Are those the first demerits given on this thread? I guess it's hard to get through without a few.That's a personal best for ol' Wraggie!
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The Firebird - A Crux Fairy Tale
- Thread starter Jollyrei
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Oops, sorry, Jollyrei!Are those the first demerits given on this thread? I guess it's hard to get through without a few.
I didn't realise that you wanted this to be a demerit free thread!
The Last Chapter:
It was a little depressing, really. Here they all were, victorious over the evil Tsar, and apparently at the end of the adventure, and Eulalia the Firebird lay dead on the floor.
“Can’t you do anything for her?” Thessela asked Wragg.
“I would if I could,” said Wragg, “but it’s so long ago now, I’ve long since forgotten the spell. I could levitate her, or turn her into a cake, but I’m not sure that’s really called for.”
Phlebas sat on the floor, with Eulalia’s head in his lap. It’s really hard for that to be at all funny.
The only amusing thing in the room was Jollyrei, who stood like a surprised frozen statue. Barb was walking around him and poking him sympathetically, holding a candle close to him, hoping to thaw him out faster. Rodentsov, a squirrel once more, prodded him experimentally with his sword. The blade made a “tick” sound against Jollyrei’s thigh, but otherwise made no noticeable difference.
“Is this the end of the story?” asked Messaline at last.
“Bit of an anticlimax if you ask me,” said Rodentsov.
“I’m not exactly happy,” said Phlebas. “This is not what was supposed to happen. Did you know,” he asked Wragg, “that this would happen?”
“Not in the slightest!” said Wragg emphatically. “If I had known, I wouldn’t have proposed it. I loved her like a, well, not really like a daughter, but more as a really lovely lady friend, and I don’t know why I’m explaining myself like this. Anyway, no. I’m as upset,” he looked at Phlebas and reevaluated, “nearly as upset as you are.”
“We are all sad about this,” said Messaline. “We must have a spectacular funeral. All warrior women need such an ending. Before I was the princess, I was an amazon. I know how to do this. You!” she said to a couple of guardsmen that were milling about wondering what to do now that the Tsar was dead, “follow me.”
She swept out of the room, with the guards in tow. They seemed happy to have a task, and she seemed to be the only one still exercising authority. Her confidence filled the vacuum left by the late-Tsar. They followed Messaline.
“He’s still very cold,” said Thessela, touching Jollyrei’s hand.
“Yes,” said Barb. “Sorry. I may have been a bit, er, enthusiastic. Maybe we should get him out into the sunshine.”
“He’ll be alright,” said Rodentsov. “The princes hardly ever actually die in these stories.”
It was a rather strange procession. Phlebas went first, carrying Eulalia. Rodentsov followed, as guard of honour. Then came four guards carrying the statue-like Jollyrei on a wooden platform, with Barb hovering around them as if she was moving a sculpture exhibit. Wragg strolled along behind, looking thoughtful. At the back came Thessela, feeling a bit out of place again.
They finally all ended up in the old Tsar’s garden. Messaline was supervising the finishing touches to a large pyre in the centre of the small grove of golden apple trees. A guard was draping a black velvet cloth over the whole thing, presumably to give it a ceremonial feel.
Phlebas laid Eulalia on the pyre, and stepped back. He looked a bit stunned.
“We could put Jollyrei beside the pyre,” said Wragg to Barb. “He’d thaw faster.”
“He might burn,” said Phlebas.
“The best way to transfer body heat is to put the naked cold person under blankets with a naked warm person,” said Barb. She looked at Thessela, who seemed a bit surprised by the suggestion.
“Can’t really get those clothes off him,” said Wragg. “Everything’s frozen solid. Anyway, Thessela would probably freeze to death before we got him thawed.”
“It’s that or set him in lukewarm water for 20 minutes or so,” said Rodentsov.
“Lukewarm water?” asked Barb.
“Always works with roasts,” said Wragg. “If you want to cook a frozen roast, you put it in a pan of lukewarm water for 20 minutes…”
Barb stared at him with a raised eyebrow.
“I like to cook,” said Wragg. “It’s relaxing, and you can’t eat pastries all the time.”
“You’re a bundle of excitement,” said Barb.
“I’m not the one wearing a tapestry depicting a…” he looked at the tapestry, and any parts of it that provided any glimpse of Barb underneath it, “…is that a hunting party or a very bawdy folk dance?”
“There’s a fountain,” said Thessela helpfully, cutting off what Barb had hoped would be a scathing and punishing retort.
“Well, let’s bung him in there,” said Rodentsov.
With the help of the guards, they stood Jollyrei up in the fountain where he stood, getting rained on by the fountain. You could tell he was starting to thaw out because he managed to roll his eyes.
A guard came in with a lit torch.
“Ah, good,” said Messaline. “Now we will light the pyre to honour the sacrifice of our dear friend Eulalia, a brave woman.”
“Let me,” said Phlebas. Messaline handed him the torch. “Somehow it feels right that I should do this.”
Rodentsov saluted Eulalia with his sword. “So you think she’ll burn in the fire?” asked Rodentsov.
“It is a fitting way to leave this earth,” said Messaline. She looked at the squirrel. “You don’t think she will burn?”
“It really depends what story this is now,” said Rodentsov. “It seems to have been so many. In one story, it would be perfectly reasonable to end with a spectacular but final farewell of this sort. However…”
“I have the same feeling, you know,” said Wragg. “Seeing the torch, I can’t help think that there’s something I’m forgetting about all this. It’ll come to me…”
“You see?” said Rodentsov. “Loose ends.”
“Something I’m forgetting about the magic,” said Wragg.
“Don’t talk about baking anything,” said Barb. Wragg gave her a withering look.
“Should we say something?” asked Thessela. “You know, a poem, or something…”
“The time for talk is done,” said Messaline.
Phlebas touched the torch to the wood of the pyre. The wood was quite dry and was soon burning quite merrily. Soon it was licking up to where Eulalia lay.
“It’s on the tip of my mind,” said Wragg. “This is so annoying. Something about…”
The fire reached Eulalia’s body. She twitched and opened her eyes.
“You know,” said Barb to Wragg. “When she was at my ice castle, she slept in the fireplace, on the flames.”
“That was it!” said Wragg. “When she uses a lot of her energy, she has to sleep, like everyone. Then she…”
“Wakes up?” asked Rodentsov. “I only ask because she’s sitting up in the flames now.”
“She’s alive, ” yelled Phlebas. “Good gods, she’ll burn!” Without thinking he jumped onto the pyre.
“Quite so,” said Wragg happily.
“Is this supposed to happen?” asked Thessela.
“A little unexpected, it seems,” said Rodentsov.
“Phlebas, come back!” cried Messaline. “You’ll be roasted!”
But Phlebas had pulled Eulalia into his embrace, neither of them seemingly bothered by the roaring flames around them. In fact, the flames seemed to gather round them. Fairly soon, they were doing more than just embracing.
“Oh my,” said Messaline. “I have heard of the pleasures that amazons have in the afterlife, but I did not think I would see them so, er, vividly performed.”
“They should really get a room,” said Barb.
“Remarkable,” said Wragg.
“It’s so lovely,” said Thessela. “They are together at last.”
“Wasn’t her lonely enchantment supposed to end when she met her prince?” asked Messaline.
“I must have misread something,” said Wragg with a shrug. “Anyway, they don’t look lonely to me.”
“You cast the spell to enchant Eulalia?” asked Barb.
“Yes, long ago, when the annoying mad old Tsar was just an annoying spotty young Tsar.”
“You’re a complex person,” said Barb.
“Yes, you’ve said,” said Wragg.
The fire at that point formed a tent of flames, which rose in intensity, making a nice metaphorical point about what was going on (we assume) as well as literally being quite hot. Everyone had to jump back. Then the flames parted and two Firebirds circled upward together in the twilight, and streaked away northwards.
Messaline gave a triumphant shout.
There was a splashing noise nearby. Jollyrei was lying on his back in the fountain trying to pull himself out. “Blast,” he said as he fell back for the third time.
“Jolly!” said Thessela running over to the fountain. “You’re alright?”
“I’m damned wet,” he said, through chattering teeth, “and very cold. Oh, hello Thessela.” He smiled roguishly, or would have if half his face wasn’t still half frozen. “I don’t suppose you know what the best remedy is for regaining body heat.”
Thessela’s rising colour suggested that she knew, but wasn’t convinced regarding the therapeutic benefits. “We should get you out of the fountain,” she said.
“That too,” said Jollyrei, grinning at her. “Where’s Phlebas.”
“He seems to have turned into a Firebird,” said Barb. “He and Eulalia flew off somewhere.”
“How nice for them,” said Jollyrei. “Does anyone have a towel?”
“Time to sort this out,” said Rodentsov. “The Firebird has brought us all some fortune, and a perilous adventure. Now we’ve come back to the palace and the Tsar is dead. All that’s left is to determine who does what.”
“I don’t know where to go,” said Thessela. “I don’t want to go back to Grud’.
“Someone will have to inherit the palace and become Tsar of all the Russias,” said Wragg. “We still have a prince here.”
“Hang on,” said Jollyrei. “If I don’t get to marry the princess, I don’t have to be Tsar. I always assumed Phlebas would be Tsar. He’s the older brother. Now he’s gone sloping off to play Firebird.”
“I thought you didn’t want to marry the princess,” said Wragg.
“He’s not marrying the princess,” said Rodentsov.
“No,” said Jollyrei, “I’m not, but the point is, I don’t particularly want to be Tsar either. All that responsibility.”
“We’ll never get anywhere this way,” said Messaline. “If you are not the Tsar, then who?”
“Hail Princess Messaline!” shouted the guards.
“What!?” asked Messaline.
“Sounds a good choice to me,” said Rodentsov. “You can have the palace, all the Russias, however many there are…”
“Three,” said Jollyrei.
“Really?” asked Rodentsov. “Only three?”
“Yes,” said Thessela. “White, Black, and…er…another one.”
“That can’t be right,” said Jollyrei. “Aren’t those the names of cocktails?”
“They have vodka in them,” said Thessela uncertainly.
“Okay,” said Rodentsov, “Empress of all three Russias. The guards all seem to like you.”
“You’ll be great,” said Jollyrei, “and the Russias aren’t badly off, except perhaps Grud’. The peasants even have enough to eat. Being Tsarina will be great fun for you.”
“I’ll stay and, er, help,” said Rodentsov. “You never know when a wolf or squirrel might come in handy.”
“Good,” said Jollyrei. “I personally am interested in going somewhere that is not in all the Russias. I think I will go in search of the fabled Australia.”
“Isn’t that a myth?” asked Thessela.
“That’s what I want to find out. Want to come?”
“I don’t know if I should,” said Thessela. “Will we ride horses? I don’t know how to ride a horse.”
“No horses,” said Jollyrei. “I have a terrible track record with horses. Bloody things get eaten, or vanish. More trouble than they’re worth, if you ask me.”
“Well there’s a sensible decision,” murmured Wragg.
“They’re delicious,” said Rodentsov, “but a bit filling.”
“Oh, I’m not good at this sort of decision,” said Thessela.
“Thessela,” said Jollyrei, turning her to face him, “we’ll take a ship, and you’re coming even if I have to tie you to the mast.”
“Jolly!” said Thessela. She sounded slightly shocked, but she didn’t look unhappy.
“That was a double entendre,” said Jollyrei. “I’m sure you see that.”
“Aren’t you the subtle one,” said Barb.
“You will want to go back to your own palace?” Messaline asked Wragg.
“I suppose I should go back and make sure the goblins haven’t wrecked the old place,” said Wragg. He paused for a moment. Then he turned to Barb. “You wouldn’t care to visit for a few days, or some, er, negotiable period of time?”
“It’s kind of you to offer,” Barb started, “but I …”
“The food is good, the accommodations are splendid, there are goblins. It’s a remarkable old place, with real onion domes and dungeons and…”
“I really want a four poster bed,” said Barb. “I’ve always wanted one.”
“My palace,” said Wragg, “is replete in four-poster beds. I even have them in the dungeons.”
“Good heavens! Why?” asked Barb.
“I’ll show you,” said Wragg with a grin.
“You really are a complex person, aren’t you?” said Barb.
“So you’ve said,” said Wragg.
And so it was that the next morning, after much yelling “contact” and Jollyrei waving his arms in a circle again, Wragg’s flying carpet took off. He and Barb were dropping Jollyrei and Thessela off at the coast, where Jollyrei was going to buy a ship, and Thessela was going to buy a new swashbuckling wardrobe.
Messaline, Empress of all the Russias, and her new Grand Vizier, Lord Rodentsov the Red (Squirrel) waved until the carpet was out of sight of the scenic north tower. “Why is there a lifesize figure of Phlebas on the top of the tower tied to a post?” asked Messaline.
“It’s a glitch in the storyline,” said Rodentsov, “your Majesty.”
“It was a little bit of a rambling narrative,” said Messaline. “Do you think there is another sub-plot?”
“I hope not,” said Rodentsov. “This has as much trouble ending as a Beethoven symphony, but I think we should just live happily ever after now.”
So they did, as much as anyone does, anyway. Messaline became known as Messaline the Great, and ruled over all the Russias for many years, although the stories of her legendary crux festivals are probably exaggerated. She and Rodentsov occasionally saw Barb or Wragg (sometimes even together), but they never saw Jollyrei, Thessela, or the two Firebirds ever again.
But there were sailors’ stories about a faraway land, girt by sea, where it was warm when Russia was cold, and where there was an inn you could stop at and get a good bit of roast lamb and decent coffee from a couple of swashbuckling pirates. The sailors also said that sometimes at night, there were twin fires in the sky twirling around each other in remarkable ways. They said that when people saw the Firebirds, it was good luck for romantics (people got lucky, in any case). These were just the sort of wild and outlandish things sailors would say about Australia – it was a mythical place, after all. On cold nights by the fire, Messaline thought it was nice to imagine it was real.
FIN.
It was a little depressing, really. Here they all were, victorious over the evil Tsar, and apparently at the end of the adventure, and Eulalia the Firebird lay dead on the floor.
“Can’t you do anything for her?” Thessela asked Wragg.
“I would if I could,” said Wragg, “but it’s so long ago now, I’ve long since forgotten the spell. I could levitate her, or turn her into a cake, but I’m not sure that’s really called for.”
Phlebas sat on the floor, with Eulalia’s head in his lap. It’s really hard for that to be at all funny.
The only amusing thing in the room was Jollyrei, who stood like a surprised frozen statue. Barb was walking around him and poking him sympathetically, holding a candle close to him, hoping to thaw him out faster. Rodentsov, a squirrel once more, prodded him experimentally with his sword. The blade made a “tick” sound against Jollyrei’s thigh, but otherwise made no noticeable difference.
“Is this the end of the story?” asked Messaline at last.
“Bit of an anticlimax if you ask me,” said Rodentsov.
“I’m not exactly happy,” said Phlebas. “This is not what was supposed to happen. Did you know,” he asked Wragg, “that this would happen?”
“Not in the slightest!” said Wragg emphatically. “If I had known, I wouldn’t have proposed it. I loved her like a, well, not really like a daughter, but more as a really lovely lady friend, and I don’t know why I’m explaining myself like this. Anyway, no. I’m as upset,” he looked at Phlebas and reevaluated, “nearly as upset as you are.”
“We are all sad about this,” said Messaline. “We must have a spectacular funeral. All warrior women need such an ending. Before I was the princess, I was an amazon. I know how to do this. You!” she said to a couple of guardsmen that were milling about wondering what to do now that the Tsar was dead, “follow me.”
She swept out of the room, with the guards in tow. They seemed happy to have a task, and she seemed to be the only one still exercising authority. Her confidence filled the vacuum left by the late-Tsar. They followed Messaline.
“He’s still very cold,” said Thessela, touching Jollyrei’s hand.
“Yes,” said Barb. “Sorry. I may have been a bit, er, enthusiastic. Maybe we should get him out into the sunshine.”
“He’ll be alright,” said Rodentsov. “The princes hardly ever actually die in these stories.”
It was a rather strange procession. Phlebas went first, carrying Eulalia. Rodentsov followed, as guard of honour. Then came four guards carrying the statue-like Jollyrei on a wooden platform, with Barb hovering around them as if she was moving a sculpture exhibit. Wragg strolled along behind, looking thoughtful. At the back came Thessela, feeling a bit out of place again.
They finally all ended up in the old Tsar’s garden. Messaline was supervising the finishing touches to a large pyre in the centre of the small grove of golden apple trees. A guard was draping a black velvet cloth over the whole thing, presumably to give it a ceremonial feel.
Phlebas laid Eulalia on the pyre, and stepped back. He looked a bit stunned.
“We could put Jollyrei beside the pyre,” said Wragg to Barb. “He’d thaw faster.”
“He might burn,” said Phlebas.
“The best way to transfer body heat is to put the naked cold person under blankets with a naked warm person,” said Barb. She looked at Thessela, who seemed a bit surprised by the suggestion.
“Can’t really get those clothes off him,” said Wragg. “Everything’s frozen solid. Anyway, Thessela would probably freeze to death before we got him thawed.”
“It’s that or set him in lukewarm water for 20 minutes or so,” said Rodentsov.
“Lukewarm water?” asked Barb.
“Always works with roasts,” said Wragg. “If you want to cook a frozen roast, you put it in a pan of lukewarm water for 20 minutes…”
Barb stared at him with a raised eyebrow.
“I like to cook,” said Wragg. “It’s relaxing, and you can’t eat pastries all the time.”
“You’re a bundle of excitement,” said Barb.
“I’m not the one wearing a tapestry depicting a…” he looked at the tapestry, and any parts of it that provided any glimpse of Barb underneath it, “…is that a hunting party or a very bawdy folk dance?”
“There’s a fountain,” said Thessela helpfully, cutting off what Barb had hoped would be a scathing and punishing retort.
“Well, let’s bung him in there,” said Rodentsov.
With the help of the guards, they stood Jollyrei up in the fountain where he stood, getting rained on by the fountain. You could tell he was starting to thaw out because he managed to roll his eyes.
A guard came in with a lit torch.
“Ah, good,” said Messaline. “Now we will light the pyre to honour the sacrifice of our dear friend Eulalia, a brave woman.”
“Let me,” said Phlebas. Messaline handed him the torch. “Somehow it feels right that I should do this.”
Rodentsov saluted Eulalia with his sword. “So you think she’ll burn in the fire?” asked Rodentsov.
“It is a fitting way to leave this earth,” said Messaline. She looked at the squirrel. “You don’t think she will burn?”
“It really depends what story this is now,” said Rodentsov. “It seems to have been so many. In one story, it would be perfectly reasonable to end with a spectacular but final farewell of this sort. However…”
“I have the same feeling, you know,” said Wragg. “Seeing the torch, I can’t help think that there’s something I’m forgetting about all this. It’ll come to me…”
“You see?” said Rodentsov. “Loose ends.”
“Something I’m forgetting about the magic,” said Wragg.
“Don’t talk about baking anything,” said Barb. Wragg gave her a withering look.
“Should we say something?” asked Thessela. “You know, a poem, or something…”
“The time for talk is done,” said Messaline.
Phlebas touched the torch to the wood of the pyre. The wood was quite dry and was soon burning quite merrily. Soon it was licking up to where Eulalia lay.
“It’s on the tip of my mind,” said Wragg. “This is so annoying. Something about…”
The fire reached Eulalia’s body. She twitched and opened her eyes.
“You know,” said Barb to Wragg. “When she was at my ice castle, she slept in the fireplace, on the flames.”
“That was it!” said Wragg. “When she uses a lot of her energy, she has to sleep, like everyone. Then she…”
“Wakes up?” asked Rodentsov. “I only ask because she’s sitting up in the flames now.”
“She’s alive, ” yelled Phlebas. “Good gods, she’ll burn!” Without thinking he jumped onto the pyre.
“Quite so,” said Wragg happily.
“Is this supposed to happen?” asked Thessela.
“A little unexpected, it seems,” said Rodentsov.
“Phlebas, come back!” cried Messaline. “You’ll be roasted!”
But Phlebas had pulled Eulalia into his embrace, neither of them seemingly bothered by the roaring flames around them. In fact, the flames seemed to gather round them. Fairly soon, they were doing more than just embracing.
“Oh my,” said Messaline. “I have heard of the pleasures that amazons have in the afterlife, but I did not think I would see them so, er, vividly performed.”
“They should really get a room,” said Barb.
“Remarkable,” said Wragg.
“It’s so lovely,” said Thessela. “They are together at last.”
“Wasn’t her lonely enchantment supposed to end when she met her prince?” asked Messaline.
“I must have misread something,” said Wragg with a shrug. “Anyway, they don’t look lonely to me.”
“You cast the spell to enchant Eulalia?” asked Barb.
“Yes, long ago, when the annoying mad old Tsar was just an annoying spotty young Tsar.”
“You’re a complex person,” said Barb.
“Yes, you’ve said,” said Wragg.
The fire at that point formed a tent of flames, which rose in intensity, making a nice metaphorical point about what was going on (we assume) as well as literally being quite hot. Everyone had to jump back. Then the flames parted and two Firebirds circled upward together in the twilight, and streaked away northwards.
Messaline gave a triumphant shout.
There was a splashing noise nearby. Jollyrei was lying on his back in the fountain trying to pull himself out. “Blast,” he said as he fell back for the third time.
“Jolly!” said Thessela running over to the fountain. “You’re alright?”
“I’m damned wet,” he said, through chattering teeth, “and very cold. Oh, hello Thessela.” He smiled roguishly, or would have if half his face wasn’t still half frozen. “I don’t suppose you know what the best remedy is for regaining body heat.”
Thessela’s rising colour suggested that she knew, but wasn’t convinced regarding the therapeutic benefits. “We should get you out of the fountain,” she said.
“That too,” said Jollyrei, grinning at her. “Where’s Phlebas.”
“He seems to have turned into a Firebird,” said Barb. “He and Eulalia flew off somewhere.”
“How nice for them,” said Jollyrei. “Does anyone have a towel?”
“Time to sort this out,” said Rodentsov. “The Firebird has brought us all some fortune, and a perilous adventure. Now we’ve come back to the palace and the Tsar is dead. All that’s left is to determine who does what.”
“I don’t know where to go,” said Thessela. “I don’t want to go back to Grud’.
“Someone will have to inherit the palace and become Tsar of all the Russias,” said Wragg. “We still have a prince here.”
“Hang on,” said Jollyrei. “If I don’t get to marry the princess, I don’t have to be Tsar. I always assumed Phlebas would be Tsar. He’s the older brother. Now he’s gone sloping off to play Firebird.”
“I thought you didn’t want to marry the princess,” said Wragg.
“He’s not marrying the princess,” said Rodentsov.
“No,” said Jollyrei, “I’m not, but the point is, I don’t particularly want to be Tsar either. All that responsibility.”
“We’ll never get anywhere this way,” said Messaline. “If you are not the Tsar, then who?”
“Hail Princess Messaline!” shouted the guards.
“What!?” asked Messaline.
“Sounds a good choice to me,” said Rodentsov. “You can have the palace, all the Russias, however many there are…”
“Three,” said Jollyrei.
“Really?” asked Rodentsov. “Only three?”
“Yes,” said Thessela. “White, Black, and…er…another one.”
“That can’t be right,” said Jollyrei. “Aren’t those the names of cocktails?”
“They have vodka in them,” said Thessela uncertainly.
“Okay,” said Rodentsov, “Empress of all three Russias. The guards all seem to like you.”
“You’ll be great,” said Jollyrei, “and the Russias aren’t badly off, except perhaps Grud’. The peasants even have enough to eat. Being Tsarina will be great fun for you.”
“I’ll stay and, er, help,” said Rodentsov. “You never know when a wolf or squirrel might come in handy.”
“Good,” said Jollyrei. “I personally am interested in going somewhere that is not in all the Russias. I think I will go in search of the fabled Australia.”
“Isn’t that a myth?” asked Thessela.
“That’s what I want to find out. Want to come?”
“I don’t know if I should,” said Thessela. “Will we ride horses? I don’t know how to ride a horse.”
“No horses,” said Jollyrei. “I have a terrible track record with horses. Bloody things get eaten, or vanish. More trouble than they’re worth, if you ask me.”
“Well there’s a sensible decision,” murmured Wragg.
“They’re delicious,” said Rodentsov, “but a bit filling.”
“Oh, I’m not good at this sort of decision,” said Thessela.
“Thessela,” said Jollyrei, turning her to face him, “we’ll take a ship, and you’re coming even if I have to tie you to the mast.”
“Jolly!” said Thessela. She sounded slightly shocked, but she didn’t look unhappy.
“That was a double entendre,” said Jollyrei. “I’m sure you see that.”
“Aren’t you the subtle one,” said Barb.
“You will want to go back to your own palace?” Messaline asked Wragg.
“I suppose I should go back and make sure the goblins haven’t wrecked the old place,” said Wragg. He paused for a moment. Then he turned to Barb. “You wouldn’t care to visit for a few days, or some, er, negotiable period of time?”
“It’s kind of you to offer,” Barb started, “but I …”
“The food is good, the accommodations are splendid, there are goblins. It’s a remarkable old place, with real onion domes and dungeons and…”
“I really want a four poster bed,” said Barb. “I’ve always wanted one.”
“My palace,” said Wragg, “is replete in four-poster beds. I even have them in the dungeons.”
“Good heavens! Why?” asked Barb.
“I’ll show you,” said Wragg with a grin.
“You really are a complex person, aren’t you?” said Barb.
“So you’ve said,” said Wragg.
And so it was that the next morning, after much yelling “contact” and Jollyrei waving his arms in a circle again, Wragg’s flying carpet took off. He and Barb were dropping Jollyrei and Thessela off at the coast, where Jollyrei was going to buy a ship, and Thessela was going to buy a new swashbuckling wardrobe.
Messaline, Empress of all the Russias, and her new Grand Vizier, Lord Rodentsov the Red (Squirrel) waved until the carpet was out of sight of the scenic north tower. “Why is there a lifesize figure of Phlebas on the top of the tower tied to a post?” asked Messaline.
“It’s a glitch in the storyline,” said Rodentsov, “your Majesty.”
“It was a little bit of a rambling narrative,” said Messaline. “Do you think there is another sub-plot?”
“I hope not,” said Rodentsov. “This has as much trouble ending as a Beethoven symphony, but I think we should just live happily ever after now.”
So they did, as much as anyone does, anyway. Messaline became known as Messaline the Great, and ruled over all the Russias for many years, although the stories of her legendary crux festivals are probably exaggerated. She and Rodentsov occasionally saw Barb or Wragg (sometimes even together), but they never saw Jollyrei, Thessela, or the two Firebirds ever again.
But there were sailors’ stories about a faraway land, girt by sea, where it was warm when Russia was cold, and where there was an inn you could stop at and get a good bit of roast lamb and decent coffee from a couple of swashbuckling pirates. The sailors also said that sometimes at night, there were twin fires in the sky twirling around each other in remarkable ways. They said that when people saw the Firebirds, it was good luck for romantics (people got lucky, in any case). These were just the sort of wild and outlandish things sailors would say about Australia – it was a mythical place, after all. On cold nights by the fire, Messaline thought it was nice to imagine it was real.
FIN.
A bittersweet moment....
A life of saucy sorcery with Barb!
Phlebas and Eul, Thessela and Jollyrei!
Her Imperial Majesty Empress Messaline of at least three Russias, and her trusty Rodentsov!
But no more Firebird
This has been immense fun, Jollyrei, I can't begin to tell you how much I've enjoyed it. I haven't laughed so much for a long time!
Great ending Jolly. I bet for awhile there you thought you might have been better off being unfrozen by the Keystone Kops. We all sounded like idiots. 
But the best part of all is that I got my four poster bed! Lots of them! So many that Wragg runs himself silly trying to figure out which one I am in now (I try to stay one bed ahead of him at all times
).
Jolly must be exhausted from writing now. Take a break good man, but do come back to delight us with more sometime very soon.
But the best part of all is that I got my four poster bed! Lots of them! So many that Wragg runs himself silly trying to figure out which one I am in now (I try to stay one bed ahead of him at all times
).Jolly must be exhausted from writing now. Take a break good man, but do come back to delight us with more sometime very soon.
Repertor
Artifex Imaginum
It began with a firebird and ends with two firebirds.
It began with a quest for a firebird and ends with a new quest for a mythical land.
It began with an evil Tsar and ends with the Russias having a glorious but unexpected new empress.
And complex sorcerer chasing an ex ice queen in his four poster beds.
At the end everything fits and all find their place.
An unusual tale full of fun, twists, puns, references and symbolism.
Great work!
It began with a quest for a firebird and ends with a new quest for a mythical land.
It began with an evil Tsar and ends with the Russias having a glorious but unexpected new empress.
And complex sorcerer chasing an ex ice queen in his four poster beds.
At the end everything fits and all find their place.
An unusual tale full of fun, twists, puns, references and symbolism.
Great work!
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So many thanks for all your encouragement, interest, comments and inspiration. The reception of this story was more than I could have hoped. I thought it would be a quick bit of fun for me. It ended up being something I realized I was writing because people were actually waiting to see what came next. Most of the time I didn't know either. Thanks for letting me toy with your characters, sometimes pulling them in some odd directions. You've been great sports. In the end, I think it worked, and I could not have done any of it without you all.
Now I need to get the text ready for Madiosi. Meanwhile, here's a possible cover graphic:
Now I need to get the text ready for Madiosi. Meanwhile, here's a possible cover graphic:
Marvelous ending Jolly, touching and romantic and happy just as it should have been.
A story told in your own unique style, thanks for letting me have such a noble and enjoyable part in it. I'm honoured to have such a magnificent fairy tale romance and transformation, hot stuff indeed!
A story told in your own unique style, thanks for letting me have such a noble and enjoyable part in it. I'm honoured to have such a magnificent fairy tale romance and transformation, hot stuff indeed!
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messaline
Crucified Amazon
Hum, I'm not sure that this role of Tsarine could be suitable ... I should prefer my pretty cottage with some nice crucifixions with my lovely Judith ...
Fortunatelly, from time to time, I could see our two fire'birds floating under the wild russian forest ...
But, the tale was so much inventive that I can forget the end'inconvenience ...
Ah, it's a tough job, Messa, but someone has to do it!View attachment 435913 Hum, I'm not sure that this role of Tsarine could be suitable ...
I should prefer my pretty cottage with some nice crucifixions with my lovely Judith ...
View attachment 435914
Fortunatelly, from time to time, I could see our two fire'birds floating under the wild russian forest ...
View attachment 435915
But, the tale was so much inventive that I can forget the end'inconvenience ...
PrincessTsarine Messaline
Like all good authors, Jollyrei seems to have made room for a sequel!
Loxuru
Graf von Kreuzigung
Marvelous, Jolly, I can only second the enthousiastic comments above!
Are those the first demerits given on this thread? I guess it's hard to get through without a few.
Oops, sorry, Jollyrei!
I didn't realise that you wanted this to be a demerit free thread!
No Russian tale without the knout!
windar
Teller of Tales
So many thanks for all your encouragement, interest, comments and inspiration. The reception of this story was more than I could have hoped. I thought it would be a quick bit of fun for me. It ended up being something I realized I was writing because people were actually waiting to see what came next. Most of the time I didn't know either. Thanks for letting me toy with your characters, sometimes pulling them in some odd directions. You've been great sports. In the end, I think it worked, and I could not have done any of it without you all.
Now I need to get the text ready for Madiosi. Meanwhile, here's a possible cover graphic:
View attachment 435912
No, thank YOU Jolly for writing it. I really didn't mind eating my boots (well, maybe just a bit). But if I hadn't I wouldn't have gotten to meet Thessela and all the other wonderful characters.
I'm without anything brilliant to add, since others have already said everything, but thanks for the wonderful story.
RacingRodent
Consul
A wonderful story Jolly, we've had some cracking good stories here, but this one's special.
I love the ending (I hope Phlebas does too)
Of course the Russians have a fine tradition of funereal conflagrations
with slavegirls and princes flying away in the flames,
it was the Rus, who were (confusingly) Swedish Vikings who taught them the trick,
as the Arab traveller Ibn Fadlan described:
§ 88. When the man of whom I have spoken died, his girl slaves were asked, "Who will die with him?" One answered, "I." She was then put in the care of two young women, who watched over her and accompanied her everywhere, to the point that they occasionally washed her feet with their own hands. Garments were being made for the deceased and all else was being readied of which he had need. Meanwhile the slave drinks every day and sings, giving herself over to pleasure.
§ 89. When the day arrived on which the man was to be cremated and the girl with him, I went to the river on which was his ship. I saw that they had drawn the ship onto the shore, and that they had erected four posts of birch wood and other wood, and that around the ship was made a structure like great ship's tents out of wood. Then they pulled the ship up until it was on this wooden construction. Then they began to come and go and to speak words which I did not understand, while the man was still in his grave and had not yet been brought out. The tenth day, having drawn the ship up onto the river bank, they guarded it. In the middle of the ship they prepared a dome or pavillion of wood and covered this with various sorts of fabrics. Then they brought a couch and put it on the ship and covered it with a mattress of Greek brocade. Then came an old woman whom they call the Angel of Death, and she spread upon the couch the furnishings mentioned. It is she who has charge of the clothes-making and arranging all things, and it is she who kills the girl slave. I saw that she was a strapping old woman, fat and louring.
When they came to the grave they removed the earth from above the wood, then the wood, and took out the dead man clad in the garments in which he had died. I saw that he had grown black from the cold of the country. They put intoxicating drink, fruit, and a stringed instrument in the grave with him. They removed all that. The dead man did not smell bad, and only his color had changed. They dressed him in trousers, stockings, boots, a tunic, and caftan of brocade with gold buttons. They put a hat of brocade and fur on him. Then they carried him into the pavillion on the ship. They seated him on the mattress and propped him up with cushions. They brought intoxicating drink, fruits, and fragrant plants, which they put with him, then bread, meat, and onions, which they placed before him. Then they brought a dog, which they cut in two and put in the ship. Then they brought his weapons and placed them by his side. Then they took two horses, ran them until they sweated, then cut them to pieces with a sword and put them in the ship. Next they killed a rooster and a hen and threw them in. The girl slave who wished to be killed went here and there and into each of their tents, and the master of each tent had sexual intercourse with her and said, "Tell your lord I have done this out of love for him."
§ 90. Friday afternoon they led the slave girl to a thing that they had made which resembled a door frame. She placed her feet on the palms of the men and they raised her up to overlook this frame. She spoke some words and they lowered her again. A second time they rasied her up and she did again what she had done; then they lowered her. They raised her a third time and she did as she had done the two times before. Then they brought her a hen; she cut off the head, which she threw away, and then they took the hen and put it in the ship. I asked the interpreter what she had done. He answered, "The first time they raised her she said, 'Behold, I see my father and mother.' The second time she said, 'I see all my dead relatives seated.' The third time she said, 'I see my master seated in Paradise and Paradise is beautiful and green; with him are men and boy servants. He calls me. Take me to him.' " Now they took her to the ship. She took off the two bracelets she was wearing and gave them both to the old woman called the Angel of Death, who was to kill her; then she took off the two finger rings which she was wearing and gave them to the two girls who had served her and were the daughters of the woman called the Angel of Death. Then they raised her onto the ship but they did not make her enter the pavillion.
Alt. After that, the group of men who have cohabitated with the slave girl make of their hands a sort of paved way whereby the girl, placing her feet on the palms of their hands, mounts onto the ship.
The men came with shields and sticks. She was given a cup of intoxicating drink; she sang at taking it and drank. The interpreter told me that she in this fashion bade farewell to all her girl companions. Then she was given another cup; she took it and sang for a long time while the old woman incited her to drink up and go into the pavillion where her master lay. I saw that she was distracted; she wanted to enter the pavillion but put her head between it and the boat. Then the old woman siezed her head and made her enter the pavillion and entered with her. Thereupon the men began to strike with the sticks on the shields so that her cries could not be heard and the other slave girls would not seek to escape death with their masters. Then six men went into the pavillion and each had intercourse with the girl. Then they laid her at the side of her master; two held her feet and two her hands; the old woman known as the Angel of Death re-entered and looped a cord around her neck and gave the crossed ends to the two men for them to pull. Then she approached her with a broad-bladed dagger, which she plunged between her ribs repeatedly, and the men strangled her with the cord until she was dead.
§ 91. Then the closest relative of the dead man, after they had placed the girl whom they have killed beside her master, came, took a piece of wood which he lighted at a fire, and walked backwards with the back of his head toward the boat and his face turned toward the people, with one hand holding the kindled stick and the other covering his anus, being completely naked, for the purpose of setting fire to the wood that had been made ready beneath the ship. Then the people came up with tinder and other fire wood, each holding a piece of wood of which he had set fire to an end and which he put into the pile of wood beneath the ship. Thereupon the flames engulfed the wood, then the ship, the pavillion, the man, the girl, and everything in the ship. A powerful, fearful wind began to blow so that the flames became fiercer and more intense.
Alt: After the girl is slain, two relatives of the dead take brands and set the ship on fire, so that the dead man and the ship are shortly burned to ashes. If in this moment a wind blows and the fire is strengthened and the ashes are dispersed, the man is accordingly one who belongs in Paradise; otherwise they take the dead to be one unwelcome at the threshold of bliss or even to be condemned. When two people among them quarrel and the dissention is prolonged and the king is unable to reconcile them, he commands that they fight with swords; he who wins is right.
I love the ending (I hope Phlebas does too
) Of course the Russians have a fine tradition of funereal conflagrations
with slavegirls and princes flying away in the flames,
it was the Rus, who were (confusingly) Swedish Vikings who taught them the trick,
as the Arab traveller Ibn Fadlan described:
§ 88. When the man of whom I have spoken died, his girl slaves were asked, "Who will die with him?" One answered, "I." She was then put in the care of two young women, who watched over her and accompanied her everywhere, to the point that they occasionally washed her feet with their own hands. Garments were being made for the deceased and all else was being readied of which he had need. Meanwhile the slave drinks every day and sings, giving herself over to pleasure.
§ 89. When the day arrived on which the man was to be cremated and the girl with him, I went to the river on which was his ship. I saw that they had drawn the ship onto the shore, and that they had erected four posts of birch wood and other wood, and that around the ship was made a structure like great ship's tents out of wood. Then they pulled the ship up until it was on this wooden construction. Then they began to come and go and to speak words which I did not understand, while the man was still in his grave and had not yet been brought out. The tenth day, having drawn the ship up onto the river bank, they guarded it. In the middle of the ship they prepared a dome or pavillion of wood and covered this with various sorts of fabrics. Then they brought a couch and put it on the ship and covered it with a mattress of Greek brocade. Then came an old woman whom they call the Angel of Death, and she spread upon the couch the furnishings mentioned. It is she who has charge of the clothes-making and arranging all things, and it is she who kills the girl slave. I saw that she was a strapping old woman, fat and louring.
When they came to the grave they removed the earth from above the wood, then the wood, and took out the dead man clad in the garments in which he had died. I saw that he had grown black from the cold of the country. They put intoxicating drink, fruit, and a stringed instrument in the grave with him. They removed all that. The dead man did not smell bad, and only his color had changed. They dressed him in trousers, stockings, boots, a tunic, and caftan of brocade with gold buttons. They put a hat of brocade and fur on him. Then they carried him into the pavillion on the ship. They seated him on the mattress and propped him up with cushions. They brought intoxicating drink, fruits, and fragrant plants, which they put with him, then bread, meat, and onions, which they placed before him. Then they brought a dog, which they cut in two and put in the ship. Then they brought his weapons and placed them by his side. Then they took two horses, ran them until they sweated, then cut them to pieces with a sword and put them in the ship. Next they killed a rooster and a hen and threw them in. The girl slave who wished to be killed went here and there and into each of their tents, and the master of each tent had sexual intercourse with her and said, "Tell your lord I have done this out of love for him."
§ 90. Friday afternoon they led the slave girl to a thing that they had made which resembled a door frame. She placed her feet on the palms of the men and they raised her up to overlook this frame. She spoke some words and they lowered her again. A second time they rasied her up and she did again what she had done; then they lowered her. They raised her a third time and she did as she had done the two times before. Then they brought her a hen; she cut off the head, which she threw away, and then they took the hen and put it in the ship. I asked the interpreter what she had done. He answered, "The first time they raised her she said, 'Behold, I see my father and mother.' The second time she said, 'I see all my dead relatives seated.' The third time she said, 'I see my master seated in Paradise and Paradise is beautiful and green; with him are men and boy servants. He calls me. Take me to him.' " Now they took her to the ship. She took off the two bracelets she was wearing and gave them both to the old woman called the Angel of Death, who was to kill her; then she took off the two finger rings which she was wearing and gave them to the two girls who had served her and were the daughters of the woman called the Angel of Death. Then they raised her onto the ship but they did not make her enter the pavillion.
Alt. After that, the group of men who have cohabitated with the slave girl make of their hands a sort of paved way whereby the girl, placing her feet on the palms of their hands, mounts onto the ship.
The men came with shields and sticks. She was given a cup of intoxicating drink; she sang at taking it and drank. The interpreter told me that she in this fashion bade farewell to all her girl companions. Then she was given another cup; she took it and sang for a long time while the old woman incited her to drink up and go into the pavillion where her master lay. I saw that she was distracted; she wanted to enter the pavillion but put her head between it and the boat. Then the old woman siezed her head and made her enter the pavillion and entered with her. Thereupon the men began to strike with the sticks on the shields so that her cries could not be heard and the other slave girls would not seek to escape death with their masters. Then six men went into the pavillion and each had intercourse with the girl. Then they laid her at the side of her master; two held her feet and two her hands; the old woman known as the Angel of Death re-entered and looped a cord around her neck and gave the crossed ends to the two men for them to pull. Then she approached her with a broad-bladed dagger, which she plunged between her ribs repeatedly, and the men strangled her with the cord until she was dead.
§ 91. Then the closest relative of the dead man, after they had placed the girl whom they have killed beside her master, came, took a piece of wood which he lighted at a fire, and walked backwards with the back of his head toward the boat and his face turned toward the people, with one hand holding the kindled stick and the other covering his anus, being completely naked, for the purpose of setting fire to the wood that had been made ready beneath the ship. Then the people came up with tinder and other fire wood, each holding a piece of wood of which he had set fire to an end and which he put into the pile of wood beneath the ship. Thereupon the flames engulfed the wood, then the ship, the pavillion, the man, the girl, and everything in the ship. A powerful, fearful wind began to blow so that the flames became fiercer and more intense.
Alt: After the girl is slain, two relatives of the dead take brands and set the ship on fire, so that the dead man and the ship are shortly burned to ashes. If in this moment a wind blows and the fire is strengthened and the ashes are dispersed, the man is accordingly one who belongs in Paradise; otherwise they take the dead to be one unwelcome at the threshold of bliss or even to be condemned. When two people among them quarrel and the dissention is prolonged and the king is unable to reconcile them, he commands that they fight with swords; he who wins is right.
A wonderful story Jolly, we've had some cracking good stories here, but this one's special.
I love the ending (I hope Phlebas does too
You were a lovely Firebird. I really could not have done this without you, and knowing you liked the role made it so much more fun.
Quite the account.
There's another story in there; possibly not a comedy.
I had never read that account before. Thanks.
Updated graphic.
Many thanks to Madiosi, who has the e-book version up in the library already.
http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threads/crux-forums-e-book-library.4744/page-11#post-285127
For those interested, there is also a .pdf "Director's Cut":
Many thanks to Madiosi, who has the e-book version up in the library already.
http://www.cruxforums.com/xf/threads/crux-forums-e-book-library.4744/page-11#post-285127
For those interested, there is also a .pdf "Director's Cut":
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Hondoboot2
QUAESTOR PULCHRITUDINIS
I have been very busy lately, and fell behind on this story. But tonight, I found some time to catch up. I like to listen to music while I'm on the forums, so I slipped on my headphones, and put on Fleetwood Mac's Tusk album on the turntable, and settled in to read the last two chapters.
Well, I just finished reading the last chapters, and I am glad I did. This was a very enjoyable, and entertaining story Jollyrei. The ending was very romantic, I give you two thumbs up Jollyrei.
Well done sir
Well, I just finished reading the last chapters, and I am glad I did. This was a very enjoyable, and entertaining story Jollyrei. The ending was very romantic, I give you two thumbs up Jollyrei.
Well done sir
You're very kind. Thank you.I have been very busy lately, and fell behind on this story. But tonight, I found some time to catch up. I like to listen to music while I'm on the forums, so I slipped on my headphones, and put on Fleetwood Mac's Tusk album on the turntable, and settled in to read the last two chapters.
Well, I just finished reading the last chapters, and I am glad I did. This was a very enjoyable, and entertaining story Jollyrei. The ending was very romantic, I give you two thumbs up Jollyrei.
Well done sir
Fleetwood Mac "Tusk", eh? That must have been some surrealistic ride. "Why don't you ask me what's goin' on..."
A wonderful story Jolly, we've had some cracking good stories here, but this one's special.
I love the ending (I hope Phlebas does too
Of course
Nice segue to Ibn Fadlan, and his famous account of a viking ship funeral. Very well known in early medieval circles, this account was used as the basis for scenes in the film The 13th Warrior, and the TV series The Vikings.
In fact, Michael Crighton used Ibn Fadlan as the central character in his novel Eaters of the Dead, the basis for The 13th Warrior. In it the historical Ibn Fadlan meets the man who becomes the inspiration for the literary Beowulf, travels with him to the north, and encounters the Grendel, primitive humans/hominids who were the basis of the legendary monster. It's quite an imaginative concept, and better done in the book than in the film.
Quite the account.
I had never read that account before. Thanks.
She is ever informative, our Eulalia.
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