A brief note from the Author...
Yes, the Professor is back on , by request from a friend, to finish what he began so very long ago. My absence, of course, is due primarily to my devotion to my dA account, to the point of neglecting this one. Anyways, it has come to my attention that a) dA is not nearly as good a word processor as and b) I have actually been finished with Narrator's Tale for nearly a year and yet have been depriving my small group of followers of the conclusion of it. With this said, I'm going to post the last sections of Narrator's Tale over the next couple of days. I promise little else.
To my few and faithful followers, who have stayed vigilantly waiting for literally years while I remained absent from the world... this is my apology.
-The Arrant Professor
Narrator's Tale, Part III
Prologue
The light of the blue Ideya faded into his hands, leaving only a comforting warm feeling as it disappeared. In the world of the waking, the power of Wisdom could not be discerned, but here in the confines of the sleeping world of Nightopia, it was a physical light. In his case, of course, it was a small lamp placed next to a sun. The power of the Creator Ideya put all other Ideya to shame, save the similarly elusive Courage Ideya.
Narrator turned back around, looking down the side of the hill he had ascended. A slight smile brushed his features. Three Ideya down, two to go. Once again, the Dark One had failed to thwart his efforts at reclaiming the precious jewels. But Narrator was not very encouraged by the fact. He was not sure why, but something had begun to plague him the moment he set eyes on the stone. Something was out of place, something important.
The Creator heaved a silent sigh. Truth among reality, there was little in Nightopia that he had reason to be afraid of. Most Visitors from the waking world had only limited influence over their surroundings. Narrator controlled his consciously. If he could focus and convince himself to see it, it would become reality. Talent as a writer and a very vibrant imagination went a long way in this respect. In the world of the waking, Narrator was a child of little consequence, too ordinary to note. Here in Nightopia, he was a deity. If he could envision it, then it could be done.
Of course, whenever new powers arise the old ones are quick to act. Wizeman, the Lord of the Nightmares, formerly the sole supernatural power in Nightopia, now had an opponent who could sincerely rival him. Narrator certainly gave the villain credit for figuring that out first; although he had not quite been able to corner the Visitor in person, the messages his minions had dispensed gave testimony to the dark lord's perception of the issue's gravity. By now Narrator had recognized it as a power struggle between two opposites, one waxing and one waning. Narrator couldn't yet call the battle even. Wizeman knew his limits perfectly well; Narrator had learned how to use his powers only a short while ago, and although a quick learner, still had many important skills to implement and master.
Narrator had three of his Ideya, including the all-powerful Creator Ideya. Wizeman still retained only two, but this included the keystone of Narrator's capacities, the Courage Ideya. With it, Narrator would be truly all-powerful, but until he could force it from Wizeman's grasp, the battle would be uphill for him.
A battle uphill… a prominent thought occurred to Narrator. He had the Ideya of Hope, and Wisdom, but didn't feel their effects much at all. The Dark One's servants, the terrible Nightmaren (the 'Frights' from Mindsedge, as Narrator's own creations were apt to address them) still frightened him and posed a challenge to battle. Why was this? He had a Creator Ideya, which very obviously worked. He summoned a rubber ball to his hands and bounced it around a few times, to reassure himself the power had not vanished as quickly as it had come. Narrator pitched the ball aside and watched in satisfaction as it burst in a shower of confetti twenty feet away. Small, rational things like cheap magic tricks were easy, mindlessly so, but more complex creations took time and thought. Perhaps he was simply inexperienced with his abilities? If that were the case, he had a lot of learning still to do!
Narrator started on down the hill, his sneakers crunching in the reddish Calrossian sand that so covered this area of his dreams, stippled with blades of Calrossian reeds stained crimson as though with blood from the sandy soil they somehow populated in the thousands. Was the hill grassy or reedy? Narrator stared at it for a moment, thinking. Sure enough, it shifted with his visions, turning a healthy green in an instant. But grass seemed out of place in such a Calrossian environment. Narrator liked the reeds more, reminiscent of the plants so adored by the Martians in "War of the Worlds". A book he had thoroughly enjoyed, that one, telling a tale nearly as fascinating as the one he was writing as he walked. So he had dubbed himself, abandoning his rather pedestrian name of the waking world.
Narrator. It fit nicely, in his opinion.
He glanced at his clothes and frowned slightly. He'd been so busy dodging Maren and the incendiaries of his own dream-creatures (the mighty Wards) that he'd forgotten how ordinary his choice of costume was. He was a lord of dreaming himself, yet he dressed like the average American teen in jeans and a green hoodie. True, it was a garb he was well accustomed to, but it was a little boring. So was his general reaction towards life, of course, as well as his disappointingly average build, but he could hardly change those. Clothes were a completely different matter, though.
Narrator quickly went to work thinking up a costume change, something reminiscent of his usual fare, but a little more unique. Well, what did he like in his favorite anime characters? Those ARC Troopers from Star Wars seemed a fitting template. Narrator had always wanted one of those armor skirts, the kamas. In a creative moment he stripped off his hoodie, contemplated only a moment the dark scorch mark on its back (hadn't he taken it off to beat flames out of it a moment before? Funny how things seemed to change when he forgot about them!), and tied its sleeves around his waist. The sweater sizzled slightly as its arms melted together and transformed into a neat belt; the body of it evened out and split around the back, to allow better movement of Narrator's legs. His pockets transformed into loop holsters, each fitted with a heavy blaster pistol, and the whole fabric stiffened into almost a leathery feel, like it could stop a glancing laser or a grenade fragment. Its color changed to a brighter green with a silvery trim, looking quite flashy without being tacky.
Narrator smiled, pleased with the changes. Now, the jeans had to go, and the well-worn sneakers as well. The denim texture faded smooth and thinned slightly, followed by a slight constriction as the legs stretched to accommodate padding on his shins and thighs, the whole kit turning the same shade of green as his kama. His shoes morphed from cheap $20 sneakers into hardy-looking boots that somehow retained the same comfortable fit as before, soled and fringed with steel like Grand Admiral Silver Crescent's, and turned appreciably metallic green. Narrator's faded T-shirt was next, transitioning into a lightly padded suit coat with a short collar, dotted with silver buttons.
Feeling very pleased with himself, Narrator summoned a full-size mirror to view his handiwork. He struck a pose with his foot on a rock and decided that he looked dashing. Adjusting his glasses on his face, Narrator considered spawning a few weapons and accessories to kit himself out with, but decided that lugging them all around would be a hassle compared to simply making them on the spot. Of course, he needed some sort of weapon to complement the pistols at his side, something for closer combat. Like his flipaxe. Narrator flicked out his wrist and summoned a hatchet with a very long handle, hinged in the center. He twisted the handle a little and folded the weapon to a manageable two-foot length and tucked it onto his belt, creating a little loop for it to rest in. He then turned back to the mirror.
Narrator grinned at his reflection. Appreciable, by any means.
The wind stirred behind him as his ever-present companion NiGHTS drifted by. The violet jester was a native of Nightopia, one of very few people that Narrator was absolutely certain he had no part in the creation of. NiGHTS giggled and slid up next to him, nudging her way into the mirror's reflection. "Ooooh, pretty new clothes," the jester noted, tugging playfully on his sleeve. "ALMOST as cool as mine!"
"I have freaking guns on mine, so I really don't give a damn," Narrator said, motioning to his sidearms. "Boy, I wish I could dress like this at home…"
"Why don't you?" NiGHTS asked inquisitively, cocking her head. The two tines on her big purple hat (coupled with her baseball-sized blue eyes) gave her a very strange profile when looked at head-on, like some kind of horned demon, a very friendly one of course.
Narrator sighed. "They don't make clothes like this at home. Besides, I'm not allowed to use or even be near guns, 'cause my parents think I'd probably blow up the neighborhood if I did."
"Why would you do something like that? It doesn't suit you at all!" NiGHTS exclaimed with surprise.
Narrator shrugged. "People in the Waking World can be rather stupid sometimes. It's not really that big of an issue to me, anyways. Now that I've got the Ideya, should we head back to the hub?"
NiGHTS bobbed her head. "Of course! The door's not too far from here, actually. Come on, we'll fly there!"
The jester extended her hand to Narrator. She was being a little more polite than usual, it seemed, since she had a habit of just grabbing him and Dualizing with him whether or not he had mentioned wanting to do so. By now Narrator was quite used to the concept of borrowing NiGHTS' body, but the jester didn't always seem to get the concept of him wanting to use his own two feet every once in a while. For a being of amazing supernatural ability, Narrator often though, she wasn't always very bright.
He was in a good mood, though, and didn't particularly feel like refusing. Narrator took NiGHTS' hand and instantly his new body vanished into hers. The two then dashed off, to the door and their next adventure in the realm of dreams.
