Tag: fiction

  • The Arleste of Nero Gamwich

    The Arleste of Nero Gamwich

    Part I: The Fresh Prince of New Gampshire

    The Ancients’ Path is a brutal, necessary gauntlet for any aspiring new god in the Age of Audition. Every auditioner tries to hack it and make it easier. Every auditioner but Nero Gamwich.

    I ponder of something great
    My lungs will fill and then deflate
    They fill with fire, exhale desire
    I know it’s dire, my time today

    I have these thoughts, so often I ought
    To replace that slot with what I once bought
    ‘Cause somebody stole my car radio
    And now I just sit in silence

    -“Car Radio” by twenty one pilots

    It is said every auditioner is born with a unique spell inside.

    Nero Gamwich could bend the aether to his will from an early age, even before he could speak. The Gamwiches were thrilled to have such a prodigious sorcerer. His early life and education were marked by displays of such wizardly prowess that Gyro and Sharma were certain he’d do them proud. Indeed, by age 5, Nero was already casting spells he wasn’t supposed to master until he matriculated to The Mage’s College on Isla Nortay in the Santa Ignacia archipelago, the elite magical university where his parents had met years before. 

    Unfortunately for them, Nero discovered drugs before he set foot in primary class on the galleon that would ferry him to the island school.

    Drugs like redroot and snap were easily acquired by a child of nobility like Nero. In fact, he found most social climbers who wanted to work for his parents would just offer them up at parties hosted at the lavish Gampstead Heath, or as Nero called it, “My house.”

    More importantly, Nero was almost as gifted at making friends as he was at practicing the magical arts. Generally affable but punctuated with infrequent bouts of existential sadness, Nero attracted legions of platonic connections and relationships. And it wasn’t just because Nero’s enviable monthly allowance afforded him the ability to afford everything, from rounds at the tavern to drugs to posh camping weekends in the forested acreage surrounding Gampstead Heath to more drugs. 

    Most of the time, Nero was generous, kind, hopeful, and high as fuck. He met and tolerated other rich friends from magic prep school, but Nero preferred the company of common kids growing up. Once, Nero admitted to me that his best friend was actually his family’s 72 year-old butler Turtt Brockett, whom Nero referred to affectionately as “Ol’ Turty.”

    Nero didn’t care about his status, he just liked having friends, using magic, and slacking off. Everything else was too boring for him–he didn’t even crave adventure, Canderra’s global pastime. His homeworld boasted myriad denizens throughout the ages who “first-sparked” their Arlestes and went on to accomplish great things in the cosmos. Nero didn’t get it. He found that everything you could ever want was right at home, especially drugs. Delicious, self-soothing, mind-numbing, cosmos-coping, noise-dampening drugs.

  • The Age of Audition

    The Age of Audition

    Once every millennium or so, a god dies, and the cosmos holds try-outs to fill the spot. It’s anyone’s game.

    Nero Tadziki Gamwich was born on a stormy night in a sprawling estate that served as the seat of power in The County of New Gampshire, Canderra. At the precise moment of Nero’s birth, his father Gyro Gamwich was fifty or so miles away, which isn’t really important. What’s important is that his mother Sharma was completely by herself when it happened, though the reason why would not be discovered by scholars and prophets until many years later, not long before Nero’s untimely death. Nero’s life has always fascinated scholars of the cosmos because, at one point, the young halfling wizard was the metaversal odds-favorite to become a new god during The Age of Audition.

    When he died, Nero’s chances plummeted to near-zero. (Note: I should write a new song titled “Near-zero Nero.” Later, though.) I suppose his demise doesn’t fully take him out of the running; he’s gained a lot of power over the dead along the way. Maybe he’s been granted some kind of new advantage.

    But I doubt it: Death sucks ass when it comes to goals.

    And, to be fair, I don’t know if godhood was ever really a goal of Nero’s, given his last words alive were, “Damn, wish I was on drugs for this.” Because, above all else, Nero Gamwich was a self-professed burnout who just wanted a nap or two. Fate–as usual–had other plans, the stupid dick hole that it is.