The Death of Rats

Random passerby #242 passes by just then (ironic, eh?), and notices, the Grim Squeaker's plight. Eyes going wide with wonder, he stoops down as low as he may., and coos as mauseatingly as any new parent: "OOHHHHH, WOOKIT THE KKKEEEEWT WIDDLE AVATAW OF DEAAAAATH! ISN'T EE PWECIOUIS? YES HE IS! AWWEN'T YOU PWECIOUS! AWWWWW! DOES PWECIOUS WANT TO GO OUT AND PWAY? YES EE DOES!! YESYESYES!" and so, inanely voicinbg and perhaps unwisley deciding, lifts the cvage off the Grim SQueaker. The Death of Rats, grinning as widely as ever ever, still somehow manages to look smug as it glances over at Mynx. "WEW, I GOTTA GO WIDDLE MAN! PWAY NICE NOW!" With that, Random passerby #242 strolls along his merry way, failing to notice the Grim Squeaker trotting quickly after him. Momnet slater, breifly after the two have turned a corner, the enire carnival heras a bloodcurdling "AIAIIAIAIAIIAIAAGHHHHHLLLLLLGGRBBBbppllll...", followed by silnece. Five muntes later, the Death of Rtas wanders back ove rto the Kissing Booth sign post and leans against it (after a quick nibble).

Moments later, on the back of an aggrieved looking raven that seems to be muttering to itself about misisng those lovely corndog things even though they don't taste much like dog, The Grim Squeaker Returns. This time, Mynx does not see him. Thus, she remains contentedly engrossed in scythe sharpening as it makes its way up across the grass behind her, and begins ganwing the leg of her stool *almost* all the way through. After thirty miuntes of steady chewing, its task complete, it stands back to admire its handiwork., Considering things for a moment, it scales the back of her robe, and chews a nice, large smiley face into the cloth- right across the rear portion of her nether regions. Hopping back down, it admires it work once more. Satsified, it walks back over to its post at the now *present* signpost. SQUEAK, it intones to Zool.

Only Mynx, Ayshela, Salinye, and Zool see a tiny form, not much taller thna Ayshela's ankle amble across the lawn. Only Zool seems unaffected by the strange visitor of bony white muzzle full of teet, hooded black robe, and very small scythe. It stops abruptly by Mynx's feet, and gives him/her/it/my/mine/me/we.ours.usyouyoryourrrs *ahem* Mynx a long look with weirdly glowing eye sockets. Mynx watches with some interest that suddnely shifts away from bengin as the small visitor positions itself with great care and effort, and lifts its leg over her foot. Lacking any natural euipment than pelvic bones, however, it really only goes through the motions of piddling on her foot. Apparently satisfied. it wanders over to the Kissing Booth sign Xaious was about to set up five minutes ago, and leans itself casually against the post, watching the crowd goinbg by, nonchjalantly ganwing the post every so tfen. Every time soemeone bearing a pie passes, its' eyesockets falre strangley, but when the pie-carriers conitnue on, they settle back down to a dull blue glow. It seems to pay no attention to anything else.

A tiny form in a hooded black robe wanders in through the wall, toe bones clacking and sctyhe thumping rhythmically on the stone floor as it walked. Stooping in front of the two nonplussed poets, it turns empty, weirdly glowing eye sockets and a toothy muzzle up to gaze meaningfully at Mira and Katzaniel. It grinned at them. But then again, the Grim Squeaker *always grinned.

Meanwhile... Another raven (odd, no? There weren't so many before. Maybe birds *do* have a predilection for poetry? Or perhaps it's the corndogs.) swoops lazily over two sprinting figures who tear pell-mell through the carnival, cocks his head, and angles downward toward the human-looking one of the two. Concentrating quite hard, very briefly, he then relaxes, as his special delivery lands solidly in Xanthus' eye (as the [now] ever alert stranger had immediately gazed up to see what was bearing down on him). Xanthus, in turn, barely has time to swear before his momentum and obscured vision carry him facefirst into a tent pole, the impact with which sends him reeling backward, but into a soft (though not entirely appreciated) land ing, ... let's say a little *too* closa to a hastily erected Hippogriff rides pen. A small, horrifyingly cute teddy-bear like yelloe thing weraring a pink diaper and wielding a futon beater steps in front of the camera. It bellows: bachi-meimei! (Divine retribution!)

Though no-one sees who left it, there is suddenly a small "X" sliced directly through the paper (in the signup portion).

The garden is silent as the tree dies. Cells crack and crumble, color produced less- the green slowly fails. Limbs wither and the trunk begins to atrophy. Water and sunlight can help less and less, until finally the starving, twisted husk is but another erect corpse decorating the countryside. Where do trees go when they die?

I add straitjackets to sad rats while they do my income tax The vats of spats are ersatz in their shine That briny twine, it once was mine Inside your spine, there isn't time for the fine to make their rhyme so divine that pain sublime as we all deal with cats time to time From time to time...

A raven flaps in through one of the Pen's Mighty windows, and lands on Dragonqueen's shoulder. It starts preening its' wings, and does so for several minutes until a pebble sailing through the air connects solidly with the back of its' head. It flaps wildly for a moment, letting out a pained and startled "Awk!" before finally noticing Dragonqueen again. Abashed, it tells her, "RaaK! Sorry, Miss. Just wanted t'let you know; it's the nonsense one. He really wants to make poetry, you see. But 'e can't understand things from your POV, so this tends to be how it comes out. Personally," it continues in a conspiratorial whisper, "I think it's dashed amusing that it's him that finally turned sentimental." The raven never sees the incoming pool ball, and is knocked senseless to the floor in one strike.

Vincetn feels a sharp poking to his scalp. Lookin gup, he feels a quick scurrying, followed by the Grim Squeaker swingign into view and waving at him while danglign from his hair. SQUEAK.

In the chocolate pool, something stirred. Bubbles began to rise, and slowly, a figure emerged, bolt upright, chocolate covering a long robe, dripping from its hood, ivory teeth, and scythe balde. plip plip plip ...the rivulets of chocolate went, as the figure surveyed its surroundings, and eeire blue glow lightin ghte backs of empty eye sockets. Quickly divining the nature of its current circumstance, it threw its head back and issued a challenge. SQUEAK. Just then, Silly the Elder dwarf wandered past, wooden picture frame still swinging around his neck, and mai tai balanced comfortbaly in his left hand. He looked down with some interst at the chocoalte coated form that did not quite reach the height of hi sknees as it gazed up at him in turn. SQUEAK, it said, more matter-of-factly. "I heard you the first time, small chap.", the Dwarf drawled. "But I don't think that's the kind of wrestling Wyvern had in mAAAAAIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIEEEEE-!", he finsihed, as a pair of great, chocolate coated arms sliglhtly lonegr than Silly himslef seized him by the ankles and swung him bodily into the ring. As Silly splooshed with emphasis into the none-too soft surface beneath the chocolate, another form raised itself out of the pool, a short (yet much taller than the first newcomer) mound of a thing that upon losing sight of Silly raised a long arm to scrathc it's head. "Ook?", said the new thing. Meanwhile, at the enterance, a rather sheepish looking Raven did its best to appear endearing to Trolls. It was not succeeding. "AwK! Underpants, you say? Heh! Heheh... ... Bollux."

A tiny balck-robe clad figure sprints past, scythe in one skeletal paw, scroll of papyrus in the other. Salpping the papyrus onto Snypiuer's bottom, it continues speeding away. The note taped to the Demigod of Suicide Squirrel Squadron's buttocks reads: (in black crayon) _______________________________ REPENT! Sincerely,

If 'twas brillig and the slithey toves, why would woodchuck chuck if he could chuck Red Riding Hood? Suzy sells seashells by the seashore and applecores in Baltimore In Nantucket, men are long like spiders who sat down beside Miss Muffet. He pounds his fists against the posts and still insists the Pope is Catholic. Cottleston, cottleston, cottleston pie, the fly has married the bumblebee The slithery-dee, he came out of the sea. Let us fly, said the flea! The dame made a curtsy, the dog made a bow.

Meanwhile, back in the Recruiter's office, Melba frowned deeply. On the Secretary of Initiates' face, this was something of an awe-inspiring, or seriously disquieting event (depending on your point of view). To wit: for a proper, if not perfectly accurate visualization you must first procure yourself a ten pound lump of bread dough. Next, using the index finger only, press a 'frowny face' into the dough as deeply as possible. Consider your work. Now you've got the idea. Melba can be delicately called 'large' the same way Antarctica can be called 'chilly'. But back to the matter of the why behind the vexed shift of the generoulsy endowed tectonic plates she calls facial muscles. Where, she wondered, are all these rats coming from? With all the glacial inertia that only a broomhead blow from Melba can pack, one unfortunate rodent went abruptly from Wyvern's office to that great granary in the sky. As it expired, the shiny trinket it had been trying to flee with fell from slack jaws and began to roll away. Too surprised to pick it up, she wached with fixed interest nonetheless, for she now realized they all carried the same thing. "A geld piece?", she muttered. "What do rats want with geld?" Just as she was wondering this, all the othe scurrying rodents, noticing Melba's distraction, as one dropped the single geld piece that each had hel in its mouth as it fled the impending broom, and escaped en masse out Wyvern's window. Standing quietly for a long moment, Melba finally shrugged and blew out Wyvern's candles. If he doesn't get to clean this up himself, there'll be hell to pay, I know it! So she put the matter from her mind and strolled off down the hallway, making Belchfire's new Cafe songbird skip. ...as well as missing a seemingly innocuous sheet of papyrus lying on the seat of Wyvern's chair. It read: ----------------------------------------- Dear Wyvern, Figured it was time. Yours, The Grim Squeaker King's Road I am ruler here Master of all I survey No insolence shall be brooked Hate and vile actions meet with immediate and terrible retribution I travel these roads all the day long to make sure my subjects are safe happy and in line I must admit though I much prefer the wee hours In the day my people are too many and find too many excuses for tensions to run high The pettiness the impatience the rudness the recklessness it s enough to turn your stomach At night there is quiet The way is serene the people now sedate even kind It is a soothing balm to my soul I can t believe that bastard just cut me off -------------------------------------------------------- It is written with black crayon, in very small handwriting.

"FLY, YOU N00BS!" yelled Dean as he sped away down the corridor. The others followed as best and as fast as they could in his wake, running, bouncing, and so on. Wow, that guy can move when he wants to! thought Appy in grudging admiration as she huffed her way further away from their pursuers. Dean the Adequate, Appy, Yuki Kokoro, Purple_Shadows, Dragonqueen, Mira, and katzaniel had all had their day start off well enough; dressing and undressing, knitting exciting underwear... @#$%&!!! *crumplecrumplecrumple* *toss* Wrong script. Sorry. ANYWAY, their days had started off just fine with the temperature moderate as usual, sun shining, birds chirping, etc., etc.... aha! ...when the legions of the underworld had hunted them down one by one and suddenly begun chasing them down like hugnry wolves! Well, not exactly like wolves, since squirrels and Mind Rippers don't actually run in packs, and it's still under heated debate as to whether or not shadow creatures either run *or* eat... Point being, they were being hunted down like dogs, and had found no-one to help them against the ravening, growing horde of Mind Rippers, squirrels, rats, Water Elementals, Shadow Monsters, and roving bands of disenfranchised youth who simply wanted somewhere 'to belong'. The chase had just led them through the Northeastern corridor, which, unfortunately for all, was currently passing (in The Pen is Mightier than the Sword's continuing journey through the multiverse) right through one of M.C. Escher's daydreams. The resultant display of wobbling, falling, and rainbow hued continous loops of vomit was not pretty. But the pursuers were not to be denied. They had tried everything at their disposal, and it seemed for every creature they annihilated, three more clambered into the fray from windows, cupboards, boxes, you name it. Dean had nearly exhausted his exhaustive repertoire of spells. All he had left were 'Create Wolfsbane' and 'Summon Martini'. "Not good", he whimpered heroically. Appy had tried biting the Mind Rippers on the head for a change, which confused the almighty heck out of them for awhile- but not long enough. Poor Purple_Shadows had become so desparate, she had snatched up a very oddly placed and familiar looking screen door with a little push button handle and bludgeoned some sixteen suicide squirrel squadrons to smithereens. Saith said Squirrels: "Rosebud!" Panting, sweaty, and still extremely dizzy and nauseous, the septet stopped at the wall that was now slowly changing into birds and flying away...that had formerly been the only way out. They braced themselves for their last stand, each and every one willing to die fighting. In many cases, this mortal combat would seem to be about to entail a great deal of slapping, eye gouging, hair-pulling, and a teensy bit of sobbing- but I digress. The slavering beasts, not much the better for wear by now, but hellbent on their cause rushed explosivley forward, and came to a screeching halt scant feet away from the embattled Pennites. The craetures alsmost as one, looked emabarassed, and started murmurming and checking amongst themselves as though they'd lost something. Our gallant heroes began to feel much the same way. Finally, a tiny squirrel, with impossibly curly eyelashes, big, brown, trusting, loving eyes, and a big, fluffy tail so ridiculously out of proportion to its body it was *unbearably* cute and squeezable skittered shyly up to the group. It had a roll of papyrus strapped to its back. Now utterly lost but willing to go with the flow, Yuki reached down, took the paper, and unrolled it. There, for all to see, were the words: ------------------------------------------------------------------- Congratulations to you all! I regret not being able to join you in our beloved keep on this auspicious day, but my heart swells with pride and happiness at knowing that your due is finally being gotten. So without further ado! Promoted to the rank of Page, are Dean the Adequate, Yuki Koroko, and Purple_shadows. Promoted to the rank of Quill-Bearer are Appy, Dragonqueen, Mira, and Katzaniel. I'm glad you made it. Excelsior! ~Ozymandias~ -------------------------------------------------------------------- For some reason, it is written in black crayon. Once all were done reading this missive, the assembled monsters let out a titanic (and ear-splitting) cheer. The Mind Rippers pass out party hats, and the Sahdow Monsters set themselves to the task of serving drinks...from somewhere. Taking all this in, the newly promoted are dumbfounded, relieved, awed, and a few words I'm not allowed to post here. Seizing Purple_shadows' door from her hands, Katzaniel smites the messenger squirrel for good measure.

The little rat one comes to start some poppin' rhymes in crayon time Weapon of choice without a voice He's capcapcappin' off like a machine gun his own salvo into this battle __________________________ Alaeha you did not just dis poetry and rhymes with power like this I've been walkin this earth through toil and strife You think you've seen a lot in this life I never needed one son t'get things done My boss he carrys the very big gun ___________________________ ___________________________ One day he cut me loose tsearch for his truth and mine as well lemme tell ya at first it was, well.... so here I walk and here I stay I do not talk no not in your way _____________________________ _______________________________ But scrap I've not found to make me back down In the land of fools you'd wear the crown if you come and mess with this rapper that dream goodbye you can kiss ______________________________________

Rune looks down on the newcomer (marveling breifly at being able to do such a thing) and sees it to be a little rat skeleton, dressed in a black, hooded robe, holding a tiny scythe with eye sockets glowing weirdly and bony whiskers twitching as it looked back at her. They hold that pose for a long time, Ozymandias watching all and saying nothing, until finally, the little thing beckons her forward, and starts to walk away (giving Ozymandias' sandals a respectful berth). Rune looks up at Ozymandias gain, looking for guidance, or confirmation. He tells her only," That way lies deeper down the rabbit hole," as his eyes twinkle mysteriously. SQUEAK, she hears again, and realizes that the tiny form had already reached the bend in the corridor. It taps out a clicking stacatto as it taps its foot in impatience. Shrugging to herself, Rune thinks, He makes them sound dangerous. How dangerous could bunny rabbits be? She looks at Ozymandias one last time, but he is an old, old hand at these staring contests. Rune is the one who finally relents (along with further urging by an insistent tugging at her her shoe, followed by SQUEAK?). By way of goodbye, she thoughtfully sizes up the old man. "You're a very strange man, Mister Ozymandias." "Tell no one." is the last reply she receives before he winks at her mischieviously, quickly wraps himself deeper into his robes, and vanishes from sight. SQUEAK, her guide says, nodding its head. Marching forward, scythe at the ready, it steps right through the stonework of the wall. Remembering well her last magically-induced encounter with a keep wall, Rune cautiously steps forward, and into... A dark place that is not so much dark as simply lit without light. Quickly, Rune realizes it is a room, with a mirror all decked out in skull and bones trim off to one side. It is obviously made for someone much taller than they two, and emanates an aura that is almost as deliciously foreboding as the unlight-lit room itself. Her guide continues its brisk, businesslike pace straight past it, and into another wall. Just before they leave, she hears a voice like and unlike her guide's. ALBERT? IS THAT YOU? And they are elsewhere. They walk past scores of little men, scarcely taller than she, pouring chocolate into candy moulds and seeming blissfully happy. One team of them, in an adjacent room seen through a window, seem to be working with a gigantic...oh, what was the name? Oh yeah! TV camera! But her guide has already slipped away, and she feels herself following. Then, it is truly dark, save for a roaring bonfire licking up at them from the base of the rock on which the panther who has just peeled himself from the rest of the darkness is perched. Rune opens her mouth to ask her guide where a kitty that big came from and could she keep it, but it shushes her to silence with an emphatic wave of the scythe, as he continues forward, to a smaller rock just ahead. As they creep quietly along, wonder of wonders, the panther speaks! "I have called this council of the wolves to address the matter of the man-cub," says he, regally. Rune can't resist a peek over the edge, and goggles at the sight of so many wovles sitting there in a semicircle around the fire. One grumbles (none too quietly), "Who is this panther to call us to council? He is not pack! He is not even a wolf!" Rune longs to hear what it is that animals really talk about, but the duo are already passing into their next path... Sand. Miles and miles, as far as Rune's sharp eyes can see. Her stalwart guide continues on, pace unbroken attitude of ultimate unconcern. Before them stand two massive, gleaming stone sphinxes, hundreds of feet high, one on either side of a stretch of sand that passes right between two cliff faces. Rune scarcely has time to wonder, though, at the two bodies she sees lying unmoving in the sand or the acrid smell of ozone in the air, before her guide has led her through the cliff and into... A familiar hallway. And there's Mr. Wyvern's office door! Well, doorway only, now, but still! She hurries forward, almost forgetting her small friend. But he is nowhere to be seen.