Here we go again with the random creative-writing vignettes… this one’s not quite as dark as the last, though.

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“That? You must be joking.”

“I assure you, Sir Andrew, what you see here is a wholly faithful representation of the beast that has plagued our lands for the better part of two months now.”

The country squire didn’t know I wasn’t really a proper knight and thus didn’t really rate the Sir, but if you’re going to put on armor and go playing in someone else’s medieval back yard, you have to expect certain things and learn to just roll with them.

This doesn’t mean I trusted the sketchy… er, sketch that this portly gentleman had laid out on the table before me. “What is it supposed to be? A dragon? A hydra? Some sort of mutant griffon?”

“Mutant, Sir?”

“Nevermind. Where did you say I could find this… thing?”

Clad in armor not precisely made of steel, armed with a sword, a set of directions and some supposedly terrifying anecdotes, and unsure what I would discover, I trekked into the outlying farmlands in search of danger. This is the sort of activity you engage in when you’re between assignments and not yet bored of silly exercises in derring-do.

Eventually, of course, I found my quarry. I think it safe to say that “it” found me, of course. In a world not wholly devoid of what is often called magic, I wasn’t hard to miss if you happened to be sensitive to such things. Mind you, I was deliberately radiating energy in an effort to get the beast’s attention. And what a creature! Thirty feet tall at the shoulder, three heads on long writhing necks, a leathery mane where the necks met, a long spiked tail, wings of dubious utility and spikes everywhere made the poor thing look like a melange of bad ideas.

Of course it wasn’t real. I mean, even by the standards of non-reality you usually have to deal with in these situations, this critter wasn’t particularly grounded in sense, fact, or the physical plane for that matter.

The damned thing was a big, ugly, silly, noisy illusion. No fun at all.

“Alright, now you’ve gone and ruined my vacation. Come out, whoever you are, wherever you are.”

In reply, one of the creature’s heads tried to sideswipe me out of the saddle. I didn’t even dignify the proceedings by drawing my sword. I just shielded and watched as the head bounced away. Whoever was behind the illusion was moderately talented; the creature did appear to impact solidly. My horse, of course, didn’t so much as flinch. I paid top credits for the AI in its electronic brain, after all.

“Yes, yes, that’s very nice. I’m quite impressed. Now cut it out.”

Have you ever seen a three-headed beast breathe fire? It’s a neat effect, I suppose, but even for a man like myself for whom the word “overkill” has little meaning, I thought it a trifle overdone. It was real fire, which actually is harder to create out of thin air than you might expect without giving yourself away.

That is why I was able to pinpoint my true opponent’s location. What I discovered was, at first, terribly disappointing.

“Xian? What in the name of the Cursed Springs of Jusenkyo are you doing here? And… what in the hell is this supposed to be?”

“You,” she replied as the illusory beast vanished from around her, “never call anymore. A girl must resort to extraordinary means, at times.”

“Er. Hmm. Oh.” For the record, I’m not always the most glib and fluent human to travel the universe. “Can I offer you dinner, perhaps?”

“That will suffice. For a start.”

“Ah.” What more could I say?