Categories > Original > Humor > Deconstruction
Most Worthy
1 reviewEmal thought that being messenger of the gods would be a cool gig: He makes his own hours and they let him smite stuff pretty much at will. However, he hadn't counted on a certain taser-happy supe...
1Original
Thank you for reading chapter one... (-Diana R. Flynn) (drf24@columbia.edu)
I would like to thank a little muse named Big Evil.
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.
.
.
.
Exterior: rock fields just above the treeline of Mt. Lorel. Camera pans to the craggy silhouette of the summit against the changing clouds. Angle changes to the cliffs; we have a stunning view of a city beside a river, obviously a day or more away on foot. Camera angle pans again, and we see a weary young man in a dusty but elaborately embroidered robe. Something small flutters over his shoulder. We see a tiny angel-like being with white wings. Though without a stitch of clothing, her hair, wings or limbs always seem to keep us from seeing more than an outline. She speaks:
AMLAH: Don't lose hope, young master Emal!
EMAL: (covers his eyes in a gesture of extreme weariness) I'm so tired...
AMLAH: It's not much further yet! We must reach the temple at Coratheim!
EMAL: Why? When I get there, they're just going to make fun of me.
AMLAH: Now why do you think that? Silly!
EMAL: People always make fun of me! Whenever we go to this temple or that capital or this sacred monument do people say, "Look! It's Emal, the plucky young mage who defeated the demoness Iarim!" or "Isn't that the man who turned Baron Obidiah 'Big Evil Baron Guy' of Haddivale into a lemur?" NO! (plucks at the front of his robe) They just say "Who's that dork in the dress?"
AMLAH: (looks down, muttering) It's not a dress; it's a robe, the robe of the gods, given to the messenger of--
EMAL: It's a dress! The messenger of the gods job is supposed to go to a girl in my family and you know it!
AMLAH: (mutters)
EMAL: (raving) But nooooooo! My generation had to be all male! And I had to be the "most worthy!" It sucks!
AMLAH: Come now. We must hurry on...
EMAL: Figures. I get a cute naked chick for my sidekick and she's three inches tall and annoying as yakrash.
AMLAH: (offended) Three and one-quarter inches tall!
EMAL: (begins to move down the mountain) Yeah, whatever Tinkerbelle... What I wouldn't give for a cool sidekick. (sighs) So why are we going over Mr Lorel anyway? My feet are killing me.
AMLAH: (points) What a vista!
EMAL: I've got blisters up to my ankles because you wanted to take the scenic route?!
AMLAH: Surely a few blisters are repaid by the chance to see the gods' handiwork in such a--
EMAL: That's easy coming from someone who doesn't walk!! (fumes) At least I'll never have to come back here again. That's right. This story will NEVER take us back to Mt. Lorel, not even--
(A scream is heard off in the treeline.)
AMLAH: A wrong to be righted! (zooms toward it)
EMAL: A plot point! (follows her. Emal begins to wince with each step) Ow... Ow... Ow...
.
.
Camera zooms by with Amlah's POV as she flies through the spriggy mountain spruces. The sound of screaming grows louder.
AMLAH: Hurry, master Emal, hurry!
EMAL: (still muttering "Ow. Ow. Ow," with each step, he has added to his mantra "Please be a cute girl. Please be a cute girl. Please be a cute girl...") I'm coming! ("Please be a cute girl!") How many prayers is that? I'm the messenger of the gods; I should get the employee discount!
AMLAH: (ahead, unseen) Here, master Emal! Here they are -aaah!!
EMAL: Amlah!
Emal follows her voice, running painfully into a clearing where a gnarly-lookin'
A WOOD BRIGAND has just taken a swipe at Amlah with a mace. Emal quickly surveys the situation -he has stumbled upon a long-term brigand camp, with crude wooden shelters and a fire pit, over which is suspended a cage in which we can see the person screaming -- a very sooty eight year-old boy.
EMAL: Damn it!
AMLAH: Emal! (shakes her finger at him) Ah, ah ah! Eeeek! (dodges another mace swipe)
BRIGAND: Yeh cummon closer, y'eer? I niver et me a sammich made outta no talkin' bird befower!
AMLAH: I'm not a talking bird! I'm a diminutive guardian spirit sent by the gods to guide, protect and motivate their chosen messenger, lest he -- Eeep! (dodges)
BRIGAND: (sees Emal) If'rnya lookin fer trubbul ye bettano findin'it 'ere ya -- wireya werrinna predadress likkintha?
EMAL: Man, I have no idea what you just said, but I think you'd better let that boy out of that cage!
BOY: You tell him, lady!
EMAL: (to boy) I'll deal with you later. (to brigand) Cut him down or else!
BRIGAND: Orellsin wha?
EMAL: Orrellsin this! (Emal places his palms together and his face goes strangely calm.)
AMLAH: But Emal! You must save your strength!
EMAL: Don't worry, Amlah; a level-one invocation should do for this guy! Gods of the firmament, hear your messenger; and send the measure of your will to smite!
(Emal's hair flares up and his clothes blow back in a special effect that would probably make a female messenger look really hot as he lowers his finger toward the Brigand) Smite!
A large fish falls from nowhere, beaning the brigand, who collapses.
AMLAH: (trailing some rope) I'll tie him up, master Emal; you see to the boy.
EMAL: (takes down the cage) Come on out kid; it's all over.
SOOT: Why are you wearing a dress?
EMAL: Yes, you're very welcome to being rescued. Now let's get out of here before the other woodsmen get back!
SOOT: The others are much tougher than this guy! I think the only reason that they left him behind to guard me is that he's old and a little insane and has that striking speech impediment.
BRIGAND: (tied up) I tellin'yeh succha sammich I'damed...
EMAL: So why capture you in the first place? Were they holding you for ransom?
SOOT: ...yes?
EMAL: Amlah? Is the sky blue?
AMLAH: Sure is, silly!
EMAL: Do dogs have four feet?
AMLAH: Sure do!
EMAL: Are we on a mountain right now?
AMLAH: Sure are!
EMAL: Is kidnapping-for-ransom so serious of an offense for a man to commit to justify the most certainly minor crime of my stealing his shoes?
AMLAH: Sure is! (blinks) What-- wait! No it isn't!
EMAL: (takes the Brigand's boots and puts them on) Too late!
AMLAH: Grrr!
.
.
The three of them are picking their way down the mountain toward the river.
EMAL: (happy content look on face) Mmmmmm... Proper ankle support...
AMLAH: (huffs)
EMAL: Almost ...as good ...as meeting ...cute girl...
SOOT: You're wierd. ...look, I know that it's unfair to assume that the a few high-media cases should apply to all of a given priesthood, but should I be running away?
EMAL: What?! (head in hands, muttering) I hate this job...
AMLAH: Fear not little friend Soot! We will reunite you with your parents in Coratheim!
SOOT: Does she always talk like that?
EMAL: Pretty much. So do you know how much ransom the wood brigands were asking for you?
SOOT: Three hundred strings, I think.
EMAL: Wow! So when I bring you back unharmed, they'll probably give me at least--
AMLAH: (hands on tiny hips) Master Emal!
EMAL: What?
AMLAH: The temple masters see to all your worldly needs; why concern yourself with money? What would you buy?
EMAL: Look, this messenger job has crummy hours, mortifying conditions, and a horrible dress code. Don't you think I should get to wear pants on my off-time? How am I supposed to pick up chicks in this thing?
AMLAH: Master Emal, you will not ask this poor boy's parents for money!
EMAL: Actually, for three hundred strings they sound far from poor!
AMLAH: Master Emal!
SOOT: Why do you worry what she says? She's like three inches tall.
AMLAH: (background) Three and one-quarter!
EMAL: (sighs) The gods sent Amlah to me so that I'd never lose my way.
SOOT: Yeah, but it's not like she can make you do anything.
(In the background, we see Amlah huff, very offended.)
EMAL: Well, no, but I really should listen to her stupid whining because if I don't she'll just rat on me to the boss.
(Amlah pulls out a slender metal box and clicks the big red button. Emal's whole body goes rigid and he falls over twitching as we hear a loud BZZZZZT!!)
SOOT: I see... (inches away)
.
.
.
Thank you for reading chapter one... (-Diana R. Flynn) (drf24@columbia.edu)
I would like to thank a little muse named Big Evil.
.
.
.
.
.
Exterior: rock fields just above the treeline of Mt. Lorel. Camera pans to the craggy silhouette of the summit against the changing clouds. Angle changes to the cliffs; we have a stunning view of a city beside a river, obviously a day or more away on foot. Camera angle pans again, and we see a weary young man in a dusty but elaborately embroidered robe. Something small flutters over his shoulder. We see a tiny angel-like being with white wings. Though without a stitch of clothing, her hair, wings or limbs always seem to keep us from seeing more than an outline. She speaks:
AMLAH: Don't lose hope, young master Emal!
EMAL: (covers his eyes in a gesture of extreme weariness) I'm so tired...
AMLAH: It's not much further yet! We must reach the temple at Coratheim!
EMAL: Why? When I get there, they're just going to make fun of me.
AMLAH: Now why do you think that? Silly!
EMAL: People always make fun of me! Whenever we go to this temple or that capital or this sacred monument do people say, "Look! It's Emal, the plucky young mage who defeated the demoness Iarim!" or "Isn't that the man who turned Baron Obidiah 'Big Evil Baron Guy' of Haddivale into a lemur?" NO! (plucks at the front of his robe) They just say "Who's that dork in the dress?"
AMLAH: (looks down, muttering) It's not a dress; it's a robe, the robe of the gods, given to the messenger of--
EMAL: It's a dress! The messenger of the gods job is supposed to go to a girl in my family and you know it!
AMLAH: (mutters)
EMAL: (raving) But nooooooo! My generation had to be all male! And I had to be the "most worthy!" It sucks!
AMLAH: Come now. We must hurry on...
EMAL: Figures. I get a cute naked chick for my sidekick and she's three inches tall and annoying as yakrash.
AMLAH: (offended) Three and one-quarter inches tall!
EMAL: (begins to move down the mountain) Yeah, whatever Tinkerbelle... What I wouldn't give for a cool sidekick. (sighs) So why are we going over Mr Lorel anyway? My feet are killing me.
AMLAH: (points) What a vista!
EMAL: I've got blisters up to my ankles because you wanted to take the scenic route?!
AMLAH: Surely a few blisters are repaid by the chance to see the gods' handiwork in such a--
EMAL: That's easy coming from someone who doesn't walk!! (fumes) At least I'll never have to come back here again. That's right. This story will NEVER take us back to Mt. Lorel, not even--
(A scream is heard off in the treeline.)
AMLAH: A wrong to be righted! (zooms toward it)
EMAL: A plot point! (follows her. Emal begins to wince with each step) Ow... Ow... Ow...
.
.
Camera zooms by with Amlah's POV as she flies through the spriggy mountain spruces. The sound of screaming grows louder.
AMLAH: Hurry, master Emal, hurry!
EMAL: (still muttering "Ow. Ow. Ow," with each step, he has added to his mantra "Please be a cute girl. Please be a cute girl. Please be a cute girl...") I'm coming! ("Please be a cute girl!") How many prayers is that? I'm the messenger of the gods; I should get the employee discount!
AMLAH: (ahead, unseen) Here, master Emal! Here they are -aaah!!
EMAL: Amlah!
Emal follows her voice, running painfully into a clearing where a gnarly-lookin'
A WOOD BRIGAND has just taken a swipe at Amlah with a mace. Emal quickly surveys the situation -he has stumbled upon a long-term brigand camp, with crude wooden shelters and a fire pit, over which is suspended a cage in which we can see the person screaming -- a very sooty eight year-old boy.
EMAL: Damn it!
AMLAH: Emal! (shakes her finger at him) Ah, ah ah! Eeeek! (dodges another mace swipe)
BRIGAND: Yeh cummon closer, y'eer? I niver et me a sammich made outta no talkin' bird befower!
AMLAH: I'm not a talking bird! I'm a diminutive guardian spirit sent by the gods to guide, protect and motivate their chosen messenger, lest he -- Eeep! (dodges)
BRIGAND: (sees Emal) If'rnya lookin fer trubbul ye bettano findin'it 'ere ya -- wireya werrinna predadress likkintha?
EMAL: Man, I have no idea what you just said, but I think you'd better let that boy out of that cage!
BOY: You tell him, lady!
EMAL: (to boy) I'll deal with you later. (to brigand) Cut him down or else!
BRIGAND: Orellsin wha?
EMAL: Orrellsin this! (Emal places his palms together and his face goes strangely calm.)
AMLAH: But Emal! You must save your strength!
EMAL: Don't worry, Amlah; a level-one invocation should do for this guy! Gods of the firmament, hear your messenger; and send the measure of your will to smite!
(Emal's hair flares up and his clothes blow back in a special effect that would probably make a female messenger look really hot as he lowers his finger toward the Brigand) Smite!
A large fish falls from nowhere, beaning the brigand, who collapses.
AMLAH: (trailing some rope) I'll tie him up, master Emal; you see to the boy.
EMAL: (takes down the cage) Come on out kid; it's all over.
SOOT: Why are you wearing a dress?
EMAL: Yes, you're very welcome to being rescued. Now let's get out of here before the other woodsmen get back!
SOOT: The others are much tougher than this guy! I think the only reason that they left him behind to guard me is that he's old and a little insane and has that striking speech impediment.
BRIGAND: (tied up) I tellin'yeh succha sammich I'damed...
EMAL: So why capture you in the first place? Were they holding you for ransom?
SOOT: ...yes?
EMAL: Amlah? Is the sky blue?
AMLAH: Sure is, silly!
EMAL: Do dogs have four feet?
AMLAH: Sure do!
EMAL: Are we on a mountain right now?
AMLAH: Sure are!
EMAL: Is kidnapping-for-ransom so serious of an offense for a man to commit to justify the most certainly minor crime of my stealing his shoes?
AMLAH: Sure is! (blinks) What-- wait! No it isn't!
EMAL: (takes the Brigand's boots and puts them on) Too late!
AMLAH: Grrr!
.
.
The three of them are picking their way down the mountain toward the river.
EMAL: (happy content look on face) Mmmmmm... Proper ankle support...
AMLAH: (huffs)
EMAL: Almost ...as good ...as meeting ...cute girl...
SOOT: You're wierd. ...look, I know that it's unfair to assume that the a few high-media cases should apply to all of a given priesthood, but should I be running away?
EMAL: What?! (head in hands, muttering) I hate this job...
AMLAH: Fear not little friend Soot! We will reunite you with your parents in Coratheim!
SOOT: Does she always talk like that?
EMAL: Pretty much. So do you know how much ransom the wood brigands were asking for you?
SOOT: Three hundred strings, I think.
EMAL: Wow! So when I bring you back unharmed, they'll probably give me at least--
AMLAH: (hands on tiny hips) Master Emal!
EMAL: What?
AMLAH: The temple masters see to all your worldly needs; why concern yourself with money? What would you buy?
EMAL: Look, this messenger job has crummy hours, mortifying conditions, and a horrible dress code. Don't you think I should get to wear pants on my off-time? How am I supposed to pick up chicks in this thing?
AMLAH: Master Emal, you will not ask this poor boy's parents for money!
EMAL: Actually, for three hundred strings they sound far from poor!
AMLAH: Master Emal!
SOOT: Why do you worry what she says? She's like three inches tall.
AMLAH: (background) Three and one-quarter!
EMAL: (sighs) The gods sent Amlah to me so that I'd never lose my way.
SOOT: Yeah, but it's not like she can make you do anything.
(In the background, we see Amlah huff, very offended.)
EMAL: Well, no, but I really should listen to her stupid whining because if I don't she'll just rat on me to the boss.
(Amlah pulls out a slender metal box and clicks the big red button. Emal's whole body goes rigid and he falls over twitching as we hear a loud BZZZZZT!!)
SOOT: I see... (inches away)
.
.
.
Thank you for reading chapter one... (-Diana R. Flynn) (drf24@columbia.edu)
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