It all started a year ago today.
I received a parcel in the post, it was a standard-sized jiffy bag. The sort that hits my door-mat so frequently and unexpectedly that I thought nothing off it.
I tore the bag open, as usual, and found it to be empty. Almost, at least. Inside the jiffy was a little zip-lock bag, and a post-it note. The zip-lock bag contained the letter "b", upon a small fragment of plastic backed with rubber.
The note was just as curious. In a spider-scrawl of handwriting it read: "If you want to see her alive send money. -ED"
The initials meant nothing to me, and the message was something you would normally associate with an envelope containing a severed ear or finger. My address isn't hard to find, so I thought nothing of it, and threw it upon the desk in the pile of discarded jiffys that often builds up.
At the time I wasn't frequenting the GP2X boards, and these boards didn't even exist. So I didn't make the connection. ED.... EvilDragon?
It was 2 whole months before it happened again. Another jiffy, another zip-lock bag, another letter. "U". The same note, this time in red biro and scrawled upon a curiously blue post-it.
They started arriving more frequently. "R" came next, then "N", then "E" followed by "A" and "L" in the same package (how environmentally considerate).
By the time "I", "V" and "E" turned up, I was long-since active on the forums again. It was a bitterly cold winter in the UK, and it seemed that the sluggish post had started to keep the disturbing mail at bay.
I had made the connection between the initials and EvilDragon so I sent him a PM asking him what was going on.
I didn't receive a reply, but disturbingly soon afterwards I received another package. Inside was two square inches of PCB, with a single analogue stick attached to the surface. The edge was rough, as if it had been snapped or cut from a larger board with a blunt tool.
The message read "Time is running out. -ED"
This was followed shortly, the very next day in point of fact, by a jiffy which exploded with the aroma of burnt plastic the moment I opened it. Inside was a twisted and distorted hulk of black plastic with the Pandora logo just visible in the centre.
Something had to be done.
I hopped back onto the forums and PMed EvilDragon. "Where do I send the money?"
The response was terse. "Gold. Come alone."
It wasn't useful, but fortunately EvilDragon made no secret about his abode. I gathered up what little gold I could find in jewellery boxes around the house, stuffed it into a carry-on bag and booked myself a ticket to Manching Airport, Germany.
It was a cold and rainy day when I landed in the "Father Land", I'd never set foot in Germany before, coming only as close as Holland on a stop-over to Canada. It was a foreboding place and my terribly limited grasp on the German language didn't serve me well.
With a half-eaten bratwurst in-hand I set about for the lair of EvilDragon, striking out diligently in the cold, windy weather. Walking, yes, I always walk for some reason. The journey from Manching to Ilmmünster was the longest I've ever walked, taking some 7 hours of trekking through rural Germany. The iPhone did a stellar job at guiding me on the long trudge.
As I entered Ilmmünster, the unfamiliar white-washed, red-roofed buildings gave an eerie chill of unfamiliarity. The tower of St. Arsatius stood proud against the wind and ever more torrential rain, a stark contrast to the road-side trees which bowed to the forces of nature and showered me with loose twigs and dead leaves.
I arrived at EvilDragon's abode with the bag of golden paraphernalia clutched in my arms. It's weight, though minimal, had bore down upon me during the long walk, but it's soft, yielding form had provided a respite from the exhausting walk in the form of an improved road-side seat. It was soaked though, however, but so was I.
I knocked confidently and loudly upon the door, making sure my presence was noticed above the roar of the weather. On the third knock the door creaked open, as if pulled gently by some unseen form. It did not yield to the wind, and closed behind me as I stepped in with a decisive clunk and a disturbing click.
In the dark entranceway I stood, the adrenaline from the walk was wearing off, and the cold was starting to set in. I shivered, although it could have been from fear.
Out of the shadows stepped a tall, long-haired gentleman who looked me unwaveringly in the eyes. Without a word he extended his arms, and held his hands open, palms upwards... awaiting the gift of gold. I tentatively stepped forward and handed him the bag.
As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I began to see mountains of golden junk. Great heaps if it piled against the walls, and spilling out from doorways. The stairs were impassable, a tangled mess of golden tat, from rings, to jewel encrusted chalices and even the odd Ferrero Rocher wrapper. I had no way out, and no choice but to step back again and wait for something, anything to happen.
EvilDragon began to laugh, there's something in the genes of an Englishman that reviles German laughter, and it strikes a deep, primal fear into us. His laugher grew uproarious, and then almost unnoticeably turned into just... roars.
Before my very eyes, the dark, shadowy figure of EvilDragon grew in size, rapidly filling the entranceway with a horrifying form. His eyes separated, turned blood red and were joined upon his head by pronounced horns as his nose became a snout and his teeth grew to impossible lengths, creating a fearsome smile.
At the same time his fingers sprouted claws, and his clothing became a burgundy, scaled skin with an almost magical sheen of blood red.
In his new form, that of a fearsome but not terribly enormous dragon he rose upon his hind-legs and wrapped his tail around the room.
"I did not think you'd come." He spoke. At least I thought he spoke. The sound just came into my head, and was not created through movement of lips nor vocal chords, for dragons have neither.
"Did I have a choice?" I responded. "I had to step in and save her."
"You are foolish, herzukommen." Came his response.
The words rang in my head, and my tiredness showed its colours as whatever mysterious machinations made English from the German words he spoke spring into my mind broke down and wavered.
It was all too much. And I blacked out before the mighty figure, crumpling to the ground in a heap of exhaustion.
When I awoke it was dark, but comfortably warm and my clothes had dried somewhat. I was lying upon a wooden floor and could hear the crackle of fire, but could not see it. A warm draft suggested that its heat swept under an unseen door, and I welcomed it after so many hours of penetrating cold.
...
I received a parcel in the post, it was a standard-sized jiffy bag. The sort that hits my door-mat so frequently and unexpectedly that I thought nothing off it.
I tore the bag open, as usual, and found it to be empty. Almost, at least. Inside the jiffy was a little zip-lock bag, and a post-it note. The zip-lock bag contained the letter "b", upon a small fragment of plastic backed with rubber.
The note was just as curious. In a spider-scrawl of handwriting it read: "If you want to see her alive send money. -ED"
The initials meant nothing to me, and the message was something you would normally associate with an envelope containing a severed ear or finger. My address isn't hard to find, so I thought nothing of it, and threw it upon the desk in the pile of discarded jiffys that often builds up.
At the time I wasn't frequenting the GP2X boards, and these boards didn't even exist. So I didn't make the connection. ED.... EvilDragon?
It was 2 whole months before it happened again. Another jiffy, another zip-lock bag, another letter. "U". The same note, this time in red biro and scrawled upon a curiously blue post-it.
They started arriving more frequently. "R" came next, then "N", then "E" followed by "A" and "L" in the same package (how environmentally considerate).
By the time "I", "V" and "E" turned up, I was long-since active on the forums again. It was a bitterly cold winter in the UK, and it seemed that the sluggish post had started to keep the disturbing mail at bay.
I had made the connection between the initials and EvilDragon so I sent him a PM asking him what was going on.
I didn't receive a reply, but disturbingly soon afterwards I received another package. Inside was two square inches of PCB, with a single analogue stick attached to the surface. The edge was rough, as if it had been snapped or cut from a larger board with a blunt tool.
The message read "Time is running out. -ED"
This was followed shortly, the very next day in point of fact, by a jiffy which exploded with the aroma of burnt plastic the moment I opened it. Inside was a twisted and distorted hulk of black plastic with the Pandora logo just visible in the centre.
Something had to be done.
I hopped back onto the forums and PMed EvilDragon. "Where do I send the money?"
The response was terse. "Gold. Come alone."
It wasn't useful, but fortunately EvilDragon made no secret about his abode. I gathered up what little gold I could find in jewellery boxes around the house, stuffed it into a carry-on bag and booked myself a ticket to Manching Airport, Germany.
It was a cold and rainy day when I landed in the "Father Land", I'd never set foot in Germany before, coming only as close as Holland on a stop-over to Canada. It was a foreboding place and my terribly limited grasp on the German language didn't serve me well.
With a half-eaten bratwurst in-hand I set about for the lair of EvilDragon, striking out diligently in the cold, windy weather. Walking, yes, I always walk for some reason. The journey from Manching to Ilmmünster was the longest I've ever walked, taking some 7 hours of trekking through rural Germany. The iPhone did a stellar job at guiding me on the long trudge.
As I entered Ilmmünster, the unfamiliar white-washed, red-roofed buildings gave an eerie chill of unfamiliarity. The tower of St. Arsatius stood proud against the wind and ever more torrential rain, a stark contrast to the road-side trees which bowed to the forces of nature and showered me with loose twigs and dead leaves.
I arrived at EvilDragon's abode with the bag of golden paraphernalia clutched in my arms. It's weight, though minimal, had bore down upon me during the long walk, but it's soft, yielding form had provided a respite from the exhausting walk in the form of an improved road-side seat. It was soaked though, however, but so was I.
I knocked confidently and loudly upon the door, making sure my presence was noticed above the roar of the weather. On the third knock the door creaked open, as if pulled gently by some unseen form. It did not yield to the wind, and closed behind me as I stepped in with a decisive clunk and a disturbing click.
In the dark entranceway I stood, the adrenaline from the walk was wearing off, and the cold was starting to set in. I shivered, although it could have been from fear.
Out of the shadows stepped a tall, long-haired gentleman who looked me unwaveringly in the eyes. Without a word he extended his arms, and held his hands open, palms upwards... awaiting the gift of gold. I tentatively stepped forward and handed him the bag.
As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I began to see mountains of golden junk. Great heaps if it piled against the walls, and spilling out from doorways. The stairs were impassable, a tangled mess of golden tat, from rings, to jewel encrusted chalices and even the odd Ferrero Rocher wrapper. I had no way out, and no choice but to step back again and wait for something, anything to happen.
EvilDragon began to laugh, there's something in the genes of an Englishman that reviles German laughter, and it strikes a deep, primal fear into us. His laugher grew uproarious, and then almost unnoticeably turned into just... roars.
Before my very eyes, the dark, shadowy figure of EvilDragon grew in size, rapidly filling the entranceway with a horrifying form. His eyes separated, turned blood red and were joined upon his head by pronounced horns as his nose became a snout and his teeth grew to impossible lengths, creating a fearsome smile.
At the same time his fingers sprouted claws, and his clothing became a burgundy, scaled skin with an almost magical sheen of blood red.
In his new form, that of a fearsome but not terribly enormous dragon he rose upon his hind-legs and wrapped his tail around the room.
"I did not think you'd come." He spoke. At least I thought he spoke. The sound just came into my head, and was not created through movement of lips nor vocal chords, for dragons have neither.
"Did I have a choice?" I responded. "I had to step in and save her."
"You are foolish, herzukommen." Came his response.
The words rang in my head, and my tiredness showed its colours as whatever mysterious machinations made English from the German words he spoke spring into my mind broke down and wavered.
It was all too much. And I blacked out before the mighty figure, crumpling to the ground in a heap of exhaustion.
When I awoke it was dark, but comfortably warm and my clothes had dried somewhat. I was lying upon a wooden floor and could hear the crackle of fire, but could not see it. A warm draft suggested that its heat swept under an unseen door, and I welcomed it after so many hours of penetrating cold.
...
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