Chronicles of Chill: Thriller – Day of the Undead

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Brethren and Sisthren, the Chronicler had retreated from Twilistia to commune with the Tword and cross over into the new year in deep meditation. Lo, in the quiet place, the Chronicler enquired of the Tword, “When will the land of Gambrach and Gejoshaphat see chill? When will the Chronicles end? How much gaddem unchill can a kingdom withstand?”

Yea, from the void, came the tword of the Tword. Behold, they were ancient words once spoken by the glorious bard of global renown, Mikhail Jaksonovic and yet again they rang true –

Darkness falleth across the land

Electoralis is close at hand

Politicals crawl in search of posts

To terrorise the common good

For whosoever shall be found

Without the funds for getting down

Shall face the hounds of Outcast Hell

And rot inside a poverty cell.

“What meanest thou by these words?” the Chronicler enquired, but Tword would not say. All that was revealed was the word to “Go ye back into Twillistia, for something is afoot.”

“Right now?” asked the Chronicler.

“Sha-Mawnne!” the Tword replied.

Thus did the Chronicler peer into Twilistia and Social Mediana, and maigheeeeeeurd, what a sight!

*****

On the eve of the annum nueva, Mooz Ta Fari the new chief scribe to Gambrach, who had succeeded Balavida, approached the King in his chambers to bring a matter of grave importance to the King’s attention. “Sire, before the hour striketh ushering in the annum nueva, there remaineth the matter of His Majesty’s appointments to the Chocolate Tea Pot Councils. It has been nearly 3 years of our Chocolate Tea Pot Councils having no handles.”

“What? No chocolate tea pot handles all this time???” asked the King in disbelief, looking towards Kyocera, the Head of the King’s Staff at Bedrock. “Didn’t Balavida manage to sort it out before he encountered the kwarapta intrusivo weeds?”

“Majesty, indeed he did, but thou wast in glorious convalescence at the time and he, we, knew not how to make the appointments in thine absence.”

The King asked to see the list of nominees but was thoroughly unimpressed by what he saw. “Are these the best the kings have to offer the people? You know the people remain much pissed off by the persistence of the famine petrolatum. These names must not be the flame to their fuel.”

“Great king, these are the Apicurean gentry – lords and their serfs who stood with us in the battles of the past. Majesty, if I may, these councils are called chocolate tea pot councils for a reason…” replied Kyocera.

“Well, this is not good enough for me. I want ye to comb the Kingdom thoroughly for the best of the best of the Apicurean gentry. And I mean, everywhere! High and low, far and wide. The people deserve nothing but the best – chocolate tea pot or not. Leave no stone unturned! Heck, leave no tombstone unturned even! ”

The King’s men all looked at each other in confusion and the Gambrach saw their hesitation. “You know what? Fetch me FemCallami…”

“My King! My great, glorious, fragrant King! I am here! I am never far from thee! Behold, I was standing at the door waiting for your summons. Leave it all to me, thy most loyal FemCallamitus. I will find the finest, most eminently qualified names in the land for thee! As thou hast said O King, my motto shall be ‘No stone unturned, No tombstone unturned!'”

*******

The foulest stench is in the air

The funk of 57 years

And goony ghouls from every tomb

Are closing in to seal the doom

And though the teapot’s not alive

Its body starts to shiver

For no mere mortal can resist

The evil of … the thriller…

  • Mikhail Jaksonovic

******

FemCallamitus thought long and hard about the task with which he had been entrusted. If he was going to leave no tombstone unturned in his quest, he knew he would need the help of one man. Trouble was, the man was a Padipalian (it was complicated, as he had also been an Apicurian) and now a sworn enemy of Gambrach – could he be convinced to come to Gambrach’s aid?

No stone unturned, no tombstone unturned, muttered FemCallamitus under his breath, as he waited for the servants to summon their lord.

“What seekest thou here, thou common, poorly educated scribe?” the lord of the house demanded of FemCallamitus.

Espirit de corps,” said FemCallamitus, “thou hast also been a King’s Quill, oh great Farhni Kay – thou knowest the burden we bear and more importantly, for my mission, thou knowest things mere men do not.”

“Well, indeed, I do,” said Farhni Kay, his ego having been somewhat stroked, “what demandest thou of me? For thou knowest I canst never side again with thy King.”

“Side with me, then, Comrade. I ask for the help for myself, for I need to visit the Great Beyond.”

“If thou wanted to die, even a corporal in the King’s Army could have put a sword to your heart…”

Visit, dear friend, not a permanent journey, for tis not yet my time. I need to visit and return.”

“Now, look, dear boy, I am many things, but soothsayer is not one of them, so I’m not quite sure what…”

“…take me to the Illuminati!” FemCallamitus finally spat out. “Thou art the most versed in the ways of the Illuminati. Thou seest their unseen hand where no other man in the Kingdom dost. Thine eyes are not mere ojunus lassan – lo, thou seest with illuminatic eye beyond ephemerality. Only the Illuminati can facilitate the interviews I need to conduct to complete my quest. Help me, Farhni Kay, help me!”

Farhni Kay was quiet, for what seemed like an eternity. “Very well, then. But I must warn thee – there are rules and consequences…”

“I will do what must be done! For this is my mantra – no stone unturned, no tombstone unturned!”

*****

It was the day of the presentation of the members and handles of the chocolate tea pot councils. They would all gather in the square, to be shown to the people as appointed of the King.

There was yet unchill from the petrolatum affair, but the people were curious to see what appointments that took half a quadrannium to make looked like.

One by one, the appointed members and handles came forward to receive their scrolls of appointment from Gar Bar, who presided over the ceremony. Handing the scrolls to Gar Bar, smiling and looking very pleased with himself was FemCallamitus. The ceremony was proceeding nicely.

But lo, just as Gar Bar was about to compliment FemCallamitus on his good work, the lights suddenly dimmed and a dark, putrid stench filled all of Twilistia and in a flash, before the people stood 10…well…the Chronicler must confess that he knoweth what to call the beings that stood there. They were not of the living but they were certainly not quite of the dead. “Give us our scrolls,” they demanded.

“These are the ten special, most eminently qualified appointees of which I spake to thee,” announced FemCallamitus proudly. “I vetted and fetched them myself. They will be the best chocolate tea pot handles ever!”

“YOU DID WHAAAAAAT?” screamed Gar Bar.

“YOU DID WHAAAAAAAAAAT?” screamed the Social Medianites and the People of Twilistia.

“YOU DID WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?” screamed Kyocera from his perch in Castle Bedrock.

“FFS!” screamed Gambrach. “WTF??? GTFOH!!!”

Needless to say, brethren, this time with even Bedrock inclusive, there was not a speck, nary an atom, not even a molecule of gaddem chill in the entire gaddem kingdom!

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Chronicles of Chill: Descent into Pyongification

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Far, far, far to the East of the Kingdom was the land of Pyongistan. It was a land under the benevolent dynastic rulership of Emperor Lil Kimz, who ascended the most heavenly throne upon the death of his father the Notoriously B.I.G. Kimz.

In the annals of all the kings and emperors of all the four corners of the world, none were funnier than the Kimz Dynasty. Everything they did was so gaddem funny, unless they explicitly meant it not to be, in which case the consequence of laughter was a quick and painful death. The way they talked, the way they talked, the way the ate and did all the things they did  filled their famished, impoverished and dehumanised citizens with laughter and gratitude, for they knew they were fortunate to have such emperors as the Kimzes.

And lo, news of this great and glorious land came to the Spinning Quills of Gambrach and behold were they amazed. The people of Pyongistan were far more impoverished and famished than the people of Gambrach and yet they were filled with so much slavish gratitude. Only 28 days looking for petrolatum and the people complained as though there had been a hollow cost of nuclear. Yea, after buying the petrolatum, it was the benevolence of King Gambrach permitted them to be turnt at musical performances by all the bards in the land – Dei Vid, Dei Kun, See Me and the likes.

Behold, the scribes simply knew in their hearts that Gambrach was filled with much more humour than the Kimzes, for when Gambrach was struck with the mysterious affliction that vanished him, all was lost save his sense of humour. It was such a spectacular residue that the Jandinian meisters had taken sample specimens to cultivate, in the hope that one day it might be the answer to global suffering.

“Fellow Spinners,” said Gar Bar, “ye knowest that Gambrach our King is the funniest of all, no matter what the Pyongistani mirrors say.”

“Oh yes!” agreed FemCallamitus, very quickly. “In fact, anytime I am with him, yea  even within 5 meters of the locus of his presence, I get heady with humourphilia and my body and soul are ravaged with laughter.”

“Oh dear!” exclaimed Bee Ree, “thou comest again with the unending contest between thy body and soul over which of them loveth Gambrach more. Perhaps ye shouldst allow Gar Bar finish his thought.”

“Well, my dear Lady Bee Ree, I believe the animus of FemCallamitus is what we need to infect the people with. Behold, they need to see King Gambrach not just as we do, but indeed, as FemCallamitus does.”

FemCallamitus did a cartwheel in excitement, salivating in pavlovian delight at the mention of the King’s name.

Ignoring him, Lady Bee Ree enquired of Gar Bar, “what proposeth thou?”

“We shall put on a dramatization of theatre, to show the entire world, even unto the Pyongistani fields, that humoured leaves or lands or air, none with Gambrach can compare.”

“Fascinating!” exclaimed FemCallamitus. “Might I propose the title for this dramatization of theatre? Can we call it the Epiphany of the Ephemerally Woeful Wailers of the Great Glorious Majestic Humour of the Unashen UnLeared King Gambrach, His Most Divine Grace?”

“Oh god!” exclaimed Lady Bee Ree, with an especially scornful side eye. “I’m sure Gar Bar had something less pathetic in mind. More importantly, which actors shall we engage for the dramatization of theatre?”

“We shall engage no actors, for who knoweth the King’s real version as well as we do? And as for the title of the dramatization of theatre, there it is – we shall call it ‘Real Gambrach of Rockywood’ that the people may know that it will be lit.”

And thus it was, in the heat of the famine petrolatum 2.0, right bang in the season of the Tide of Yule, that news came to the people of the theatrical Real Gambrach of Rockywood was to be performed across the land, starring the Spinning Quills.

Lo, the people came to watch, even though they had scant petrolatum for their lamps to light the paths. They had to see what the gaddem fuss was about and why the dramatization could not wait until after the famine.

The dramatization began with Bee Ree alone on stage, the spotlight on her, for the King’s Quills had no lack of petrolatum for their own lamps. “Oh that ye wouldst know the Real Gambrach of Rockywood. He is so funny that…HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” She could not finish her lines for the laughter consumed her.

Gar Bar thought he could rescue the occasion, saying “Once, Moborius came into the Council Room to see Gambrach and… HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!” He also could not continue, laughing uncontrollably.

FemCallamitus saw that his moment had come. He thought he could steal their thunder while they both rolled about on the stage in humourised delirium. “Tis true, the Real Gambrach of Rockywood is amazingly…” he broke off, sensing the fit about to descend upon him, but he quickly regained control and continued. “…amazingly funny. The time my quill had a yellow feather instead of the usual black one, he…. HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.”

Lo, there they were, the scribes of Gambrach, guffawing, hee-hawing and slapping each others’ backs.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA.

 

The people saw it, yet believed it not. “IS THIS THE DRAMATISATION YE CONDEMNDED US TO SACRIFICE OUR PRECIOUS PETROLATUM TO WATCH????

Brethren, the scribes of Gambrach – the Spinning Quills – were pyongified. And there was no gaddem chill in the land.

 

 

 

 

Chronicles of Chill: Famine Petrolatum 2.0 – Manz Not Bovvered

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It was the Tide of Yule and all over the kingdom, not a gaddem thing moved. Not a chariot nor a coach. Twas not because there were glad tidings of great joyous chill, nay. For as it was in the prequel, twas now, and the people feared it was ever to be, world without end. Only those brave enough to face the wizards, demons and orcs of the Night Market could obtain it. There was no petrolatum in the land and there was no chill to be found.

For on the eve of the Tide of Yule, it was the festival of the birth of King Gambrach. Officially he had attained the age of three and three quarter scores, but yea did the people question his scroll of nativato as they did his scroll de minimis. And yea, did all the kings of the 37 kingdoms gather in Bedrock for the feast, using the last of the petrolatum in the kingdom to propel their winged chariots to Boo Jar.

Behold, when they reached Bedrock, they gathered in the Room of Fournicaketion, where 4 confectionary altars had been built to Mediocrates, the patron saint of the reign of Gambrach.

“Welcome O kings of orient and elsewhere in the kingdom, bearing gifts and having traversed from afar, ye kings who commission fields and fountains for thy people. Welcome to this great feast of my day of birth.

“Behold, I am filled with joy, for only 5 years ago, none of ye would have gathered to celebrate with me. Now I am blessed with thy smiles of insincerity and sycophancy, o fortunate me. Let us thank Mediocrates for such a blessed day. Lift up thy hands towards the monuments of Fournicaketion, that our patron saint may bless us and make us more like him in the years ahead.”

And the kings all stretched out their hands to the monuments of Fournicaketion for the blessings of Mediocrates and they quivered with a mundane frenzy as the lights dimmed and the spirit of Mediocrates enveloped them. “Hail Mediocrates!” they cried, “and our gratitude to him for his hand upon our king, Gambrach!”

Moborious was in their midst to record the scene for posterity and yea, as his engraving came to the people, their unchill was further unchilled. For here were their kings cheesing in the midst of the hardship of the proletariat. Yea, even the Lovengers were incensed, with the former object of their love and devotion speaking a nary a word of comfort to the people.

Lo, the days rolled into weeks and the weeks into a fortnight and the people languished at the petrolatum dispensaries, waiting desperately to power their chariots and their domestic machines of electricitato, for as usual, the King’s electricitato supply was inexistent. Yea, did the people sweat profusely in their chariots and in their homes, for manz was hot.

“What causeth the famine petrolatum this time?” the people asked in frustration. “Is Gambrach no longer the Head Councillor for Petrolatum?” But Gambrach unlooked and their cries reached him not, for he was afflicted again by the Many Years Disease.

Wherefore E-Dawg descended from his garden of chill to let the people know the reason. “Yo peeps, what’s good, homies? What it is, right, is the Night King be tripping, yo! Winter be coming like super quick and our OG’s at the Wall be burning the petrolatum to keep the Night King and his ice dragon at bay. In other words gees, winter be coming!”

And the people were confused, for manz was so gaddem hot!

Lo, in this summer of discontent rose a new bard in the land. His name was K-Dawg and twas whispered that he might even be the son of E-Dawg. But the Tword does not deal in rumours and conspiracies. And K-Dawg, lined up the chariots of Dinobetes Mellitus, singing songs of the extravagance, debauchery and flossery of Dinobetes. Yea, did Dinobetes Mellitus himself, a member of the senatii, join in the performance, dancing the dance of Ajekunsis Iyatosis. “Betes! Betes! No faeces! No faeces! Wenches and mead flow like I’m a different species” went the witless chant, trapping all who yielded to its profane seduction.

The people could not believe it and cried out louder, yet Gambrach unlooked and unheard it all.

The councillors of Gambrach all retreated from Social Mediana, forced into reclusion by the rising waves of unchill. Unable to withstand it any longer, they entered into his chamber to enquire of him why he spake not unto the people. Behold, they were confused for what they saw. For in the chamber with Gambrach were Jandinian wordsmith Da Pah – who had only recently risen to global fame – and Lady Kem Shun translating the music into speech which Gambrach would find intelligible.

“O great and noble Gambrach, twice ruler of the 37 Kingdoms, twice the Head Councillor for Petrolatum, we come bringing the cries of the people to thee, for they are stranded and dripping with perspiration. Wilt thou, O King, not send a word to give them succour in these times?”

And Gambrach looked upon them, smiling. “Yo, have I learnt a new melody today. Behold I shall sing it for ye. Yo, they told me fix petrolatum but I told them manz not bovvad. Yo, they said take off your ear plugs but I told them manz not bovvad. Tis, how do the youth say, wicked, is it not?”

And lo, in that chamber in Bedrock and unto the ends of the kingdom, there was no gaddem chill.

Chronicles of Chill: The Pursuit of Happyness

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Brethren, it was a monsoon of unchills in the kingdom and the floods and landslides were unrelenting.

In the constabulary of the Kingdom, many quadrannia ago, an elite squad was formed to combat the league of marauders ravaging the kingdom. The squad was known as the High Intensity Violence squad (or HIV, for short) and HIV was a fiery force of ferocious and phantasmagorical fiction. For lo, the people suffered at the hands of the HIV squad much more than the bandits did. The HIVs waylaid travellers, extorted hackney carriage drivers and were a pestilence that destroyed both by day and night. The cup of the people’s unchill overflowed and thus the hash was tagged copiously in Social Mediana to stop HIV.

The hash was tagged unto the ends of Digital Perusia, until it was picked up by the Jazzy Rah newsbringers. High Constable Heebra Driss tried to dismiss it as the orchestration of bandits but the National Association of Bandits and Marauders (NabAm) issued a proclamation that the HIVs were their friends. Thus it was that Heebra Driss announced a reorganisation of HIV. But the people would not have it. “Stop HIV today!” they protested and tagged, in their unchill.

In Kogitamia, land of Dinobetes Mellitus, under the kingship of Yaya Bellows, the spirit of compensatio non completus was upon the land and the wages of the people in the king’s service unpaid for many months. The people insisted the demon Missingstopheles had wreaked this havoc for 10 months but King Bellows and his attack dogs told them to STFU and stop being ungrateful, for it was but a mere 8 months, insufficient even for a woman to reach birth pains.

And yea, was there severe lack amongst the Kogitarians as the season of Yule came upon the kingdom, for the people were short of coin. King Bellows knew he had to do something to lift their spirits. “Come,” he said to his councillors, “we shall build a new palace! Be sure that no expense is spared.”

“Oh wise king! We kuku don’t have any expense to spare but we rejoice that his majesty wishes to build a palace to uplift the mood of his people.”

Behold, the palace was built and it was yuuuuuuuuge. Yea, did King Bellows proclaim it far and wide that the palace was to be declared open. And so his councillors approached him asking, “Sire, shall we now arrange how the citizens shall take it in turns to visit the Palace of Lifting Moods and indulge in its mood-lifting hospitality?”

Lo, did King Bellows emit a wicked and evil laugh, “Muahahahahaha!!! Ye fools! How thinkest ye that I would build this palace for anyone’s dwelling but myself!? No, no, no, no, no! Let the people look upon its sujimotic luxury so that happiness might kinetically crystallise in their hearts!”

The news came to the people and they were sorely unchilled.

“The king is the demon Missingstopheles! He is the spirit of compensatio non completus! For he took from us to make himself rich!”

“Nonsense!” replied the attack dogs of King Bellows. “The king was a man of unquantifiable wealth before electoralis. He needest not thy pittance.”

“For reals?” asked the people. “What was his occupation? Behold the scroll of the Wikipedians on him – it starts and ends with electoralis! There is a great unchill in our hearts!!!!”

King Roe Chazz beheld the great storms from his Kingdom faraway in Imolek and resolved yet again that his people needed to be happy. He too was a devotee of the spirit of compensatio non completus, forcing the retired Kingsmen and Kingswomen to forfeit portions of their coin of retirement. He thought deeply to himself, “I have given my people two beautiful erections of shining massive rigidity but lo, they are not titillated. Perhaps I have not yet gone far enough to bring them to a place of pleasure. Let me look into the recesses of my mind for something else. Aha! I shall create a council for Merriment and Coitus Fulfilment and dedicate the resources of the kingdom to their unbridled pleasure. Hmmm. But this is a huge task and of utmost importance. What greater gift can a king give to his people? I cannot leave this mission to just anyone. I can only appoint someone I trust implicitly. I shall appoint my sister, Lady L.O.L. for yea, have I prophesied that my people shall laugh out loud.

And thus it was that the new councillorship under Lady L.O.L. was announced. Brethren, Roe Chazz never hesperred the unchill that followed. “Thou appointest thy own sister? For coitus fulfilment? Thou are not only a despot, thou art a nepot!” the people protested.

King Roe Chazz was confused and asked his council, “Why do the Imolekites want to be unfortunate and become Imodiums? The spirit of Evrar is upon me and I want to give them my energie! Why don’t they want to tekkit?”

“Sire, perhaps it is the invasion of his majesty into their coitus that they protest. Perhaps, Oh King, Coitus Fulfilment should remain a private matter?”

King Roe Chazz knew at that moment that he had gawked, but what is a king if he cannot be imperial in his infallibility? “Coitus? Coitus?? Which one of you idiots misread my sublime thoughts? How could it be that I said Coitus Fulfilment? Geez! I said Core Torso. Core Torso. Yoga sturves. After ye makest merry, ye shall then do yoga to strengthen thy cores and torsos. Go and tell the people that they misheard.”

But it was too gaddem late.

And then, just when it seemed there could possibly not be any further unchill, Oje Marina swung wide his gates again and sent a message into Social Mediana for King Gambrach.

Oh great and just king. I wouldst have brought this message to thee myself but the haters around his majesty would then hand me over to the Everly Failing at Convictions Commission; and we cannot have that. O King, I am a great recoverer and a saver. Yea, have I saved the Kingdom more times than Ser De Gea against the arsenal of Wen Gar. Lo, the spirit of the Flow Rider is even upon me and I have and shall and wish to blow his whistle baby whistle baby. Be ye not perplexed if this is confusing, for that was my aim.

“And now in thy moment of dazzlement, I beseech thee. It is said of me that I stole a quadrillion shekels but yea did I, as a great recoverer, recover a gazillion in the quadrannium of King Gejoshaphat. And if thou wouldest let me, I would recover even more. And thou knowest thou needest all the coin possible for the coming season of electoralis. If thou wouldst only pay me half of a tithe of this gazillion and remove the paltry quadrillion which sullies my name, then in the words of the great prophet Christus Martina, I will try to fix you.”

Yea, did the people hear it. And lo, was there no gaddem chill in the land.