Black Magician Trilogy Spoof
This is the first chapter of my... spoof, edited slightly and posted in a new thread. This is what happens when I’m bored and left in a room with the BMT books, coffee and my laptop. I feel I should warn you; -This spoof contains perhaps the worst OOCness ever -I fail to find much logic in anything I’ve written -I was high on caffeine when I wrote it. That and my bizarre sense of humour are a bad combination -Contains some naughty language (shh though) All characters, places, names etc. belong to Trudi Canavan. I just borrowed them and completely screwed her story up. I can assure you I’m making no profit from this, merely indulging my twisted imagination a little. Chapter One Out, You Tramps! Sonea looked up from the bin she had been rummaging in to glare at the pair of guards, who had been staring in disbelief at her for the last ten minutes. Narrowing her eyes, she made a rude gesture then returned her head to the squalid waste. Might as well make the most of it, before she was thrown out of the city again. The garbage really was nutritious this year; plenty of maggots. Mmm, protein. “Hai, Sonea!” cried a voice suddenly, making her jump and drop the rotting apple core she has been about to devour. She spun around in anger to confront her stalker. “Oh, hello Ceryni,” she replied monotonously when her eyes fell upon the straggly youth before her, watching, disgruntled, as a troop of ants carried off her dessert. “What a surprise to see you here,” her old friend smiled nonchalantly, and not a little manically, unaware she had noticed him following her about eight blocks back. The fake moustache, though top quality, had only succeeded in hoodwinking her for about ten seconds. To be fair though, his name stitched across the front of his coat in bright orange thread had been a dead giveaway. “Surprise. Yes...” he agreed, nodding vigorously. “Ooh, ooh! Wanna come throw rocks at magicians with us? Do ya, huh? Do ya?” By this point he was bouncing up and down, waving his arms around. “Well,” she considered, chewing her lip. It could be fun, but her aunt sure would be mad at her if she was gone for too long. Before she could answer, Cery was hanging off her sleeve. “Oh pleeease come! Pleeeease!” he begged, dropping to his knees. “Pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeea-” he broke off and began to choke, clutching his throat. This continued for at least five minutes before Sonea thumped him on the back, only partly because she was trying to help. “Please,” he whispered, still gasping for breath. “Oh, all right then. But you’d better get up before I change my mind.” He got to his feet abruptly and shrugged. “Sure, if you want,” he said flatly, putting his hands in his pockets. Sonea heard a tearing noise, and a second later his hands reappeared through the sudden holes in those same pockets. “New style,” he explained unconvincingly, discarding the coat. “Of course Cery,” she sighed, having not the patience to argue. “Are you having fun yet?” Cery asked for the tenth time, grinning freakishly at her. “Cery, we’re not even there yet,” she pointed out. “Oh... Well are you having fun walking there? With me? Like old times. With me? Your friend? Fun?” he inquired, his voice rising in pitch with each word. “Yes, yes, this is fun,” she hissed, resisting the urge to throttle him. “So, what’s up?” “Nothing much else since you last asked me.” “Cool. So, long time no see. Where you been?” “You know where I’ve been. Uncle Ranel got us a room in a stayhouse, in the North Quarter. You came to see me three days ago.” “Oh right... So, um... what’s up?” “You know,” she began irritably. Her left eye began to twitch, a problem that seemed to recur most often around Cery. “Why don’t we not talk? You know, just enjoy each other’s company. And not kill anyone.” “Wow, that’s a great idea. Not talk... So, what’s up?” A couple in a nearby house leapt out of their seats as a young boy smashed through their window and landed on their dinner table, more specifically in the freshly served chicken soup. “It’s okay Sonea,” he cried, clambering to his feet. “I forgive you! Wait for meeeeee!” They stared after him, bewildered, as he scrambled out of the broken window again and hurtled off out of sight. “I do think we’ve drank a little too much wine, dearest,” the man said to his wife, steering her out of the room. “Sonea? Hai! It’s good to see you again!” “Hello Harrin,” she replied, smiling exhaustedly. The taller boy frowned, then glanced down. “Urgh, you got something on your foot,” he told her. “Hey Harrin,” the something said, looking up to wave. “Cery? What are you doing?” “Err... fell over,” he said hurriedly, getting to his feet. “Right...” Harrin shook his head and turned to Sonea. “Anyway, apparently there’s a load of magicians coming, just round the corner, and we’re going to throw all these at them.” He gestured to a large pile of rocks. “You joining us?” “Yes, I suppose I have time. But I have to get back soon, or aunt Jonna will kill me, especially if she finds out I’ve been hanging around with you lot again.” “Aww, I’m hurt,” he teased, handing her one of the stones. The hundred or so people around them – who had remained in case the chance arose to gain a few last morsels – began suddenly shouting insults as nine men in robes appeared. Every year they did this. It had become known as The Purge, as the purpose was to drive all the poor people out of the city and into the slums, therefore purging it, so that the rich folk were free to rummage through the bins in peace. Some king had begun it years ago when his wedge of Stilton, which he had left fermenting on his front lawn, had gone missing. In the end it turned out some old tramp had taken it, and the King declared that once a year, on that day, the must all be removed so his cheese would be safe to grow mould again. After he died, the magicians decided it was so much fun they should continue it so they had something to do. It was the highlight of most magicians’ year. All at once, the youths began hurling rocks and rotten fruit. Sonea gazed longingly after the latter. “Take that, scum!” Harrin yelled, watching in dissatisfaction as the missiles slammed against some invisible wall a few feet before the magicians. “Yeah... scum. Look at me throw rocks Sonea! Pretty cool, huh?” Cery called, waving in case she couldn’t see him. She rolled her eyes and turned away in frustration. Screaming to vent this frustration somewhere other than on his innards, she hurled the stone she still held in her hand towards the magicians. No one was more shocked that she when it passed through the barrier. Sonea felt herself go cold as she watched a particularly greasy-haired magician stop mid-sentence, stagger, and then fall flat on his face in a puddle. Immediately the other magicians sprung forwards in alarm, at least four of them stepping on their fallen companion in the process. None seemed to notice. They stared around at the crowd blankly, and Sonea allowed herself to breathe as she realized they didn't know who had thrown the stone. How could my stone possibly have gone through...? Unless... She went even colder as she realized what this meant. I must have used magic! She froze in terror as an older magician rose, pulled out a camera phone and took a picture of her, slipped the phone back into his pocket, then pointed at her. The others turned to look at her. “Oi, tramp! Stop,” one barked, at the same time as another screamed; “Die, scum!” and flung a bolt of fire at her. It hit the boy beside her and reduced him to a pile of ash within seconds. The magician stared at the mess for a minute, then looked away innocently and began to whistle. “DO NOT HURT HER!” a third magician boomed, shoving the others out of his way to prevent more chaos. Sonea turned on her heel and ran for her life, stopping only to snatch up a mouldering slice of bread from the gutter.

I'll put the second part up now, since I have nothing else to do. I apologize in advance for what I’ve done to Dannyl and Rothen in this chapter. And everyone else for that matter. I’m a bad, bad person, and deserve to be beaten with wet fish. I honestly don’t know what was wrong with me when I wrote this. Once again, a couple of rude words might have found their way into it... Chapter Two The Magicians’ Debate; And Other Minor Discrepancies Lord Rothen sighed as he observed the sea of robes before him. I hope this Meet doesn’t take long. My battery’s almost dead, and Dorrien has my charger. Need to copy those pictures off so I can Photoshop her over my wife’s face in our wedding pictures. As one of the magicians turned towards him, he recognised them by their overly-emphasised tallness. He smiled at Dannyl’s eager expression. Then, as his eyes slid to the other’s robes, the smile faltered. “How did it go, old friend?” the younger man grinned, making his way over. Rothen failed to answer. “Hello?” he asked, waving a hand in front of his face. “Rothen?” “Oh... err...” he mumbled, blinking several times in succession. “Dannyl, are you aware that your robes are... pink?” “Pink? Ah yes, that. That was... an accident. With the chemicals. That seems logical, does it not?” “No, not really. I mean, one stain I could understand, but... the whole thing is bright pink.” “Well, what I meant was; while I was washing them, a bottle of... Doodlechlorine... Hydrothingy fell in, and turned the whole thing this... hideous colour,” he corrected quickly. “Washing? Why were you washing your own robes? That’s what you have a servant for.” “He was... out. Fetching my... allergy medication.” “Allergy medication?” Rothen repeated. “Yes, I have a severe allergy to... Just drop it, okay?” “Yes, sorry. Well, look, I can put that right for you, let me just-” He reached out to correct the robes. “No!” Dannyl shrieked, slapping his hand away. “Get away, evil man!” As soon as he realized what he had just said, he began to redden. “Dannyl, are you feeling all right today?” Rothen asked warily, taking a few steps backwards for good measure. He watched, concerned, as the younger magician continued to redden until he looked on the verge of exploding. Rothen was just about to call for help when Dannyl replied, “I, uh... hit my head. Last night. While I was... watering my... cactus.” He stared past Rothen’s shoulder distantly and nodded to himself. What are they putting in that wine these days, the older of the pair wondered, guiding Dannyl to a chair where he left him to jabber quietly to himself. “I have called this Meet so that we may discuss the events which occurred in the North Square this morning,” Lorlen began, taking a drag on his cigar. “Basically, you really screwed up guys. You killed a kid, and let the rogue escape. Great going. Dicks.” “What’s he on?” Dannyl snorted from his seat beside Rothen. Rothen opened his mouth to make a comment, then shook his head and closed it again. Dannyl shrugged, then pulled out a pocket mirror and began examining his eyebrows. “Eyew, I so need to pluck these.” “Dannyl,” Rothen began, slowly to avoid offence. “You’ve been acting very peculiar lately. Is everything... all right.” “Go molest a little girl!” the younger man snarled, snapping the mirror shut. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” “There was no need for that,” he sniffed, replacing his phone guiltily in his robes and doing his flies back up. “Rothen?” Lorlen called, stumbling on his robes. “I need Lord Rothen to... give his account of... the thing... You know?” He trailed off and waved his hand vaguely. “I hope you trip on your shoelaces and die,” Dannyl called, as Rothen made his way down to the front of the hall. He didn't bother to point out that his boots had no laces. When he reached the front, he inclined his head to the Higher Magicians, but most of them were too busy lighting cigars or sipping wine. “Yeah, so... tell us what happened, uh... Robert?” “Rothen,” he corrected. “Well, when I arrived at the North Square, Lord Fergun was already in place. I took my place beside him and added my power to the shield. Then some of the youths started throwing things at us, as usual, but we ignored them.” He broke off and coughed in disgust as he was enveloped in a cloud of smoke from the cigars. “I was looking at some photos of... children... when I saw a blue flash out of the corner of my eye and felt a disturbance in the shield-” “Hold up, hold up,” Lorlen interrupted. “Did you just say photos of children?” “Of... of my children. Child. Dorrien. My son. I was looking at pictures of my son. Because I miss him,” Rothen spluttered unconvincingly. “Hmm,” the Administrator commented. “Very well, continue.” “Right. Where was I? Oh yes; then I looked up and saw a stone flying towards me, but as I ducked, I slipped on a puddle of grease from Lord Fergun’s hair and knocked him into its path by mistake. It struck him on the temple and knocked him out. So I-” “Yeah, yeah, we read all this last chapter! Go away now,” Lorlen interrupted. “What’s with him?” Dannyl asked, as Rothen returned to his seat. “Oh, you’re talking to me again now, are you?” he asked. “Oh Rothen, don’t be so silly. I was just joking before,” Dannyl insisted, shaking his head in amusement. “Then you have a far more peculiar sense of humour than I thought.” “You’re funny,” the younger man giggled, slapping him on the arm. Rothen regarded him oddly and sighed in despair. Back at the front, Lorlen turned to a group of warriors. “And then you killed the kid. Well done. You complete cocks!” “Administrator,” Lord Balkan, Head of Warriors, began. “When Lord Rothen pointed to the girl, they mistakenly thought he meant the boy beside her, and all attempted to stun him. However, the stunstrikes combined to make a firestrike, which hit the-” “Shut up, you fag. I have sixty-nine witness statements, all claiming that you,” he pointed at one of the Warriors beside Balkan, “quite blatantly murdered him. You effing little ass-roach. Now we’re gonna have to... apologize.” “How will we convince the slum dwellers this was a mistake?” one of the Higher Magicians asked. Lorlen sighed. “Oh, we’ll just give his family a can of beans or something.” “Uh, all right...” the magician frowned, nodding blankly. “So what do we do about the rogue?” Lorlen asked, looking around for suggestions. “If she is a rogue, we shall have to arrest her,” someone pointed out. “But what if she’s a natural? We must find her, and teach her Control,” someone else said. “Yes, we would need help though. Perhaps the City Guard?” agreed a third. Lorlen looked around again. “No-one? Am I the only one awake today? Well, I have concluded that if she is a rogue, we must arrest her and her trainers, but if she is a natural we shall bring her here and teach her Control.” He glanced up at the two King’s Advisors, who were playing cards in the corner. “The Guild formally requests the assistance of the City Guard.” “Sure,” replied the older one distantly, waving his hand. “Whatever- Oh ho ho! You owe me twenty gold!” he cackled, throwing down his cards to reveal four aces and a king. The younger Advisor sighed and handed over his coin purse, though he had no idea what they were playing. Lorlen smiled. “Good, that’s what we'll do then. We should start tomorrow, I think. The novices can have another day of... whatever they do when they’re not in lessons. Tomorrow night, if you gits haven’t found her, we’ll meet here again. I’d love to join you, but there is some wine in my office that needs seeing to immediately. Highly dangerous stuff; must be... disposed of.” “May I make a suggestion, Administrator?” Rothen looked up in surprise to find Dannyl rising from his seat. “Yes, go ahead Lor- Lord Dannyl, may I enquire as to why your robes are pink?” “Oh...” Dannyl mumbled. “Accident with the chemicals.” He shuffled his feet. “When we enter the slums, perhaps we could wear disguises. We might gain more cooperation that way. Maybe some sort of leather... garments. And boots with buckles... And whips...” he trailed off dreamily. However, when he realized everyone was staring at him, he cleared his throat and said, “Or we could dress as they do.” “Certainly not!” Balkan growled. Dannyl’s face fell in disappointment. “We’d be ridiculed throughout the Allied Lands if we were found dressed as beggars and tramps!” “But how will we know who to look for?” Lady Vinara spoke up, for the first time since the Meet had begun. Lorlen spun around abruptly, stumbled, then glared up at Rothen. “Make one of those... picture thingies. You know, the... stuff,” he demanded, gesturing animatedly. Sighing, Rothen closed his eyes and conjured up an image of the girl he had seen earlier. Immediately the Higher Magicians began to chortle. “What a scrawny wretch!” “Filthy little thing!” “She’s just a child!” “I forgot my line.” “Child she may be, but dangerous she is also!” warned Lorlen mysteriously, waving his arms for effect. “What if she isn’t a rogue,” Vinara asked. “What then? We just block her powers then throw the poor child back into the slums?” “What she means,” Balkan interrupted, “is; should we let her join us?” He turned to her. “You old bat. You’d let murderers in if they asked you nicely and batted their eyelashes.” “Oh shut up,” she snarled, stalking from the room, because she was just wasting space on the page now. “High Lord,” Lorlen called suddenly. Akkarin looked up from his notepad, which he’d been doodling in for the length of the Meet. “Are there rogues in the slums?” “Rouges?” he asked in surprise. Noticing everyone was gazing expectantly at him for an answer, he hastily shook his head. “No- No, there are no rogues in the slums...” “It’s settled then. You lot go out in the cold and find her, and I’ll be in my office doing something very relevant and equally important. Now bugger off.” With that, Lorlen leapt up and strode from the room, leaving a hall of bewildered magicians in his wake.

Here be Chapter Three. Please don’t kill me for what I’ve done to everyone, especially Dannyl... and Rothen. Chapter Three Old Friends... Or Stalkers Sonea sat up and groaned. It felt as if there was someone sitting on her. She soon realized this was because there was someone sitting on her. “Sonea! You’re awake! I thought we’d lost you!” they sobbed, throwing their arms around her. She coughed and pushed them off. “Ceryni,” she scowled, before she even looked up. “Oh Sonea! You’ve been unconscious for so long!” She glanced at her sundial-watch. “It’s been half an hour.” “Half an hour’s a long time,” he argued. “Where am I?” she snapped, wrinkling her nose. Wherever she was, it smelled rancid. “Donia’s place,” Cery replied, grinning. “What?” She sat up and glanced around. “Eyew! Cery, I'm in the sewers!” “Yeah; Donia’s place. Her father said you could stay,” he explained, slowly inching closer. Just then there were footsteps, and two figures came into view. Sonea’s temper subsided slightly as she recognised her old friend Donia, alongside Harrin. “Sonea,” Harrin smiled, wading through the raw sewage. “What on earth happened back there? Did... Did you use magic?” “I don’t know,” she replied, prising Cery off her. “I was just so furious about something,” she glared at him, “that I focused that anger on the stone, then it went through the shield.” “Hmm,” he said, but before he could continue, Cery had forced him aside. “I was talking to Sonea,” he huffed. “Can you do magic again? Could you? Try it! Ooh, please try it! You could make me taller! And rich! Then we could be together! We could run away and get married, and have eight children, and-” “I'm not trying anything,” she said firmly. “What if it goes wrong? Look, I need to find Jonna and Ranel.” She slapped his hands away from her arm and got to her feet. “How do I get out of here?” she demanded. Cery’s face fell. “Come on, I’ll show you,” replied Harrin, indicating for her to follow him. Cery leapt after them, wailing for Sonea as she stalked off. Donia stood there unhelpfully and added to the plot in no substantial way. “So you just head down there, then turn left,” Harrin finished, pointing down the tunnel. “Thanks Harrin,” said Sonea gratefully. “It was great to see you again. I’ll have to make sure to come back and visit. Bye, then.” “See you,” he called, waving as she turned to leave. Her departure was somewhat hampered by something clinging onto her leg. “Oh Cery, get up! You’re in a sewer, you fool!” she cried, shaking her leg to get him off. His grip loosened, then he fell facedown into the dark brown liquid flowing past them. “Nooooo!” he wailed. “Don’t leave me! I need you! Don’t go! Please! I’ll shine your shoes! I’ll walk your dog! I’ll baby-sit for free every weekend!” She didn't have the heart to tell him none of these things would be even relatively helpful to her. “Oh, you irritating little rodent. I’ll let you help me find them, and that is it!” “Really?” His eyes brightened. “Oh thank you, thank you, thank you!” His cries of gratitude continued all the way out of the sewers, and down the street. It was only when someone stumbled out of a nearby house and landed on him that he stopped. “Sonea?” the figure gasped, casting around for something to pull themselves up with. “Harrin?” she asked in disbelief. “Please don’t tell me you’ve come back to walk me home too.” “No, it’s far more serious than that. The magicians are searching the slums. For you.” “What...?” “I guess that proves it; you must’ve used magic.” * * * Dannyl brushed a speck of dust from his robes impatiently. He glared down at the garment, which was now its original colour once again. After the Meet, Lorlen had hunted him down and insisted he changed them back, then muttered something about leprechauns and vanished again. The four guards around him exchanged speculative glances as the magician they were meant to be protecting stopped for the sixth time to check his reflection in a shop window. “Does my hair look okay to you?” he demanded. “Yes, my lord,” the men replied in unison. A few minutes previously, when there had been five of them, they had quickly learnt what happened when they disagreed with the stiletto-wielding alchemist. “Humph,” he replied. “I think I should dye it...” “My lord,” began one of the guards hesitantly. He took a step backwards as the magician’s eye-shadowy gaze fixed on him. “Shouldn’t we... be looking for the girl?” There was a long silence before Dannyl made a small gesture with his hand, and the guard turned into a woodlouse. “For reference, if anyone questions me again, I shall not hesitate to punish them,” he warned, examining his chipped nail varnish. The remaining three guards fell silent; each wondering what his idea of punishment was, if that wasn’t what the other two men had received. “This is a waste of time! I could be back in my room, practicing for my ballet recital next week. ‘Ridiculed’ indeed. My idea was good. Wasn’t it?” “Yeah... uh, of course,” they agreed hastily, though they had not the faintest idea what he was talking about. “I thought so. As if we’re not making even bigger fools of ourselves now. I want to dye my hair!” he wailed. “Not traipse around the slums for hours on end.” They continued in silence for a few minutes, the three guards constantly eying possible escape routes, should he have another tantrum. “I bet I could get some cheap hair dye from the Thieves. I’m sure that’s where Fergun gets his... Hmm, Thieves?” His abrupt halt caused the youngest guard to collide with him. The man felt his groin grow warm and damp as Dannyl’s eye twitched. “I’m sorry, my lord, please, I-” “What did I tell you about stepping on my heels?! These are new shoes! New! Do you even know how much they cost?” he hissed, jabbing a finger at his glittery boots. “No, but I-” “Silence!” he bellowed, clicking his fingers and reducing the man to a mound of dung. “Sir, that really was unnecessary!” cried a red-haired guard, stepping forwards. “I said silence!” Before he could reply, he too was transformed into a sweltering pile of excretion. “I’ve had enough of your nonsense, all of you. Ollin, take Keran and- Where is Keran?” “My lord,” said the only guard who had not managed to anger him in some way today. “You, err... stabbed him with your heels when he said you had split ends,” he reminded him. “I did no such thing! You clearly saw him trip and impale himself on my boots while I was examining a clue on the ground. Didn't you?!” “Yes,” he whimpered. Dannyl leant against the wall, crossing his arms. “Good. Now you be a good boy and find me a messenger for the Thieves. I shall be waiting here, attending to some very urgent filing.” He whipped out an emery board and began to file his broken fingernail vigorously, as Ollin staggered off in the opposite direction. -Dannyl? He jumped as he heard the faint mental communication, snapping a second nail. Growling as he recognised Rothen’s voice, he pursed his lips. He could see the older magician approaching in the distance, and made a mental note to be mad at him tomorrow. He had already scowled once today, and couldn’t risk getting wrinkles. “Hello, Rothen,” he said irritably, through clenched teeth. The older man seemed not to notice. “I had no idea what it was like out here,” his friend replied soberly. “I know. Filthy. Disgusting. I only hope I still have that tea tree face mask left, or my pores are going to be clogged for days.” “I...” Rothen sighed and decided it was best just to go along with the taller, less intelligent man. “Yes, disgusting.” “We’re never going to find that little skank,” he muttered. “Look at the state of my boots! Scuffed already.” “Come on, let’s get back to the Guild.” Rothen took hold of Dannyl’s arm and dragged him back down the street before he could come up with some excuse about blisters. “Before I throttle you,” he added under his breath. “Nobody calls my future bride a skank.”

Oh my god this is hilarious! Are you doing anymore? But what have you done to Dannyl? :( you've killed him!

Some bits were so so so funny >< Please carry on!

I know it's not brilliant, but thank you very much :D Your comments mean a lot. Yes, I completely and utterly murdered Dannyl, and I'm not proud. :oops: I think I'm going to blame my guinea-pig for that. Everything's his fault, you see. Lol, I love him really.

Some of that actually made me laugh out loud! :D Is there anymore? You should carry on.

I'm so glad you like it. It really does mean a lot to know that my hard work is appreciated. The next chapter is almost done, and I'm going to try and write some more as soon as I have time (and inspiration). I'll try and put the next part up either later or tomorrow, and hopefully I can get more done over the weekend.

Argh, I am so bad at deadlines. No wonder I have so much coursework left. Maybe this weekend I can actually get some typing done. I've just been so overtired lately I can barely function.

Ti's done, at last. I give ye the fourth instalment. Sick of it yet? I wrote the second half while I was at my nan’s and was deprived of coffee and sugar, so it’s not as... demented as the rest. But perhaps that’s a good thing. Chapter Four The Search (Or Lack Of) Continues Remembering to put his robes on first this time, Rothen stepped outside into the guest room. Yaldin, who had been rummaging through a cupboard, jumped and shut his fingers in the door. Though well over eighty, he had never given up trying to leave rooms with more than he came in with. Dannyl stood beside him, frantically applying some foul smelling cream to the skin around his eyes. “I am so going to get bags!” he was complaining. “Good morning,” Rothen said sleepily. Neither replied, but he hadn’t expected them to. For a few minutes they all stood there, wondering where this chapter was going. “Lord Davin thinks we’ll have a few warm days before winter sets in,” Yaldin said eventually, in an attempt to make conversation. “He’s been saying that for weeks,” Dannyl snapped. He obviously hadn’t got his eight hours of beauty sleep last night. “I want a suntan.” The two older men ignored him, as was usual procedure. Then the door opened and Rothen’s servant, Tania, stepped inside. She made her way slowly over to the table and placed the tray she was carrying (holding some of the ‘fancy’ cups and a plate piled with an assortment of cakes she’d found in the back of the cupboard) down on the surface. “Sumi, my lords?” she asked. “Is it diet?” Dannyl demanded, making her jump and almost pour the jug of steaming water over herself. She backed away as he advanced on her, hands on hips. “Dannyl,” Rothen barked. The taller magician glanced at him angrily. “Sit,” Rothen ordered, pointing to a chair. Resentfully, he folded his legs beneath him and sat. “Good boy,” he cooed, and Dannyl smiled briefly, before covering it with a scowl. Tania set about pouring the drinks, while Yaldin made irrelevant conversation about his wife, Ezrille, who is of no importance to the plot. “I hear Fergun is going to help today,” Rothen said, as soon as Yaldin was quiet. “Ha!” Dannyl snorted, almost dislodging his new nose-stud. “The girl should have thrown harder.” “Dannyl,” Rothen scolded. “What? He stole my straighteners.” The two older men sighed despairingly. Once again, there came a sudden knock on the door. Willing it open, Rothen looked up to see a messenger. “Lord Dannyl?” he asked nervously. “Yes?” demanded Dannyl. “Captain Garrin asked me to tell you- Ooooh...” he let out a choked noise as he saw what the magician was doing. “What do you want?” he snapped again, peeling the wax strip from his leg with a grimace. “Ollin was found bludgeoned to death. The graffiti on his clothes read that the Thieves do not wish to speak with magicians.” “Was he badly injured?” Rothen asked, momentarily forgetting he was in the spoof and not the original book. “Um... Bludgeoned. To death,” repeated the messenger, shaking his head as he left. “Thieves?” Yaldin gasped, making some excuse to stay in the chapter longer. “Oh Dannyl, you didn't ask them to help find the girl?” “Well duh!” was the reply he got. Rothen gazed out of the window and indulged in some wild fantasies about the slum girl, many of which involved salad dressing, rubber ducks and a plastic fork. As they became more bizarre and twisted, he realized that winter was coming soon. What if their search had driven her out of wherever she had been staying and onto the streets? What if she froze to death before they found her? What if he never got to make his perverted fantasies a reality? “Dannyl, the man you spoke to doesn’t speak for all the Thieves, does he?” “I dunno,” Dannyl replied distractedly, trying to get a good view of his backside in the mirror. “Rothen,” he whined. “Does my bum look big in these robes?” “Stop being such a freak,” the older man snapped. “This girl’s life is at stake! You get out there and find out!” “But-” “Now!” Rothen yelled, eyes bulging. With a frightened yelp, Dannyl turned on his heel and fled the room. He was closely followed by Yaldin, but not before the latter had pocketed thirty gold’s worth of cutlery. * * * “Donia! My hair is pink!” “I... I...” “Oh go away, you stupid, insignificant character!” Sonea hissed, staring at her reflection in horror. To deter the magicians’ search, they had been trying to dye her hair a lighter shade. This, however, reminded Sonea why Donia didn't make it to the second book. Snarling, she shoved the girl out of her way, sending her crashing into a wooden cupboard. Hearing the disturbance, Cery appeared in the doorway seconds later, a metal rod clutched in his hand. “Sonea? I heard noise! What happened? Are you okay? Are you hurt? Do you need me?” “No Cery,” she sighed. “I’m fine.” “Oh good, I- OH NO! YOU’RE BLEEDING!” he sprinted across the room and threw his arms around her, sobbing hysterically. “Nooooo! Don’t die! Please!” “Cery,” she choked, trying to extract his arms from around her neck. “It’s... hair... dye...” “Oh, I knew that.” He let go of her immediately and shrugged. “Come on,” Harrin called, finding some excuse to enter the scene. “Come on where?” “They’re searching the slums again. We need to go,” he explained, gesturing to the hidden door in the cupboard he had just emerged from. He didn't seem to have realized he was treading on Donia, and Sonea made no attempt to tell him. Growing tired of this constant running, Sonea got to her feet and followed Harrin into a hidden passage. Cery was close behind her. “Where are we headed?” she asked, kicking a stone. It bounced off the wall and hit Cery in the eye. Gazing at it in wonder, he touched the red mark on his face with one hand, using the other to snatch up the stone and pocket it. “Well,” Harrin began, “Cery found a place over in-” He broke off and held up a hand to silence them as a ball of light appeared. This was closely followed by a purple-robed magician. “Quick,” whispered Cery, grabbing Sonea and hauling her into an alcove. As Harrin made to squeeze in too, he shook his head and glared fiercely. Glancing around in despair, he turned and bolted off down the tunnel. “Hey,” Cery said smoothly, smiling up at Sonea. She would have groaned, had there not have been a magician less than a metre away. As he walked slowly past, she realized he was muttering to himself. “Mmm, so close... Must find... And rubber ducks...” he was saying, his gaze distant. He paused his uttering and frowned, as if he could hear something. “Come to daddy,” he whispered, turning towards the concealed alcove. How can he possibly know I’m here? Surely he can't hear me! She held her breath, just in case, and closed her eyes tightly. Then she realized what was wrong. He can hear my thoughts! No, I’m not here... I’m back down an alleyway, eating from a bin. He can't see me... All of a sudden, it felt as if someone was smothering her. She couldn’t breathe... What have I done? I’ve done something with magic! she thought, beginning to panic. Then she opened her eyes. “Cery,” she said through clenched teeth, glancing down at the figure wrapped possessively around her. “Get off me now.” “Aww,” he sulked, storming out of the alcove in a huff. It was only then that Sonea realized that the magician, and his light, had vanished. * * * Dannyl glanced up in disregard at the building before him. The colours they had chosen for the Seven Arches really did not complement each other. Honestly, grey, purple and orange? It might have passed as vaguely acceptable, had some bright spark not added vibrant green splodges and copper tinsel. It was, he decided, perhaps the worst monstrosity he had ever seen. Shaking his head, he strode, or rather - pranced, into the Night Room behind Rothen. However, he stopped abruptly when he noticed something dressed in black robes at the front of the room. Baring his teeth, he let out a snarl. “Dannyl?” Rothen called, glancing around for his companion. “I don’t believe it,” Dannyl hissed. “Look at it! How does he do it?” “What?” “It’s so... glossy,” he whispered, envy dripping from his words and pooling at his feet. “Dannyl, what on earth are you going on about?” Rothen snapped, noticing Lorlen beckoning lazily for them. “His hair!” the younger magician whined. “My hair could never be that shiny!” Rothen bit his tongue so hard it bled and moved over to Lorlen and Akkarin, avoiding the pool of envy on the way. “-and I’ve suffered so terribly these past few days, it’s a wonder I’ve been able to bear it,” someone was saying. Dannyl’s scowl deepened as he recognized the blinding hair, and he slipped his sunglasses into place, as did Rothen. Fergun was sprawled lazily across three chairs, one of which contained the High Lord, sipping a glass of wine. Someone had stuck a ‘My Little Pony’ plaster over his “dreadful wound”. “Indeed,” interrupted Akkarin, noticing they had company. He silently thanked Lorlen for calling them over, though that now meant they had to come up with a reason for doing so. “Lord Rothen, Lord Dannyl, it is so nice to see you,” he said, forcing a smile. Fergun choked on his wine in disgust, then shook his head and glanced up. “Ah, Lord Rothen, greetings. Are you here alone?” he asked. “Ahem,” Dannyl said. Fergun frowned. “That’s odd, I thought I heard a noise. Ah well, it must be due to my injury. It troubles me so much,” he continued. He failed to notice the other four roll their eyes. “You really shouldn’t be by yourself, Rothen. You must get awfully lonely. You can always come and find me if you need company, you know.” “AHEM!” Dannyl repeated. “What is that peculiar sound?” Fergun made a show of looking around for the source. “I think I should ask the healers to check my head again.” “You bitch!” Dannyl sobbed, bitchslapping him across the face. “I hate you!” he turned to run, but Rothen caught him by the collar and held him back. Fergun blinked in surprise. “So,” Lorlen said, after a few minutes’ silence. “Do we have any news on the pirates?” “Pirates, my friend?” Akkarin inquired. “Do you not mean the rogue?” “That’s what I said,” he snapped. “Any news on the rogue?” Rothen repeated what had happened a few pages ago, while everyone else drummed their fingers on some form of surface. Dannyl took the opportunity to scowl openly at Akkarin, deciding he would steal his shampoo later. “Dannyl mentioned earlier that the slum dwellers are the ones more likely to find the girl,” Rothen added. “I think we should ask them for their assistance.” “Dannyl?” Fergun asked. “Where is he these days?” Rothen had to hold the taller man back to ensure Fergun’s head remained connected to the rest of him. “We could... offer a – ouch – reward,” Rothen continued, ducking as Dannyl’s stiletto heel narrowly missed his eye. “A reward is a good idea,” Akkarin agreed mysteriously, pulling out a glittery necklace from his robes. He dangled it before Dannyl’s eyes, then tossed it into the corner. The magician followed. “Yes, I think we shall do that,” he decided. “And we could punish those who hinder us!” Fergun cried. “Have them hung, drawn and quartered. Or stick a red-hot cattle prod up their-” “Do you know how much paperwork I have to fill out every time we kill someone? No chance!” Lorlen snapped, fumbling in his pocket for a cigar. “Dannyl, I want you to print up some reward posters with her description on.” “Yes Administrator,” Dannyl called from the corner, where he had been gnawing at the shiny piece of jewellery. “Lord Rothen, you will tell Dannyl, won’t you? It’s a shame he couldn’t join us today,” Fergun said. A moment later a heavy book struck him in the back of the head. “Administrator, I fear the ceiling is falling to pieces!” he gasped, jumping up. “I must retire to my rooms now, I feel awfully peculiar.” Clutching his head, he hurried from the room, succeeding in knocking Dannyl out the window on the way. “I should...” Rothen gestured vaguely, then smiled gratefully as the remaining two men nodded in agreement. Cursing to himself, he made his way outside to fish Dannyl out of whatever he had landed in, hoping it was not Lord Osen’s pants again. He sometimes wondered if the young Assistant Administrator had ever recovered from that last incident. Akkarin and Lorlen exchanged displeased glances, then pulled out a joint each and sparked up.

Wow, nice! Me likes it!!!

You do? Really? Yay, I'm happy now :)

"Rothen gazed out of the window and indulged in some wild fantasies about the slum girl, many of which involved salad dressing, rubber ducks and a plastic fork." *chokes on drink and falls off chair with laughter* :D

Lol, I hope you didn't hurt yourself there. Now how did such a naughty thing find it's way into my spoof? :->

Aaaaaaw...no more? :cry: