Fanfiction:V Translanka Magness 5
<1025A.D.>
TEMPORAL VORTEX REPORT
-REPORT NO. 5-
[UNKNOWN TRANSFER RATE, SYSTEMATIC DATA MALFUNCTION]
CRYPTIC TEXT SYNCH RESULT – MULTIDIMENSIONAL TIMELINES
CODE – “MAGNESS�
CODE EX. – “TRI ZED�
There are too many people; the single most prevalent thought on everyone’s mind who was celebrating or traveling to go and celebrate the great “United Festival�. The first steps toward absolute unification had already begun. It was a new millennia and a whole new era for the world. But there were still too many people all getting bunched up next to another horde of other people all under the pretense of “having a good time�.
Very few Mystics joined in the celebration. Of those that traveled, many were often distracted by other towns and cities and people along the way. Nothing so far in the history of the world had ever happened quite like this. Something was bound to happen, something bad, something very, very bad.
Every precaution was set though. Guards positioned everywhere imaginable; in and around town, around the castle, the castle entrance, the ferry docks, and even all over Zenan Bridge (both sides and even a couple lone guards in the center!). A couple guards were also dispatched to the Ashtear Bridge & Island. It seemed like nothing could go wrong. Everything would go wrong.
He spied the profusion of people-mostly lower class-long before he saw the bridge. Sticking to the forest edge, he could easily avoid the flocks of festival-goers, but he didn’t know what to do when he got to the bridge. There was likely to be security of some sort. An explanation might be in order. He didn’t think of one, if it was needed, he’d have it by then, or he’d make it up on the spot. He was never one to be jolted by authority. If nothing else, he could always try and go around the bridge somehow.
The trees were thinning and the people were thickening at the bridge entrance. He could see seven pick-pockets discreetly on the make, three prostitutes covertly selling the wares, and two phony craftsmen peddling their finely fashioned paste jewelry. This is the future? He thought to himself; such depravity, such filth and excrement. It was an ugly future to him, and that’s all he saw.
She saw something different; a big mark or possibly another tradesman. Either way, she wanted a part of the action. What was his deal; the lone standing figure, assessing the crowd? It was obvious that he was on the job. He was a professional like she had never seen-and never would-one that actually went in with a plan. A real “kick ass and forget the questions� kind of guy, and she knew it, right then and there.
What did that mean to her? Well, it could have meant that she finally found the one person she could share her profession with. It could have meant that she finally found a worthy partner, an ally with brains as well as brawn. It could have meant she found a possible love interest (he was handsome enough, in a gritty, pale, bad-boy sort of way). It could have meant a countless number of things. But to a thief, another thief-especially one better then you-is but one thing; just another boob with the goods.
She smiled her big goofy smile as she slinked up a ways from behind him, hidden in forest. There is nothing more attractive to any reputable thief then easy money. That is of course, unless the easy money is far off in a forest all by its lonesome.
How dare the foolish girl try so haphazardly to sneak up on him? It was absurd. He hadn’t turned around to see her, there really was no need. She didn’t seem to notice the copious amount of sound coming from her dreadfully poor sneak job. The world still held its own little surprises for him, and he still hated it for doing so.
What did this pitiful excuse for a pick-pocket expect to do? He could smell her even before he heard her noise. She was very bad at this it seemed. It almost made him feel like giving her a handout for the mockery of a performance that she was putting on.
His brow furrowed in contempt and the kind of slight anger that parents get when their child has broken another glass or plate. How could so many of these daft dullards still be alive? Surely they’d have to die out before they reach any considerable age, right? You’d think they’d be weeded out long ago based on sheer genetics.
He didn’t see it coming; almost didn’t have enough time to react. He was thinking too generally; getting lost in semantics. He had let his guard down; living too far out of the moment.
The long, curved, blade weapon flew past him in a flash; he had precious little time to twist to avoid it. The whiz of the blade cutting the air resounded in his ears as it flew past, coming within mere centimeters of his face.
Something else though; at his back? Quick shifting movements, something was...Stolen!
The weapon shimmered and flashed into the trees going steadily upwards. It was circling back from high in the sky, moving back towards the girl, now running swiftly to the bridge. It was going to be very messy, and he knew it.
She was a teenage girl, similar in age to Marcy, but a few inches shorter and just a touch thinner. Her long and sharp scarlet hair was tied into two big braids that curved down to her back. She was wearing pumpkin-colored short shorts and a matching tube top, both things Gil had never been exposed to in any timeline previous. He was bemused and appalled at the world’s downward spiral from fashion and dignity.
He could see-and thusly had no need to check through his things-plainly enough what she had snatched from his person. Clutched in her right hand, like candy in a greedy babes hand, was quite possibly his most prized and cherished of possessions; his Amulet. It was the Amulet his sister had given him. It was one of the last solid objects he had that linked him with that past, with her.
Sudden and furious anger swelled within him. No guards would stop him. She would die most terribly for her impertinence. The utter insolence of it all! She was far from lucky in getting that of all the items in his sack.
The girl caught the boomerang mid-step and Gil gave chase without further ado. Intense flames burned in his eyes-blind with rage. No, not blinded, concentrated; concentrated rage. Crowds of people parted like the Red Sea, not for him, but because of him. It was almost as if they could sense a strong wind emanating from him, blowing and directing itself at the girl. They shifted out of the path of this powerful force. If they had not, they would have been trampled by it. People closest were immediately silenced by his shocking look. Others asked quick questions like ‘what’s going on’ and ‘could someone move so I could see’.
“Hold it there missy. What’s the rush?� The guard asked inquisitively, pushing her back a bit while still holding on to her slender, naked shoulders. It was his job to look out for suspicious people going across the bridge. His partner stood at his side, examining the crowd in-between glances at the girl in her skimpy outfit.
She had made a move to the bridge in an attempt to lose him in the crowd, but after a quick look back, it seemed as though he didn’t get lost in crowds. She also had slammed into the tall and burly guard as she was looking back and running onto the first planks of the bridge. The guard she bumped into looked like an average Truce sentry; cobalt-blue uniform and a small but still high-powered Ashtear-designed pistol (he had a fairly old model) strapped to his hip.
“What’s that ya got there?� His partner asked from over his shoulder. The Amulet had let out a small shine, as if drawing the guards’ attention to it. She had her boomerang tucked in her belt, hidden behind her small open-breast vest. Normal boomerangs are just kids’ toys, but anything with a sharpened metal blade would have likely drawn the awareness of the guards.
“It’s nothing! You’ve got to let me past!� She said, on the verge of shouting. She made a few quick glances over her shoulder. In the near distance, she could see large groups of people moving back-and-forth. He was getting closer. She didn’t have time to make up pretty excuses or to flirt with the sentry, “There’s a man. He’s trying to kill me!�
The guards shared a quick glance at each other. This was a common line given to them from passing thieves. It was a very bad line, especially when you’ve got something shiny in your arms and you’re acting apprehensive. It had never worked before. She knew this and funnily enough, what she had said was wholly true, although she wasn’t entirely aware of that useful bit of information.
“Well then, let’s wait for him, and see if we can’t straighten these things out then, shall we?� The sentry stated like the tediously memorized line that it was. He didn’t loosen his grip; in fact, he made it a bit firmer. She made a few quick glances at the weapons at their hips again.
Could she make it? These two guards looked like shmucks. She was sure she could take them out with one or two flips of her rang. That would cause quite the disturbance though. She’d be stopped just half-way across the bridge again. There was no way out.
She saw the heads parting. Then they stopped. People went about their business; moving about, chattering, taking quick glances at her. Her eye focused and unfocused, scanning the crowd, anticipating the confrontation, but it didn’t happen. Two or three minutes passed by.
“Look here, missy, there doesn’t seem to be anyone following you.� The sentry said, kind of disappointed himself, “So stop wasting our time and go about your business.�
The guards returned to keeping an ever watchful eye on the swarm of people. She went along with the flow, going towards Guardia across Zenan Bridge. It was more farming area and grassland after that; lots of wide-open space.
She had sought refuge with troops of some sort; watching out for people exactly like him. He had to stop. He needed no further trouble from Guardian (or whomever) troops. He planned on seeing Lucca and only Lucca. He didn’t want to see the kid-he was now a prince-or the princess. Dealing with people in that manner, royalty especially, was never his strong suit ironically enough.
That didn’t matter though; the guards were mainly looking out for pickpockets, swindlers, and anybody starting a ruckus. To them, he just looked like a weird Mystic or possibly a hermit. But if he tried anything, he had no doubt that they’d be all over him. So he got by unnoticed, for the most part.
The bridge was a long one, very simplistic, but sturdy in design. He would have to follow her through the crowds over it, with the sun continuing to come up from the east and the wind, helpfully, from the north breezing straight past him from across the bridge. He could still smell her awful and assaulting perfume lingering in the air. She had stopped for some reason, so he stopped too.
There were various entertainment acts-clowns, jugglers, “magicians� and such-floating through the crowds and off to unsettled parts of the bridge. Peddlers were apparently allowed to set up shop directly on the bridge, so there were merchants selling their wares all along it; very brazen, bargaining merchants.
“The finest silk you’ll ever get the chance to purchase!� One pleaded.
“Secret Mystic brew guaranteed to get you women.� Another said.
“We’ve got an assortment of any kind of woman you need right here!� One replied. The two instantly got into an argument about whether people wanted to entice women or simply have them for a night. It was all somewhat unsettling to him. He made no attempt to hide the disgust he felt towards them all.
A large bellow came from behind Gil. The kind of laughter a father forces out when his boy’s made a really bad joke, so as not to hurt his feelings, “Pay no attention to these whore mongers and frauds. They’ll do no one no good.�
Gil turned to see a very large, solid, man at a booth filled with weapons of all design and all of very high quality. It was as obvious from his stature, his clothing, and his dark fire-burnt skin that he was a smithy. As if you couldn’t tell from the great metal tools that hung from his belt and the goods spread out before him.
His right eye was nearly a slit and a scar ran across it from the top of his forehead to the side of his cheek. He was a smith who was familiar with his weapons. He was an old man, in his late fifties now, gradually nearing the end of his rope really. A great grin seemed plastered on his face, as if it rarely ever left it. His hair was short and his beard was neat and trimmed.
The smithy offered his hand and, seeing as the girl had still not moved, Gil decided to take it, “Name’s Zappa, the world’s greatest and only traveling blacksmith!� His words were announced in such a way that he was actually advertising to anyone within earshot. His grip was strong and Gil pressed back with the same strength. Zappa’s grin only seemed to heighten and they loosened hands, “Fine grip lad, fine grip. I noticed your weapons...�
“I AM ZOAH, THE GREAT MAMMOTH, THE GRAND DRAGON, THE DISTINGUISHED DESTRUCTION ZONE, ZOAH THE CHAMPION!� A large-as advertised, true mammoth proportions-man roared. The word “CHAMPION� was pronounced in gaudy entertainment fashion as CHAM-PEE-UN. He looked very much like some kind of medieval professional wrestler in some regards.
Along with being utterly “ripped� in every which way (he even had a few random scars here and there), he wore a great iron mask resembling that of a lancer or dragoon that hid his facial appearance, and he also wore a wrestlers grotesque mini-brief thong underwear. From his belt hung a short length of cloth that covered from the top side of one leg, around his behind, and along his side to the top of his other leg, resembling a sort of three-quarter skirt.
“I NEED A VOLUNTEER!� He bellowed to the crowd in front of her, stopping her dead in her tracks. She, amazingly loud as Zoah seemed to be, didn’t hear him. She was in her own frightened escapist world. Get away. Get away. Get away as fast as you can. She managed to push past the blockade of people, “THANK YOU, GOOD GIRL! WILL ONLY BE A MOMENT!�
He burst with a great laughter as he took her-startled out of her trance-in his large hands. She had stepped forward, involuntarily volunteering.
She had only seconds to grasp the concept of what he was doing to her. He placed her onto a simple padded mat, lying on her back, and then placed a sort of little table over her mid-section.
“What the devil?� She asked in a small voice-very small in comparison to Zoah. Three enormous squares of rock-basically asphalt were placed atop the table at her waist. He walked out several dozen steps before turning back to her.
“PLEASE MISS! TRY NOT TO MOVE!� He shouted the words extra loud as if the short distance would have made it hard to hear him. If you could have seen his lips, you would have seen a great smile across them at his own words, “NOW, FOR THE FAMOUS GYRONIMO!�
The words were pronounced FAY-ME-US and GEE-RONEE-MOE before he took a run at her, somehow managed to vault himself twenty feet or so straight up into the air, spun crazily, and came down with a diving fist, that actually stopped a foot or so short above the rock.
He stood there frozen, as the crowds assessed this, wondering if he had failed and was just in a state of shock or shame or if...The rocks-all three-split and crumbled beneath the blow, even though it hadn’t made physical contact. The sheer strength of the blow was all that was needed. The table itself was perfectly intact. He let out a small laugh as his audience-they now were now his audience and they would all follow him onward toward the fair they had decided-clapped and let out their gasps of awe. He helped the girl up to her feet and patted a bit of the dust from her front.
She was in a very odd place, still piecing things together: the theft, the chase, the crowds, the guards, the stopping, and now this man. She knew it fit somehow. Somehow this all fit and she’d be alright if she could just figure it all out quickly enough.
“BEEN A GREAT HELP TO ME LASS, THANKIE-SAI!� He chuckled to himself a bit. Maybe this was it, she thought.
“You’ve gotta help me!� The panic in her veins struck her again, she could make out the crowds moving to make way again, further down the bridge from whence she came, “There’s a man back there who’s after me!�
His talk with Zappa had been useful. He learned a few things about the United Fair, happenings of Guardia & Porre, and most importantly about Lucca Ashtear. She was supposed to have a new exhibit at the fair, a whole tent to herself actually, taking the place of her old robotic cat-now turned house nanny for the kids-fight trainer: Gato.
It was supposed to be something overly advanced, as always. Something about contemporary mechanics of special dynamos or something, Zappa was big on smithing, but not on any other science, as he clearly stated. Zappa also happened to have exactly what Gil wanted, in exactly the right metal. It was well worth the seven thousand, nine hundred and eighty Gold, which he had to transfer from Zenny (fortunately Zenny trades remarkably well to Gold for being an older currency).
He picked up her trail. There was no way she was going to just stop him up here of all places just by standing still, or whatever the damn hell she was doing. He couldn’t let her ditch his Amulet (although he didn’t think she would, not really). It simply meant too much to him though. He passed by a disappointed looking crowd that had gathered around a little mat with broken rocks around the top of a little table. She had been there, right there, on the mat. She was doing something.
“I don’t think it was real. Could it have been real?�
“My word, the way that Zoah man did that, amazing!�
“That little red-haired girl didn’t look as if she knew what she was gettin’ herself into.�
He had stopped, closed his eyes, and was listening to the laughter and gossip-the mindless white noise-of the crowd around the mat. She was part of a demonstration; some kind of strong man show or act. Now she was gone, but (more importantly?) so was the strong-man. A quick pulse of irritation skipped across his left upper lip to the side of his nose.
People mashed and pushed around him now. There are too many people. He thought to himself. Shortly, at least, there will be one less.
...this world is populated by cretins...
