Hylok

Introducing Hylok, the trickster god. Who worships a trickster god, you ask? Those who prefer ironic consequences to random fate.

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Hylok stood at the precipice of Aurorioniae looking down upon the world of mortals. His eyes could peer through the mists and long distances, picking out villages and even individual mortals. If those mortals could look back into the realm of Numinus and see Hylok's face, they would definitely say Hylok was cringing. Many of the mortals, though, were too busy dying.

"Hylok! What have you wrought? What have you inflicted upon the mortals this time?" An insistent yell echoed through the marble halls.

The cringe deepened for a moment. Then Hylok's expression relaxed as he turned to face the goddess who had entered his estate.

He spoke sweetly as he swept his robes out behind his heels. "Domicilia! What has brought you to my side? Come, stand beside me. You seem on edge, today."

Domicilia, goddess of the hearth and home stopped in her tracks, suddenly suspicious. "On edge? Get away from that precipice before I'm tempted to hurl you down onto the crags below." She stood with her arms crossed. As a domestic goddess she had ample proportions, from her ample ankles to her ample smile, but today her lips were scrunched into a frown that resembled a tightly strung fairy's bow. "Mortals are dying, Hylok!"

"Isn't that what mortals do? They die."

Rage began to ripple through the marble slabs beneath their feet and Hylok had to raise his arms like he was about to perform a curtsy. Domicilia had skipped the usual slow build-up to anger and jumped straight into imminent doom, code-level infrared. As with all goddesses, Domicilia was gorgeous and usually as

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kind as a summer breeze, so while Hylok lived to see her livid hostility directed towards him, she'd reached the cusp of chaos far too quickly.

"Dear cousin. I apologize. I can clearly see I have offended thee. My comments were insensitive. Please, forgive me, undeserving as I am of your grace."

The floors stopped buckling as Hylok approached and knelt before Domicilia. Though a god, Hylok knew the proper way to grovel.

"Enough! Enough. Just tell me what you wrought."

"I wrought a right. I mean, I righted a wrong." Hylok took Domicilia's withering stare to mean that he should continue. "I met a mortal who had been driven from their community. With stones and jeers! The poor beleaguered creature. How could I not intercede?"

Domicilia's harsh lines and angles began to soften. "They drove the mortal away with stones? What did this mortal do? Murder?"

"No. Nothing heinous, your high-ness. The mortal was ostracized for having a sense of humor. For you see, they were one of those poor unfortunates inflicted with a love of puns. Where some may value conversation for the sake of companionship—or manipulation—for them the highest purpose for language was the well-timed delivery of a pun. And for this merest whiff of a transgression they were driven from their home and made an outcast."

"Well, that does seem a bit harsh." Domicilia uncrossed her arms and placed her hands upon her hips.

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"Exactly. And thus I merely granted their wish to be reunited with their community."

"Wish!?" Domicilia's hands formed into fists. "Did you say wish? Not a hex, nor a curse? A wish!? Not a true wish! Please say it was a technical wish."

"Ah, well, it was such a noble cause. I'm afraid it was a true wish."

"True wish!"

"Yes, and so, unfortunately, it cannot be undone."

Domicilia pressed the palm of her hand against her temple. "What was the wish? And what did it produce?"

"The mortal simply wished for the people they met to understand their sense of humor. That is all. And so the wish, quite elegantly, produced a virus. Just a mote."

"What? And this virus is causing the mortals to jump down wells and sever their own hands at the wrist? How did this wish turn into a death wish?"

"Ah, well, this virus produces a kind of pun-sickness. It causes the inflicted to enjoy puns as the highest form of intellectual expression. One might say they become obsessed with puns and eventually begin to lose some natural inhibitions. And so, if someone asks them to lend a hand, well...."

"They cut off their own hand!"

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"Yes, or they might see a deep hole filled with water and thus feel compelled to interject a pun into their conversation saying they plan to get to the bottom of things. Next thing you know, Geronimo!"

"Of course. Now I understand. I saw a mortal eviscerate themselves in a bar after another accused them of not having the guts to fight."

"Yes. So... an unfortunate side effect for an otherwise noble deed. I am blameless, you see. The mortals may be throwing themselves down deep holes filled with water, but I meant well."

Domicilia walked the last few steps between her and where Hylok knelt. With one hand she grabbed him by the shoulder and hoisted him off the ground, setting him back down on his feet. She laid her other hand on Hylok's other shoulder and squeezed. "Hylok. Dear, cousin. As foolish as you are most of the time, I do understand that when properly motivated you are capable of finding quite inventive solutions to save your bony bottom. So let me make this clear. If you don't fix this, I will 'Hylok' you up in the depths of Yorgvault for the next three millennia."

Hylok shuddered the appropriate amount in Domicilia's grip as he feigned fear. A moment later, though, true panic struck him like a bolt of lightning. "Domicilia? Did you just make a pun?"

Domicilia released Hylok and slapped her fingers over her mouth. Hylok thought back over the past few thousands of millennia trying to remember a time when Domicilia ever said a pun. No, had she ever even cracked a joke? Images of Domicilia ran through Hylok's mind as she said words like "needless frivolity"

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and "insubstantial japes."

Domicilia grabbed Hylok again. "Think, Hylok. We need to scrub this wish clean from the realms. This is no time to be wishy-washy. How can we cure the afflicted?"

"Cure?" Hylok said. His mind was cycling at ten-thousand times its normal speed, but all he could picture were images of mortals being covered in salt. "Wait! That's it! Salt! We can use the puns themselves to break the wish with its own effects. We need to gather salt, ale, and socks."

"Salt?" Domicilia said.

"Yes, we can cover the afflicted in salt to 'cure' them."

"What about the ale?"

"A tankard will treat what 'ales' them."

Domicilia pinched her temple and thought about the socks, but gave up after a minute. "Socks? How will socks help?"

"For the worst afflicted, we will ensure they have a 'sock-cessful' recovery once they are fully 'heeled.'"

Domicilia tried to groan but found herself giggling instead. "Well, I'm glad we got to the bottom of this. Let's drink some ale ourselves before we lend a hand to the mortals."