Humour

Wahala in Valhalla – Part 2

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Disclaimer: This is not intended to be faithful to the myth or canon of any of the deities described in this series. If you are a stickler for the traditional origins and lore, this would be a good point to close the webpage.

“What troubles you, Father?” Thor asked Odin, in the Great Hall. “You sip your mead with uncustomary caution, and your brows furrow as they are wont to do when you are uneasy.”

Odin smiled, wearily. “I had a strange dream,” he began. “We were welcoming new warriors into the Great Hall, you and I, and in their midst stood a man who shone as brilliantly as a god. He spoke with the voice of thunder and his eyes flamed as yours do. He had black braided hair and his skin was the hue of cedars. All of a sudden he was stood beside me and he and I were welcoming you. And then it was you and I welcoming him again. Very curious.”

“Another god of thunder, Father? Surely the all the sky in all the world is not wide enough to contain two gods of thunder! It’s barely big enough for me!” he laughed.

“Humility was never one of your virtues, was it, son?” the All-Father replied.

“Let your heart not be troubled father, it was only a dream. And if indeed there are other gods as fearsome as I, then I must be the strongest and most fearsome of all, for I am the son of Odin! I cannot be supplanted Father, surely it is impossible?”

“Let us hope we never have to find out. It was only a dream anyway.”

—

“So, now, you’d like to hear about my multi-pantheon fantasies? All it took was for Oshe to go missing on coronation day?”

“I have no time for games, Eshu. I need a divine axe to perform my benediction today. If mine is missing and another exists, then I must have it. Or borrow it.”

“Would you lend another orisha your Oshe?”

“Are you mad? Of course not. And when I find out who has taken my Oshe, only the word of Eledumare will preserve their breath and…”

“So why do you think my fantasy thunder deity would lend you his?”

“Look – does he exist and how do we get to where him and his pantheon are?”

“WE???”

“Yes, you’re taking me to him. And If you lie to me I will strike you down and make a new Oshe out of your ashes.”

Left with no choice, Eshu agreed to take Shango to this other world.

“Just how exactly did you discover other pantheons?” Shango asked.

It turned out that most of the orishas only journeyed ‘vertically’ between the Ethereal Plane and their shrines in the world of men. But Eshu was the messenger of the orishas, and he liked to take the more scenic, lateral route. One such occasion, he came right up to the edge of the Plane and saw, just beyond the chasm, as clear as Shango was standing beside him, a world that was also ethereal but not theirs.

And to cross the chasm was not difficult. Every day, there was a bull-drawn cart ferrying souls from the world of men to this other word. It came up through the chasm and one only needed to leap onto the cart and be carried towards a huge hall, which he had learnt was called the Great Hall of Valhalla. As the deity of mischief and trickery, taking on the appearance of the earthly souls was easy enough to do. This was how he had come to learn of this other thunder god called Thor.

“What happens if we miss the cart when we leap?” Shango asked. “Can an orisha get lost in the void?”

Eshu chuckled. “You know we have to leap off as well on the way back, right?”

Meanwhile, back at the coronation, the Oluwo was concerned. He could not feel his master’s presence and this was most unexpected. He’d led the rituals all week personally and had seen the omens that Shango was pleased. He was reluctant to proceed without the presence of Shango, for how would the benediction be done if he was absent? The benediction was the most important, most sacred part of the ceremony. But he could not delay the coronation – the privy council would have his head. He therefore decided to do the only thing he knew he could in the circumstances.

“Brothers, the master calls me to say an extra prayer. Fear not, I will be there with you for the final rites” he said to the other priests.

******** TO BE CONTINUED ********

Wahala in Valhalla – Part One

/ Scribe of the Tword / 2 Comments

Disclaimer: This is not intended to be faithful to the myth or canon of any of the deities described in this series. If you are a stickler for the traditional origins and lore, this would be a good point to close the webpage.

It was a lovely night in the Ethereal Plane. Not “night” as mortals might describe it, for the deities had no need for the demarcation of time by the physical rotation of the ephemeral on its axis. And, indeed, what was time to those who lived outside of it?

Nevertheless, in a world that fed off the worship and adoration of men, there needed to be a semblance of order. Day, for when the supplications and sacrifices of the devoted rose up by faith to the orishas, and night for the tasks they needed to undertake to preserve, from the Ethereal, the things that kept the balance of the cosmos.

On this night though, Shango was preparing for the coronation of the new Alaafin of Oyo. He had been watching his priests making their preparations all week, efforts which would culminate in their proclamation of his blessings on the new Alaafin the next day.

No one else would see it except the Oluwo, but after the crown was placed on the Alaafin’s head, Shango would touch his Oshe – his famous battle axe – onto the new Alaafin’s forehead and imbue the new ruler with his graces, wisdom, justice and power.

His fellow Orisha never said anything, but he could tell a few were jealous. Yes, they received sacrifices from their devoted but these gestures were invariably for fleeting things. Money, favour, fertility and the like. Not a tradition that had endured for centuries.

He drank from his gourd, picked up his Oshe and started to head back to his chambers. He saw Eshu in the distance with the child-orishas at his feet, listening intently to every word that fell off his lips.

“Stop boring them with your multi-pantheon fantasies, storyteller!” he called out, laughing. “I keep telling you they are not fantasies,” Eshu retorted. “Little ones, do you know that Shango here is not the only axe-wielding thunder deity?” Shango felt the hair begin to rise at the back of neck. Not tonight, Eshu. Not tonight, he thought to himself and retired for the night.

A surge of prayers and incantations spiked Shango’s consciousness not too long afterwards and he realised the coronation was about to begin. He went into his vestiary to select his raiment for the day, settling on what men (more likely, women) might describe as burgundy robes with flashing white trimming and chartreuse hemming.

Feeling resplendent, Shango returned to his chambers for his Oshe but it was not hanging where he usually kept it. Thinking he might have absentmindedly taken it with him to the vestiary, he returned to retrieve it, but it was not there either. The deity of thunder was not known for being of measured temperament and started to bristle visibly.

He tried to feel the presence of the Oshe and have the Oshe call out to him and when that did not work either, he let out a cry of frustration, smoke beginning to pour from his nostrils. “WHERE IS MY OSHE???” he bellowed, shaking the ethereum to its core.

He could not perform the benediction without his axe. And a coronation without the benediction of Shango would be dire not just for him, but all the Orishas in the Ethereal Plane. Why? Because an Alaafin that was not imbued would be completely incapable of manifesting the mystery and divinity of and behind the throne. Without that, the devoted would begin to doubt. With doubt would come the fading away of the sacrifices and supplications. And if those went away, of what use would the orishas be?

Shango quickly summoned Eshu.

“I don’t have your Oshe,” Eshu protested. Shango ignored the protestations and looked Eshu squarely in the eyes.

“Did you say I was not the only thunder deity with a hammer? Is this the truth or one of your tricks?”

******** TO BE CONTINUED ********

Shiwajun & the Halfa Better Balablues Brothers Band

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Brethren, it had been only one year with King Shiwajun on the throne but, by Gahd, there was no gaddem chill in the land! Everything was in a state of Kaos, from the fields of petrolatum in Rivissinia to the forests of agbadonium in Iragbijishire. Not a gaddem thing functioned as it ought. And the meander in Bedrock rippled and jerked in tumultuous frenzy.

Shiwajun could not understand it, for he had put the Halfa Better Balablues Brothers Band back together, when he was crowned in Boo Jar. There was Edunidas, his greatest numerical general, who he had appointed as Warden of the Coin, as well as Cardibyssius, who he had appointed Warden of the Iron Bank of Boo Jar.

Back in their prime in Gideria, the Hala Better Balablues Brothers Band were a liberation band, liberating coinage from the pouches of the citizenry into the troughs of the King of Gideria. Yea, twas said of the Halfa Better Balablues Brothers Brand that they were the alpha, beta and omega of neo kingdom coinage. Lo, other Kings of Jirria tried to copy Shiwajun and the Halfa Betters, but they all looh-lehhed, woefully.

Yet, in his greatest our of need, sitting on the Iron Throne of the Thirty-Seven Kingdoms in Boo Jar, Edunidas and Cardibyssius seemed to no longer know how to give shekels their independence into the protectorate of the King’s purse. They played fiscal symphonies and monetary rhapsodies, and tried to orchestrate a crescendo of coinage but the coin was unmoved.

Wherefore, Shiwajun sought the counsel of Sheyercules, his son, who had ears and friends in places high and low, in Twillistia and Social Mediana. Friends like Lawless the Jester of Ondonia and the unlettered matchmaker of Instagrammia, who daily sent him advice on how the coin might be liberated to dance to the tune of the Halfa Betters.

“Father, they say tis the price of imported petrolatum that causeth our misfortunes. Lawless the Jester says if only we couldst nail the price down, our lot would improve.”

“Aye, sire,” said JarJar Beer Miller, his Chief Warden at Bedrock, and fellow member of APINTIB (Association of Previously In Trouble in Bidenistan), “let us summon Ser Go-Tay, to commission his fractional distillerium forthwith, that we might have petrolatum in Jirria.”

“You mean it’s not my brand new winged chariot or pleasure boat or frequent vacations in Jandinia and Frankia and appointing my most favoured agbadoniums into public office regardless of their incompetence and our general cornucopia (Chronicler Wink) of haplessness?”

“Father, let us listen to Lawless the Jester, please!”

Thus it was that Go-Tay’s fractional distillerium was commissioned with great fanfare and promises to the people of Jirria. However, the National Nonces for Petrolatum Curation were not best pleased with the turn of affairs and declared themselves sole buyers of Go-Tay’s wares.

“If ye shalt be my sole buyers, then shall I be thy sole seller? Shall we consummate this marriage of one distiller and one nonce to the exclusion of all others,” asked Go-Tay.

“Why tee eff wouldst we do that,” the National Nonces retorted bemusedly, “National Nonces are free to curate from anywhere.”

Behold, in his despair, the spirit of the famous bard Michel de Beauxlton descended upon Go-Tay, and daily did he sing to the people “I wanna be your sole provider”, for by myself did I raise my distillerium and by the hand of the nonces did the King’s distilleries in Harr Court, Dunamis, and Worry become scrap heaps.”

And the price of Petrolatum continued to soar. So Shiwajun directed the Nonces to relent, and they did. Yet, the price of Petrolatum continued to soar. And there was no gaddem chill in the land. And the price of the tuber and sativas and fowl and livestock also gallop high but Edunidas and Cardibyssius were powerless against it all. Again, there was nary a speck of chill in the land!

And in all the unchill in Jirria, nowhere was more lacking in chill than the Kingdom of Rivissinia, where Fearsome Wee-Kay, the Padipicurean (he had the voice of Padipalia but the hand of Apicuria or vice versa) Warden of Boo Jar had sought to simulate a simulation in Foo Barr his successor.

Foo Barr woke up every for one year thinking, what is this gaddem guano? Am I king or not, he often confronted himself. One day, he woke up and moved against Ser Fearsome Wee-Kay and his men. Wherefore Wee-Kay entered Social Mediana with his backing orchestra and sang a new song, “You cannot abducture my structure, not at this juncture, else I puncture, rupture and injucture your gaddem denture.” And there was Kaos in Rivissinia and Padipalia.

And the unchill in the land grew, metastatising into pain. It was only a mental pain at first but Kaos mixed with unchill can be deadly. And the pain was so much that Shiwajun’s name began to be whispered in Twillistia anew, not as Shiwajun but Shi-pain. It was a loud whisper but the nobles of the land pretended to be unaware of the moniker. Shiwajun heard it in Bedrock however, and was incensed.

“Cardibyssius! Edunidas!! For goodness sake, get off your gaddem assess and fix this gaddem contraption. Make the econominix work. Or shall I go and look for Lady Kem-Shun to replace ye?”

“Your Majesty, the problem is the damentals. They are no longer fun,” said Edunidas.

“Tis true, Sire,” agreed Cardibyssius. “We need to Make Damentals Fun Again (MADAFA).”

“MADAFA?” asked Shiwajun.

“MADAFA cos acronyms add gravitas.”

“What???”

The conversation came to Arty Kool in his permanent residence at Doo-Bahee and he remarked loudly and was heard all over Twilistia, saying, “Shi-Pain and the Halfa Better Balablues Brothers Band are giving all Jirrians a MADAFA class in unlooking the people’s hardships.”

Shi-Pain, I mean, Shiwajun heard it, Jirrians heard it, Twillistians heard it and there was no gaddem chill in all the land!

The Simulation of Fearsome Wee Kay

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Thus it was, that the proceedings of the magisterium of Shytown came to nought. The Jirrian High Magistratum considered the tenderment by the advocates of Arty Kool that Shiwajun’s certificato was fugazious. But the Magistrators would neither see nor hear any evil of Shiwajun, and declared Arty Kool’s tenderment to be out of time.

“And even if it were not out of time, this tenderment beareth not the mark of certification of the magisterium at Shytown. Hence, this magisterium hast no way of knowing if it be authentic or not.”

“My Lords, do ye make this pronouncement unaware of the immense irony here?” asked Arty Kool, dumbfounded by it all.

Lo, the people heard it and, you know what? There was chill in the gaddem land. None was moved outside of the host encamped around Shiwajun at Bedrock. “My JuryInGalilee, thy job is now safe for a quadrannium,” Shiwajun was said to have remarked to his new scribe.

JarJar Beer Miller had yielded his rubberstampia in excelsis to become King Shiwajun’s personal Chief Warden at Bedrock and rejoiced at the news from the High Magisterium. His colleague in Shiwajun’s APINTIB (Association of Previously In Trouble in Bidenistan), the ThisOne of Ohgunsoppotamia also hailed the reprieve for Shiwajun.

Fearsome Wee Kay, the former King of Rivissinia also welcomed the good news. For though he was Padipalian, Shiwajun (an Apicurean, remember) had appointed him as Prefect of Boo-Jar. This was in recognitation of Fearsome’s exploits and exploitation of the Yakurbian Necomongers in Rivissinia during electoralis. Fearsome was the most prominent member of the Fatal Five, the Padipalian Kings who openly conspired against their own champion at electoralis, Arty Kool.

Wee Kay had ruled over Rivissinia for 2 quadrannia and was bound to yield the throne, by the laws of the land. He could have followed his brother Kings to become a Nasshole but he was far too machiavellian to join a host of rubberstamping teapots in their glorious incompetence. No, he had grander designs. He would be Prefect over Boo-Jar and he would remain overlord of the Rivissinians.

“How shalt thou accomplish this?” his orchestra asked.

“Simple. I will employ the spectactular science of, erh what? Simulation.”

“Simulation?”

“Yes. To simply it for you, I will station a similarity to myself to sit on the throne. Not a simpleton, though I would effectively expect a simp, such that I will simultaneously administer Boo-Jar and Rivissinia by means of a simulator. He will speak but people will hear my voice. He will act but their eyes will see only me.”

Thus, Fearsome anointed the Head of the Rivissinian Abacus, Foo Bar Truman, to succeed him. And electoralis was foregone conclusion, returning Shiwajun and Foo Bar as the selections of the Rivissinians.

And when Foo Bar Truman went to seek Fearsome’s advice on the new Rivissinian ruling council, Fearsome assured him that there was no need to worry. ” Look, I love you so much, that I have made your burden as light as possible. I have installed your councillors, wardens, prefects and even your personal scribe. All your wants and needs will be met before you can say ‘Oh dilly!”

“Ah, King Fearsome, I had hoped to bring a few friends along with me.”

“Don’t worry, my son. I have also appointed some new friends for you. I’ve taken care of everything you need.”

For Fearsome, everything worked according to plan at first. The Rivissinian winged chariot remained in his custody, and all the Rivissinian nobles still sought his graces. Foo Bar Truman enjoyed the show at first but soon realised what was happening. For when he dined with people not sent to him by Fearsome, Fearsome would mention it to him. And if he relieved himself in a chamberpot outside of the inns approved by Fearsome, Fearsome would make it known to him in no unclear terms where he was expected to defecate. And as for ruling, Truman did not feel very much in charge even though he felt so much power coursing through his veins.

So he threw down the gauntlet and tried to shake things up.

Wee Kay then invoked the Etiaban Protocol, convening the Rivissinian Sassholes to depose Foor Bar. That night, Foo Bar prayed hard to the gods in emeffemic manner that fire would consume all his enemies and their plans. Behold, the gods answered, and a mysterious fire erupted in the Sassholes’ chamber.

The Sassholes loyal to Fearsome moved a deposement motion against Truman but his loyalists quickly countered by electing a new Warden to preside over their affairs. Foo Bar then moved again to suspend the Rivissinian High Magistratum and all the mayors of the Rivissinian mayorates, attempting to stifle the simulator.

Foo Bar then marched into Harr Courts to try to speak to the people but the constabulary deployed waters and onion gasses at high velocities, to impede him.

All of Jirria saw it. Lo, it was beheld in all of Twilistia and Social Mediana.

And there was no gaddem chill in the land!

The Magisterium of Shytown

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Long before Shiwajun unlocked the deployment of Wahala Morghulis, he knew he was destined for greatness. Like a wrestler in the great arena of the 2 double u’s and f, he came from parts unknown, and like Ra and Horus, was born by immaculate conception. There was a moda for sure, otherwise this tale might have begun of him as an immortal instead.

When he left his home and family for Shytown in Bidenistan, he was no more than a boy or girl. Armed with nothing but ambition, he arrived at the Academy of the Southwest with a certficato from the future. You see, Shiwajun had long since mastered the art of bending space and time, forging matter at his command.

“Kingdom Academy Gideria existeth not,” he was challenged, at the time.

“Aye,” he responded, “but in four years it will, and in the fulness of time, the world will be as confused as ye, as to how I went both to the Kingdom Academy in Gideria and the Kingdom Academy in Baddan-Badden, and yet truly went to neither. Do you gerrit? Schroedinger’s humdinger of a certificate!”

The regsitrator was mystified and enchanted, and waved Shiwajun through the academy’s gates. Shiwajun was to later graduate fugazi cum laude from both the Shytown Universitariat and the Universitariat of Shytown, the highest honours ever, and was the most recruited graduand in his cohort.

“Behold, I am he who knocks”, declared Shiwajun, as he went from bank to bank, knocking on their doors and performing pecuniary miracles. For though he earned but 20 Bidenistani shekkels, yet did he deposit over 100 shekkels with each banker. And how did he manage to deposit several times more money than he made in a year with the banks? The Bidenistani superconstabulary also asked him the same question.

“Ozarks!” he exclaimed, “dost thou not know that I am greatly embonused by employers, Delight. At Delight, I have worked my abacus so mightily, that my embonusments suffuse the regular emoluments of Messrs Delight and Push the owners themselves!”

And then Shiwajun returned to Jirria, to join the Bachalian Senatii. He left a parting gift of 400 shekkels to the good people of Bidenistan, in recognition of how well they had  looked after him during his sojourn.

Shiwajun would become King of Gideria for a season, and then its permanent overlord. By the power of Babasopecus Oparithicus, he would enthrone Kings Flashoslas, Ambsalom and Shangolulu. Together with Arty Cool, Abushola and other nobles of the land, he would unseat King Gejoshaphat and hand the throne of the 37 Kingdoms to King Gambrach. And when the two quadrannia of Gambrach were passed, he invoked the ghost of Emil Ocon, the great conquistador, and assumed the Iron Throne himself.

[Here, the Chronicler pauseth to drink water, drops cup.]

 Arty Cool and Pitobi Wan Kenobi appealed electoralis to the magistratum. They pleaded, amongst other things, that Shiwajun’s parting gift to the Bidestanis disqualified him. They also said that even though he graduated fugazi cum laude, the certificato he presented to the Necomongers was fugaziception – fugazi inside fugazi.

The magistratum waved away their pleas and dismissed their appeal, with a special word for the unchill in social mediana.

“Ye have brought evidence of nothing, not of the machination of by Fearsome Weekay in Rivissinia, nor the fugaziception from Shytown. Unchill in social mediana proveth nothing!”

Wherefore, Arty Cool dusted his tunic, boarded his winged chariot and went to the magisterium of Shytown to compel proof that Shiwajun, like Gambrach, was magnificato sans certificato.

Shiwajun immediately sent emissaries to the magistrate, saying “compel not the universitariat, lest irreparable damage be done to my swag.” But in the end, the magistrate issued an edicto compellario, mandating disclosure to Arty Cool, as well as testamento depositario from the Registrator of Shytown Universitariat.

Behold, the advocate of Arty Cool demanded of the Registrator if he knew who Shiwajun was.

“He is King of the Jirrians” the Registrator replied.

“And did he study at the Shytown Universitariat?”

“Well, we have a record of a Shiwajun el Nubus studying here at the time the Shiwajun el Nubus who is now King of Jirria said he studied here, so we added two and two together and believe both are one and the same.”

“But how can you tell, for sure?”

“Because their names are the same.”

“So two different people cannot have the same name?”

“They can, but we just know deep down inside our bones that the King was our student”, as he touched his finger to his tongue and pointed to the sky.

“And the application from the Academy of the South West where it says he is female?”

“Oh, easy question. That’s from another timeline. Like in Loki. Sometimes, timelines do used to converge and variants encounter each other.”

“So, this certificato that was sent to the Necomongers ahead of electoralis, did you issue it?”

“No. We did not. It hath not come from this universitariat.”

“Can you explain further?”

“Well,” said the Registrator, “in Bidenistan, certificatos are for vibes and insha Allah, the real proof of attendance is the recordia transcriptica. Perhaps it is a Jirrian thing to attach importance to the certificato. And, between us, Shiwajun has an authentic certificato in the records room which he has yet to collect. Instead, in the words of the ancient bard Ololademicus Ashakethicus, he went for a work of art.”

All of Jirria, Twillistia and social mediana heard it, and there was no gaddem chill in the land.

The Votenariat Cornpromise

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Thus it was that the appointed day for Electoralis Federalis drew imminently nigh. All over the plains of Social Mediana, Jirrians in the Diasporean Realms announced their arrivals to partake of Electoralis, mostly to give their votes to Obi Wan Pitobi. Apicureans and Padipalians mocked them still, but the Jedi were resolute. “Even if Pitobi trumpeth not Shiwajun nor Arty Cool, yet shall we cast our lot with him!”

“Then ye shall learn the lessons of the structure of the real force!” the Padipalians and Apicureans responded.

All over Jirria, the people were hopeful that Electoralis would be peaceful and transparent. King Gambrach had deployed several Men of Gunn to the various kingdoms, to assist the Constabulary in keeping the peace. In addition, there was the deployment of glorious new gadgetry to look forward to. Ser Yaki Hair Mood, Warden of the Independent Votenariat, had collected THREE HUNDRED BILLION Jirrian shekels from the King’s treasury and had purchased ultramodern Bamboozling Vote Amplification or Suppression devices, to make sure the process was free and fair.

In Kogitaria, King JarJar Bellows of House Apicurea was also keen for a free and fair poll. Thus it was that when word came to him of a Padipalian stronghold in his domain, he knew it would be unfair to himself as King to allow its champion, Lady Tash, join the NAssholes in Boo Jar. “Let us level the playing field,” he said to his council. Taking him literally, one of his counsellors led the King’s demolishionery to the Padipalian domain and excavated all roads by which ingress could be made, all 5 of them. “Job done, playing field levelled!” they congratulated themselves.

The people saw it, and unchill began to rumble in the land.

“But without roads, the Votenariat cannot record the castings for Electoralis,” they protested.

“True,” replied JarJar, “is it not better to contemplate their lot in isolated safety than bring Electoralian tragedies upon themselves?” Yea, the people believed it not, and beat about a hurried reconstruction.

And in that day, all the Apicureans gathered to stand even harder on Shiwajun’s man-bits.One of them was a young man named Happy Zion. He had been selected as the Head of the Juvenile Wing of Apicurean Cornscripts, over another young man, Victorious Dread, despite calls from the latter’s supporters to stand on his own man-bits and reject the imposition. It loo-leh’d however, and Happy Zion took it upon himself to marshall the field of the Juvenile Wing to ensure Shiwajun’s victory at Electoralis. “Ye shalt behold my glorious structure and ye shalt learn lessons,” he would routinely declare.

It finally came, the long-awaited day, and Jirrians trooped out to participate in Electoralis – many without performing their morning bodily or dental ablutions. For what was a little whiff of BOMO compared with the whiff of a new dawn? Lady Tawla Martinez of the Grammaticus Ministeriat had warned all and sundry of the past participle of the verb ‘cast’, so they were truly ready for a glorious day of civic exertations. All eyes were on the Independent Votenariat to deliver on its pledge and mandate of freedom of choice, fairness of processes and transparency of collation.

Unchill began to rumble in the land however, when the Pulling Officers (so known, for they pulled the ballot-storing cauldron around by cart) of the Votenariat failed to arrive at many casting centres. They waited and waited and waited and waited, in some places in vain, for the Pulling Officers never arrived. At other casting centres, the Pulling Officers arrived late and without the required number of the ultramodern Bamboozling Vote Amplification or Suppression devices, resulting in swathes of Jirrians being unable to be accredited (another Electoralisian trip-up word, in the same bucket as cast) to partake of Electoralis.

Lo, the unchill continued to rumble. However, the people attempted to put this aside and as many as were able to cast their votes. And as the voting ended and the tallying was conducted, Jirrians ran to Social Mediana with textual and graphical news of the results. However, as the sun set, further news came to the Jirrians that the telepathic bifrost for the relaying of the final tallies by the Pulling Officers to Yaki Hair Mood in Boo Jar were faulty. And Boo Jar received them not. Wherefore Ser Hair Mood activated the failsafe – “Regulators! Mount up upon your steeds and make your way to me in Boo Jar, that ye may read painstakingly from your tally scrolls as was done several millennia ago.”

In the Kingdom of Rivissinia, several Pulling Officers raised alarm that they had been ordered to convene at a central location without activating the bifrost, and on arrival were greeted by King Fearsome Wee-Kay, lead singer of the Crackpot Five, wielding a master quill. When the Rivissinian tally scrolls arrived in Boo Jar, they had been severely re-inked.

And unchill grew in the land. Not even news that Obi Wan Pitobi had tallied higher than Shiwajun and Arty Cool in Gideria could quell the unchill. Behold, Pitobi tallied higher than Shiwajun even in his ancestral fortress of Oshunlonica. Happy Zion believed not his eyes and quickly took to the streets of Social Mediana to declare, “Apicureans of Gideria, the crown of King Shangolulu the Shiwajunian Whisperer is now at stake. Deceive me no longer with your million cornscript marches! We must secure Gideria, lest our long-held secrets and treasure troves be revealed!”

Behold, the Padipalians were also in great distress. Yea, the spirit of DeoVolenti the Roo-Baby descended upon Dinobetes Mellitus and he charged into the Great Tallying Hall in Boo Jar, to confront Hair Mood, just as DeoVolenti had confronted Warden Jegatrix in quadrannia past. “Ser Yaki, this is an outrage! Thy Pulling Officers announce tallies different from what they recorded at the casting centres, which they failed to relay on the telepathic bifrost for the ultramodern Bamboozling Vote Amplification or Suppression devices. You must remediate this travesty! This is not a game of video, this is not Grand Theft Voto. Defend thine own honour and that of the Independent Votenariat.”

“Ser Dinobetes, let the Pulling Officers complete their Pulling and then, perhaps, we might deal with your observations.”

“NO!!!” screamed Dinobetes, “these are not mere observations. Open the bifrost, let us see and compare and use only those numbers we find therein!” But Ser Yaki Hair Mood unlooked and Dinobetes invoked Waka Comotus, and left the chamber in the company of several other Padipalian stalwarts.

But then, the Jirrians themselves began to peep into the telepathic bifrost to make their own observations and mygheeeeurd it was replete with manisfestations of inaccuracies. For the tally scrolls of Gideria had been mixed up with the tally scrolls of Dunamis, which had been mixed up with the tally scrolls of Zamfarwayland, which had been mixed up with the tally scrolls of Imolek.

The people were incensed. And there was no gaddem chill in all the land. Nay, nary a speck!

The Repainting of the Coin and Kings’ Gambits

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Following the protestations of Shiwajun and his declaration that he would be crowned King despite the machinations of certain Apicureans in high places, three Apicurean kings gathered and decided to petition the High Magistratum over the repainting of the coin.

There was King El-Farquaad of Dunamis, King Mattar-Shattar Wale of Zamfaraway Land and King Jar-Jar Bellows of Kogitaria. Together, the three akaras formed Voltron and were filled with a new, uncommon, hitherto unseen and imperceptible compassion for the poor and downtrodden. Thus, they pleaded with the High Magistratum to order King Gambrach to order Mefilius, the Warden of the Iron Bank, to do away with date of uselessity of the old coin. Wherefore the High Magistratum issued an Injuctio De Fidihe, that is, an order of Nekanian duration, that the date of uselessity be delayed, pending a full hearing of the matter.

Bar-Kar, the head lawman to King Gambrach, received news of the Nekanian Injunctio, and announced that the King’s Court would abide by it. Mefilius heard this and rushed to the Royal Palace at Bedrock to seek King Gambrach’s mind on the matter.

“Your Mostly Excellent Majesty, long may the days that constitute the short remainder of your reign be! Sire, I have come before thee once more that thou mayest tell me what decision I shall independently take in the matter of the repainted coin. For our supplies of coin ore have long since run low and replenishments are yet on the high seas. And even with surplus ores, our forge is of limited capacity. I must come to an independent decision on what to do next and I know I can depend on Your Majesty’s wisdom for this.”

“Let us ponder on it for three days,” replied Gambrach. “And on the third day, let us gather again with my most trusted circle, let the ale of syconfanta be liberally served that the circle may be even more obsequious than usual, and then I shall tell the people of Jirriah the decision that you have independently come to.”

Thus, in the days following the ruling of the High Magistratum, nothing changed in the supply of the coin and neither Mefilius nor Gambrach announced a new date of uselessity. Lo, the regional depositories fell under siege, as none was able to withdraw any coin, regardless of the number in the ledger. And there was like, for real, for really real, a great unchill in the land. Many Kings threatened to shutter businesses rejecting the old coin, but it was to no avail. Yea, King El-Farquaad declared, “Beware Gambrach’s inner circle in the other other room!”

And yet, the various would-be Kings at Boo Jar continued to make their cases to the people, as the date of electoralis federalis drew nigher. Shiwajun and the Shetty-Man, Arty Cool and Fan-Yi, Obi Wan Pitobi and Soof That Baba.

King Fearsome Wee-Kay of Rivissinia continued to antagonise the Padipalian campaign and Arty Cool was unable to stump for the people of Rivissinia. The thespian Seller Britties of South-Westeros pledged their fealty to Shiwajun, who continued to speak and behave in manners that consistently needed the clarification of Lastus Boltammo and his other griots. Obi Wan Pitobi’s stock continued to rise, so much that many BEES (Best Evaluators of Electoralis Surveys) gathered pollen from all over Jirriah, read the pollen and concluded that Pitobi had become the nominal front-runner.

But the shortage of the coin bit very hard. And while many used the glorious method of blocked chains to transfer virtual coins, it was a technology outside the grasp of the majority.Behold, there were weepings and gnashings of teeth at the depositories.

Finally, Gambrach was ready to address the people. He proclaimed, “Great Jirrians, I know that this has been a period of even greater suffering than I fomented during my two quadranniums, and even during my first iteration as a Man of Gunn. I promised to do my best not to disappoint you and well, here we are.

“Ye have heard it said that I directed the independent Iron Bank to repaint the currency to derail the ascendancy of Shiwajun. If he is an ardent buyer of votes, it may well be so. For I am against ALL buyers of votes. High or low, Apicurean or Padipallian, federalis or municipalian. But I also finally see that a hungry and impoverished people will be at their most susceptible to vote buyers. And Jirrians deserve a free and fair electoralis and gaddem you my haters, I need to be remembered for at least one good thing!

“I therefore decree that the Iron Bank of Boo Jar, with its independent mind and of its own volition, shall bring back the 200 shekkel coin. But the 500 and 1000 shekkel coins are now and forever proscribed – behold, their day of uselessity is today.

“And what of the ruling of the High Magistratum? Well, as Bar Kar, my chief lawman once famously said, ‘Rex fit injuria iyalaya anybody’. For, like the guy from Siam said, I am King.“

And unchill began to rumble again, for immediately after King Gambrach’s speech, King El-Farquaad rejected his authority over Dunamis. “King Gambrach is my guy, but his circle has struck again. So I say no. In Dunamis, until the High Magistratum issues an Injunctio De O’Dilly, that is, one in perpetuity on this matter, Dunamisians will be both free and compelled to deal in the purportedly outlawed coin.”

And there were gasps and whispers of accusations of treachery. And in all of Jirriah, there was not one gaddem chill to be found in the land.

The book of the First Quadrannium of Gambrach is available for purchase in the Amazonian libraries of Bezos, in Kindling and Papyruss.

The Ides of Electoralis

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The wheels of politicking continued to roll furiously towards the day of electoralis in Jirriah. The contenders for the Iron Throne had all chosen their Hands. Shiwajun had Cashmoney the Shetty Man of Borry Noo as his, Arty Cool had Fan-Yi the King of Deltonia and Obi Wan Pitobi had Soof That Baba as his.

There was a fourth contender – Crank Wazo That Soldier Boy, one time King of Car-Knoe but the people were unsure he had chosen a Hand, as nought was heard of the matter from his camp.

Thus did the contenders traverse the four (or perhaps, six) corners of the Kingdom, seeking to make disciples of all men, women and children. In Social Mediana, the contention and lighting of gas between their supporters was frenetic. “The stench of narcotia ensconces Shiwajun,” one camp would cry, to which the others would respond, “Obi Wan kenno’be King, for he is of wretched structure,” to which others yet would reply, “Arty Cool bathest in the esoteric pools of corroupcion!” Yea, would the acolytes of Crank Wazo observe, wondering why none sought to banter their champion.

Daily, Lastus Boltammo, Gambrach’s junior councillor for enslavement and Shiwajun’s appointed shithouserist, would waltz into Twillistia singing gleefully about the maturation of a certain jungle, and how that would favour Shiwajun. Is he a zoologist or botanist or some sort of mad scientist, the people often wondered. On the Padipalian side, Dinobetes Mellitus had positioned himself as nemesis to Lastus. The jesterful antics of Dinobetes were already known, so his shithousery was no surprise to anyone.

But indeed, Shiwajun and Artycool were the front runners. However, the Jedi followers of Obi Wan simply would not go away. Daily the Apircueans and Padipalian soothsayers showed them the route to the Iron Throne, exasperated, for they saw no way for Obi Wan Pitobi. “Beware the Ides of Electoralis, for ye shalt be taught lessons,” they warned the Pitobians.

Shiwajun struggled with speech as he sought to proselytise. His sentences frequently disintegrated into babble, despite King Shangolulu’s desertion of Gideria to serve as the Shiwajunian Whisperer. Yea, despite his lips residing in Shiwajun’s cochlea, it saved Shiwajun not. And the unchill began to bubble in the land about the seeming frailty of Shiwajun.

And in that day, Lord Mefilius, Warden of the Iron Bank of Boo Jar proclaimed an edict across all of Jirriah.

“Citizens of Jirriah, the reign of King Gambrach cannot end without another throwback to his glorious Kingship whilst he was a man of Gunn. Thy borders have been closed, thy petrolatum is scarce, rentiers walk again among us. Behold! Now is the time for us to repaint our Kingdom’s coin with ultramodern paint. It shall be shiny, it shall be rainbowfull and it shall be the only legal tender in the Kingdom in the 3 weeks leading up to Electoralis. Long Live the glorious foresight and hindsight of our great King Gambrach!“

And the unchill in the land grew. For in the olden recoinage of Gambrach, there was a huge shortage in the circulatory supply of money.

Not long after, news came to the Jirrians that the Despotic Squad Squadron had declared Mefilius wanted, for financing the fomentation of terror. With the incoming or outgoing money, the people wondered. Yea, like another bankman that was fried, Mefilius sought refuge in a faraway land and no one knew whence he had exiled himself. The people were astounded, for the Dastardly Suffering Squad (one of their many other names) reported to the King himself. Couldst it be that Gambrach sought to reward the devotion of Mefilius with a healthy dose of wahala morghulis?

Gambrach himself put paid to these thoughts by declaring to the people that Mefilius was carrying out his wishes (why then was he ‘ranning’?) and that sufficient time had been given to the upstanding to secure legitimate swapping of outgoing for incoming coin. And then, in a completely tangential outburst – in the future, when smileys are invented, as prophesied by the Chronicler, a shaded smiling one will be inserted at this point in the manuscript – he declared, “Jirrians shall be free to vote for whomseoever they choose!”

“But Majesty, though art an Apicurean. Surely you mean vote for Shiwajun?”

“Yes! For whomsoever they choose!”

A great rumbling was heard in the land but would you believe it, it was not the unchill of which the Chronicler has long since Chronicled. No. It was a creaking of the firmaments of all the structures in the land. As it turned out, structures had to be reinforced daily with coin. And it could not be the coin that was routed through the Iron Bank of Boo Jar and its mushrooms, for all the vaults in all the banks in all the land were not large enough to hold it all. And to change all that structures money into the new Gambrachian coin was a project that would take the skill of a meister of the 2 Princes to manage in the short timeframe – and alas, there was only 1 Prince as Gambrach had just the one male offspring (this is a joke of the Chronicler, by the way – hehehe).

Wherefore Shiwajun went again to the Kingdom of King Dah-Poe the Abjectly Common One to speak again to the people in High Yorballian. Dah-Poe was still basking in the euphoria of his audio award from the Fugazi Orbs as overall best in Kingship in FreeKah, so he received Shiwajun in High Spirits.

Shiwajun was more sullen than usual and cried out in High Yorballian –

“Why do the heathens rage and the people imagine a vain thing? The rulers of Jirriah, my fellow Apicureans no less, have set themselves and taken counsel against me, the Shiwajun of all Yorballian Lands. They have sought to break my bands asunder, ground all our chariots and are attempting to cast the coin away from me. Well, let me declare this here and now – I, who sit in the heavens of Bored Dyllon will laugh. I will have them in derision. For regardless of what they do, I shall be set as thy King upon the holy hill of Bedrock, in Boo Jar!”

The people saw it, the people heard it. And there was no gaddem chill in the land!

The Cornscription of the Shetty Man

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The Cornfields of Shiwajun

News came to Twillistia and Social Mediana that Shiwajun bore the scars of narcotic indictments and forfeitures from Bidenistan; that though he was a man of the abacus, the beads upon which the number of his years could acurately be counted had yet to be invented; and that, contrary to legend, Iragbijishire was where his umbilical cord was buried.

The aides at the Shiwajunian Palace of Bored Dyllon were thrown into a tizz, knowing not how to respond to the Social Medianites. But Shiwajun was calm. “See ye these rumours in Papyrussia or Ancient Mediana?” he asked them. “Nay, sire,” they responded. “Therefore be ye calm and find me Amy Logan, as I have instructed thee.” The aides were confused, but proceeded into all of Jirria, declaring a bounty for Amy Logan and, just in case they had heard the name incorrectly, Emille Oconn.

Now, as was customary in the land, very shortly after each House had nominated its champion in electoralis primera, the champions all chose a Hand – someone to sit around on stand-by in the event the champion became king and died whilst on the Iron Throne, such as Osinoshin was the Hand of Gambrach.

Arty Cool the Perennial chose Arturo O’Cowa, King of the Deltanians, also coming to the end of his second quadrannium on the throne. Obiwan Pitobi chose Suffidat as his Hand. Suffidavit had once been a senateen but the Magistarium had declared his election perfidious and he was thus removed. Shiwajun knew all eyes would be on him, as he was of the same House as King Gambrach, who sat upon the Iron Throne.

“Have ye found Amy Logan?” Shiwajun asked his men. “She will tell me who to appoint as my Hand.” His men looked at each other nervously and one of them finally summoned the courage to speak. “Oh Lord Shiwajun of Bored Dyllon, surest successor to Gambrach, may you live even longer. Your Grace, we searched high and low, for Amy Logan and Emille Oconn and Emil O’Corn, across all the kingdoms, but we found none bearing that name. We even cast our minds back to the wise words from your annual collostrum, and searched in the fields of cassava and the plantations of corn and the barn stores of beans and nary an Amy or Emille was to be found. Your Grace, you will have to choose your Hand of your own self.” Very well, thought Shiwajun to himself. I shall choose one of the Apicurean kings to be my Hand.

Now, the people of Jirria had many things which set them apart from each other. They were Northerosi and Southerosi in their origin and customs. Some were Stians and others were Slims. The Stians and the Slims were to be found amongst both Northerosi and Southerosi men but if a Northerosi Slim was king, the convention of the Kingdom was that his Hand would be a Southerosi Stian and vice versa.

Many thought that Shiwajun would choose Macashma Gandi, the Great Sold, King of Car-Knoe, as his Hand. But Shiwajun had heard many allegations about Gandi, including suggestions of excessive proximity to the Car-Knosian treasury. “This goes against every fibre of my ethos,” Shiwajun was reported to have said. Gandi, like Shiwajun, was also a Slim, so the people thought this ruled him out.

Others thus suggested King A-La-La-La-La-Long-Long-Li-Long-Long-Long of Play-Too, for he was a Northerosi Stian but he also did not find favour with Shiwajun. Lo, the Apicureans were perplexed, for Shiwajun tarried greatly.

One night, Shiwajun gathered the Apicurean prefects and asked them to bring before him Cashmoney the Shetty Man, who in quadrannia past has ruled as King in Borry Noo.

“Why?” they asked Shiwajun.

“I wish to make him my Hand,” he responded.

“Cashmoney? The Shetty Man? The people of our kingdoms will not accept this. Hast thou forgotten that like you he is a Slim? And a Fulannister like King Gambrach?”

“Brethren, those are the exact qualities I need to triumph at electoralis. Bring him before me.”

“What if we rechristen King A-La-La-La-La-Long-Long-Li-Long-Long-Long of Play-Too, so that he is now known as Emille Oconn?”

“No. No. No. Enough of this now. My mind is set on Cashmoney the Shetty Man.”

Wherefore, Shiwajun lay on the floor in the middle of the Apicurean sanctum and Cashmoney was brought in. The Apicurean prefects handed him an ear of corn and a bowl of beans and asked him to move closer to Shiwajun.

“Cashmoney, wilt thou now pledge fealty to Shiwajun of Bored Dyllon?”

“I will,” declared the Shetty Man. A gong sounded 3 times, whereupon Cashmoney stepped onto Shiwajun’s groin abd broke out into song – On your man-bits I shall stand, on your man-bits I shall stand, on your man-bits, on your man-bits, on your man-bits I shall stand. He then stepped off Shiwajun’s groin and ate the beans and the corn. And thus, it was done. The Shetty Man had been cornscripted to be Shiwajun’s Hand.

Shiwajun arose and led Cashmoney into Twillistia and Social Mediana, announcing, “Behold, I have chosen my Hand.” But as Shiwajun tried to raise the Shetty Man’s hands, the people saw him shaking visibly and was unable to raise either his or Cashmoney’s hands aloft.

“He is infirm!” the people cried. “He presenteth a double-Slim Kingship!!” cried others. “When Cashmoney was King of the BorryNoobians, a chieftain of the Haramites of Boko was found by the Constabulary in the Borry Noo palace in Boo Jar!!! This is a travesty!!!” cried others.

And in all the lands and kingdoms of Jirria, not a gaddem speck of chill was found.

Electoralis Primera & the Shiwajunian Breakfast

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The clouds of electoralis continued to gather in the Kingdom of Jirria and soon it was time for each electorailing house to choose its champion.

The Apicureans had declared in large numbers and a huge electoralis primera was planned, and hotly anticipated in Twilistia and Social Mediana. The word in Twilistia was that Gambrach desireth to serve Shiwajun a burnaboynian breakfast. However, it was known to all men that none was better in the arts of Wahala Morghulis than Shiwajun himself.

In House Padipalia, the leading contenders were Fearsome Wee-Kay of Rivissina, Obi-Wan Pitobi of Nambria and Arty Cool the Perennial. As the electoralis primera of the Padipalians drew nigh, Obi-Wan Pitobi awoke one morning, feeling uneasy after the dream he’d had. In his dream, he had seen a structureless house, with no foundations, with no shishi, floating above a huge Rock. And a voice said unto him, “Obi-Wan, thou art the Pitobi, and upon your rock, my structurelessness shall stand!”

Wherefore, Pitobi gathered his robes and belongings and announced his departure from the Padipalians, for the vision was clear to him. He vanished for three days and three nights, and when he emerged, he emerged as champion for House Dohaeris. Lo, did the Apicureans and Padipalians make huge mockery of him and the Dohaerisses, saying “the Dohaerisses have not the benefit of historical pillaging of the public purse to fund their activities. Obi-Wan shall soon realise that men of honesty cannot take the Iron Throne of Boo-Jar.”

In Apicurean gatherings, Shiwajun sensed a less than overwhelming support for his ambitions and thus decided to remind the Apicureans of just who he was. He journed to Ogunssopotamia and spake to the gathering in High Yorballian, saying –

“Have ye forgotten just who the hell I am? Remember ye not how my hands have held up the firmament of our great house and how thy kings are inscribed upon the palms of my hands? Could even this abjectly common one,” he sneered towards King Dah-Poe, “be King without my benefactions?“

And from that day on, King Dah-Poe became known throughout Jirriah by his new title, King Dah-Poe The Abjectly Common.

Shiwajun continued. “Twas these same benefactions that enthroned King Gambrach in Boo Jar. Had he not failed and failed and failed and failed and failed and failed and failed? Yea, he wept when he remembered he hadn’t won. But I came unto him and carried away his lachrymallity, requiring from him just a word, that he would not forget the Yorball in the Boo-Jarrian lands. Behold, the Iron Throne must fall to us Yorballs and yea, it must fall to me! In the words of the great ancient prophetess Diana of Rawsse, ‘It’s my turn!’ Ich bin dran, so get me Amy Logan!!!”.

“Amy Logan?”, asked the Abjectly Common one and the other Apicurians. “Yes”, answered Shiwajun, “Amy Logan. Get her.”

Lo, the people heard it and unchill began to rumble in the land.

Thus, the time drew nigh for the Padipalians to conduct their primera and select their champion. And despite Abushola’s eloquence and Fearsome Wee-Kay’s fidelity and fiduciary fulminousity to the Apicureans, Arty Cool emerged champion and flag bearer. Fearsome believed it not and for days later he was heard singing the Daminian Lament, “Ye shalt be amazed at the result oh (I was), there’s nothing to discuss oh, I didn’t win by default oh, I canst withstand this insult oh, I NEED A BOAT AND SHY HOES!!!“

Yea, did the pendulum swing unto the Apicureans. And lo, they came, one after the other, to make their case to be champion. Most notable of them was Ben Ten Jack Too Rich who drew inspiration from his mother’s susceptibility to amorous defraudment and her consequential gestatory prolificness.

Try as they might, no one could withstand the Wahala Morghulis of Shiwajun, who won by a mudslide, beating Monoraillius Incompletus well into second place.

The die was cast. And last last, the Apicureans all had breakfast. Shah Yo O!

But then news came to Twillistia that Shiwajun bore the scars of narcotic indictments and forfeitures from Bidenistan; that though he was a man of the abacus, the beads upon which the number of his years could acurately be counted had yet to be invented; and that, contrary to legend, Iragbijishire was where his umbilical cord was buried.

The people heard it and there was no gaddem chill in the land.