An Enchanted Evening
Caleb Gillombardo & Matthew Parody
Shadows crept slowly across the land as the first sun dipped below the horizon. The second and third followed shortly after, ushering in the night. Starlight coaxed out flowering blossoms that could not survive the heat of day. Mushroomfolk emerged from their safe homes among tree roots to tend crops of creeping vines and stinging nettles. Above them flew crystalline bats and giant owls, hunting for prey. Onyx winged horses sped through the night, racing each other with glee.
Amidst this majesty, humanity cowered in the dark. They huddled in towns behind high walls. They traveled quickly, rushing from one safe spot to the next. One such place was The Sleeping Ram. This inn sat at the edge of a large forest, guarding a bridge that spanned a deep chasm. There was a stable, a yard for wagons and carts, and a large three floor building with rooms to rent, a tavern, and a supply shop. Night and day, guards patrolled the low wall that encircled the property.
On this particular night, the tavern was full of guests drinking ale and trading stories. Sporadic shouting from a small table near the enormous hearth relayed the current standing of the ongoing and highly-contested dice game. Serving boys dashed about, carrying plates heavy with rich stew and crunchy bread. From behind the bar, the Ram’s owner cooked, poured ale, and kept an eye on her guests. The main door opened slightly, and in limped a traveler wearing worn boots, tattered clothing, and a muddy cloak. A cool wind swept in after him, carrying the scent of wildflowers and petrichor. Few guests even registered his presence. The traveler made his way to the bar, requested an ale, then spent several minutes searching his bags for a few worn and dirty copper pieces.
With a sudden slam, tavern guards threw back the doors. Behind them, a dozen servants entered, each dressed in clean traveling leathers, crisp linen, and cloaks embroidered with gold and silver. They shoved tables and chairs aside, clearing a wide path to the bar. Guests scrambled away. In the chaos, the poor traveler was knocked to the floor, drenched in the ale he had yet to taste. With a groan, he dragged himself towards a corner table. Behind him, the servants lined the path they had made. A bard stepped in and announced the entrance of the land's wealthiest merchant. The bard paused for a reaction, but none came. A blob of a man draped in purple velvet waddled into the tavern. With one hand he stroked the many thick gold chains draped around his flabby neck. The other clutched a massive jewel-encrusted goblet that he slurped from. Tiny cruel eyes glared out from a pudgy face, judging the peasants around him.
Lurching towards the bar, the merchant began barking orders at the tavern's staff. They scattered, rushing to tend the horses, clear a table, and serve vast quantities of the richest meat and wine available. The Ram’s owner served the merchant herself, waiting on him as he crammed food into his gaping gullet. Through mouthfuls he alternated between making lewd comments about being further serviced and degrading the tavern’s guests for how they paled in comparison to his extravagant grandeur.
In the corner, the traveler crawled into a chair. He tried to wipe the ale from his shirt with his cloak, but only smeared mud on himself. Sighing, he sat back and watched the merchant bask in the unfolding spectacle. After a few moments, he became aware that someone had joined him. It was an imposing figure wearing robes of deep sapphire that complemented skin that had been baked golden from desert sun. Joyful eyes twinkled from above a thick curly beard that was decorated with braids and ribbons.
”Well well, little mouse,” said the stranger. “It seems like I’ve found you in the middle of another mess.”
“I had nothing to do with it,” replied the traveler. “I was simply on my way home from the convocation and stopped for a drink.”
”Don’t lie to me, Vulgar Finch,” said the stranger. “You’ve never simply done anything in all the years I've known you. But speaking of drinks, you seem to have spilled yours.” With a flick of his fingers, he conjured two full mugs and a plate of sandwiches between them.
Finch smiled. “Your kindness is as warm as your wit is sharp, Armeen the Generous, who is also called Zain Kingsransom and who few know as Wind-over-the-Dunes.”
“Oh my, here you go with all the old names,” Armeen fanned himself in mock embarrassment. “You must really want something if you're laying on the flattery so thickly. Out with it.”
“You know me far too well.”
“Only as well as any man can know a member of the fae court.”
“Did you become a man recently? Last we met, you were still one of the desert’s fire spirits.”
“Do please refrain from celebrating your cleverness and get to the point, my dear Finch,” groaned Armeen, rolling his eyes. “Not all of us are as eternally young as the forest folk.”
Finch giggled while taking a bite from the sandwich Armeen had provided and gestured towards the merchant. “That human is making quite a disgusting spectacle of himself.”
“Yes, he’s terrible. I passed him on the road yesterday on my way here and his carriage almost drove me into the chasm.”
“So we agree that he deserves to be punished.”
“That is definitely not our responsibility, dear friend.” Armeen took a long drink.
“I understand. You think you can’t do it.”
“That’s not what I said.”
“Ah, I see. You’re worried that I can do it better and you couldn’t possibly live with the shame.” Finch’s eyes twinkled.
“Now you’re just being ridiculous.”
“Oh. I apologize for my mistake. You know you can do better than me and want to prove it. Please go right ahead.”
“Finch, this is not our role in the world.” Armeen leaned back in his chair.
“What if we make a wager? I’ll make it worth your time.”
Armeen could not help himself and stared intently at his friend. “Be more specific.”
Finch kicked back and propped his boots upon the table’s edge. “Whichever of us is best at punishing the human wins something of their choice from the other. Anything. For example, I recall obtaining a lamp of yours at some point in the past. Maybe you want it back?”
With a sigh, Armeen nodded. “You've got me right where you want me. Again. Let it be agreed, exactly as you've said.”
With the wager confirmed, the two friends returned their attention to the spectacle. The merchant had finished eating and was leaning back against the bar while servants massaged his feet. With a crack, the wood of the bar snapped and the merchant fell, crashing into his servants. Armeen stroked his beard. “That’s one for me.”
The merchant was hauled to his feet. His rage exploded as he cursed everyone in sight until a coughing fit overtook him. His eyes bulged as belched up a school of pollywogs. “One to one,” grinned Finch.
Inflating like balloons, the pollywogs floated to the ceiling then burst, showering everyone below in blood and ichor. Armeen winked to his friend.
The Ram's owner leapt to her feet, searching for a bucket of water but slammed into a door that swung open from a sudden breeze. Dazed, she tottered and fell into the puddles of wet guts, splattering the merchant again. Finch delicately licked his finger, made a slash mark in the air that briefly glittered the color of the setting suns, and held up two fingers.
Servants tore off their fine cloaks and began mopping the slimy entrails from the merchant’s body. The beastly man tried to step back from the puddles but the floor vanished below his boots. He tipped back, flailing wildly, screaming for help. Somehow he bounced off the bar and spun around before falling to the ground and landing smack dab in the middle of the disgusting puddle. The impact of his fall drenched everyone around him with a new splattering of the offal. Armeen leaned back, clasping his hands behind his head and laughing.
“Oh, I like when you get creative,” said Finch. He thought for a moment, then reached for a shiny purple olive that was skewered to an untouched sandwich. Popping it into his mouth, he bit down with a loud crunch. With an echoing snap, the shelf holding the bar’s liquor bottles broke, sending its contents cascading down onto the merchant’s head.
The first few bottles shattered, but then Armeen made the rest start bouncing haphazardly off the merchant. The bottles ricocheted around, slamming into guests and staff, knocking everyone off their feet.
Finch cackled as he watched the chaos unfold. He leapt upon the table and danced a jig. The merchant was hauled up from the ground and given a chair. He was panting heavily, screaming blame at everyone around him, threatening to burn the bar to ashes. A servant retrieved the merchant’s elegant goblet and served him wine in an attempt to calm his nerves. But as soon as the merchant grabbed the goblet, it became scalding hot as the contents bubbled and boiled.
Yowling in pain, the merchant flung the goblet away. As it hit the ground, the jewels cracked and shattered, clearly now glass replicas instead of the real thing. Aghast mummers of incredulity could be heard from the bar’s patrons. Armeen stood and joined in the dance, twirling around the table.
Shamed and infuriated, the merchant turned to leave but tripped over his robes, now three sizes too big. He steadied himself on a table which melted into putty, oozed around his hand, and began to wriggle up his arm. He spun around desperately seeking help but was blinded as the ooze wrapped around his head. It expanded and became a caricature of the merchant’s face, twisting his disgusting features into wild exaggerations and replacing his voice with squeaky
musical notes.
The merchant charged forward in fear. He slammed into a wall, spun, ran again, tripped over a fallen chair, and began scrambling forward on hands and knees. He eventually found the door and pushed his way outside. Feeling the cool night air, he struggled to his feet and ran screaming. The oozing face mask continued its musical mockery as he unknowingly rushed past the cliff's edge and plummeted towards his demise.
Silence settled over The Sleeping Ram. As the guests tried to piece together what happened, Finch and Armeen slipped outside, completely unseen. Continuing his dance, Finch spun and cavorted in wide circles, shaking off his human disguise, melting back into his typical Fae form with long beard, wide pointed ears, brightly glowing eyes, and a thin body seemingly made from branches and leaves. Armeen could not help but join in, laughing as Finch’s joy infected him. Fire embers glowed in his boot prints as he stamped along in a wild powerful dance.
“The pollywogs in his stomach were marvelous,” panted Armeen.
“I loved your bouncing bottle,” replied Finch. “The way they smacked into everyone had to be the most entertaining thing I've seen this year.”
“Transforming the table was ingenious,” cried Armeen as he grabbed Finch’s hands and swung them both into a wild tango.
“I thought that was you,” responded Finch, leaping into the air, twirling about, and landing back in Armeen’s waiting arms. They fell to the ground, laughing uncontrollably. “Perhaps our magics got tangled together. The winner of the wager might be harder to decide.”
“Well, either way, I got what I wanted,” said Armeen as he rose to his feet and pulled Finch up close beside him. Snapping his fingers, a flying carpet soared out of the stable and landed at their feet. Both climbed on and the carpet leapt into the night sky. “A night with you is the best prize in the world.”
Caleb Gillombardo & Matthew Parody
Co-authors Caleb Gillombardo and Matthew Parody have been performing and creative partners for fifteen years. They are veteran improv artists and tabletop gamers. Much of their work can be found on podcasts and streams such as The RPG Academy and Identeco. Matthew stands watch over his coven in New York while Caleb minds his sietch in Ohio.