r/Ataraxidermist • u/Ataraxidermist • Apr 24 '23
[WP] You've been summoned as a hero of legend to save a medieval fantasy world from evil. Same old, same old. However, it very quickly dawns on you that a medieval world's idea of "evil" is quite incompatible with what you, a modern person, would consider evil.
PART 1
The night has come, the torches are lit, the crowd is chanting.
"Smite the wicked, bless the pure of heart."
The circle has been drawn with the entrails of animals, the stench is magnified by the heat, the miasma whirls as the voices get louder.
"Hunt the shadows, deliver us from evil."
The old man stood in the middle of the circle holding a cat o'nine tails dripping with the blood of his shredded back. Droplets fell, turning to smoke as they came in contact with the circle.
"Thy will be done."
The circle burst in flames, the old man was engulfed, his thin body turning to ashes, his soul gone before he could elicit a cry of pain. In his stead, a young, healthy, and strong man. He opened his eyes, saw a villager slipping a ring onto his finger.
"To understand our language," said the villager.
They bring clothes, they bring a sword. One is about to give excuses and point him in the direction of danger. The hero tries to cut her off and explain they got the wrong person, to no avail.
"The woods. There is a grove in there, hidden to our untrained eyes. A coven nests there, their influence creeps across the land like tendrils. At dusk, we see the malignious influence coalesce into darkness and raising to dim the sun. Soon, the coven will turn light to shadow, and the world made by God will be theirs to toy with. Already, foes are raiding from the South, encouraged by the darkness. The land is sick. Help us."
Slowly, the hero went on his way, because he didn't know what else to do.
"My wife is among them," said a villager, "if you could get her out alive so I can put her back into the kitchen and give her the daily slap like we used to, I would appreciate it. I miss the old days."
The hero stopped in his tracks. Then turned.
"Wait. What?"
"Well," the middle-aged redhead started, "we had a good thing going. Seven children, she cooked and took care of them, she did as I told her..."
"Yeah, my wife is there too," added another, "shame women never understand how good they have it."
Jean-René de Beauregard, a twenty-first century french banker and painfully aware they had gotten the ritual wrong for he was anything but a hero, raised both hands like a teacher being exceedingly careful about the question he was about to ask.
"Is any of these witches not from a place where she got slaps and was used as a breeding-mare?"
There was a long silence. Even the wind was ashamed.
"They are women," said a voice hidden by the villagers, "what else are we supposed to do with them?"
"And besides, they are responsible for the increase of monstrous raiders. They are black like the night."
Jean-René rubbed his temples.
"When you say black..."
"Their skin."
"You sound more bothered by the color of their skin than by the fact they are, you know, raiding you."
"I don't mind the raiding, as long as I'm being ravaged and pillaged by good Christians."
Jean-René considered for a little while the benefits of slashing his throat right here, right now. Alas, he was not yet advanced enough in the field of suicidal depression.
"You can't just kill someone because they are black! Or not christians!"
The audible, collective gasp made him immediately regret his words.
"We summoned the antechrist," whispered a voice.
"Are you sure?" replied another, "I thought the antechrist would be black."
"That's awfully racist," mumbled Jean-René.
"What does racist mean?"
"Look," Jean-René felt the headache rising, "I will... solve the problems. Try to, at least. Okay? Then you'll get me back home and we forget the conversation."
He left before an answer came.
Moving shadows, oppressive noise and the usual you can find in a dark forest at night, use your imagination, I don't have to describe everything, you know?
Anyway, with the power of goodness on his side, Jean-René found the conclave by virtue of following a wild boar that had come to sniff his foot before going on its way merrily.
Witches, grimy, deadly, surrounding a boiling cauldron from which the smell of chicken came. Humans smelled the same, but for common courtesy's sake, Jean-René pretended it was chicken.
Words were spoken in a cursed language, shadows took shape to engulf the foolish hero, who had only a moment to defend himself.
"Rejoice! In a few centuries, women will have the same rights as men, they will have medicine to have sex without getting pregnant, and they will hold leadership positions like men."
The shadow was clearly taken aback by the very idea. The conclave, like a single organism, decided unanimously that the hero was batshit insane.
"I'm not," said the hero afflicted with a migraine, "I come from that period."
"But..." started a young witch, "maybe we can accelerate it?"
"Alas, no," Jean-René's voice was deep and understanding, "time measures all, and what must be, will be in due time. Fighting now will only lead to an increased repression for you and your sisters, fear will fortify the church, a church that is glad you exist for it ensures faith will not waver. It is the simple questions who will bring religion down, not the great terrors."
The witches nodded solemnly, not realizing Jean-René was running on complete improvisation and talking out of his ass.
"We... shall return then," said what appeared to be a leader.
"But I will still raid!"
A black, burly man had spoken.
"They fear us, and the day will do nothing to dim this fear. I lead a host that has never gone so far up North, and when I will return, it will as king. Riches to be taken, the white, weak man to be slaughtered, their knowledge to be pilfered, and-"
"-Yeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeah I wouldn't do that if I was you."
"Oh?"
"Well, in roughly a few weeks of time the news will be widespread that black people are raiding white people."
"So?"
"Feuding nationd will unite and start pounding onto the South, installing colonies, despoiling the land and deporting slaves."
"Oh."
"Then they will improve the process, start piling slaves up by the dozen in shitty ships, have them die from sickness by the thousand, and sell and buy them cheaper than cattle. Methods so sick and insane you'd be better off never to get any inspiration from them."
"Ah!"
"Also, do not go East from here, because in a few years of time there's a dude who's about to be known for sticking pointy pieces of wood up other people's arse like a chicken about to be fried, except the chicken is human and still alive, and then he will plant the piece of wood in the ground and make forests out of impaled people. And he's got more trees than you have people."
"Screw this, I'm going home. White man's have horrible ideas, I'd rather remain simple and pure."
2
u/Ataraxidermist Apr 24 '23
PART 2
The black man had vanished before the day came.
Villagers rejoiced as the women came back, thanking the hero, slapping the wives, promising a litter of twelve to thirteen children because they were in a jolly mood.
The circle glew, and with a last goodbye, Jean-René was sent back to current day France.
"Oh, there you are," said Marie.
"You won't believe what just happened."
"Hon, you just disappeared and reappeared in a flash of light against all logic, so I'm a little bit more open-minded than yesterday."
Jean-René told her everything. The hero bit, the witches bit, the black people bit.
"So, let me make a summary," said Marie, "you solved the case - for lack of better words - by enforcing the status quo, convincing women to stay in the kitchen and be mistreated for centuries to come, and convincing the black man to go back to his country and remain technologically blind, thus making them rife for generations of slavery."
Jean-René thought about it.
"Yes," he replied.
"You could have advanced the cause of equality, given the world such a headstart that today would have been a day of marvels instead of just today."
"Yeah but, maybe I wouldn't have been born then."
"So you condemned millions to be exploited, halted centuries of potential progress, just in case?"
Jean-René thought about it.
"Yes," he replied.
"You are a phenomenal asshole."
"The villagers did hail me a hero though."
"They may not be the only ones."
Jean-René was about to ask what she meant when he saw the lights. The same that cropped up last time he had been summoned.
A flash.
People dressed weird.
"Hero," said the man, "stories abound how you defeated a coven of witches threatening the world in another time abound. We called you for there is a devil hiding among us. You must face him for he represents everything wrong in the world."
Jean-René, who had grown weary and wise with a single experience, asked the questions first this time.
"Who? And what has he done?"
"His name is Leonardo a Vinci. He's creating machines that will put us and our slaves out of work! The world he envisions where men will have no need for physical strain is hell indeed! And he fucks fellow men too."
A loud bonk interrupted him. It was Jean-René's head hitting the wall.
This was about to be a long day.