R.L.'s Ground Breaking Twitter Novel

Disclaimer: Since this has been transcribed from R.L.'s direct Twitter feed novel, it has not undergone the normal editorial rigor. Of course, a writer of R.L.'s stature hardly needs an editor.... That said, enjoy!

Chapter 2: The Apprentice Goes Forth

     "I'm not sure I understand, my Master," Ghoral said as he cleaned up the bowl of soup, stealing the last few slurps for himself.

       "It is simple, my simple Snawad from the Northern Steppes." He pulled his hood over his face. "I intend to inform the villagers of the change in lordship."

      "But, it's the middle of the night during the worst storm of the year, Sir! Even Master Percy wouldn't be so reckless!"

      "That name will never be mentioned in my presence again!" The apprentice sneered. The Hohbart Slackery twitched in agreement.

      "No previous Keeper of the Menagerie would've ventured out in the middle of the night. Sir" Ghoral corrected his error.

      "I did not ask for your counsel." The apprentice fumed at the insolence. He gestured to the glass case. "Shall I unleash the wrath of the Waxed Double-handled Pluxon on you?"

      "No, Master, please! I could not bear the Wrath of the Pluxon! I would rather be set upon by a dozen fevered Wild Tiddles."

       "Then hold your tongue and go and fetch slippers for me. The purple satin ones."

      Ghoral set the bowl down and strode towards the slippers, quickly retrieving them for the apprentice. The apprentice lifted a foot and Ghoral slid the first slipper into place. A perfect fit! The apprentice may have been small in stature, but many things about the apprentice could match men and creatures much larger than him, including his feet. The other slipper fit just as snugly. The apprentice admired his new footwear.

      "Now, on to the village!"

      As the apprentice approached the main doors, he could see Khaf'Zil'Edi waiting for him. The apprentice could feel his contempt.

      "How quickly does the apprentice become the master," he said to the apprentice with only the slightest bow of the head.

      "You would do well to realize you will accomplish no similar feat," the apprentice fired back. "Open the gate and let my followers gaze on my glory."

       Khaf'Zil'Edi removed the heavy bars and latches one by one, and opened the gate. It gave a a loud groan that could be heard even over the pounding wind and rain. Percy ignored the lashes of rain and strode forth into the night. After two steps, his foot struck something. He looked down and in a flash of lightning caught sight of the broken body of Percy.

      "Rest well, my Master."

      He looked back towards the tower door and saw Khaf'Zil'Edi standing there. Suddenly from the bushes around him, a dozen muddy peasants were on the apprentice. The apprentice caught a glimpse of Khaf'Zil'Edi slamming the door behind him. No help would come from the tower.

      "Get it!" One of the peasants yelled. "Grab the moustache!" A hand pawed at the apprentice's face and grabbed the Hohbart Slackery.

      In an instant, the peasant's hand began melting away to the consistency of curdled hopa milk. The moustache had claimed another victim.

      "By the Gods! Use the moustache tongs!" The ruffians continued their assault on the apprentice, as one of them pulled a long pair of iron tongs from a bag and set upon the Hohbart Slackery. As the tongs dug into the apprentice's face, the Hohbart Slackery would not yield. Finally with a jerk, the tongs pulled the moustache free.

      "Quickly, the cage. Open it!"

      ** AUTHOR NOTE: My editor has just informed me that there is occurance where I have named the apprentice "Percy". This is, of course, intentional. For it is the power of the moustache to lose and blend conciousnesses between the many owners. Assuredly, at that moment, the apprentice did indeed think of himself as Percy. Now, onwards, Dear Readers!**

      An instant after the mustache was torn from the Apprentice's face and his soul, rough hands seized him by the shoulders and someone pulled a bag over his head plunging him into darkness. They softened him up with some punches to the kidneys and then a large semi-soft object, that he could only assume was a leg of mutton, impacted with his skull. There was a bright flash and then darkness.....

      The Apprentice awoke to the icy chill of water splashing in his face. He found himself tied to a chair in the middle of what appeared to be a tanner's hut judging by the various meats and cheeses hanging from ceiling. Seven dirt-smeared, angry looking peasants formed a circle around him. They glared menacingly and that's when the Apprentice noticed the small golden, gilded cage on a table to his right. Within, the Hobar Slackery hurled itself at the tiny bars. It stopped, turning slowly towards the Apprentice and then curled each end around the bars and pulled with all its tiny might, but it was no match for the sturdy peasant craftsmanship.... after a moment, it sagged in defeat.

      The Apprentice's heart cracked at the forlorn mustache, but he had little time to fret as the leader of the group of rabble stepped forward.

      "So, Percy, we finally have you right where we want you. You will pay for the devastation you have brought upon us!" The burly man roared.

      "I am not Percy!" The Apprentice retorted swiftly. "Do you not realize that I am a good two feet shorter than that old sorcerer?"

      "A likely story!" the leader cried.

      "He has a point, Bronus," A shorter man to the leader's left said. "He is shorter."

      "That's because I am the Apprentice! I have slain the evil vile and unsanitary Percy using his own mustache!" The Apprentice held his head high.

      "Impossible!" Bronus retorted. He crossed his burly arms and stared at the Apprentice. "Although, I do recall seeing a body at the base of the mage tower. "Could it really be?"

      "It is!" The apprentice answered. "I have destroyed him! Look closely at me, for I am a dwarf and am in no way Percy!"

      "Give us a minute." Bronus stepped back and drew in the others around him into a makeshift huddle. After several moments of murmuring they repositioned themselves. "After careful inspection of the evidence, we have voted in favor of you note being Percy, with only one person abstaining. Bronus shot a glare at the oldest member of the bunch, a crotchety looking old geezer with a long white beard and a nearly bald head. "Karl?"

      "What? I can't hardly see?" Karl, the old man, responded in a huff.

      "Who are you?" the apprentice demanded suddenly. "You do not sound like peasants to me!"

      "That is because once, long ago, we managed to steal a mustache of intelligence from the great Percy. We broke up the hair, weaving some some of it into each of our twelve heads. That gave we the members of PAT, the ability to become smarter than the others."

      "PAT?" The apprentice frowned, his naked lip twitching in remorse at his missing mustache even as it still raged against the cage bars next to him.

      "Aye, Peasants Against Percy's Tyranny," Bronus responded.

      "Shouldn't that be PAPT?" the Apprentice queried.

      "Don't be foolish. PAPT doesn't spell a word." Bronus arched an eyebrow. "If you truly Percy's slayer, then what are your plans?"

      "To set the people of Kraphaven free!" The apprentice frowned. "I know of the beasts Percy used to keep you under control and I am morally obliged to slay each and every one of them!"

      "Then you truly are our savior! And we shall pledge ourselves to aid you in this noble quest!" Bronus dropped to one knee. The others followed suit. " All hail the apprentice!"

      "Um, could you brave peasants please release me?" The Apprentice arched one eyebrow at them. "And return the Hobnar Slackery to its rightful place on my upper lip?"

      "Of course, my apologies!" Bronus' round face flushed with shame. He sprang to his feet and moved to until the apprentice even as the others moved to free the mustache.

      The Apprentice watched as they opened the gilded cage. The Hobar Slackery leapt for freedom, arching end over end as it soared across the tanner's hut and onto the naked, quivering lip of the apprentice. Pure poetry in motion, but the apprentice would expect nothing less. The mustache snuggled the apprentice's face, and the apprentice let out a contented sigh.

      The peasants grabbed any weapon they could with which to serve. In but a moment, they were ready. Each now had a 15 lb Gunker slung over his shoulder. "Yes, of course," the apprentice thought, "the Gunker. Excellent, for the Gunker is indeed the Sausage of the Master!"

      “Onward!” He exclaimed to his followers." Let us defeat every foul creature that infests Kraphaven and all of Tardblivia."

      Actually, there's only one, Sir," Bronus replied. "I thought you said you knew every foul creature?"

      "Ah, I merely said I knew of creatures," The apprentice corrected.

      Bronus gave a confused look towards the apprentice, then to the ground. The subtleties of the High Tardblivian dialect would continue to haunt Bronus for years to come. For despite the intelligence enhancing mustache hairs weaved into his own brown mop, only experience could teach some things.

      The Apprentice led the men out of the Tanner's hut and out into the light of day. The others, sausages held high, followed after him. The hut stood on the southern edge of Kraphaven. It's wooden and thatched roof construction appeared similar to most of the homes and other buildings that formed the town's single street. One building, however stood out. In the red and green flecked bricks of the Ancients who once ruled these lands millenia ago, the structure rose a five stories into the bright sky. This was the town center, a tavern, an inn, a stable... and a place of learning. It was from there, that the Apprentice would rally the other villagers and from there he would gather the intelligence known about Percy's massive beast. And it was from there that they would launch their assault on the creature. He turned to Bronus.

      “Gather your people there in your town hall. I must return to Percy's... to my tower to gather the mustache menagerie. Only with its strength can we hope to defeat this enemy.”

      "As you wish...." Bronus paused. "But what shall we call you, brave apprentice? We do not know your name."

      "I am NazalChrom the Smarmy, heir to the Great Dwarven Fleece, Master of the Hoodunit Swamp and Lord of Graywheat."

      "Hail and well met, Nazalchrom... we shall know you as Nazalchrom of the great tower, protector of Kraphaven!" He raises his weapon in the air. The others follow suit. "We pledge our lives and our sausages to your cause!" The others mumbled their agreement! Now, to it!"