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A long, long time ago, in a galaxy who’s known distance away was relatively vague, one of those mysteriously nonexistent beginnings had popped up and started introducing things again. It’s interesting to examine this so-called “beginning”. You see...this...this “thing” claimed to be a beginning, yet at the same time completely denied any relation whatsoever to introductions, prefaces, preludes, onsets, outsets, or initiations. Always ushered in by winds rising out of various places, and oddly connected to reoccurring Ages and rotating Wheels, was it possible that this THING wasn’t even remotely connected to beginnings after all...?

The answer is irrelevant. In this case, it is the mere thought that counts, because, in simply hypothesizing and discussing the nature of this beginning, we have successfully introduced the story, and thus proved that the beginning was, in fact...a beginning. 

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[In case you can’t remember that far back, at the end of Episode 1.7 our heroes had scrambled onto their horses and charged off into the night in order to flee the seething Trolloc hordes of Dha’vol. This seemingly simple task will, alas, prove to be too much for our inept group of adventurers, who will collectively manage to get separated, attacked, tainted, chased, injured, shipwrecked and humiliated, all in one episode. Not bad for a bunch of amateurs, huh?

Perrin: Tell me again why we are galloping as fast as we can through a ruined city at midnight.
Lan: Trollocs. Inside the city walls.
Rand: Right. You said that before. But, however, you also said the they wouldn’t come in here.
Lan: And if I told you there was a duck on my head, would you believe me?
Moiraine: [Whispering to Lan] There IS a duck on your head, dear.
Lan: BLAST! [Plucks the duck off his head and hurls it behind him, where it hits the dusty road and flaps off into the sky.]
Duck: Quaaack!
Lan: Okay, alright, bad example. But the moral of the story is that everybody is wrong at some point in their lives. You shouldn’t believe everything someone says.
Mat: But everybody ELSE believed you!
Lan: Silence! If everybody else was jumping onto horses and riding as fast as they could through the ruins of a city at midnight, would you do it too?
Rand: Ehh...well...
Lan: Blast!
[...and they ride off into the night]
Mat: Uh-oh....
Moiraine: Stop!
[The horses stop, and as the riders peer through the darkness, they see that a thick tendril of fog has drifted across the path, separating them from Moiraine and Lan]
Nynaeve: What is it...?
Moiraine: That....is the evil of Shadar Logoth...Mashedpotatoe. 
Lan: Unseeing, unthinking, moving through the city as aimlessly as a plate of mashed potatoes.
Mat: Mashed potatoes don’t move all that much, you know.
Moiraine: True enough. But they can kill you in an instant.
Rand: If shot out of a cannon, yeah!
Moiraine: Ah, but have you ever had some mashed potatoes touch your leg?
Lan: They’re so bloody slimy they’ll make you scream until your head falls off.
Thom: We don’t stand a chance in der world! Hehe!
Egwene: Can you kill it?
Moiraine: [Laughing] Kill it? Mashedpotatoe is vast, girl; as vast as Shadar Logoth itself.
Lan: Besides, the Society for Vegetable Betterment and Preservation would be on your case before she could even visualize the rosebud. 
Rand: Well then...how do we rejoin you? We’re separated by a tendril of evil mashed potatoes.
Moiraine: Not just ANY mashed potatoes, Rand...this is...Mashedpotatoe.
Rand: Ah. Right-o. Nonetheless...how do we rejoin you?
Moiraine: We’re headed for the Arinelle.
Lan: That’s a river.
Moiraine: The Arinelle is a river. And that’s where we’re headed.
Rand: But how do we rejoin you?! How do we even get to the Arinelle?
Lan: See that star up there?
Mat: Oooh, that star! That little glowing speck amidst the other six billion little glowing specks...I’m sure he knows precisely the one you’re referring to.
Lan: Shut up. Just follow the red star.
Moiraine: The red star...follow the red star...
[The tendrils of Mashedpotatoe have completely cut Moiraine and Lan off from the rest of the group, and they are now left in complete and utter silence.]
Perrin: So...what now?
Rand: Well, the logical solution would be to follow the red star, don’t you think?
Thom: It’s our only chance of escape!
Mat: Shut up, Thom.
Thom: But it’s true! It’s true! It’s the only CHANCE we have! Hehe!
Egwene: [Muttering under her breath] Bloody men....
Nynaeve: We’re separated from the Warder, the Aes Sedai, and the Millennium Stallion...and we don’t even have a map. The odds are entirely against us.
Thom: Indeed, there’s not much of a CHANCE that we’ll get outta here alive, eh? Hehe!
Rand: If we run, we run the risk of getting separated from each other, lost, captured or killed.
Mat: [Grinning] Well, what are we waiting for?
[Our intrepid adventurers agree to depart after the star, and set off. They manage to dodge the tendrils of Mashedpotatoe, but suddenly, rounding a corner in front of them...]
Trolloc Horde: EEK!
Human Horde: EEK!
[Both the humans and the Trollocs continue staring at one another for about five minutes, both parties too startled and surprised to make the first move]
Mat: Hey...[says Mat] Know what? These guys are just as scared of us as we are of them!
Myrdraal: NO! Er...I mean...THAT’S NOT TRUE! Er...GET ‘EM!
Trolloc Horde: Gnargh eergh urrgh argh!
Everybody else: EEK!
[Fleeing in terror from the sissy Trollocs, the whole group somehow manages to get entirely separated from one another. It takes a certain type of ingenious idiocy to manage to do something so remarkably silly, but, in having these fools do so, Robert Jordan manages to stretch the books on for another 400 pages until everybody finally meets up again! Where was I...]
[Ah, yes.]
[Rand shrieks and pulls the reigns of his horse tighter as he gallops through the ruins, dodging the evil tendrils of Mashedpotatoe all the way. He finally stops at what he deems to be a “safe distance” away from the Trollocs, but no less than two minutes later, he hears quiet footsteps approaching from the shadows. Hoping to catch his future assailant off guard, he spurs his horse forward with a mighty shout, and spontaneously decides to chop Mat’s head off.]
[Fortunately, he changes his mind halfway to Mat’s neck.]
[Rand sighs with boredom.]
Rand: I guess I shouldn’t kill you, eh? Might need you sometime later...[Rand sighs again] I was hoping I could kill someone during this episode. So far, the adventure has been nothing but flee, flee, flee. It’s so boring...
Mat: I...I...I...
Rand: Seen anybody?
Mat: I...I...um....
Rand: No, I thought not. They must be on their way to the river. C’mon, let’s go.
Mat: I...I...er...
Rand: Look, if it’ll make you feel any better, I apologize for trying to kill you. I get urges like that every now and then, okay?
Mat: I...I...I...it’s...alright. Um...
Rand: [Narrowing his eyes] Whaaaat...?
Mat: Nothing!
Rand: Nothing at all?
Mat: Nothing! I swear!
Rand: Not a thing?
Mat: Well...er...what you did back there...it kinda made me think that maybe you’re actually the Dragon Reborn, and that Tam and Kari al’Thor aren’t really your parents, and the reason you’re two feet taller than anybody else is because you’re actually Aiel...but not to worry, I’ve got over that silliness.
Rand: Oh, well that’s a relief, eh?
[Suddenly, Thom gallops by from behind...]
Thom: GO, you fools! It’s your only chance of escape! Hehe! [Hollered Thom]
[Rand curses under his breath, and digs his heels into his horse.] 
Rand: [Finally catching up to Thom] THOM! [He gasps] We need to talk.
Thom: Ha! Fat chance, bucko!
Rand: Thom, I’m serious. It’s about this stupid “chance” thing. We gotta talk!
Thom: Look here, pal: I’m a gleeman and I used to be the lover of the queen of Andor. I’ve battled Darkfriends with my bare hands, and I just saved your life. What chance is there that I’m actually going to listen to what you have to say?
Mat: A pretty good one, I’d say.
Thom: [Arching an eyebrow] Oh? And what makes YOU so confident?
Mat: THIS! [Yanks the weasel from Shadar Logoth out of his pocket, and holds it menacingly in front of Thom’s face] [The dead weasel falls limp.] [Mat curses and tries to make the weasel look at least somewhat threatening by waving it around wildly]
Thom: [Gasps in horror] A weasel!! From...from...Mat, did you take that from Shadar Logoth?!
Mat: [Nods ominously.]
Thom: What did the Aes Sedai tell you?!
Mat: Er...
Rand: “You are the Dragon Reborn” ?
Thom: Besides that!
Mat: “You’re three hundred thousand army generals reincarnated into one incredibly lucky guy” ? 
Thom: No, not that!
Rand: “Eat your fruit and vegetables” ?
Thom: Gah! No, I was referring to the statement, “Don’t take anything from Mordeth because it’s poisoned and you’ll die!”
Mat: Hey...she never said that...
Thom: Close enough. Now put the weasel down!
Mat: [Shielding the weasel protectively and whispering hoarsely,] It’s my weasel!
Thom: Matrim...put the weasel DOWN.
Mat: [Stares in wide-eyed paranoia at his companions] IT’S MY WEASEL! YOU CAN’T HAVE IT!! [Shrieks and runs off into the forest.]

[...five minutes later]

Mat: [Emerging from the forest, face pale and eyes wide...] [Mumbling quietly to himself] It’s my weasel, it’s my bloody weasel, it’s mine mine mine mine, not your weasel, my weasel....[Stops and stares in horror at the Trollocs charging through the forest behind him.] Oh no you don’t, you Light-blasted Trollocs! Trying to take my weasel, HAHA, I don’t think so! Not this time, mister! It’s MY weasel, and if you bloody want it, you gotta get through ME first!! [Snarls a nocks an arrow, and shoots the nearest Trolloc right through the eye.]
Mat: Haha! Not so tough NOW, are you? [Stuffs the weasel into his breast pocket] You know what they say... “the way to a man’s weasel is through his HEART!” Or or or...or something like that. “If you wanna get my weasel, you gotta get with my friends” I think...er...screw this! [Tears the weasel out of his pocket and clutches it protectively in his hands.] [Looks at the Trollocs] [Runs away]
Thom and Rand: [Look at each other....] [Shrug] [Gallop off after Mat]
[Thom and Rand catch up to Mat, and find him staring glumly off his horse and over the broad expanse of the river.]
[The river! They’d found it!]
[Thom sighs, and glances about.]
Thom: So...which way? Up, down, left, right, “It’s my weasel”, or “I don’t give a rat’s rump, let’s just get the bloody flaming Light out of here.”
Mat: [Mumbling] It’s my weasel...
Rand: Argh, Thom, I don’t give a rat’s rump, let’s just get the bloody flaming Light out of here!
Thom: [Nods] Okay, then. Grab your saddlebags and jump.
Rand: Jump?!!
Thom: Uh-huh. [And without further hesitation, grabs his saddlebags and...jumps into the river.]
[Thom lands with a loud THUD.]
Rand: [Raises an eyebrow] Hey...“THUD” is not what happens after you jump into a river! “THUD” is what happens when you jump onto the wooden deck of a bo....ahhhhh....[Peers over the riverbank and sees a boat floating past] Aha! [Grabs his saddlebags and jumps, and lands with a loud CRUNCH...]
Gelb: Argh! Blimey! Me 'ead! Aaaargh!! Bloody flamin' bleedin' blood and bloody ashes! Darkmates fallin' out of the bloody sky and landin' on me bloody flamin' bleedin' Light-blasted 'ead! Oi! Arrrgh!
Rand: Er...sorry?
Mat: [Suddenly realizing that everybody has grabbed their saddlebags and jumped, grabs his saddlebag and jumps, and lands with a loud, “IT’S MY WEASEL!”]
Gelb: It's yor weasel! Blimey! I weren't gonna touch it; 'onest! [Curls up into a ball and whimpers in fear]
[Rand glances up, and spies three men struggling with a Trolloc up in the bow, but, remembering that he’s still stepping on Gelb, Rand quickly backs away.]
Gelb: [Breathes a sharp sigh of relief, and bites his lip, trying to restrain his tears] Why’d yer 'ave ter go and do that, then? Yer probably busted me arm! That’s not right nice...
Rand: I’m sorry, sir. I didn’t see you sleeping there when I jumped.
Gelb: I weren't sleepin'! 'onest! I were seein' 'ow long I could remain motionless wiv me mince pies closed wivout...er...shiftin' position! Right! 
Bayle Domon: Fortune prick me, what be this?! One of me crew mates sleepin’ on me ship?
Gelb: But I weren't sleepin'! Oi!
Bayle Domon: And weren’t ye no supposed to secure this boom, Gelb? 
Gelb: But I did! Struth! Tied it down tight. I admit I'm a wee slow about fings now and then, Cap’n Domon, right, but I cop ffem done! Struth!
Bayle Domon: So you do be slow, do you? No so slow at sleeping...
Gelb: But I weren’t sleepin’! 
Bayle Domon: ...sleeping when ye should be standing watch! We could be murdered to a man, for all of ye.
Gelb: No, Cap'n, no! It were 'im! [Points at Rand] I were on guard, just like I were sposed ter be, right, wen 'e sneaked up behind me and 'it me on the head wiv a club! [Touches his forehead and winces] I fought 'im, blimey, but then der Trollocs came. He's in league wiv them, right, Cap'n! Right! A Darkmate! In league wiv the bloomin' Trollocs, I say! Blimey!
Bayle Domon: In league with my aged grandmother!!
Gelb: ‘e is? [Looks at Rand, and tilts his head to the side] Right, then...JERK! [Storms off to sulk below deck]
Bayle Domon: [Sighs] Don’t ye be payin’ no attention to him. He’s a few sails short of a full mast!
Thom: [Bowing before Captain Domon] Captain...allow me to introdu-
Bayle Domon: YOU three, come below deck, so I can see if there be a chance I can sell ye into slavery, or whether ye be too scrawny.
[Mat and Rand stare in horror at the captain]
Bayle Domon: [Suddenly bursts out laughing] I be pulling your legs, mates! Now, be there a chance you’ll tell me who ye be, where be ye going out here in the middle of nowhere, and why I should no throw ye over the side for stompin’ on my crew?
Mat: [Whispering to Rand] Rand! I think...I think Thom’s ‘chance’ fetish is contagious! Here, listen to Domon when he speaks, and then listen to Thom! Thom’s passed it off to him!
Rand: Yeah...I noticed that, too!
Mat: That’s rea--Hey! What’s that blue vapor rising off of him?!
Rand: It looks...it looks likes the Chance Vapors!
Mat: So...you mean it’s gone? Thom doesn’t have it? Domon doesn’t have it?
Rand: It’s only gone until the next person absorbs it.
[A lone raven who happens to be flapping by nonchalantly, suddenly finds himself caught up in the Blue Chance Vapors of Doom]
Raven: Caw! Caw! Caah..aragh...chaaaaw....chhaaaance...chaaaance! Chaaance!
Bayle Domon: [Frowning at the raven] That’s odd...I could have sworn that raven said “chance”. [Frowns again, then shrugs and turns to Mat and Rand] In any case, ye did not be answerin’ my question: Why I should no throw ye over the side for stompin’ on my crew?
Mat: Er...er...we didn’t mean to stomp on your crew. We’re on our way to Caemlyn, and then to Tar VAARGH!!
Thom: [Having grabbed Mat’s ear and yanked in order to shut ‘im up, interrupts smoothly...] ...and then wherever the wind takes us. That’s how we Gleemen travel; like...like little tiny insignificant molecules of air, floating around and always providing people with what they require but never getting any gratitude or recognition for their efforts and then eventually dying unnoticed with neither fame nor fortune. [Thom sighs] I’m a Gleeman, you see. My name’s Thom Merrilin. [Frowns at Mat and Rand] Beats me who these other two weirdos are.
Mat: We’re his apprentices.
Rand: Yeah. Thom...he’s a little forgetful. We’re his apprentices.
Thom: No, no, that can’t be right. I’m quite confident I do not know you.
Mat: Thom, of course you do!
Thom: No no no no, you’re delusional. Hey, I’ve got a splendid idea; we can throw these fellows overboard!
Rand: [Grabs Thom by the arm and whispers through clenched teeth] Thom! We’re_your_bloody_apprentices! [...Pronouncing the underdashes with effortless ease.]
Thom: Eh? Ah! That’s right. Almost forgot. [Turns to Captain Domon] These are my apprentices.
Bayle Domon: Aye! Ye just said they be strangers!
Thom: No, I was unfortunately incorrect in that assumption. They are, in fact, my apprentices, and we’re on our way to Caemlyn. 
Bayle Domon: [Narrowing his eyes] So where did ye be that made ye be all the way out here?
Thom: Ahhh! Now THAT’S a story! Do you wish to hear it?
Bayle Domon: Aye, I be wishin’ to hear it.
Thom: Well...it goes like this.
Bayle Domon: I be all ears.
Thom: We had been trapped by a vicious horde of Winter Mafia Turkeys just outside a mining town in the Mountains of Steam called Baerlon. While there, we heard legends of a treasure dating from the Trolloc Wars, in the lost ruins of the city called Aridhol. Now, it just so happened that I had earlier learned the location of Aridhol from a map given to me many years ago by a purple and yellow aardvark whom I tripped over one day while out for a stroll through the Pit of Doom. The aardvark insisted that the map would make me rich, but I never believed him until I heard the legends, simply because purple and yellow aardvarks are known for their ability to decieve. When the Winter Mafia Turkeys finally got bored and went away, I set out with a few companions, including these two would-be apprentices, to find the city, and, after a three-year journey through the snowy eight thousand metre peaks of Baerlon without supplemental oxygen, we finally came to Aridhol. But it turned out the treasure belonged to the Blasphemous Circus Eels (the sworn enemies of the Winter Mafia Turkeys), and when their zombie ancestors smelled the scent of the Mafia Turkeys all over us, they mistook us for their enemies and tried to murder us by hurling 500 gram cheese blocks at us, as was the traditonal Circus Eel way! We managed to escape with only minor scrapes and bruises (and only a little of the treasure we had come for), but were spotted and pursued by a raging horde of Trollocs, who took our treasure and ate it, then hurled us onto your ship, tried to kill you, but then ran away.
Bayle Domon: Aye, doesn’t ye hate it when that happens?
Thom: Indeed.
Bayle Domon: So ye don’t have any of this treasure with ye?
Thom: Alas, we lost it all to the Circus Eels and the Trollocs. All I have is my flute, my harp, a bit of loose change, the clothes on my back, and Mat’s weasel.
Mat: It’s my weasel!!
Bayle Domon: [Sighs] So you’ve no money to pay your passage.
Rand: Welllll, I have a bit.
Thom: No he doesn’t!!
Rand: Yes I do, Thom.
Thom: NO YOU DON’T!
Rand: Yeah I do! See? [Pulls out his wallet and dumps the coins all over the floor. ]
Thom: Burn my BONES, boy! Can’t you take a hint?! I could have paid for passage if I had just offered to perform a few skits!
Bayle Domon: Nay, ye could not have. Bayle Domon is no a stupid man!
Thom: Isn’t he? Drat.
Bayle Domon: Aye. Ye could have, however, paid for passage if ye had just offered to teach my boys the Macarena! 
Thom: Well, we could still do that...
Bayle Domon: Ha! Nay, Bayle Domon is no a stupid man! I’ve got your money now!
Thom: Drat.
Bayle Domon: Your beds are in the far cabin - outside, down the hall, and to your left. Thank ye, come again!

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[MEANWHILE, having been abandoned by the narration for quite some time...]

[Perrin is getting quite chilly after having to wait beside the gate for five pages, and Egwene is almost hypothermic. It’s pretty cold out there in the Land of Negative Space, you know...]
Egwene: C-can I go now?
Director Joe: Not yet!
Egwene: N-now?
Director Joe: Ah! He’s watching! We’re on in three....two...one...
Egwene: [Softly and uncertainly] Rand...?
Perrin: Wussat?! Are you a Trolloc?!
Egwene: Well...some may find certain parallels...
Perrin: [Realization suddenly dawning] Hey! Egwene! How’s life?
Egwene: Cold, lonely, painful, disorienting, sorrowful, spooky and awfully dull, but other than that, just peachy! You?
Perrin: [Nods glumly] About the same.
Egwene: [Sighs]
Perrin: You seen anybody else?
Egwene: Naw. You?
Perrin: [Shakes his head glumly] Same.
Egwene: Hey, race you to the river! [She winks at Perrin, and charges off into the darkness.]
Perrin: Wha? HEY! [Spurs his horse into action, and takes off after Egwene.]
[They dart through the gate and gallop in a frenzied chase through the black forest, ducking as skeletal brances threaten to decapitate them. Egwene giggles, and Perrin growls and at last manages to overtake her. He glances behind him to grin at Egwene’s playfully-annoyed face, which suddenly turns to concern, then fear, and he frowns in confusion as she suddenly puts a hand to her mouth to restrain a scream, and points up ahead.]
Egwene: LOOK OUT!! [She shrieks]
. o 0 (Huh?)
[...is the last thought to go through Perrin’s head before he turns around, and gasps in horror as...]
Perrin: Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaa-iiiiiii!
[SPLASH!]
[Perrin splashes around in the icy water with fright, panic, shock, terror and all that other scaredy-cat stuff, trying not to drown, but also trying to dodge the...]
[...Trollocs spears that are suddenly raining down from above!]
[Perrin shrieks and starts swimming for the opposite side.]
[Ten tortured minutes later, he finally hits bottom, and climbs sluggishly out of the water.]
[Perrin hurls himself to the ground and gasps for breath...]
Perrin: [Pant, pant, pant, pant, pant, pant, pant, pant, pant, pant, pant, pant, pant, pant, pant, pant, pant, pant, pant, pant, pant, pant, pant, pant, pant, pant, pant...siiiiiiigh]
[He finally works up the energy to sit up straight, and takes a look around him...]
[The murky river meanders by in the darkness, making annoying little bubbly noises. His horse is probably dead. He doesn’t have any spare clothes or supplies. The wind is surging. It’s bloody cold. Egwene is gone. Rand, Mat, Thom, Lan, Moiraine and Nynaeve are gone. It’s bloody cold...and the wolves are howling. A Trolloc spear lands in the dirt beside him.]
[Perrin stares wearily at the spear, then flops carelessly back onto the cold, hard ground.]
Perrin: [Sighs...] Blood and bloody ashes...this sucks.
[In the distance, a wolf howls, so sorrowful and mournful that Perrin can’t help but join in.]
[An unearthly howl rises from deep in the back of Perrin’s throat as he lifts his head up towards the full moon...and if you had been there to watch that night, you would have seen a soft, flickering yellow glow in his jaded eyes turn his world upside down...]
[And then you would have seen him pass out as the blunt end of a Trolloc spear collided with his forehead]

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Commercial break!

On this coming March 23, be sure to speak your mind about Bill C-572.A for balefire usage distribution and limitation. Many of the remaining sane male channelers still have need for balefire’s powerful extermination agents...For instance, when the time comes for them to have the sudden urge to destroy all their friends and family members, what other forces do they have access to that could possibly have the same destructive intensity and severity as balefire? None. They would thus be forced to resort to more primitive methods of manslaughter, such as the age-old “Hunt Down Your Victims And Skewer Them With A Pitchfork” trick. Now, do we really want our Asha’man roaming the streets with the Gaze of Death in their eyes and wielding prehistoric weapons, or would you not prefer them to be able to destroy their targets from the comfort of their own homes? You see? Bill C-572.A just makes things difficult for everybody. So think smart. Think safe. Think “balefire”, and just say “NO!” to Bill C-572.A!

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And that’s a wrap...

Raina's Hold / Raina's Library / Other People's Humour / WheelWars