Writing Prompt: An alien force begins attacking a medieval-age Earth, thinking their technologically inferior target will be easy pickings. However, the invaders come against an unusually powerful resistance in the form of magic-wielders, a phenomena that simply does not exist anywhere else in the universe.
“I say,” and Hogarth did say, “have you ever seen a Spaceship chase a Dragon?”
Hogarth gazed up at the slowly disintegrating skies, a fleet of several thousand Juxtian Battle Ships were descending on medieval Earth, and he couldn’t help but laugh. His laughing had absolutely nothing to do with the sky, or with the Spaceships, it was in fact completely unrelated to one or the other. Hogarth had simply remembered a rather amusing joke, one of old Farknuckle’s right-royal-corkers.
“Looks to me like the Dragon’s doing most o that there chasing.” Willis argued. He was stable hand to half the Kingdom of Freight Forward, and so had fair reason to be trouble by the coming armada. After all, if the Kingdom was burnt to the ground, where would he keep all these god damn goats?
It should be said, for the sake of avoiding any confusion, that goats are the preferred steed of choice in the lands of Freight Forward; firstly for their superior speed in comparison to slugs (the larger breed of slug that can be ridden, that is) and secondly for the inexplicable way in which they can climb sheer rock faces unimpeded by both grip and gravity.
“No, no. You’ve got it all wrong.” Hogarth took Willis by the shoulders and spun him a quarter turn around, yanking his head halfway down by his ear, “Now look.”
“Ah, I see.” Willis didn’t see, but he was far too invested in the light show to bother with Hogarth, who was still chuckling uncontrollably. “What’s so funny, anyway?”
“Oh, just something someone said.” Hogarth wiped a tear from his eye, then purposefully gathered up his robes, “I suppose I should get going.”
“Oh, yeah?” Willis asked, still utterly uninterested in anything but the skies.
“Well, they’ll need me to fight the alien invasion no doubt. I am, after all, the most powerful magician in all of Freight Forward.”
“You are,” Willis corrected, “the only magician in all o Freight Forward. But really, I wouldn’t worry.”
“And why not?” Hogarth folded his thin arms one over the other, shaking his chin uncontrollably.
“Because,” Willis pointed far over the hill, “help’s already here.”
Hogarth followed Willis’ finger and couldn’t believe what he saw. In the crest of the far hills there came a hundred men and women, all fancifully dressed in glowing socks and trainers, and very little else. They were riding on the backs of Bears and Bees and even Baboons. Each one screamed at the invaders on high, throwing bolts of lightening from various wands and floating orbs. At the head of this magnificent horde rode the Queen of Freight Forward on a two-headed goat that seemed to hover just slightly over the green of the grass.
“Interfering, good-for-nothing, busy-body…”
“Well, they’re good for something.” Willis interrupted, staring in awe as a dozen carefully placed lightening bolts transformed a lone Juxtian Battle Ship into a thousand tiny shards of metal. At least Willis assumed the ships were made from metal. Perhaps not iron or steel, it would have to be some new and exciting sort of metal. Aluminium, maybe. Yes, that sounded right.
The Juxtian Battle Ships, for want of a better description, looked like enormous tea pots. Steam erupted from the circular lid, inside of which the ship’s command centre thrummed with life. The pot itself was lined with various probes and flashing antennae, the handle ebbing gently round the pot to keep it steady. And the spout was the Juxtian’s masterfully designed weapon of war. A cannon capable of converting whatever nastiness was thrown inside into a solid lump of pure devastation.
The problem the Juxtian fleet currently faced was that no matter how fast they fired their cannons these solid lumps of pure devastation were reflected back at their ships, courtesy of those men and women in glowing socks and shoes.
“Don’t reckon they expected us to put up much o a fight.” Willis grinned, feeling content that his stables, and so too his goats, were safe.
Hogarth grunted in response, but even as sour as he was at being left out of this terribly thrilling affair he couldn’t help but laugh to himself. Again, it had absolutely nothing to do with what was going on around him, he simply kept remembering that right-royal-corker of a joke.
Oh Farknuckle, what a treasure you are.
Copyright © K R Perry 2019