In the beginning, there were elves.
Really. Just ask them. "We were there" they'll tell you. And it's true.
It's also about as meaningless as the BBC radio adaptation of Baywatch, because this story has absolutely nothing to do with elves, and, in fact, is probably somewhat prejudice against them.
Still, it's important to note, simply to illustrate the fact that everything (including elves) must start somewhere, and that somewhere will usually always be at the beginning . . .
. . . should always be at the beginning . . .
Except that something very large and important wasn't. It started right in the middle, and began working its way backward and forward simultaneously. This was necessary, but also very harmful and confusing.
Before we can make any real sense of this, we're going to need to make a number of historical and extra-historical pit-stops, including (but not limited to): 1) a time and place which no longer exists in any fashion, 2) a planet which does still technically exist, but in a totally different fashion than is depicted for most of this tale, and 3) an endless void of untapped existence known as Not-Space, where a large disembodied brain is leisurely orbiting a black, planet-sized spherical mass.
For the sake of expediency, we will address the brain first . . .
"TITAN'S EDGE" Pilot Episode "NO-PLACE LIKE NOT-SPACE"
by: The Wise One
Once upon a Not-Time, there was a large disembodied brain. It wasn’t a particularly interesting brain, apart from it’s unusual mass. It possessed all the standard bits you’d expect a brain to have, right down to the stem. In fact, had the brain not been roughly the size of a Winnebago, and had it not been floating leisurely through the limitless ethers of Not-Space, and had there not been a naked Indian brave and a yeti sitting on it’s frontal lobe playing cards, you might have mistaken it for your own brain, or that of a close family member.
The brain was not consciously aware of its immediate surroundings, or of the two beings who crowned it. Its mind (no pun intended) was elsewhere. Several elsewhere’s, in fact. It was totally lost in thought. So it didn’t notice when a strange anomaly suddenly appeared around that which it orbited.
The yeti and the Indian hadn’t been there at the game’s start. They’d been dealt in by a winged pillow, who at that time had been playing against a pair of animated lips. The group was joined shortly thereafter by a pair of cardboard cutouts in the likeness of Winston Churchill and Mr. T, respectively.
The others had long since departed. They’d vanished, quietly, one by one, as mysteriously as they’d appeared, until only the two native Americans remained.
“You can’t do that!” the Indian shouted. “It says so right here!” Reaching behind his back, he produced a small, colorfully illustrated soft cover book, and began flipping through it. “See!” He said, holding up the open book for the yeti’s approval “Only INTERRUPTS work on the other person’s turn! That’s a Sorcery!”
The yeti buried its face in its hands, resisting the urge to maul its opponent. It had become aware several turns ago of a strange blue river coursing its way around the sphere the brain was orbiting. This concerned the yeti greatly. It had tried to alert its partner to this phenomenon, only to be accused of cheating. While highly intelligent, the yeti was incapable of human speech, and the Indian couldn’t comprehend sign language. It continued trying to get its point across for a good thirty seconds before giving up and eating its opponent in frustration.
At this point, for the sake of clarity, we must now reduce the magnification of the scene by several million times. From our current perspective, the black spherical mass is about the size of a baseball (as apposed to the size of a planet, as it appeared a moment earlier), and the brain is now too small to see. Also, and more importantly, there is a strange entity writhing about the sphere. It is impossible to describe this entity correctly, except that 1) it conveyed sort of a greasy, stringy aura, like a sauce covered noodle, 2) it was roughly a yard in length, and 3) it was blue.
The Noodle twisted and curled around the sphere, smoke-like, for several minutes. It did so out purely out of dramatic appropriateness, which should give you an idea about the sort of Noodle we’re dealing with here.
As it did this, the Noodle was busily scanning the surface of the sphere. It’s intent was simple: it wanted to find a way in. Several minutes of coiling later, the Noodle had found no structural inequities, and was beginning to get very peeved.
Suddenly, in a burst of inspiration (or insanity), the Noodle dipped itself into the fertile soil of Not-Space and pulled forth from it’s ethers the meta-physical equivalent of the Jaws of Life. Sensing this, and divining the Noodle’s intent, the sphere turned visibly paler . . .
By the time the yeti had finished it’s meal, the blue river had passed out of sight. For a moment, the yeti was relieved. This quickly changed when the air* was shattered by a massive shockwave of pure force, which instantly floored the yeti and sent the brain veering sideways. It was accompanied by a deafening blast of sound,** like a punctured tire times ten to the fifteenth power.
The yeti disappeared. The brain returned to full consciousness, and was terribly alarmed by what it found.
Accelerating rapidly to the other side of the sphere, the brain was just able to spot the tail end of the Noodle entity disappearing into a massive fissure. Within seconds, the opening was gone, and the Noodle with it.
“Oops” The brain synapsed to itself, and vanished.
To Be Continued(?)
* Okay, there wasn’t really any air. But breathing is a hard habit to break, and habit counts for a lot in Not-Space.
Hearing can be very habit forming . . .