An experiment in organically growing a (very silly) story.
Win little bonus mtg bundles by helping the story grow.
One (or maybe two) pretty nice prize(s) to be won at the end of the story (if we ever get there!)
What’s the big idea?
A few years ago, I was writing a very silly fantasy series called Magic Be With You (ironically, this had nothing to do with mtg, and was being written at a time when I had all but forgotten the existence of the game. You can buy the book via clicking on the book cover above, if you are interested).
I got six episodes in and was working on the seventh when I got distracted (mainly by increasing my work as a GP!) and though I plan to go back to the ‘original’ version of this at some point, I have also been wondering for some time if I could use it as a fun way of doing a sort of organically-growing branching story project.
So I’ve dusted off a section and brought it out of retirement to be the starting stub of story from which to regrow a different version of things, hopefully with your input and suggestions.
it works like this: below will find an opening section of story.
It’s not very long. Just a short chapter or two.
Have a read. I’m sure you will quickly ascertain it is a very serious and deep piece of work.
Then shoot me a message (either by email or via Vinted or EBay) and hit me up with your suggestion: tell me at what point the story could branch, and a brief idea of what might happen there. For example, when the wizards walk into the library, what might happen differently? Maybe a door clangs open and an alcoholic dragon roles out. Maybe some dark and mysterious accountant is lurking in the corner, preparing a devastating tax return with which to thwart our heroes. Or maybe it’s before the story so fat that a branch should happen: maybe there's a missing pre- prologue prologue.
Or maybe a terrible beast comes roaring out of the swamp, trying to aggressively sell them low standard travel insurance.
Maybe, maybe, maybe…
Anyhow, shoot me your idea. If it’s a nice idea, you get to choose a free mini bundle when you next order from us. (List of such bundles on Vinted - anything marked as ‘potentially free’ i.e., *not* the booster packs or commander decks!). If it ends up making a story branch in that direction, you get three more free bundles when you next order.
You can find more about these free mini bundles by clicking the button below.
(Please note, I’m not trying to make out these are super amazing prizes or anything! :) they are just silly little bonuses to thank you for playing this silly little story game!)
As for a more interesting and worthwhile prize - well, if you have been following us, you will have seen that our most recent similar idea involved three lovely prizes in the Sherlock story challenge. That contest has only 6 months left to run, and though there is someone lined up to win one of the prizes (the Max Diamond!) the other two have not had anyone sniffing even remotely close.
So - the Max Diamond is accounted for. Someone has definitely won that.
If the other 2 prizes aren't won, then I will cycle them into this contest, instead (see the Sherlock page for more on that).
If all 3 of the Sherlock prizes are won, then I will put up my lovely serialised Dark Confidant from Ravnica Remastered.
Of course, that is contingent on this little game actually working and people playing it with me, which of course might not happen. It is also contingent on the story getting to a certain size and level of completeness and complexity, which also may not happen.
Perhaps this is a very silly idea, and it won’t go anywhere at all, in which case bear in mind this bigger prize will never materialise either. But I thought it would be fun to try.
So - all that being said - read on for the first (or maybe the third…or just possibly the seventeenth) instalment of Magic Be With You (Redux)….
I got six episodes in and was working on the seventh when I got distracted (mainly by increasing my work as a GP!) and though I plan to go back to the ‘original’ version of this at some point, I have also been wondering for some time if I could use it as a fun way of doing a sort of organically-growing branching story project.
So I’ve dusted off a section and brought it out of retirement to be the starting stub of story from which to regrow a different version of things, hopefully with your input and suggestions.
it works like this: below will find an opening section of story.
It’s not very long. Just a short chapter or two.
Have a read. I’m sure you will quickly ascertain it is a very serious and deep piece of work.
Then shoot me a message (either by email or via Vinted or EBay) and hit me up with your suggestion: tell me at what point the story could branch, and a brief idea of what might happen there. For example, when the wizards walk into the library, what might happen differently? Maybe a door clangs open and an alcoholic dragon roles out. Maybe some dark and mysterious accountant is lurking in the corner, preparing a devastating tax return with which to thwart our heroes. Or maybe it’s before the story so fat that a branch should happen: maybe there's a missing pre- prologue prologue.
Or maybe a terrible beast comes roaring out of the swamp, trying to aggressively sell them low standard travel insurance.
Maybe, maybe, maybe…
Anyhow, shoot me your idea. If it’s a nice idea, you get to choose a free mini bundle when you next order from us. (List of such bundles on Vinted - anything marked as ‘potentially free’ i.e., *not* the booster packs or commander decks!). If it ends up making a story branch in that direction, you get three more free bundles when you next order.
You can find more about these free mini bundles by clicking the button below.
(Please note, I’m not trying to make out these are super amazing prizes or anything! :) they are just silly little bonuses to thank you for playing this silly little story game!)
As for a more interesting and worthwhile prize - well, if you have been following us, you will have seen that our most recent similar idea involved three lovely prizes in the Sherlock story challenge. That contest has only 6 months left to run, and though there is someone lined up to win one of the prizes (the Max Diamond!) the other two have not had anyone sniffing even remotely close.
So - the Max Diamond is accounted for. Someone has definitely won that.
If the other 2 prizes aren't won, then I will cycle them into this contest, instead (see the Sherlock page for more on that).
If all 3 of the Sherlock prizes are won, then I will put up my lovely serialised Dark Confidant from Ravnica Remastered.
Of course, that is contingent on this little game actually working and people playing it with me, which of course might not happen. It is also contingent on the story getting to a certain size and level of completeness and complexity, which also may not happen.
Perhaps this is a very silly idea, and it won’t go anywhere at all, in which case bear in mind this bigger prize will never materialise either. But I thought it would be fun to try.
So - all that being said - read on for the first (or maybe the third…or just possibly the seventeenth) instalment of Magic Be With You (Redux)….
Magic Be with You
PROLOGUE
In a really atmospheric and sinister location, two evil characters were preparing to foreshadow how dark and gritty the story would become.
“I trust preparations are in progress?” asked the freakishly tall and thin (but weirdly attractive) sorceress, sitting on her throne made of bones and rotting things etc. She was wearing dark robes which were intimidating and provocative at the same time, and a flaming crown made of concentrated demonic energy. She was pretty striking.
Her trusted lieutenant knelt before her, his face darkly stubbled by an uneven beard which marked him out as untrustworthy. He wore mismatched pieces of dark armour, and carried a twisted wooden staff, making him look like probably some kind of warrior-mage of fierce and terrifying power, or something.
“Preparations were prepared previously,” he replied. “Now they’ve progressed past planning, to in-progress.”
The sorceress nodded, a nasty half-smile cracking her face like an enchanted egg breaking open to reveal sour and foreboding yolk. She loved alliteration.
“The raiders have been released,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
“They are even now howling towards their target,” he replied. It wasn’t a question, either.
“Good,” said the sorceress, imbibing a drink made of pure liquified human souls, then burping loudly, because this was quite a gassy beverage. “And the girl?”
A frown passed over the lieutenant’s haggard face.
“There is a…a complication,” he admitted sourly.
The sorceress frowned, too. She was significantly better at this than the lieutenant.
“I am not fond of those,” she told him.
“It is…not clear which girl is the Chosen One,” the lieutenant admitted.
The sorceress smiled.
It was the kind of smile that could kill a small mammal at fifty paces.
“That is not difficult to resolve,” she told him.
“You mean…?” asked the lieutenant, uncertainly.
“Yes,” replied the really evil sorceress. “Leave nothing to chance.”
The lieutenant bowed and began walking stiffly away, descending the vast structure of dark metal, from the throne made of hulking lizard bones (which hadn’t been described previously in much detail, as something like this was kind of implied).
“Kill them all, I mean,” added the sorceress. “You know, just to be clear.”
Then she knocked back another goblet of pure liquified human souls, and gave a huge and echoing laugh.
Something pretty bad was definitely about to happen.
In a really atmospheric and sinister location, two evil characters were preparing to foreshadow how dark and gritty the story would become.
“I trust preparations are in progress?” asked the freakishly tall and thin (but weirdly attractive) sorceress, sitting on her throne made of bones and rotting things etc. She was wearing dark robes which were intimidating and provocative at the same time, and a flaming crown made of concentrated demonic energy. She was pretty striking.
Her trusted lieutenant knelt before her, his face darkly stubbled by an uneven beard which marked him out as untrustworthy. He wore mismatched pieces of dark armour, and carried a twisted wooden staff, making him look like probably some kind of warrior-mage of fierce and terrifying power, or something.
“Preparations were prepared previously,” he replied. “Now they’ve progressed past planning, to in-progress.”
The sorceress nodded, a nasty half-smile cracking her face like an enchanted egg breaking open to reveal sour and foreboding yolk. She loved alliteration.
“The raiders have been released,” she said. It wasn’t a question.
“They are even now howling towards their target,” he replied. It wasn’t a question, either.
“Good,” said the sorceress, imbibing a drink made of pure liquified human souls, then burping loudly, because this was quite a gassy beverage. “And the girl?”
A frown passed over the lieutenant’s haggard face.
“There is a…a complication,” he admitted sourly.
The sorceress frowned, too. She was significantly better at this than the lieutenant.
“I am not fond of those,” she told him.
“It is…not clear which girl is the Chosen One,” the lieutenant admitted.
The sorceress smiled.
It was the kind of smile that could kill a small mammal at fifty paces.
“That is not difficult to resolve,” she told him.
“You mean…?” asked the lieutenant, uncertainly.
“Yes,” replied the really evil sorceress. “Leave nothing to chance.”
The lieutenant bowed and began walking stiffly away, descending the vast structure of dark metal, from the throne made of hulking lizard bones (which hadn’t been described previously in much detail, as something like this was kind of implied).
“Kill them all, I mean,” added the sorceress. “You know, just to be clear.”
Then she knocked back another goblet of pure liquified human souls, and gave a huge and echoing laugh.
Something pretty bad was definitely about to happen.
Chapter One
The village green was sparkling and splendid in the summer sun. Stalls and games were set up, and children laughed and joked like goblins (but nice ones). Majilda stood on the balcony of the village tavern, because her parents owned it.
She looked out over the celebrations, a slender, beautiful young woman with flowing blonde hair who at the same time seemed pretty normal and easy to relate to. She thought about how happy and perfect her life was superficially, though deep down she had always wondered if maybe something was missing, probably something magical. Today was the twenty-first of Squib (the seventh month of the year in the mysterious world where she lived) and it was her eighteenth birthday. Her parents had bought her a beautiful cloak made out of unicorn fur, which she was wearing under her normal birthday frock, because some people in her little village were a bit funny about making clothing out of dead animals, especially endangered magical ones. Still, she thought, she would be able to wear it as much as she wanted when she had wedded the son of the rich Mayor from Stokes, the small town twenty miles away. Folks were much more open minded about such things in the towns, Majilda reflected wisely.
The festival of mid-year was in full swing, and everyone was having a really great time. People were drinking mead and ale, and other fantastical drinks, and a whole hog was roasting over a fire (it had been raised organically however, and had lived a useful and happy life before being eaten, so this was morally pretty much okay). The people were dancing and cavorting idyllically, and Majilda found herself thinking that if some momentous and dramatic change were to come over her life, this would probably represent some kind of lost golden age that underscored her evolving heroic journey as a character. But then, nothing really interesting ever happened to her. This was such a boringly normal (though grounded and wholesome) village, and almost certainly dramatic adventures were not just around the corner.
Majilda sighed, stroking her unicorn-fur cloak longingly, before covering it up again beneath her normal clothes, cleverly concealing the horn (somehow). Then she went outside to exchange pleasantries with the simple but kind townsfolk, who probably don't need to have names at this point.
"Hello and happy birthday, Majilda!" the townsfolk all called to Majilda. They liked her a lot, because she was pretty but also sweet natured and had a good heart. She was kind of the whole package.
"Hello!" Majilda called back. She met up with her parents by the big fire in the centre of the green. It hadn't been lit yet because the sun was up and it was pretty warm, but it was still a very dramatic place for them to meet.
"My girl, you do look beautiful and very attractive on this, your eighteenth birthday," said her mother, who was called Penny, and who was clever and still had some of her looks.
Majilda gave a pretty blush and fluttered her long, natural eyelashes.
"Thank you, mamma," she said. "I just hope that Steve finds me as attractive as you say I am."
Steve was the son of the rich mayor from the neighbouring town. They had only met a few times, but Majilda thought he was very handsome and was surely a good man, though she didn't have any actual evidence of this, and actually he might turn out to be a bit evil.
"Oh, I'm sure he will," said her father, emerging from behind a pile of old-style farming equipment he had been making sure was working properly. "You are so obviously very beautiful and lovely, how can he fail to love you?"
"Well, that's all true," said Penny thoughtfully, "but I also hope he sees all your deeper, hidden qualities, like how brave and strong you are."
"Yes," agreed her father, "and also that certain, indefinable property you have, the little strange things you have been able to do since you were a young child."
Majilda opened her mouth to ask for some examples of this, but at that moment a stranger rode into town. He was mounted on a huge dark horse, as black (though not necessarily as evil) as the heart of a troll. The stranger was tall and good-looking in a frowning, scarred, rugged sort of a way. His eyes were dark blue, like a still lake in Autumn at about 5pm, and his shoulders were broad and well-muscled, though you couldn't see them very well because he was wearing heavy armour that looked like it might well be enchanted. The man was scanning the faces in the crowd as if looking for someone he knew, which was improbable because Majilda had grown up here and had never seen this strange, handsome man before.
"Who is that?" asked Majilda, her voice breathless. Her mouth was dry and her heart was beating quickly. She felt as if she might run or burst into flames at any moment. In fact, she had all the hallmarks of an overactive sympathetic nervous system.
"I don't know," said her father suspiciously. "Some stranger from the North, up to no good I'll warrant."
But her mother looked thoughtful.
"Perhaps," she said. "Or perhaps he knows some secret which we poor village folk are ignorant of."
But when Majilda looked at her quizzically, she would say no more.
Then the stranger's eyes met Majilda's, and it was as if the whole world swam with water, as if splashed by a naiad cavorting in an enchanted stream.
The stranger rode gently through the sea of villagers, parting them before his massive horse. He reached Majilda and her parents, and stared intensely at her.
"Who are you, stranger?" demanded her father gruffly.
"I am a stranger," said the stranger mysteriously. "I am on a secret quest of great importance, perhaps to the whole world."
"Important to the whole world?" scoffed Majilda's father. "Then why are you here? I think you must have come to the wrong place. We are a simple folk, and no great events ever happen here."
The stranger looked at him gravely.
"Sometimes great things happen in the most unlikely places," he said evenly. Then he turned his eyes back to Majilda. Majilda hadn't stopped looking at the stranger since he rode into the village on his huge and virile-looking horse. Now she thought it was only right that she should say something.
"My father speaks correctly," she said. "Alas! No great heroes have been born here for time out of mind. We are a poor, humble folk, and know nothing of magic, or of fighting, or of anything interesting like that."
As she spoke, a hint of regret tinged her words, because she had often thought secretly of how she would love to learn about magic and enchantments and swordplay, but it was not the usual sort of thing that was expected of a kind, pretty girl like her.
The stranger's horse gave a snort, as if someone had just said something that would turn out to be important, but just then there was a scream from the far side of the green.
Everyone turned to look, but it was Majilda who dashed off first. She was very fast and agile and lithe, and as she ran quickly towards the scream, she thought once again that it was a shame she had never been trained to use these skills for combat, as they would probably make her a very effective fighter.
On the far side of the green, Majilda found a few of the villagers forming a little circle. Inside the circle, something was making desperate little snuffling noises.
"What is it?" asked Majilda. "What's happened?"
But no one answered, so she pushed her way forward until she could see inside the circle. And then her tender (yet remarkably strong) heart cried out in distress, because in the middle of the circle was a poor, injured bird, maybe an eagle or something.
"That there hell bird just swooped on my girl, Elainer!" said a middle aged woman with a hook nose and an ugly boil. The woman was Mrs Potter, who everyone knew was a nasty, rather snide lady. Her daughter Elainer - a girl of eighteen also, with long red hair and a dark, wanton look in her eye - lay on the grass sucking her thumb.
"It bit me!" said Elainer. "The nasty thing swooped down and bit me for no reason!"
Majilda frowned at this. She and Elainer had always been rivals, ever since they were little girls. Elainer was slim and pretty, but she had a nasty temper and a meanness she had got from her mother. Basically, she was a bit of a dick.
The bird squawked pitifully on the ground. It tried to get back to its feet, but Mrs Potter gave it a vicious poke with her broom.
"I'm sure it wouldn't have bitten you without being provoked," said Majilda wisely. A few of the villagers nodded a that, and the circle started to loosen.
"No, it did!" said Elainer, jumping to her feet and staring at Majilda with a fiery challenge in her eyes. "It's a wild beast, and it should be put to death!"
The villagers swivelled back and forth between the two beautiful young women, looking for someone to tell them what to do.
"I don't think so," said Majilda with a quiet dignity that was forceful and made the villagers respect her all the more.
A cloud of doubt swam over Elainer's face. Then she smiled nastily as an idea evidently came to her.
"If you love the horrible little thing so much, why don't you pick it up?"
"If that will save the poor bird, then I will," said Majilda nobly.
The circle of villagers went very quiet. They parted to let Majilda through. Up close, the bird looked much more dangerous. It had a long beak and sharp talons.
"Have faith in the goodness of things," Majilda whispered to herself.
Then she reached forward and picked the bird up. For a moment it wriggled in her hands, and Majilda thought it would rip her to shreds. But then it stilled, calmed by the powerful goodness that Majilda was demonstrating by her actions.
The villagers nodded and muttered their approval, apart from Elainer and her mother, who were proven wrong and who skulked away in shame.
"What will you do with her?" asked one of the villagers, an old man who looked pretty much like all the others, but had a speaking part.
"I will set her free," said Majilda with dignity. And she took the bird to one corner of the green and flung it into the air, and the bird took flight and circled the village three times, looking at Majilda carefully as if making note of her face so that she might recognise her later if needed. Then it vanished in a puff of mysteriousness.
"That was a gracious thing," said the stranger on the dark horse, who Majilda hadn't noticed had watched the whole scene. "I wonder if I have perhaps found the special person I have been looking for for so long."
Majilda blushed and shook her head.
"Oh no, I'm not special," she said. "And I couldn't possibly go away with you. My place is here, with my parents and all these villagers. And besides, I'm getting married soon."
But her heart sank a little as she said these words, because deep down she wondered if there wasn't something magical about her, after all.
The stranger looked at her keenly, as if pained.
Then he nodded his head sadly.
"That is your choice, then," he said. "Still, I may yet see you again."
And he rode away dramatically before she could say another word.
She looked out over the celebrations, a slender, beautiful young woman with flowing blonde hair who at the same time seemed pretty normal and easy to relate to. She thought about how happy and perfect her life was superficially, though deep down she had always wondered if maybe something was missing, probably something magical. Today was the twenty-first of Squib (the seventh month of the year in the mysterious world where she lived) and it was her eighteenth birthday. Her parents had bought her a beautiful cloak made out of unicorn fur, which she was wearing under her normal birthday frock, because some people in her little village were a bit funny about making clothing out of dead animals, especially endangered magical ones. Still, she thought, she would be able to wear it as much as she wanted when she had wedded the son of the rich Mayor from Stokes, the small town twenty miles away. Folks were much more open minded about such things in the towns, Majilda reflected wisely.
The festival of mid-year was in full swing, and everyone was having a really great time. People were drinking mead and ale, and other fantastical drinks, and a whole hog was roasting over a fire (it had been raised organically however, and had lived a useful and happy life before being eaten, so this was morally pretty much okay). The people were dancing and cavorting idyllically, and Majilda found herself thinking that if some momentous and dramatic change were to come over her life, this would probably represent some kind of lost golden age that underscored her evolving heroic journey as a character. But then, nothing really interesting ever happened to her. This was such a boringly normal (though grounded and wholesome) village, and almost certainly dramatic adventures were not just around the corner.
Majilda sighed, stroking her unicorn-fur cloak longingly, before covering it up again beneath her normal clothes, cleverly concealing the horn (somehow). Then she went outside to exchange pleasantries with the simple but kind townsfolk, who probably don't need to have names at this point.
"Hello and happy birthday, Majilda!" the townsfolk all called to Majilda. They liked her a lot, because she was pretty but also sweet natured and had a good heart. She was kind of the whole package.
"Hello!" Majilda called back. She met up with her parents by the big fire in the centre of the green. It hadn't been lit yet because the sun was up and it was pretty warm, but it was still a very dramatic place for them to meet.
"My girl, you do look beautiful and very attractive on this, your eighteenth birthday," said her mother, who was called Penny, and who was clever and still had some of her looks.
Majilda gave a pretty blush and fluttered her long, natural eyelashes.
"Thank you, mamma," she said. "I just hope that Steve finds me as attractive as you say I am."
Steve was the son of the rich mayor from the neighbouring town. They had only met a few times, but Majilda thought he was very handsome and was surely a good man, though she didn't have any actual evidence of this, and actually he might turn out to be a bit evil.
"Oh, I'm sure he will," said her father, emerging from behind a pile of old-style farming equipment he had been making sure was working properly. "You are so obviously very beautiful and lovely, how can he fail to love you?"
"Well, that's all true," said Penny thoughtfully, "but I also hope he sees all your deeper, hidden qualities, like how brave and strong you are."
"Yes," agreed her father, "and also that certain, indefinable property you have, the little strange things you have been able to do since you were a young child."
Majilda opened her mouth to ask for some examples of this, but at that moment a stranger rode into town. He was mounted on a huge dark horse, as black (though not necessarily as evil) as the heart of a troll. The stranger was tall and good-looking in a frowning, scarred, rugged sort of a way. His eyes were dark blue, like a still lake in Autumn at about 5pm, and his shoulders were broad and well-muscled, though you couldn't see them very well because he was wearing heavy armour that looked like it might well be enchanted. The man was scanning the faces in the crowd as if looking for someone he knew, which was improbable because Majilda had grown up here and had never seen this strange, handsome man before.
"Who is that?" asked Majilda, her voice breathless. Her mouth was dry and her heart was beating quickly. She felt as if she might run or burst into flames at any moment. In fact, she had all the hallmarks of an overactive sympathetic nervous system.
"I don't know," said her father suspiciously. "Some stranger from the North, up to no good I'll warrant."
But her mother looked thoughtful.
"Perhaps," she said. "Or perhaps he knows some secret which we poor village folk are ignorant of."
But when Majilda looked at her quizzically, she would say no more.
Then the stranger's eyes met Majilda's, and it was as if the whole world swam with water, as if splashed by a naiad cavorting in an enchanted stream.
The stranger rode gently through the sea of villagers, parting them before his massive horse. He reached Majilda and her parents, and stared intensely at her.
"Who are you, stranger?" demanded her father gruffly.
"I am a stranger," said the stranger mysteriously. "I am on a secret quest of great importance, perhaps to the whole world."
"Important to the whole world?" scoffed Majilda's father. "Then why are you here? I think you must have come to the wrong place. We are a simple folk, and no great events ever happen here."
The stranger looked at him gravely.
"Sometimes great things happen in the most unlikely places," he said evenly. Then he turned his eyes back to Majilda. Majilda hadn't stopped looking at the stranger since he rode into the village on his huge and virile-looking horse. Now she thought it was only right that she should say something.
"My father speaks correctly," she said. "Alas! No great heroes have been born here for time out of mind. We are a poor, humble folk, and know nothing of magic, or of fighting, or of anything interesting like that."
As she spoke, a hint of regret tinged her words, because she had often thought secretly of how she would love to learn about magic and enchantments and swordplay, but it was not the usual sort of thing that was expected of a kind, pretty girl like her.
The stranger's horse gave a snort, as if someone had just said something that would turn out to be important, but just then there was a scream from the far side of the green.
Everyone turned to look, but it was Majilda who dashed off first. She was very fast and agile and lithe, and as she ran quickly towards the scream, she thought once again that it was a shame she had never been trained to use these skills for combat, as they would probably make her a very effective fighter.
On the far side of the green, Majilda found a few of the villagers forming a little circle. Inside the circle, something was making desperate little snuffling noises.
"What is it?" asked Majilda. "What's happened?"
But no one answered, so she pushed her way forward until she could see inside the circle. And then her tender (yet remarkably strong) heart cried out in distress, because in the middle of the circle was a poor, injured bird, maybe an eagle or something.
"That there hell bird just swooped on my girl, Elainer!" said a middle aged woman with a hook nose and an ugly boil. The woman was Mrs Potter, who everyone knew was a nasty, rather snide lady. Her daughter Elainer - a girl of eighteen also, with long red hair and a dark, wanton look in her eye - lay on the grass sucking her thumb.
"It bit me!" said Elainer. "The nasty thing swooped down and bit me for no reason!"
Majilda frowned at this. She and Elainer had always been rivals, ever since they were little girls. Elainer was slim and pretty, but she had a nasty temper and a meanness she had got from her mother. Basically, she was a bit of a dick.
The bird squawked pitifully on the ground. It tried to get back to its feet, but Mrs Potter gave it a vicious poke with her broom.
"I'm sure it wouldn't have bitten you without being provoked," said Majilda wisely. A few of the villagers nodded a that, and the circle started to loosen.
"No, it did!" said Elainer, jumping to her feet and staring at Majilda with a fiery challenge in her eyes. "It's a wild beast, and it should be put to death!"
The villagers swivelled back and forth between the two beautiful young women, looking for someone to tell them what to do.
"I don't think so," said Majilda with a quiet dignity that was forceful and made the villagers respect her all the more.
A cloud of doubt swam over Elainer's face. Then she smiled nastily as an idea evidently came to her.
"If you love the horrible little thing so much, why don't you pick it up?"
"If that will save the poor bird, then I will," said Majilda nobly.
The circle of villagers went very quiet. They parted to let Majilda through. Up close, the bird looked much more dangerous. It had a long beak and sharp talons.
"Have faith in the goodness of things," Majilda whispered to herself.
Then she reached forward and picked the bird up. For a moment it wriggled in her hands, and Majilda thought it would rip her to shreds. But then it stilled, calmed by the powerful goodness that Majilda was demonstrating by her actions.
The villagers nodded and muttered their approval, apart from Elainer and her mother, who were proven wrong and who skulked away in shame.
"What will you do with her?" asked one of the villagers, an old man who looked pretty much like all the others, but had a speaking part.
"I will set her free," said Majilda with dignity. And she took the bird to one corner of the green and flung it into the air, and the bird took flight and circled the village three times, looking at Majilda carefully as if making note of her face so that she might recognise her later if needed. Then it vanished in a puff of mysteriousness.
"That was a gracious thing," said the stranger on the dark horse, who Majilda hadn't noticed had watched the whole scene. "I wonder if I have perhaps found the special person I have been looking for for so long."
Majilda blushed and shook her head.
"Oh no, I'm not special," she said. "And I couldn't possibly go away with you. My place is here, with my parents and all these villagers. And besides, I'm getting married soon."
But her heart sank a little as she said these words, because deep down she wondered if there wasn't something magical about her, after all.
The stranger looked at her keenly, as if pained.
Then he nodded his head sadly.
"That is your choice, then," he said. "Still, I may yet see you again."
And he rode away dramatically before she could say another word.
Chapter Two
The sun was on the verge of setting and the celebrations were in full swing. Tankards of mead were being passed around, and the villagers were getting jolly. Majilda's cheeks were flushed prettily from the drink, and from lots of good, healthy dancing with several vigorous young men. Of the stranger and his massive horse, there was no sign.
"What a wonderful day it is, my daughter," said Majilda's mother. "How happy I am to have lived long enough to see you come of age."
Majilda gave her mother a hug and a puzzled smile.
"Of course, mother," she said. "How could it be otherwise?"
Her mother and her father exchanged a glance, and something secret and mysterious passed between them.
"Well, love," began her father, hesitatingly, "we never wanted to keep any secrets from you..."
He trailed off, and her mother took up the story.
"...But you see, we always said that we should tell you the truth one day."
Majilda frowned. This was indeed getting very mysterious and highly intriguing and creating a lot of tension.
"The truth about what?" she demanded, firmly but very reasonably.
Her parents looked at one another again, a pained knowledge passing between them.
"We always said we would wait until you turned eighteen," said her father. "We thought you ought to know then."
Majilda opened her mouth to ask what it was they thought she ought to know, but just then there was a a great whoomph noise as someone lit the fire, and they all turned to stare at the huge, portentous pillar of flame that was reaching into the sky like a bit of a red dragon, maybe a spine or a talon or something.
It was so beautiful that the three of them stood enchanted by the lovely glowing incandescent shimmering red-golden diaphanous pulsing flickering light. It was that good, it needed lots of words to describe it accurately.
Then her mother turned back to face her, and Majilda was surprised to see a tear glittering in her beautiful eye.
Her mother opened her mouth.
"The truth is," she started to say.
But Majilda saw something moving in the shadows behind the fire.
"What's that?" she asked, pointing into the gloom.
At the same moment, a shriek of terror drifted over to them from the far side of the fire.
An instant later, a roar came from all around them, and the air was suddenly full of moving bodies. They rushed in from every corner of the village, raider-folk in strange battle dress, with long, cruel swords and headgear that was foreign and sinister but not racist.
"Who are they?" gasped Majilda. "Where have they come from?"
Her father gave a grim scowl.
"Mercenary raiders from Middle Atlantis," he spat, naming a far off country that sometimes appeared in frightening songs. "I fought them once as a young man."
Majilda blinked in surprise, because she thought her father had always lived in the village and just been a normal, boring farmer without any interesting secrets or mysterious past.
Before she could ask him about this, there was a scream like a banshee opening a tax return, and Majilda looked up to see three of the raiders shooting through the air towards them. They had leapt right over the fire - thirty feet or more - which was unnatural and frightening and almost certainly meant dark magic was involved somewhere. She froze in terror. Each of the raiders wielded a wicked blade of sharp black iron, and they had a dire lust in their eyes.
Her father gave a roar and leapt to meet them. He had a pitchfork in each hand, weapons which should have been puny; but his stance was suddenly that of a born warrior, and the old, simple farmer seemed to fall away in an instant, replaced by something keen and deadly.
"Majilda, run!" he ordered over his shoulder as he rose into the air like a phoenix reborn from the ashes of an old, boring man.
Then the pitchforks skewered two of the leaping raiders, bursting up in symmetrical, perfect thrusts through their bellies and lungs and into their hearts, so that they died instantly but also with some pain, which was only fair. Majilda felt hope rise in her, but it was short lived. For in their dying agonies, the cruel raiders still managed to flick their swords one last time each, and they brought home their weapons deep into the neck of her father.
"No!" she cried, weeping bitter tears and parting her lips in a fierce snarl that only made her look more attractive.
There was no time to mourn though. One raider remained, descending through the air like a magical thunderbolt flung by a storm god. He was bigger than the other two, with two swords instead of one, and Majilda felt his eyes lock on hers, and they were red and evil and almost certainly enchanted.
"You," he said, his voice dripping with vile malice.
A shiver went up her spine, and Majilda realised that she was being hunted. Fear locked her limbs in place, and she couldn't move a muscle.
Down, down, down the raider came, closer, closer, until he was so close that she could smell his sweat and see the little bits of food in his teeth that he had had for dinner that evening, only because they were attacking at night, probably they slept through the day and woke up at about fivish, which would make it more or less a breakfast meal.
Majilda took a breath. She knew she was about to die. She closed her eyes, and tried to think about the peaceful, beautiful life she had had.
"No!"
Majilda recognised the voice. Of course she did. How could she not recognise her own mother?
She opened her eyes just in time to see her mother fling herself between Majilda and the raider.
The brave, middle-aged woman was just in time. The two swords flickered through the air, and a moment later tore through the human shield.
"Run, Majilda," her mother gurgled earnestly to her. "Run! But remember: we always loved you. It didn't matter at all that..."
But at that moment the raider gave a hiss of frustration, and twisted both his swords. Majilda's mother spasmed in pain and the lights in her eyes went out forever.
Horror rushed through Majilda then, horror...and anger.
The raider laughed evilly and spat.
"So, I am the one who gets the prize, after all," he said, his voice twisted and offensive like the spawn of an orc.
Majilda tried to run, but her feet tangled in the various body parts on the ground around her, and she fell.
"No," she protested, but the raider leered over her, fingering his sharp swords.
"They told us you must not be harmed," the raider mused to himself intriguingly. "Still, they didn't specify exactly what constituted harm. I'm sure I can have a little fun with you..."
And then he was moving down towards her, grappling for her with sticky hands. His rough armour was pressing against her frock, his hot breath was in her hair and up her nostrils, demonstrating forcefully to her nose that he suffered from halitosis.
The raider gave a shudder. He tried to scream, but something was wrong with his lungs. He tried to pull away, but he could not.
Majilda gasped in confusion, trying to work out what was going on.
Then she realised.
It was her cloak made of Unicorn fur, the one she had put on underneath her frock. In all the excitement, she had forgotten she had been wearing it. It was so light, almost like wearing air or helium.
But it wasn't either of those things. It was a garment made out of one of the most magical and noble animals ever to walk the earth. And when the garment had been made, the horn had of course been left in place.
Now it protruded through the back of the raider, a two foot long spike of hard and righteous unicorn vengeance. It had passed through the armour and through the flesh as easy as a +3 enchanted knife through butter or cheese or other dairy product. Now the raider was dying.
Majilda realised she had no time to lose. She shoved the man off of her. He sprawled on his back, fear and disbelief in his eyes as he looked at the beautiful young girl who had bested him.
"What did you mean?" Majilda demanded. "Who told you to get me? Why are you here?"
The man gritted his teeth.
"Why should I tell you?" he gasped, the life leeching from his body, which was only fair.
Majilda gave the Unicorn horn a vicious twist.
"Tell me, and I will make your death clean," she promised.
The man screamed.
"Please," he begged her. "No more pain. I will tell you. I will tell you everything."
Majilda smiled grimly and attractively.
"Good," she said. "Tell me everything."
"OK, I will," agreed the raider. He coughed up some blood.
"We are here because..."
There was a twanging sound, and the air sang. Something flicked past Majilda's ear. She span around, and saw another raider, silhouetted against the fire. This one was tall and shapely, obviously a very fit and darkly seductive female raider. Her armour was more ornate and she had a red sash on one shoulder.
The leader, thought Majilda wisely.
In her hands she brandished a short, quivering bow.
Understanding flashed through Majilda. When she turned back to the raider she had stabbed with the Unicorn horn, she saw that he had a dark arrow embedded in his neck. He was clearly dead and thus couldn't explain any more, leaving Majilda in suspense.
Majilda got to her feet. Already, the sounds of terror and combat were fading. She realised with horror what this meant: the raiders were having their way with the village. Everywhere she looked, she saw the dead and dying, people she had known since she was a little girl.
I will avenge you, she thought, the motivation flashing clearly through her mind like water running down a glass toilet.
Strangely, the only bodies she could see belonged to older villagers.
But where are the children? Majilda wondered.
She couldn't wonder for long, however. The raiders were regrouping, forming up in a phalanx with the shapely female one at their head. Majilda glanced from side to side. She stood alone in the midst of the bloodied green. None of her friends were left. Everyone was dead or missing.
A single brave tear formed in her eyes.
"Come on then!" she shouted her challenge. "Come and meet me in combat, if you dare! I will avenge myself on you, just as I did on this fellow!"
And she gestured scornfully to where the dead raider lay, blood seeping from the unicorn horn wound.
If the raiders feared her, they gave no sign.
They began to advance towards her, slowly at first, then faster, faster, until they were all running at her, leaping through the air like malign fawns charging down the side of a magical mountain.
Majilda knew she was about to die. Still, she would meet her end with dignity.
She ripped the tattered remnants of her frock away, and stood, tall and proud in the glorious unicorn-fur coat.
A moment before the first one reached her, a thunder filed the air. Majilda spun around in surprise. Just behind her, charging straight at the raiders with all the fury of a hell full of screaming demons with chronic gastritis, was the tall black horse. And on his back, the mysterious and well-muscled stranger.
"What a wonderful day it is, my daughter," said Majilda's mother. "How happy I am to have lived long enough to see you come of age."
Majilda gave her mother a hug and a puzzled smile.
"Of course, mother," she said. "How could it be otherwise?"
Her mother and her father exchanged a glance, and something secret and mysterious passed between them.
"Well, love," began her father, hesitatingly, "we never wanted to keep any secrets from you..."
He trailed off, and her mother took up the story.
"...But you see, we always said that we should tell you the truth one day."
Majilda frowned. This was indeed getting very mysterious and highly intriguing and creating a lot of tension.
"The truth about what?" she demanded, firmly but very reasonably.
Her parents looked at one another again, a pained knowledge passing between them.
"We always said we would wait until you turned eighteen," said her father. "We thought you ought to know then."
Majilda opened her mouth to ask what it was they thought she ought to know, but just then there was a a great whoomph noise as someone lit the fire, and they all turned to stare at the huge, portentous pillar of flame that was reaching into the sky like a bit of a red dragon, maybe a spine or a talon or something.
It was so beautiful that the three of them stood enchanted by the lovely glowing incandescent shimmering red-golden diaphanous pulsing flickering light. It was that good, it needed lots of words to describe it accurately.
Then her mother turned back to face her, and Majilda was surprised to see a tear glittering in her beautiful eye.
Her mother opened her mouth.
"The truth is," she started to say.
But Majilda saw something moving in the shadows behind the fire.
"What's that?" she asked, pointing into the gloom.
At the same moment, a shriek of terror drifted over to them from the far side of the fire.
An instant later, a roar came from all around them, and the air was suddenly full of moving bodies. They rushed in from every corner of the village, raider-folk in strange battle dress, with long, cruel swords and headgear that was foreign and sinister but not racist.
"Who are they?" gasped Majilda. "Where have they come from?"
Her father gave a grim scowl.
"Mercenary raiders from Middle Atlantis," he spat, naming a far off country that sometimes appeared in frightening songs. "I fought them once as a young man."
Majilda blinked in surprise, because she thought her father had always lived in the village and just been a normal, boring farmer without any interesting secrets or mysterious past.
Before she could ask him about this, there was a scream like a banshee opening a tax return, and Majilda looked up to see three of the raiders shooting through the air towards them. They had leapt right over the fire - thirty feet or more - which was unnatural and frightening and almost certainly meant dark magic was involved somewhere. She froze in terror. Each of the raiders wielded a wicked blade of sharp black iron, and they had a dire lust in their eyes.
Her father gave a roar and leapt to meet them. He had a pitchfork in each hand, weapons which should have been puny; but his stance was suddenly that of a born warrior, and the old, simple farmer seemed to fall away in an instant, replaced by something keen and deadly.
"Majilda, run!" he ordered over his shoulder as he rose into the air like a phoenix reborn from the ashes of an old, boring man.
Then the pitchforks skewered two of the leaping raiders, bursting up in symmetrical, perfect thrusts through their bellies and lungs and into their hearts, so that they died instantly but also with some pain, which was only fair. Majilda felt hope rise in her, but it was short lived. For in their dying agonies, the cruel raiders still managed to flick their swords one last time each, and they brought home their weapons deep into the neck of her father.
"No!" she cried, weeping bitter tears and parting her lips in a fierce snarl that only made her look more attractive.
There was no time to mourn though. One raider remained, descending through the air like a magical thunderbolt flung by a storm god. He was bigger than the other two, with two swords instead of one, and Majilda felt his eyes lock on hers, and they were red and evil and almost certainly enchanted.
"You," he said, his voice dripping with vile malice.
A shiver went up her spine, and Majilda realised that she was being hunted. Fear locked her limbs in place, and she couldn't move a muscle.
Down, down, down the raider came, closer, closer, until he was so close that she could smell his sweat and see the little bits of food in his teeth that he had had for dinner that evening, only because they were attacking at night, probably they slept through the day and woke up at about fivish, which would make it more or less a breakfast meal.
Majilda took a breath. She knew she was about to die. She closed her eyes, and tried to think about the peaceful, beautiful life she had had.
"No!"
Majilda recognised the voice. Of course she did. How could she not recognise her own mother?
She opened her eyes just in time to see her mother fling herself between Majilda and the raider.
The brave, middle-aged woman was just in time. The two swords flickered through the air, and a moment later tore through the human shield.
"Run, Majilda," her mother gurgled earnestly to her. "Run! But remember: we always loved you. It didn't matter at all that..."
But at that moment the raider gave a hiss of frustration, and twisted both his swords. Majilda's mother spasmed in pain and the lights in her eyes went out forever.
Horror rushed through Majilda then, horror...and anger.
The raider laughed evilly and spat.
"So, I am the one who gets the prize, after all," he said, his voice twisted and offensive like the spawn of an orc.
Majilda tried to run, but her feet tangled in the various body parts on the ground around her, and she fell.
"No," she protested, but the raider leered over her, fingering his sharp swords.
"They told us you must not be harmed," the raider mused to himself intriguingly. "Still, they didn't specify exactly what constituted harm. I'm sure I can have a little fun with you..."
And then he was moving down towards her, grappling for her with sticky hands. His rough armour was pressing against her frock, his hot breath was in her hair and up her nostrils, demonstrating forcefully to her nose that he suffered from halitosis.
The raider gave a shudder. He tried to scream, but something was wrong with his lungs. He tried to pull away, but he could not.
Majilda gasped in confusion, trying to work out what was going on.
Then she realised.
It was her cloak made of Unicorn fur, the one she had put on underneath her frock. In all the excitement, she had forgotten she had been wearing it. It was so light, almost like wearing air or helium.
But it wasn't either of those things. It was a garment made out of one of the most magical and noble animals ever to walk the earth. And when the garment had been made, the horn had of course been left in place.
Now it protruded through the back of the raider, a two foot long spike of hard and righteous unicorn vengeance. It had passed through the armour and through the flesh as easy as a +3 enchanted knife through butter or cheese or other dairy product. Now the raider was dying.
Majilda realised she had no time to lose. She shoved the man off of her. He sprawled on his back, fear and disbelief in his eyes as he looked at the beautiful young girl who had bested him.
"What did you mean?" Majilda demanded. "Who told you to get me? Why are you here?"
The man gritted his teeth.
"Why should I tell you?" he gasped, the life leeching from his body, which was only fair.
Majilda gave the Unicorn horn a vicious twist.
"Tell me, and I will make your death clean," she promised.
The man screamed.
"Please," he begged her. "No more pain. I will tell you. I will tell you everything."
Majilda smiled grimly and attractively.
"Good," she said. "Tell me everything."
"OK, I will," agreed the raider. He coughed up some blood.
"We are here because..."
There was a twanging sound, and the air sang. Something flicked past Majilda's ear. She span around, and saw another raider, silhouetted against the fire. This one was tall and shapely, obviously a very fit and darkly seductive female raider. Her armour was more ornate and she had a red sash on one shoulder.
The leader, thought Majilda wisely.
In her hands she brandished a short, quivering bow.
Understanding flashed through Majilda. When she turned back to the raider she had stabbed with the Unicorn horn, she saw that he had a dark arrow embedded in his neck. He was clearly dead and thus couldn't explain any more, leaving Majilda in suspense.
Majilda got to her feet. Already, the sounds of terror and combat were fading. She realised with horror what this meant: the raiders were having their way with the village. Everywhere she looked, she saw the dead and dying, people she had known since she was a little girl.
I will avenge you, she thought, the motivation flashing clearly through her mind like water running down a glass toilet.
Strangely, the only bodies she could see belonged to older villagers.
But where are the children? Majilda wondered.
She couldn't wonder for long, however. The raiders were regrouping, forming up in a phalanx with the shapely female one at their head. Majilda glanced from side to side. She stood alone in the midst of the bloodied green. None of her friends were left. Everyone was dead or missing.
A single brave tear formed in her eyes.
"Come on then!" she shouted her challenge. "Come and meet me in combat, if you dare! I will avenge myself on you, just as I did on this fellow!"
And she gestured scornfully to where the dead raider lay, blood seeping from the unicorn horn wound.
If the raiders feared her, they gave no sign.
They began to advance towards her, slowly at first, then faster, faster, until they were all running at her, leaping through the air like malign fawns charging down the side of a magical mountain.
Majilda knew she was about to die. Still, she would meet her end with dignity.
She ripped the tattered remnants of her frock away, and stood, tall and proud in the glorious unicorn-fur coat.
A moment before the first one reached her, a thunder filed the air. Majilda spun around in surprise. Just behind her, charging straight at the raiders with all the fury of a hell full of screaming demons with chronic gastritis, was the tall black horse. And on his back, the mysterious and well-muscled stranger.
