Day: March 26, 2014

Loki’s big mouth.

The Goobers have walked us for half a morning through the ruins of yet another city. This must once have been a metropolis larger than New York. (Why can’t I get my hands on a city this big? I promise I’d take good care of it…)

I have tried to get a history of this place out of the Goobers, but there is only so much one can accomplish with Yes/No. Is it more than 100 years old? [Yes.] More than 1,000? [Yes.] Did your people build it? [Confusion. ] Did another race build it? [Babbling.] Interesting… How about: Do all of you belong to the same race? [No.] Very interesting. Is your leader like any of you? [Yes] and [no.] Very, very interesting.

How can I use this to my advantage? Perhaps there is a power struggle or bitter feeling between peoples which I can exploit? If there is no way of leaving this place, I might as well rule.

(a bit later)

Now we are in a part of the city that appears to be still inhabited. Bulbous eyes peer at us from windows large and small. Small Goobers are running after us—we have acquired a misshapen, rubbery tail of gibbering smalls. (I do not know if they are young or merely small. No two are alike.)

Up ahead is what can only be described as a palace. Its white and green stone shines in the sunlight. I like. It appears we are to enter. Vast, cool halls stretch out in every direction from enormous rooms. I could get used to this. We go up stairs and down stairs and around corners and finally stop before two immense doors. Is it here where we meet your leader? A gurgled [yes] and the doors open.

We go in, and facing us across an immeasurable expanse of cool white marble is the biggest, greenest creature I have ever seen. He makes the Hulk look puny. And pretty. Slowly, Sigyn and I cross the floor while our escort shuffles around the doorway looking awed.

I will not kneel. Monarch to monarch (king? president?), I bow briefly, and Sigyn curtsies. (Which would be more effective if she were in a gown befitting her beauty and not in travel-worn garb. I must find something else for her to wear.)

The Great Goober speaks first. I can understand him–just. The tentacles do not help matters. “Greetings. I am <unpronounceable>, king of <unspellable.>

“I am Loki, rightful King of Asgard and future King of Midgard. And this is my…Sigyn.”

“What do you do here in my realm?”

“My powerful magic carried us to this world. We have lost our way and require–”

His beady eyes narrow. “Magic? I am the most powerful magician! You call yourself a sorcerer? You have powers? What can you do?”

“I…Yes. I have mighty–”

“I must have your power! I shall consume you and it shall be mine!”

Augh!! This is the end for us!

“Sigyn! I’m sorry! I love y–”

Off we go…

The–I shall call them Goobers for lack of anything better–surrounded our tree perch and kept up a steady stream of gibbering and squeaking. After about three quarters of an hour, with a building headache, I shouted down at them, "Will you lot shut up?

And they did.

Taken aback, I asked, "Do you understand me?" Nods from all but the littlest.

Heartened, I peppered them with questions. "Where are we? What do you want? How do we get to the nearest town?"

More gibberish. I was reduced to the equivalent of that infantile Midgardian game, Twenty Boring Questions That Can Be Answered Yes or No.

"Can you take us to safety?" Yes.

"Can you take us to food and water?" Yes

"Are there any of the armored men with weapons near here?" No.

"If we come down, are we your prisoners?" No again.

"Will you take us to your leader?" Yes. Promising!

"Does your leader speak our language?" Another yes.

It’s about damn time!

We have climbed down and are performing the introductions. If I understand them correctly, their names are Burble, Gribber, Iggle-nix, and Yennerp, and the little sprout is Snerxx.

Perhaps I have had too much sun, but they look a bit familiar. Surely the one-eyed Burble is this realm’s Odin. Big, red, dumb Gribber is no doubt a Thor-analog. Green, three-eyed Iggle-nix, who needs to stop ogling Sigyn or I will pound him, is Fandral with a prettier face. Little Yennerp, with his horns, is a Heimdall that has been through the laundry and dried wrong. And the youngling Snerxx—well, I have seen the Lady Sif make just such an "I’m-so-scary" face. (And no, you’re not.)

Well then, let’s be off, shall we?