The Amazing Adventures of Maxwell S. Flannery

Maxwell and the King

It was a night most cold and ominous that Maxwell S. Flannery arrived in Innismoor with a sheaf of papers of the utmost import from a dear friend of his, or more accurately, a friend of a friend, hidden in his possession. His hat slung low over his eyes, which were steeled with determination for the task at hand, and his vest buttoned closely against the threatening bitter cold, Maxwell slunk surreptitiously through Verruchio Falls to find the personages that were the goal of his quest. Every noise in the frosty night bespoke the Unseelie terrors that awaited him should he fail in his mission, should the servants of the Dark King find him, but Maxwell was a bold man, a high-spirited and a brave man, and feared not the creatures of the darkness.

Silent as a fox in thick stockings, stealthy aswell, something really stealthy and sneaky, Maxwell crept up on the merry denizens of Innismoor, who were gathered all around a bonfire for warmth against the unnatural chill of the evening. There, basking in the glow of the firelight, he spied a plucky Baranoran woman who could be none other than the warrior-bard Heather, a somewhat infamous character, well-known around Maxwells hometown. Nonchalantly, Maxwell swaggered towards the be-tartan-ed poetess and patron of the arts, and made his presence known. Quickly, Heather grabbed her two sidekicks, a retired Voldari military man, and an absent-minded, but good natured, wild-animal-tamer, and the four literary outlaws fled the scene. Retiring to the abode of the three, Maxwell produced the first of the papers granted him by a lovely young lady who lived next door to him, who was actually given the papers by her other neighbors, a shady fellow by the name of Graham.

He then preceded to share the awful news of what was occurring in the Seelie, or was that Unseelie, Realms. Heather and her friends were shocked and horrified to learn of the Kings sudden dislike for Maradas Grahams works of fiction, and that he had gone on the rampage, ordering everything burnt or confiscated. Applauding Maxwell for his bravery, for he had risked his life to smuggle the last of the Maradas Graham tales out of the Fair folk Realms, hidden in his pants where prying eyes would not look, Heather and crew escorted him to Rashad's Place where he could share some tales by candle light and some drinks with the dancing girls.

Warmed bodily by drink and the fire, warmed in the heart by companionship after his long journey, Maxwell produced the other papers his friend had entrusted to him. Narrowing his eyes at the paper, in a manner that was suspiciously like squinting, but could not be squinting because Maxwell had perfect eyesight, he scanned over the various works to find the one that would prove most relevant to the night's troubles. Humouring the good hearted individual who offered them, Maxwell donned a pair of borrowed spectacles and began to read a collection of work both sorrowful and joyous. These tales were met with a warm response.

Maxwell read on, feeling safe in the warmth of Rashad's but ever wary. Then suddenly, like a fould smell the is caught on an updraft of a breeze, Maxwell heart a voice out on the porch of Rashad's that made his heart race and his blood run cold as the darkened night sky. The voice was sinister and serpentine, and seemed to issue from the very black trees themselves. It was He...He! The very man who Maxwell had earlier fled to save the precious works of literature! Fearing for the papers, Maxwell hurriedly hid them within the folds of his clothing, and waited and watched.

The voice and the man who wore it did not enter the building, and Maxwell's curiosity finally got the better of him. Drawing his short cloak about his face, slouching agains the chill air, Maxwell slipped onto the porch like a dream of a ghost of a memory. It truly was He, the dark and foul King of the Unseelie, standing like the Maelstrom's minnaret, wrapped all in black as was his nature. Boldly, Maxwell inspected the harsh and drawn face, it's once luminescent glow faded to a sickly silver shimmer. This cut Maxwell to the heart, for the King was once a dear friend to his literary comrades.

In one horrifying moment, the King caught Maxwell's eye. Maxwell feigned disinterest, scrathing himself with mock boredom. Finally the Dark King seemed satisfied, and turned away. At the next opportunity, a much humbler Maxwell S. Flannery slunk back ino the building to sit by the fire. It was a close call

Maxwell waited until the King had flown back to his evil Realms, then, drowsy from the fire and from his close brush with death, he dozed off on the floor before the fireplace to dream of his next adventure