One Winter's Day

The sky was a moody grey that winter's day, but that meant little to the small person hidden beneath a canopy of snow-capped trees that had refused to shed their evergreen leaves. The wispy call of cold wind blowing past made for a hollow accompaniment to the happy humming of the man as the constant clatter of wheel against stone added a rhythm to his joyful tune.

He was dressed in a mishmash of clothing. At first glance, you would be forgiven for mistaking him for a raggamoffyn, if a bit too small to be a cloth golem. But if one were to look closely, they would find that his rags were in fact valuable fabrics from the many corners of the continent. The scarf that bounced on the wind was not for warmth, but to show his trading prowess with a nomadic desert people from the south. His boots were stiff and made of the leathery skin of a now extinct breed of adamantoise. But perhaps the item that spoke most loudly for his wealth was what was bouncing in the wooden wheelbarrow he pulled behind him. A fat pile of juicy red berries jostled about in the wagon, their positioning seeming precarious but they, in fact, were perfectly stacked to avoid even a single fruit popping out on the uneven road.

The man let out a hearty laugh, his reddened cheeks clearly tinted from mirth rather than from frostbite. "Those Smurfs have no idea how much humans will pay for a wagon of these babies!" He laughed on as he continued through the forest path, unaware that the grey sky was suddenly stung with a plethora of colors that would make an aurora same tame in comparison. All he could see above him was the white coat of winter, and the sudden tingling surge of energy that entered his body was attributed quickly to his high spirits.

It wasn't until he heard an unearthly snarl that he silenced his joyful laughter. He wasn't surprised that a creature in the woods would want to pilfer what seemed like easy prey, especially since no beast would take such an oddly dressed gnome seriously. However, this snarl was unlike any he had heard before. The sound seemed to twist his eardrums and distort how all the rest of the world entered his mind. He knew he would not be safe in the middle of the road, and he began to pull his cart to the side. A nearby burrow caught his attention, most likely the den of something that would be hibernating in the winter and thus would not bother him if he stayed quiet. But before he could pull of the road completely, he heard another noise.

A whimper, and the soft slap of bare feet against hard stone.

The gnome could hear the sobs and made out they were feminine, and his mind immediately raced to all the succcubi and dopplegangers he had been warned about by those who frequent the northern woods, but the Smurf Village he had just traded with was well out of their usual domain. The time he spent pondering this let the sound grow closer, and soon it became apparent that the sound was truly tinted with sadness rather than malice. A small girl ran into view, her feet red and cracked from running and her eyes matching them from the tears that were streaming down.

The gnome had never been one for children, but he could not ignore the girl as she began running closer, especially since another snarl came louder from the forest. He steps back on the road to try and approach the girl, but she is quick to make the first move. She slams her body into his side, despite the fact that the two were about the same size. Her tears begin staining the Bowmont wool shirt as she blubbered out a desperate plea between sniffles and sobs.

"Mah mother! Dey killed mah momma! Dey... Dey... Dey..." she tries to speak in between snorting up snot, but as the ear-twisting growl of the unknown creature grows closer, the gnome pulls her off the road and towards the den.

"We can worry about the specifics later, lassy. We gotta get off this road before whatever's making that awful sound comes to make a snack a us."

"Dey... Dey got a... beast. Like a dog, but meaner! Oh no.. oh no no no..."

"Keep it together little one, just help me get this cart in this cave."

The gnome grabs the handles of the wagon and starts slowly pulling it towards the den, but the young girl seems to be too lost in her own tears to help. That is, until a growl that traveled up her spine shot her into action. She begins to push from behind, helping the cart make it over the bumpy edge of the road and into the gutters where the den lie. However, as they moved into the darkness of the cave, the gnome smashes his foot into a jutting crystal, causing him to yelp in pain. The young girl panics, letting go of the cart and causing it to tip over on its side, spilling its contents all over the cave floor.

The soft squishes of broken berries are drowned out by the gnome trying to hold back his seething rage. His cheeks were red from mirth before, but now they were as dark as blood from his anger. The girl's sobbing grows louder, and she blubbers as she tries to scrape up any Smurf berries that seemed salvageable. The gnome fumes, clenching his fists and twisting his face to the point its features seemed lost in his beard and scarf, but the situation was too dire for him to blow his stack.

"Ah... Ah... Ah'm so sorry mister... Ah'll help... don't worry... it's fine..." Her voice quivered with even more fear now, for it seemed she had escaped one problem only to cause another. The gnome finally manages to calm down, closing his eyes and putting his arms rigidly to his side. When he speaks, it is with a flat tone that betrays no emotion.

"It's alright. Don't worry about it. Just stay quiet til that thing passes."

He sits down on the ground, scraping against another one of the crystals in the cave. The den seemed to be studded with them, making its likelihood as the winter home of a sleeping creature much less likely. The faint light pouring in from outside bounced around the cave's crystals, tinting it a dull purple that showed the worried face of the girl. She could not silence her weeps and sobs, and the anger he had suppressed was beginning to resurge. The snarls of the girl's pursuer suddenly become roars, and it was clear that whatever had been chasing her was now on the path outside. No footsteps could be heard, but the cave around them seemed to bend and undulate slightly, only enough to be noticed but not felt.

He realized he was dealing with something unusual, something not from this realm. The gnome reaches for one of the crystals and snaps it off with a hard kick-and-pull maneuver. The girl yelps from the sound, and a muted hush from the gnome causes her to leap back a little. Pulling a small silver implement from his pocket, the gnome begins etching symbols into the crystal.

"What are you doing?" The girl manages to gasp out, only for the gnome to shoot her an angry look for talking. Still, he responds.

"Carving runes. I don't know what you got chasing you, but it's gonna take crazy magic and a lot of luck to get it off our tails."

"Ah can help with that," the girl sputters, as she points her hand at the crystal and manages to briefly quiet herself. Small green sparks crackle off her fingertips, but no magic comes forth. Frustrated, she repeats the maneuver over and over. The gnome pushes her hands away to try and stop her from creating the easily seen green light, but the magic finally fires off, shooting into the gnome's hand and causing him to drop his tool. The tool clattering on the floor echoes throughout the cave, and suddenly a sound like a strong gust of wind mixed with the gasping of a choking man rushes into the ears of the two. The girl at first was happy she managed to perform the spell, but the sound and the sudden anger of the gnome caused her to begin her hysterics again.

The gnome pulls at his face in frustration. He had finished carving the runes, but whatever magic she did on him made him feel no different, except a bit angrier. He couldn't revel in the anger now though, as the creature outside could be heard breathing raspily. It wouldn't be hard for it to notice the cart trail into the cave, and the sobbing of the young girl would be a dead giveaway if it got any closer. Thinking quickly, he leans in close to the girl.

"Hey kid..."

"Kalisha... Mah name's Kalisha..." she manages to say defiantly, her sad face turning pouty after being called a child.

"Kalisha then... My name's Tallish. I'm a gnome, so I know all kinds of gnomish runes. Now..." he whispers, as he quietly pulls of his scarf, "I'm gonna write some runes on this that should make it so this beast can't see ya. If you can stay quiet, you'll be safe from it." Tallish pulls up one of the berry's rinds and begins smearing its juice on his scarf. He did not actually have any runes that could protect her from this ethereal beast, so he scrawled nonsense shapes on it, as indicated by the fact that the false runes ran instead of keeping their form. The juice began to seep into the fabric, dying most of the primarily yellow scarf a deep red. Kalisha seemed to be falling for it though, quieting down as she watched his hurried scrawling.

A wisp of green air flowed in through the cave entrance, dancing in the air like it had a mind of its own. It was right outside the cave, but it had not entered yet.

"Quick! Put it on." Tallish hands the cloth over to Kalisha, but rather than twisting it around her neck, she ties it around her head, hiding her hair beneath it.

"I guess that's one way ta do it..."

Given the false confidence of the runic headdress, Kalisha quiets down. The young girl's eyes dart from the cave entrance to Tallish anxiously. The gnome clutched the crystal he had carved into in one hand, watching the cave entrance exclusively.

"Ah'll pay ya back for those berries..." Kalisha says without thinking, her mind clear of the panic but not still not able to think clearly.

"Don't worry about it..." Tallish says, waving his free hand dismissively at her. A muzzle pokes in through the cave entrances, sniffing in the air and causing the space it was yanked from to twist and churn. The gnome's hands were sweating, but his grip on the crystal was tight enough to cut into his palm.

"Let's just hope this works..." Tallish mutters as he lunges towards the cave's entrance. Kalisha yelps as Tallish and the beast roar at each other. The gnome jams the crystal forward, his body glimmering green as the crystal meets the nose of the Hound...

Before the Spirits

It should come as no surprise really that a face that appears in brick walls would use one of those old cell phones that were the size of a brick. When he tossed it down, the heavy telephone smashed down on Tut-Tut’s head, sending up a cloud of sand and dust as it squished the mummified dodo’s head in. It did not have the kind of impact of a skull cracking though, more like a blanket with a lot of air under it being pressed down. The temporary time spirit staggered a bit… and then staggered a bit again, and again, and again. An almost infinite time loop of staggering occurs, but soon the little guy’s lights are out, and the confused attempts at undoing the damage to his head cease.

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...........


"WAKE UP TIME SPIRIT"

The eyes of the tiny mummy crack open, light flooding in and forcing him to shut them again. It was not the sterile light of electricity, nor was it the dim glow of a torch. It was a light as brilliant as a sun, and for all rights it should have blinded him, and had he been a mere mortal, he probably would have been.

Tut-Tut ventures to open his eyes again, and in doing so sees the source of the glow. He was no longer in the labyrinth with WALL!! and Meat Boy, but the area around him still had the ancient architecture one would expect from a ruin. However, this place had glowing marble columns and a ceiling that swirled into the cosmos. Around the perimeter of the room were many faces, very few familiar to the little mummy but their descriptions from his employer filling in the blanks. These were the Spirits. A living sewer pipe belched waste near to him, it's grotesque body somehow odorless in these halls. A being made of storms and lightning flickered in and out of view as its body flashed with brilliant light. Behind him, Tut-Tut could make out the Destroyers: strange titan like beings who serve as the fear that hangs over any spirit's head if they fail to do their job. The Time Destroyer was present this day.

As his eyes grew more accustomed to the light, he made out the spirit that was floating next to him, a face quite familiar to him. The Death Spirit: Phantomon. No doubt the Digimon had brought him here following his death in the arena, but the ghost seemed to be giving Tut-Tut no special treatment. Phantomon would not even look at the mummy as it scrambled to its feet, but when Tut-Tut finally looked towards the front of the room, he saw why.

Tut-Tut had only heard his voice once before, so he could not recognize it at first. The Spirits that control the universe were beings of immense power, and although the Destroyers were created to keep them in line, there had to be someone to regulate the Spirits and create Destroyers. At the front of the room stood a beast on a thousand legs, with a cobra like body that stretched far into the cosmic ceiling. On its frill was a thousand faces, and hundreds of them were staring directly at the tiny Time Spirit.

Tut-Tut fell backwards from shock, but Phantomon's arm was quick to catch him. The mummy trembled, the sight of the Ultra Spirit overwhelming the insignificant little creature that stood before it. When the Ultra Spirit spoke, five hundred mouths bellowed forth in unison, sending shivers down even the most hardened Spirit's spines.

"TIME SPIRIT, YOU CONTINUE TO DISAPPOINT."

Tut-Tut sputtered to try and respond, but he was drowned out by more of the Ultra Spirit's bellowing.

"YOU FAIL TO MAINTAIN THE TIMELINE. YOU DIE WITH NO PLANS FOR REVIVAL. THE DEATH SPIRIT CANNOT FERRY YOU BACK WITHOUT REASON, TIME SPIRIT."

Tut-Tut's bandages are soaked as he is brought to tears. The words pain him to hear both physically and emotionally, and standing behind him was the Time Destroyer, a being specifically made to eradicate spirits from existence if they fail to do their job or step out of line. The Ultra Spirit continued on as if it could not see Tut-Tut's distress.

"YOUR PREDECESSOR SEEMED FOOLISH TO PASS ON HIS POWER TO YOU...

BUT WE CAN SEE POTENTIAL IN YOU."

The words barely registered in Tut-Tut's mind, and even when they did, he could not collect himself. A second chance?

"YOU ARE MORE EFFICIENT THAN YOUR PREDECESSOR, BUT LACK HIS WILLINGNESS TO DO WHAT MUST BE DONE. YOU MUST BE WILLING TO DUE WHATEVER IT TAKES TO PRESERVE THE TIMELINE, TIME SPIRIT. PROVE YOUR WORTH. WE DO NOT OFTEN GIVE SECOND CHANCES, AND YOU KNOW WHAT WILL HAPPEN IF YOU FAIL."

The Time Destroyer shifts its weight behind Tut-Tut, causing the scared mummy to fall forward. He quickly bows repeatedly to the Ultra Spirit, frantically thanking it between mournful gasps. Tut-Tut would be spared, but the uneasy Time Spirit could no longer ignore the more brutal aspects of keeping the timeline in check. Phantomon payed his respects to the Ultra Spirit and dragged the crying mummy away, the strange council of Spirits disappearing behind him. As they floated through the nothingness, Phantomon spoke without looking at the mummy as it gradually calmed down.

"Killing is not easy Tut-Tut, and I cannot say it will get easier the more you do it. But death is necessary. You can get others to do it for you, but in the end, you must keep the timeline safe, no matter what it takes. If you fail to make use of the second chance the Ultra Spirit granted you, the Time Destroyer will be the least of your worries."

"I...I... I don't want to be Time Spirit anymore. I'm giving it back to Jumpropeman..."

"The only reason the Ultra Spirit spared you is because he prefers you to Jumpropeman. I would not risk angering it by giving the Jingle Specter back its powers. Besides, I am sure it will be easier for you now. That computer Jumpropeman had made for you should help."

"I don't know Phantomon... This is bigger than I ever thought... How do you do it?"

"With a hollow heart Tut-Tut... with a hollow heart."

Tut-Tut did not have time to ask Phantomon what he meant. A puttering RV bobbed into view in front of them, and they floated through the side of it, avoiding even Jumpropeman's detection. The body of the mummy was placed on a table, in surprisingly good condition for having been dead for almost 6 months.

"Goodbye Tut-Tut, and remember, you are not alone."

Phantomon lets go of Tut-Tut, and the mummy swirls back into his corpse, his mind going blank as it ties back with the corporeal brain and body...

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Alright Sneferu, I dig Mummy's Curses as much as you, but as cool as it is to rapidly age a guy, that's when you cross the line into my domain."

Voices. He hadn't heard voices in years. He hadn't heard in years either. Something was going on, but trapped in his sarcophagus, he could not make out more than just the muffled sounds of some sort of conflict. Pained groans came from somewhere, and a the sound of a bell ringing was shrill and painful even behind the door of the coffin. After the bell echoed, the sounds of the groans ceased, punctuated by what sounded like crumbling.

"We're done here. We need to do something about these Egyptians, Hatch-o-Hatch, they are far too close to the Sands of Time and I am tired of getting called out here to quell their mischief."

A different voice started this time, a rather high pitch, an accented one with an air of false sophistication.

"Do not worry sir, I can get right on that."

"Yeah, sure buddy, just like you were going to get on debugging the Tester unit and handling the mercenary salaries."

The high-pitched voice grunts in disapproval, but after an exasperated sigh from the first voice, they seem to both disappear. Still locked within his sarcophagus, he had no idea what had just transpired, or why he had awoken, but suddenly, his coffin was lifted up and jostled around. He let out a peep of terror, his mouth working for the first time in centuries. Suddenly, the sarcophagus clattered to the ground, and his body spilled out.

The light in the tomb was dim, and he had no idea what was going on in it. He saw the crumpled body of what had once been Sneferu, but before he could figure out what happened, a burlap sack was thrown over his head. He began squawking, but his vocalizations slowly shifted into words.

"HELP! HELP!" He had never spoken before, but the words seemed to come naturally to him. His thoughts were no longer locked in his head, and he was able to freely speak them for all to hear. Right now, it seemed like only one person was there to hear them, and he was clearly not someone who wished to help him.

The thing trying to put a burlap sack over his head was not human or animal. It's body had the shape and appearance of an overweight soft-boiled egg, and it was wrapped in a vest with around a hundred pockets. Peering out of these pockets were snakes of all kinds, many hissing as their keeper struggled to capture the loud mummy. The sack had in it already many items of gold and silver, and the bespectacled face of the strange egg man was curled in a nervous and angry scowl. The urgency of his motions was explained when a silvery blue ghost came through the wall of the tomb.

"Hatch-o-Hatch what's the hold- Damnit Hatch!" The ghost rang its bell, and suddenly time stopped around the egg creature. "I can't take you anywhere... You greedy little egg."

Not waiting to see what was going on, he scrambled away again, stumbling as it found its legs wrapped into strange nubs. It fluttered what were once it wings, but now that were contorted into strange arms. He had no idea what was happening, but his running caught the eye of the ghost.

"Hey little fella, look at you! You're the funkiest mummy I've ever seen. You supposed to be some kind of bird?"

"I'm a... a dodo." He says, still unused to the ability to speak.

"Look at that, old Sneferu's Curse gave his menagerie some of his magic. Well I got some bad news dodo, but your master is history, or I guess, history again. Double dead, if you will. And if you hadn't noticed, you're dead too."

He looked down at his body, and it all began to click. Sitting down in a way his old body never could, he began to take it all in, and he started crying.

"Oh geeze, uh... Didn't mean to hit you with it like that... Look, Dodo, uh... How 'bout we get you out of this dump? I think I know what will cheer you up (after I read up on Egypt and Dodos of course...)."

The ghost lifted him up, and was prepared to ring his bell when he spared a look back at the frozen body of the egg man.

"Consider this your pink slip, Hatch-o-Hatch." Time unfroze around the egg as the ghost teleported away with the Dodo, and in the darkness of the tomb, Hatch-o-Hatch realized where his greed and laziness had got him...

The dodo had no idea what was going on around him, but he was taking it surprisingly well considering. The ghost noticed it, surprised at how quickly it was calming down and growing accustomed to its strange new situation.

"Got a name there, Dodo?" it asked.

He pondered for a minute, but nothing came to mind. He shook his head no, unable to remember much of his life before death. He was still a bit surprised he was dead in the first place.

"Well, I'm gonna call you... Tut-Tut. It's like dodo, but with a mummy sorta name. Sound good?"

Tut-Tut nodded. He wasn't paying much attention anyway, instead looking at the strange swirling time floe around him as they traveled to their destination.

"Good! Well I'm the Jingle Specter, or you can call me Jumpropeman. Either works, but one certainly sounds better, right? I'm a Time Spirit, I go around fixing time and stuff. Your owner Sneferu was tampering with it while using his magic to curse tomb raiders, so I had to fix him up. Didn't expect his animals to be alive again too."

Jumpropeman continued talking, seemingly happy to have found a new person to listen to him. Tut-Tut's willingness to listen to JRM's ranting would prove to be his greatest asset, for as Jumpropeman went through new candidates for assistants after ditching Hatch-o-Hatch, he always found himself thinking aloud towards the little mummy. Tut-Tut slowly grew into the role as assistant, and despite his unease with his mummified body and the ever present shock of the world of being a Time Spirit's assistant, Tut-Tut proved to be the perfect anchor to JRM's wildness.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~




...........


"Wake up Tut-Tut."

The eyes of the tiny mummy crack open, light flooding in and forcing him to shut them again. This time it was the sterile light of electricity, and the faint shadow of a memory floats away from his mind as he leaves his dreams and reenters our world. When his eyes opened, he was greeted by three huge smiles: the near toothless and slightly slanted grin of Whitey, the long green bar of a grin of Mr. Chips, and the biggest of all: Jumpropeman's massive black smile. As soon as the mummy's eyes were open, he was scooped up in a hug by the Jingle Specter.

"TUT-TUT'S BACK BABY!"

The three all begin celebrating and cheering, with Tut-Tut still trying to adjust his mind to the setting. He was alive again, and back with his friends. In the back of his mind the Ultra Spirit's order and Phantomon's words still echoed, but as Jumpropeman pulled him over to some rather old Ful Medames and tea, Tut-Tut's mind was pulled back to reality.

When Jumpropeman spoke, it seemed to echo an earlier time.

"Eat up there buddy, let's try and forget all that bad stuff with some treats!"

He couldn't eat it that first time all those years ago, and he still couldn't it now, but Tut-Tut knew what it meant. The mummy pulled JRM in for a hug, tearing up once more, just happy to be back and alive again.

Theoretical Uncle Greg backstory

(For a while now, I have been joking about the concept of the character of Uncle Greg, an uncle to the Sarah sisters based off the surprisingly buff White Wizard sprite of FF1

Although he has mostly existed as a joke, I have in my spare time developed a perfectly serious and compatible backstory for this character, and although he may never come to be because of the dangerous politics of introducing Sarahkin, I thought I'd share it with ya'll)

Uncle Greg, or as he was originally known, White Mage, was somewhat conflicted when he was growing up in Mysidia. His older brother, the mage later to be known as Helios, had sought a career in being a White Mage, and Greg felt the pressure of those around him to pursue the magical arts as well. He had no real idea of where he wanted to head in life, so White Magic seem just as good a future as any. However, as he learned more and more White Magic, he grew unimpressed with the magic's use in battle. It was only when he mastered the offensive spell Holy that he truly discovered his passion.

Greg liked to battle, not to sit back and heal those who fought. But at this point in his life, he had already become a master White Mage, to the point he was promoted to the position of White Wizard. With the role came his inclusion in a powerful adventuring party, where he was expected to back up his Knight and Ninja allies rather than joining in the battles themselves. He would often charge in against his allies' advice with his weak weapon solely for the sake of breaking the monotony of healing, and it came to a point where they just stopped buying him weapons.

That didn't stop Greg though. Greg would rush in with just his fists to deal final blows to near dead monsters, and soon his part became fed up with his antics. They sought a new healer, leaving the White Wizard to wander the world alone...

It was during this time of traveling on his own he found his identity. Shirking the name of his role, he finally assumed the name Gregory, although he insisted people call him Greg due to his incredibly friendly and jovial nature. Gregory, he thought, was just for sounding important when he had to intimidate opponents, whether or not that held true is debatable.

Greg spent much of his time honing his body, trying to make up for his lack of weapons by defeating weak monsters with his bare hands. One day though, he bit off more than he can chew when he stumbled across a strange machine with laser weaponry. His fists could do nothing to the metal hide of the monster, but he was saved by a strange man who fended off the machine with his fists alone.

The man turned out to be a Monk named Yang. Yang had noticed Greg's robes and figured him for a white mage whose adventuring party must have fallen in battle. Yang took Greg in, and for a while, Greg returned the favor by serving as a healer for the Monk as Yang repelled monsters from the nearby settlements. Greg was once again preoccupied during battle though, watching Yang overcome his body's limitations rather than focusing on healing. The White Wizard was slowly forgetting the magic he learned, replacing it instead with knowledge of how to use his body for battle.

One day, he admitted to Yang he no longer wished to be a mage, hoping for the Monk to train him as a pupil. Yang accepted, but the vigor with which Greg approached the training shocked him. Greg would push his body beyond its breaking point, often injuring himself during training. Greg would quickly heal himself up though, but Yang saw the self-destructive behavior of his overeager student, so the Monk claimed he had taught Greg all he could.

Greg went peacefully, believing the lie, but still believing he could push his body further. Greg would exercise and train to the point he would often break bones or tear muscles, only for him to heal himself up and continue. Soon, he had reached what seemed like his limit. Greg finally felt strong enough to outshine even Yang in the realm of hand-to-hand combat.His ability to push beyond his bodies limit with the aid of his white magic was what made him so powerful and dangerous.

Greg had kept in contact with his brother, although the letters were sparse due to the circumstances involving a wandering and training brawler. It was the news of a wedding that drew Greg homeward, where he would try to reconcile his failure as a White Wizard with the leaders of Mysidia, to the point where he was willing to renounce the title to maintain the dignity of the rarely given position.

However, Greg could not resist combat, and on the way to Mysidia, he fought nearly everything he'd see. He defeated monsters, wrestled bears, and even took on a few bets in friendly combat, but his desire to take on all comers would prove to be his undoing.

A strange man dressed in robes had heard of Greg through his conquests. This man had dark plans, and he had been systematically eliminating threats to their execution. A powerful warrior like Greg was bound to catch his eye. He challenged Greg while the former White Wizard was setting up camp during the twilight hours. Greg eagerly accepted, dropping his camping gear and allowing his challenger to get in the first punch.

A hand quickly clasped Greg's shoulder, the hood of the man's robes falling back and revealing not a face, but a strange swirl of magic and runes. Greg felt his body shifting into a similar form, and before he knew it, he had disappeared off the face of the planet.

Helios had thought Greg had avoided the wedding by choice, still wrapped up in a world of self-betterment rather than caring about those around him. The discovery of the abandoned camp site later made him regret these bitter thoughts. Mysidian officials declared Greg dead, honoring him in the halls as a great White Wizard.

But Greg had not died. His body, now a swirl of letters and magic, floated through the ether. Many other warriors floated through this world as well, but they lacked a certain trait that made Greg different. Greg had valued the betterment of his body over all else, it's true, but being warped into this formless being had caused such a great rage in the former mage that he was able to channel the magicks of his body to recreate his human form.

However, when he had returned to his body, he found that he was no longer anywhere near home. Uncle Greg began to search for a way home, but he soon found that if he lacked concentration, his body would return to its ethereal form. Greg had always skimped over Yang's lessons on meditation in favor of the physical training, and now he was forced to relearn mental discipline if he hoped to maintain his precious body.

It is hard to say where he is now, but he still journeys in search of his lost world, hoping to finally see his brother and his new bride.

(I am not sure if this completely melds with Gooper's ideas about Mysidia, but this was more a thought exercise than anything. I'd love to RP Uncle Greg, but I would hate to step on his toes and ruin the amazing things he's done with the Sarahkin)

The Fool

Chocolate Bars.

Chocolate was hardly the best material to build the bars to a prison cell with, and based on the gaping hole in between them, they definitely did not do their job. However, this peculiar cell somehow still had one inmate in it, a miserable looking fellow sitting on a warm bench covered in marks.

The bells on his hat jingled merrily as he sunk his head low. The only prisoner in the Pungeon of Looney Land had no guard to hold him in and no traps impeding his escape, but still he remained in his cell, his sullen face contrasting with the whimsical decor of what was meant to be his place of imprisonment. The only sound were the muted laughter of some people upstairs, their cackling loud enough to break past the dampening layers of stone between the main floors and the basement levels. To escape, the prisoner would have to climb the stairs into this chambers brimming with laughter, and that is why he chose to stay in his cell after only one attempt at escape.

At all hours, the laughter raged on. There seemed to be no sleep for his captors, but he knew all too well what he was getting into when he first came to Looney Land.

Jokerton was dressed in all the staples of court jesterhood. His goofy shoes and loud colors made him seem like a perfect fit for a land full of humor and mirth, but beneath his cap n' bells was a face frozen in a persistent frown. Perhaps this might have not been a deal breaker if his face did not match his mood. Jokerton was hardly full of a ton of jokes, in fact, he had never told a joke in his life. Yet still, he was a Fool, and with his inability to play this role is what had brought him to Looney Land in the first place.

The jester did not want to be miserable. He wanted to be the clown who could make people laugh, but he could never wrap his mind around humor. He had sought help from all over, and many times he had ended up in worse situations then the one he was in right now, but few of them could match the sting of being held captive by laughter when laughter was what he sought. The citizens of Looney Land were eager to let him in when they saw his attire, but when he failed to follow up his arrival with even a smirk, he was brought before the king.

Based on his current predicament, it is quite clear how that went.

Jokerton let out a long sigh. Sleep deprivation was not helping his mood, and even if he dared to dry, he might miss his morning meal. Their insistence on a fast breakfast often meant the meal break ended before he even awoke. So for now, the jester could do nothing but think, pondering himself ever deeper into the mulligrubs that had been his reason for imprisonment in the first place.

Reopening Old Wounds

During our time together as ZFRP, there have been quite a few moments that have ruffled the feathers of the main group of RPers. We are all heavily invested in the RP and characters we have created here together, so sometimes when controversial issues come up, there is much outcry and even rebellion against them. Lately, we have chosen to gloss over some of our more difficult times, choosing instead to move on and let the past be in the past, but I believe there was an issue we never fully addressed.

The concept of Retcons have always been a big pet peeve of mine, especially when the retcon is put in place simply because the content "didn't sit well" with public opinion. I am sure by now most of you already know the incident I shall be addressing, as it was clear back then just how controversial it was by its almost complete removal from our collective canon. We are still recovering from the incident, but I don't think it can be put to rest until its been properly addressed and walked through.

After the post that initiated the incident, it was clear by the actions of the other users on the forum just how intrusive they thought it to be. I am, of course, referring to that moment when we had all our characters gathered together to watch a show and another character just showed up to derail the affair with something that distracted from the performance and the character interaction. It was glossed over for the most part, people choosing instead to act as if it never happened. Particularly guilty were Gooper and M Sheep, who continued to RP in a manner that almost seemed to spite the user's contribution. Only a small lip service was paid to the event by Gooper while everyone else was content to ignore it ever happening. The character who committed the act also seemed to almost disappear from RP after that, as if they too were part of this unspoken retcon.

I am, of course, referring to that pivotal moment in Year 2: Pit's performance of Othello. At the concession stand, the character Devil Ed placed down a gold bar to pay for everyone's food, yet only Widow Maker seemed to acknowledge it at all, and even then it was dismissively hidden behind the antics of Celestia and Father Squid in badgering the concession stand for its predatory prices. Clearly, paying with the gold was an overstep on his part and limited the potential of RP during that moment, but for us all to brush it aside so callously because of this is the antithesis to RP itself. Not everything that happens is supposed to go as planned, and Devil Ed paying with the gold could have opened new opportunists for interesting RP events and character interactions.

Clearly Devil Ed came from wealth, and he could have easily paid of debts that characters later accrued. This would allow our group to participate in more expensive activities and the tough issue of collateral damage that underlines the unspoken side effects of awesome battles could be waved away. Even more interesting would have been to explore how Devil Ed got such wealth. Perhaps he was more of a Devil then he seemed, and who knows where Devil Ed had gone with that thread had we acknowledged his generous use of wealth. Instead, we chose to focus on the haggling of two separate characters. Who knows what they would be like had they instead follow Ed's plot thread instead of making one of their own? I suspect RP itself might look entirely different if we had gone forward with allowing Ed to pay for our snacks at the theater.

Now, you have listened to my main rant, but an even larger retcon lies underneath it all. The whole affair of paying for snacks was manufactured in direct confrontation with the events the GM (Steel Komodo) described!

"Snacks are freely available as the ushers come round with them"

This was explicitly stated right before the intermission where this disorganized mess of continuity occurred. Although I am not privy to the minds of my fellow RPers, the post was short and succinct, with one of the only pieces of information presented being the gratis nature of the concessions. This WHOLE AFFAIR never had to happen, and it instead weaved a twisted mess of continuity that we are still trying to sort out.

I am sorry if bringing this up has angered anyone. I know it was a sore spot for many of us, and even after trying to sort it out, I believe I might have only made it worse. How can we marry these three threads together into one consistent event in our history? How can we do so without hurting the world-building of Steel Komodo or the character development of Ed, Celestia, and Father Squid? There are no easy answers, but hopefully by reopening this old wound, I can inspire some serious discussions between us where we can finally find out the truth behind what happened between acts of Pit's performance of Othello.