strength staples.
She had a long evening ahead, there were at least 15 dragons tied up in nets in the forest, this was just an estimate as she’d flown in past them. The pools needed re-filling and the liquid was stewing in the cauldron.
Twain coughed up a large fur ball, he was tired of being a cat, he was tired of being the witches’ cat.
He often thought about his previous life as the kings’ magician. The merry nights of comfort courtesy of the south. All he was chasing these days were mice and occasionally birds (except crows)
It was almost impossible to break the spell alone, with others though, it was perhaps possible. An interesting thought for him to consider. Where there’s a will there’s always a way right? Wrong! When you’re a cat anyway.
He crept out of the shack but not before giving it one last look over, there’s nothing he would miss here except perhaps the woodchip. Hardly worth staying for though.
As he slinked through the woodland, he heard a series of loud footsteps. He took cover halfway up a tree and kept himself poised and ever so still.
Bumbling through the brambles, the group looked flushed and agitated. Fyn best down as best as a unicorn could and tried to take a sip from the pool.
“I wouldn’t do that!” snapped Twain
“And I suppose this is The Chameleon taking form as a cat this time is it?” scoffed Fyn “It’s about time you showed your face”
He’d mistaken Twain for The Chameleon, though he was sure to correct him. Why would The Chameleon want to take shape as a cat, he’d only been a cat for a short time and he despised it already.
Milo was quick to pipe up.
“A talking mog with your coat of black, we have ventured for days going forwards and back. Have you a clue you can share today, to lift the curse The Chameleon did lay?”
“Basically, we need some advice.” Interrupted Fyn “We know we’re supposed to be going to the Heliotrope lagoon for a few samples but we don’t know exactly what for and how it is going to help us lift the curse The Chameleon has placed on us.”
Twain sniggered, what a sense of humour The Chameleon did have.
“Settle down you pair” said Twain.
“Oh there are 3 of us” said Fyn holding up the wooden lamp.
Twain flinched, it looked familiar. Out popped Mr Bo.
“If you pipe down, I will try my best to explain the situation.”
He went on to explain how he’d once been the great magician Twain, loved and respected by many, especially Old King Merlot and his Queen, Lady Mildred. Once particular night of merriment, there had been too much cheer and Lady Oktober had snook into the castle. Twain had been incapacitated and she cast a spell on him, turning him into a feline. She had kidnapped the queen and stashed her somewhere dark and dank probably. She had employed a black knight to keep the king in check so he could leave his castle and his servants had been transformed into dwarflings who now operated the Vera plant factory in the castles dungeons. The Vera plant was a good source of income for Lady Oktober.
“So the plant doesn’t really tame the dragons then?” quizzed Fyn “She’s just selling them as placebos?”
“Yes” replied Twain “Though the people are naïve enough to buy them every day”
“And the pools..?” asked Fyn.
“It’s a potion, riddled with spells. Its colour imitates the heliotrope lagoon; this is why the dragons cannot resist it. Even the tiniest sip will give them brain freeze rendering them with as much killer instinct as your average domestic pet. It’s all about money” he continued “It’s always been about money. Lady Oktober wears a ring on her left ring finger, without it she is no more powerful that you or I. If I could get a hold of the ring or maybe destroy the witch herself then the spell will be broken for sure. Look I know the route fairly well as I have journeyed to Dragons Cove before with Lady Oktober. I have no intention of going back to her. Maybe we could take the trip together”
The group thought for a moment. “Looks like we have found our 4 person” said Mr Bo
“Well, not exactly, my curse wasn’t placed by The Chameleon so there must be another that you have yet to meet.” Confirmed Twain.
There was clapping coming from behind a rock, it was The Chameleon, he had been listening to the whole conversation.
“He took off his hat and tipped it towards Twain
“Good evening Twain, we meet again. Tell me, how was your loaf?”
“Rather stale actually but I appreciated the gesture” he replied.
“You men and I use the term loosely, can learn much from this feline unless your ego’s get in the way of course. Just in case Twain hasn’t made it clear enough. What you must do now is make your way to Dragons Cove, obtain samples from the Heliotrope Lagoon and figure out a way to rescue these dragons from this zombie nation they’re becoming. Rescuing the King and Queen will win you bonus points of course” He winked at Twain and - before he disappeared: “There will be another along shortly and you’re really going to like this one. I met him not long ago. His name is Niggling Nigel”

 
A Field of Corpse Lilies and a Bunch of Scaredy Crows.

“So far so good” scoffed Fyn. “It hasn’t been too traumatising up to this point” though he was still reeling from The Chameleons appearance. He hated manipulation even though the others had seemingly accepted it.
He was right, it had been fairly easy for them up until this point, others were unsure though, Milo in particular.
“I’m feeling like there’s worse to come, lest not be foolish to assume we’ve won. There’s trickery and strife I know, I can feel it withering through my bones.”
Fyn scoffed “What a silly little rhyming man you are Milo”
A dark formidable cloud was fast approaching in the distance, only time stood between it catching up with them, bringing darkness during the daytime hour. They needed as many light hours as possible; it was frightfully dark indeed on planet Yarn at night.
In front of them, another field to hot foot through. A notice was barely spotted half-cocked behind some shrivelled vines. BEWARE THE BLIGHTYBUG! SHOULD YOU BE APPROACED BY ONE, FOLLOW THESE PRECAUTIONS; 1.) SHOUT LOUDLY 2.) WAVE HANDS IN THE AIR 3.) USE LANGUAGE (THESE PESTS ARE OFTEN OFFENDED BY PROFANITY AND WILL FLY AWAY)
“Oh bugger!” exclaimed Fyn.
“Flaming blightybugs, they can give you a nasty nip you know” he was looking at Milo. He peered into Mr Bo’s lamp.
“Did you hear that Mr Bo? A blightybug non-the-less”
“Hmm, Blightybugs are normally found among a specific species of plant” although he could quite remember which one, he had been told before and remembered that it was only in full bloom for a week once a year.
“So long as we’re calm, the blightybugs won’t bother us” He’d managed to remember that much.
The barren ground was sodden and the soil looked contaminated. You wouldn’t want to eat anything growing here. One by one, they group started to sink into the seemingly bottomless quagmire.
“Don’t make any harsh movements” yelled Fyn. His voice echoed through the marshland.
“The more you struggle, the likelier you are to be sucked down”
He freed himself, hooves and all and he pulled Milo and Twain free. Mr Bo had been tucked up safely in his lamp the whole time.
Twain and Fyn shook their fur simultaneously, they had that in common at least. Even Mr.Bo had come out to see what the fuss was about, Milo had knocked x3 on his lamp, he couldn’t see why he should be getting off so lightly.
Slumped on a verge, they looked out and over the field. Rows upon rows of flowers in full bloom, armies of blightybugs pollenating each cyclopean flower. They had a rather unorthodox method of pollination too. They’d chew on the flowers guts, fly over to the next and spew the contents of its stomach up. Pretty disgusting by anybody’s standards.
Over the sound of spewing blightybugs was more importantly, the stomach churning stench. The graveolent whiff of the corpse lily. A flower stinking to low hell and of a hundred corpses rotting in the ground.
“Ah yes, the Corpse Lilly” said Mr Bo.
“What a god-awful whiff and it look as though they’re in full bloom” he added “Happens once a week out of the whole year, looks like you’ve come at the right time” he sniggered and disappeared into his lamp.
Milo tapped x3 on Mr Bo’s lamp.
“Yes?” he questioned as he was confronted by the angry faces.
“There’ll be no ‘copping out’ Mr Bo” said Fyn. “We’re all in this together, we each have a responsibility to reach Dragons Cove and we each must obtain a sample from the Heliotrope Lake, there’ll be no tagging along, at some point, you will have to prove your worth, for it will be a very slow journey on your own, How many mph does a wooden lamp travel roughly these days?”
Mr Bo huffed and slid back inside his lamp; he was rather cross and hurt.
It would be simply hopeless to trudge the sludge (and goodness knows what else) the stench was perfectly awful; morale was at an all-time low.
Twain emerged from the shrubbery with various flowers he’d extracted from the ground.
“I have a plan” he said excitedly “If we were to each fashion a mask from vine, in the style of say... a basket. We could pack it to the brim with sweet smelling petals. It would keep out the stench and we’d easily make it across.”
The other looked at him thoughtfully, he was right and it could work. “The longer the basket, the better” he finished.
There was a flurry of hands, each trying to acquire as much vine as possible before any further mist settled on the field. There was only a thin layer of mist but the impending rain would bring more.
“Roses and bluebells, rosemary and thyme. Weaving a basket that’s made out of vine. A shield for my nose and a cure for the smell, We’ll walk along proudly where others have fell.”
Milo was singing. The others joined in, for it was rather a catchy tune.
In higher spirits than before, they secured the baskets upon their noses. There were a few giggles circulating the group, they looked like man-crows. If such a hybrid failed to exist before then it certainly did now. With the exception of Twain of course, he looked very peculiar with his new muzzle.
The beaky bunch set off slowly and cautiously across the field of corpse lilies. The mist was thickening and the air was chewy but it also smelt pleasant thanks to Twain and his marvellous idea.
“Walk briskly but do not run and keep an eye open for the blightybug, I hear they give you a nasty nip” said Fyn.
They had less than a mile to walk through the sludge, the putrid corpse lilies lay awkwardly in the field like a morbidly obese individual trying to find comfort but resigning them to a lesser position.
Its petals, not too dissimilar to a lion’s mane (sans the pride) were spattered in white spots. Tears of the devil thought Fyn. He chuckled as a wicked thought transpired. He reached out to the lamp Milo was carrying and tapped on it x3 with his large beastly horns.
“Do join us in the field of foul Mr Bo” laughed Fyn.
Mr Bo emerged with a clothes peg on his nose.
“You didn’t tell us you were harbouring clothes pegs!” Twain was very angry.
“You didn’t ask” said Mr Bo.
“Now then Bo” Fyn was interrupted by the growing fear rising up in Mr Bo’s eyes.
“Whatever is it?” asked Fyn, his natural instinct was to turn around but he really didn’t want to.
Amongst the now vaguely opaque mist and in the not too far distance, was the outline of a shabby scarecrow. The setting was suitably eerie for this type of meeting and there was certainly something sinister looking about the scarecrow.
“I don’t remember passing a scarecrow” said Fyn. His voice was shaky and isolated as if his only defence were these words, perhaps last words?
Milo shook his head and Twain looked at the ground, they looked equally as uncomfortable as the corpse lilies.
“Perhaps it’s the Chameleon?” whispered Twain “He has a long overcoat and hat not too dissimilar to that one”
Either way, they didn’t particularly want to wait around to find out, there was something deliciously dark and sinister about this particular scarecrow.
They shifted slowly onwards, looking like 3 very scared crows (though quickly enough to avoid being sucked into the bog)
“Oouuuchhhhhhhhhh” yelped Fyn. He flicked the blightybug from his mane. It cackled as it humbuzzed away gnashing its teeth.
Milo looked over his shoulder.
“Crikey crikey look behind, he’s gaining on us I think you’ll find. He looks much closer than he did before, let’s run for our lives like never before”
“You’re over reacting Milo” said Fyn shakily, he was convincing only himself and he wasn’t even doing a great job of that. The scarecrow did look as though it had gotten closer though.
“Hello Hello Hello” Fyns voice echoed through the mist. The group watched in anticipation, watched for movement and watched for evidence of danger. There was nothing, the scarecrow stool patiently sti...
“RUN! Run for your sad, twisted, pathetic little lives” shouted Fyn cantering off and leaving the others to fend for themselves. There was incredibly urgency in his voice. The other took flight also, running as fast as their legs would carry them. The scarecrow was pacing towards them in a sweeping motion, almost like a whirlwind. It could move incredibly quickly for a corpse.
The field was drowned with chorus
“Ring a ring of roses, a basket on your noses. An issue and issue you’re all drawn down”
In turn, they each felt a tight grasp around their various body parts. The sensation was one of being hoisted up as opposed to being drawn down (as previously suggested)
The group didn’t dare open their eyes; they barely dare breathe until everything was silent. It was then they opened their eyes. Ekho towered above them
“You called for me?” he asked. His voice boomed and resonated at a low frequency.
“I don’t remember actually calling for you but I’m grateful you came anyway.” Said Fyn
“Any Echo is a call” stated the dragon. “Also I was following you, I hope you don’t mind? The treacherous path you are following will be dangerous at times; I knew you’d need help eventually. I wish to accompany you on the remaining journey when I can, think it as payment for you saving my life in Lady Oktobers woodland”
A unanimous decision was made, not only would it be useful to have a real dragon on side, it would be pretty darn cool too”

Meeting Niggling Nigel

Dog tired and in dire need of hot bath, the group approached the next village in hope of securing accommodation for the evening. Last night’s camp had proven to be a complete failure and never to be mentioned again. They each shuddered in retrospect.
This village was almost big enough to be a town except it wasn’t resident to a large expensive statue in the centre. There was lack of a library too which were often associated with the larger towns. They passed by many Inns and residences, all stating ‘No Vacancies.’
There was one place with availability but there was a herd of Harlots outside trying to entice them in. It was mutually agreed that they didn’t need to be carrying any illnesses on their journey so they avoided like one would the plague. Upon closer inspection though, the notice had actually read ‘Vaccinated’ They hurried along.
A little further away, tucked around a corner, was an Inn that glowed the colour of warmth if you could imagine such a colour. The aroma of home cooked food escaped every crevice. Their heads peered inconspicuously around the door for a short time but eventually the whole huddle inside had stopped to have a look at them.
“Erm, have you a room for the night?” quizzed Fyn nervously.
“We do but not for animals, even the ones that can talk” boomed the landlady. She was rather round in shape and her tiny pig nose snorted as she gestures to a sign on the door ‘Gide Draguns Only’
“We have a stable that may be suitable but it’s 10 shrabn’l per animal per night” Milo was itching to protest.
“Can you read sir?” quizzed the moon shaped lady.
Milo shook his head.
“Well then, you have no advantage over that of an animal” She replied. They could see she was clearly in a bad mood; it was likely the whole population of the Inn were unable to spell out the word ‘idiot’ between them, but they were tired and didn’t want to sleep under the stars again.
“We’ll take it” snapped Fyn. He would think of some way to get revenge on the great spherical one.
It was dank and depressing in the stable, the walls were a ’crumbling down and the trough was half filled with hay. At least they had a bath of sorts.
They each found an area and tried to make themselves comfortable. At least the roof wasn’t leaking. Twain was in his element; he’d never seen so many spiders in his life. He spied a particularly juicy one which he pounced on and - without hesitation, committed its body to his mouth. He slurped once and the body disappeared, all that was left were eight dangly legs jiggling about desperately clinging to its last breath of life. By the second slurp it was gone.
“What a most disgusting display Twain” snapped Fyn. “How could you even consider eating something like that? You don’t know where it’s been”
“A spider web somewhere is possible” replied a satisfied Twain. He hated himself every time he ate one but they had strangely turned into somewhat of a delicacy for him.
Twain was now amusing himself with a mouse that had sneaked into the stable. He was dangling it over the trough, dipping it into the water and popping its little head into his mouth now and then to absorb the moisture.
The mouse was wearing the tiniest pair of boots which you’d think rather odd but anything was accepted on planet Yarn.
This gave Fyn a devilish idea.
After darkness and indeed silence had fallen, he crept out of the stable and towards the Inn clutching the tiny rodent between his teeth, it didn’t taste good. He skulked along the staircase and made his way quietly into the chamber of the great circlet where he placed the mouse under her bedclothes.
He slipped out as quickly as a unicorn/bull could and quietly dashed down to the dank stable. He waited in anticipated silence almost sniggering. Suddenly, they heard a blood curdling scream.
“Oohhhhhhh Somebody help me help me pleeeeease!” It was the landlady, who’d obviously discovered the little intruder. Fyn was holding back the tears of laughter; he let out a little squeak in an attempt to conceal his delight.
“An intruder in my chamber! A man! A man!” she squealed like a pig.
There was quite a commotion outside the stable. It woke the others who were intrigued by Fyns light heartedness.
“I got her good” he chuckled. “I crept ever so slowly and placed a mouse in her bed”
Twain looked disappointed. The mouse was his property.
“A Mouse, a mouse!” shouted a whiny voice that belonged to a man. “I was turned into a mouse!”
There were a couple of hasty footsteps alongside the stable door; this was followed by the ‘thud thud thud’ of feet like a herd of angry antelope. They could hear voices outside the door.
“He’s gone, we scared him off good an proper” the footsteps disappeared towards the taverns entrance.
All had gone quiet again. Fyn would sleep well tonight, though he didn’t remember seeing any man in the landlady’s chamber. Oh well he thought to himself. It couldn’t have happened to a nicer lady.
They were suddenly rudely awoken what felt like a few moments later by the terrible sound of Twain shrieking. “Ack Ack Ack” he shrieked like a banshee.
There was an intruder in their stable and he was dunking Twain’s head in and out of the water”
“Not very pleasant is it mouser?” Sneered the Intruder.
The other watched, they wanted to intervene but were frozen solid to the ground like statues.
He threw Twain to the floor (who landed on his feet of course) and he stepped forwards to introduce himself.
“My name is Nigel, no need to introduce yourselves to me for I know all of your names anyway. I was in here earlier. The Chameleon, a man I know you’re all familiar with, turned me into a mouse not so long ago. For reason that I moaned too much and was too picky.”
“Not so picky in little miss piggy’s chamber were you?” teased Fyn.
“Well!” spat Nigel. “It’s clear to see why The Chameleon would turn you into such a ridiculous looking creature, you’ll soon go the way of the dodo you stroppy mare”
Fyn lowered his horns and edged towards Nigel.
Nigel, in a panic stricken state, stood there in one instance and was next a heap of clothing on the floor. A mouse scurried out of his dressings and straight into the paws of Twain who looked delighted.
“We shall christen you Niggling Nigel” he said and with that he dipped the mouse’s head under the water for a few seconds.
The other laughed; the night of tomfoolery had possibly united them, even for just a short while.

 
Serpents Loch

They landed at Serpents Loch against a small row of cliffs. Wandering wearily looking for something to satisfy their hunger, Twain spotted a small crab. Unfortunately it was just an empty shell.
Even seaweed would have been acceptable at this point they agreed. At that moment, a small tide brought in an abundance of seaweed, they would have better hoped for fish instead. The seaweed was salty, though it provided essential nutrients if they were to be able to carry on their journey.
The only way across Serpents Loch was straight across. The route around the Loch was long and dangerous, it'd be safer swimming and the option of flying across was slim as Ekho had gone to Dragons Cove to prep the other dragons for the groups arrival. Without the prep talk, things could get very bloody messy indeed. They would be in very real danger of being burnt to a crisp.
With all other options extinguished, they decided that what they really needed was a boat of some variety. Even a raft would perhaps do for now so long as it kept them out the water for long enough.
Of course this wasn't their only problem. The Loch was inhabited by the infamous Reginald, a sneaky and cunning sea serpent with a large single horn for his face. Fairly handsome too they'd heard (or as handsome as a serpent could be) They could only hope that Reginald would let them be if they were to pass through the Loch peacefully. They had little other than hope.
"Go fetch that there wood" ordered Fyn.
Milo looked repulsed as he held up the slimy bark.
"A sticky mess and a job I despise,
Let us turn back now, is what I advise.
Be us alive or be us dead,
this quest will do nothing but fill us with dread"
"I know that!" snapped Fyn. "But we're incredibly close to Dragons Cove. Do you want to live with this curse forever? Because I don't"
"Let's just built the raft" sighed Twain, he was tired of the arguments, tired altogether but knew slacking off would get them nowhere. He was beginning to regret joining them, but the thought of going back to being Lady Oktobers cat was far worse he decided. They were all getting rather fed up of Mr Bo too; in fact, Niggling Nigel decided that it was about time something was said.
He belted the lamp x3.
"Mr Bo! Mr Bo! I want to speak with you immediately. Mr Bo emerged with a pair of knitting needles looking very angry.
"I'm having a small crisis at the moment if you don't mind" he snapped and disappeared back into his lamp.
"Well! I say!" huffed Nigel.
Less than half an hour later, with most of the group pitching in, they finally had a raft built and stood back to admire their joint effort.
It was a truly abysmal sight and it definitely wouldn't be water tight. It was unlikely capable of keeping Mr Bo's lamp afloat even.
An obnoxious laughter suddenly engulfed the Loch.
"Her Her Her, vhat a amusin displeh. How verrh funneh t'vas to votch you vild a vaft ov vubbish. It was Reginald, who spoke with a strange accent not too dissimilar to a German accent if one could possibly imagine it in such a strange land.
"I vill vlet you leeve if ya can svim across zee lach vithouta drowning, If ye becoma leemp viv svimming, I might just eeat yas. He disappeared into the water with a splash, leaving them all dumbfounded.
"Nobody said he could talk" said Nigel, fixated on the water.
Morale was low again; the idea of building a stronger raft was something to be considered though not tonight as it would soon be getting late. Back tracking was an option also, though they'd lose a couple of days.
They'd need to set up a camp here for the night and sleep on it. It was in a nearby cave that they decided to do just that. The cave was damp and water ran down the slimy walls which saturated the floor. Twain didn't care for water one little bit, he also didn't like being eaten by serpents so he decided that he could sacrifice one evening of discomfort in exchange for his life.
The camp had drifted off to sleep around the time their raft had drifted off into the Loch. Everything was very quiet and still. The moon emerged and sparkled over the Loch, the water, almost black but certainly a shade of dark blue rippled as a wandering moonbeam fell upon the water.
Dreams and stars were twinkling amongst each other making it difficult to differentiate the two, amidst this beautiful scenery, a vengeful apple snail lay in wait (though he was much more a slug nowadays) It's apple snatched by Mr Bo without a second thought.
Slithering slimily over the piles of rocks and sand, it slithered closer and closer to where Bo's lamp did lay. After what seemed like an eternity, he positioned himself under the lamp and made his way slowly (very slowly in fact) towards the entrance of the cave.
The others were sleeping very loudly, Fyn was snorting and blowing and Niggling Nigel was niggling if you could imagine such a thing, almost as if he was reluctantly chewing on something. Twain was purring quietly and Milo was incredibly silent. He didn't get much peace from the singsongs unless he was asleep.
The salty ground was close to torture for the slug, he'd been in there for so long that by now, he was starting to dry out rather a lot. Salt had a tendency to do this to slugs and snails. It was good for many things except cholesterol and this particular situation.
After another hour or so had crept by, he'd almost given up on the revenge idea. You see, it was exhausting for such a small creature to carry almost 10x its own weight on its back. Perhaps he had bitten off more than he could chew? This reminded him of Bo's crime and immediately spurred him on to struggle out of the cave.
It was almost light when he finally reached the edge of the Loch. The early morning rays appeared to tickle the water as it rippled by command of a light breeze.
He pondered for a moment, whether the sun had ever tired of being up before everybody else. What would happen, if for one day only, the sun decided it wanted to lay in for a couple of hours? Complete chaos would ensue perhaps. What a heavy burden the sun must carry, he thought to himself. He shed the tiniest, salty, snail tear which stung terribly. How cruel mother nature could be, he thought as his left tentacle retracted.
Bo's lamp has moulded to the contours of the slugs body, the original idea was to roll it gently into the Loch where he would eventually meet the serpent if he hadn't drowned by then of course. He wasn't quite sure how the magical lamp worked.
He'd pondered too long and now there was a voice behind.
"Wait!" it was Fyn, wide awake and in pursuit of the lamp.
The slug felt desperate, he could not let this injustice go un-served, Mr Bo had to be punished. As Fyn was moving closer, he made a noble decision; he would give his own life to the cause. It wasn't an easy task either. Luckily, his tiny body was pumped so full of adrenaline and he was able to project himself into the water just before Fyn was able to grasp at the lamp.
Missed!
The slug looked out at the Puzzleverse and the sun was moving farther and farther away as he sank deeper and deeper into the Loch. Longing to bring it down into the darkness where he was headed. Laid on the Loch bed, accepting his foolish fate he was liberated from his fears as he realised he could breathe underwater almost as second nature. Perhaps mother nature wasn't such a bad old girl after all.
Keen to share the amphibious revelation with his own kind, he surfaced, completely forgetting about Mr Bo's lamp still attached to his back.
"Gotcha!" said Fyn as he swept it up into the air. He quickly let out a shriek and dropped the lamp as he'd realised upon reaching into the Loch that he'd tipped the contents of Lady Oktober's potion into the Loch. He was very cross with himself and turned back towards the cave, he'd hoped it would become useful but that thought was nothing more than hindsight now.
"Crackle Crackle" a sound he could hear over everthing else, strangely, there was a deathly silence. The water could no longer be heard rippling in the breeze. Everything was just very silent and still.
"Crack Crack Crackle" Fyn turned slowly for inspection; the Loch had formed a frozen crust and was glowing like the Heliotrope lagoon. It was Lady Oktobers potion, it had frozen the Loch. Some kind of miracle he thought and he knew it would be useful.
He 'whooped' and trotted back to alert the others almost forgetting Bo's lamp, he turned and picked it up carefully in his mouth before dropping it again in disgust. There was a squashed slug stuck to the lamp. He rolled it about in the sand like a football for a short while and the slug quickly dissolved. Lamp clamped between his teeth, Fyn cantered towards the cave.
"Quickly now, everybody outside, We have a chance to get across the Loch but we must leave immediately. He explained what had happened and the others leapt into action.
The entire lake was glowing bright purple, and the layer of ice was thick enough to walk on.
"We have to go now before the sun is overhead" said Fyn with excitement and nervousness in his voice. "Else it will defrost; I knew that potion would be useful"
The others agreed as they shuffled across resisting the temptation to look down, if the ice did fall from underneath them, at least they wouldn't see it coming.
Not too far into the watery death, a serpent lay in wait. A very angry serpent was stirring, it was his Loch. Fyn could no longer resist and gazed below the surface which looked like an enormous sapphire. He could see something glistening but couldn't quite make it out, it disappeared and reappeared. Rather unnerving for anybody in his situation. Upon close inspection, he could see it was Reginald, he looked cheated and furious and he was mouthing something to Fyn. The group tried their best to ignore him and keep their eyes front which was just as well because lip-reading that type of profanity would be highly offensive.
Reginald disappeared suddenly which filled Fyn with dread, he remembered the mammoth horn the serpent had on his head, he was almost more a unicorn than him, though he had the advantage of legs, legs that were trembling right now. Half fear and half with the chill of the ice.
When Fyn was almost absolutely certain that Reginald had given up, he exhaled a huge sigh of relief, they were almost across the Loch. Though everybody knows that it is always a bad idea to exhale, especially when you were not quite out of the water yet (as was in this case)
Milo felt a little unsettled and before he could open his mouth to communicate through the medium of song and dance, there was a low tremble coming from the Loch. They hurried along quicker than before but as not to break the ice. With the tremble came a larger rumble and a sense that something was intent on eating them quite soon. With a crack and an uplifting roar, Reginald projected himself through the ice with his great horn. He'd torn through the ice and disappeared just as quick. Terror filled the eyes and heart of everybody on the ice, Reginald could smell the fear and adrenaline, it guided him to his next spot. "Crash!" he smashed through the ice again, this time, ice scattered everywhere and covered them all with a light dusting of snow. This particular impact knocked them to their knees. They were trying to run so fast that they were barely moving on the ice. Fyn called for Ekho.
"Help help help" he echoed and they waited.
Waiting to be rescued, waiting to be eaten, Reginald’s aim was becoming more precise as he smashed though the ice again. Almost losing Twain, Milo grabbed the mog by his tail, he shrieked and clawed him but it was preferential to being drowned.
He was there in what felt like hours, though it was in reality probably a minute or two.
He didn't hesitate for even a second, not even to consider the consequences of his next move. He waited for Reginald to surface from the Loch and when he did, engulfed him in flames so as to scald him within his own element.
Unfortunately, it didn't go quite to plan and the serpent dragged Ekho down into the murky depths. The flames had made the ice melt away quicker than before and the group were now running and galloping as fast as their limbs could cope.
A certain watery death, inches from their heels. The ice slid slowly into the water, offering to relieve them of their mortality by means of watery death.

 
A FLIGHT OF DRAGONS.

The melancholy mob stared out over the Loch, frozen in time like a painting. They'd made it across, but at what cost?
Ekho had lost his life for a good cause but Fyn couldn't help but feel the blanket of guilt elope an area in his chest where his heart might have been once, it tightened almost as if to suffocate resulting in a lump forming in his throat. It felt uncomfortable so he swallowed it down.
He had after all, summoned Ekho to assist them and just as he thought he couldn't feel any worse, a new fear presented itself.
"What's wrong Fyn? asked Nigel, he didn't normally show concern but they had just been close to death so it was probably a side effect of the shock.
"It wasn't your fault you know? Ekho offered to protect us remember? There's nothing that any of us could have done to have made it end any better."
It was no consolation but there was a truth in those words.
Fyn shook his head; his eyes fixated on the ripples.
"You don't understand do you? You're a bloody idiot, you all are. What if Ekho didn't make it to Dragons Cove to warn the others that we were on our way? They won't be expecting us, will they?"
He turned slowly to look at the others. As the enormity or the situation was realised accusations were soon tossed into the air.
"You stupid moron Fyn!" screamed a Niggling Nigel waving his finger of judgement, "Why did you have to call Ekho you scaredy cat?" Twain looked offended.
"How can we be expected to show our faces at Dragons Cove now? We can't well walk in there and say, Oh hi, we've been travelling for days and days because The Chameleon has cursed us all and what he really wants is for us to fix the guide dragon crisis to save their lives except, oh yes, we haven't saved a single dragon yet and we've managed to kill one off already, so sorry about that" He paused, took a deep breath and waited for the flush to drain from his face. "Not to mention how angry The Chameleon will be! You really believe he'll lift the curse after this? Think again you dozy mare"
Well, Fyn was fuming, he turned to Niggling Nigel, lowered his horns and butted him into the Loch.
A petrified Nigel was thrashing about in an overly dramatic way, he was barely submerged to his waist but he was wailing that he couldn't swim. "Help! Help!" He gargled, water had managed to find his mouth, it was big enough for sure.
Fear was getting the better of him and before it registered with anybody spectating to dive in and save him, he had disappeared and all that remained was a pile of clothes. From under the piles though, something was wriggling, it was a mouse! Milo held his belly and laughed, hopping from foot to foot. Twain was struggling to resist the urge of nature and dived into the Loch. He picked the tiny rodent up by the tail between his teeth. He placed him on the ground whilst Milo rescued his clothes.
Fyn looked at the others with dead eyes; they had been disturbed by his outburst even though the outcome had been fairly humorous.
Mr.Bo heard the laughter and Milo tapped x3 on his lamp so he could provide further witticisms.
The others were arranging Nigel’s clothing as Mr Bo watched over the mouse.
"He isn't breathing!" his voice was commanding.
They rushed to the tiny rodents’ aid. It was true, there he laid, his tiny little legs outstretched.
"There's only one thing for this now" thought Twain and he seized the moment. He pounced on the mouse and examined it, if he was going to be judged, he might as well make the most of the situation. His back was turned to everybody else who assumed he was trying to revive the creature.
Twain bent down and whispered in its tiny mouse ear.
"My dear little mouse friend, as I stand above you as the food chain intended. I say this prayer with delight.
“To the lord up high, his soul will fly
and to the demon below, they'll kick him so.
As pretty as a picture, with a taste to please.
I'll count to three before you can say cheese."
With that he lunged forward to take a bite. As his tooth brushed against the mouse’s fur something extraordinary happened. The mouse quickly turned back into Nigel. These kind of things happened now and then on Planet Yarn but as it was becoming a regular occurrence, it could no longer be called an extraordinary event.
The others cheered (apart from Fyn who looked disappointed) they seemed to think Twain had saved Nigel’s life.
"I don't know how to thank you Twain" Nigel was welling up.
"I know it goes against your nature but I am moved that you were able to put that aside to save me. You're a true friend" he beamed at Twain who managed an awkward half smile.
"I'll never forget this" Nigel reassured him. Despite being frozen to his core, he managed a warm smile.
You already have thought Twain to himself.
The attention shifted to Mr Bo.
"What have you been up to then Mr Bo?" asked Twain. "What exactly do you do all day long inside that lamp of yours?"
"Well, it might be of some interest that I've had The Chameleon over for dinner today"
The others shared a puzzled moment. Where was he getting all of this food from?
"He's deeply disappointed with everybody, said we should all be working together instead of fighting and having our own secret agendas." Twain tried not to make eye contact with Niggling Nigel.
"He's issued this warning" Mr Bo cleared his throat as he produced a scrap of paper from the lamp.
The task on which you have been entrusted,
you continue to fail due to your own misgivings.
You must now learn to trust each other to lessen the strain.
You will progress much quicker as a team.
You have been responsible for the loss of three lives and have saved none.
If you fail this task, you will be cursed for eternity.
That is all.
P.S. Don't feel too bad about Ekho.
After reading the notice, it "popped" in the air. That had certainly burst their bubble, and how symbolic thought Twain who none of this affected too directly.
Bo descending into his lamp, far from getting off lightly as the others assumed; he had been doing The Chameleons laundry every Wednesday and cooking for him every other day. He didn't get to sit at the table and eat, he had to waiter for The Chameleon and that was all.
The 4 of them (and Bo) set off towards Dragons Cove which was easily in sight now. As it was mostly downhill (not in a literal sense they hoped) they was able to pick up speed.
Rocky underfoot, Fyn had to stop on several occasions to liberate his hooves from pieces of stone.
Berries picked from the long overgrown grasses and bushes at the side of the road sustained them for a while, as did the bread that Niggling Nigel had stolen from the Inn. Though it was rather soggy since the Loch incident.
They were approaching a mountainous cave; through it they could see the glow of the Heliotrope Lagoon. There were 2 dragons standing guard at the mouth of the cave. This was customary.
They had no idea how this was going to play out, but they knew that they had nothing much to lose; their souls belonged to The Chameleon pretty much already.
Wurzal and Slapstick were leaning arrogantly against the entrance. They were playing a game of I spy and although this may sound relatively harmless in a way that could divert your attention away from their ferocity; the rules held a slightly more sinister meaning.
They were spying on the group, had been for a while and had no intention of letting them pass through to the lagoon. Generally speaking, they ate everything they spied.
"Who goes there?" boomed Wurzel. He winked and nudged Slapstick whose eyes goggled about like the sort of eyes you'd find on a child’s birthday card.
Fyn stepped forward and the others hadn't complained, he had assumed the leadership role for this task. "We have been sent by The Chameleon to solve the guide dragon crisis" he yelled up to the dragons.
Wurzel and Slapstick studied each other and thought for a moment. "Have you a visa?"
"A visa?" quizzed Fyn.
"Yes, a visa. We must see it before we can let you pass" they struggled to hide the sniggers which they dressed up as sneezes.
"We don't have visas" shouted Fyn. "Where would we obtain such a document?"
"It's unlikely that The Chameleon would have sent you all this way without a visa" sniggered Wurzal and he nudged Slapstick again.
The group were exhausted; a lot had built up to this point which they considered to be one of their main obstacles. They were hoping it would go much smoother than this, they needed a little help.
it was too late and fear had turned into anger as Niggling Nigel stepped forward to everybody's surprise.
"Now listen here...” he commanded. The dragons drew closer out of curiosity.
"We have been attacked by a serpent, starved and humiliated, we each carry a curse and we've been amongst terrible company the whole time. I suggest you let us pass through and continue our journey for the sake of your species."
"Silence fool!" Bellowed Wurzel.
The colour drained from Nigel’s’ cheeks and exited at his feet or so it felt. His head was fuzzy for a second and now was his coat. Once again, fear had turned him into a small rodent. He scurried about the floor. Twain had to resist the urge, he couldn't eat him now people thought he was a hero could he?
Wurzel and Slapstick looked down at the mouse and froze instantly on the spot. Springing into action, they clambered over each other to escape the mouse. Milo was laughing again from his belly and tapped on Mr Bo's lamp x3 so he would enjoy the display also.
The 2 dragons took flight, their screams were echoing through the mountains. Some dragons were scared of mice apparently.
Mr Bo was waving a piece of paper in the air.
"Another demand from The Chameleon?" asked Twain.
"Nope" he answered. "It's your visas"
Entering Dragons Cove, the group felt like royalty, they strutted over to the Heliotrope Lagoon and knelt to obtain their sample. It was like looking into an amethyst and the water glowed within the bottles. They could see the attraction, it was simply mesmerising.
"That's not enough" snapped Fyn. "I need more, give me another bottle"
They didn't argue, he'd got them this far up until now and half trusted his judgement. In turn they all felt a small sense of satisfaction. They'd each achieved something great by getting this far and surviving. They were over halfway now and it was time to think about rescuing King Merlot.
With this is mind, they moved along to exit the Cove but were cut off by a group of shadows that landed before them.
Stepping into the light, they were surrounded by many dragons. Dragons of all ages, young and old, immature and wise. Fat, small, broad and tall.
They silenced as a particularly ferocious dragon stepped forwards. It was Rocky-D and everybody that lived on Planet Yarn had heard the horror stories.
Bo produced the visas once more.
"We have a right to be here" he said as he waved them about in the air. Rocky -D pondered this thought for a second and scorched the paper with his breath. It singed Bo's eyebrows and he hopped back inside his lamp although the smell of burning lingered in the air. They suspected it was the infamous BBQ's they had been hearing about.
"We know who you are and we know why you're here" Boomed Rocky-D. "We're awfully glad you came and we cannot thank you enough for what you're doing."
The group exhaled that breath.
"About Ekho...” continued Rocky - D.
Fyn could feel judgemental eyes fall upon him even though eyes were more likely to roll due to their spherical form. This was paranoia though.
"He didn't make it unfortunately" explained Fyn, disturbing the soil with his hoof.
"He?" quizzed Rocky - D. "Ekho is a girl and she very much made it. She is resting in the Great Hall. The Loch you froze with Lady Oktobers potion gave her brain-freeze. It's lucky she got here before it set on fully else goodness knows where she'd be now. A small sip from the lagoon has cured her"
The men were relieved; Fyn felt as though a burden had been lifted but he also felt a little silly and cheated by Ekho. How dare he or even she make him feel so terrible for so long.
"So what happened to Reginald?" asked Twain.
"Let just say that he looks like a rather large pretzel at the moment, until he works out how to untie himself" chuckled Rocky - D.
"You must stay here this evening" explained Rocky - D "This Cove can be very dangerous for humans and half unicorns at night time; we get a few undesirables around here. St. George will show you to your quarters"
"St. George?" Quizzed Twain.
"Yes, dragons that have slain knights of King Merlot’s round table are named after them and each year we dedicate a holiday to that dragon. Today for example, is St. Georges Day which is why you may struggle to get anything to eat this evening unless you make it yourself or like barbequed human? Dragons don't work on St. George’s day." he smiled.
A fairly pleasant conversation had taken a dark turn, it wasn't meant to be dark, they were who they were and didn't need to change for anybody, especially to line Lady Oktobers pockets.
"Tomorrow, we shall fly you to King Merlot's castle" said Rocky - D.
 
A Bull at the Gates
Fresh as a daisy, the sun did rise a couple of hours later than expected. Planet Yarn was still turning so this old celestial soul may have gotten away with it; it had been a blue moon the previous night anyway.
Opening a half eye, Twain scoured the room for vertical beings but everybody was sleeping soundly. He plucked a single whisker from his face to validate their existence. It was a painful confirmation but was good to know. It wasn’t often you’d hear tales about a successful night spent in the dragons quarters without being eaten. This was an assumption really as he’d never heard a story either way.
He pounced on Milo and pawed his face a little (as cats do when they’re hungry or want their egos stroked) Niggling Nigel was vertical at this point and threw a stone at Twain. It hit Milo instead and awoke him from his slumber deep.
“I spy with my little eye… something beginning with F” Said Twain.
Nigel contemplated this for a short while before forcing his opinion.
“Food! Show me the food that begins with f” he said.
“No, guess again”
“Forget me not’s?”
“Hmm, I’d forgotten about those, a nice try but no” said Twain.
“Where is Fyn?
Has he already gone?
Did he leave a note to explain to someone?”
Milo has finally realised they were a person down.
Twain sighed, the others hadn’t seen it coming obviously. The talk about how Fyn had become cursed by The Chameleon, his running with Lady Oktober. She had corrupted him – he should know. It was fairly obvious what had happened, Fyn had taken the lagoon samples back to Lady Oktober to practice her craft on the false promise that she could lift his spell. He didn’t understand why though, they were almost there.
“Fyn has deserted us” he sighed. “Gone to aid Lady Oktober, they probably had it planned all along” “There’s treachery afoot!” yelled Niggling Nigel, he looked very angry.
“Why would he help her though? I don’t understand”
“I suppose he takes the sample for her to modify in exchange for lifting his curse.”
“Then why didn’t we do that in the beginning?”
“Let me think” said Twain sarcastically. “Lady Oktober has no means to lift this curse, it makes no sense that Fyn would betray us – to me anyway”
“So what now?”
“We just carry on as we are, get to the castle, rescue the king and queen, water the Vera plants with the Heliotrope sample…”
“We have no samples!” snapped Nigel “Fyn took them all remember?”
“Well, we’ll need to take some more, I’m sure the dragons will understand. Today is Wednesday and the Vera Plant is dispatched in a few hours’ time. In the unlikely event that Fyn has reached Lady Oktober by then; they will surely be on their way to stop us.” Said Twain.
“Am I interrupting anything?” interrupted a voice, it was Rocky-D.
“It would appear we’ve been deceived” said Twain.
“Oh?”
“We woke up this morning to find Fyn and the samples were missing”
“Ah, the unicorn of course, he was seen loitering this morning but we assumed he was sleep walking until we saw the time, it was rather dark for that time of morning” He paused for a moment “Anyway, I’ll ensure your deliverance to the castle as soon as possible. I just need to sort a few things out first.”
“What things?” Asked Niggling Nigel. “You haven’t arranged transport yet?”
“The problem we face is that it’s St. Johns day today and none of the dragons will be working, I’m working on it though. In the meantime, help yourselves to any sample you might need. You can use these.” He thrust a couple of empty vials upon Nigel.
“These will do the trick I’m sure. Belonged to a rather tasty alchemist if I remember.”
“Can’t you force the dragons to work today?” Asked Nigel.
“You’d think so wouldn’t you? But rules are rules”
Rocky – D departed, leaving a trail of thick black smoke behind him. He stomped into the centre where lay a statue of the great Draco and he fixed a notice onto it.
“WANTED – 3 valiant dragons to chaperone our 4 heroes
To the gates of Old King Merlots castle.
Your reward – Eternal gratitude and an extra portion and half of human
At the celebratory BBQ.
Sign below to register your interest by 12pm”
There were the odd hoax signatures which were to be expected, ‘Ivor Badbach’ was a favourite.
It was suggested that Young Red and his brothers should be chosen to escort them as they had not a days work experience under their metaphorical belts. Before acceptance had been confirmed though, Eugene, Mertol and Brucie came forwards. They were all of blue bllodline and had volunteered for their own reasons, which were mainly for fame and recognition. It always helped if you were 2nd, 3rd and 4th in line to the throne and people actually liked you.
Young Red and his 2 brothers, had offered their extra portion of human to the less fortunate but such was life.
The 2 men, Twain and Mr. Bo; mounted the backs of the 3 dragons. The diamond encrusted saddles were uncomfortable and ridiculous a single one could have fed a family of 10 for a year. They set off on their uncomfortable, but short journey.
They soared high and low and managed to avoid the turbulence. It was a journey of little description and many an awkward silence. The discomfort was comparable to the conversation you’d have with your hairdresser, more small talk than conversation though.
The sun’s rays engulfed the heavy thick clouds and they glowed like a corona. The warmth swept over them in a way oh so gratifying and then finally they landed at the foot of the castle gate.
They said an awkward goodbye and the 3 aristocrats flew back in the direction of Dragons Cove muttering to one another .
The black Knight had been observing them for sometime and looked suitably uncomfortable for the duration of the dragons landing, this eased though after they’d flown away. The 2 men approached with their feline in tow, they had concealed Mr. Bo’s lamp. You never knew when you’d need to pull a trick like that out of your sleeve, it was human nature for people to be greedy.
“Who goes there?” Bellowed the black knight in a voice that almost wasn’t his own, he was a small scrawny fellow but had a big voice. “What’s the deal with the dragons? A rather peculiar method of transport don’t you think?”
“Guide dragons” interrupted Twain quickly. “You’ve surely heard of guide dragons?”
“Indeed I have” said the knight straightening his badge. His name was St. Nick or so his badge read from underneath a familiar logo “Oktober Industries”
He must have been sweltering today as the heat was rather intense.
“So then my good men, how can I help you today?”
“We’ve come to rescue King Merlot and his Queen” Said Nigel.
“Rescue!?” The black Knight almost lost his footing.
“You ridiculous men, and I suppose you thought I’d just let you walk straight through did you?” He laughed. “Turn a blind eye and all that? It’d take much more than a traveling circus to take my eye off the ball”
“Like what?” asked Twain.
“Like a wish perhaps? You are a talking cat afterall. The great (once great) magician Twain, Lady Oktober said you’d be along sometime or other. She said she hasn’t forgotten about the woodchip. So what do you say talking cat? Have you a wish in return?”
“Perhaps I do, what will you wish for?”
The knight thought for a moment before his expression turned to that of smuggery and he laughed. “I wish for a magical lamp with a genie that will grant me a further 3 wishes” he howled with laughter.
“Very well” Said Twain and he summoned the lamp from Milo’s bag.
His expression turned from shock to greed to shock and back again. Sure enough, he read the inscription and tapped x3 on the lamp and out popped Mr. Bo.
Taken aback, the black knight stumbled into a nearby ditch, he was trembling beneath his chainmail, a combination of fear and excitement. He clambered to his feet and greeted Mr. Bo.
“For my first wish Mr.Bo, I wish for a visa to Dragons Cove, see they can’t refuse me entry with one.” It was true and it was also true that Mr. Bo produced a visa from his lamp. He’d held one back from earlier though it was a little scorched. The knight couldn’t believe his luck and let out a squeak as he was handed the piece of paper.
“For my second wish, I want my very own guide dragon that will escort me to Dragons Cove where I will slay whoever remains there.”
They looked at eachother uncomfortably, this wasn’t going as well as they’d hoped but Mr. Bo appeared to have a plan.
“As you wish” he said and he called to Ekho. This was only going to work if the dragon was close enough to hear them and if Ekho had forgiven Fyn for almost drowning him through carelessness.
Mr. Bo explained the situation to Ekho who sure enough, came to their assistance. Ekho seemed to understand what was going on also. “This knight wishes for you to escort him to Dragons Cove where he will slaughter any dragons which remain.”
“Very well.” Said Ekho as she lowered herself so the black knight could climb on her back.
“Wait!” shouted Mr. Bo.
“You haven’t made your 3rd wish!”
“Of course” said the knight. “I wish my name to be remembered forever amongst the dragons” And with that they flew off until they were a tiny speck on the horizon.
“I’m sure that last one won’t be a problem” laughed Twain.