Thursday, April 8, 2010

Snowbeard, Part 5: Heinrich The Crone

        Well past midnight the clouds silently drifted in front of the moon and the castle was dark and asleep. At least most of it was. From beneath the door to the basement a soft light flickered. The castle's basement is where Heinrich had set up his laboratory. It was there that he currently stood awake, working upon some ancient magic. He was hopelessly vain, quick tempered, and a total prick. But for some reason he had turned out to be adept at mastering the dark and mystical forces of the cosmos. His teachers were just as surprised by this as you are.
        His hair disheveled, his brow sweaty, his hands danced from vial to mysterious vial and he muttered to himself. Suddenly, with a puff of green smoke, a great bang sounded and Heinrich fell off his stool in surprise. When he got up and peered over the top of his work bench he found his beaker full of a translucent green liquid gently pulsating through the darkness. His potion was done. Now all that remained was a disguise.
        Surely his good looks would give away his identity. He began to cast a simple spell to change his appearance. If you had been listening to his incoherent stream of mumbling you would have heard much talk about how, “covering up looks like these isn't easy.” In fact it was quite easy and the spell was one of the first ones he had learned.
        Suddenly the mumbling seemed to take on more purpose and Heinrich dark robes began to writhe and contort. Then with a final pop of a newly formed joint they stopped. An old crone now stood where Heinrich had once been. Her back slightly hunched and the faint light of the laboratory falling in and out of her many wrinkles. With thin and gnarled fingers tipped in long dark nails, Heinrich stuck his open hand into the beaker of glowing green liquid. It began to froth and bubble widely. As he began to close his fist the liquid seemed to become more viscous and it continued to flay about widely. With seemingly great effort it at last settled on a shape. Heinrich pulled forth his withered old hand and in it he held an apple. A sneer crept across his face.
        The figure of the reformed King darted through the umbras, out of the castle and towards the river. From the royal boat house a small gondala could be seen emerging. It cut through the water and the darkness, the only sounds of its existence the water gently lapping at its sides. Then, with little to no consideration for who was supposed to be in charge of the kingdom in his absence, Heinrich disappeared into the night.

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