CHAPTER THIRTEEN: Restlessness.
Cauldron Keep's mysterious green mist still lingered around the massive tower as it loomed over the Isle O' Hags. Maybe it was the pollution of Klunty's factory, or the ash from one of Hailfire's peaks, but still -- it was as if the witch's power still held it in high regard. The formidably high-perched B.O.B. was defunct now, and it's laser hung lazily low. It was a true sign of power and forgetfulness.
But the ones who would not forget their goal were the secret Eggs and Key. Since that odd moment earlier on, the Ice Key had asserted his dominance over the other two items. Standing taller than the two eggs, Ice Key led the way into Klunty's castle.
"Come on now," said Key in his playful strut, "keep up. There's no time to waste. We spent an awfully long time repairing that service elevator to come up here."
The eggs hobbled quicker and kept behind their leader. "Right behind you!" they said.
They had reached the gaping hole that was the entrance and entered. The group quickly ran past the grand first room and onto the second, the forgotten game show entitled TOWER OF TRAGEDY. Rushing toward the 1-Ton weights, the three examined their predicament.
"Hmm," thought Key aloud. "Mingella should be under one of these. Blue, hand me Wumba's Book, please?"
The three huddled closely, reading through its pages for the right spell. "Wait... here's one." said Key, and motioned for the two to read together:
"Inca Pink, a Bottle of Ink, a Quart Fell Out and You SHRINK."
It worked immediately. The weight glowed brightly, and it began to grow, and then shrank abruptly to a small size.
"Here we go," said Key, pushing the tiny weight aside and grabbing the final book, "one spellbook. That was quite nice," he added with a smile.
"Yay!" cried the eggs. "We can finally go back to Grunty's old lair and save Purple!"
Yes, they could indeed.
------
Clanker swam swiftly through the deep indigo sea, effortless in his movements. Deep inside the bowls of the fish's mecha bod, Kazooie, Mumbo, Bottles, Mr. Bottles, and the Mole children clambered together as the sea machine shifted through the clear water. Uncertain of their destination, the bird and shaman chatted briefly inside its slimy belly.
"I'm not sure where we're going," spoke Kazooie, "but I hope it's far away from that annoying pirate!"
Mumbo grabbed the skull end of his zapping stick and nervously tapped the handle on one of Clanker's enormous ribs. "Mumbo not like situation," he uttered, "not like it at all."
Incidentally, Squinty was tied to one of the ribs. "Mmmmphle!" he yelled under the kerchief, frantically squirming.
"He'll eventually grow tired of moving about," assured Bottles. "Speaking of which, I could use some sleep right about now."
How could you sleep in a place like this?" spoke Mrs. Bottles. "We're deep inside a fish's guts! You inconsiderate ham!"
"Um... actually, there's a molehill over at the end," said Bottles in a smaller voice.
"Oh, really?" said a delighted Mrs. Bottles. "Well, that's different then. We could just – hey, wait a second! Define 'end'."
"Uhm... you know... end," spoke Bottles reluctantly.
Mrs. Bottles' face transformed into a look of disgust. "AUGH!" she exclaimed. "How could you have taught Banjo and Kazooie a move down there?"
Meanwhile, Mumbo and Kazooie's little chat had turned into an argument. "Mumbo, for the last time, what was up with you drowning before?"
"MUMBO NOT TELLING," spoke the shaman and quickly got up, walking away from the Breegull and toward Bottles.
Kazooie looked at Mumbo with suspicion.
He had now entered the conversation between Mr. and Mrs. Bottles. "Mumbo ask if there room in mound."
"Yes, there is quite some room in the molehill," said the mole, adding, "especially if the Mrs. doesn't want to sleep there."
"What did you SAY?" asked Mrs. Bottles.
"Listen!" said the bird suddenly, walking up to them. "It took a lot of effort to make sure we were safe. You shouldn't be angry at the mole for that. If you don't want to sleep in the dirt clump, just sleep on the moist, sticky, pulsating floor."
The mole mother opened her mouth to say something, then stopped. She gathered up her children, and ushered her husband to join them as they quietly walked over to the end room, with Mumbo trailing behind.
The bird kept staring at them until they disappeared from view. "Hey, why don't I watch after Squinty to make sure he doesn't break loose?" she asked with sarcasm. She sat by the now sleeping child as she began to doze.
Cauldron Keep's mysterious green mist still lingered around the massive tower as it loomed over the Isle O' Hags. Maybe it was the pollution of Klunty's factory, or the ash from one of Hailfire's peaks, but still -- it was as if the witch's power still held it in high regard. The formidably high-perched B.O.B. was defunct now, and it's laser hung lazily low. It was a true sign of power and forgetfulness.
But the ones who would not forget their goal were the secret Eggs and Key. Since that odd moment earlier on, the Ice Key had asserted his dominance over the other two items. Standing taller than the two eggs, Ice Key led the way into Klunty's castle.
"Come on now," said Key in his playful strut, "keep up. There's no time to waste. We spent an awfully long time repairing that service elevator to come up here."
The eggs hobbled quicker and kept behind their leader. "Right behind you!" they said.
They had reached the gaping hole that was the entrance and entered. The group quickly ran past the grand first room and onto the second, the forgotten game show entitled TOWER OF TRAGEDY. Rushing toward the 1-Ton weights, the three examined their predicament.
"Hmm," thought Key aloud. "Mingella should be under one of these. Blue, hand me Wumba's Book, please?"
The three huddled closely, reading through its pages for the right spell. "Wait... here's one." said Key, and motioned for the two to read together:
"Inca Pink, a Bottle of Ink, a Quart Fell Out and You SHRINK."
It worked immediately. The weight glowed brightly, and it began to grow, and then shrank abruptly to a small size.
"Here we go," said Key, pushing the tiny weight aside and grabbing the final book, "one spellbook. That was quite nice," he added with a smile.
"Yay!" cried the eggs. "We can finally go back to Grunty's old lair and save Purple!"
Yes, they could indeed.
------
Clanker swam swiftly through the deep indigo sea, effortless in his movements. Deep inside the bowls of the fish's mecha bod, Kazooie, Mumbo, Bottles, Mr. Bottles, and the Mole children clambered together as the sea machine shifted through the clear water. Uncertain of their destination, the bird and shaman chatted briefly inside its slimy belly.
"I'm not sure where we're going," spoke Kazooie, "but I hope it's far away from that annoying pirate!"
Mumbo grabbed the skull end of his zapping stick and nervously tapped the handle on one of Clanker's enormous ribs. "Mumbo not like situation," he uttered, "not like it at all."
Incidentally, Squinty was tied to one of the ribs. "Mmmmphle!" he yelled under the kerchief, frantically squirming.
"He'll eventually grow tired of moving about," assured Bottles. "Speaking of which, I could use some sleep right about now."
How could you sleep in a place like this?" spoke Mrs. Bottles. "We're deep inside a fish's guts! You inconsiderate ham!"
"Um... actually, there's a molehill over at the end," said Bottles in a smaller voice.
"Oh, really?" said a delighted Mrs. Bottles. "Well, that's different then. We could just – hey, wait a second! Define 'end'."
"Uhm... you know... end," spoke Bottles reluctantly.
Mrs. Bottles' face transformed into a look of disgust. "AUGH!" she exclaimed. "How could you have taught Banjo and Kazooie a move down there?"
Meanwhile, Mumbo and Kazooie's little chat had turned into an argument. "Mumbo, for the last time, what was up with you drowning before?"
"MUMBO NOT TELLING," spoke the shaman and quickly got up, walking away from the Breegull and toward Bottles.
Kazooie looked at Mumbo with suspicion.
He had now entered the conversation between Mr. and Mrs. Bottles. "Mumbo ask if there room in mound."
"Yes, there is quite some room in the molehill," said the mole, adding, "especially if the Mrs. doesn't want to sleep there."
"What did you SAY?" asked Mrs. Bottles.
"Listen!" said the bird suddenly, walking up to them. "It took a lot of effort to make sure we were safe. You shouldn't be angry at the mole for that. If you don't want to sleep in the dirt clump, just sleep on the moist, sticky, pulsating floor."
The mole mother opened her mouth to say something, then stopped. She gathered up her children, and ushered her husband to join them as they quietly walked over to the end room, with Mumbo trailing behind.
The bird kept staring at them until they disappeared from view. "Hey, why don't I watch after Squinty to make sure he doesn't break loose?" she asked with sarcasm. She sat by the now sleeping child as she began to doze.