Twit Ederthon's Quest: Chapter 1

Twit Ederthon was born on a... well, it was a day, of that he was sure. He cannot remember it any more well than you can and sees it as just fine. Those first few seconds of life mustn't be the most beautiful of sights any way, so we'll hopscotch right on over that. When he was three, he learned to walk. When he was –

Oh for the love of all things nice and decent, we'll keep on hopskotching a while further. Bear with me now, for this is a tale well worth waiting for, full to the brim with adventure and joy, love and sorrow, ludicrity and solemnity, gnomes and giblets. A tankard of pure bliss and merriment for your puppy-dog eyes to omnomnom all up. Ahem. Now where was I? Oh, yes, hopsotch. And that's a one, a two, a one-two-three-four.
 

It suffices to say that Twit Ederthon lived an average life. Some might call it a boring life, but it suited him and he suited it. In the end, that's what counts. Twit majored as a pharmaseutic prerequisite and was quite convinced that someone at some point had thrown the cake on his face real sneaky. Deciding to follow his dreams, he became a detective. Whole summer's worth of schooling and he graduated with flying colors, along with the rest of his class. He tried to find work in Chicago, but found it too clichéd and moved to England. Twit Ederthon settled into a cosy little city somewhere in England, set up an office and lived his dreams. No-one had been bothered to name the city, so the residents had dubbed it Nowhere.
 

Here our story, nay, legend begins, with Twit in his office, his slippered feet propped up on the table and a cup of coffee in his hand, pointedly not steaming hot. He was very busy being very bored. You see, no-one had deemed it proper to tell Twit that detective work did not follow along the lines of Sherlock Holmes novels. They also had neglected to inform him that real-life thieves rarely bothered to go out, steal a car and physically rob a bank with guns blazing. I don't blame them for not telling him, though, for he probably wouldn't have believed it in the first place.
 

So there Twit Ederthon was, musing discontently about the lack of action lately when the door to his office was thrown open. It collided with the wall, shattering the stained glass window Twit had always fancied; Twit leaped out of his chair in a flurry of fluffy slippers and arching coffee.
 

”Such a rundown place! Just look at all the furniture! Exactly! There is none. Are you quite certain we have come to the right place, Jennings?”
 

Twit stared at the man standing in his doorway. His dark hair flowed behind him as if caught on a stray bit of wind. His colourful garments shone with the grease and wear of travel, yet hints of royal purples and greens shone through the dirt; a deep green cape was resting on his shoulders, which, though patched, showed signs of delicate care. His eyes roamed Twit's office, a look of distaste fluctuating on his face, his white-gloved hands poised pompously on his hips, the right one clasped on the hilt of an honest-to-God sword. His eyes locked onto Twit in his silly slippers, standing awkwardly with coffee sprayed on his shirt.
 

”Am I addressing the esteemed Twit Ederthon?” he demanded.
 

”Uh,” said Twit.
 

”Oh, speak, you simpleton! Am I or am I not? It would seem the latter, but I must retain the utmost certainty in this matter.”
 

Twit layed down the near-empty coffee mug onto his table, ruining a stack of papers.
 

”I am Twit Ederthon,” he said haltingly.
 

”Marvelous. Jennings!”
 

”Sir?”
 

”Bring in my chair. I have a profound interest to discuss business with this gentleman.”
 

”Yes, sir.”
 

Jennings came in bearing the chair. Twit oggled the newcomer. Let me rephrase that. Jennings, the two-and-a-half meter tall, barrel chested, thick necked, spade handed, British-accent toting elephant of a man, came in bearing a small, lavish throne. He then placed it on a relatively clean spot, and retreated behind it and to the left.The first man threw himself onto the throne with a subtle leap, lounging on it, careful to keep his sword away from his backside. The royal young man looked at Twit expectantly. He also managed to looked mighty bored while doing so.
 

Twit, ever the pragmatic, sat down in his oaken chair and folded his legs. He put on his best detective look, resolved to find nothing in odd in the duo that had stormed his office, and hoped to god for a job.
 

”What can I do for you?” he said. It seemed a very detective thing to say. He was a detective, after all.
 

”Such an utter lack of protocol. Very impressive. Perhaps you are the man I have come all this way to find. Very well. If you won't demand an introduction, I will give it freely, Twit Ederthon. I am Carl Ludvigo Crossings, the Valiant Hero of Truesdale, the Shield and Thorn of Argen,” Jennings was making disgruntled flapping motions with his hand as Crossings barged on with the titles, ”the Heir to the Throne of Thrazm and the Bearer of a Big Motherfucking Sword, Otherwise Known as the Doom Bringer of Absolute Mayhem.”
 

”I fail to see a sword that big,” Twit said. It was the only thing he had caught onto.
 

The throne-lounging man let out a shout of excitement. ”See, Jennings? How could you have doubted this man? His eye for detail is impeccable!”
 

”Actually, sir, it was you that doubted him. A far cry from impeccable too, any half-wit could have noticed that you weren't carrying the Big Motherfucking Sword. It tends to be rather... glaringly obvious.”
 

”Yes, yes, Jennings, I know I was correct, no need to embelish my ego.” He turned away from the resignedly grumpy Jennings and regarded Twit with an appraising look. ”I do not indeed carry the Sword at this given time, very clever of you. But!” He held up an imperious finger, that demanded Twit to give his full attention to Crossing's point. ”I would not have sought out the legendary Twit Ederthon, Detective Work Filed, Missed Cats Found, Rings Un-Stolen on less than satisfactory terms.

"Might I praise you on upon thine titles? My own seem to grow blemishes when basking in the glory of your's. Such a profound sense of completeness and professionality. It is definitely the pronounced grammatical errors that set them apart. 'Tis exceedingly rare these days to find someone with enough gall to commit such an act. On this, I congratulate you!”
 

Twit, while not smart enough to suspect he might have been made fun of, thought something might be wrong in a shadowy way. The stranger's eyes were guiless, though, and there was an adoring gleam in them, that shifted in the murky light of Twit's office when he fidgeted in his seat.
 

”Continue,” came Twit's rough answer.
 

The lordling smiled radiantly. ”No words of thanks? Brilliant, Jennings, just brilliant! This man is a genius!”
 

Crossings ignored Jennings as he muttered something about doubts and bloody idiots. He got up from his throne, leaning his hands on Twit's counter.
 

”Let us talk man on man, with no titles or other such frivolities to hide behind. Twit Ederthon, I have urgent, dispatched need of your help. I'm afraid I won't take no for an answer.”
 

Crossings drew his sword in one fluid motion. Twit squealed and landed on his bottom, shrieking much like a dead-pig-turned-banshee. He also wet himself, but it went unnoticed what with all the coffee.
 

Crossings's sword ended at the hilt. He brandished it with an air of melancholy and not quite surpressed anger. His eyes lingered on it for a long moment, before he placed it gingerly on the table.
 

”The blade was stolen,” he said simply.
 

Twit, sensing that his life might not be in danger after all, hauled himself up. He brushed himself off, certainly not looking or sounding like a dead pig any longer, before regarding the gilded hilt. It was a pretty thing, the hilt. It was wrought of steel, with gold worked onto the grip in a lavish, loping spiral. A single emerald of ostrich-sized proportions was set into the pommel, supposedly balancing the weight of the unwieldy looking cross guard, sprouting from the hilt to a full meter on each side.
 

”May I inspect it?” Twit asked.
 

Crossings looked doubtful, but at a cough from Jennings, he nodded, if reluctantly.
 

Twit picked up the hilt and inspected it. He rubbed it and commented, ”No genie inside.” He licked it and suggested it was made form liquorice, the notion being flatly refused by a horrified Crossings. He sniffed it and realized he hadn't the nose of a dog.
 

Twit sat himself down with an air of importance and held out the hilt to Crossings. Crossings accepted it and resheated it, the bladeless hilt somehow managing to balance on top of the scabbard. Twit steepled his fingers and gazed at the lordling over them.
 

”How much are you willing to pay for this job?”
 

Crossings and Jennings exhanged glances. ”How ever much you may require,” Crossings answered as Jennings placed down a chest the size of a large dog. Hellhound large. Practically reaking of gold.
 

Twit thought this over for a second while the lordling and his servant tried their best not to look anxious. He reached a conclusion.
 

”Ten bucks.”
 

Jennings sputtered. Crossings reeled backwards into his throne. ”What? That little?” he demanded. ”Are you making a mockery of me?”

”A day,” Twit said, as if this would make it all clear.
 

”Ten dollars a day?” said Jennings, flabergasted.
 

”One day. Ten dollars?” said Crossings, still in the process of gasting his flabbers.
 

”Yus. I will not budge on this.”
 

A quiet moment passed as all was still in the room. Twit felt confused. Surely ten bucks a day wasn't too much. Surely not. He decided to play it safe anyways.
 

”I can budge down to eight,” said a very timid Twit.
 

The lordling shook his head in dismay. ”No, no, no. We'll settle on ten. I know not what game you are playing, but it does not matter. Ten dollars a day. So reads the price. Jennings, get rid of the chest.”
 

”Aye, sire.” Jennings lit the chest on fire with an antique match. The smell of molten steel wafted through the room. Twit could feel the heat emnating from across the room and loosened his collar; the flames seemed to burn faster than they should have, and the chest was reduced to sullen ashes in the space of six seconds. Nothing else had been devoured by the fire, the near empty room as non-flaming as it had been moemnts before. Jennings bent down and touched the match to confused flames; they flared bright and were then gone, presumably back in the match for all Twit knew. Incidentally, he would be correct.
 

”Alright, here is thine payment of ten American dollars.”
 

Twit recieved the crumpled bill humbly and stuck it into his trouser pocket.
 

”Our journey will begin in France, my dear Twit Ederthon,” Crossings said, back to his jolly self. ”Need you time to pack?”
 

In answer, Twit crossed the room and shrugged into his overcoat. He also grabbed an umbrella, having heard that it rained frequently in France. His detective hat fit snugly onto his head, a lost relic from a Western set. The Stetson firmly in place and his umbrella tucked underneath an arm, he walked over the threshold of his office.
 

Crossings gave an elaborate shrug, indicating at once his utmost respect and his relative wonder at this fabled detective, the action setting his locks all a-twirl. He indicated his throne with a thumb and Jennings matter-of-factly placed it in his jacket pocket. It was Twit's turn to shrug, indicating a shrug. Never doubt a paying customer. Detective work 101, that is.
 

Detective work 102: always stay professional.
 

”Take the lead, Mister Crossings,” Twit said gravelly.
 

”To France!” shouted an excited Crossings.
 

Jennings grunted.
 

The party set off on their first quest. It was later known as The Quest to Find a Working Cab. Not quite the fan-favorite, but a very important one at that. The first step on a larger quest.
 

Long story short: they found the cab.


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A/N: Yes, another novel beginning. As if I didn't have five of these already. The thing is, I haven't really been in the mood for writing recently, and it was a new start or nothing. I settled on the new start. Feel free to rip this apart in search of nitpicks and other criticisms. Hope you enjoyed.