The Chronicles of Teffaru: Episode 4

The Chronicles of Teffaru: Episode 4
By Eddie G.

“The answers you seek,” said Kerongcong Nostradamus, “lie in this here parchment.”

“Read it,” The Eddie G. said, as if parchments had another function.

“Ok… let’s see,” said the old Wizard glancing at the words written upon it, “three cups of shallots, finely diced, seven hundred grams of chicken, two tablespoons of WHOMP® sauce, er…”

“Serves six?” coughed The Eddie G. sardonically.

“In-laws coming for dinner,” Nostradamus grinned sheepishly as an ethereal hand passed him another parchment from out of nowhere.

“Thanks, Pirrazo,” acknowledged the Wizard, “Ok… it says here that Eizenara is contained in a Magic Prison Portal. Probably Seventh Dimension-ish, which means that 3 cups of chopped garlic have to be allowed to sizzle in a pan until they turn slightly brown and… I’m going off tangent again aren’t I?”

“Only slightly,” The Eddie G. lied.

“Well, the only way to unlock this Prison Portal is by bringing its Key to its Gateway.”

“Go on,”

Ethereal black smoke was now rising behind the old Wizard. Nostradamus spun around with amazing agility.

“INTRELLIS VORNDUM”

A bolt of ice shot out of Kerongcong Nostradamus’ hands, in attempt to quell the source of the smoke, but that did little to help. Within minutes, he was engulfed completely in sinister dark smoke.

“I’ll have to buzz you back,” the black smoke said before fading away.

“Looks like he’ll have to order take-away,” The Eddie G. mused.

The Prince was about to say something completely retarded when there was a rustling in the bushes behind him. Instinctively, he drew his sword and was about to slash at it when a stone head poked out.

“Woah, dude! It’s me!” said the head which belonged to none other than the leader of the gargoyles.

“Graeken?” The Eddie G. asked.

“You two know each other?” said Graeken and the Prince at the same time.

The Eddie G. was saved the trouble of answering.

“Hey dude, sorry about just now man,” said Graeken to the Prince. We gargoyles are kinda like, territorial you know.”

“Oh ok,” said the Prince trying to figure out what “territorial” meant. “Don’t worry about it.”

“What’s up Graeken?” asked The Eddie G. as hE peered over the Prince’s shoulder.

“Dude! That guy in the funny suit’n’hat… he unanimated all of my homies man! With his funny crossbow thingy. Sad shit dude,” Graeken wailed.

“Yea. He wanted to kill me too!” recalled the Prince.

“I think I know who you’re talking about,” The Eddie G. said testily, “The one they call Ar-Shikun.”

“Dude you gotta help me man!” pleaded Graeken almost at the verge of tears (that is if gargoyles could cry), “he took all my homies’ statues man!”

Gargoyles, like most non-living animated creatures (and there was none more animated than Graeken at this point of time) in Teffaru, awe-inspiring Teffaru, thrive on a life force bestowed to them by the power of dragon’s tears. When this life force is depleted (i.e. hit points go below zero), they will return to the lifeless statues they once were.

“Where did he take them to?” The Eddie G. enquired.

“Dunno, dude. There was like this soft farting sound, and then everything disappeared. Kinda like them telepotties man,” said Graeken.

“Teleporters,” The Eddie G. sighed. “Listen man,” hE said, “I’d love to help you right now, but more pressing matters are hand.”

“Oh please dude, puh-leeeeez!”

The ethereal figure of Kerongcong Nostradamus reappeared before them.

“Pizza’s on its way,” sputtered Nostradamus, “Hey! Who’s your new friend?”

“Oh. This is Graeken, the gargoyle. You remember him.”

“Oh, of course I do. The drug addict right?”

Graeken slapped his forehead and just went, “duuuuude.”

“Ah. Okay. Anyway, back to the topic at hand,” said the Wizard (to which The Eddie G. said “thank you!”), “where were we?”

“Dinner with in-laws, Magic Prison, three cups of garlic, Gateway, Key, black smoke, pizza,” The Eddie G. recalled.

“Right. The Gateway to the Prison lies in the Crown of The Mad. The Key lies in the lair of your nemesis.”

“The Key I get… but Crown of The Mad?”

“That’s all the help I can give, really,” said Kerongcong Nostradamus apologetically.

“Hah! Proper sourcing my ass!” The Eddie G. snorted, to which Kerongcong Nostradamus politely declined.

“Perhaps he means my father’s crown? He’s quite the angry person, you know.” offered Prince Kyovane.

“Possible. Show’s you’re thinking. That’s a start.”

The Prince wondered whether he should feel complimented or insulted. He still felt confused.

“Okay, I need some explaining here! Who’s your nemesis? Who’s Eizenara? What about my journey?”

“Relax,” said the Eddie G. resolutely, “you’ll know in due time. Meanwhile, I’ve got to go to the Dark Tower and get that Key.”

“I wish you best of luck,” said Nostradamus, and faded away to the distant call of “extra large with anchovies!”

“Awk, dude! Anchovies! That’s like, so wrong, man.”

“You might want to come along,” said The Eddie G. to Graeken, “I think I know where your homies have been taken to.”

“Righteous!” Graeken whooped.

“What about me? I still have no idea where to go!”

“Hmm… I might have to get someone to take you to that place then.” The Eddie G. produced a whistle from hiS tunic and blew it. For a moment, nothing seemed to happen, and then the Prince heard something roaring overhead. The canopy parted and a Turtle soared down from the sky and landed gracefully at The Eddie G.’s feet.

“Hey… Eddie…! Long… time… no… see…!” said the Turtle.

Prince Kyovane wondered how much more of this he could take. Too many things that were not supposed to be talking were talking. And those that were supposed to be talking (i.e. to tell him where to go next and what he was getting into) merely kept going “mind your own bloody business”.

“Okay. Getting-to-know-you time,” said The Eddie G., “Prince Kyovane, this is Spuzzy the Flying Turtle. Spuzzy, this is Prince Kyovane.”

“Hello… Prince… Kyovane…” said Spuzzy.

The Prince said nothing. He was trying to get over the “talking Turtle” part, with hopefully enough sanity left over to deal with “Flying Turtle” when that time should eventually arrive.

“Spuz, Graeken and I need to attend to some… business,” The Eddie G. said, “can you please take Prince Kyovane to that place?”

“Which… place…?”

“That place,” The Eddie G. repeated.

“Oh…! That… place…!”

“Haven’t been to that place for quite a bit now,” recollected Graeken.

The Prince was vaguely annoyed that everybody knew where that place was, save for him.

“Ok! I think it’s right about time we got moving,” said The Eddie G., who proceeded to toss a small satchel into the hands of the Prince. “Open that when you reach that place.”

The Eddie G. and his gargoyle companion took off.

“Remember, Kyovane,” The Eddie G. called back, “speed isn’t everything. Timing is.”

And they were gone.

“What was that all about?” the Prince wondered.

“Beats… me…,” said Spuzzy, “well… hop… on… then…!”

Four people sat in a circle, awaiting their fate – a sumptuous meal. They consisted of two very incompetent castle guards, Bosch and Kalmbie, a Court Jester, Sunny-Jebus, who had no idea whether he’d be attending the meal as their guest or their entrée, and Drego Cauldwick, the editor of crudely named newspaper.

Not too far away from them, two man-eating squirrels, Furcoat and Mink, were curled up sound asleep on each other. They have had a long day of bickering, debate and indecision. Even so, they talked in their sleep; a possible prelude of the following morrow’s events.

“Left,” mumbled Mink as he snuggled up to his brother.

“Right,” muttered Furcoat as he shifted slightly.

Now it would be unfair to say that the group of four was stupid enough not to have seized the opportunity to escape. On the contrary, they did. But for some strange reason, their escape route, no matter how properly planned and brainstormed, would always bring them back to the same old spot.

It therefore would be fair to say that the group of four was stupid enough to appoint Bosch and Kalmbie, who were famous for going around in aimless circles, to lead their escape. After going back to square (on this case, circle) one for the eighteenth time that evening, the captives finally gave up and sat down for a game of cards instead.

The game they played was called “Hoodwink”, which is a great game that’s played in many different Worlds, although called by different names. The World that was the best at this game (because of the immense amount of practice they get, especially amongst the political circles) called it “Bluff”.

Hoodwink is a simple game. One player would play his cards facing down while making his call as to what those cards were. The other players would then have to decide whether he is lying or whether he’s a bad liar.

Drego Cauldwick, who had never finished last, was up next. He placed his cards in the pool.

“Seven Queens,” he declared. And everybody believed him, despite the fact that there were only four Queens in a deck of cards.

Bosch, who had never finished first, went after Drego. He too placed his cards in the pool.

“Three Queens,” he announced. And everybody believed him. They had to. His cards were facing up.

The Prince was amazed. Never before had he traveled at such an exaggerating speed. He looked at Spuzzy, the Flying Turtle that carried him, and swore that if he actually got off the shell and crawled on his belly instead, he’d get to wherever he was going much quicker.

“Hey Spuz!” called the Prince, “can’t you go any faster?”

Spuzzy turned back to look at his disgruntled passenger and said, “Only… if… I… fly…”

“So can you?”

Spuzzy looked thoughtfully at the Prince for about a minute or two.

“No…” he said finally.

A wise man once theorized that anyone who takes more than a minute to answer “No” is probably lying.

But the Prince was too stupid to figure that out, and merely sat grumbling while the Turtle lumbered on.

The winds whistled malevolently as The Eddie G. flew alongside Graeken across the rolling plains. From their altitude, the sun had just begun to poke its head out of the horizon, although it would take the ground a couple more minutes to witness it. The cold early-morning wind assaulted their faces as they traveled across the rolling plains.

“Dude, you got a plan?” the gargoyle enquired.

The Eddie G. shook hiS head. “I’m leaving it to Chance,” he said.

“Right. Oh hey man, did you bring the dragon’s tears?”

The Eddie G. nodded silently and produced two vials of glowing blue liquid. He tossed one over to Graeken.

“Sweet! But like, how come you’ve got so much, dude? You gotta like, have to make a dragon to cry for like twenty minutes to accumulate this much.”

“Well, let’s just say I have this dragon friend who works in a prestigious five-star dragon hotel. Recently he was demoted from Head Caterer to sou-chef because his meatballs weren’t spicy enough,” The Eddie G. recollected.

“Oh. I get it. Spent the whole day crying huh dude?”

“You could say that. He had to chop onions.”

It was about noon when the flying pair reached their destination. Unfortunately for Prince Kyovane, he still hadn’t.

“Are we there yet?” whined the Prince for the two-hundredth and twenty-second time. He was somewhat thankful that the canopy shielded him from the unrelenting sun that hung overhead.

“No…” replied Spuzzy patiently. The Turtle seemed to be enjoying the attention paid to him.

The Prince had half a mind about getting off his mount and continue this agonizing journey on foot. Not because he had other alternatives to consider, but because he only had half a mind to begin with.

The only thing that stopped him from doing that was the fact that he had absolutely no idea where “that place” is.

Which was probably why Spuzzy the Flying Turtle was enjoying this journey so much.

It was only thirty minutes (and some fourteen Turtle steps) ago the Prince offered to carry Spuzzy on his back while the Turtle would direct him to that place. It didn’t take him two seconds to realize that Turtle shells are much heavier than they look.

“My goodness!” wheezed the Prince as he tried to lift the smiling reptile, “what on Teffaru have you got in there?”

“Oh…, just… my… RX-3000… Afterburners…” replied Spuzzy matter-of-factly.

“Wow,” the Prince had no idea what those were, but made a conscious effort to conceal his ignorance, “sounds… heavy.”

Currently as the Turtle lumbered casually along Booya Wood, the Prince sat glumly on his shiny polished shell. The Eddie G. must definitely be enjoying this he thought to himself.

Now all that was needed to make the Prince’s day complete was for his ride to break out in song.

“Slow… and… steady…, steady… and… slow…
That’s… the… only… way… to… go…
Steady… and… slow…, slow… and… steady…
I’ll… let… you… know… when… we’re… there… already…”

The darkened throne room was unusually dark today, not that anyone would possibly notice. The Owner of the Voice was scowling, not that anyone would possibly see. The Voice that resided it was evidently annoyed, not that anyone would possibly, as the Jester would possibly put it, “give hiM a rat’s ass".

Save for perhaps, the one they call Ar-Shikun.

“I asked you to kill the Prince, did I not?” spat the Voice.

The one they call Ar-Shikun chewed his nails nervously, which was not a very wise thing to do in a darkened throne room.

“ANSWER ME!”

“Yes you did, my Lord.”

“Then can you please tell me why, instead of Kyovane’s head mounted on a stick, you brought back thirty-odd gargoyle statues?” growled the Voice.

“Decoration?”

“Yes. In a darkened throne room.”

The darkened throne room was not going to stay darkened for too long. But the one they call Ar-Shikun didn’t know that, so he hemmed and hawed until a rumbling explosion blasted a huge gaping hole in the wall.

On the other side of the hole, The Eddie G. and Graeken, leader of the gargoyles hovered gloatingly, allowing some sunshine to penetrate the room.

“It’s a lovely afternoon, Drutho. So I kinda thought since you hate it so much to pry your sticky bottom off that excuse of a throne of yours to go out and get some sunshine, I might actually just bring some sunshine to you,” The Eddie G. grinned.

The Owner of the Voice rose to hiS feet. The sight of hiS old nemesis was mere confirmation that hE shouldn’t have got out of bed that morning (not that you can tell when morning actually is in a darkened throne room). Drutho, like The Eddie G., was a demi-Mortal with immense powers. On hiS shoulders, in stead of the cherubic wings The Eddie G. sported, rested the ambition of making Teffaru all hiS. And the only thing that prevented hiM from doing so thus far now floated outside what once was a section of hiS wall.

The Eddie G. looked at Drutho, and then at the lifeless statues of Graeken’s homies scattered randomly around the room.

“New hobby of yours?” hE sneered.

“SHUT UP!” yelled Drutho, “What do you want?”

“Give me the Key to the Prison Portal!” The Eddie G. demanded.

Spuzzy stopped moving, and the Prince jolted to attention.

“Hmm…,” pondered the Turtle, “I… do… believe… we…-”

“Have arrived!” whooped the Prince.

“Took… a… wrong… turn… somewhere…”

The Eddie G. and hiS arch-nemesis Drutho stood facing each other in the once-darkened throne room. Neither speaking, neither wanting too. In one corner the one they call Ar-Shikun was lurking, loading his crossbow, as Drutho had secretly instructed, just “in case anything should happen”. Graeken had skulked off somewhere to another corner, probably to smoke up.

The challenge was simple. The Eddie G. and Drutho would now only converse in questions. Neither demi-Mortal was allowed to hit anybody in the room, the only exception, in the event of immense frustration, being themselveS. The first one to pass off a statement or engage in seemingly needless violence would lose. If The Eddie G. won, Drutho would have to surrender the Key. If Drutho won, The Eddie G. would have to pay for the reparations.

“So have we begun?” The Eddie G. asked.

“How should I know?” Drutho replied, not falling for The Eddie G.’s mind games.

While this went on, the one they call Ar-Shikun leveled his deadly weapon at The Eddie G.’s head. It would all be over in matter of seconds, he relished with glee. He squared his shoulders and squeezed the trigger, but nothing happened. It looks like he would have to draw the bow first.

“You miss heR don’t you, Eddie?”

“Was there ever any doubt?”

The one they call Ar-Shikun was now cursing under his breath. He wasn’t capable of getting a clear shot on The Eddie G. who was now casually disappearing and reappearing behind the gargoyle statues. For a moment he felt like killing the idiot responsible for bringing them into the room, but he soon realized who that idiot was and chickened out.

“Why is it no matter how hard I try, I still can’t get rid of you?” lamented Drutho.

“Incompetence?” The Eddie G. merely shrugged.

“You think?”

“It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it?”

The one they call Ar-Shikun was fuming now. The Eddie G. was now cleverly hiding behind one of the many statues while conversing with Drutho. He wiped the sweat off his brow. Patience, he told himself silently, once that wretched demi-Mortal pokes hiS head out hE’s screwd. Ah, never mind. The statue is walking away. All the better. He took aim once again.

“The statue is walking away” took quite a while to sink in. But when it did, it left the one they call Ar-Shikun wondering – with his mouth open wide enough to house an extended family of Monarch Butterflies – why on Teffaru his Master, with all hiS intelligence and immense power, failed to see what he just saw.

“Why did you blindfold me?” asked Drutho.

“Can’t you be a little bit more patient?” The Eddie G. snapped.

“Is this entirely necessary?”

“Would I be doing this if it wasn’t?”

The one they call Ar-Shikun was getting desperate. More and more statues had begun to reawaken from their stony stasis, thanks to the power of dragon’s tears. He tried to get his blindfolded Master’s attention by waving frantically at hiM. To say that he failed miserably would have surely triggered off the same reaction as saying that the Silver Magi of the Blue Ivory Tower could be found in the Blue Ivory Tower (though not anymore).

By now all of the gargoyles were fully awake, and were now causing a major ruckus that would surely have made a troll’s stag party look like a funeral service in comparison. Thirteen gargoyles were whooping in syncopated unison and unrivaled delight while swinging from the chandelier, which was a sight that made no sense at all – a chandelier in a darkened throne room?

In the midst of the din, Drutho stood solemn and unperturbed, the blindfold still over hiS eyes.

“What’s all that noise?” hE enquired.

Once again, the one they call Ar-Shikun raised his crossbow, only to have it snatched from his hands by Graeken who promptly began to dismantle it in a way a jealous, destructive child would his rich-ass cousin’s toy car.

At the sight of his beloved weapon being torn apart, the one they call Ar-Shikun did the only other thing any rich-ass cousin would also have done, and threw a fitful tantrum.

“THE GARGOYLES ARE REVOLTING!” he yelled manically.

The more good-looking gargoyles apparently didn’t think so.

Drutho pulled off the blindfold and then began to understand why gargoyles should be lifelessly confined to fountains and cathedrals.

Still on the theme of cathedrals, a wise man once noted that a man (possibly the wise man himselF) who farts in church would usually sit in his own pew.

“Why did I ever listen to you?” Drutho screamed while two gargoyles stood on either side of hiM, mimicking hiS every gesture to amazing likeness.

“Will you two stop it?” Drutho and two gargoyles asked no one in particular.

In great frustration, Drutho banged hiS forehead repeatedly against the nearby wall. The two gargoyles, like huge stone monkeys, merely looked on while exchanging quizzical looks. Monkeys aren’t stupid, especially the ones that went “Oook”.

“Why did I agree to this dumb challenge?” hE grumbled

“Who said that you have to anyway?” The Eddie G. grinned.

“Yea, good point there. AWW NUTS!!!”

Drutho had lost. And true to hiS integrity, hE admitted defeat by teleporting away from the tower with a resounding “bamph” without keeping hiS end of the bargain.

“Damn hiM!” The Eddie G. swore.

The one they call Ar-Shikun scrambled away hastily from half a dozen gargoyles trying to claw at his shins to the spot where his Master once stood.

“I’m not telling you where the key is either!” snorted the one they call Ar-Shikun before he too teleported away, albeit in different fashion from that of his Master’s. The first difference was that the sound made was more like an old man trying to fart without soiling his pants (“p-p-pfft”) instead of a more beefy “bamph”. The second difference was that the colour of the residual smoke was purple, unlike his Master’s deep crimson. The third difference was that when the purple smoke finally cleared, the one they call Ar-Shikun was still standing there.

The Eddie G. grabbed the Shady Character by the collar.

“Where… is… the… key…,” hE droned slowly and deliberately, and then realized that hE sounded just like Spuzzy.

“You will have to kill me first,” the one they call Ar-Shikun scoffed defiantly.

In a swift, deadly blow, The Eddie G. knocked off the Shady Character’s prized black leather hat.

“Stomp on that would you, Graeken?” The Eddie G. requested somewhat nonchalantly.

“OK, OK! I’ll talk, I’ll talk!”

“We’re… here…” announced Spuzzy at long long LONG last.

The Prince heaved a sigh of relief. He was on the verge of losing the last remaining shreds of his sanity from looking at the same clump of trees for a little over two hours.

“Good… luck…” beamed Spuzzy as the Prince thankfully clambered off his shell. “Be… seeing… you… around…”

The Prince waved at his reptile friend and set off. He had hardly walked but five steps when a deafening roar shook the entire woods. Looking behind him, he saw Spuzzy the Flying Turtle rocket out of the canopy.

Another one of life’s unexplained mysteries. Perhaps the RX-3000 Afterburners had something to do with it.

The Prince glanced around at his surroundings, which made not much of a difference since he was still in the middle of nowhere. In the clearing stood a huge solitary tree covered with vines. He fished out the small satchel which The Eddie G. had given him.

Inside the satchel was a parchment, with instructions to follow.

The Eddie G. knew that the Prince lacked somewhat considerably in the intelligence department, and tried to word hiS instructions as simply as hE could.

“Pull vine,” the parchment began with, “any vine will do (i.e. long rope-like thing that hangs from tree).”

The Prince did as instructed, and a huge rock dropped out of nowhere and landed inches away from his feet.

“Kick rock hard, and then jump five times on one leg,” read the Prince. It all sounded silly to him, but hey, what did he have to lose?

He swung his leg back and gave the rock a HUGE kick.

The “jump five times on one leg” came naturally.

On the fifth time he landed, the ground began to shake violently and parted in dramatic fashion just a few feet away from where the Prince stood, revealing a flight of stone stairs that led downwards.

“Walk down stairs,” read the parchment. The Eddie G. had decided to play safe.

The Prince limped downstairs as told, and was greeted with a huge stone door with a small rectangular slot.

“Knock on door,” the parchment continued, not taking any chances

He knocked.

The rectangular slot slid open and a single yellow eye glared out at him.

“Password,” said the eye.

The Prince glanced at the parchment.

“Say whatever that comes to mind,” it said.

“Err… Bananahemidt?” he tried.

“UP YOURS!” the rectangle slid back.

The Eddie G. and Graeken now headed for their next destination, Castle Blackrock, to find the King and "borrow" his Crown. Well, hE wasn’t entirely sure whether hE’d be returning it, but hE certainly did not care. The only thing that mattered was that hE’d finally get to see hiS beloved once more.

“Wonder how’s the Prince dude doing,” Graeken wondered.

“He’ll pull through” The Eddie G. predicted.

The rectangle slid open and the single, frustrated yellow eye glared at Prince Kyovane for the umpteenth time. It hadn’t expected the Prince’s stupidity to reach such a chronic level.

“Before you say anything, you might want to read those instructions one more time,” the eye hinted.

The Prince took up the parchment again. “Say whatever that comes to mind,” it still said. He didn’t get it. That’s exactly what he did. Let see now, he had tried “bananahemidt”, “yomyomyaba”, ”nutschweitz”, “mindyourownbloodybusiness” and a host of other nonsensical words that disturbingly occupied his consciousness and made his neurons tie themselves into complicated knots.

And then it hit him

“Whatever that comes to mind,” he said.

“Correct!” the eye heaved a sigh of relief, “now bugger off!” The rectangle slid back again.

“Hey! Aren’t you going to let me in?”

“Read your instructions, dogturd,” said the eye from inside.

The Prince looked at the parchment again and saw a sentence which he had surprisingly failed to take notice of earlier.

“This door opens only in the next episode.”




In the blink of an eye:

The Chronicles of Teffaru: Episode 1

The Chronicles of Teffaru: Episode 2

The Chronicles of Teffaru: Episode 3

The Chronicles of Teffaru: Episode 3;Part II

The Chronicles of Teffaru: Episode 5