Read Gareth and th Lost Island Online
Authors: Patrick Mallard
Tags: #adventure, #fantasy, #funny, #fantasy adventure, #steampunk airships
Gareth and th Lost Island
Gareth
and the
Lost Island
Patrick Mallard
Text and image copyright © 2015 Patrick Mallard
All Rights Reserved
children for all of the love and support they have given me through
this process.
Gareth and the Lost Island
Table of Contents
Like many good stories, ours will begin at the
beginning. Before there was anything, there was just a huge expanse
of soul numbing nothingness. Bored out of her mind, Fate shoved
really hard into the nothingness. She caused the very first event
to happen, an explosion of such huge proportions that it spawned
not one, but an infinite number of universes. The universe we are
interested in is one of the few that somehow managed to meld magic
and science into a unified set of laws that governed how things
worked. After that really exciting start, lots and lots of time
passed which has no real bearing on our story.
Several billion years later, a solar system near the
outer edge of a spiral galaxy formed. The solar system had seven
planets, with one being in just the right place to have life spring
up. This planet would later be known as Hadronus. A few more
billion years passed, and the forces of science and magic worked
together to spawn several, different, sentient species on Hadronus.
Following the pattern found in most universes, the intelligent
species went on to royally cock things up. The pride and jealousies
of the sentients lead to two separate apocalypses that almost left
the planet bereft of intelligent life.
We fast forward once again, and we find that the
intelligent species on Hadronus had pulled themselves up out of the
ashes to give civilization a go once more. Humans had risen to be
the most dominant of the 12 intelligent species to survive the
Second Great Apocalypse. They lived in a golden age of magic
crystals and steamwork gears.
Humans, being humans, bred like bunnies, and soon
overran the borders of their country to spill out across Hadronus.
One such group of humans set sail from the Southern continent in
search of a new home. Historians argue about why they left their
homes, but most people simply assume they were just really annoying
to be around and were shown the metaphorical door by their
neighbors.
Against all odds, the group of refugees somehow
managed to discover a lush island kept warm and comfortable year
round by the trade winds. They named their island Draconia after
their cartographers finally charted the island, and the ruling
council decreed the island looked like a majestic dragon in flight.
To everyone else on Hadronus, the island looked more like a pig
with wings.
Living up to its image, the small island nation of
Draconia became a major trading hub thanks to a visit by a group of
Wizards who were charting the planet’s mystical Leylines, lines of
magic force that encircled the planet. The visiting Wizards
discovered that not only was Draconia smack dab in the middle of
the trade winds, but it was also sitting on the intersection of
four major Leylines and several minor ones.
Since proximity to Leylines was needed to perform
most types of magic, even more people flocked to the island.
Representatives from all of the sentient races packed up and moved
to the now prosperous island, bringing their unique languages and
knowledge bases with them. Wanting to take advantage of this
resource as well, the major merchant families got together and
founded the University Arcanum.
Several hundred years passed, and we reach the time
when our story takes place. The Island Republic of Draconia
continued to prosper, even though it had given birth to
politicians. The University Arcanum managed to teach its students,
despite having professors that bore more than just a passing
resemblance to said politicians. Even with all of those drawbacks,
a young assistant professor still found reasons to celebrate, and
made his way to the local pub with his adoptive father. This young
professor would go on to change the face of Hadronus, and become a
household name worldwide. But we’re getting ahead of ourselves.
Before he changed the world, Gareth Mintel got really, really
drunk.
The Spirits Merchant was an aptly named inn on the
outskirts of the shopping and trade district of University City,
the southernmost settlement on the Island Republic of Draconia. The
inn was a sturdily built, two story brick building. Inside were two
large taprooms on the main level, and rooms for rent on the second
floor. The Spirits Merchant also happened to be the closest inn to
the University Arcanum from which the city took its name. With such
a prime location, it wasn’t uncommon to find both the stables, and
the lot adjacent to the inn, full of horses or steam powered
carriages as their owners enjoyed a good drink with friends.
Since merchants had a tendency to look down their
noses at the poor students, and the only slightly better off
professors, the owners of the Spirits Merchant divided their large
ground floor into two rooms to keep the groups separated. Like the
clientele they were built to serve, the taprooms were as different
as they could possibly be. The only thing the rooms had in common
was a series of fans linked together with well-oiled chains that
ran along the ceiling to provide a comfortable breeze for their
patrons. The fans were powered by a steam engine hidden from view
in the basement. The engine was placed there to keep the merchants
from having to hear its noisy rumblings, and to keep the drunk
engineering students from tinkering with it.
The merchants wishing to imbibe did so in a room
decorated with tasteful oil paintings of gentle landscapes.
Conversations were had in comfortable, high backed chairs arraigned
around small tables. The room was designed to help the businessmen
relax after a long day at work, and as such, those using that
taproom were expected to be on their very best behavior. Secretly,
many of the merchants yearned for the rowdy energy of the other
room, but were too conscious of their social standings to be caught
dead with the economically impaired.
When the inn owners designed the taproom devoted to
those from the University, they went in a totally different
direction. Instead of tasteful landscapes, the room was decorated
with black and white pictures from a recent invention known as a
camera. While the quality still wasn’t that great where the photos
were concerned, the fact that almost all of them were of nearly
nude models more than made up for it in the eyes of the University
crowd. Long tables ran the length of the room with benches on
either side. Where the merchants tried to keep things as quiet as
possible, the students were always a boisterous bunch. One of the
louder traditions that had evolved on the scholars’ side was that
each customer was expected to stand, and loudly toast whatever they
felt like at least once during their visit.
Gareth Mintel put a hand out on the table in front of
him to steady himself as he stood up. When he was reasonably sure
he wasn’t going to fall over, he lifted his hand, and brushed his
shoulder length, sandy blond hair out of his eyes. In an effort to
look presentable, he tugged on the bottom of his waist length
overcoat in a vain attempt at straightening the burgundy colored
wool. His eyes lingered on the wide blue stripe and then the
smaller green and brown stripes on his sleeve near the cuff. The
wide blue stripe signified he was professor in the School of
Languages, while the small green one denoted he was simply a
researcher in the Applied Magics department. The brown stripe was
slightly larger than the green, but not as big as the blue one. The
brown stripe showed he was an adjunct professor in the Archeology
Department.
After raising his glass of wine (and managing to only
spill a little bit of the golden nectar), Gareth shouted happily,
“A toast… to misplaced accent marks!” With a well-practiced motion,
Gareth drained his cup before slumping back onto his bench with a
rather unmanly giggle.
In response to the toast, a young dwarf, barely over
a hundred and twenty years old, took a mighty swig from his stein
full of ale. He was dressed similarly to his adopted son with gray
trousers, knee high boots, and a cropped, burgundy jacket. Where
Gareth had blue, brown, and green stripes, Dr. Tralnis Granitestaff
had a single white stripe with gold embroidery on his to signify
him as a doctor in the School of Medicine and a tenured professor
to boot. After wiping the foam from his long, black beard, Tralnis
leaned across the table to look at his son. “Not that I’ve ever
found a reason not to drink to something, but what in the 34 layers
of hell does an accent mark have to do with anything?” he
inquired.
“Everything of course, and hopefully it should secure
my tenure at the University,” Gareth replied. Seeing the confused
look in Tralnis’ eyes, he went on. “You see, one of the most boring
tasks given to a first year student studying Issian is to translate
the works of the Issian philosopher, Dravis the Martyr. It’s
supposed to build character, or some rubbish like that. My
discovery changes all of that. It will make Dravis’ works something
that people beg to translate,” he stated.
Instead of looking confused, Tralnis now looked
skeptical. Noting his father’s expression, Gareth went on. “I was
working in the library, and came across an original copy of the
first volume of Dravis’ works. It turns out that whoever made the
copies to be translated routinely put the accent mark in Dravis’
title in the wrong place. Instead of Dravis the Martyr, his real
title was Dravis the Hung!” Gareth explained, his voice full of
excitement.
Tralnis held up one hand in a gesture for Gareth to
pause. “No offense Gareth, but only a language scholar like
yourself could get excited about a little change like that. What
does it matter if some poor dead sod is known as a martyr versus
that he was killed by hanging?” he asked.
Gareth chuckled and gave his father a lopsided grin,
and then swayed in his chair as the room started to spin a bit.
When the walls started behaving like they were supposed to, and
remained still, he tried to explain better. “That’s just it,
Tralnis, Dravis died happily of old age, and I what assume was
exhaustion, not from hanging,” he stated. Having his sense of humor
influenced greatly by his Dwarvish father, Gareth timed his next
statement for maximum effect. While Tralnis took another swig of
ale, he said, “Dravis’ title had nothing to do with his demise, but
everything to do with how much the women (and a few of the men)
from his village were impressed by the size the equipment below his
belt, as well as the great uses he put said equipment to.”
Tralnis spit out his ale and sprayed it across the
table. “You now have my attention, Gareth,” he stated
needlessly.
“Issian has very few words, and the placement of a
single accent mark can change the meaning and context of an entire
sentence. Knowing where the accent mark was supposed to go
completely changed how Dravis’ first work read. Turns out, it was
just an introduction for the other six volumes which documented the
techniques he developed over his lifetime of shagging. Of course
after I learned that, I had to find the other six volumes,” Gareth
told him.
“Of course!” Tralnis agreed with a grin. Now here was
an ancient text the small doctor could appreciate. The only thing
Dwarves like to do more than drink ale was have sex, and they drank
a lot of ale.