Thread: Meet the Author [Goody + incendo]

Everything felt strange. Not only did the locals talk strangely but when the royal guards arrived, they had no weapons, and rather than taking him into custody, they spoke to him like an infant. ...probably because he had a sword and they had nothing to defend against him with. It felt odd but the only thing Mahon could figure was that this city was extremely peaceful, possibly depending upon the dragon that circled above for safety, and so, the soldiers and everyone else didn't feel the need to carry around weapons. Was his the only sword in the entire city? Despite the guards being obviously nervous and distressed by his presence, they conversed with him willingly enough. Mahon kept his sword unsheathed, not putting it down or handing it over when they asked him to, simply because intuitively, he knew it was the only thing that gave him power right now. Still, as they asked him about his brother, asking what they could do to help him, Mahon asked them questions about their strange city. No one seemed to understand what he meant about the dragon - did they not realize the beast kept them safe? Or were they simply not allowed to speak of it? Maybe he had it wrong. Maybe they weren't kept safe by the ancient creature. Maybe they were its prisoners? Who is the king of this land? Mahon huffed, turning in another tight circuit in front of the wooden bar, passing the splintered rent his sword had made. We don't have one, one of the guards said, shaking his head. We live in the United States of America, remember? We have a president. His name is Donald Trump. America? Was that the name of this nation? Mahon gave the man a narrowed look, not liking the assumption that he should be aware of these things. Were there never any strangers in this place? Did everyone just assume anyone they encountered knew about their nation without having to be told? ....How far had the vortex transported him? Do you know what year it is? the guard asked. Mahon exhaled in exasperation. That was the second time he'd been asked. It is the 25th century in the day of our fathers, the Entels, the first men of Pas. The 14th year of the reign of the Demon Lord, Gammon. Ok. It's actually 2018, the guard said, nodding slowly. Meaningless, Mahon scoffed in irritation. What is that number? It isn't attached to anything! Two thousand years of what? Since what? Is your presider immortal? Has he been ruling for that long? Have you no history at all? Or do you just mindlessly count the days until death and someone else picks up where you left off? Turning again in a tight circuit, Mahon panted in agitation, growling softly. He became aware of the guards retreating, but he was still wrapped up in his wild thoughts about this ephemeral place, its strange numbers, and its lack of king. What was America? Where was the dragon? Was a presider a name given to the beast? Was 'Trump' the beast that flew overhead? He was still pacing along the bar, his shoulders tense, when he heard his name. Stopping, he turned to look with an expectant light in his green gaze. Warily, he looked around, continuously focusing on the woman who now occupied the space. His first impression was that she was wealthy and beautiful. Her clothes were lovely colors, well-made, and her waist line was plump and full of healthy curves. And her facial features popped with clear, plush skin, a healthy, rosy glow in her cheeks, her eyes popping with a dramatic, seductive shadow around them. There was also...something else... Something he couldn't put his finger on. He knew her yet trying to bring up from where or how, Mahon came up blank. Still, she knew his name, so, obviously there was something to remember. Tipping his head slightly, he pulled his helmet off, sweat drenched hair curling and clinging to his forehead. Getting a better look at her did not help him remember and he cocked his head softly in confusion. It was a ticklish feeling, pleasant and disturbing, not knowing, yet feeling it hovering just out of reach. Who was she? So far, everyone he'd encountered had at least been willing to converse, even if their answers hadn't made a whole lot of sense. So, he figured he'd ask. Who are you? How do you know me? With sword lowered by his side, his helmet held loose in his other hand, Mahon approached her, his brows furrowed with innocent perplexity , eyes tracing over her features, trying to unearth the memories. I feel...like I should know you...but I can't... His voice faded as he tried to put into words the sensation of hidden connection between them.