So, the scene is set, Vivainne Desegur upon the side, with her retinue of Constance, who hold her coat and spurs, also Esme, Queen of the Motas, look on.
On the other reverse facing, comes the Creator with many winged minions to hang about behind. The Creator in this day is in the guise of a beast with the head of a lumpy swede or large root veg, useless, badly drawn arms hanging, because it thought they would not be needed, and the body of something like an elk or Saudi Arabian desert creature (not quite sure about this, maybe an oryx)
Vivainne in hand carries her sword with no name and sharp dagger at her belt.
The creator commands before it a bright fizzing bolt of lightning with a bag full of extras if one should not suffice.
The vasty darkness of the Well Well Well is lit by the lightning in all its areas.
So, says the Creator, How will this work? if I strike you with this lightning bolt you will be fried to a crispy thing. I don’t see how you expect to win when I can replace any limbs that you might cut until your are exhaust. What can be your plan?
I shall first show you some disgust, replied the Knight Exemplar, she took something not nice and threw it upon the Create to go and make a stain on its escutcheon. Then she stuck out her tongue at the Creator to show her distaste.
Then she cut a shape in the air with her sword with no name (why do swords have names) that was not seen in this level of universe, which was a symbol with a story of its own.
It was a symbol. She lay down her arms on the floor and swung from the chandelier, she embroidered a tester, she fashioned a sand castle, she pulled a fast one, started a rumour, played a blinder, fell foul of, paled into insignificance, crested a wave, stood like a statue, fell like a shooting star, rode like the wind, poured oil on the waters, turned turtle, put it on the back burner, told the truth, caught a crab, packed it in, pulled out the stops, burnt the candle at both ends, took a powder and finally struck like lightning and stole its thunder.
The Creator became confused, its useless arms flailing about in uselessness as they were seen. It dropped its lightning bolt weapon upon the rocky floor and looked ashen, like ash.
What is happening to me, said the Create, I am the one to understand all, but here I aem at a losss. Look I cannot even spell anymore. Surely there must be rules to this duel, you have attacked me, not with your nameless sword but with a tsunami of cliches. I shall have to retreat and gird my loins, look, now you’ve got me at it. I shall have to buckle my stumps and take a deep breath before putting my best foot forward and taking the plunge.
The Creator retreated to the recesses of the Well Well Well putting its hands to its head and shaking it so that the greens upon the swede head swung about.
Vivainne picked up the jostling sack of spare lightning and emptied it on the floor. Gathering them all to herself she threw the fizzing bolts at the distracted Creator, and it was burnt away to dust.
Hurrah! Shouted Constance and Queen Esme. We are free of the Creator’s insanities at last. What shall we do now?
Well, said Vivainne, this action has not solved any problems, but I certainly feel better.
The winged minions of the Creator were milling about in a rudderless fashion looking lost. They came to Vivainne. They were whitish, not yellow and all had wingspan about.
What shall we do now that our boss has no more? We are not very useful at all but we look great. They all opened their wings wide and flapped. A great wind sprung up that had not been there before.
What shall you be called? Asked Constance and they answered, Anything beginning with B, we are the second level of minions, the first and topmost level were busy and could not attend. On level B all the winged, pronounced wing ed, minions have names that start with the letter B, so if you call out any name beginning with that letter someone of us will answer. We are without number so basically all the relevant names are covered.
Even Bernice? Enquired Constance, Here, came a voice from within the crowd of wings, What about Barlow and Benson, continued Constance, Here and Here came the replies. OK, said Constance, crazy system, I like it.
Well said Vivainne I recommend that you winged ones travel the world helping the people and righting wrongs. Perhaps you could use your wingy winds to power the windmills or sail ships or do other windy things, go out and us use your imagines.
OK, said the winged creatures, we’ll be off, and they flew away.
The Guardians of the Cave 