Author's Note: It ain't my game, just my story.
Someone smashed me in the head with a big fractal brick.
Suddenly, I wasn't standing munching a tasty croissant at my favorite bakery anymore. I was falling...about a foot, to land flat on my back on a deep pile of cushions.
As I hit, someone poured half a gallon of LSD into my eyeballs. The sound of red and the color of salty exploded in my brain; words I'd never heard slammed through my ears and beat Broca and Wernicke to a bleeding pulp. Pages of non-existent books and maps and clay tablets and scrolls spun past too fast to see. Horrific monsters, all teeth and claws and wings and talons and spikes, sprang at me from all directions, passed through me and fought one another amidst terrifying roars.
After an eon or six, it stopped.
Blinking, I looked around to see what had happened. Then I blinked some more and rubbed my eyes. Nope, still there—not just a hallucination. I really was in a chilly stone room, the floor around me really did have a giant pentacle engraved into it, and there really were runes inscribed all over the walls, floor, and ceiling. The whole place looked like it should be on the cover of a Black Sabbath album.
As long as we were counting 'really's, I really wasn't alone in this vaguely creepy piece of album art. I was surrounded by three old bearded guys in silk bathrobes, and behind them were half a dozen very scary-looking men in honest-to-god chainmail, with a sword in each hand, eyes fixed on the men in bathrobes.
"Welcome, My Lord," said the old guy with the longest beard. He managed to fit more pomposity into three words than appeared in an average high school valedictorian speech. "You are in no danger, and we are at your service. I am sure you have many questions, and we will be delighted to answer them for you. We have provided a variety of food and drinks if you would like a meal." He gestured behind me; I turned to see a narrow wooden credenza looking very out of place against the rear wall; it was piled high with the sort of spread you typically only see at really fancy weddings.
I was nauseous, my head hurt like it was under a piledriver, and I was so exhausted my brain felt like a fogbank.
~Dehydration headache and hunger~ I realized dimly, knowing the signs from plenty of days when I was lost in a project and I forgot to eat. Moving was the last thing I wanted to do, but I dragged myself over to the credenza, mechanically chewed a few grapes, and forced myself to swallow. Instantly, the nausea converted to hunger and I started gobbling down bread, cheese, and fruit. After multiple large handfuls I grabbed a pint mug of water, slammed it back, refilled it from the pitcher, slammed that, and drank a third a bit more slowly.
As always after a refueling session like that, the headache dimmed to a bearable level and I knew it would be gone in a few minutes. The hunger was gone but I felt unpleasantly bloated, like someone had force-fed me with a tube. ~Too much, too fast~ I admitted to myself, exactly like I always did. Vowed not to do it again, exactly like I always did. Knew that I would, exactly like I always did. On the upside, my brain was working again.
I hadn't noticed their approach, but there were two of the chainmail types standing by me, one on either side, facing out with blades in hand and staring at the bathrobe-clad oldsters with a look much like that of a tiger who was pretty sure he was going to eat you in a moment but hadn't quite decided. The other four were behind and beside the bathrobe brigade with exactly the same look. A blinking neon sign over their heads saying "paranoid elite bodyguard" would have been completely superfluous.
What the hell?
The three bathrobed gentlemen were looking at me, but waiting patiently for me to get my bearings. The swordsmen were still standing right behind them, staring at Long-beard and friends, swords in hand.
"Ok, what is going on? Where am I, and why am I here?"
The central bathrobe guy (~aww, hell, just admit it, he's a wizard~) smiled, bowed very slightly, and said "You are in the castle at the center of Capital City, the first and largest city in the Kingdom of Flobovia, on a Prime Material Plane parallel to your own. I and my fellow Archmagi"—he gestured at the two others standing beside him—"have summoned you across the Void to be the absolute ruler of our nation for the next two years. Your rule is, I regret, compulsory, but at the end of the two years, you will be laden with riches and our deepest thanks, and then released."
I blinked at him, then asked about the single most crucial point. "Flobovia?"
He looked a bit embarrassed. "Yes, well, it is a rather silly name...the ruler ten years ago was named Flob Arten—quite a common name on his plane, I gather—and he changed the name of the nation. No ruler since then has cared to change it back, and no one else has the authority to do so."
"So...basically, the kingdom is named something like 'Bobville'," I stated, unbelieving.
One of the other wizards chuckled. "Hazards of an absolute dictator, I'm afraid. In general, the system works very well; we get a constant supply of new ideas, new technologies, new ways of doing things, and an overlord with the power to see them put into effect quickly. The terms of the Summoning ritual prevent us from getting anyone deranged or brain damaged, but we do occasionally get rulers who are foolish, stupid, or unkind."
I frowned in puzzlement. "When you get someone like that, why don't you just send them home and try again?"
The bodyguard furthest from me answered without ever taking his eyes off the wizard whom he was clearly ready to puree. "Because the Landguard would kill anyone who tried. The ruler holds power for two full turning of the seasons. So it is writ."
I digested that. "So, a bunch of wizards kidnapped a perfectly ordinary guy off the street, brought him to Bobville—excuse me, 'Flobovia'—to be their absolute ruler, to shower with jewels and power and obey his every whim, and he has a bunch of super-lethal bodyguards fanatically dedicated to him from the moment he shows up despite the fact that they know absolutely nothing about him and he could be a complete fool."
Long-beard looked a bit embarrassed. "Well, um...yes?"
"And Capital City is the capital city of the nation?"
Long-beard was now red as a tomato. "Um...yes?"
I just nodded, still in a bit of shock. "You realize this sounds like the plot to a really hackneyed piece of fanfic, right? Likely some sort of self-insert Mary Sue crap. Do you have Rainbow Dash, Twilight Sparkle, and the other My Little Ponies down in the royal stable?"
Even the bodyguards looked at me in bewilderment.
The wizard who had chuckled before spoke slowly. "I'm...afraid I don't know how to get you a dash of rainbows, My Lord, but we'd be happy to find you some ponies if that's acceptable. If you don't mind a suggestion, though—perhaps you'd like to relocate to a more comfortable location for the rest of this conversation? The Work Room is excellent for rituals, but remarkably lacking in chairs." His lips quirked in humor at the last, and I decided I liked this guy.
I shrugged bewildered acceptance and gestured towards the door. "After you."
As the wizards turned away, the Landguard troopers relaxed very slightly. It suddenly hit me that they had been expecting me to be angry and order the deaths of my summoners...and that they would have done it. I resolved to be very, very careful about what I said and did; I didn't want some poor chambermaid getting massacred just because she startled me in the shower.
~Do they even have showers here?~ I wondered idly as I followed the Archmagi down the hall.
Author's note, supplemental: I've started writing spinoff stories as a way to make some pin money; if you're curious, head on over to: GreenDogPress.
The first item is a novelette entitled "One Hot Night"; it's on sale for $1. (Like all spinoff stories I write, it IS considered canon in the 2YE-verse, but it does NOT use any copyrighted material, meaning that it's legal for me to sell.)
2YE itself will always be free and I have no intention of stopping until the story is done, regardless of how many sales of spinoff work I do or don't get.