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 3: The Apprentice Comes to Town

      Dark rain beat against Nazalchrom’s head as he paused to look up at the tower. He wondered what would await him. Surely, Khaf'Zil'Edi, who had done nothing to aid him as the peasants had kidnapped him, might attempt to take the menagerie for himself. That of course, would do him no good, for it was a rare man, or dwarf who could handle the awesome power of even the most basic mustache. Still, the fool might try to stick a dagger in his back. He would need to have the Slackery at the ready.

      The door hung ajar and all lights in the tower had been extinguished. As he gaited towards the portal, he tripped over Percy’s inert form and nearly fell. Only the counter-balancing of the quick-witted Slackery prevented him from serious injury.

     “Curse you, old man. Even in death you mock me!” He kicked at Percy’s head for good measure and continued towards the door.

     He entered slowly, carefully, cautiously. He would not be taken unawares nor would he allow anyone to surprise him. Nary a sound echoed throughout the entry as he stepped inside. The massive vaulted ceiling of the main hall rose above him, dark, brooding, and foreboding. The eyes of the stuffed, Great-Horned Podagra seemed to watch him as he strode carefully, secretly across the foyer. Shadows danced against the tapestries depicting the indignant mating rituals of the Ancients. Nazalchrom had to force himself to look away from their hypnotic undulations.

     Finding none of the servants on the first floor, he strode up the spiral stairs snaking his way up the tower to his chamber and the waiting menagerie. As he turned the corner and spied the room, he realized three things instantly; the door was open, the glass case of the menagerie was swinging open and closed in the cold chill wind blowing in through the window, and a dismembered arm lay on the floor next to the Waxed Double-handled Pluxon. He hurried inside, sure that there was no one left alive in the tower and witnessed a trail of blood drawing a ragged line to the window. He recognized the deep purple sleeve on the arm as belonging to none other than Khaf'Zil'Edi, his reluctant servant.

     “So Khaf'Zil'Edi, you disobeyed my strictest rule and tried to take the menagerie for yourself. Now you have paid the price.”

     It opened with two clicks as the clasps released their hold on the cover. He studied it for a moment, noting that it would only hold twenty mustaches, so he would have to choose wisely. He arched one eyebrow, turned to the glass menagerie and observed his furry minions.

     Bronus stood in front of the roaring fire in the Intricate Flagon Tavern watching the boisterous crowd of Kraphaven’s citizens. They occupied every table in the low-ceilinged common-room, every stool along the bar to the left, and every empty place in between. Huck, the rotund barkeep in the greasy apron moved back and forth behind the bar while his daughter, Bazuma, and her ample cleavage serviced everyone in the main room. The rest of PAT stood by Bronus’ side. The constipated rumblings of the townsfolk indicated their increasing displeasure at having to wait.

     “Where is this savior of yours?” One angry old woman cried, her single tooth glinting in the torchlight.

     Bronus looked around nervously, wondering what could be keeping NazalChrom. The air around him suddenly grew as cold as the northern Gibli in the middle of Fundif. There was a whoosh, a loud popping followed by a shrill scream as if time itself had been torn asunder. Suddenly Nazalchrom appeared in front of them.

    “Behold, I am arrived!” Nazalchrom roared.

     The crowd gasped as he slung the mustache case in front of him and flipped it open. The Xandron Gofly (also known to the College of Chaetology as the mustache of teleportation) leapt from his face, while the Hohbart Slackery skittered up his arm and nestled under his vacant nose. He whirled around, displaying the mustache to the waiting crowd.

    Nearly the entire crowd in the inn stood and cheered, the throng’s thunderous applause nearly shook down the rafters of the inn. Nazalchrom’s eyes wandered to Bazuma’s heaving cleavage, which was agitated by the thunderous tremors of applause. His mind wandered to the memory of the undulations of the ancient pornographic tapestries lining the tower walls. He suddenly felt an intense burning sensation coming from the Slackery. In order to wield the true power of the Slackery, it demanded that he remain chaste and would know no time for such lascivious pursuits.

     As his thoughts quickly focused, the Slackery eased its grip.

     As the townspeople settled, the old one-toothed crone remained unimpressed by Nazalchrom’s follicular sorcery. She crossed her thin arms over her chest and glared at him through milky eyes.

     “How are you so different from that last miserable Torkbottom that came in here waving those mustaches around?” she asked, her rasping voice unnerving even to one such as Nazalchrom.

     Nazalchrom leaned towards Bronus. “Who is that?” he asked, his voice barely a whisper.

     "Oh, that's Old Lady Pancetta,” Bronus replied. “She lost her husband, who was known around these parts as Old Man Pancetta, in the Battle of Capillose Bay during the Great Coiffure Wars."

     Nazalchrom stroked the Slackery sagely.

     “I see I shall have to convince them as I convinced you, my anti-tyrannical cohort." He turned back to the increasingly restless crowd. "Please, please, good people. I am in no way like the foul and dreadful Percy. It is impossible, for I am far too short to be as evil as he."

     The crowd remarked amongst themselves that he indeed was far shorter than their previous overlord. Even Old Lady Pancetta had to concede to Nazalchrom's flawless logic.

     "Fear not, good people," Nazalchrom continued. "I shall endeavor to use the menagerie with great temperance and responsibility. I have rid you of one tyrant, and now I intend to clear Kraphaven of the wretched Percy's foul beasts!"

     Bronus leaned in towards him. "Actually, there's still only one beast, sir."

     “Yes of course, Bronus. I merely endeavored to show the gravity of the situation. This single, terrible beast shall meet its doom at the whiskers of fate!” Then to the crowd, “Please my good and gentle folk, describe this fiend so that he might feel my wrath!”

     “It saw it, I did!” A rail thin man in tattered, dirt smeared jerkin and hose spoke up. “Tis a huge flying lizard with wings!”

     “Aye!” Huck agreed. “And it breathes fire!”

     “What you are referring to is clearly a Dragon!” Nazalchrom exclaimed. “A most foul creature!”

     The crowd laughed hysterically.

     “There’s no such thing as dragons!” Lady Pancetta guffawed. The crowd mumbled its agreement.

     Nazalchrom blinked in confusion and looked to Bronus for help. Bronus, for his part, merely shrugged as if it were not worth trying to argue with such uninformed foolishness.

     “Regardless of what we call this beast, surely a rigorous application of the Science of Cosmetology will provide us with answers as to the origins of the creature!” He paused to view the crowd, sensing their sudden confidence in him. “Tell me, brave peasants, where do we find this monster?”

     “No one knows that. It comes when it comes,” Bronus answered.

     “I saw it come whenever Percy waved his mustaches around!” Lady Pancetta added.

     “Excellent!” Nazalchrom raised his arms. “Someone must retrieve Percy’s broken body and bring it here! We shall use him as bait!” he pointed with both hands towards the door and imagined his pose to be awe inspiring to the rabble.

     “This is a perfect task for PAT!” Bronus added his voice. “At arms!”

     “Gunker corpse retrieval detail stand ready!” Karl shouted, hefting his gunker sausage over one arm.

     The entirety of PAT leapt to attention, slinging their sausages on their shoulders and standing in a perfect formation.

     “Ready, sir!” one of the men, a boy barely old enough to shave, shouted.

     “Well done, lad!” Karl nodded his approval.“There goes Gybblete smooching Karl’s bottom again!” Tukumuku, a heavily muscled, leathery skinned man from the Eastern Deserts laughed heartily. The peasants around them guffawed merrily.

     “Double time!” Bronus raised his sausage again, pointing towards the door.

     The men moved out of the door swiftly, the peasant mob followed closely on their heels, cheering all the while. The tavern shook as they trampled towards the exits, further agitating Bazuma’s mountainous cleavage. Nazalchrom took notice for another fleeting second. In an instant, the Slackery asserted its dominion over his misguided libido. In a fit of anger, the Slackery flung its hairy tendrils into his nose, causing his head to arch and his body to fly backwards into Bronus.

    “Easy my friend.” Bronus pushed him back into an upright position. "You've had quite a busy day. What say we await Percy's corpse and then retire to the bar to partake of a mug of the barkeep's finest Snissus?"

     "Yes, of ocurse" Nazalchrom responded as he finished righting himself. "A mug of Snissus raised to our many journeys ahead!"