Part 3: The Return of the Turnip
"No," I yell at Cernd, "I won't do it!" I'm running away from him as fast as my over-sized tiger feet can carry me.
"Please! Just one time?" He shouts, as he persistently pursue me around the camp. Unfortunately, he is faster than me and my lead shrinks depressingly, second by second.
"I said no and I mean NO! You are one sick druid!"
"I assure you, it is completely harmless. I just wish to see their reaction!" Why can't he just give up?
I wish I was in better shape!
"Kierwan! Can you please tell the psycho tree hugger to stay away from me!"
He doesn't answer me. The reason for this lack of response is that he, and the others, are too busy laughing their heads off. Personally, I can't see anything amusing about this situation. Cernd wants to introduce me to some friends of his, which may sound like a nice idea. Except his friends are myco… myroc… bloody mushroom people. Apparently he thinks I resemble one, and wishes to see how they will react to me. I would very much like to see HIS reaction to a powerful kick in the rear end, but alas, slippers are pretty useless when it comes to butt kicking.
Damn! He got me!
I feel his hand on my shoulder, and then suddenly the weird light comes back. Either we've been transported onto the the set of a low budget science fiction movie, or we're onboard a low budget space ship. Everything, from the control panels (I assume that is what the boards filled with switches and blinking lights are) to the armour on the short people who is surrounding us, looks casually thrown together. As if whoever built this thing just used whatever they could find in the nearest junk-yard.
"What IS this place?" The dreadful druid is still clutching my shoulder.
"How should I know? And let go of me, you freak!"
"Was this the one you wanted, boss?" one of the small armoured ones ask.
A voice from behind us answers: "Yes, *wheeze* You may leave us alone now."
I turn around and see a tall and very odd looking man. He is wearing a black jump-suit, completed with black gloves, a black cloak and a bucket like helmet. Black. I tear myself loose from Cernd's grip, and approach the figure.
"Who, or maybe I should rather ask, what are you?" I feel like I'm starting to get a grip on this world jumping business. No need to waste time with panic and screaming and those kind of things.
If only I had a towel I'd be ready to travel the universe
I instantaneously loose that feeling again when the figure in front of me says: "Strange, *wheeze* I am you father."
After a moment of stunned silence I manage to object to his claim. "No you're not! My dad would never wear anything THAT tasteless!"
The man presses a button located on his chest. His suit opens up, and curiously enough a very short man jumps out of it. When he removes the bucket from his head I can see that he actually looks a bit like my father. Except for the beard. And his size. There is a slightly embarrassed look on his face.
"It's a power suit, " he explains, "It makes my minions respect me more."
"Yes, the Gnome Troopers. I am Darth Jansen, by the way. Nice to meet you. Would you like some turnip tea?" He lifts up a teapot out of what I first had assumed was a control panel.
"Yeah, that would be… eh… I mean… NO! Where are we, and what is this nonsense about you being my father?"
"Well, alright then, " he admits, "I am your uncle. I just thought "father" would sound better."
I am still not buying it. "I have one uncle. You are NOT him."
"I'm your adopted uncle. Your grandparents adopted me when I was fifty years old, but shortly after I was kidnapped by a character who called himself "The Evil Overlord formerly known as The Emperor" (actually he used some sort of squiggly sign, but no one could pronounce that). He wanted me to turn to "The Dwarf Side" or something. Luckily I was rescued by this green fellow who talked kind of odd. He reminded me of my cousin…"
The little man goes on and on about his relatives until my head starts to hurt. "Can you please give us the short version? Just tell us why we are here."
"Very well," he looks a little hurt " You see this is a spelljammer. Well, a slightly rebuilt one, that is. It is named The Turnip Star. Lately we have run into trouble with someone calling themselves Borgons, and yesterday they nearly eradicated us. We managed to escape, but now we are trapped here in this Nowhere dimension if we don't get our hands on a special thing called The Device. And you're the one who's got it."
"How can you be so sure that I've got it?" I ask.
"If you didn't have it, you wouldn't be here. The transporter only work on those who carries The Device. Except for the first time, then the transmission got interrupted by a high energy magic field that suddenly turned up, and everything went crazy."
I feel around in my pockets.
"All I've got is these hair rolls, and the remote to my stereo." I hand the things to him, and he examines them.
"Hmm. I think I'll better call my Yada master."
"Yes, he can speak every known language in the universe, see through claptrap, understand politicians and identify objects three times a day. Good with a light sabre too."
Nothing has prepared me for my next shock. A man enters. There is no doubt. It's Ivar Aasen*.
But he's supposed to be dead!
Obviously he is not aware of this fact himself, because he looks very much alive as he gives Cernd and me a friendly nod before he starts to examine my hair rolls.
"This is Obi wan Aasen," Darth Jansen comments while we wait for the man to determine which of my things is The Device, "I picked him up a hundred years ago, not far from the place where you came from. He said he needed a vacation. Has been with us ever since. Useful fellow."
"Aha!" Aasen holds up the remote triumphantly. "This is it!" He and Darth connects it to the panel and press the play button. We are on our way.
During the journey home, I have a nice long conversation with Aasen. It becomes clear to me that he has tried to keep himself updated on the goings on of his old home. He seems a bit upset about the state of things. When I mention the ferry which is named after him, he gets a thoughtful look.
"You say it is defect?" he asks.
"Yes. I thought it was because you had cursed it," I admit.
"Of course I haven't cursed it! Why should I do such a thing ? That's ridiculous."
"Errr…" I feel like a galactic size idiot.
At least something good comes out of it. Aasen gets Darth to make a brief stop straight above the ferry, and he takes a toolbox with him and transports down to his maritime namesake. When he comes back, there is a satisfied grin on his face.
"Heh... No one will call that ferry cursed anymore!"
Not long after, we are hovering straight above my house, and Darth is ready to transport me down.
"Be careful, " I am a bit worried about this, "I don't want to end up inside a wall!" I've seen too many horror movies.
"Don't worry, it's completely safe!" He presses the eject button, and a short flash of light later I am standing in my living room again.
Aaaaaah… home sweet home!
The radio is still on.
"… just a few moments ago an object which looked like a gigantic turnip was seen hovering over the ferry "Ivar Aasen". A spokesman for MRF states that the engine problems are now over and…"
"Um… should I be here?" I turn around, and to my horror, Cernd is standing there.
"Noooooooooooooooooooooooooo!" I run out into the yard, only to see The Turnip Star disappear behind a mountain.
They CAN'T leave him here with me! THEY CAN'T!
"Ivar Aasen, come back!" I shout desperately.
The woman next door lean over the hedge and say: "I'm afraid that's not possible, dear. He has been dead for over a hundred years. I can sympathize, though. He seemed like a great guy."
"Yeah, " I say. "He really is…" Then I see a car rolling into our driveway. It's my husbands.
I don't look forward to try and explain to him what an annoying druid from a computer game is doing in our apartment.
*Note: Ivar Aasen (1813-1896) was a Norwegian poet and linguist. I don't mean to disgrace his memory by having him appear in this story. And there really is a (often malfunctioning) ferry named after him.
Part 3: The Return of the Turnip
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