The Real Story of how Prometheus Stole the Fire

~ with great power, comes great responsibility ~

Once upon a time, a very, very long time ago there was a man and there was also a woman.  The man’s name was Prometheus, and the woman was Pandora. These names may seem familiar to you, but that is only because they were not only very popular names at the time, but also because the popular version of this story as told by ancient Greek writers made some amendments.

       Their version of the story involves an extra character, Epimetheus, brother of Prometheus.  In that version also, they are Titans.  No, no. The story really got blown out of proportion with all the retellings.

The other version of Prometheus is famous for stealing fire from the gods and giving it to man. Part of his punishment was the creation of women, the first of whom was the beautiful and dangerously curious Pandora.

       Here is what really happened:

       Prometheus was an ancient prince, and leader of his father’s army. He was a great hero, and was very generous and had many other fantastic qualities that made it easy for him to become a god, then a titan in the later stories. ANYWAY, when an assassin from another land, Sol, came and killed the king, a war begun, and Prometheus led his people to a glorious victory.  The city of Sol was ransacked.

       Among the spoils of war, was a very precious gem, a huge ruby known as the Star-Fire. Prometheus himself stole it out of the royal treasury and took it and the wealth of Sol back to his own city, which by the way was called Mar. There, it was placed in the grand cathedral of the Church of Mar.

       Okay, so how the star-fire, became just fire was because in the original record, the figure that symbolized star was never understood or translated properly and eventually was forgotten entirely. So, Prometheus stole fire, and gave its power (same word as wealth in the original language) to the people.

       The Greeks liked this, and made a myth out of it.

       Continuing on, the Princess of Mar, Pandora, who was in fact the most beautiful woman in existence at the time, was also taken with the spoils of war.  She was not curious however, nor did she have a box or jar or anything that contained chaos. That was a different Pandora, case in point, the name was quite common.

       This Pandora was cunning.

       Since no other was worthy enough to be the wife of the godly Prometheus, Pandora became betrothed to him. But before the wedding, she betrayed him, and tried to steal the Star-fire and return it back to Sol.

       She was caught in the act by Prometheus, outside of the city.  They were enemies by birthright, but her being so beautiful, and him so godly, neither could help falling for one another.  Not realizing the feeling was mutual, they argued relentlessly like an old married couple.

       Finally, Pandora threw the Star-fire in her frustration. It shattered into a million pieces.

Prometheus had nothing else to fight with her about , so he forgave her and they were married in the Church of Mar, where later, the shards of the star-fire were placed around the alter.

It is truly a shame that the best part of the story was so lost, it didn't even make mention.  Even here, the eloquence is lost, but it was something about how wealth or power should not come between people. Or something about how when this happens the wealth is shattered… it was something like that.

The Legend of Bobsmashia

     Long ago in the wicked land of Bobsmashia there was a secret meeting of black knights. These knights were the descendants of a long line of black knights who had been insulted by the royal family of Ducarsis twelve generations before. The King Ducarsis had told the elder knight, Bob, that he had a stupid hick name and was not nearly as funny nor as brave as he claimed and that he should never insist on dining in the royal halls again.

     As these things tend to turn out, this lead to a massive divide in the kingdom which was then known as Ducaroy. The royal family may have been occasionally rude, but they were as benevolent as can be. They were like that socially awkward guy without a filter but who was really actually quite nice when you got to know them. But the Knights Bob, who were really wicked, had been insulted and the civil war lasted for centuries.

     The fates had served the Ducarsis’s well over the length of the war and the Black Knights who called themselves Bob were all but destroyed. Only this ragtag band were left. They were keen on destroying the Ducarsis family once and for all. But first they needed to gain the most powerful weapon in all the land. A nuclear warhead. But this anachronistic weapon of mass destruction was held in a mighty fortress with but one key and a deadly dragon guarded the gates.

     One of the knights had come across some crucial information for their quest. He had discovered the secret location of the key. It was actually not so difficult to find as it was beneath a floor mat

in front of the very gates.

     So the ragtag band of Bobish Knights gathered their riverboats and rowed on to the fortress. Once they crossed the last bend they found the dragon asleep. So they crept up to the mat and uncovered the one key to open the gates. Little did they know that the key was attached to a string with a giant bell on the other side that rang loud and deep to awake the deadly dragon.

     The dragon awoke and the band of Bobish Knights knew that they were doomed. But instead of burning them all to a crisp or gobbling them up like a bag of two bite brownies, the dragon asked if they’d like to go in.

     Surprised, the Bobish Knights asked why the guardian was not more reluctant to admit intruders. The dragon simply stated that he never really wanted the job, he just needed a paycheck to pay for pizza and sweet new stereo system. He didn’t really need the job because he lived in his parents basement rent free and fighting off a band of skilled soldiers seemed way above his pay-grade. The royal Ducarsis family would later fire their HR department as well as the dragon for their blatant incompetence.

     The knights entered the fortress and carried away the WMD. Once reaching their homeland they began to plot how they would use it. But first they must learn how to open it up. It was made of the hardest steel, so the eldest of the Bobish Knights took his mighty diamond hammer of ultimate smashing and yelled his battle cry “BOBSMASH!” Then he struck the warhead and it unexpectedly detonated. The land was pulverised by the enormous mushroom cloud and no one could live on the wicked land once ruled by the Bobish knights again. Those on the outskirts of the nuclear wasteland can still hear the knights last words burnt into the wind, which is how the kingdom got such an unusual name.

-by Eric

A Taste of Nitratus of Silver - By Sasha

Once upon a time in the far away land of Edmontonia, there lived a bright young scholar named Alexa. She had journeyed a long way from her home, riding principally in the backs of trade caravans and on spare horses of passing travellers. She loved her family back home in Calgarias, but she was a driven young woman who was determined to become the wisest practitioner of earth magic in all the world.

Alexa found that life as a scholar was different than she anticipated. Back home, many people knew of her and her family. In the realm of Edmontonia, she found that she was naught but a passing flea in the fur of a mangy wild dog. She walked into her first lesson bright-eyed and eager to learn, only to find herself surrounded by several hundred other hopefuls. The professors, who looked so wise with their long white beards and vast knowledge of magic, were not as helpful as Alexa had anticipated. She thought that every student in an academy of magic would have their own mentor, but alas, it seemed that only happened in stories.

One of Alexa’s least favorite subjects was potions. She had to get up at the crack of dawn every Thursday morning to walk to the academy and start brewing mixtures of strange fluids and herbs. To make matters worse, her teacher, a gnome, didn’t seem to know Human very well – she preferred to speak only in Gnommish.

Alexa struggled to wake herself up every morning to attend her potions class. She would much rather sleep in – some days, she thought about how much easier it would be if she hadn’t made the pilgrimage from Calgarias. Her brothers had stayed behind to become apprentice blacksmiths, which seemed like a much more reasonable goal than becoming a mage. Alexa’s dream of being the most powerful practitioner of earth magic seemed to have little hope.

On one particular foggy morning, Alexa was sleeping late, as usual. Luckily, a passing songbird tweeted a particularly lively melody just outside the young girl’s window, upon which Alexa jolted upright and rushed to grab her cauldron and stack of scrolls before she rushed out the door. She managed to make her way to the classroom only a few minutes late, though she did bother a family of sleeping rabbits along the way.

Most of the students had already started their cauldrons boiling by the time Alexa arrived. The room was beginning to fill with the usual thick smoke that accompanied amateur potion brewing. Alexa apologized to her teacher, but the gnome merely nodded and gestured for her to get going. She quickly went to her seat and pulled out her cauldron and magical text, the “Labus Manualus.” She followed the instructions for brewing that day’s potion very carefully.

Eventually, the potion she was brewing called for a particular grey liquid, called Nitratus of Silver. Alexa looked around the classroom, and beheld a small pot of cool silver fluid, connected to a strange contraption. She grabbed one of her glass phials and examined the contraption a little closer. The instructions read “Presseth the button, and ye shall receive this ingredient.”

Alexa pressed the lever at the top of the nozzle of the contraption, but nothing happened. The button would not budge. She tried again, but still nothing. Already frustrated from her lack of sleep, Alexa called for her teacher, who shuffled over lazily and attempted to dispense the Nitratus of Silver.

Alas, even Alexa’s teacher was unable to extract the Nitratus of Silver from its delicate hold. Both Alexa and the gnome grew increasingly angry, and instead of examining the apparatus further, decided to slam on the button harder until results were obtained. Eventually, the nozzle erupted and the silver liquid sprayed all over young Alexa and her teacher.

“Behold!” exclaimed the gnome moments after Alexa extracted the last of the silver liquid from her skin and clothing. “It appears that the cap was still on the device.” Alexa looked, and saw that indeed, if they had taken the cap off of the nozzle, the entire process of obtaining the Nitratus of Silver could have been much easier.

After cleaning herself off and finishing her potion, Alexa did not think much about the mishap of that morning for the rest of the day, or indeed, for the next few days. She was far too busy marvelling over the intricacies of earth magic and physical magic and mathematical magic that she was learning in her other classes, from her wise, bearded professors. In fact, it was not until several days later that Alexa thought back to the events of that particular potions class.

It was on another foggy morning that Alexa woke up and looked at herself in her magic mirror. At first, she was shocked. Surely, some mischievous sprite had put cursed fairy dust in her bed while she was sleeping! How else could her face and arms be covered in little grey dots?

“Magic mirror,” said Alexa, “Tell me what is the cause of this malady?”

“Why, you are the cause,” replied the magic mirror. “You did not read your Labus Manualus properly, or you might have learned that Nitratus of Silver causes grey discoloration when in contact with skin. It should disappear in only a few days, but until then you might look like you have a sort of strange illness. I must say, you will not be the fairest in the land for at least a week.”

A Sci-Fi Christmas, by Dima

Another Christmas Special

Admiral Kelton stood at the rear of the bridge, watching the magnificent display on the viewscreen.  Magentas and scarlets and sodium-lamp yellows and even neon greens burst and twisted and lashed out.  Hearty applause rose up all around him, the bridge personnel also enjoying the extraordinary explosion.

“Shields,” an officer lazily declared, and the blue haze swept across the screen just as the scraps of the obliterated craft flew close to fill the view.  The captain turned around in his chair to meet Kelton’s eyes, who gave a barely perceptible nod.  The captain smiled and activated the comlink.

“Engineering, the enemy craft has been destroyed.  How is the hook holding up?”  A crackle filled the bridge and the din died down as all hands waited for the response.

“The hook is in perfect condition,” came the response, pride evident in the engineering chief’s voice, and the smile returned to the bridge officers’ faces, “She worked perfectly.  Almost like I’d designed it myself.”  Eyes rolled all around the bridge.  Lieutenant Commander Yttrushak had an ego to surpass even the captain’s.

“Captain Amarallo,” the admiral quietly intoned as the captain lifted himself from his chair, “A word, please.”

“Certainly, Admiral, certainly.”  Amarallo beamed, unaware of the rebuke he was about to receive as he strode toward his ready room, Kelton following very closely.  As the doors hissed close behind them, and Amarallo piped up:

“Really was a fantastic show, wasn’t it?  I mean, we reall-“  The captain turned around to face Kelton just as Kelton’s open hand landed a surprisingly heavy blow on Amarallo’s jaw.  Amarallo reeled and fell back against the table.  Dazed, he looked up at Kelton, who was upon him in an instant.

“Do you understand why we are here?” he bellowed.  “Those creatures must be destroyed!”  Amarallo’s eyes widened with confusion.

“I thought- we- the creatures-“

“You lost a prime opportunity!  We know they’re all gathering!  We know there are dozens more out there!  We cannot afford to pass on a chance to extract information from those filthy half-breed degenerates just to see fireworks!”  Saliva flew over the captain’s face and the admiral bellowed on.

“The next time, you incapacitate the ship, you board it, you take prisoners, and you cut off their revolting tentacles one by one until they reveal the location of every last craft!  DO YOU UNDERSTAND!?”  Another slap to the face, and Kelton stormed from the ready room without waiting for a response.

And orbiting behind a nearby planet was just such a craft.  Returus, the navigator, was quietly conferring with his commanding officer, Jessa.

“They got another one.”

“I know, Returus.  I saw it as did you.”

“They can find us.  They have the cane.”

“They won’t find us.”

“But the cane.  The hook.  It’s ours.  It’s connected to all of us.”

“But we’re smarter.  We’re hiding now.  The rest of us can hide.  They won’t find us.”

“Jessa!  As long as they have the candy cane, they’ll find each one of us!”

“They won’t.”

“Jessa!”

“Returus!  Listen to me!  The candy cane, yes, it’s the best tactical instrument we’ve ever developed.  But these ships, they’re not like the old ones.  They’re like nothing the galaxy has ever seen.  Even if they find us, we can escape.  We just can’t get cocky like Onturo’s team!”

The two stood in silence for a moment.  Returus broke the silence after a full minute.

“We need to get the cane back.”  Jessa nodded.

“You’re right.  And we will.”

“We have to board their ship and regain its swirling pepperminty power.”

“You’re right.  And we will.”

“We have to be with the others for Christmas.”

“You’re right.  And we will.”

A Childhood Memory

This was from a while ago, I can't believe I forgot to post it. Here it is:

Today, I learned the name of those flower shrubs that grew near my house.  They were behind the playground in the cul-de-sac.  Potentilla.  I never knew what they were called.  To me, they were just those flowers.

The white ones looked like daisies.  Because they were white and had yellow centers.  The yellow ones were the same, but they were yellow.

There were lots of them in the summertime.  They grew on bushes.  The bushes looked the same for both the yellow and the white flowers.  (in later years I would discover that there could be pink ones, but back then, there was only white and yellow)  To this day, I still like the white and yellow ones. They always seem to have more flowers than the pink ones.

I used to pick those little flowers off the bush.  Sometimes I would put them in my hair, but they were so small they fell out.  Mostly I played the game that the girls played with daisies in the story books or cartoons.  Each little flower had five round petals.  They were perfect for that daisy game, since I thought the white ones were daisies anyway.  I remember preferring the white ones.

He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me, he loves me not.

I had no idea who “he” was.  I still don’t.  It didn’t matter.  He loves me, he loves me not, he loves me!

The last petal was always the same, whoever he was, he loved me alright.  I kept playing the game to make sure. 

One day, I tried starting with “He loves me not” instead of “he loves me”. The flower ended with He loves me not!  I counted the petals, there were five.  I didn’t know what odd and even numbers were back then, but that day I learned that when a flower has five petals, whatever you start with will be what you end with.

No more surprises.  I knew, from that day one, “he” would always, always love me.

Years later, in our new house: Mom put some shrubs with the same yellow flowers in front of our house.  I decided that someday, I will remember the white ones too.  They look more like daisies.

As told by: Me now, me then, and Dad.

Dad’s favourite Christmas story EVER.

A tale to be told at family gatherings now, and forever after, it is one of those embarrassing stories parents love, and children don’t understand until they are all grown up. Such a thing is my story.

It only makes sense to tell this tale in retrospect, since I did not at all understand it in my childish innocence. Only now do I understand why my father nearly had a heart attack, and even now is his favourite story to tell about Christmas.

Ever since I was 5 or  6, the tradition began that dad would take the children 6 and up, shopping for Christmas presents for our siblings. We would have a budget to keep within, and then he would take us out to lunch. As I grew, it was always my favourite part of Christmas.

Now for the incident, dad and I were shopping and he had to make a quick stop at the bank. I believe that I was 6, and was left in the vehicle. It only makes sense, after all, why would you take a six-year-old into the bank with you?  Waiting in the van looking at the presents bought that morning was much more exciting. And dangerous or so my father was about to find out.

One gift in particular was very exciting. It was a ski mask for my younger brother.

So my dad walks out of the bank, and sees in the passenger-side of the old style mini-vans, a person wearing a ski mask.  Key points here are Bank parking-lot. You can only imagine his panic when he realizes it is his daughter. He rushed to me and thanked heaven that no one else had seen me. Knowing he himself would have been suspicious. At the time, I did not. But little did I know that I would be reminded time and time again. And again.

As told by the child, who was me:

Christmas shopping with dad is my favourite part of Christmas. I love spending time with dad, it is so fun because he works so much and gets home after bedtime. We get to go to different stores and find presents for my brothers.

“I just need to stop here at the bank, ok sweetie?” Dad says as he pulls into the parking stall, “I’ll be right back.

I nod, not really paying too much attention. Errands are such an adult thing to do.

This morning we found a great find.  I looked in the shopping bag at it. It is a ski mask, for my oldest younger brother Brett. It is like a big, black toque that comes down on your face and has three holes for the eyes and mouth. It also has a band of colour around the neck. There were several colours to choose from, but I chose red for Brett.

I decide to try the novelty on, so I slip it over my head and start fussing about arranging my hair so it does not cover my eyes.

Suddenly dad bursts in the door and tells me to take it off. He is out of breath, that’s odd. I tell him I was just trying it on.

After a few deep breaths, we drive off and dad explains that he understands what I was doing, and there was nothing wrong with it, it was just that you really should not ever try a ski mask on in front of a bank because you look like a robber.

I ponder that a moment and then don’t think about it again. Lesson learned and on with life.

As told by Dad at every Christmas gathering that I can painfully remember. (that kind when ALL the adults laugh at that silly thing you did, and frankly the only reason I really even remember this story):

Alright, so every year since they turned a certain age, I would take the kids Christmas shopping, and out for lunch at a restaurant. It is fun for the kids, but mostly so I could spend some time with them.

They had a ten dollar budget for each sibling and mom, and it was good for them because they learned to budget. They might find that gift that Russell would die for, but it is too outside the budget and so they would have to find something else. I really loved seeing when they got really excited about something they had got for one another. Because the real spirit of Christmas is the giving.

My favourite Christmas story ever, I was with Nicole, she was six, and we used to drive this big old ghetto mini-van.

That morning we found a ski mask for Brett.

(“Like the kind bank robbers have?” someone once asked, during one of my many telling’s of this story.)

Yes! I replied, hardly able to contain my laughter, “Exactly! Now just you wait, let me continue…”

I had to stop at the bank, and as I am walking out, I see someone wearing this ski mask in the van. Then I realize, wait! That’s my daughter. I rush over and tell her to take it off. She had no idea what she had done, nor would she have she was just little. But I knew, that even me looking on, if anyone else had seen her in the mask in the bank parking lot, there would be explaining to do. And what police officer is going to buy “My six-year-old daughter was trying on the Christmas present” idea.

I nearly had a heart attack, but it seems that no one else saw or called anyone. And now, I nearly die laughing thinking about it. It is my favourite story to tell at Christmas.

Olivia - A Tale from Three Different Perspectives, by Sasha

Author's Note: Though the specific details of this event may be embellished, it is a true story.

My uncle was lucky enough to marry a girl from a very rich family. They own what they would call a cabin, and what anyone else would call a mansion, on a small lake in Montana. This family is gracious enough to let my uncle invite all of his brothers and their families for a week of fun each summer to use the cabin and all of the water toys. I remember the first time my family and I went to what is probably my favorite place in the world. All of my siblings and I were present, but my sister, Olivia, who is most important in this case, was only about a year and a half old. I was ten.

Now, on the first day at the cabin, my parents and most of the other aunts and uncles like to go into town to buy groceries and other goodies that are much cheaper in the States. They left in the early afternoon, when my sister was getting very tired. My grandmother assured my mom that she would put her to bed right away and there was no need to worry – she would be a great babysitter. My mom agreed, but reminded my grandma to tape Olivia’s diaper shut for reasons that will soon be made clear. My grandma, of course, promptly forgot, and put Olivia to sleep in the nice crib in one of the cabin-mansion’s beautifully decorated bedrooms.

I can’t remember what we did for the next few hours, but I do remember when my little sister woke up. I followed my grandma into the room where she was supposed to be sleeping, and we were in for a shock. My little sister, upon waking up with a full diaper, had opened the thing and thrown the contents all over the walls, making a huge brown mess on the pale blue paint. She was standing in the bed buck naked with the hugest smile on her little baby face.

Now, this would not be nearly as funny a story if it weren’t for my little cousin, who was about three years old at the time. Little Walker took after his dad down to every mannerism, and for a toddler, he was very particular about messes. He had the misfortune of walking into my little sister’s room right when my grandma and I found her. It was very funny to see his little face freeze in terror. After a moment, he took a deep breath and said, horrified, “Why would she do that?”

***

“Grandma, I think I can hear Olivia laughing on the baby monitor,” I say. Grandma is sitting on the lawn chair, trying to get her skin to what she calls a “nice tan,” color but I would say is more of a “burnt lobster.”

“Oh, is she?” says Grandma. “Well, we better get her. I think you should come with me, OK darling?”

I nod and follow Grandma into the house. I don’t know what Olivia’s doing, but she sounds awfully loud. I’m surprised she hasn’t started crying yet – that kid has barely stopped wailing since the moment she was born.

Grandma opens the door first, and she stops before I can get in behind her. “What’s up?” I ask, trying to shove my way in.

“Oh my goodness,” says Grandma in that flustered way that only Grandma speaks, all whispery and soft.

I push my way through and I see Olivia standing up in her crib. Her diaper is on one corner of the mattress and her hands are a mucky brownish yellow. The best thing, though, is the room. It’s absolutely covered in poo! I can’t help but burst out laughing.

“You didn’t tape her diaper shut, did you?” I ask Grandma.

“No, of course not!” she says. “Who tapes their baby’s diaper shut? That’s such a strange thing to do, I thought surely your mother must have been joking!”

“Well, now you know,” I say. “I’m not cleaning that up – you’re the babysitter.” Once Olivia sees us, she stops giggling at her mess and starts to cry. She always does that when she wants attention. She’s terribly needy for a one-year-old.

“Grandma,” says a little boy’s voice from the hallway. “Do you want to see the crawdad I caught?”

Walker stops in his tracks when he gets in the room. He looks around with a mixture of disappointment and fear on his face. The bucket of water that he’s holding drops to the floor. Finally, he looks at Olivia, and then to my grandma. “Why would she do that?” he breathes.

I laugh. Grandma, looking thoroughly disgusted, picks up Olivia, who is whimpering rather loudly now, delicately under the arms and carries her quickly to the nearest bathroom. I follow her, because I don’t know what else to do, and there is no way that I’m staying in the bedroom to wipe poo off of the walls. I expect Walker to run away as quickly as he can, but instead he follows us and keeps talking as Grandma tries to get Olivia clean.

“Why would she do that?” asks Walker again. He’s shocked, but oddly fascinated by the whole thing. “Who would do that?” he asks me. “That’s… so disgusting. Poo. So disgusting.”

***

James and Janine Thompson had a very nice day at the Target in Eureka. They made quite a few purchases of things they could only find in a US store, and they spent a little more money than they probably should have. In fact, they didn’t think about the four children they had left in James’ mother’s care for the whole day, assuming, rather incorrectly, that everything would be fine.

They pulled into the driveway, and Janine started unpacking groceries into the cabin’s kitchen, chatting with her sister-in-law Beth, whose parents owned the cabin, along the way. She didn’t see anyone upstairs, so she assumed that her mother-in-law and all of the children must be outside playing in the lake.

After they were finished, Janine and Beth walked outside to check on the children, but instead of finding the grandmother watching over the hoard of kids playing in the water, she found her ten-year-old daughter, Alex, reading a book and keeping one rather lazy eye on the other children.

“Where’s Grandma?” asked Janine.

“Oh, hi Mom!” said Alex, a little too jumpy. “Oh, you’re gonna be so mad. Grandma’s in the bathroom next to Olivia’s room. Walker’s there too,” she said to Beth, Walker’s mother.

Janine already feared the worst as she walked down the hallway to the bedrooms. She found that the bathroom was empty. Instead, her mother-in-law was busy in the bedroom. She was on her hands and knees, scrubbing a suspicious brown substance out of the floor, while an angry year-old girl wailed on the floor beside her, and a curious toddler watched her every move.

“I think you missed a spot,” said Walker. He turned around when Janine and Beth entered the room. “Mom!” he exclaimed. “Olivia pooed during nap time and then threw her poo!” He said the last phrase in a whisper, as though it was almost too crazy to speak of.

Janine’s face reddened. “I’m so sorry, Beth,” she said, picking up Olivia. “I know this is your parent’s house. We’ll get everything off the walls, don’t worry.”

To her relief, Beth simply laughed. “I’m sure it’ll be fine,” she said. “And what my parents don’t know doesn’t hurt them.”