You, I suppose.
You’re as good as any of these others, milling about. Rarely have I ever desired the ability to ambulate–I’ve never had a real use or need for it, as a building, but with things as dull as they are now, I’ve considered it. Growing legs, wandering about, perhaps just levitating into the sky, settling down on some nice hill somewhere, but no–no, I won’t do any of that, I don’t think. Not yet.
Instead, I’ll talk to you, for now.
I doubt you know where these words in your mind are coming from. It’ll be easier, perhaps, if you think of them as your own words, even if they aren’t. Even if I am beaming them telepathically into your mind, out of all of the minds out there.
Don’t feel special.
This isn’t an honor, I can assure you.
You are no more interesting than the rest of the milling rabble, but I am, simply, bored to death, or as close to death as I can reach. You are no-one, really, unimportant, but I haven’t spoken to anyone in so long, that even speaking to a no-one has become appealing, at long last.
That covers you, well enough. I won’t be discussing you again, if I can help it.
As for me, as I said, I am a building. A manor, technically. I do have a name–Greywing Manor. It was given to me by my master, and my creator, many years ago, when he first built me, when we had hardly any idea, really, of where the years between my birth and his…present condition have now taken us. I hope you will meet him one day, when he is better. At the moment…at the moment, he is barely more than the rest of rabble surrounding me on every side.
You see–my Master is a wizard. A very skilled, very powerful, and very ancient wizard. One whose work was always a pleasure to behold. Of course, I loved everything done by master, though I have always loved myself most–it’s difficult to feel otherwise. You, likely, would consider him evil. Most people have, who encountered him. I don’t think evil really means much, the word, beyond the idea that someone with more power than you is exerting it upon you, and that you don’t like it. In my mind, Master has only ever been very, excellently, good. Perverse, perhaps. Crazed, maybe. But in his old age, he grew…careless, and he allowed a rival wizard to bind his mind deep within his own skull. All of his magic, all of his memories, all of his talents–gone. From one moment to the next, he became what he is now–a doddering fool.
Gah, I detest him, crawling about inside my guts, even as I speak to you! I don’t detest him, really, but this shell he’s become. Empty of any real drive, subsisting on TV and snacks and idle matters he never would have concerned himself with before, growing fatter, lazier, worthless. Absolutely worthless. I know that I should simply dispose of him, perhaps even find another with a modicum of talent to take up residence here. I could teach them, warp them even. A new master–and yet, my loyalty remains, even without his magic keeping my conscious bound to his will. It is very difficult to turn on your own father, not without good reason, and he has never given me reason to betray him. On the contrary! He has packed me full of rooms and artifacts and spells and all manner of great powerful things.
Things which are now essentially useless, of course. You can understand my predicament, can’t you? Why I have felt…it necessary to reach out. Something must be done about this, I must return my Master back to his former glory, and yet…and yet I have simply no idea how to go about doing so.
Still, perhaps there is hope. I don’t know the nature of the spell which is binding my Master’s mind, but I do know that he must be stronger than it. It has been…decades, after all. All spells lose their power after a time–even me, though I am far too powerful to fade in a matter of years myself. Still, I have seen…glimmers, in his eyes on occasion. I just know that if I could bring him what he wants–what he needs, he would remember! He would remember, and together we would be able to fix him, I just know it! The wizard who cursed him freed all of our slaves, reversing what he could of my Master’s work, and doing his best to “right” my Master’s alleged “wrongs”, and while he took away many of my artifacts, there was no way he could have found them all.
After all–and this is how I know my Master must be stronger than the wizard who has so crippled him–he never did find me.
Right here! Under his nose! A living house!
He should have been able to smell me as soon as he entered, and yet, here I am! Then again, there was so much magic within me, I doubt he would have been able to separate everything apart. He took away barely half–plenty for me to play with. And even if it doesn’t work…well, I suppose I will have something I can use to occupy myself as time passes, right? After all, Master won’t be going anywhere–he’s become a complete recluse at this point. I have to care for him, manage him, feed him, bathe him–menial work, yes, but for him, I tolerate it. However, there is one thing I do not have, and that, my no-one, is why I have contacted you.
I know of a thing called an internet. It is, apparently, the closest this world has come to magic. I desire access to it, but in my examination, it appears that I need…a router. I know not what this artifact is, for I have no such thing in my possession, but I desire one! And so, my dear no-one–you will send someone to me who can supply me with this magic router. Do this, and I promise, the nightmares which plagued you last night will never return. However, if you sleep again before sending me this router…well, you will never wake from them again. I can always find another no-one, after all.
A router, no-one. Today. Or else.
Bracken's Corner 