So, my major inspiration for today was writing about The Devil Went Down to Georgia a few days ago.
In brief: fiddle contest with the characters’ souls on the line, only I’ve deliberately exaggerated many aspects of it on purpose.
For example, a gold pickle is a pretty lame prize, but I happened to realise “lovely pickle made of gold” fits the metre the same as “shiny fiddle made of gold” and decided to run with it.
For a bit more context, Nix has appeared in a few past scenes. I don’t really have much more than “Elf bard” worked out in regards to her, but she sees like the obvious person to get involved in a fiddle contest with an evil sorcerer trying to eat her soul.
Copyright
J.B. Norman
Kat, Dunstana, and Nix the Elven bard Dunstana has recently latched onto as a sort of apprentice are walking down the forest when they are forced to leap back from a sudden sulphurous explosion right in their path.
“Bwa-ha-ha!” an ominous voice laughs from the cloud of smoke left by the explosion. “Behold, it is I…”
Kat, Dunstana, and Nix stare as the voice gives way to hacking coughs.
“Ugh, the smell,” the voice from inside the cloud groans. “Does it always stink this bad?”
Kat, Dunstana, and Nix all blink in bemusement as a hooded figure stumbles into view, flailing its long-sleeved arms to disperse the cloud.
“So, uh,” Kat offers. “Can I help you?”
“Ahem,” the hooded figure says. “It is I, the great evil sorcerer Maludovico Derth! I have come to bargain.”
“I guarantee you don’t have anything we want,” Kat notes.
“I don’t know,” Dunstana muses. “I think I’d look pretty cool in that robe.”
“For, you see, as a member in good standing of the Academius Maleficarius,” the sorcerer continues, “I am obligated as per sections three, five, eight, and forty-two of the proclamation of the Third Stygian Council to offer a wager before attempting to devour your souls.”
“I am so sick of that Council,” Nix mutters. As a bard, she’s had to fight off musical sorcerers trying to eat her soul with a stick lately…
“Devour our souls?” Kat repeats incredulously. “What the heck?”
“Yeah,” Dunstana agrees. “That’s ridiculous! How can you even devour something that exists as a metaphysical reality, rather than a material object?”
Kat stares down at her sister.
“What?” Dunstana asks. “Annie was talking about some, you know, Ancient Elven philosophicator, or something.”
“Very well,” Maludovico Derth says. “My terms are thus: I shall challenge your chosen champion to a contest of musical prowess.”
He flicks his wrist and produces violin and bow from his left sleeve.
“You could win this lovely pickle made of gold,” he continues, flicking his other wrist and flourishing the gleaming golden gherkin he pulls from his sleeve.
“Can we actually eat that thing, or is it just a decoration?” Kat asks.
Maludovico Derth ignores her question.
“Whereas if I win, I get to devour your pineal glands and thereby consume your delicious souls,” the sorcerer declares.
“How is that fair?” Kat cries. “If we win, all we get is that stupid pickle. We don’t even get to eat your soul!”
“But the pickle really is quite fetching,” the sorcerer notes.
“Be a man,” Kat insists. “At least put your soul on the line.”
“But I like my soul,” Maludovico Derth murmurs. “I need it to eat other people’s souls.”
“Don’t worry,” Dunstana says to the others, reaching into her coat’s inner pocket. “I’ve got this.” She produces her beloved cowbell and —
CLONK! CLONK! CLONK!
“Very well,” Maludovico Derth says grimly, setting his violin and bow to work. He begins to play.
And continues to play.
And shows no signs of stopping.
“Ugh,” Kat groans. “It’s been forty-five minutes!”
“We really should just run away,” Nix notes.
Once again, Dunstana be like:
Image via Dictionary.com
“Maludovico” was inspired by a throwaway Simpsons character, basically the bad guy of the in-universe Harry Potter-esque book series — apparently it’s spelled “Malicious”, even though every time I’ve seen the episode, I’m sure it sounds like “Aloysius” with an M.”
Which is honestly a brilliant name for the bad guy of a Harry Potter parody.
Also, the pineal gland is a real thing. The history of medical science being what it is, it wasn’t always clear what it actually did — René Descartes, for example, contended it contained the soul, which is what I’m working off of.
FYI: we have since learned that the pineal gland produces melatonin.
The rest of my writing exercises are here.
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