Nexus Farce: Ingress of Imagination

[Brigs]

 

EDIT: HEY LEGO MESSAGE BOARD MODERATION TEAM, ELIMBIER IS ONE OF MINE. IT'S NOT PLAGIARISM, OKAY?

 

A few years ago, I tasked myself with a writing exercise to expand on the LEGO Universe origin story, told in a dramatic and engaging narrative. It was exceedingly dark with embellished descriptions and edgy dialog. Up to now it hasn’t been published… I’d personally like to keep it that way. Excessive purple prose, said bookisms, and unrealistic diction are just a few of its infractions against the literary hobby.

 

Thus, I buried it and eventually exhumed it a year or so later, incinerated the corpse, and built something completely different atop its remains. Hopefully this one is comically serviceable.

 

I’m also planning to post this incrementally on the Elimbies, just to see what extent of scatological subterfuge the moderators will tolerate. I may share my results in a blog afterward.

 

Feedback is appreciated, provided that it only reinforces my narcissistic outlook. Criticism, constructive or otherwise, will be overlooked in favor of glowing reviews by the mindless masses.

 

New chapters will be published every Friday, and the accompanying vignettes will be posted in a separate topic in the LEGO Creations forum.

 

 

LEGO Nexus Farce: Ingress of Imagination

 

Written by Brigs

 

Chapter 1 - Johnny Thunder and the Quest for the MacGuffin

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Johnny Thunder glanced up from his map, smirking his iconic mustached smirk, as if to arouse the ovation of some unseen audience. It was the outset of another glorious adventure. The Australian adventure hero wondered to himself: what fantastic perils would he face this time? Would he be engaged in a showdown with his greedy arch-nemesis? Perhaps caught in an escalating race against said arch-nemesis to claim a mystical artifact that could be used to bring about the end of all life as he knew it? Would he have opportunities to commit gross violations of the archeological method? Or maybe enjoy a pleasant intermission with his myriad female admirers?

 

The Thunder adjusted his wide-brim fedora before turning from his invisible audience and toward the corridor of near-certain death. The insatiable bad-butt casually strutted down the pathway until he inevitably stepped on that one conspicuously protruding brick which incidentally triggers one of the many sufficiently lethal traps along the requisite death course to the Obligatory Chamber of Relics, comprising buzz-saws, swinging blades, no less than a two dozen trap doors, a couple lava pits, rubber spikes, and those useless little flick-operated projectiles.

 

Johnny wondered three things: why he didn’t look where he was going, how these booby traps could possibly be working flawlessly despite being undisturbed for millennia, and how he ended up in his present predicament in the first place. The first question could be attributed to his enormous, hyper-inflated ego; the second could likely be attributed to an unseen wizard warding off the effects of natural decay and entropy, but the third required some gratuitous expository flashbacks…

 

Some years ago, or more precisely, thirteen zillion, it happened that Johnny was looking into taking a luxury cruise with his friend Pippin Reed. His uncle Kilroy recommended his brother’s consulting firm, Cyber’s Temporal Trip Advisors, a time-travel consulting firm of dubious integrity which spanned several grossly wealthy star systems across a number of the more affluent time periods.

 

Time cruises and temporal manipulation at large are, of course, illegal in virtually all advanced galactic confederacies because such ventures have a tendency to result in the general mucklification of the globular spatio-temporal medium, not to mention their being a gross perversion of conventional physics and the mind-bending tenses involved being the chagrin of grammarians everywhere. One popular argument for the abolition of time cruises observes that time cruisers have a seemingly irresistible urge to attempt to assassinate a multitude of the most ruthless dictators and megalomaniacal despots throughout history. Godwin’s Constant of Temporal Manipulation states that any attempt, directly or otherwise, to travel back in time to assassinate any of the aforementioned despots will invariably fail. Further, those who are the subject of the assassination attempt will almost invariably manage to obtain the temporal manipulation device that enabled the assassination attempt, thereby instigating a series of events which invariably result in the megalomaniacal despot in question achieving global domination.

 

There is no law, however, barring travel to the distant future by means of time dilation, and the temporal travel agents took considerable liberties in marketing that fact. When Johnny and Pippin had set an appointment, the trans-temporal travel agents were more than eager to expound their selection of luxury cruises, offering a variety of “economically priced” packages that would accommodate their budget. The travel agents were having difficulties convincing clients to book time cruises to the Fifty-Fourth zillennium and, in order to make the cruises seem more appealing, offered special discounts on all cruises to that chronological destination.

 

The consultants also conveniently neglected to mention that the economy time cruise to the Fifty-Fourth zillennium held a one-way contingency and consequently did not cover the return trip back to the so-called Twentieth century in the Forty-First zillennium. Incidentally, the Fifty-Fourth zillenium was also the point in time at which the premature obliteration of the entire spatio-temporal medium was to occur. Suffice to say, Cyber’s Trans-temporal Trip Advisors didn’t offer Johnny or Pippin a refund.

 

As this retrospective narration played in the back of our hero’s plastic, yellow, fedora-adorned head, he carefully navigated through the sufficiently lethal death course. One of the friendly swinging blades found itself wishing to make intimate physical contact with him but Johnny Thunder knew he didn’t have time for its companionship and rejected its advances, continuing toward the Obligatory Chamber of Relics.

 

The focal point of the chamber was a brilliant, transparent-green, triangular crystal fixed on a cylindrical pedestal. Light reflected off the crystal from the sunlight channeled through a small opening directly above.

 

“Crickey!” said Johnny, before promptly examining his wristwatch.

 

As he expertly extracted the crystal, he was pleasantly surprised that a massive boulder wasn’t chasing him and that the chamber didn’t seem to be collapsing. Exhaling with a surprised humph, he placed the crystal in his satchel and wandered back through the sufficiently lethal death course.

 

He was also pleasantly surprised and slightly disappointed that no one seemed to want to repossess his most recent acquisition, as was very often the case. At approximately this point in most of his previous adventures, some contemptible rival would swoop in and demand the adventurer’s recently-obtained treasure, frequently in exchange for a hostage damsel-in-distress who was somehow totally incapacitated whenever the villain was gripping her arm. Following this transaction, the rival would gloat evilly before collapsing the entrance and leaving the adventurers to spend the remaining portion of eternity in the ancient labyrinth, although they inevitably escape and thwart the villain’s schemes, proving things would have been much easier and more likely to result in success had he forgone the whole melodramatic routine and simply had them shot in the first place.

 

The light outside the labyrinth grew in intensity as he approached. Suddenly, Johnny Thunder felt an inexplicable urge to exclaim a variation of his clever and entirely original catchphrase to the outside world.

 

“Ha-ha! Adventure has a name, and it's–"

 

Clong.

 

Thud.

 

                Unfortunately, before Johnny could finish his sentence, he was rendered unconscious by an unexpected collision between the back of his head and a shovel wielded by a rather annoyed archeologist who worked on the excavation site which Johnny Thunder was trespassing on.

 

                The wielder of the shovel picked up the satchel and simply wandered off, muttering something about him being “the third freelance adventurer-archeologist this week”

 

Chapter 2 - Typhonus

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Baron Typhonus could be best described as a man of scholarly ambition, with a cultured fascination with all things fashionable. Unfortunately, his tastes in fashion were tragically ensnared in an antiquated era so deluded that its members imagined “SNOT” to be some sort of nasal byproduct, which is equally as much a fiction as the myth of a facial feature called a “nose”; likewise are the rest of those anatomical superstitions, such as the elusive knee or elbow. Allusions to any of those anatomical nonentities are recognized by psychiatrists as key indicators of hallucination.

 

Baron Typhonus held up various articles of pants for his inspection. As usual, he was impeccably groomed with impressive sideburns and pointed goatee; his imposing top hat overshadowed a charcoal coat and magnificent cape. Despite his exquisitely dressed upper body, his lower sectors had a noteworthy deficiency in the clothes department.

 

                At that moment, his protégé, Vanda, decided that it would be an inexplicably perfect time to barge in on her mentor and apprise him of her recent procurement.

 

                “Oh… ah, Vanda,” said Typhonus, alternating focus between her bemused expression and his exposed boxer shorts, “What a… ah… inopportune surprise.”

 

He quickly sat himself in the chair behind the asylum of his enormous desk.

 

                “Aha…” said Vanda. She pulled out the satchel formerly belonging to Johnny Thunder. “Here is the crystal we uncovered at the excavation site. However, there were a few… complications.”

 

                Vanda offered the satchel to her mentor, setting it on the desk.

 

 

 

                “What sort of complications, exactly?” said Typhonus.

 

“Nothing calamitous. Just your typical arrogant adventurer-archeologist.”

 

“Was he… subdued?”

 

“Yes, and I imagine he will remain so for quite some time.”

 

Typhonus peered inside the satchel, removing the deltoid-faced crystal. He ran his claws over its surface.

 

                “Remarkable… and impeccably preserved! This should suit our purposes perfectly. Excellent work as always, Vanda.”

 

                “Thank you, sir,” she said.

 

 “Now… would you care to explain any of this?” said Vanda. She gestured toward the numerous articles of legwear sprinkled liberally throughout the library.

 

                Setting the crystal aside, Typhonus stood up and slapped on the most proximate pair of pants.

 

“There is a Pants Party downtown, and I’m invited,” said Typhonus.

 

Typhonus walked toward the door and removed his cloak and scepter, believing that they might rouse unwanted attention at the party; nonetheless, he couldn’t bring himself to discard his signature top hat.

 

“Funny, I didn’t think you were the type to attend parties for sporting gaudy legwear and drinking questionable substances,” said Vanda.

 

“I’m not. I find no pleasure in attending such a miserable, unscrupulous establishment.” On his way out of the room, he said, “However, my business necessitates that I pay an old colleague a visit. We’ll speak more of this development at a later time. The house is yours, Vanda.”

 

                “Of course.”

 

                And with a parting good-evening, he left.

 

Chapter 3 - Albert

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Pants were scattered across the premises of the Pants Party Dance Pub. Pants on the chandelier. Pants on the countertop. Pants on the ground. Everywhere one looked, pants were ubiquitously present. Fortunately, most of the garments were still attached to their wearers. There were highly chromatic pants, white pants, brown pants, white pants which have subsequently shifted to a particular shade of brown, pants splotched with inebriating beverages and other substances which might not be appropriate to mention considering the narrative’s potential audience demographics. …Let’s just say there were pants.

 

 

In the midst of a scene nebulously stretching upper boundaries of the PG rating, one individual in neon-blue pants sat hunched in the back at the bar, drinking his notion potion. He muttered vulgar thoughts to himself, thoughts chiefly concerning the interminable condemnation of this and the pronouncement of eternal judgement upon that. As he continued to sip his notion potion (referred to among the erudite as the “inebriating acid trip catalyst”), his weight shifted, disrupting equilibrium and causing him to fall from the stool he had rested upon late as a moment ago.

 

However, as he began to fall, Typhonus jumped in at precisely the right moment and stabilized him. With a look of concern, Typhonus set himself on the stool adjacent to his friend.

 

“Albert…”

 

Albert hesitantly looked up and recognized him immediately. Astounded from his intoxicated haze, Albert resumed as upright a posture as anyone could manage “while under the influence of Imagination”. He quickly finished off the residue on his bottle, careful to avoid eye contact.

 

“Any fascinating hallucinations lately?” said Typhonus.

 

                “It was delirious enough before you wandered in. Milo, another.” said Albert with a groggy inflection feigning sobriety.

 

Albert gestured to the shirtless bartender, who promptly brought him another notion potion.

 

“Do you even have any idea of what they put in that concoction?” Typhonus said to no one in particular.

 

“Sshhh!!! The morality police may be surveilling us!” said a panicked Milo.

 

“Oh no...” Albert’s eyes widened in realization, “Don’t tell me that this the humiliating bar scene where the main protagonist rambles on end to the ‘troubled acquaintance’ about ‘how this sort of indulgence is self-destructive and detrimental to your health and productivity’, and that he can offer some sort of resolution to his friend’s dilemma, and at the climax of his dramatic monologue the acquaintance inexplicably ‘come to his senses’?”

 

“Actually, I wanted to discuss the possibility of initiating a joint enterprise,” said Typhonus.

 

“Oh, that’s a very persuasive pretext, Typhonus. Supposing I was even slightly convinced by that blatant ruse, do you really think I’m in any mood for your tangential dialog?”

 

“The manner in which you are conducting yourself suggests a less agreeable outcome.”

 

“That being the case, I guess that makes this the part of the scene where you make your dramatic exit and wait for me to realize that I ‘abhor this place’ and ‘come to my senses’.”

 

“Yes, I suppose it does,” said Typhonus. He tossed a sum of money at the bartender. “And you! Go buy yourself a shirt, you’re repulsive enough half-naked.”

 

                Now some time later (it is inestimable as to when, since it is difficult to gauge time while “under the influence of imagination”, or in an imagination-induced coma for that matter) but when Albert came to his senses he realized that he abhorred that place and decided to make an expeditious departure. With diminished coordination, he clumsily stumbled toward the exit. Settling into his automobile, Albert cranked the ignition and began his precarious drive home.

 

The vehicle’s built-in radio set cheerfully buzzed from the dashboard, announcing its next song in its Nonstop Earworm Midnight Marathon, "At the top of the charts for the umpteenth consecutive week, it’s ‘Everything Is A...’"

 

                Albert switched stations.

 

From L.-E.-G.-O. Radio News in the Capital, I’m Robert Scaffolding for ‘Everything Examined’. And now for the news: in the headlines today, Administrator Bur O. Crat has announced his intentions to drastically expand the jurisdiction of the Department of Exposition, of which L.E.G.O. Radio is a subsidiary, explaining that “the proposed motion would enable us to conveniently deliver the public with relevant civic information without interfering with the causal flow from the Ministry of Narrative.”

 

In other news, the environmental conservation alarmist group Green Piece has recently initiated their “L.E.G.O.S. Unite” campaign while holding a rally outside the capitol, as part of their crusade against environmentally detrimental mollusks and plastic pollution. One concerned protestor took a break from beating the stuffing out of a crude, raised straw effigy to talk to one of our correspondents.

 

‘We’re just trying to raise awareness for the threat these mollusks and their policies of plastic pollution present to our shared environment. If the mollusks aren’t stopped, they’ll bring about the impending environmental apocalypse, and that’s terrible!

 

As he was saying this, other members of the mob were spreading petroleum around the raised effigy, before subsequently igniting the substance and immolating the figure as an offering to the anthropomorphized maternal spirit of nature. When someone observed that they drove there in a vehicle made of plastic, and that this might be perceived by some as a form of hypocrisy, the mob picked him up and threw him into the sacrificial blaze with the effigy.

 

The mollusks have yet to comment on this development…

 

On Partition Street today, plastic prices have shot up another five percent, closing at record highs. This is on the heels of the growing concerns over the growing plastic shortage worldwide, which has resulted in increased market instability as the proverbial bubble’s volume approaches the critical bursting threshold. Market experts attribute this instability to increased consumption which has outpaced supplementation, resulting in extreme price inflation. Manufacturers—not directly affiliated with mollusks—are desperately seeking a viable, ecologically sustainable alternative construction material, but as of yet to no avail. Experts also predict that a global recession may be imminent, just as they have for the last half-decade, nevertheless advising you to protect yourself and your family by investing in rare elements, which can, for a limited time only, be purchased at one percent above stock price!

 

I’m Robert Scaffolding, reminding you that if you are not listening to L.-E.-G.-O., there is a staggering statistical likelihood that you are not listening to a radio. We’ll return to ‘Everything Examined’ in a moment, but first, enjoy this nice song…”

 

Albert cut off the radio as he approached the street of his residence. While parking the vehicle in his suburban driveway, he noted an impressive black automobile parked at the end of the street. Albert had little interaction with his neighbors, though it had been always assumed that none of them were particularly wealthy. Entering his abode, he was anxious to abandon his hardships for a protracted rest.

 

 

Chapter 4 – Albert’s Abode

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Unbeknownst to Albert, an unsolicited guest had admitted himself into the living room. Albert stepped back, surprised at the intruder, Typhonus, who was petting his domesticated terrier on the couch as if trespassing onto private property was the most ordinary occurrence in the world. Not that this wasn’t a particularly difficult or infrequent infraction, as the inexplicable local building ordinance stipulates that all homes must be built without any quaternary wall.

 

“Oh, splendid,” Typhonus said, “you made it home intact. It would have been extremely tragic and rather problematic to the narrative if you hadn’t.”

 

“You seem to be awfully adamant about degrading my occasional tendencies,” said Albert.

 

“It was not my intention to disparage your indulgence.”

 

“Then this is about my entering the ‘Dark Ages’, isn’t it?”

 

“Well, not exactly.” Typhonus said, “Since our earliest collaborations, I have considered you a colleague, and I eventually came to regard you as a friend. Your sense of structure, creative dexterity and ambition to improve oneself are inspirational. But how could these same positive attributes yield detrimental effects?”

 

“If you fancifully imagine that this the part where I ‘unexpectedly’ gush out and ‘share my deepest feelings and insecurities,’ you are grossly mistaken.”

 

“Structure advances into hyper-analysis, and ambition fosters perfectionism, which opposes an infeasible register of schedules and timetables enforced both externally and internally. You cannot tie your self-esteem on some fantastic scales of productivity.”

 

Albert turned his attention elsewhere. “This speech is becoming needlessly preachy.”

 

“Let me finish, won’t you? Anyway, we certainly aren’t the consummate beings we aspire to be, far from that. We’re all forgetful, mistake-prone, and generally foolish on occasion. But in concession of these flaws, we also have the capacity to be so much more, with our faculty to imagine, the passion to create, and ability to build.”

 

                “Wow. That was a very inspirational speech,” Albert said, “Did you have it written down somewhere, or had you memorized that all beforehand?”

 

                Typhonus elected to ignore Albert’s caustic remark. “While you were “under the influence of imagination”, as you put it, I asked you whether you would be interested in an upcoming enterprise of mine, but you did not allow me the opportunity to elaborate on the proposal.”

 

                “Seeing that you won’t relent on the subject, we might as well get this ordeal over with.”

 

“All right. Tell me, Albert, how familiar are you with Mythran lore?”

 

“It doesn’t matter, you’ll just thrust yourself into the rhetoric regardless of my familiarity with the subject. Never mind, just go ahead and get it over with.”

 

“Ah, very good,” said Typhonus, savoring the opportunity to bloviate to his heart’s content, “According to Mythran lore, the universe once flowed with unbridled imaginative thought.  Creative energies coalesced into bricks — the tangible manifestation of creative energy — which to this present day constitutes the physical framework of our world.”

 

At this point it occurred to Albert that he had yet to drink anything to wash down the noxious aftertaste of his notion potion, and set out to the refrigerator for a bottle of cool water.

 

“But what if we could tamper with those underpinnings? Imagine, Albert, a reality malleable to our whims! The implications of such a technology would be—quite literally—limited only by our imagination, if you’ll excuse the pun. For years, I have searched for a mechanism that would allow us to harness that fundamental infrastructure, that power of imagination, to contort the fabric of space and time however we like, right under the noses of those cantankerous physicists and their thermodynamics gobbledygook.”

 

“Honestly, Typhonus, I can’t believe you would acquiesce to such absurd superstitions.”

 

Typhonus was indignant. “I have devoted my entire career to investigating the secrets of the Mythran, and I consider myself an expert on the subject!”

 

“Not that, I meant the nose.”

 

“Oh… That was just a figurative idiom, meaning to subvert or sneak past, if you will.”

 

“Oh.” Albert opened the fridge and immediately forgot what he was looking for. “But if we don’t have nasal features, how was that expression introduced to our vocabulary?”

“Mega-blok it, Albert, I’m a scholar, not an etymologist, but that is not what’s important right now. The point is I am assembling a coalition of the greatest engineering specialists and creative intellects in the world for the most monumental technological undertaking since the invention telekinetic brick separator; a vessel for which immensely vast distances of space collapse under the sheer importunity of the mind! I call this project the K.O.I. Initiative.”

 

“And would you have my role be in this undertaking?”

 

“Albert, I will not be able to administrate the technical side of this operation on my own. I need someone I can count on, someone conversant with the advanced theoretical mechanics involved who can oversee the endeavor and see the technology implemented through to completion, and I would be most delighted if you would be that someone.”

 

Typhonus grinned, seeing that finally, Albert’s interest had been piqued.

 

 

Chapter 5 - Assembling the Build Alliance

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Typhonus’s spacious estate was an ideal venue for the first summit of the Build Alliance; a pretentious mansion dominated the valley vista, a testament to the Typhonus family’s eccentric aesthetic penchants. The mansion was well suited for a gathering of the summit’s magnitude, with a formidable air conditioning system which was capable of circulating out most of the hot air that might arise between the vehement visitors. The atrium was ornamented with some of the most obscure and unusual artifacts in the world. For example, one such artifact was a mask known to its indigenous people as the Kanohi Miru, which according to an ancient legend from a time before time gave its user the ability to levitate, but most modern scholars have dismissed this claim as “a load of bonkles”. Meanwhile, Vanda manned the refreshment table, whose contents ranged from simple thirst quenchers to delightful slices of cake of a most moist consistency. The most recent addition to Typhonus’s collection would be unveiled soon.

 

Most of the Build Alliance’s membership had already arrived, and spent the intervening time prior to the unveiling congregating amongst themselves. Albert inspected the gathering. Most of the visitors bore unfamiliar faces, but he did recognize a few. Worse, one of the latter set was heading toward him!

 

“Well, take me apart and call me deconstructed, Albert,” said a bearded, lusciously robed man, “What a surprise to see you here! Back from the Dark Ages, are we now, Overbuild?”

 

“It’s nice to see you, too, Mardolf,” replied Albert.

 

“Is the device ready, Albert?” Typhonus said.

 

“My preliminary diagnostic indicates that all systems are functioning within acceptable parameters. Of course, given our limited understanding of the element in question and the prototypical nature of this technology, its reliability is highly suspect.”

 

“Very well,” said Typhonus, preparing to address the audience.

 

“Welcome to my estate, everyone,” he said, “I would like to thank you all for taking the time from your schedules to attend this assembly.”

 

 “I have invited you all here with the opportunity to participate in what will come to be known as the most monumental undertaking of this zillenium. You have all been nominated according to your aptitude for the assignment, but I have withheld the exact nature of that enterprise up to this point.

 

Typhonus approached the covered pedestal and pulled off the sheet, revealing the transparent bright-green crystal beneath.

 

“Since the insemination of the worlds, civilizations have been in pursuit of the mythical element, the essence of Imagination, an element with the power to forever alter reality. This crystal,” he said, “is not of that element. It is, nevertheless, something quite invaluable. This crystal composed of concentrated creative energy, and those properties should, theoretically, enable us to temporarily distort the fabric of reality. I call this substance Imaginite.”

 

Typhonus picked up the Imaginite crystal, walking toward a small contraption Albert was tuning. Typhonus handed the crystal to Albert, who in turn installed it in the device.

 

“To demonstrate this principle, my colleague Albert has designed this small-scale prototype Imaginetic Spatial Distortion Array. The array generates a field in which space curvature is contorted into non-real, imaginary space.

 

Typhonus reached for a brick as the Spatial Distortion Array hummed to life.

 

“In this demonstration, I will throw this two-by-four brick into the field, at which point it will disappear from our physical plane of existence. Now, given the instability associated with the prototypical nature of this device, there is no telling what will happen to the brick once it enters imaginary space. The brick may reappear at any point in space and time, or it may not reappear at all. Or it may reappear at all points in space and time simultaneously, there’s just no way to be certain without experimentation. But, according to with Finagle’s Law of Dynamic Negatives, it should be observed that should the brick reappear, it will have a tendency to do so in the most perverse and inconvenient way possible. Is everyone ready?”

 

The audience nodded with some reservation. Typhonus hurled the brick toward the field projected in front of Albert’s machine. The two-by-four brick evanesced as it was flung into distant, hyper-abstract planes of existence. The crowd babbled incoherently in astonishment.

“Impossible! It must be some sort of optical illusion,” said one distinguished elderly scientist.

 

“It’s not a trick, mister…”

 

“Clarke,” said the distinguished elderly scientist.

 

“Well, Professor Clarke, the only way we’ll ever uncover anything new is to push beyond the established limits. Perhaps, this crystal is the means by which this can be accomplished!”

 

“So, these are literally just Green Rocks.”

 

                “Well, while it’s certainly a mineral compound of sorts, but it seems to be more of an emerald color, in my opinion.”

 

                “Any sufficiently versatile, ‘scientific’ substance such as the one you propose is the functional equivalent of magic.”

 

“It’s not magic!” snapped Typhonus, “It’s a highly convenient plot-enabling element! And just to make it official, I have proposed its introduction as an element on the Plastonic Table of Elements: Imaginatium!”

At that instant Clarke’s suspension of disbelief expired and he spontaneously evaporated into the ether. This incident also led to the discovery of a subterranean narrative force called the Suspension of Disbelief Field, which will most probably have considerable plot implications in the near future.

 

 

 

Chapter 6 – A Gratuitous, Tangential Lesson in Imaginary Physics

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                The Plastonic Table of Elements is the uniform collection of all forms of matter in existence. The Plastonic Table was first conceived by an egocentric, rambling fellow named Leg Godt, who quite accidentally discovered it during an imaginative hangover. It was also Leg Godt who first theorized the existence of Imagination particles, the quantum of which all Plastonic matter is constituted (hence the term “Godt Particle”, as coined by the inebriate’s derisive colleagues). In the years that followed Professor Leg Godt became posthumously recognized as the father of modern chemistry. Despite the best efforts of historians, modern chemistry’s mother has never been identified. Needless to say, this brought the legitimacy of Leg Godt’s chemical posterity into question.

 

These Plastonic Elements are more generally referred to as Leg Godt’s bricks (in a confounding linguistic phenomenon, the terminology is abridged even further by many a simpleton who will refer to Plastonic Elements collectively as “legos” [leg-oh’s]), but this is an egregious misnomer. Bricks themselves, from a chemical perspective, comprise only a small portion of the Plastonic Table. Bricks of this variety may be designated by their dimensions on the horizontal plane, which are measured by the integral coordinate displacement of quaint little round plateau-like protuberances called “studs”. Standard nomenclature follows these metrical pairs; one-by-one, two-by-four, and eight-by-sixteen are all valid terminology. Other varieties of elements, such as slopes, plates, arches, etc., etc., also follow this metrical trend. More complex categories involve further taxonomical conventions which are beyond the scope and retention of this narrative.

 

Of course, theoretical elements, such as the five-and-a-half-by-the-square-root-of-three brick and the two-point-four-by-seventeen inverse hyperbolic wedge, can exist only in the delusional, intoxicated mind such as that of Professor Leg Godt, and to that end cannot be classified on the Plastonic Table. Such was the anomalous nature of Imaginatium.

 

According to theoretical sub-Plastonic physics, Imagination particles emit a spacetime-warping radiation called the Imaginetic field. Most elements’ Imaginetic charges cancel, giving matter a stability and constancy. Conversely, Imaginatium’s Imaginetic charges are unusually dynamic, “plastic”, if you will. The Imaginatium species, from which the Imaginite compounds are formed, has been speculated by Build Alliance scientists to be the only element capable of manipulating space on a practical scale.

 

                Doctor Albert’s prototype Imaginetic Spatial Distortion Array is perhaps the most intricate and sophisticated contraption ever devised by minifigure. The principals that govern its function are so absurdly contrived and inexplicable that their mere suggestion can shatter the minds of even the most well-versed of mathematicians and quantum physicists. The mechanics involve complex and horrendously convoluted mathematical concepts such as zero divided by itself, eleventy, umpteen, forty-two, and LDD’s FOV, to name just a few.

 

This complexity, combined with the disappearance of Clarke, led Typhonus to commission the development of the Disbelief Suspension Field Modifier. This device, conveniently enough, does precisely what its name suggests, in that it alters the local Suspension of Disbelief (abbreviated S.O.D. or S.O.D.B.) field and artificially imposes a sense of narrative and purports fluid causality.

 

                Albert oversaw the incorporation of these technologies into the Build Alliance’s enterprise: the Venture Koi, a space vessel capable of nigh-instantaneous intergalactic travel by taking shortcuts through extradimensional, imaginary space without all the mucking about with those notoriously spasmodic ion-burst relativity jumps. While the Imaginetic Distortion Array warps the form of reality, the Disbelief Suspension Field Modifier negates most of the associated adverse effects by keeping reason and Newtonian physics at an arm’s length at all times. The ship also featured a revolution in onboard navigation interface technology manifested in the prototype Navigation And Observation Mathematical Intelligence, acronymically dubbed NAOMI.

 

 

Chapter 7 – K.O.I.

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                “Didn't you know you have to have a permit for these things?” said the inspector, “We can’t allow you to just go around distorting reality all willy-nilly. That’s the Ministry of Narrative’s purview!”

                “I filed for a permit for reality distortion experiments months in advance!” said Typhonus, “The Ministry has been utterly non-cooperative!”

                “You can file a complaint at your local office. Otherwise, I must insist that you cease all narrative-distorting operations, or my counterparts from the Protagonist Smothering Agency will have no choice but to sedate the operation.”

                “That will not be necessary. Good day,” said Typhonus, turning back to the construction yard and a preoccupied Albert.

In spite of the menace of bureaucratic meddling and unceasing contestation between members of the Build Alliance on a myriad of issues, the Venture Koi construction process was finally underway. After months of the seemingly perpetual cycle of deliberating, designing, scrapping, and resuming, some progress was actually becoming apparent as the foundations of the Venture Koi were laid. Much of the delay emanated from disagreement over purely aesthetic features, such as interior design and the color palate. Mardolf spearheaded the motion for a “lighter and softer” scheme, while others lobbied for a “darker and more angular” approach. This delayed the process considerably and pushed back the Venture Koi’s construction, hence completion, by many months. At one point wings with flaps were discussed and very popular since they would be advantageous to maneuvering in space dogfights, in addition to the fact that they would “just look really neat”. However, it was eventually decided that wings were expendable since they might adversely affect the ship’s terminal velocity in a vacuum.

                Albert was donned in a headset consisting of optical enhancers and an advanced neural interface with projected visual display, which controlled the movements of the massive mechanical appendages affixed to the back of his construction vest. He tinkered with a conically shaped object that conspicuously resembled a certain implement used in diffusing light on many a contemporary electrical incandescent fixture. “I have devised a method to accelerate the construction process exponentially. I’ve modified the Imaginetic Distortion Array to function as a discontinuous incremental progression accelerator, which emits a field encapsulating the facility in a highly localized intermittent temporal acceleration envelope. With this contraption, to an observer outside of the field’s effects, a month’s labor seems to transpire in well under half a minute!”

                “So,” said Typhonus, “a montage.”

                “In layman’s terms, yes, that is an approximate description of the phenomenon.”

                “Hold on… wouldn’t we be caught in the acceleration field, too, rendering it useless from our perspective?”

                “Yes, well… within a certain proximity to the device, the acceleration effect is negated.”

“Then you’ve recalibrated the Disbelief Suspension Field Modifier to compensate for the resultantly immense dilatational flux?”

Albert finished his alterations and turned on the machine. “Yes... Please, just don’t ask how this works, I hardly understand it myself.”

The scene before them spontaneously shifted as time lurched forward and several days seemed to pass in an instant. Typhonus and Albert saw the construction crew installing the three primary propulsion thrusters to the ship’s astern, adjacent to the engines. Again the scene distorted, altering to a point where a gigantic crane lowered the Imaginetic distortion nacelle into place onto the roof of the ship. In the subsequent scene, the twin dropships were attached to the port and starboard airlocks while the parabolic communications array was installed to the bottom. This excessively graphic description continued successively until finally culminating in the Venture Koi’s completion and discontinuation of the montage.

 

Chapter 8 – The Smothering

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The Build Alliance had assembled once again to see off the Venture Koi on its journey.

After a valediction to the assembly, Typhonus exchanged goodbyes with Vanda, and likewise for Albert, Mardolf, and their Build Alliance colleagues.

“Once we find the lost essence,” said Typhonus, “I will see to it that you witness the product of our undertaking.”

“Just don’t have too much fun without me,” said Vanda, “I won’t be there to rescue you when things go awry.”

“It’s just the lifeless void of space with only an egotistical, insufferable genius and a sarcastic A.I. keep me company. I’m sure we’ll manage.”

This pleasantly serene scene was simply too much for the patently aggressive disposition of the narrative to handle, so it decided to spice things up with a gratuitous minor skirmish. Just then, Minifigures clad in bulletproof vests stormed into the construction yard and surrounded the assembly. Evidently, the Ministry of Narrative’s Office of Compulsory Conflict has dispatched an enforcement squad from the Protagonist Smothering Agency to requisition the Venture Koi for its own vaguely nefarious purposes.

“P.S.A.!” shouted the lead agent, Jerk Bowel, “Put your hands behind your respective heads; PUT YOUR HANDS BEHIND YOUR RESPECTIVE HEADS!”

“An anatomical impossibility!” said Mardolf.

“…precluding forceful dismemberment, of course,” said Vanda.

“I thought you had handled those impudent bureaucratic interlopers,” said Albert.

“Evidently not,” said Typhonus.

“Quiet, QUIET!” Agent Bowel fired off a couple rounds from his firearm in a hackneyed fashion. “I’m a federal agent, A FEDERAL AGENT, and as such, when say something I have a tendency to initially do so at a normal volume and SUBSEQUENTLY DO SO AGAIN, AT A HIGHER VOLUME!!!”

“Is this boisterous inflection supposed to be some kind of amusing gimmick?” said Albert.

                “Interlock your fingers, INTERLOCK YOUR FINGERS, BLOKKIT!!!”

                “If I had fingers, interdigitation certainly would not be my first inclination...”

“Forgo the allusions to median extension,” said Typhonus, “we’re already maxing out the scatographic radar as is.”

                “Then I suppose you have some utterly incandescent tactic in mind to extricate ourselves from this predicament?”

                “Oh, it’s nothing fancy; quite the contrary, in fact,” said Typhonus. He pointed aimlessly. “Look over there! A red herring!”

                Typhonus waited for the scene to devolve into total pandemonium at any second then…

                Nothing happened.

“Did you honestly think I would fall for such a blatant ruse?” said Agent Bowel, “DID YOU?!”

                In an improbable deus ex machina, a two-by-four brick reemerged into the physical plane of existence and, in accordance with Finagle’s Law, collided with one of Bowel’s entourage and sending him cascading into another, triggering his contrivedly unlocked automatic firearm. Turmoil ensued as bullets sprayed the premises while agent Bowel barked orders at his mooks and Albert and Typhonus made a break for the Venture Koi’s hatch. The two-by-four brick recoiled back into the air and disappeared again into hyperabstraction, presumably never to be seen again.

 

 

                “Well,” said Mardolf to no one in particular, “I never thought I’d see that again.”

                “You kidding? The universe thrives on that sort of perverse improbable occurrence. It was an assured inevitability,” said Vanda.

While the agents continued to fumble around, Typhonus and Albert were securing the Venture Koi.

“Seal the airlock and raise shields!” said Typhonus.

                Albert did the former. “This is a spacecraft, not a starfighter; we don’t have any shields at our disposal to elevate!”

                “If we hadn’t used your confounded temporal accelerator, we might not have neglected them!”

                “Maybe we should have just rerouted your built-in accountability deflection systems as an improvised defense mechanism!”

“Never mind! Initiating final systems check,” said Typhonus, “Life support.”

 “Operational,” replied NAOMI.

“Communications array.”

“Operational.”

“Engines.”

“Operational.”

“Newtonian screwdrivers?”

“Operational.”

“Artificial gravity generators?”

“Inexorable.”

“Imaginetic Distortion Array?”

“Functioning at optimal capacity.”

“S.O.D. Field Modifier?”

“Within the margin of error… more or less.”

“Sufficiently protracted assessment sequence?”

“Complete. Initializing launch countdown sequence…”

“Confound the countdown, get us out of here!”

The engines ignited, and the Venture Koi slowly ascended over the compound while the ship’s built-in narrative profanity filtration system cleverly disguised the attempted cursing, as the thrusters substantially mitigated the audibility of Agent Jerk Bowel’s vociferous and chromatic condemnation to within the predetermined scatographic tolerability levels. As the Venture Koi accelerated upward, the Imaginetic Distortion Array contorted the fabric of space in front of them, and the ship evanesced into imaginary space.

 

Interlude 1: An Excerpt from Typhonus’s Journal

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…right. Thank you, Albert. That will be all. Ahem, sorry about that. I have decided for the sake of posterity to keep a journal, documenting the progress of our expedition and my thoughts on these developments. I shall update at routine intervals and whenever a breakthrough is made in the expedition.

 Day one. In a glaring oversight, someone—certainly not Albert, or so he would have me believe—must have inadvertently miscalibrated the Imaginetic Spatial Distortion Array.  In our hasty departure, we overlooked some redundant inspections, and our initial engagement of the array yielded… unexpected results. Now, the Venture Koi is adrift in the vacuum of interstellar space. Albert has apprised me that repairs will take at least a couple days before the array will be fully operational.

Day Two. Embedded in every naturally forming Imaginite crystal is a code, a pattern in its frequency. Prior to our departure, we managed to decipher the code, yielding an evolving set of coordinates in space. It’s an algorithm, fluctuating with the galactic, solar and planetary level, compensating for the displacement over time. If my theory is correct, these coordinates will lead us the mythical world, Gallant Five…

Day Three. According to lore, an ancient order founded by the Mythran themselves was created to preserve the ideals and creative spirit of the First Builders and observe their Code of Honor. Since the evanescence of the Mythran, the minifigure members of the order carry on in their memory. The order has waned as civilizations rise and fall, but rumors of their activities still abound, even to this day. If my information is to be believed, we have located the source of one such rumor, a pirate by the name of Storm. According to my contact, Storm is the only person who knows the whereabouts of one of the few remaining members of the order, Duke Exeter.

 

Chapter 9 – Space is a Figurative Ocean

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Somewhere in the infinite void of interstellar space floated a tiny, trivial speck of the matter called a space station. At a relatively insignificant distance away, another trivial speck, the Venture Koi, flashed back into the tangible plane of existence.

                “Are you certain of the reliability of this intelligence?” said Albert.

                “The positioning beckon indicates that these are the coordinates, and given the sheer immensity of the interstellar void it can be no coincidence that there is a space station right ahead,” said Typhonus.

“That’s not what I meant. Are you positive that this is the correct course of action?”

“Well, there’s only one way to be absolutely certain. Open the channel.”

Reluctantly, Albert pressed a series of buttons on the screen of the starboard console, activating the primary communications channel.

“This is the starship Venture Koi, please acknowledge,” said Typhonus.

“Ahoy, this here be the space station Broadside,” a voice crackled, “What be yer business?”

“We’re looking for a contact who goes by the alias, Storm. We would appreciate any information you can provide concerning his whereabouts.”

There was a brief pause, and some unintelligible chatter that could be heard over the static for a moment.

“Aye, Storm’s aboard, all right. We’ll escort ya to ‘em once ye be aboard.”

“Affirmative, Broadside… and thank you.”

Albert disabled the communicator.

“Prepare the starboard dropship for immediate departure.”

“You can’t be serious,” said Albert, “This is in open violation of at least a dozen mandatory precautionary procedures!”

“Oh, come now, Albert,” reassured Typhonus, “you know I’ve never held those constraining procedures to high esteem.

“Surely you noticed that butchered syntax and the slurred speech. And certainly you are aware that these verbal characteristics are congenitally associated with nautical marauders!”

“And the station’s called ‘Broadside’. I’m sure there’s absolutely nothing ostensibly ominous or foreboding about that name in the least,” said Typhonus, “Just make the necessary preparations. I’ll see to it that we avert the impending diplomatic catastrophe.”

“Fine by me. Just don’t expect me to save you when the corsairs hold you for ransom and-slash-or execute you.”

Soon as Typhonus had situated himself in the starboard dropship, it untethered from the Venture Koi, propelling itself toward the Broadside’s docking airlock.

The docking orifice attached itself to the dropship and the airlock pressurized. A moment later, the door swung open to reveal an escort of two guards. The guards guided Typhonus through the maze corridors as the triad progressed toward the central chamber, chatting for the duration.

 “Argh! Ye know, I be retirin’ from me pillaging career next month,” said one of the escort to his counterpart. “I’s amassed an ample bounty over me tenure, but now’s I’ll be able to enjoy the finer things in life. Settle down, buy a home by the sea, raise me family, executing some people I don’t like, etc. etc.”

“That ain’t the most prudent thing to say, ye know. Ye be temptin’ the fates, savvy?” said his colleague.

“We be pirates! When have we evar exercised prudence?” said the former, “Anyways, let me show this gratuitous picture of me pirate family, with me pirate wife and me pirate offspring.”

“Yes, I’s sure they’ll be missin’ ye.”                                       

“What be ye meanin’ by that, me bucko?”

“I’m sorry, what are your names?” said Typhonus.

“Listen, lubber, we be simple pirate folk, and we ain’t supposed to wander ‘round disclosin’ arr nominal importance, so’s why don’t ye mind yer own business?”

The latter guard began to speak. “Actually, my name is—”

At that moment, all ship functions simultaneously shut down. In the event of a system-wide shut down, all power, including that reserved for internal lighting and life support, would be diverted to the indispensable artificial gravity generator, expending incredible amounts of energy and thus enabling inhabitants to spend the remainder of their lifespan pacing back and forth wondering when their air supply will run out and they would finally suffocate to death. This assumes, of course, the self-destruct mechanism, whose power was supplied independently from the rest of the station, was not unnecessarily activated, in which case death would be substantially more immediate and volatile.

“Well, at least it can’t get any worse,” said the imprudent one with a hint of optimism.

“Why would you even say that?!” said the paranoid one.

“Well, at least the self-destruct thingy isn’t doing that thing in which it counts down.”

“Arr, now you’ve done it!”

“Remote authorization confirmed. Initiating self-destruct sequence,” said the synthesized voice on intercoms throughout the station, “T-minus five minutes until self-destruct.”

“Oh, Hael no,” said the guards.

 “Ahoy, mega-blokkers!” said a voice from above them.

 The guards and Typhonus looked up to locate the source of the commotion, but to no avail thanks to the ostensible lack of proper lighting. Suddenly, a figure jumped down from a conspicuously minifigure-sized air vent, lunging at the guards with his stabbing implements.

“Argh, me vital organs!”

 

 

“Typhonus, is it?” said the figure.

“Yes, that is my name,” said Typhonus, obviously perturbed.

The figure looked up and down the corridor before turning back to Typhonus. “What’re ye standing around like a… stationary thing that stands around for?” said the intruder, “We gotta get outa here!”

“Hold on,” said Typhonus, “Who are you? What is going on? And why is everyone using that stilted maritime accent?!”

“I be Hael Storm, the notorious Torrent of a Thousand Worlds, and unless ye wish to be a dead ‘fig, we gotta leave. Do ye have a mode of transportation off this here doomed station?”

“Yes, yes, I’ll lead the way.” Typhonus raised his handheld communicator. “Albert, prepare for immediate departure upon our arrival!”

A few meticulous turns and couple incorrect ones later, the pair reached the docking point with three minutes to spare. They resealed the airlock, and the dropship launched itself back toward the Venture Koi.

“Now there’s a fine craft if I’s ever seen one,” said Hael.

“She’s called the Venture Koi. Beautiful, isn’t she?” said Typhonus.

“Koi? As in the fish? ‘Cause space is an ocean, figuratively speakin’?”

“Yes, with that in mind I thought it would be only fitting that the vessel is named after an aquatic creature.”

                “I ain’t an expert on marine zoology, but can’t help but point out that koi aren’t indigenous to the ocean, and are, in fact, exclusive to freshwater ecosystems.”

                “Touché.”

With one minute remaining on the timer, the dropship reattached to the Venture Koi. As Typhonus and Hael join Albert on the bridge, the pirate was in a frenzy.

                “Why ain’t we movin’? The station’s ‘bout to blow!” said Storm.

                “The acceleration process will take a few seconds to get us up to an appreciable velocity,” said Albert, “And according to the timer, we have roughly forty seconds remaining until detonation occurs.”

“Actually, I rigged the self-destruct mechanism to engage a thirty seconds early, y’know, ‘cause some moron always manages to disable it or jettison an escape pod with less than ten seconds left on the timer. Can’t have any witnesses, y’know.”

“Which means…” began Typhonus.

As this exchange was transpiring, one of the grievously mutilated guards limped in the central chamber, in an effort to halt the self-destruct sequence. She expertly removed the self-destruct mechanism’s panel and reached for the multi-chromatic wad of wires.

“Only… a… few more… seconds… and—!”

Unfortunately, a blazing inferno consumed her before she could finish the sentence. With precisely thirty seconds remaining on the timer, the core underwent an exothermic reaction of such immensity that the entire station was instantly engulfed by a glorious expanding fireball emitting a complimentary plasmatic planar shockwave. By an apparent coincidence, the Venture Koi was in the direct path of this planar shockwave.

“Can’t this thing go any faster?” cried Storm.

“We’ve already attained maximum sub-imaginary velocity!” said Albert.

“The planar shockwave is, by definition, two dimensional. Why can’t you maneuver out of its trajectory?” said Typhonus.

“You think I haven’t tried that?! The Drama Imposition Matrix has severed our maneuvering capabilities!”

“What about—“

"The Suspension of Disbelief field has reached critical low, and the Moh's Scale is reading negative eleventy to the infintieth power!"‏

"Computer, Jettison the rationality stabilizers and reverse polarity of the field!" commanded Hael Storm.

“Stabilizers jettisoned,” said NAOMI, “S.O.D.B. Field restored to positive parameter. Imaginetic Spatial Distortion—“

“Quit yer technobabble and get us outa here!”

“You got it, bucko.”

The Venture Koi’s Imaginetic Spatial Distortion Array bent space ahead of the Venture Koi, curving into imaginary planes of existence. Meanwhile, the plasmatic planar shockwave was so immense that its propagations could be heard light-years away, all the while vaporizing any and all contradictive physics textbooks in its path

 

Interlude 2 – Another Excerpt from Typhonus’s Journal

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                Day Four. We have finally embarked on our quest to find the last essence of pure imagination in the universe. I can barely contain my excitement! Controlling the essence and applying its power to my work is a long-held ambition of mine. I feel the ramifications could be positively mind-blowing! Leaving behind my assistant, Vanda Darkflame, to carry on my work, my colleague, Dr. Overbuild, and I are now being led by space pirate Hael Storm to locate the famous warrior knight, Duke Exeter. Despite having never been apprised of the nature of the expedition, Storm seems fully cognizant of our mission and intentions, including our ultimate goal of locating the lost essence.

                Aside from some antagonism with Albert, he seems fully cooperative, requiring only quarters and a spot on the expedition in exchange for his assistance. We are now en route to the coordinates he has provided to a planet named Templar, which the pirate alleges to be the current residence of Duke Exeter. We are unsure if we should trust Storm, but he is certain that Exeter is, conveniently enough, the only one who knows the whereabouts of an ancient structure on Gallant Five. It is said that Gallant Five was a place of spiritual significance to the Mythran, containing the full history of the First Builders and artifacts as ancient as the universe itself. The structure is an important step in our quest to find the last essence of pure Imagination.

 

Chapter 10 – Templar

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It is estimated by the Commission for the Indexing of Planetary Civilization Continua that the number of stellar bodies in the observable universe is well in excess of thirty sextillion stellar bodies, and many of these stellar bodies are orbited by planets. A planet, as defined by the Commission, is an independent non-thermonuclear natural satellite of sufficient mass as to have rounded into a spherical shape under its own gravitational force.

Many people were enraged with the globular prerequisite on grounds that it discriminates against minority-group Platonic solids, such as the hexahedron and dodecahedron; both of these are backed by prominent polytope lobbying firms. Still others contended even that does not go far enough, as it does not recognize the existence of more obscure polyhedrons such as the truncated icosahedron or the nonconvex great cubicuboctahedron. The allegations didn’t even mention the donut, parabolic, planar, abstract or non-Euclidean planetoids. The aforementioned lobbying firms have petitioned the Continuum Progressive Categorization Index Commission to revise their repressive policy. However, the Commission has dismissed these objections, claiming that such phantasmal celestial entities are physically impossible, citing that they simply cannot form naturally, and any suggestion otherwise is obviously the product of a deranged imagination.

An improbably large number of planets surveyed by the Commission happen to be contemporaneously habitable, and a near-equally large number of planets are home to sentient, self-aware plastic-based life-forms called Minifigures, colloquially known as “Minifigs”. For some presently scientifically inexplicable reason, despite spanning countless light-years and having secluded gene pools, virtually all of these yellow-skinned life-forms are anatomically and genetically indistinguishable from each other. The Commission comments on these circumstances to be a “contrived coincidence”.

The primary objective of the Commission for the Indexing of Planetary Civilization Continua is to gather information on every habitable planet in existence, and has currently amassed an impressive catalogue of several thousand inhabited worlds in the local galactic cluster. They typically index planets according to its civilization’s societal and industrial development, from which every planet is designated to a continuum. One such indicator of a civilization’s industrial development is whether the dominant aboriginal life forms have invented a device that is almost universally regarded as the Brick Separator, a rather rudimentary but surprisingly effective cleaving instrument which helps its operators reduce assembled plastic compounds to their base elements, as opposed to vainly attempting to pry bricks apart with their premolar teeth.

Of these two groups, the planet the explorers now gazed upon from orbit obviously fell into the latter category.

 “Argh, thar she is! Drop the space-anchor!” said self-appointed captain Hael Storm.

                “Deceleration doesn’t work that way in a non-aquatic, extra-atmospheric environment, you idiot,” said Albert.

                “Okay, engage the space-brakes.”

                “You can’t just slap the prefix ‘space’ on something and expect it to be applicable!”

                “Fellows, please show some demonstrable measure of civility,” said Typhonus, “Albert, access the Index register for the Planet designated ‘Templar’, would you?”

Albert tinkered with the aft console, and holographic projection of the planet appeared behind the bridge.

“According to the Continuum Index register for the planet Templar, it’s classified as a Class Three-Delta Medieval Throwback Continuum,” said Albert, “The government hierarchy of the dominant nation after which the planet is named follows basic medieval hereditary monarchic structure with noble administration and enforcement. The kingdom actively suppresses any sort of scientific inquiry, technological development or any perceived threat to the status quo, which causally prevents any sort of civilizational advancement. According to the latest survey, they’re still wrestling with the basic mechanics of the wheel!”

                “Sounds like a prime destination for a person who wants to go unnoticed,” said Typhonus, “Lead the way, Storm.”

“Prepare the space-dinghy for embarkation!” said Hael.

“You know, I really wish you would cut out that gratuitous nautical lexicon, it’s really grating on my nerves,” said Albert.

One transition later, the dropship had landed on the planet’s surface, and the three explorers trekked through the woodland that surrounded the nearby hamlet.

“The Duke’s pretty sneaky for one who calls himself knight, some’s been callin’ ‘im a master o’ disguise,” said Hael, “So’s we’ll need to interrogate the townsfolk fer clues o’ his whereabouts.”

Typhonus shot him an uncomfortable glance.

“Err… through strictly non-coercive, non-aggressive means, of course. What do yeh take me for, some kinda amoral sociopath?”

The explorers emerged from the foliage into the village clearing. The alleged village consisted of a pathetic row of little dwellings cobbled together from dilapidated, teeth-marked bricks on either side of the street. However, one building in particular seems to capture the captain’s attention.

“Arr, the tavern,” said Hael, “That faithful dispensary of all unscrupulously procured information and intoxication.”

“Not to mention wanton physical altercation,” said Albert.

“Just remember what we’re here for. I did not travel the width and breadth of the universe so you could indulge on some crudely distilled beverage,” said Typhonus

“Ye don’t have a thing to worry about, matey, I’s sober.”

“I wasn’t necessarily talking to you.”

And so a pirate, a businessman, and a mad scientist walked into a tavern in a vain endeavor to not look like the premise of a joke. Nonetheless, the patrons looked at them in anticipation of a punchline.

“Okay, whose brilliant idea was it to come here in our most conspicuously anachronistic garb?” said Albert.

“Oh relax, Doctor Overeasy, just try to blend and let me do my thing,” said Storm. Earlier Typhonus had referred to Albert by his nickname “Doctor Overbuild” and Hael Storm would not allow him to forget it.

 “Does this yet-undefined thing involve the superfluous consumption of questionable substances?”

At this point Hael was no longer paying attention; he was already making his way toward the bar. Typhonus and Albert sat down at a nearby table, passing the time with idle conversation.

                One intermission later, Hael Storm finally walked back from the bar. “Well, I’s think I’s got the info we’ve been needin’. Let’s go.”

The explorers left the tavern. Hael Storm led them down a dirt path through the pastoral countryside. Farmhouses occasionally interrupted the otherwise consistent grasslands. The threesome headed toward a small farmhouse. As they approached, one of the farm’s tenants called from a distance.

“Hail there!”

“Blast, they’re on ta me! How’d they know I was here?” said Hael Storm.

“Hold on, Storm, let’s not get presumptuous and complicate the matter further. It’s probably just an antiquated form of salutation. Hello!” Typhonus turned to the farm’s tenant. “We seem to be a bit lost.”

“And where art thou heading?” said the tenant.

“We’re looking for a man by the name of Exeter. Perhaps you might be able to offer us some insight into his whereabouts?”

“Alas, I am afraid I am unable to sayeth.”

“Is this because you don’t know, or because you’re disinclined to say?”

“Verily, I knoweth not the man to whom thine refers!”

“He’s lying,” said Hael, brushing past the worker toward the house.

As the tenant protested, other workers in the vicinity began to take notice of the commotion and began to approach the explorers.

“Perhaps we had best depart before we incur any of those ‘physical altercations’, as Albert put it,” said Typhonus.

“I, for one, would prefer to leave the premises with my construction intact, if it’s all the same with you,” said Albert.

“Hold it, lubbers.” Storm eyed one of the tenants. “I think we’ve found arr man. Yeah, you.”

“Surely thou dost not speaketh of me, a perfectly innocuous and inconspicuous peasant who is most certainly not or even distantly related to royalty of any caste.”

“Yeh can blather on in yer bungled, archaic pronouns and suffix an ‘eth’ on every other verb all yeh like, but yeh ain’t foolin’ nobody, Duke.”

“Excuse my cohort’s impudence,” said Typhonus, “It is an honor to make your acquaintance, Duke Exeter; I am Baron Typhonus.”

Exeter seemed to pay little notice to the Baron. “I see you have recruited a couple more lackeys for your occupational piracy. Honestly, Storm, I am surprised you all haven’t been deconstructed yet for your transgressions.”               

“On the contrary, we are explorers, and the pirate is merely our guide; we have no intention of committing theft or violating any law. We are searching for an ancient shrine on a distant world – Gallant Five – and we heard you might know where we could find it. Our expedition necessitated his employ, that we might locate you and make you the following proposal.”

After a continued period of generally uninteresting and exceedingly melodramatic persuasion, something of relative interest transpired that was completely unrelated to the conversation. Knightly mooks rode in on horseback, surrounding the explorers.

 “By the authority of thine illustriouse and benevolente autocrat, King Authoritarian of Indeterminately Extensive Ancestry whose ordinal value cannot be verily determinedeth, I, Sir Oppressalot, apprehendeth thee, ruffians!”

“On what grounds?” said Typhonus.

“The pirate is chargede, hence convicted of, slaughtering a few miserable heathens, thefte of the royal treasury, and, most incriminating of all, insulting our gloriouse King Authoritarian!”

“And yet isn’t a law prohibiting this gross mutilation of the English language?” said Albert.

 “Silence, hooligan!”

“Hold on, what are we being arrested for?” said Typhonus.

“Oh, you are indicteth for just standing around in close proximity to a known criminal. Obviously you must have commiteth some transgression, otherwise you wouldn’t be thus apprehended, thus sentenced to death.”

“Surely you have more than logical fallacies to warrant our arrest!”

“Forsooth, it’s been a slow week. We have a decapitation quota to meeteth, verily.”

Other mooks joined in, repeating the last word “verily” as if it carried some sort of cultural significance.

“Arr, this ain’t how people talked in the medieval age! This ain’t even be proper Shakespearean English!” said Hael Storm.

“Taketh them to thee executive chamber!” said Sir Oppressalot.

“So says the alleged ex-marauder with the faux pirate vernacular,” said Albert.

Once the mooks had tied the explorers up, they led the prisoners away.

“Actually, there is a perfectly logical explanation to these anomalous etymological and linguistic phenomena we regularly encounter,” said Typhonus.

“And that’d be?” said Storm.

“Well, the actual theory comprises highly abstract models of esoteric post-hoc syntactical and philological projection,” said Typhonus, “But in other words, a wizard did it."

 

Chapter 11 – Executive Meddling

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Sir Oppressalot’s entourage dragged the explorers across the countryside until they reached a large city. His Majesty’s shining capital city was, surprisingly enough, resplendent with the unkempt, dilapidated shanties of their exploited denizens. The entourage navigated through the cesspool of heathens toward the castle which dominated the city vista. Once inside, the explorers were escorted into the executive chamber.

                “Arr, what sorta accommodations are these s’pposed to be?” said Hael Storm, “This ain’t the executive suite we’re told about, it ain’t even got indoor plumbing! We’ve been gypped, mateys!”

                “He meant execution chamber,” said Albert.

                “Oh, really? Well then, that adjectival arrangement was rather euphemistic.”     

                “Silence!” said Sir Oppressalot. “Behold our latest innovation in executive technology! The urchins in the lab doth call it the ‘head separator’.”

                A row of malign contraptions spanned the chamber. Each of the contraptions consisted of a large bench to which its victim was to be tethered. Suspended above this in a vertical orientation was the long, narrow orange titular instrument culminating at the bottom in an acute edge directly over the victim’s neck region. The device was operated by rotating a wheel and axle, which causes the acute edge of the titular instrument to pivot away from the victim’s body, colliding with and dislocating the head. In fact, aside from its usage, the head separator itself was not entirely dissimilar to the conventional cleaving apparatus.

                “It shall facilitate the slow, excruciating decapitation of thine heads,” said Sir Oppressalot helpfully.

                “You have inadvertently invented one of the most pivotal instruments of a civilization’s development, and you squander this technology lopping off people’s heads?” said Typhonus.

                “Your point being?” said Sir Oppressalot.

                “And you do this in spite of the fact that you could use this to improve industrial efficiency and the quality of life of your citizenry?”

                “Yes, that’s just about the gist of it.”

                “Do we have t’ go through with this? I be rather fond to my cranium; yeh see, I’ve grown quite attached to it,” said Storm.

                “Shuteth up! Knights of Templar, doth begin thee decapitation!”

                The knightly mooks placed each of the explorers in a head separator. They began cranking the operative mechanism, slowly shifting the explorers’ heads away from the rest of their construction.

Another mook entered the chamber, and whispered into the figurative lobe of Sir Oppressalot.

                “Sir Oppressalot, thy illustriouse King Authoritarian doth summoneth you to his chamber,” said the knightly mook.

                “Now? Can you not see that I am in the middle of a sadistic recreational execution?” said Sir Oppressalot.

                “The request is imperative, and is verily not false.”

                “I’d be suspicious, but the adverbial idiom ‘verily’ is exceedingly persuasive,” said Sir Oppressalot on his way out of the chamber.

                Soon as the door was closed, the knightly mook called out to his counterparts.

                “Step away from those infernal machines, gentlemen! By the decree of King Authoritarian, these prisoners are to be unconfined posthaste!

                “Who’s this gentleman, again?” said one mook aloud.

                “Is he not that elusive Exeter fellow?” said another.

“Why doth he be present?” said a third.

“Exeter, right on time!” said Typhonus, “Perhaps you could—ahem—clean up this mess?”

“What’s he doin’ here? How’d ya know he was comin’?” said Hael.

“We’ve only been nominally acquainted with a single non-antagonistic character in our episode on this planet. Were you honestly expecting someone else?” said Albert.

“Subdue him!” said the second mook.

The knightly mooks surrounded Duke Exeter. The latter immediately drew a laser pistol hidden in his scabbard.

“You can’t use projectile weapons in a sword fight!”

“Then I suppose this is not a sword fight.”

“You are a noble warrior, a knight of great renown! Where is your honor?”

Exeter dismissed the allegation. “Did it ever occur to you that there might be more to honor than blind, ardent chivalry?”

Exeter blasted the three mooks and walked toward the restrained explorers.

 

 

 “Wait a second, how did he get a gun?” said Typhonus.

                Exeter unveiled his sword and severed the rope confining Typhonus. “I have visited countless worlds in my travels, Baron, and I have encountered some very interesting pieces of technology.”

Typhonus turned toward Hael. “And is that how you met?”

Ignoring Typhonus’s interrogative, Exeter set to freeing Albert.

“The charge will only keep them incapacitated for a few hours. We had best not be here when they regain consciousness.”

“Hey! What about me?!” said Hael from beneath the head separator.

“You more than any should know I live by a Code. I cannot stand idly by as innocents are sentenced to death. However, your sentence was just; I cannot interfere.”

 “How can you say that when he has not even been heard in a court of law?” said Typhonus, “What could he have possibly done to warrant such a malicious fate? The Code of Honor to which you purport to follow offers wrongdoers an opportunity for redemption. I am aware that it’s an egregious cliché, and that these things have a tendency to backfire horribly, but I’m asking you to give Storm a second chance. To join our expedition!”

Exeter grunted distrustfully. Reluctantly, he began cutting Hael’s restraints. Not a moment too soon, by which it is actually meant that it was not a moment too late, Duke severed the last bond, just as Sir Oppressalot, accompanied by an assemblage of guards, burst into the chamber, as if summoned by some patron deity of compulsory narrative tension.

“Thee prisoners art getting away! Stoppeth them!” said Sir Oppressalot.

The four fugitives ran toward a door conveniently positioned diametrically opposite to the entrance used by the mooks and down the hallway until they reached an opening to a spiral staircase. Typhonus made an indicative nod to Albert, who began punching away on his wrist-mounted computer.

“Upstairs, quickly!” said Typhonus.

When they came out onto the upper balcony of the castle, Exeter shut the door.

“Quickly, help me erect a barricade to hold them off!” said Exeter.

The prospective escapees piled an assortment of props against the door as frustrated guards pounded on it from the opposite side.

“Great idea, Typhonus, goin’ upstairs,” said Hael Storm appreciatively, “Now, instead of escapin’ by the front entrance on ground level, we can throw ourselves out a window to our deaths!”

“We have made preparations for exactly this sort of contingency,” said Typonus, “Our dropship has a homing receiver and automated suborbital navigation. Albert?”

“The dropship is currently en route to our position at a distance of six kilostuds…” said Albert, “Four kilostuds… three kilostuds… the craft should now be entering visual range… one kilostud!”

The impacts into the door were becoming increasingly violent while the improvised barricade was deteriorated rapidly. Typhonus, Exeter, and Storm pressed against the door in an effort to reinforce it.

“The barricade can’t withstand much more o’ this!” said Storm.

“Point-five kilostuds… Engaging remote-access manual override!”

The dropship dove toward the castle, evening out in its descent.

“Maneuvering into—“

“Is this incessant jargonistic narration really necessary?” said Duke Exeter.

“It’s indispensable, I’s told; you’s just have t’ get used to it,” said Hael Storm.

“The dropship is in position. Commence evacuative self-defenestration!”

“Now that’s just nasty,” said Hael.

The explorers left their post at the barricade and ran to the window, leaving the door unreinforced. A moment later, Sir Oppressalot’s guards finally broke into the room. By this time, of course, the explorers were already making their way out the window.

“Hooligans! Cowards!” said Sir Oppressalot from the windowsill, “Getteth thineselves back here and fight like… honorable... belligerent… gentlemanly-type people!”

“Yeh? Why don’t ya go defenestrate yerself, ya filthy Brickster!” said Hael Storm.

As the craft began to gain altitude, Typhonus unlocked the dropship’s top hatch and the explorers clambered inside. With the expedition’s ensemble finally together, the ship melodramatically flew off into the brilliant evening sky in the most embellished, picturesquely clichéd fashion imaginable.

 

 

*   *   *   *   *

                “What do you know about the planet, Gallant Five,” said Typhonus.

                “Legends, rumors. Nothing of substance,” said Duke Exeter.

                “Nothing?”

                “I am sorry, but I am afraid I cannot help you.”

                “Oh…” said Typhonus, “Hael—”

“Yeh, ‘bout that…” said Hael Storm, “I may’ve slightly exaggerated Exeter’s knowledge of the whereabouts. Ya know, t’ improve my negotiating leverage. So maybe he only mentioned the place in passing, I wasn’t really paying attention.”

                “Could we dislodge our captain from the premises now?” said Albert.

                “...Supposing that I did know the whereabouts of your structure, how do I know you won’t throw me out an airlock and desecrate the place once I capitulate?” said Duke Exeter, “Let’s run through the roster, shall we? A psychotic space pirate, a mad scientist, and you, Baron Typhonus—you are just a dead giveaway. You bear all of the marks of the inevitable archetypical villain. An affable, balefully bald aristocrat with that foreboding goatee, adorned in conspicuously extravagant and overformal black attire.”

                “Well, that’s awfully presumptuous and rather prejudiced, if I do say so myself. Besides, you can’t blame me for the family nomenclature. I’m not actually a baron in the aristocratic sense.”

                “What kind of parent names their offspring ‘Baron’?”

“It’s just the name my father, Viscount Typhonus, picked out. Mother wanted something endearing and diminutive like Earl or something, but she was overruled… Never mind, how come I’m automatically the antagonist when you bear a similar title of nobility?”

                “It is well established that dukes are generally good guys and oftentimes reasonable authority figures while, conversely, barons are ubiquitously corrupt.”

                “And is there any way I could persuade you otherwise?”

                “Your reassurances are of little consequence, but heed this: should you or your lackeys make any attempt to defile my legacy or that of the First Builders, I will personally see to your disassembly.”

                “Understood,” said Typhonus.

 

Interlude 3 – Yet Another Excerpt from Typhonus’s Journal

 

  Reveal hidden contents

                Day seven. We have located the legendary warrior knight Duke Exeter on a planet with a medieval throwback continuum. As I had feared, Captain Storm was not fully forthcoming in his description of the knight; apparently Duke Exeter does not know the exact location of the structure, however, he maintains that he may still be of assistance.

He is suspicious of my motives, but seems compliant. He has taken us into orbit of, allegedly, his ancestral homeworld where the family inheritance is harbored, claiming that one his relics may hold the clues necessary to locate the structure on Gallant Five. He has appropriated one of our dropships, insisting that none of us should make any attempt to follow or monitor him. He has deflected any further inquiries, and I suspect this is meant to be some sort of test of my personal integrity, to ascertain whether I merit his confidence.

                Only time will tell.

 

Chapter 12: Gallant V

  Reveal hidden contents

Eventually, time told Typhonus that his suspicions concerning Exeter were well reasoned and surprisingly accurate. Exeter returned the following day (the planet in question, however, had an incredibly slow rotation, which put the total duration of the excursion somewhere in the vicinity of fifty-three hours) with an assortment of his bequest, including: the Armor of Narrative Intangibility, the Shield of Total Impact Negation, the Impossibly Neat Ancestral Sword of Luminescence, and the Rite of Excessive Initial Capitalization and Gratuitous Preposition. There was also a map and some rather odd-looking compasses, each unique in design, which the narrative only acknowledges because they will indubitably have some significance later on.

Gallant Five was one of the more abstrusely inaccessible planets in the universe due to a rather simple fact that most writers opt to disregard, which is this: space is enormous. Thanks to advancements in narrative-convenient space travel such as the Ion-Burst Relativity Jump Drive, reaching galaxies within the local cluster makes travelling those studs marginally less impractical.

However, this luxury doesn’t extent to meta-galactic distances far beyond the visible universe. Hold on a minute, one may ask, doesn’t that suggest the existence of such thing as the invisible universe? In a relativistic sense, it most certainly does. Due to the ever-accelerating rate of universal expansion by the Fifty-Fourth zillenium, some distances have surpassed a threshold so utterly incomprehensible that light has trouble catching up to them. They are so intensely huge, in fact, that you couldn’t reach some of them even after a zillion years with an Ion-Burst Relativity Jump Drive set to “maximum bound”.

The Imaginetic Distortion Array also elected to ignore this fact in a very similar fashion to the writers.

                An infinitieth of a second after entering imaginary space, the Venture Koi shot back out again on the opposite end of the universe and settled into orbit of Gallant Five. The ship scanned the planet as the four explorers congregated on the bridge. Gallant Five did not register on the Continuum index; it was at that point entirely uncharted by minifigure-kind.

“Topographic geological analysis complete,” said NAOMI, “Rendering holographic projection…”

The hologram generator buzzed with the transparent, spherical form of Gallant Five manifest above it.

“NAOMI, cross-reference the planet’s geography with Exeter’s map,” said Typhonus.

“Sure, as if that would do you any good,” said NAOMI, “Zillennia of geological transformation and tectonic rifts have rendered the map topography indiscernible.”

“Albert, when we are through with this, I’d like you to run a diagnostic on NAOMI’s personality matrix. She’s becoming increasingly patronizing and I do not like it one bit.”

“I am currently attempting to compensate for the geographic shift via simulating planetary regression,” said NAOMI, “I have a ninety-two percent match for the map topography and pinpointed a suitable landing site.”

A region on the projected planet was highlighted.

                “I have made the necessary preparations,” said Exeter, “I am ready to embark.”

The space-dinghy descended into the planet’s atmosphere. The craft landed in a sizable clearing on the eastern side of the continent, a region vaguely distinguishable as the Eurus Field.

The explorers crawled out of the dinghy.

“That’s funny,” said Hael Storm, but not with the ha-ha connotation, but rather a gee that’s interesting one, “it doesn’t look anything like it did in the brochure.”

“Yeah. Eons of erosion will do that to a place,” said Albert.

Duke Exeter revealed three compasses, handing one per to Albert and Typhonus, retaining one for himself.

“These compasses are infused with trace amounts of your Imaginite,” he said, “Now, according to the legends, all of which are undoubtedly true, the First Builders fashioned a weak Imaginetic field which emanates from the ancient structure on the planet. With any luck, these compasses will direct us to its location.”

 The compasses’ respective needles fluctuated undecidedly until eventually settling on northwest. The explorers trekked in that direction.

It was mid-afternoon.

 As the quartet progressed, some of them began to notice that things were becoming unbearably hot.

After eons of erosion and tectonic ripples disturbing their natural habitat, the indigenous volcano population had slowly migrated across the continent. By astounding coincidence, these volcanos had decided to settle right in the area through which the explorers were traveling.

It didn’t help that Albert was lugging around his cumbersome back-mounted equipment and whatnot as if it would somehow be of any use at all. For some utterly inexplicable reason Duke Exeter had elected to wear his ancestral armor on the trek, which was no good at all since his metal breastplate effectively turned him into a walking oven. Typhonus had the worst of it, of course, as in his deep-black garments he was essentially a mobile greenhouse. They quietly wondered to themselves why they would go through all of this trouble to maintain their eccentric personal dress codes before fainting from heat-induced exhaustion (as opposed to “heat exhaustion”, which is an altogether separate condition wherein the subject is slowly deprived of warmth and soon contracts hypothermia). Only Hael seemed unfazed by the whole ordeal, who in an unprovoked act of charity had dragged the other explorers into the shade and quietly waited for them to come to.

When they had all finally came to that night and the temperature had slightly receded, the foursome set off once again.

The luminescent planetary rings suspended in orbit dimly illuminated their path, prompting Typhonus to ponder how they could have possibly formed and maintained themselves over mind-blowingly incomprehensible periods of time around such a small, relatively lightweight and ancient planet. Then he realized that this oddity was probably one of the least improbable coincidences along this journey. How does Gallant Five still have a breathable atmosphere, and what it was still doing existing at all after all of this time? Heck, what was the Gallant system doing around in the first place, and how was it that the local sun hadn’t gone supernova eons ago? Barring the usual preternatural suspects, of course.

This quickly escalated until he eventually lapsed into a tangent and began yelling something about the idiotic futility of logic and scientific inquiry within a contrived narrative construct.

The terrain was becoming increasingly jagged. There was a fissure in the rocks ahead, leading down a winding cavern. Inside the cavern, the compasses’ fluctuations began to tighten.

“Hold on, I’ve seen this one before. There must be a button, an activation stone that we have to press,” said Typhonus.

Exeter inspected an elevated stone slab with a slit down its center. “Perhaps if I simply introduced my sword into this opening?”

“Here’s an idea,” said Hael.

“Oh, good,” said Albert, “I have been waiting for yet another opportunity to berate you with my condescending repartee.”

“What if the entrance is right in front of us, but we can’t see it, ‘cause it’s invisible?”

“That may be the single most ludicrous insight you have exhumed in your tenure as ‘captain’ of this expedition.”

“Is that all ya got?”

“Oh no,” said Albert, “I have long theorized that you suffer from an acute cognitive deficiency which influences your ability to think and behave rationally and has rendered you incapable of articulating a single coherent thought.”

 “That’s dumb.”

“Yes, that response is consistent with my theory, thereby reinforcing it. Ergo, we can logically conclude that you are irrefutably an ignoramus.

“Oh, look at me, I can use a pretentious word like ‘ergo’ as a consequential modifier, ‘cause I’m much too vain to use a trite idiom like ‘then’ or ‘therefore’. Instead, I’ll resort to some logical fallacies exploiting circuitous reasoning and hope he don’t call me out on it.”

“Yeah, well… your grammar’s stupid.”

“I do not understand,” said Typhonus, “The compass indicates that this is the correct location, but there’s nothing here.”

“Or, at least, nothing that we perceive,” said Exeter.

Typhonus pondered this. “Albert, is it theoretically possible that the Imaginetic disturbance could produce some sort of psychological projection?”

Albert also pondered this, but from a more cynical perspective. “That sounds exactly like the sort of cheap plot device that would be used in some asinine, low-budget science-fiction television series.”

“Exeter?”

“In order to see beyond what is visible, we must let go of our preconceptions of the world; we must become unburdened by the weight of reality. The Code of Honor passed down from the First Builders described a ritual of insights. Only those whose Creative Sparks are unblemished can attain enlightenment.”

“Oh, eschew this insipid philosophical palaver,” Albert said, “Before you know it he’ll have lapsed into some gibberish about oneness with the universe.”

                As the aforesaid conversation was playing out, Hael Storm had begun to physically inspect some of the rocks of the alleged cavern. They certainly seemed and felt real, but that was the whole point, wasn’t it? Albert would have given this it some sort of spiffy technical designation, like cerebral actualization or something. Whatever its nomenclature, there was a system involved, and science has proven time and time again that all systems have loopholes, some of which can be exploited for personal gain, if not amusement. One common tactic to this end was poking things repeatedly at odd angles and observing how said things react.  He chunked a few rocks he had found at the mouth of the cave at various trajectories in an aimless fashion, until one of them seemingly vanished into the rock.

Meanwhile, Duke Exeter was about to retort that it wasn’t like that at all and that it was, in fact, exactly like that wasn’t. He didn’t get very far, though, because at that moment Hael Storm disappeared through one of the stone mounds in the center of the chamber.

“What the… Hael, where did you go?!” said Typhonus.

“I found yer structure,” said Hael.

“What?” said Duke Exeter.

“Yeah. There’s some sorta lopsided, cube-shaped thing in here.”

“How can you know what it looks like?!”

“Hold on, Duke, you can see it too?” said Typhonus.

“I can.”

“So you’re telling me you knew about all of this the entire time?! You saw through the illusion from the very outset, didn’t you?”

“And so the veil is slowly lifted,” said Exeter.

Never mind, thought Typhonus. He shut his eyes, envisioning the scene Hael Storm described. The chamber’s contour shifted around him. The infamous big ugly rock pieces which permeated the cavern walls suddenly fell to the ceiling which promptly inverted itself onto the floor. A number of similarly surreal alterations followed as a new reality slowly pieced itself together.

The floor pattern featured axes which spanned the perimeter of the chamber. The axes quadrisected at a massive disk compassing the center of the chamber, with two ellipses intersecting with them along the axes on its smaller antipode. Other ovoid shapes protruded from it, forming what appeared to be a baffling schematic of some sort. Embedded at origin was the cube Hael had mentioned.

“Wait… I see it – this is incredible!” said Typhonus, but not in the sense that this was lacking credibility in any way.

“Yes, I see it too!” exclaimed Albert.

“You do?!” Typhonus asked ecstatically.

“Don’t be ridiculous; I’m a scientist. The whole premise is a debasement of the scientific method in and of itself. I mean, what is the probability of anything like this occurring in the real world? Astronomically minute!”

“It’s almost as if some sadistic, indulgent creature is writing this all up on a whim for their own amusement,” said Typhonus.

“And yet you arr havin’ no qualms with the mechanics behind yer fancy Imaginetic Distortion Arrays and S.O.D.B. Field Modifiers?” said Hael.

“Let’s not make those equivocations!” said Albert.

                “Oh, for blok’s sake!” Hael Storm picked up one of the rocks, walked over to Albert, and introduced it to his head. He then casually dragged the unconscious Albert through the illusionary barrier.

 

                One of the cube’s edges was embedded in the ground. Upon each of the three inclined faces rested a square shard; each shard bore a unique symbol.

                “These symbols are unlike any other that I have ever seen,” said Typhonus, “Exeter, can you make anything of this?”

                “Their meanings elude me,” said Exeter.

                Hael moved the compass he had confiscated from Albert toward one of the tiles. “I’m thinkin’ these tiles here be what’s causin’ yer illusion.”

This statement somehow managed to spur Albert back to consciousness. “Ow… I think you’ve thought enough for one day. But was that concussion really necessary?”

“I certainly thought so,” said Hael, “Physical violence is funny like that.”

The explorers searched the confines of the chamber but it seemed otherwise empty, save some inscriptions of probably no import.

“Well, you’ve found the structure, I see,” said Albert, “I’ve packed some equipment which should help us document our discovery.” In an uncharacteristic lack of judgement, Albert removed one of the shards from its cubic frame.

At this time, Typhonus and Exeter were off inspecting the inscriptions on the chamber walls. The inscriptions were written in an ancient form of the Minifig language; archaic, but still decipherable. Containing the entire recorded history of the First Builders, the full text might take a team of researchers several years to fully archive. The text mentioned the locations of various arcane artifacts and plot-relevant tidbits of data, information which might have come in handy neutralizing whatever serial abomination the protagonists might face in subsequent works were the place still around. Oh well.

One inscription in particular went unnoticed by the explorers. The inscription, loosely translated, read as follows:
                In the event of relic extraction, the facility’s obligatory self-destruct mechanism will engage. Failure to evacuate in a sufficiently hurried fashion may result in: dismemberment, nausea, death, and/or mild personal discomfort. Have a nice day.

                Suddenly, the structure began to shake violently.

                “Why’d ya have to go off and do a stupid thing like that?!” said Hael, “The collapsing ruins gimmick is a staple of every single blokking adventure movie! Haven’t you ever watched ‘Johnny Thunder and the Orb of Stupefaction’?”

“Is he the weatherman on the radio?” said Albert.

Typhonus and Exeter ran back to the center of the chamber to hopefully ascertain what the blok was going on.

“We have to leave. Now,” said Exeter.

Typhonus seized the two remaining tiles. The four explorers hustled toward the exit as the construct crumbled around them. They made it out alive and with their construction largely intact, of course, because otherwise that would just about wrap up the narrative in an unsatisfactory anticlimax and nobody would be happy about that.

“That was close,” said Exeter.

“Oh, yeh,” said Hael.

A tremor shook the landscape and suddenly paused.

Beep.

 

“Mine,” said Typhonus, “NAOMI’s scanners are detecting an intensifying geothermal instability. Apparently the structural collapse instigated a seismic chain reaction. It’s provoking a volcanic eruption!”

“How… convenient,” said Exeter.

Another tremor.

“Albert, beckon the dropship!”

“Ah,” said Albert, “already done.”

The tremors surged in intensity and frequency. Suddenly, the adjacent mountain began spewing ash into the atmosphere. The ash clouds slowly expanded, shrouding the night sky with its ominousness. Molten lava slowly enveloped the mountain while scalding rock fell from the sky.

“Smash your compasses!” said Exeter.

“Eh… Why would we do that, exactly?” said Storm.

“We can’t allow anyone to follow us!”

“How'd that make any difference? They’ll just be consumed by the inferno.”

“Because the canon mandates that these implements are to be smashed at the conclusion of this scene,” said Duke Exeter, “There is no time to argue!”

From the ashen haze emerged the faithful starboard space-dinghy, diving in for a landing. Its doors whooshed open and it extended its access ramp. The explorers smashed their compasses and piled in. A moment later the ramp shut back up as the dropship ascended into the ash clouds surrounding the volcano, because this looked an awful lot more visually impressive, albeit needlessly more hazardous, than had it taken a detour around them, while also servicing an excellent backdrop for the scene fade-out

 

Interlude 4: Yet Again Another Excerpt from Typhonus’s Journal

  Reveal hidden contents

Day 12. According to Exeter’s interpretation of the inscriptions in the Sanctuary of Shards—as I recently alliteratively coined it, since naming such is one of the prerogatives of an explorer—on Gallant Five, the shards were designed to be a key of some form. Hael supposes that they might be for some sort of compass, magnified versions of the ones we used to locate the structure on the planet. Based on these theories, I have commissioned Albert to fashion a locative device to aid our search for the last essence. So much has transpired in such a short period of time, it’s difficult to take it all in…

 

Chapter 13: Traversing the Reaches of Space and Time

 

  Reveal hidden contents

               For weeks, Albert had labored on various prototypes of a scanning machine that would harness the energies emanating from the shards. The concept went through a number of incarnations, many of which came alarmingly close to forming a tear in the fabric of the spatio-temporal globular medium and for this reason were discarded.

               Typhonus agreed to allow some time off for “shore leave” so Albert could work in peace. During this excursion Hael Storm managed to acquire a raucous little winged nuisance, partly because he felt that it complimented his whole space pirate getup, but mostly because he knew how much the parrot would irritate the other explorers.

               After tedious experimentation, research, and revision, a working prototype was produced. The shards were to be mounted on a gyroscopic base on the ship’s bridge which was integrated with NAOMI’s hardware. When activated, the device would scan the surface of the target planet for concentrated Imagination. If it found a lock, the device would indicate whether the world in question bore the mythical element by emitting a pulse of Imaginetic energy directed toward the anomaly.

               The explorers had gathered on the bridge to witness the first test of the Imagimeter. Duke Exeter, Albert Overbuild, and Hael Storm stood in their positions around the scanner, each clutching one of the imagination shards; Duke to port, Albert to aft, and Hael to starboard. Typhonus had assumed the role of director.

               “Is everything in order?” Typhonus said.

At this juncture, Albert said he was 87.39% certain that this model would not cause a tear in the fabric of the spatio-temporal globular medium. When asked what the point would be in expressing the probability to the hundredths place when a percentage rounded to the nearest whole number would have sufficed and not have sounded so unnecessarily pretentious, Albert insisted that frankly he just wasn’t comfortable with rounding up to 87.4%, much less down to 87%, as this would throw off his entirely arbitrary calculations, and that he was not doing this intentionally to make any them feel intellectually inferior to him in any way whatsoever.

“Commence synchronized dramatic stride on my mark,” said Typhonus.

Duke looked down at the shard he held, vexed. “Must we walk to such pompous choreography?”

“This is a momentous turning point in our journey; it demands an appropriately melodramatic response!”

“Plus, it’d make fer some great trailer footage,” said Hael.

               “Mark!”

 

 

               The explorers purposefully marched toward the Imagimeter, placing their tiles on the Imagimeter base to form an L shape. A bluish aura emanated at the shards’ intersection, forming what appeared to be a holographic needle. The Imagimeter swiveled aimlessly, back and forth, before the device shut down and the needle dissipated.

 

 

               “Scan complete,” said NAOMI, “No Imagination anomalies detected.”

               “What a pity,” said Typhonus, who turned to face the void in disappointment, which in no way foreshadowed even the remote potentiality of suppressed hostility that might precipitate any sort of eventual betrayal.

According to a very loosely scientific idiom, the universe is infinite. Time, by another immemorial proverb, is short. Now in order for time to be short it must necessarily have a limit, and from this we can logically infer that time is finite. If it were assumed that the planet Crux occupied a random point in space, we can extrapolate the likelihood of the explorers coming across it in a given period of time. Time over space equals finity over infinity, and any finite number divided by infinity approaches zero. Therefore, the probability of the explorers finding the essence of imagination can be virtually expressed as zero, with a margin of error of more or less nothing. In spite of these statistically insurmountable odds, the Venture Koi traversed the reaches of space and time in search of the lost essence of imagination. For months the explorers roamed the darkest corners of the universe, noticing no change in their fortunes.

               A couple months into the search, Albert sat in his quarters. Someone then pressed the door buzzer.

               “One moment.” Albert quickly paused the Gwen Tweenbangle album he had playing and opened the door.

               “Am I interrupting?” Duke Exeter said.

“Make it quick.”

               “The captain and I are pulling out the last vials of notion potion. It seemed appropriate to invite you to the occasion.”

               “I thought your pretentious code forbade consumption of such inebriants.”

               “Not explicitly. It only specifically forbids succumbing to the ‘influence of Imagination’.”   

“That sounds like the sort of advice Typhonus would impart before diverting to some protracted moralizing diatribe.”

               “Are you done?”

               “Not quite. What happened between you and that lout, Storm?”

               “We have managed to put our past disagreements behind us.”

“I’m thinking that I preferred it when you two were at each other’s throats. And Typhonus?”

“He has declined to partake.”

Albert pondered. “I’ll need to think it over.”

               “…You should also be made aware that said lout has discovered your hidden stash of notion potions.”

               “I’ll think about it.”

               The door closed, and Albert resumed the music. At the end of the album, he resolved to pay the bridge a visit.

               “Overeasy!” Hael said, “Glad yeh could join us.” His drink rested precariously on the Imagimeter apparatus.

               “As am I.” Exeter pulled out another two potions from their storage crate and offered one to Albert.

               “Is Baron comin’?”

               “No,” said Exeter, “He would not even let me in to talk.”

               The Koi was entering orbit of an unknown planet, preparing for its procedural scan.

               “It be ironic, really. In oriental culture, the koi be a symbol of friendship. In our time here we’s only grown further apart.”

               “What is an orient?” said Exeter.

               “I dunno. There’s a Johnny Thunder flick about it.”

 Hael quickly picked up his potion before the teetering Imagimeter had a chance to throw it off. A moment later the Imagimeter settled.

“What’s that one put us at?” said Hael Storm.

“Over the past sixty-three days of automatic operation, thirteen thousand and three planets have been scanned for the designated element,” said NAOMI, “Daily average: two-hundred and six planets. Hourly average: eight-point-six planets. At our current rate, we will complete the omni-planetary scan nine-nine-nine-nine-nine-nine zillion years after the universe ends.”

               “How do we know the place is still around, anyway? It coulda been enveloped in a supernova or caught in a negative space wedgie fer all we know.”

               “Typhonus is assured of its existence,” said Duke, “Whether it will be discovered in our lifetimes, I am skeptical. The First Builders went to great lengths to ensure that Gallant Five was preserved for their legacy. We can expect no less of the resting place of the imagination essence. If it is our destiny to find the nexus, we will, one way or another.”

               “What’s the Baron up to, anyway? Spends most o’ his time in his room.”

               “Supposedly, research. Archiving what few records remain from the structure on Gallant Five. Comparing them with artifacts from his homeworld. Documenting our progress and his discoveries in his journal.” Duke paused. “He seems increasingly apprehensive; paranoid, even. I am beginning to fear for his emotional wellbeing.”

               “I have been acquainted with Typhonus for many years now,” said Albert, “He’s a colleague. A friend, even. Granted, he can be a bit passionate at times, melodramatic doubly so, but I hardly think that his emotional state merits our concern. I’m sure he’ll be fine."

 

Chapter 14: The Ingress

  Reveal hidden contents

Several months had passed.

Rations were three-quarters depleted.

In the absence of Typhonus, the three explorers devised a rotation schedule assigning each member shifts to monitor the Imagimeter. This proved to be an enormous bore almost immediately, as most of the planets visited were either bland, homogeneous deserts or inhabited by some hackneyed weekly eldritch wishing to imprison them for approximately one hour, minus commercials, so the explorers had to connive unconventional methods to entertain themselves for the duration of their respective shifts. Fortunately for Hael Storm, it was a simple task to persuade NAOMI to pirate a number of intergalactic blockbusters through the magical subspace internetwork, including popular titles such as Merchandise-Driven Franchise Movie: The Cash-In and Trilogy of Four: Gratuitous Climactic Bifurcate, Part One.

It was Hael’s shift. His parrot squawked contentedly from the holograph projector as the pirate perused the database of illegally acquired media for an interesting title. Eventually he settled upon Future Knights and the Tome of Eldritch Lore. The flick began by displaying the ironic anti-piracy notice that absolutely no-one takes seriously, reminding the viewership of the evils inherent in the theft of intellectual property and propagating the Intergalactic Board of Investigation’s empty threats of fines and incarceration, only to be interrupted by the sudden jubilation of a certain top-hatted individual.

 “Eureka!” said Typhonus, making such a din that he was sure the other explorers would feel compelled investigate.

Hael’s parrot barked angrily as it was thrust from its perch as a flurry of ancient documents and other assorted papers flew with Typhonus onto the Venture Koi’s bridge, composing themselves in semi-neat piles on the holograph projector table.

“Ahoy, what be this?” said Hael.

“Oh, it’s nothing extravagant, just your run-of-the-mill groundbreaking revelation and its vast implications. Say, have you developed any new sociopathic tendencies that I should be aware of in my absence?”

“Oh, same old,” said Hael. “How’s that despondent recluse thing been goin’ for ya?” He was not sure what despondent meant, but it certainly sounded like one of those words you’d expect to find in peer-reviewed journals.

“A bit dull, actually. It seemed all exciting and liberating at first but then the depression inexorably set in. Ah, Albert, there you are, come look at this!”

Doctor Overbuild wandered in, setting down the latest issue ten months ago of Mad Scientist Monthly which he had only binge-read through a couple dozen times. Anything for a break from the unendurable tedium that plagued these last few months.

Albert perused through the assorted artifacts thoughtfully. “I think I know what you have in mind.”

Typhonus seemed rather pleased with his partner’s deduction. “Oh, do you now?”

“Yes. You intend for me to pose a series of questions regarding the relevance of these articles scattered across my holographic projector, at which point you will delineate in excessive detail the nature of your current machinations; some of the answers to which will be painfully obvious to its recipients, but since we’re trapped in the status quo until someone here sates your melodramatic inclinations, I’ll humor you.”

“That’s very gracious of you.”

“What is this impossibly useful, mind-boggling discovery that you’ve made?”

“Before you inadvertently destroyed it, I was able to record some video of the Gallant Five temple, including some ancient manuscripts engraved on the walls,” said Typhonus, “Cross-referencing this with existing documentation, I was able to reconstruct fragments of the First Builders’ historical record, and some of this information is particularly relevant. As you are undoubtedly familiar with the legends, there is no need for me to restate all of them. The First Builders created the great cube planet, Crux, to house the last essence until their posterity was prepared to carry on their legacy. Now, in order to protect the last essence from those who would misuse its power, a great barrier was constructed around it: the Bulwark. At first I assumed this to be a physical barrier, but it didn’t occur to me until much later that the Bulwark might actually be metaphysical in nature. Then, I realized…”

Typhonus cleared the clutter from holographic projector in a single swift motion, scattering the assorted electronics, ancient tablets, and electronic tablets across the bridge aft. He inputted a few commands on the console.

“NAOMI, initialize expository program: T-zero-nine-three-seven alpha.”

The holographic projector hummed pleasantly as a horizontal plane appeared over the table. The plane divided vertically into two planes, slowly drifting apart.

“The Bulwark is an interdimensional barrier, artificially partitioning the spatio-temporal globular medium into two separate and distinct realities,” said Typhonus, “The Crux literally exists outside of this reality. It’s almost as if it were a universe in and of itself! And the shards… these shards are the keys to unlock the gateway to the lost essence, the Crux. This is what the cube in the sanctum of shards symbolized. Imagine! The gateway to another dimension: the Ingress of Imagination!”

 “You’ve spent the entirety of these past months rehearsing this monologue, haven’t you?” said Albert.

Typhonus spotted him with the glare.

“If the shards are indeed keys, there also must be a lock… and, by extension, a door,” said Duke Exeter, who had slipped in apparently unnoticed up to this point.

“And how be we supposed t’ find it this little trans-dimensional orifice of yours in the middle o’ this infinite universe of ours? It be like where yer missin’ that one small but integral piece ya need t’ finish yer magnum opus, then you get the dawning realization that it must buried beneath yer mountainous hoard o’ parts, so you search and search again and again ‘til you finally give up, convinced that it must’ve fallen down a crevice someplace never to be seen again.”

“And then you turn around and find that it was sitting on your dresser the entire time,” said Typhonus.

“Be ye havin’ a point there, matey?”

“Hold on a moment, would you; we’re getting to it. Albert, what do you know about the Transdimensional Matrix?”

The Transdimensional Matrix Theory postulates that dark energy, the anomalous essence which permeates the entire spatio-temporal globular medium, is in fact a dimensionally transcendental form that has inexplicably come into alignment with the local universe. Pockets of dark matter are considered to be intersections in a network spanning a multitude of conjoined universes, hence the Trandimensional Matrix. This theory has been debunked by scientists the universe over (along with the Universal Negative Curvature Hypothesis), but the notion persists in many renegade scientist sects. The movement was revitalized some zillenia ago when a gargantuan humanoid creature emerged from a concentrated pocket in the dark matter mines of Technicon VIII during a routine evacuation. This caused quite a stir for the galactic media, who were anxious for a break from the perpetual politicking which dominated the news cycle.

Aha! this will be great for ratings, they fancied, hopefully it’ll destroy a few dozen settlements, decimate a couple major cities and periodically topple a national landmark or monument before the military arrives and puts an end to it. No doubt we’ll have to send some of our expendable reporters to the frontlines; with any luck one of them will be killed and we can spend multiple hours mourning the “tragic loss” of our low-caste colleague and covering the memorial service. Even then we can squeeze the event dry with comprehensive aftermath coverage for weeks on end, and next year we can air a two-hour prime-time special commemorating the anniversary!

The media were disappointed to learn that the colossus was benevolent and nonthreatening. It accidentally knocked over a couple trees, but otherwise its presence was uneventful. Almost immediately the eldritch was heralded by the interdimensional theorists as irrefutable proof of their transdimensional dark matter model. However, given the eldritch’s bizarre alien biology and diet, it was unable to sustain itself, and collapsed and died of tragic malnourishment within a week’s time. The actuality of this freak occurrence was soon disputed by the scientific community when the accusation arose that it must all have been an elaborate hoax devised by the madcap theorists. The theorists insisted that they were too far gone to stage something so convincing. And so the theory persisted, the corpse of the behemoth slowly rotted, and the media sighed in disappointment and reluctantly trudged back to their twenty-four-seven political analysis.

“So far with the Imaginetic Spatial Distortion Array, we have only been able to sufficiently bend reality to temporarily phase out of this plane of existence and facilitate lateral jumps in space,” said Typhonus.

“You’re proposing we channel the array through a pocket of dark matter to amplify its effects,” said Albert.

“Exactly. I’ve had NAOMI process the data. Within the transdimensional matrix, the Imagimeter should detect the Imaginetic flux of the essence in nearby planes. Once we get a lock on the originating strata, we can calibrate the array for interdimensional distortion.”

“How much time will you need to prepare?” said Exeter.

“No time at all. I’ve taken the liberty of bypassing NAOMI’s safety protocols for the occasion.”

“Ahoy!” said Storm, “If anyone’s gonna be overridin’ safety protocols on my ship, it’s gonna be me!”

“Never mind him,” said Typhonus, “NAOMI, take us to the designated point.”

“Sure thing, boss,” said NAOMI.

               “I think her patronization subprocessor is broken again,” said Albert, “One of us should look into that.”

 

               The Venture Koi briefly flashed through imaginary space before emerging outside a concentrated pocket of dark matter. Just in front of them appeared absolutely nothing. This puzzled Typhonus greatly as he imagined dark matter to be rather dark, as in absorbing electromagnetic emissions such as light instead of not affecting them in any visible way whatsoever. The Venture Koi passed into the dark matter, which at the time felt very much the same as traveling through a vacuum. A couple minutes in, the hull began to groan and bridge began to quake.

               “NAOMI, what was that?” said Typhonus.

               “Gravitational distortion, boss,” said NAOMI.

               “This is unsafe; we should alter course!” said Exeter.

               “No!” said Typhonus, “The resonance will be strongest at the center. We must press on!”

               “Hold on,” said Albert, “I’m reconfiguring the artificial gravity generators to counteract the effects of the dark matter. And NAOMI, cut out that insipid sycophancy.”

               “Anything for you, sweetheart,” said NAOMI.

Inexplicably, the consoles replete with high-volatility pyrotechnics overloaded and blasted Albert with a torrent of sparks to remind them all just how perilous their predicament was. This made Typhonus question why the Build Alliance in all of its ingenuity failed to grasp the necessity of surge protectors for the electronic systems. Hael just stood cheerfully, enjoying the spectacle of utter pandemonium. As the Venture Koi approached the center of mass, the pyrotechnical display became increasingly dazzling and the Imagimeter came online.

               “Initiating Imaginetic scan,” said NAOMI, “I have a fix.”

               “Then let’s get outa here!” said Hael.

               “Aye-aye, captain,” said NAOMI.

               “Blok you, NAOMI,” said the only slightly mutilated Albert.

The Imaginetic Spatial Distortion Array engaged one last time, transporting the Venture Koi and its crew to the narrative climax.

 

To whomever the poor sap is who decides to write up a TV Tropes entry for this monstrosity, you have my deepest sympathies.

 

 

Edited January 18, 2017 by Brigs
Only two chapters left.

[Brigs]

Chapter 3 is up. Let's just say there were pants.

[Dazzgracefulmoon]

love your writing, haha. not to mention it's always fun seeing your vignettes alongside the story, too.

[Brigs]

Chapter 4 is up without any quaternary wall.

[Brigs]

Chapter 5 is up and I couldn't book the photographer.

[origamihero]

Are you going to publish this??

[Brigs]

  On 5/13/2016 at 4:35 PM, chromecrusher said:

Are you going to publish this??

Expand  

 

In a sense, I am already publishing it; right here, incrementally. I may propagate it on other forums, specifically the Elimbies, but I have no intentions of compiling it into a book if that's what you're asking.

[aidenpons]

Well done. These are hilarious in an actually amusing way, unlike the Terraria Steam discussions.

 

 

Keep it up!

  On 5/13/2016 at 5:00 PM, Brigs said:

I may propagate it on other forums, specifically the Elimbies

Expand  

Can I have a summary of your various tests/experiments/aimed posts on that.... board of stupidity?

[Brigs]

  On 5/16/2016 at 8:03 AM, aidenpons said:

Can I have a summary of your various tests/experiments/aimed posts on that.... board of stupidity?

Expand  

As a rule, I wouldn't touch the Elimbies even with a 32-length axle; my presence there has been, up to now, almost exclusively observational. I submitted my Elimbies paper a while back, but it was evidently too offensive for my unsuspecting audience. Even now, I am maneuvering myself so that they will welcome me as one of their own.

Soon I shall be embraced by my prey, endear myself to the natives, and wait...

 

[Dazzgracefulmoon]

oh my, I'm surprised that signature got approved by the mods

[origamihero]

I don't think your sig has to be approved by the mods on this forum nvm, are you really 11?

[Brigs]

  On 5/16/2016 at 5:15 PM, chromecrusher said:

I don't think your sig has to be approved by the mods on this forum nvm, are you really 11?

Expand  

How many eleven-year-old kiddies do you know who can formulate a coherent sentence?

[origamihero]

  On 5/16/2016 at 5:43 PM, Brigs said:

How many eleven-year-old kiddies do you know who can formulate a coherent sentence?

Expand  

K then.  I just reported elembier with fire and told him he was cheating on his assignment from his teacher

[mumboking]

  Quote

The message you are trying to access is not available.

Expand  

Oh... Okay...

[origamihero]

  On 5/16/2016 at 7:25 PM, mumboking said:

Oh... Okay...

Expand  

Cause I reported him

  On 4/22/2016 at 4:51 PM, Brigs said:

 

EDIT: HEY LEGO MESSAGE BOARD MODERATION TEAM, ELIMBIER IS ONE OF MINE. IT'S NOT PLAGIARISM, OKAY?

Expand  

It's too late I'm sorry Brigs.

[Fluffy Cupcake]

Well I finally got to read it since it became unavailable for reading earlier, buuuut: "last edited 30m ago by LEGOModerationTeam", so I don't know if I missed anything.

[aidenpons]

  On 5/16/2016 at 4:10 PM, Brigs said:

As a rule, I wouldn't touch the Elimbies even with a 32-length axle; my presence there has been, up to now, almost exclusively observational. I submitted my Elimbies paper a while back, but it was evidently too offensive for my unsuspecting audience. Even now, I am maneuvering myself so that they will welcome me as one of their own.

Soon I shall be embraced by my prey, endear myself to the natives, and wait...

 

Expand  

 

I applaud your strategic maneuvers with the Likes Given...

 

 

 

Also, is there any real reason only half of Chapter 1 is up? Character limit?

[origamihero]

elembier changed his signature, he is now 12

  On 5/17/2016 at 8:27 AM, Xiron said:

Well I finally got to read it since it became unavailable for reading earlier, buuuut: "last edited 30m ago by LEGOModerationTeam", so I don't know if I missed anything.

Expand  

the mod team just merged 2 of his posts

[mumboking]

Heh...

  Quote

origamihero

 

Hi Elembier, Please do not say this was written by you because I know who it was written by.  He rhymes with bricks.  Pleas edit your post so you could give credit to the person who actually made this.  thanks

Expand  

 

[origamihero]

Elembier:

Sorry, I do not know who you're refering to.  Obviously I wrote this story, and I already talked to the moderators about this. We're cool now. How did you like my story, though? I hope you enjoyed it! 

[origamihero]

Guys this is going out of control:

Re: LEGO UNIVERSE: "chromecrushed the clueless" (AN LU STORY!)

[Brigs]

 

Chapter 6 is up, and so is the image that was to accompany chapter 5. 

 

Anyway, here's a quick recap for those of you trying to figure out what the blok is going on these past couple days.

 

I recently began my infiltration of the Elimbies, but some particularly dense asterisk didn't get the joke and summoned the wrath of the moderation team upon my topic there. Elimbier's former signature stated that he was eleven years old. 

  On 5/16/2016 at 5:15 PM, chromecrusher said:

I don't think your sig has to be approved by the mods on this forum nvm, are you really 11?

Expand  

And somehow he interpreted this response...

  On 5/16/2016 at 5:43 PM, Brigs said:

How many eleven-year-old kiddies do you know who can formulate a coherent sentence?

Expand  

...as evidence that Elimbier was a completely different person from me. The notion of creating a fictitious persona in the interest of comedy must be completely foreign to him. And don't even bring up the "lying" allegation, because it's so obviously said with tongue in cheek and we all know people claiming to be Time Lords and whatnot in their signature but nobody gives a fuss about them.

  On 5/16/2016 at 5:45 PM, chromecrusher said:

K then.  I just reported elembier with fire and told him he was cheating on his assignment from his teacher

Expand  

 My topic was thus reported and the moderation team retroactively rejected my topic on grounds of plagiarizing this very topic here on RRU, despite the fact that I expressed intentions to propagate this on the "Elimbies" in the foreword, never mind asking of them to scroll down for context. In their mild defense, they aren't familiar with the rich history of that term on this site, but surely they would be cognizant enough to correlate Elimbies with Elimbier, an account that has been in position now for well over a year. I submitted this appeal in the form of a topic bound for rejection. Oh, and it was entitled "An Appeal for Sanity".

 

  On 5/16/2016 at 7:45 PM, chromecrusher said:

Cause I reported him

It's too late I'm sorry Brigs.

Expand  

I'm leaving up that edit at the beginning of this topic as an artifact of this encounter, and because I find it outright hilarious. In a surprising act of lucidity on part of moderation, the topic was reinstated, but shamefully this follow-up message submitted prior to the topic's rejection wasn't.

The culprit, inexplicably, was still completely lost at this point. Instead of drawing the logical conclusion he soon points out that Elimbier's signature indicates that he's twelve now.

  On 5/17/2016 at 5:21 PM, chromecrusher said:

elembier changed his signature, he is now 12

the mod team just merged 2 of his posts

Expand  

By the way, it's Elimbier, with a limb. Typical Elimbier, making such spelling errors. Also, nothing was merged, it's just a restoration of what he had them take down.

Then he wrote up this gem on his LEGO account. 

This naturally escalated into a masterful prank, beautifully cataloged in the posts above and scattered across the RRU chatroom.

Note the beautiful title. To which he replied...

Immediately afterward...

  On 5/18/2016 at 12:44 AM, chromecrusher said:

Elembier:

Sorry, I do not know who you're refering to.  Obviously I wrote this story, and I already talked to the moderators about this. We're cool now. How did you like my story, though? I hope you enjoyed it! 

Expand  

Upon realization...

  On 5/18/2016 at 6:15 PM, chromecrusher said:

Guys this is going out of control:

Re: LEGO UNIVERSE: "chromecrushed the clueless" (AN LU STORY!)

Expand  

Underlined for your convenience. Jellyfish ensued, and the truth has been elucidated to the Hero of Origami. Chromey, either you are a brilliant troll or just stupefyingly gullible.

 

 

Wow, that went a lot longer than I anticipated. TL;DR...

  On 5/18/2016 at 6:15 PM, chromecrusher said:

chromecrushed the clueless

Expand  

Yeah, he's totally pissed over the whole ordeal. Also, according to our edifying chatroom conversations, I'm apparently the devil now, and Nog is the Queen of America.

 

I regret nothing. God save the queen!

[origamihero]

  On 5/20/2016 at 12:22 AM, Brigs said:

Yeah, he's totally pissed over the whole ordeal. Also, according to our edifying chatroom conversations, I'm apparently the devil now, and Nog is the Queen of America.

 

I regret nothing. God save the queen!

Expand  

She can be queen if she want, its a free country. also read my about me.  It explains why Im horrible with my social skills

[Alcom Isst]

  On 5/20/2016 at 12:47 AM, chromecrusher said:

also read my about me.  It explains why Im horrible with my social skills

Expand  

There's a what but certainly no why.

[TheDiplomat]

  On 5/20/2016 at 12:22 AM, Brigs said:

TL;DR...

Expand  

"Too Long; Drome Racers". Hovertext is fun.

 

Sorry you had to undergo such a stressful posting experience. I mean, I have to say, I also feel a little sorry to see Chrome's unmasterful social interaction backfire into a manuscript-length post mocking his cluelessness, simply out of personal experience, but... uh... I guess sympathy for both sides then? Dunno.