Making (and Remaking) Darigan History

     “Well, that was a bit unexpected,” she mutters.

     A distant echo rings in response, as all means of equipment shatters to the ground following a bellowing roar…

     “WHAT!?” cries a familiar yet nasally and unhinged voice, “My predictive methods of SCIENCE were wrong!? That means I owe Henrique soooo many points! No no no! I’ll need to put another mortgage on my second LABORATORY!”

     A Techo clad in a plague doctor’s outfit, Doc, trounces out from the self-made mess, as the Xweetok flips attention to the raving gambler. Doc, flush with embarrassment over his outburst, relaxes his posture and proceeds to slump over. Sounds of incoherent mumbling and grumbling get trapped in his mask.

     The Xweetok, cleaning a nametag with her shirt, begins to get up. Upon the nametag, it says “Kaycee, Intern”. Kaycee raises another paw to her mouth, clearing her throat, as she moves towards the distressed Doc.

     “You’ve never let setbacks hurt you before, so say you. Perhaps an experiment will change your mood? I’ve heard you’ve made many breakthroughs with the help of your prior intern… Say, what happened to him?”

     Kaycee once again adjusts her glasses, to the point of fidgeting.

     Doc snorts with a giggling pride, “Why, he’s left to his own career in the prestigious realm of cheese! In fact, I leave him alone in exchange for commissioning my incredible handiwork once a year!”

     Doc takes a crochet set from his cloak, as well as an unfinished sweater. The sweater has cartoony versions of Chet the intern and Doc with “BFFs” written above them.

     “Hmmm, anyway. He’s busy. And that’s why you’re here, to help in my wondrous innovations! Such things pay the bills, even erase conflicts with the Defenders and various war crimes!”, utters Doc in oblivious glee.

     He then tenses up after those last words escape his mouth. Doc begins to lift a finger in proclamation before dashing back into his shadowy quarters… deep within the recesses of his lab. More clanking and crashing occur before a device revs up and emits a distant glow. Mere seconds pass, as Doc emerges from the machine.

     “What was the last thing I brought up?”, states Doc as his chest practically puffs out in assured smugness.

     “Uhh, your bills and mortgages? I fail to see the reasoning for that que- “returns Kaycee, her head tilted in confusion.

     Doc raises his arms in a triumphant pose, Doc strides into a very messy room, still rife with broken glass and hastily discarded containers. He seemingly glides across the hazardous floor and towards some massive metal apparatus connected with some sort of holding chamber. Doc rubs his hands together before pressing a series of different coloured buttons and throwing a bunch of switches with the energy of an air pilot prepping an old plane for liftoff. And just like that, Doc is taken away in a brilliant flash of light. Kaycee, rubbing her eyes as if hit by a surprise flash photo, tries to adjust to the latest strange experiment.

     Meanwhile, Doc finds himself in a whirling energy vortex filled with strings of numbers and images flying all around him. The Streams of Time itself! All was flying too far past Doc to grasp anything. Before fathoming the massive dimensional realm, he is flying through, an opening in the void manifests as Doc tumbles out. Beyond the gateway lies Dacardia in the early days of its restoration. And right upon the scene, a very bewildered Lania Cragg. The Lutari forewoman gazed at the lumpy and misshapen faerie creature that leapt through reality to greet her. The haggard thing, now covered in sand and dirt brushes his long robes off a bit and coughed a little. Lania steps a little closer, identifying that this is no gracious visitor of Faerieland, but a very displaced Techo instead. Doc, still swiping at the filth on his garb takes a bow.

     “Behold, I offer your victory in the forthcoming events known as… *ahem* ‘The Altador Cup!”

     Doc snatches a hologram device from underneath his seemingly endless clothes space. The small box emits the spinning image of a trophy with the click of a button.

     “Greatness, and lots of funding for your projects, can come to you if you take up interest! But first, have some rule books, books on strategies, records of previous teams and much more!”

     Tossing the hologram box to Lania, who catches without fail, Doc continues to reach into his personal hammerspace cloak to nab various textbooks one at a time. In mere minutes, the pile placed upon Lania quickly lapses past her head. The Lutari, unsure of how to handle this generous visitor, takes a deep breath to regain her leadership attitude.

     “This is all too kind”, praises Lania, “but you’ve already noticed all we need to do here. All the same, I’m sure some resources can be put into this as a sort of fundraiser for both awareness and direct aid. Many thanks… what was your name again?”

     Lania shuffles with the device and many books in hand, easing them down towards a work table carefully. Upon turning back, only a flashing blip from another portal remains of Doc. Lania scratches her head briefly, before peering into a book on the basics of the Altador Cup.

     Meanwhile, in Doc’s Laboratory Headquarters, mere seconds pass since the previous flash of light. Another flare bursts from deep within, once again catching Kaycee off-guard. The intern now wobbles a bit, briefly blinded by the near searing light.

     “Ahem, good Professor, errr… Doctor. Is all of this flashing really necessary? What’s going on?” pipes up Lania with growing concern. The Xweetok now paces towards the back of the lab, before Doc runs out with the sort of glee seen by children on Toy Day. Nearly colliding, he extends a finger out towards the television screen, instructing his intern to look back. Kaycee does so, witnessing coverage of the Cup. Dacardia’s team lags on the bottom bracket, as players look disenfranchised on the field. A broadcaster interviews a player, who expresses disappointment in the 2nd consecutive year of poor results. The broadcaster, caught up in the theatrics and atmosphere of Altador’s famed event, barely acknowledges their despair with half-hearted words of encouragement. Kaycee shrugs.

     “Yeah, that new team is still doing horrible. It’s a shame, they haven’t received much additional help, mostly ridicule.”

     Kaycee shakes her head in disgust.

     “My time for today is almost up, Doc. While I appreciate being part of the lab, I’ve mostly seen you get excited over a nice camera or something… But at least you didn’t trash your lab following yet another Dacardia loss.”

     Hearing this, Doc darts back to the previous chamber. It’s as meticulously spotless as ever. Doc performs a cleaning ritual, putting on disposable gloves and swiping random surfaces. No dust or grime, nor any of the damage from before. As Doc falls into a deep state of pondering, Kaycee continues to question her mentor as she begins to pack books and supplies.

     “Every day here has been quite fun and engaging, but Brightvale University calls. Likewise, a term paper on the war between Merridell and Darigan won’t write itself.”

     Kaycee reaches for a lengthy tome detailing the events of the conflict, but Doc ushers her to leave it on the table.

     “Young Kaycee, I can show you far more than any book can. And even then, that book could quickly become irrelevant to your assignments. May I show you one more thing before you leave? I assure you, it’s worth your time. All of that time, in fact!”

     Doc extends an arm, which Kaycee reluctantly takes. Like a leashed Bearog tugging its owner, Doc drags Kaycee practically through the air. What feels like ages in a labyrinthine layout leads the two to the impressive machine. The large chamber looks like both of them can comfortably fit, while the rest of the contraption appears safe enough for use. Buttons and switches are once again activated, as Doc cackles with maniacal joy.

     “Anywhere in space and time, but where shall we go? Ah yes, The Meridell vs Darigan Conflict, right! ONWARDS!”

     Despite Doc’s face being hidden under a mask, Kaycee could imagine an expression mirroring the Altador Cup super-fan known to “make some noise”.

     A brilliant flash of light subsumes both of them, as even the intern is whisked through the surreal blend of memories and time symbolism. She tries to gasp for air, somehow simultaneously unable to breathe yet feeling fine. This funnel seems to stretch and thin out as both of them fling through at seemingly increasing speeds. Unable to scream, Kaycee’s face froze in horror. All the while, Doc threw his hands up, as if upon a rollercoaster. A doorway opens up, but it was not recent Dacardia. Both time travellers are thrown out onto the hillside by a large field. Rather than an idyllic pasture, it was a plain lined with tents as soldiers shuffle and stomp between them. Proud banners rest just outside of the encampment, displaying emblems of Darigan Citadel. The largest of the planted banners contains a crest in honour of a mighty leader, Lord Kass. From the largest tent, a sort of war planning room, emerges the eponymous villain himself. Doc, nervous about being caught, proceeds to dig a small hole to deposit some sort of beacon associated with his time machine. Kaycee seems more concerned with the battlefield ahead. While others go about their duties, his gaze immediately locks onto the two intruders. Within a split second, he points both of them out.

     “Outlanders, brigands, spies! Over there! Seize them!”

      Armour-clad warriors march in formation around the outsiders, apprehending them with ease and no resistance. The formation continues by returning to the great war tent, prisoners in tow. With little fanfare or ceremony, Doc and Kaycee are tied by the arms and legs before being chucked inside. As if a ghost drained all warmth from the room, chills slide down both of their spines. The flaps of the tent brush wide as a piercing light briefly illuminates the two. The only thing brighter is the wrathful visage of Lord Kass, fortified in battle regalia. The Eyrie tightens his scanning eyes, before loosening his expression for a moment.

     “Haha, civilians. Such gall to emerge onto the fields of war! How do I know you aren’t spies sent to gather intel for your precious Meridell? You dress awfully strange for foreigners.”

     Doc wriggles his way onto his back, glancing at the now mighty and tall looking figure. Kaycee, squints one eye and while raising an eyebrow over another… What could this deranged doctor be thinking of now? Before thoughts were fully formed, Doc begins to speak.

     “Mighty Commander, nay, Leader of an Empire! I have come to beseech your power and wisdom! I am a humble alchemist, one who has been addressed by… the three muses which have blessed you, yes! I bring wisdom from the future. Through my guidance, no campaign will be wasted, and no battle will be lost! I wrote down some details in my handy-dandy notebook!”

     Doc pulls out the history book belonging to Kaycee.

     “Hey, wait-, “ blurts Kaycee.

     Doc gives a nod before whirling his hands around, as if to produce “magical effects”. Kass strokes his chin, a mixture of confusion and amusement filling his face. He grabs a staff from a war planning table, pointing it at Doc.

     “Strange wizard, you shall back up your proof or suffer as other enemies of my legion have.”

     Doc nervously flips through the book, showing sections on Lord Darigan regaining power and defeating Kass, leading to the latter’s downfall. Kass, however, looks disgusted by this. After all, he was gifted by prophecy to rise to greatness, why would some foreboding tome of some “mad mage” tell him otherwise? He grasps the staff a little tighter, giving affirming nods towards the subordinates alongside him. Each warrior reaches down towards their weapons, as Doc quickly glances up. He frantically flips through pages for anything in Kass’s interest or favour before dropping the book. He scooches back a few steps before raising his hands.

     “Gentlemen, no need for hostilities. This tome displayed a timeline where much goes wrong, where you trusted the wicked and loathsome who only sought to bring you harm. I seek a new age of Kass, a new era of glory for your kingdom… That old Darigan coot, he’s too stiff for my liking, no sense of style either.”

     Kass once again looks to his warriors but gives a disapproving nod this time. The two remove their arms from their weaponry, backing off a little. The towering warlord of Darigan crosses his arms inquisitively, expecting the ‘strange wizard’ to show more. However, Doc seems frozen in fear… the red eyes of the Eyrie acting like a freezing beam of ice. Kaycee scoops up the fallen textbook, while attempting to cover for her mentor.

     “Hail to thee, mighty emperor”, she channels through theatrics, “the wizard is correct. We can alter fate and remove those who… uhh, want to see you fail and falter. We can end the false reign of the false lord, we can ensure that those who wish you harm are dealt with, we can right others’ mistakes. Let us elaborate and, uhhh, ultimate power is yours!”

     Those last words almost squeak from her mouth, well aware of the grim proclamation she made. While confident in her theatrical persona, the weight of that statement causes her to lock up a little, too.

     Kass cracks his knuckles before releasing a hardy but extremely unnerving chuckle. He stamps the staff on the ground before placing it back on the war table, knocking over some Darigan army miniatures on the board.

     “You sages are so eccentric, but your words speak true. While they ring of cowardice and a level of uncertainty, you contain true knowledge and an understanding of true power. I can mould that into something more. But first, tell me everything you know. Fail me… and you join those who have wronged me before.”

     Both of the super-science adventurers gulp.

     Minutes pass, hours pass, and both Doc and Kaycee struggle to convey everything they know about the following campaigns for Darigan and Meridell. Kass becomes gradually more and more impressed, especially as Doc formulates alternate history plans on how to greatly alter these events, with Kaycee becoming more and more concerned on what the future will look like. After a few inquiries from Doc, a scribe is brought in to record every possible detail.

     Nightfall comes after a seeming eternity of questions, history and oddball theories. As Doc and Kaycee look for a quick escape, Kass pantomimes to the guards, who then toss iron shackles upon the arms and legs of their new guests.

     “Forgive my soldiers for their roughness, but neither of you are fully trusted. Stay the night with us, let us learn more, and then you may earn your freedom.”

     Kass taps his claws upon the table, expecting a witty comeback or attempt at escape.

     “Hey, you’re the boss! More SCIENCE… uhh, magic to unveil!” chirps Doc.

     The evening passes into late night as all are settled, including the two prisoners. They are escorted without so much as a grumble into some means of a backup tent, with sparse supplies and even less for slumber. The two guards beside them are well asleep in their cots. Doc, despite shackles, struggles to reach into his long coat. From within, he pulls out two small beans.

     “Behold,” he whispers, “experimental beans of displaced space jumping. Just eat them.”

     Kaycee stares critically.

     “Beans? Our escape is beans?” she returns in a hushed tone.

     Doc nods.

     “Hold onto your belongings though, you’ll see!”

     He struggles to slip one under his mask, while offering one to Kaycee. Both, with some resistance, swallow the strange food before feeling twitchy sensations. Their bodies begin to jerk and flail without control, knocking into guards and making some level of noise.

     “Oi, they seem a bit sick, eh?” blubbers one tired guard.

     “Nah, they just doing some kinda witchcraft…” mutters another.

     “WITCHCRAFT!?” both shout!

     The two guards climb over each other to dart to a bell right outside the tent. A handful of seconds pass as the loud ringing leads to braziers lit and footsteps marching. However, the two estranged explorers feel themselves lifting out of the time… and out of reality for a brief moment. They blip a few tents over, to the startled shouts of guards preparing for action.

     “The witches, they’re here now!” one shouts. The front tent flaps over, as a captain rushes in… only for Kaycee and Doc to blip out of existence again. Knights and many a henchman scramble to search for the teleporting strangers, in hopes of restoring order and rest to the campground. The two bouncing reality travellers then blip by Kass’s tent, causing the fiendish warlord to scream in surprise.

     “Get me the heads of those mad sorcerers! They seek escape, I’ll seek them as trophies!”

     As an uproar continues to flood the vicinity, Doc and Kaycee continue to leap their way back to where they were first caught. Doc digs around in the dirt frantically, rediscovering the wondrous device paired with his much larger one.

     “That’s enough adventure for one timeline, yes?” wheezes an out of breath Doc.

     Kaycee nods, glancing back to see the mass of troops not far behind.

     Doc fiddles and twists the contraption, which does little to react. In frustration, he takes out another contraption and then smashes both together. Kaycee jumps, as the two emit very angry sparks before both begin to glow. A doorway opens, as one did before. Doc taps the top of his mask, as if pondering a deep quandary.

     “One moment, I have some unfinished business,” quips Doc as he leaps into a portal once more. “You don’t want to wait here, though.”

     After continued steps on the way home, both emerge. Kaycee reaches towards her neck almost gasping for breath in fright. She looks to Doc.

     “Living history is a lot less fun than LARPing… Say, did you really need to take a sidetrack to King-“

     Kaycee is cut off by that same television. However, things are different for not only Darigan and Meridell, but also Dacardia. In this case, a new emblem exists for the last one, a team called “Dacardi-Corp.” A well-dressed Lania in a pink pantsuit enters the stage. A mixture of cheers and boos fills the audience with much division. With flickers of her arms, the crowd quiets to murmurs.

     “I’d like to thank all teams and contestants for this year’s Altador Cup. But, I must salute the winning team, my own! None of this would have been possible without the help of Slo-Tech and gracious donors like Meridell’s own King Skarl! So please, give up a warm roun-“

     Lania is cut off by two revellers in the crowd who push their way through the attendants, both begin to chant.

     “Free Darigan, Free the Cup! Free Darigan, Free the Cup!”

     Lania sneers at the protest and steps away from the stand for a second. She tosses her voice to someone off the stage, pointing out the protestors. Two Altador guards in some means of ‘powered armour’ step out from the sides and move towards the chanters. Both of the disruptors see the armoured brutes and proceed to flee, but not without a final jab.

     “The war never ended, Darigan will return!”

     The security proceeds to follow the ‘troublemakers’ well beyond the vision of the crowd.

     “Sorry about that, everyone. Some teams just can’t accept loss…”, snarks Lania.

     Kaycee shuts off the screen, having more than enough. Doc slinks over, attempting to ease the shock and horror on his intern’s face.

     “How did I know that dividing up Darigan Citadel would make them easy pickings for Meridell? Though, planting more info to Lania’s ancestor about Altador and business stratagems was a bad idea too…”

     Kaycee just glances back, eyes half open and mouth agape without any words to say. Doc feels a few drops of sweat down his forehead, a minor twinge of guilt perhaps?

     “I know what you’re thinking, and you’re right, we’re super rich now! Also, don’t worry, I can make it work out this time!”, stutters Doc.

     Before Kaycee can shout in horrified protest, the plague doctor garb clad Techo had already vanished.

     The End.