Tevun-Krus #22 - Best of 2015

A NOTE FROM THE NARRATOR (ME)

The following has been translated from the olde-est of Ye Olde Englische, as spoken by the entire psychomagikal world, circa 10th century CE. Well, it technically wasn't called "Ye Olde Englische" back then, as the language had yet to be mockingly titled as such. It was actually called Elhulu, and it was the tongue of a sentient, far-too-intelligent-for-their-own-good race of singular-sexed aliens—the Elhu—who hailed from the now-destroyed, previously fifth planet of the Sol System. You know the Asteroid Belt? Yeah, that used to be their planet. Anyway, we speak their language without realizing it. Enjoy.

1: LETTER TO START THE SHOW

October 31st

964

Yo, Salazar,

Happy birthday, kid! How's your dad doin'? Whippin' up some crazy-ass potions and creating strange new devices that would boggle my mind and change the lives of Psychomagi everywhere? Haha! Probably, right?

Anyway, I'm just shooting you this letter on your birthday to let you know I've been organizing an expedition down to—what will one day be known as—South Africa. I was super-duper-hoping you and your old man would tag along with me. You will!? Great!

It would be good for you two to get out of the dungeon, too. It's not good to be cooped up in there for too long, y'know? And besides, your dear mum died not too long ago, so I'm sure you're bruisin' on the inside. Time for Unkie Mannelich to clear the sight of her lifeless corpse out of your skull! Haha!

Anyway, I'll be swinging by your pad a few minutes after you finish reading this letter, so be ready. Oh, and let your dad know, okay, champ?

Lookin' forward to seein' you! We've got a wicked journey ahead of us, Sally!

From your Pretend Uncle,

On this day of your birth,

Mannelich Aertsen Hippokoor Marsbergen

2: A HERO'S ENTRANCE

Salazar Sikkerwihn dried his eyes and then proceeded to roll them.

Laaaaame, he thought. His unrelated uncle was soooo laaaaame. Not a very nice thing to say about non-family, I know, but that's what the boy was thinking just then. He tossed the letter aside, where it fluttered down beside the smiley face–plastered envelope it had arrived in. He shooed away the packrat that had delivered the letter. It was gnawing at the walls, gathering bits of wood for its nest and demanding a tip. "No tip for you!" Salazar barked, aiming a kick well away from the animal. It scurried off, but not before urinating on the boy's shoe and swearing at him in angry-sounding squeaks.

And the bit about his dead mother was quite a low blow, even for Mannelich. But, knowing Mannelich Marsbergen the way I do—and I do, believe me—he certainly wasn't aware of how his words of whimsy would affect young Salazar.

"Why's he gotta come here, anyway?" he asked himself, collapsing on his bed and staring out his window at the dreary English countryside. Two Wandwalkers stood on the other side of a ditch and took turns cursing each other, until one turned the other into a plump chicken, grabbed him and sprinted home to tell his wife what he'd caught for dinner. Salazar sighed. "All I want to do is sit in the dark and brood. No cheery Unkie Mannelich. No Dad, trying to tell me all about the new gadgets he's built. No nothing. Nobody but me. And Mum..." He sighed again, closing his eyes and reliving the day she died at the hands of the Normals. Ripped apart by those savages. Right in front of him. She died protecting him.