Inkstuck

The town of Lentimas was a hot, scorched town dwarfed by a massive volcano. Dust blew about the place, covering the town in a layer of orange and red. Because of these conditions, life could not survive here.

The people here had a dismal air about them. They walked their day-to-day lives with a sense of the inevibility of death hanging over the town. Whatever manages to grow there is small and shrivelled and eventually loses the will to live.

The volcano above the town rules all. It rules the Lentimas citizens lungs and breath. It rules their hearts and minds. It rules the town in all ways.

It is said that in the volcano, lives a magician. An ancient warlock who can control heat and flames.

You are not in Lentimas Town to meet the suicidal townspeople, or to observe the orange-tainted sights.

You are here to meet that warlock.

Your name is John Egbert, and you are re-reading your favourite book ever for the millionth time.

You have to be super sneaky, or else your mother might hear you and take the book away, again.

She always threatens to take it and burn it, but you know she won’t. The author hunt down and burnt every copy she could get her hands on. This is the last one left. She wouldn’t dare burn it because it’s too valuable to her.

Instead, she glowers at the book that sits alone on the bookshelf.

One of the reasons why you like ‘Inkstuck’ so much is because it is the only book your mother keeps in your house.

But that’s only one of the many, many reasons you like it.

You love the descriptive way everything is explained, although some of it is a little confusing.

You love how gritty and dark everything is. How everything is gloomy and doomy until the rogue knight comes along and unintentionally helps everyone.

You absolutely love the characters, especially the hero of the story Dave Strider. He’s a sarcastic, cool badass that totally doesn’t give a shit about anything. Because you don’t have any friends—no one at school wants to make friends with the weird fat kid who talks to himself and wears weird clothes—you kind of consider him your best friend. You think maybe, in another life, you could’ve been best friends.

You shift the very heavy book on your lap to turn the page. The book is leather bound and all old-timey looking. It smells weirdly of spices, with hints of ‘new book’. There are a few fake gemstones on the cover, surrounded by the golden words on the cover. ‘Inkstuck’ The uppermost one says whilst the bottom one says ‘Rose Lalonde’.

Rose Lalonde is the author of Inkstuck, and in your opinion, a truly remarkable woman.

From what you’ve seen of interviews, she’s super sarcastic and really smart. She seems like a very motherly person—although your definition of mother has been tainted by your own, so what would you know?

You know she and her wife, Kanaya Maryam, live in a modern style mansion in New York. You know she used to have a twin brother named Dave—and after he died, she based her character on him.

You don't know anything else about her unfortunately. Your mother likes to keep the information from you, to hurt you.

You dig into the story again, laughing at Dave’s shitty jokes you’ve read a million times. You are so absorbed in the story that you don’t notice that your mother is calling for you until she nearly wrenches the door off its frame.

You supress a scream. She’ll punish you for that.

Your mother stands in the doorway—a foreboding figure.

Her long dark hair swirls around after her everywhere. Her arms, neck and legs are constantly covered in golden jewellery. Seriously, she wears them to bed.

Her skin is very dark—almost pitch black. It’s kind of like yours, except yours is peppered with faint scars and fading bruises.

For some reason, she likes to wear a black and fuchsia wet-suit everywhere. You don’t really get it, but you are not complaining.

Fuchsia eyes look you once over in disgust.

“Boy.” Her voice is curt and to the point.

“Y-Yes ma’am?” You stutter out.

“Don’t stutter at me. It makes you sound even more ridiculous then you normally do.”

“Yes ma’am. Sorry ma’am.” You struggle to keep your voice level.

She glares down at the book in your hands. “I thought I told you not to read that trash.”

You open your mouth to reply, but her glare stops your words in their tracks.

“Nevermind. I don’t care. Not right now anyway. Bring the book into the living room. Don’t make me wait.”

You don’t say anything as she walks out of your room. You know you have no choice but to follow her.

Hurriedly, you close Inkstuck, picking it up and clutching it to your chest. You begin to make your way to the living room, passing numerous photos of your mother.

It used to be filled with pictures of you and your dad, as well as other, homey things. But then your dad died, and left you in the care of this pink monstrosity.

She changed it.

She changed everything.

You walk into the living room, clutching the book to your chest as a sort of safety blanket.

Your mother is sitting on the couch alongside another woman you’ve never seen before.

This woman is tiny sitting next to your mother. She’s got blonde hair that frames her face and blue eyes that are framed by blue horn-rimmed glasses.

She’s writing stuff down in a little booklet while your mother talks.

When you walk in, they both look up.

“Boy. Read for us.”

Surprised by your mothers words, you step back a little.

“Don’t protest, just do it.” She snaps.

Shakily, you walk over to the other couch. After you sit down, you open to the first page and begin reading.

“Once upon a time, there was a prospering city called Derse. It was a rich city, filled with many blessings from the ancient ones above. The system was fair and just. Hardly anyone who lived in Derse held grudges or lived in bitterness.

This was all thanks to the Good King Bartholomew, who ruled over his people with a fair and just heart.

Under him where his Knights, who protected Derse from any harm from invaders or evil-dooers.—“

“No no.” Your mothers voice interrupts you. You blink a little out of the trance reading put you under. Reading aloud always did that.

“Yes ma’am? Am I doing it wrong?” You barely manage to get out.

“Yes. You are reading the wrong page.” She says. She leans forward, and you catch a whiff of the sea air and rotten seaweed.

She flicks forward in the pages until coming to a stop right near the end.

“I want you to read this page.”

You stiffen up.

You love this book, you really do. But if there was one thing you could change about it—that would be the ending.

The whole book is about Dave going rogue. He wants to kill Jack Noir, the Usurper King to avenge his brother. He travels across the land to awaken certain powers within him so that he’ll be strong enough.

In the end, he’s finally strong enough—or so he thinks.

After a truly epic rooftop battle, Dave is captured and sentenced to public execution.

Dave doesn’t even struggle, just lets it happen.

The story ends with him dying.

“Come on boy. Do it.”

The blonde woman scribbled furiously in her notes, making no comment to me.

“The crowd was like a singular mob, thinking as one, acting as one. When they saw me enter the courtyard, bloodied and bruised, being held up by guards, they surged forward. They all wanted to see me dead. So I will give this crowd what they wanted.

(You clutch the book tighter in your hands. You struggle to hold back tears that threaten to spill and make your mother angry. You always do this. You can’t help it—you are very attached to Dave and don’t want to read him die.)

The guards didn’t try to hold back the crowd, so as I was roughly dragged to the execution block I felt things hit my face. Mainly rotten vegetables, which hit my face and slid down it, leaving stinking trails of filth. Some children even ran up to me and kicked me in the nuts, which I did not appreciate. The guards yanked me back when I started after them.

(You chuckle a little at that. Dave got hit in the nuts a lot. It was really immature, especially compared to Rose’s other works, but that’s why you love them. You don’t notice your mothers glare, but you don’t really care anyway. You’re too entranced in the book to notice. You, like always, wish that Dave was right here with you, making smartass comments and ironic jokes.)

High above me, I could feel Jack’s cruel eye on my back. He would come to watch my downfall, like he did to my brother before me. I know I have lost, but I will lose with dignity. I will not him see me cry.

(Stupid Dave. Stupid, brave, idiotic Dave. Always refusing to give in to the enemy, even when it looks bad. Refusing to show any weakness—anytime. You wish for once, he could be able to just relax and not have to worry about maintaining his stoic image.)

So instead, I shot him a smirk as I strode to my final resting place. My head would be chopped off and placed on a spike outside the Castle to warn against traitors. I really hoped they enjoy the view.

(They do. I do. Just not of your head on a spike. You would like his head and body very much attached thank you very much.)

Once we reach the podium, I turn to the guards.

“Hey, you might think you’ve caught me, but don’t get aHEAD of yourselves. I still have a few tricks down my shirt.”

They push me in response to my excellent joke. I nearly trip, but manage to right myself just in time.

“Wow. Tough crowd huh?”

(You feel kinda weird. Are you supposed to feel like your insides are churning around and your heart is fluttering out of control? You feel sick, and slightly nauseous. But you can’t tear your eyes away from the page, so you keep reading.)

My joke is met with a stony silence. I hear a few boos in the crowd. I shrug and grin at them.

“No takers? Aww come on, it was worth a head-shot!”

Someone throws a rotten tomato at me. It leaves another trail of slimy red mush down my face.

(You feel really weird now. You think your Mother and the blonde woman are staring at you. You think that maybe, the book itself is glowing, corresponding with the weird feeling in your chest.)

“Dave Strider, you are sentenced to execution by beheading for treason against the King. How do you plead?”

A squire’s voice echoes across the court-yard.

“Heh. Yeah, totally guilty. Tried to kill the King. But he murdered my brother right in front of me so, you know. Fair’s fair.” I shrug at them.

More booing ensures, and above me, I can hear Jack laughing manically. With an act of defiance, I decide to flip him the—

You stop reading. You don’t know why. You think it might be because the weird feeling in your chest stops. It is replaced by a feeling of great fatigue, and you just want to curl up and sleep forever.

Or the fact that when you look up, your mother and the blonde woman are gone.

Instead, sitting on your couch are two men.

One of the men is blonde. He looks to be slightly older than you—around 15 years of age. His extremely pale skin is covered in dirt and grime. Rags hang off his muscly frame in a way that doesn’t make him seem like a hobo. He is wearing dark, oval shaped glasses that cover half his face.

The other has very dark skin, much like your mother. He is dressed in rich finery. Rich velveteen fabric lined with animal fur decorated his body. Golden necklaces hung from his neck. Hundreds of tiny gemstones covered his body. Atop his head sits a golden crown.

You close the book with a snap, staring at them with wide eyes.

Dave Strider stares back, looking non-plussed and cool about this whole situation.

The Usurper King Jack leers at you, giving you a disapproving once over.

“Ha ha! Told you I had something down my shirt ol’ Jacky-poo.” Dave smirks at Jack, nudging him with his elbow.

Jack snarls-actually snarls-at Dave.

“Whoa!” Dave grins and holds his hands up in the air. “Jeez—“ He looks at you, waving his hand around a little in the air.

“J-John.” You manage to stutter out. Immediately after, you yawn.

“John, who is obviously very bored at this predicament. We do, I believe, have a very touchy badass over here.”

“Touchy! I get it. Because he doesn’t like you touching him.” You giggle a little, but struggle to stop once you notice him staring at you. “Sorry” You mumble under your breath.

Dave shakes his head a little, as if clearing intrusive thoughts.

“Anyway Jacky-poo, I’m afraid my associate and I have you surrounded. I will actually be able to avenge my brothers death—isn’t that just fucking great?”

Jack whips out a sword, seemingly from nowhere. He presses it to Dave’s throat.

Both you and Dave gasp in surprise.

Jack is holding Caledfwlch, Daves famed legendary blade. It is only supposed to serve Dave, and Dave only. But by the way Jack is confidently holding it in his hands, you don’t think that rule applies anymore.

“Hey! That’s my sword! What the fuck!?”Dave says, backing away from the tip of his once-loyal sword.

It inches closer and Dave inches back further, but his back hits the couch. Jack grins wickedly, taking this opportunity to press the blades tip into Daves throat. A trickle of blood runs down Dave’s neck.

Weirdly, you’re not freaking out at all. I mean, any normal, rational human being would be flipping their shit.

Your favourite ever fictional character is sitting across the couch from you, a sword pressed to his throat by your least favourite character. There is an epic battle happening before you and you feel like taking a nap.

Jesus Egbert, do you have your priorities in order.

But when you see the trickle of red slide down Dave’s throat, you realise you’ll have to fight your tiredness and help him.

But how?

You glance down at the heavy copy of Inkstuck in your lap. You glance back at Jack and Dave. Dave is readying a magic attack in his fists. You recognise the flickering red glow as Fire Magic. Unfortunately, so does Jack, who easily dodges Dave’s flame-filled punch and pins him down further. You look back down at Inkstuck.

With a shriek of fear and rage, you surge forward and start hitting Jack over the head with the last copy of Inkstuck.

He stops in his tracks, dropping Caledfwlch onto Dave’s chest and turning to you, a murderous glint in his eyes.

You let out a terrified scream and hit him over the head again.

He sways a little, and Dave take this opportunity to strike.

Dave charges forward, his fist on fire.

You pull back Inkstuck just as Dave’s fist collides with Jacks face.

Jack staggers back, clutching his smoking face and swearing horrendously. You raise the book again, as threateningly as you can muster.

Jack shoots a scorched, red eye from you to Dave. He’s assessing you, sizing you up.

Then, just like that, he’s gone.

One second there, the next gone.

You stare at the empty space where Jack stood. You can smell the acrid stench of Teleportation Magic.

You feel a great wave of exhaustion pass over you. You were feeling pretty tired after they appeared, but the simple act of hitting a bad man on the head with a very heavy book really wore you out.

A calloused, pale hand enters your vision. You slowly turn to see Dave standing in front of you.

“Hey.” He grins. “I’m Dave Strider.”

“I know.” You reply, before the crushing fatigue takes you over.

You pass out.