Episode One - Hamilton's Welcome to the Witching World

MEDUSA: Hello, darlings. And welcome. To the Medusa Gorgon's Academy for Young Witches. My academy. And this is not the usual story about Chosen Ones going out to save the day. It's the recordings of characters sitting around having conversations with one another. It's really quite boring, but if you want to listen to it, who am I to stop you? Perhaps you'll find it strangely...enchanting...Almost like these kids are putting a spell on you. By the end of it, you may end up far more DRAMATIC!!! Than you were when you started.

MUSIC: THEME SONG.

SOUNDSCAPE: SCHOOL ATMOSPHERE. STUDENTS TALKING AND LAUGHING. SPELL CASTING.

SOUND EFFECT: BELL CHIMES THE HOUR.

HAMILTON: This world is chock full of CHAOTIC QUEER DRAMA!!! And it all begins with me, the Chosen One. Welcome. To the Witching World.

AARON: What are you doing?

HAMILTON: I'm recording a podcast about my life here at Medusa Gorgon's Academy.

AARON: You're making a podcast? About your life at magical school? Who would want to listen to a podcast like that?

HAMILTON: People love Harry Potter so why not a parody of it? Besides, there are thousands of successful fictional podcasts about characters just sitting around a table talking about their lives. Podcasts like Hello from the Magic Tavern, Inn Between, and Welcome to Night Vale. I deserve to be heard just as much as any of them.

SIMONE: (LOW) Yeah. Everyone wants to listen to a podcast about you.

AARON: Those guys are funny. You're not funny. Do you even know what you're doing?

HAMILTON: Sorta. I thought that I could talk to other people about this. Because I don't know the first thing about any of this. Like magic is a thing?

SIMONE: Yes, Hamilton. Magic is a thing.

HAMILTON: Have I had this my entire life?

SIMONE: Yes, Hamilton. You've had it your entire life.

HAMILTON: Then why didn't 't I realised it earlier?

AARON: Because you're as observant as that other magical kid from that other magical school with big round glasses. You know the one. That kid from Hogwash. What's his name again?

JON: Larry Nutter.

AARON: Right. That kid.

SIMONE: You're not dumb. You're just a victim of the Chosen One trope.

HAMILTON: What's that supposed to mean?

SIMONE: As a Chosen One, you cannot unlock your true potential until you reach a certain age. Then a mentor will find you and introduce you to the world of magic. This is tried and true storytelling, it's been focus grouped, and it works. But the author just wants to poke fun of it because this is a parody.

HAMILTON: Oh.

SIMONE: You still don't get it, do you?

HAMILTON: Not really, no.

SIMONE: You were chosen by a god, probably Baldr, and-or by the school, to save the Sun Kingdom.

AARON: Or they just chose you to swindle money out of you. After all, the previous Chosen Ones who enrolled here have all mysteriously disappeared and they need the money to support the program.

HAMILTON: Wow. Thanks. That's really encouraging.

AARON: Just saying.

SIMONE: I'm sure you'll be fine.

HAMILTON: Do you know why they disappear?

JON: No. It's a mystery.

AARON: Just the usual Chosen One stuff. They fall in love with their other half, the Chosen One of Loki; they get themselves killed by idiotically going into dungeons. That kind of stuff.

HAMILTON: Right. Of course.

SIMONE: But that won't happen with you. Usually the love interest is straight in front of you.

AARON: Of course, there might be nothing straight about you.

SIMONE: Why would you say that? You know nothing about him.

AARON: Relax. It was a joke. (LOW) Mostly.

HAMILTON: So what's going to happen to me?

SIMONE: Nothing if you don't go looking for trouble. But then again, there can't really be any story if you don't. So...what do you want to do next time? Go on a dungeon crawl?

HAMILTON: Why should we do that? You just said that I'll be able to stay alive, but only if I don't go looking for trouble, and going on a dungeon crawl sounds like looking for trouble.

SIMONE: No one would get anywhere if we didn't go looking for trouble. And they who hesitate are lost.

AARON: Are you quoting A Series of Unfortunate Events at us?

SIMONE: Perhaps. But at least I was completely gender neutral about it.

AARON: True, true.

HAMILTON: What's to be gained by going on one?

SIMONE: 100 gold, the most powerful wand in the Witching World, et cetera. If nothing else, you might be able to gain enough experience points to level up so you're less squishy.

AARON: The most powerful wand in the Witching World, huh? Interesting...I may be inclined to join you.

HAMILTON: Why is my archenemy my friend?

SIMONE: I'm not entirely sure. This one's pretty unprecedented. But he may prove useful. After all, he is another body to defend you.

HAMILTON: Huh. And you? Are you coming?

SIMONE: Sure. Got nothing better to do.

JON: And I go wherever you go because I’m your sidekick. I just hope I have more of a part in the second episode.

HAMILTON: I hope so too. Come, my friends. Adventure awaits!

AARON: That catchphrase doesn’t seem right.

SIMONE: I agree with Aaron, and you know how much I hate to agree with him. We'll keep workshopping it.

HAMILTON: Okay.

MUSIC: THEME SONG.

MEDUSA: Welcome. To Medusa Gorgon's Academy for Young Witches. A podcast about witches. Not wizards and witches. Just witches named Hamilton who's actually named Tyler Petty, Aaron Moriarty who's actually named Chris Gettel-Martin, Simone Cringer who's actually named Kirsten Schuele-vanaken, and Jon Watsy who's actually named Ben Martin. Today's proverb: Don't let the modern media fool you. Your Harry Potter was a witch, not a wizard. He probably even went to our school, but I don’t actually know nor do I actually care. You can become a student of our school at patreon.com/rachelrauch, not that you aren't already. Or you can follow us on all the realms of...social media by searching for Medusa Gorgon's Academy for Young Witches and by leaving us good reviews and ratings on your podcasting feed. I'm not sure what witchcraft this is, but our producer and omniscient GM says that it will help us get more people interested. The more people discover us then this is not a complete waste of time. Ta-ta for now! Keep calm and witch on.

Imogen stood in the middle of the ruins of an old castle by the name of Castell Dinas Brân clutching the emerald and silver pendant of two snakes coiled around each other dangling from her neck and a trunk in the other. (The author knows that this isn’t the best first sentence, or first paragraph, for that matter, but it gets better, trust me.)

There was the sound of a branch snapping, causing Imogen to turn. She saw a genderly ambiguous person with tan brown skin in a tailcoat and trousers wearing a red cape. Ey walked over with a bone parasol, swinging it around like it’s nothing. The gold chain of a pocket watch dangled out of eir pockets. Ey stared into Imogen’s soul with storm grey blue eyes, and if Imogen had looked close enough, she would have seen eir true form as a skeleton.

Ey strolled straight up to her and stopped right next to her. Ey stared at her for a second and then turned eir attention to the place where the portal was supposed to appear.

Imogen narrowed her eyes at em for a moment. Then she turned back around, cleared her throat, and raised her wand to the air. Closing her eyes, Imogen focused on reciting the incantation to call the planes and cause them to warp together. “Magic is love./Magic is life./Open to me, O Witching World, to grant me knowledge for a life full of strife.” (The witch who wrote the incantation and carved the door to enter the world was bitter about her all-powerful knowledge and blamed magic for her depression. To her, ignorance would have been bliss and she was trying to save people from turning into her. In a sense, she was right. Most drama seemed to stem from people fooling around with magic, more specifically magic potions.)

As soon as she had spoken the words, ancient, black, ornate double doors with the number 9 3/4 and brass lion head door knockers emerged out of the ground, causing the ground to ripple like water. Around the frame of the door, it read “Lasciate ogne speranza, voi ch’intrate,” which meant “Abandon all hope, ye who enter here.” (Told you this witch was bitter.)

With a sigh, she stepped forward and put her hand up to one of the knockers. Suddenly, the lions came to life and roared at her, trying to scare her away. She hit the heads on the nose with the end of her broom, causing their mighty roars to turn into pained whimpers, and grasped the brass handle of one of the lions. Bringing it down three times, the doors opened and revealed bright light that she was blindly supposed to walk into.

As soon as the door was opened, the person brushed straight past Imogen, bumping her shoulder against Imogen’s, and stepped through, disappearing into the light. (It may be worth noting that one can only enter through the door if they were a witch or they had magic.)

Imogen looked straight up at the narrator. “I’m not going in there. I’m not naive like all other chosen ones. I know that as soon as I walk in there, the author is going to make me get run over by a carriage. No, thanks.”

(Doesn’t really matter to me whether you go in or not, but it matters to the gods. Also, it matters to the writer. So, if you’d please...)

“Fine. I will. As long as the author doesn’t try to run me over with a carriage.”

(Tch. Fine. I don’t care. I don’t write this shit. Ahem.) Imogen stepped through the door and a new world unfurled before her. She strolled through the cobblestone streets and stared at the buildings that had been constructed in the medieval style with white walls and wooden supports as well as thatched roofs. There was a hustle and bustle to the town with carriages passing her by, but the place wasn’t crowded by any means. A sweet aroma of freshly baked bread as well as the fragrance of marzipan beer, the witching world was famous for it, hung in the air.

Sighing again, Imogen pulled her acceptance letter from Medusa Gorgon’s Academy for Young Witches out of her pocket and read it over once more. It said that she would need a copy of Inconceivable Monsters Who Live in Dungeons and You Should Try to Avoid by Gecko Slizard...and a bunch of other books that the author doesn’t care to mention, and that Imogen just skipped right over. It also said she would need a wand and the first thing she saw was the sign for “Wilde’s Wand Shoppe.”

When she stepped inside, the smell of dusty magic and the warmth of the fire crackling filled her senses. The shop looked rather small and quaint from the outside, but it had a lot of personality. The shelves were packed with boxes upon boxes upon boxes of wands, all different shades, the colours of the rainbow to be precise. There were tall sliding ladders in a few different places. Though it might have seemed chaotic to some people, it was an organised chaos and that spoke wonders to the shopkeeper’s, Mr. Wilde’s, character.

Before she could even ring the bell on the desk, there came a feminine voice from the back of the shop that said, “Oh, dear!” After a few moments, a man with face make-up and a white wig pulled back into a ponytail with a black bow emerged from the back on a sliding ladder. “I am so sorry, darling! I always seem to be losing track of time!” He leapt off the ladder with stag leap and stuck a perfect landing. He grabbed the monocle hanging around his neck and put it up to his left eye, scrutinising her for a moment.

Then a broad but genuine smile filled his face. “Aren’t you just adorable, darling?”

Imogen rolled her eyes. “Don’t call me adorable,” she said with a slight curl of her lip.

For a moment, the shopkeeper just stood there and narrowed his eyes at Imogen. Then it was gone in a flash and he had returned to his naturally gay (and in this case, the word can be taken either way) self. “I know the perfect wand for you!” With that, he vanished into the stacks and, in seconds, returned with a pristine white and gold bordered box in hand.

Opening it and pulling back the thin cloth, she revealed a black elder wand with a dark twisted handle. (This is the ‘elder wand.’ Wonder what that says about Imogen.)

The shopkeeper leaned forward over the counter. “That was made specifically with you in mind and was carved from the elder tree, Elder Spruce. It even wept when we cruelly harvested its bark to make this wand. That’s good luck. Cherish it.”

“Thanks,” Imogen grumbled as if it were an obligation to say. The wand was interesting, the rarest of its kind, but it was what she had been expecting so she wasn’t surprised.

From the back of the shop came another man’s voice, “Oscar darling...”

Oscar giggled. “Drop sixty-nine quazar on the counter when you leave. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I do believe I am being summoned.” He stepped onto the sliding ladder and disappeared into the back.

With a scoff, Imogen scooped up the wand in its box and left the shop without paying (if you read the prologue and knew what I know, you could easily puzzle out why this character does what she does. But without needing any previous knowledge, all I can tell you is that this character is not the usual lawful good protagonist). She pulled the list out of her pocket again and checked it over before entering the building with the sign that read “Wit Beyond Measure.” (You’re not going to get it unless you are familiar with how the word “wit” was used by Shakespeare.)

As soon as she had stepped inside, a raven flew at her face. Imogen raised her wand about to cast a spell on it.

“Huginn,” a strong, confident female voice rang out in the silence of the shop. “Stop terrorising the customers.”

Begrudgingly, the raven returned to its mistress’s shoulder, but not before it cawed in Imogen’s face. There was another raven on the woman’s other shoulder that was glaring daggers at Imogen. The woman had a striking beauty about her with quiet confidence. Her piercing, ice-cold, sapphire blue eyes (man, that’s brooding YA hero level type of description) were on the book in front of her, but had they been aimed at someone, they would freeze someone to the spot. A silver crown set with a sapphire in the centre was placed on top of her regal, wavy black hair. She wore an elegant black dress with a simple black cloak. It had the symbol of Elder Spruce in brass clasping it in place.

“My name is Odwina Ravensbeak,” she said without looking up from her book. “These two troublemakers are Huginn and Muninn. Let me know if you need help finding anything.”

Imogen nodded as if she were listening, but her attention was already on the shop. It was a quaint, little bookstore with two floors of books. The lower floor was directly under the second floor, making it appear like a cute reading loft. She ran her fingers over the spines of the beautiful, ornate, one-of-a-kind, leather books, and her fingers rested on the leather-bound copy of SHUNKspeare plays. After looking it over for a moment and arguing with the narrator for a bit, she pulled the book off the shelf, walked up to the second floor, and grabbed the books she would need for school, without really taking the time to check their prices and conditions.

Imogen slammed the stack of books on the counter, causing Odwina to glance up from her book and stare at her with slight inquisitiveness in her eyes.

Then, with a sigh, she marked her place, taking the time to get it as perfect and pristine as possible, and rung Imogen up. “That’ll be 250 quazar,” she said.

“Are you kidding me?” Imogen asked exasperated, to which Odwina just shook her head. “Why are textbooks so fucking expensive?”

Odwina shrugged. “No one knows. It’s as mysterious as the dark side of the moon.”

Imogen crossed her arms. “Yeah, well, there’s no way I’m paying that. I can just conjure my books for free.”

Shaking her head, Odwina clucked her tongue. She held up the copy of SHUNKspeare’s comedies. “But can you conjure this up?” Imogen paused and Odwina smiled mischievously.

Finally, after a moment that felt like forever, which the narrator swore she did it just to agitate them, she dropped the coins on the counter, grabbed the brown bag of books and left the shop. When she stepped out of the shop, a dark brown skinned, frizzy-haired witch with an eccentric, mischievous glint in her brown eyes was standing outside the shop waiting for her. She wore a red jacket with the crest of the school on it and a black ruffle skirt. She wore short black high-heeled boots with a bit of lift in the toe. With her wand in hand and her arms crossed in front of her chest, she looked like she meant business.

When she saw Imogen, she looked her over. “You’re the chosen one?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “But you don’t meet any of the qualifications.”

Imogen crossed her arms. “Oh,” she replied. “And what exactly are those?” (It appears the author has created two sassy, overly confident lesbians for this story. I may have spoiled something about the plot, but I’m a goddess. There’s no way she can get rid of me. It’s a part of the author’s pact with me.)

“Usually the chosen one is a boy...”

“That’s because of the stupid patriarchy. I’m defying my gender role, giving the book the uniqueness it needs to stand out.”

“Chosen ones are usually incompetent in their abilities when the novel starts...”

“So, I did a little bit of studying up on my stuff. Can you really blame me? Girls have to work twice as hard to prove themselves.”

“Though, it appears that you have overly confident down, so I guess you’re not completely a lost cause for chosen one.”

“Thank you. I take that as a compliment.”

The woman sighed. “Come on.” Then she started to walk away without even bothering to check if Imogen was following her. Imogen rolled her eyes and thought about how stupid it was that they had sent someone to escort her when she could have just gotten to the school on her own, but she followed the woman anyways.

They made their way through the town the author still has yet to name and into the No-No Woods. As soon as they were in the woods, the sun fell away, and the shadows grew longer. The branches reached towards her like hands. An owl hooted, even though it was only midday. She could hear a witch cackling and a sweet melodious voice drifting on the breeze. She also caught a glimpse of a red cloak through the trees. (The author is really trying to drill this image of the woods being dangerous and menacing, isn’t she?)

When they were out of the woods and away from danger, (See? What did I tell you?) they stood in front of a two-story stone building (fitting considering who the headmistress was) with Romanesque features such as turrets. A few students flew in on broomsticks and found their groups. A few were casting spells, turning their fellow students into animals. Familiars followed their masters and mistresses into the building.

Imogen glared up at the narrator. “Why couldn’t I have flown in on a broomstick?” she demanded.

(Do you know the spell to cast for operating a broomstick?)

She shrugged. “Maybe not, but the readers don’t need to know that.”

(Operating a broomstick is enchantment magic. You’re not an enchantment witch.)

She curled her lip. “Nothing saying that I can’t try.”

(No, but it is strongly discouraged. You can’t account for anything if you break the rules of magic. The author would probably have to roll on the Wild Magic table. Now, where was I? Ah, yes.) Erica turned to Imogen and gave her a piece of parchment folded into thirds with a red wax seal with the crest of the school on it. “Read this. And go see Headmistress Gorgon. Good luck.” Then, without another word, she disappeared amongst the students and into the school.

With a sigh, Imogen gently broke the seal in the letter and opened it. It read...well, the author decided that you didn’t need to read the letter word-for-word. Instead, she decided to give a summary of what was contÁined into Medusa Gorgon’s Academy, which she already knew, and that she had been assigned to room 208 with Áine Brackenbridge as her roommate. It also had her schedule at the bottom of the page. Lastly, the letter contÁined vague information on how to find Medusa’s office.

Shaking her head, she placed the letter in her pocket and headed into the school. As she walked, she passed hundreds upon hundreds of doors. (So many doors and only ten of them were actual classrooms. I’ll bet the rest of the doors went to other fantasy worlds. Or to the Underdark.)

She also ascended several flights of stairs. Each flight had their own personality. She rode on a few staircases that tried to make her dizzy, but she wasn’t taking their shit, so she cast an obedience curse on them to make them stop. There were a few timid staircases that they had to use very specific incantations for. There were a few dramatic staircases that any obeyed their passenger if they sang a very specific Broadway show tune all the way through. They were the most frustrating because one also had to find the exact key the specific staircase preferred. One missed note meant one would have to start to over again.

When Imogen got to the top of the stairs, she turned to yell at the narrator again. “What the fuck?” she demanded. “Do you make every student go through this?”

(Not every student, but you wanted a challenge and that’s exactly what I’ve given you. Maybe next time you’ll think about talking back to me.)

“Maybe, but probably not. Scratch that, definitely not. I won’t stop fighting you until I develop as a character and that won’t happen until I meet my love interest.”

(Well, you’re in luck cause that’s coming up soon.)

“Wait. What?”

As she was standing outside, Headmistress Gorgon’s office about to knock a red-haired fairy came flying at her from inside the office. (Yes, it’s a cliché. It’s supposed to be. Fun fact: this clichéd meeting was in the original drafts as well.)

The fairy bounced back after running into Imogen. “Whoa,” she said. She offered a hand to help Imogen up. “I’m sorry. Didn’t see you there.”

Imogen looked at the red-haired fairy girl and stared into the girl’s emerald green gaze that was obviously supposed to be mesmerising and that just made her angry. Her short stature, silver wings, and freckles were supposed to make her more attractive to Imogen, but it just aggravated her even more. She hated how the author seemed to know her well enough to play matchmaker for her.

She shook her head and dismissed the fairy, standing up and brushing herself off. “Nope,” she said.

The fairy blinked. “Excuse me?”

“No. I just can’t do it. I’m out.”

With that, she opened the door and walked in without knocking. She was in such a rush that she blew straight past Vice Headmistress Marjorie Lewis, who was at her desk engrossed in her spell drive working on her latest fanfiction. When Imogen strode into the office, she caught Headmistress Gorgon off-guard, causing her to look up in surprise with black snakes rearing up and hissing.

All of you have heard the story of Ezra’s attempt to kill the goddesses of the Underworld and take down the Bureaucracy of hell, have you not? You haven’t? Well, my children, you are in for quite a treat! Our story begins, like all things do, with death. For new life cannot rise without death…

The boy called Ezra stood over his ‘friend’s’ grave, which was little more than a small mound with a sword and his ‘friend’s’ helmet deep in the No-No Woods under the huge elder oak tree known as Yggdrasil as a symbolism of new life. I place air-quotes around the word friend because this story is based more or less on the Epic of Gilgamesh and there is no doubt in my mind that Gilgamesh and Enkidu were far from just ‘friends.’

Taking a deep breath in, Ezra stared down at the grave and stopped himself from feeling any sadness or any emotion for that matter, as all true heroes must. “I promise,” he whispered. “I will kill the god who took your life away from you. I swear it.”

Suddenly, a branch cracked, and Ezra snapped around with sword at the ready. A girl with ginger red hair, a pale complexion with freckles and pointed ears poked her head around a tree.

Ezra stepped closer to her and put his sword right up against her throat. “Not. Another. Move,” he hissed.

Her emerald green eyes went wide and she put her hands up in surrender. “Oh my gods, please don’t kill me!” she cried, shrinking in literal and metaphorical size out of fear. “I’m new! I’m just doing what they told me to do! They didn’t mention anything about this in the training session!!!”

Curling his lip, he took another step towards her and watched his sword cut deeper, silver blood starting to spill from the wound. “I don’t care. Take me and my buddy Gandalf here to see the Morrigan.”

The faerie shook her head, her eyes wide. “I can’t do that. My dimension door only allows two people to cross through! And that includes people’s souls!”

Gritting his teeth, he pushed his blade deeper into her skin, causing more silver blood to slip down her neck. “Well then, what about this? I kill you and then I cast a dimension door for me and Gandalf.”

She nodded slightly out of fear, but then she crossed her arms and smirked. “And I suppose you know how to harvest a person’s soul?” When he was silent for a moment, she knew she had the upper hand. “That’s what I thought. Now, put your weapon down please so I can do my job.”

Closing his eyes, he shook his head and gritted his teeth, gripping the blade of his sword harder. “Your charms will not work against me, faerie!”

“Oh come on! That’s racist! All I want is to do my job! If you’ve got a complaint, take it up with the head of HR or Hel, not me!”

With a half-nod of approval, Ezra took the blade away from the faeries neck and instead pushed it into her back where her wings would have been if the faeries in this world had wings and weren’t just elves because the author didn’t do enough world-building and creative work to think about who these characters are and what their sizes were etc. “Take me to her.” Then he pushed the blade into her back, forcing her forward.

The faerie shot a glare at him then went over to Gandalf’s grave. She whispered a quiet incantation to herself when it was actually just her muttering about how much she hated heroes, how all of them were self-righteous and arrogant, and how she dreaded having to deal with them, all of them wanting eternal life or saving their ‘friends’ or thinking that they can come up against death and win. After she had finished her internal rant to herself, she effortlessly reached down and pulled a cute ball with a face that looked like the will-of-the-wisps from Brave out of the grave. Hey, that rhymed!

The faerie turned to Ezra. “Here’s your ‘friend,’” she said, shoving the soul into his open arms, causing him to have to drop his sword. “And here’s your way into the Underworld.” With a snap of her fingers…nothing happened.

Ezra shot her a pointed look and she held up a finger. “Don’t look at me like that! I’ve told you, it’s my first day!” She opened a small black book and looked over the faerie scrawlings that were written there. It was clear that she had pressed EXTREMELY hard on her willowbark pencil when she’d written it and it was incredibly illegible to anyone but her. But sometimes even she couldn’t read it.

After a few minutes of silent muttering and repetition, she closed the book and slipped it back into her pocket. “Okay. Let’s try this one more time.” She took a deep breath in. “This sidekick’s life is done and his soul is ready to retire,/But his stupid ‘hero,’ and quite probably lover, is complaining and looking to kill this new hire./Open the gates to the HR department in Elysian,/For that is where the hero’s trials of love and death can truly begin.” Then she snapped her fingers and sparks shot out of her fingertips.

“I never said—” Ezra started, but when he turned towards her, she was nowhere to be seen. When he turned his attention back around, he was staring at an oak wood door with an authentic live wood frame. Purple wisteria, the magic travelling flower, hung from the top of the door and dangled in front of the door. Fun fact: this was originally going to be an entire tunnel of wisteria, but then I became fascinated with the doorway idea and decided to incorporate two ideas into one. I think I did a PRETTY good job if I say so myself!

After looking around him for the faerie that seemed to have suddenly disappeared, Ezra stepped up to the door and got read to knock when the brass goblin door knocker abruptly came to life. “Turn back,” the goblin said in a ghostly voice. Ezra scoffed and hit the goblin on the nose with the hilt of his blade, causing the goblin to wiggle his nose. “Ow! Gods! What’d you do that for? I’m just doing my job! If you go in there, you’ll die.”

“I don’t need your warning,” he snarled. “Maybe I’m already dead.” The goblin looked Ezra up in down but Ezra pressed the tip of his blade against the goblin’s snout. “I’m dead.”

The goblin’s eyes went wide and he nodded. “Of course. Of course. Whatever you say.” Under his breath he muttered something about damn heroes always telling him what his job was and arguing that they were dead when they clearly weren’t and if they had a death wish, he should stop trying to stop them.

With that, Ezra reached up and slammed the brass knocker down against the door and it swung open with a slight creak, revealing a world of wonder. In front of him was a forest of trees all of different colours; some were purple, some were autumn red, some were blue, some were orange, some were green. Beyond the forest of brilliant colours was a cityscape, towers looming towards and touching the sky. All around the scene were beautiful, brilliant snow-peaked mountains with tops obstructed by white clouds.

For a moment, he just stood there in the doorway to take it all in. Then, tightening his grip on his sword, he took a deep breath and stepped inside. As soon as he was through, the door slammed shut behind him and vanished from view. When he turned back around, a similar looking faerie to the first one, only with glasses and holding a clipboard stood in front of him. She even had the freshly healed cuts on her neck.

“Name?” she demanded and leafed through the pages on her clipboard, glancing them over. Ezra narrowed his eyes and scrutinised the faerie in front of him. When he didn’t respond for a moment, the faerie glanced up from her clipboard with a glare. “Name, please.”

Ezra shook himself out of his thoughts and grabbed his sword. He pointed the tip at the faerie’s chest. “I demand to speak with your manager,” he said.

The faerie rolled her eyes and pushed the tip of the blade away from her. “I know why you’re here. I need your name so I can look you up and schedule you an appointment. Also, the name your soul carry-on. I’d greatly appreciate it if you put your weapon away.”

Ezra continued narrowing his eyes at the faerie, and then he reluctantly lowered his weapon but still kept his eyes trained on the faerie. He gritted his teeth as he said, “My name is Ezra and this soul that I’m carrying around is Gandalf.”

The faerie flipped through the pages of her clipboard, muttering to herself as she searched for their names. After a little white, she stopped. “Ah.” With a poof of flame, a quill appeared in the air. “Gandalf, check. Plus one: Ezra.” She glanced back over her clipboard. “It said that we have been expecting your friend here since long before that halfling went on that quest to kill that dragon.” Ezra just shrugged.

Once she had finished writing, the clipboard and quill disappeared and she brushed her hands off. Then she turned to Gandalf. “Soul, you may take your true form,/And greet the late morn.” As she said that, she snapped her fingers and the soul in Ezra’s hands jumped away from him and when it touched the ground, it had become the spitting image of Gandalf, only see through.

The faerie turned on her heel and started walking away without looking back to check if they were following. “Come along, ciallmhar cinn. We must get to the Halls of Bureaucracy. Hel is expecting you.”

For a moment, Ezra just stared at Gandalf, utterly bewildered. He looked exactly the same with his chiselled features and black hair and stern grey eyes. The sun passed right through him and gave him a soft outline, almost making him glow. It was as if he were alive and dead at the same time.

After a few seconds of awkward silence, Gandalf turned to Ezra and smiled that signature warm smile of his that Ezra had grown so used to. “What’s wrong?” he asked in his flippantly charming tone. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.” He laughed at his own joke.

Ezra blinked but then he chuckled and shook his head. “Good to see your sense of humour didn’t die with you,” he replied with a hint of a smile on his face.

Gandalf shrugged. “It’ll take a lot more than a bull sent down from Albios to kill that.”

“Keep up!” the faerie shouted back at them and Ezra jumped, causing Gandalf to chuckle. Ezra rolled his eyes and headed into the forest.

The two of them were quiet for a while as they tried to take everything in at once and come up with something to say. What do you say to your ‘friend’ who you had gone to hell and would go back, if the goddesses let him leave, for?

As they were walking through the woods, Ezra focused on taking in as much as he possibly could because when you’re about to go to war, especially in a battle of wits, any information can be used as a weapon. What he noticed were dark shadow figures staring out at him and Gandalf from the trees. Shadow animals with golden yellow eyes. Ezra decided they were most likely placed there by Hel because Elysium was her domain and as the daughter of Loki, she probably also had the power to manipulate shadow.

Besides that, the world was full of colour, light and bird song. It seemed like not just a nice place, but the PERFECT place for a hero to live out his final days. Too perfect. Ezra figured that it must all be because of the bureaucracy! That was the only explanation for it!!! But then a small part of Ezra wondered what would happen when he took the bureaucracy down. Would the entire world collapse in on itself without it?

He felt Gandalf put a spectral hand on his shoulder. “Hey. Are you okay?”

Shaking himself out of his thoughts, Ezra nodded. “I’m fine.” He was a hero. He couldn’t afford to be swayed by what was right or wrong in terms of the universe. His OWN moral compass told him that bureaucracy was wrong and that was all that really mattered to a hero. Who cares what happens to everyone else?

Just as Gandalf was about to say something, they stopped and stared up at the Halls of Bureaucracy. All around them were glass skyscrapers that towered towards the sky. People, probably other souls like Gandalf, moved in straight orderly lines exiting and entering the buildings. The light had completely died in their eyes.

The three of them entered the building, which had a 1920s lobby feel to it with a crystal chandelier but also a slick black onyx business feel, and then took the elevator up to the top floor. They exited into a room that was all fine drapery and a crystal chandelier. A woman with red hair tied up in a bun and golden eyes that reflected her godly parent’s in a prim black business suit sat at a glass desk pouring herself a cup of tea with a slim rod that was most likely a wand. It was clear that this was Hel, the goddess of Elysium and one of the three final bosses in any final fantasy game. When the doors dinged open, she turned to look up at them.

With a sigh of utter exhaustion, she gestured to the two seats in front of her. “Have a seat,” she said and they did without question although Ezra gripped his sword tightly to his side. The woman stood up and went to the window to stare down at the world she had created.

Then she turned back to our two main characters. “Do you know why you’re here?” she asked, taking a sip of tea.

Ezra gripped his blade tighter. “Gandalf is dead,” he said through almost gritted teeth. “And I am here to kill you so I can get him back. While, in the process, bringing down the entire bureaucracy of hell.”

“Interesting.” She took another sip of her tea then sat down at her desk. “And have you thought about the ramifications of those actions?” Ezra opened his mouth to say something but Hel shook her head and continued on. “Of course not. You’re a hero and heroes are always right.” She sipped her tea and leaned back in her chair slightly, clearly contemplating how she was going to convince Ezra to possibly take a deal.

Then she turned to Ezra and Gandalf. “You can only have one. Either a life with your…friend here or you get to kill me and end bureaucracy.” After an entire second where he didn’t respond, she rolled her eyes. “Decide quickly. I don’t have all day and I would rather not—”

“Gandalf,” Ezra replied firmly.

For a moment, everything was silent. Then Gandalf started trying to talk Ezra out of it and they argued while Hel just smiled wickedly as she watched the two of them argue.

After a few minutes, she clapped her hands, interrupting them and forcing them to turn to her. “If that is your decision.” She snapped her fingers and a stack of papers appeared on her desk. “Sign all of these and you will be stuck here in Elysium forever and ever. Oh if there is one small consolation prize, it’s that you don’t have to work in the Halls of Bureaucracy. For now at least.”

“Don’t do this,” Gandalf whispered.

Ezra shook his head and didn’t respond, simply signing the documents without another word. Once everything was signed, the papers went up in flame, and Ezra felt himself fading into the floor. He felt like he was burning alive and being consumed by flame but when he looked down at his hands, nothing was scarred or looked charred.

Everything went black and he heard a deep voice in the back of his mind say, “Welcome to Tartarus.”

And what happened to a boy named Ezra? Well, nobody knows. Except the author and POSSIBLY me. Some believe that with the help of his ‘friendship’ to guide him, he was able to make it back to Elysium and to Gandalf. Others believed that his soul perished in Tartarus. Kronos is scary. The titans could very well have torn him apart. Still others believe that he persuaded Kronos to ally with him to escape Tartarus.

Perhaps that’s a different story for another time.