THE CHRONICLES OF THE GODDESS MEFELUSIA Goddess of Ethelred the Unredde, Tender of Elbows & Patron Saint of the Color “Crayon”
I, the Goddess Mefelusia, being of sound Godpower and Ephemeral Body, do thus begin my chronicles with the blessing of the Great Random (May It Suffer No Explosive Sneezes!) on this Godville-Calendared day of the Twelfth Night (or what you will) of March, in the all-too-human year Two-Thousand and Eighteen.
Entry the First
I am busy gluing the wings back onto flies while also mindfully causing instructive pain to the small human with a black heart who separated them from the poor, wriggling things. I let him run off for a bit, then I magick his arms off, then magick them back on, then make them disappear again. Once for each fly I have to fix.
For I am the Tender of Elbows, and those who transgress against the joints of others shall suffer and lose the ability to defend themselves or execute a successful backhand whilst playing tennis!
Okay, so I’m only the Tender of Elbows because I was late to graduation and that’s all that was left. Well, that and Bestower of the Great Prom-Night-Nose-Pimple, but that went to a group of Grad Gods and Goddesses who were researching the effects of inflicting social anxiety on adolescent humans.
Finishing with the last of the flies, I release them and their torturer back to their daily lives. The puny human runs back to it’s God whining about me. This doesn’t concern me. His God owes me big time and he’s giving me a lot of personal space these days.
I watch the flies I repaired buzz happily around the carcass of a Dork Knight who thought he could win a battle against a hero with a sword by swearing at him in Klingon. Guess it didn’t work out like he’d planned.
“Hard at work?” Our Goon Sqad Guildmaster, the charming and widely respected Ilias Tete de Dragon, sits down next to me in the field (both of us upwind from the Dork Knight and his flies). I brush off my hands and squint sideways at him. He nods toward the puny, fly-torturing human’s God, who is busy trying to get his Hero to hold still so he can heal him from my careful attentions. “You two talking yet?” I shrug and look away. I don’t want to talk about my Ex. “Come on,” Ilias groans, rolling his Godly eyes to the sky, “it’s been like – several Eons, now.”
“Arse-holery doesn’t have an end date.” I frown at my Ex from across the field and a small but very dark cloud bursts open above him and rains worms on his head. “Hey!” we hear him shout angrily from the distance before he throws up his arms in disgust and walks off, shaking night-crawlers out his ears. Like I said, that guy needs to give me wide personal space.
“You have to stop doing that,” Ilias said firmly. “Even his Hero is starting to feel sorry for him."
“So? We’re the Goon Squad Guild. And I’m a goon. So I ... 'gooned' him.”
“And you also really have to stop drinking and creating.” Ilias continues as gently as possible, deliberately ignoring my last remark. “The Ideabox Guardians are pulling out their collective hair with all your weird submissions.”
“What "weird" submissions?!”
“Well, that one, for example.” He points at a creature with the back end of an elephant and the front end of an octopus. Or maybe a squid. Or perhaps a star-nosed mole on steroids. Something tentacle-y, anyway. “I mean, how can you define it? What can you even name it?”
" Her name,” I answer far too defensively, “is Elephiknow.” Ilias blinks at me. “It’s a pun.”
“It – “ (I glare at him. He rolls his eyes again) “…"She" – is a pun that eats garbage.”
“Yes. She’s very into composting.”
“I agree. She’s always composting all over the place. The other Gods and Goddesses are complaining.”
“Well, the plants love it.”
Ilias shakes his head at me. “That’s not the point. She’s just not a feasible monster.” I say nothing. “Is she?” he asks, raising a charming single eyebrow.
“She does just fine." I realize I am defending the indefensible, here. And it is true - I created her after one too many drinks at a Good Squad Recruitment Rally. "She just …wobbles a bit once in a great while.”
“You’re the Tender of Elbows, and you didn’t give her any elbows. You didn’t even give her front legs,” he points out.
“She doesn’t need them,” I retort as we watch Elephiknow tip over with a loud “Splat!” She makes frustrated noises somewhere between a gurgle and the sound of hopelessness. Ilias gives me a look.
“Anyway,” I continue, ignoring the fact that Elephiknow is struggling to get her head out of the mud in the distance, “I think the Ideabox Guardians are way too picky sometimes.”
“It’s their job to be picky! It prevents things like that – "her" – from happening, Mefelusia.”
Elephiknow smooshes her sort-of-face tentacles into the ground and tries get back up on her hind legs. In the process she spray-composts a good hectare of Elysian Fields behind her with loud, gastro-intestinal relief. Ilias clears his throat and covers his nose.
“Oh, fine.” I form the banishment spell as gently as possible. Elephiknow is surrounded by a softly glowing cloud of finely spun magic and begins to shrink. We hear her mutter “It’s about time!” just before she pops out of existence. I sulk loudly in Ilias’ direction.
“Elysium, and all with noses who live in her, thank you,” Ilias says as he pats me on the shoulder and stands up. “Now the hard part. Here.” He fishes into his bag and pulls out a small scroll made entirely of light and raw matter, bearing the crest of the Goon Squad. “You’ve got mail from The Guild Council. You have 48 hours to create a new hero or you’re out of the guild.”
“What?! But I’ve been a faithful Goon for forever!”
“For a just a very little while, actually” he smiles not unkindly at me, and holds out the scroll. I don't take it. Even Goddesses get the odd Process Server showing up now and then. Never take a scroll a stranger -- or your Guild Master -- hands to you. It never ends well.
Ilias sets the scroll on the ground from the Guild Council next to me. “It’s time to stop pouting over the breakup, stop "gooning" your ex and get back to Godding a Hero or face going guildless.”
“You’ve got way too many “G’s” in that remark," I pouted, crossing my arms and looking away from him.
“We mean it,” Ilias calls back in a friendly voice as he walks away.
“I’ll make the worst hero in pre, current and post history!” I warn him petulantly.
“Your choice,” he calls back without turning around.
“I’ll make him an American and name him ‘Ilias’!” I threaten further.
“48 hours,” Ilias replies from a distance with a backwards wave, and then walks into a portal and disappears.
I’m left alone in Elysian fields with buzzing flies, a dead Dork and the lingering stench of Elephiknow dung. I manifest a silver hip flask and take a deep, beautifully burning swig of well-aged single-malt.
MEFELUSIA’S 48 HOURS TO CREATE A HERO CHALLENGE
Hour 1 Woke up late. Power-guzzled water and aspirin. Making Hero out of bottles of pipe-cleaners, old chicken bones and bottles of single-malt.
Hour 2 Pipe-cleaner-chicken-bone Hero won’t miss a bit of single-malt. Took a sip from nearly completed Hero’s left arm.
Hour 2.2 Observing single-malt Hero from all angles, looking for flaws. There appears to be only one – his arms don’t have the same amount of booze, now. Took sip from right arm.
Hour Three.5 Needed to drink half of both arms just to get it right. Now his arms look too short for his (hic!) legs.
Hour Q Legs n arms look good. But hiz eyes don’t work… they’re toooo blurry.
Hr something Hah! Hero he can haz a belly button made of jelly bean found on (hic) flor
Hor Hero now emptee and can see thru hIM. Wont wworRk. Try elseses things…
Now Make nuther new hERero frm choclat an butter frrm penutz an a littttle bitz of prtzles
Latr nw heroe. Is delisish
Next Day Awww, crap. I slept through an entire day?? Oh well. Looking for corkscrew…
Last Day Woke up late. Power-guzzled water and aspirin. Why do I have chocolate and peanut butter in my hair?
Noon Playing Flame Lounge games online with other Gods. Need a rhyme for “Booze.”
Noon o’5 minutes later Rhyming game gives me a good idea.
siX Pmmm I take nap. Still hz ltos time 2 mke her*&%$0(hic!)o.
Now Again I hz ten momunts to mke an hero. Allz I haz be goldfsh, an kat hairball & pice of strng. An’ … TADAK! Iz hro! Cazt spel. IZ ALIVES!!
Am nice so I snds hro 2 mine flavorite tavrn in Godzvillages where iz funy dwrf n lotz of uther hros 4 to him mke frends. I iz sush a good goddesses…yay me!
Later Now Again That Same Night I’m standing outside the Tavern with a throbbing headache having to already heal this thing. Funny. I don’t remember making him a ginger. And I apparently spent a LOT of time on his elbows. They’re all bony and knobbly. Like his knees. And oh, crap – are those his feet? They’re like snowshoes. And he’s not bright enough to lift his head out of this mud puddle?
I look around to see if Ilias is somewhere watching this debacle. Well, regardless, ready or not, here he is. My…. Hero. Guess I’ll name him Unready. But I’ll spell it “Unredde” because it’s probably too stupid to get the pun. And Ethelred because of his hair. Yah. Ethelred the Unredde.
I heal thee, you odd little duckling of a puny human. It blinks at me with a goofy grin on its face.
“Oh, hell hounds,” I say to this creature as I help it to its enormous feet. “You didn’t turn out at all like I planned.”