Magorian

Magorian

By Joe "The Savant" di Martino

Beginnings

Ch. 1: Chicken Feast

Magorian noticed something for the first time while tending to his patch of grass. It was quite a revelation, really; he had never thought about in his 110 long years. Yep. 110 years living in a forest made for quite a lot of free time to think things over. He was quite surprised he never thought about it before.

Being a centaur was extremely boring.

He really couldn't think of anything he ever did that was any fun. All he did was look up at the night sky and ponder. And eat the occasional leaf or two. Wait a minute, there was that one time we all gathered and had a mild-mannered discussion about how much we hate humans. Oh wait, he amended himself, that wasn't any fun at all, either.

Come to think about it, why do we hate humans so much? We hardly ever see them.

He knew what he was thinking was practically blasphemy among the centaur-tribe he was the chieftain of, but he couldn't help it. He had hardly seen enough humans to really judge their hate-ablility.

His love life wasn't very thrilling, either. In his 110 years, he could swear he had never seen a female centaur before. Why was his tribe packed to the brim with men? How were they going to propagate their species?

And what about all this star-gazing nonsense? thought Magorian. It was like reading the same page of the same book, over and over again, without ever progressing through it. It told him the same thing every night. "A second war is coming, aliens will land and aid the Dark Lord in exchange for missing socks to power their starships, the end of the world is approaching, blah blah blah." He really didn't care anymore.

He also thought about the name of the forest. The Forbidden Forest. What kind of name was that? All the other forests in the world had great names-

There's the Amazon, thought Magorian , the...um... Black Forest....the...er... Okay, so maybe I don't know the names of that many forests. But I bet they're all better than "The Forbidden Forest." Yeesh, what a negative-sounding name...

After some quiet speculation, he realized he had to change the forest's name. He chose "Styjikuhler," because it sounded cool.

Hell, even his name was boring. May-jor-ee-in. He was sick it. From now on, he decided, after some thirty-seven more days of quiet speculation, my name will be Zhohio Korcellos, the Mystical Sage of Styjikuhler! He would have to tell his tribe later. You know, after some more quiet speculation.

It was hard to quell the stream of thoughts now flooding his mind. Pretty soon, he started thinking about his diet.

The taste of leaves and grass is getting a little too familiar, he thought. Centaurs are omnivores, just like humans- Why couldn't we have a little meat now and then?

He knew the centaur teachings on the subject like the back of his hand: "Killing animals will upset the natural balance of the forest, the forest is our life, to consume wildlife is sacrilege, blah blah blah." But surely eating a sparrow now and then couldn't hurt? And if he really couldn't have meat, why not a fruit or two? He wouldn't say no to a nice chunk of watermelon.

But this wretched forest never grew any accursed fruit! thought Magorian angrily. All we ever eat is leaves and grass. Nothing else. Just leaves and grass. Guess what they taste like? Like leaves and grass! In fact, I think the rest of my taste buds are atrophying.

By now, he had made up his mind- he was going to go hunting. What he was going to hunt for, he really didn't know. He supposed he'd just kill the first thing he saw. Grinning like a madman holding a meat cleaver at a brothel, he galloped forward with his trusty spear, which he realized for the first time he had never used, scouting the forest floor for prey.

Unfortunately, the first creature he met was quite a formidable one. Once it saw Magorian, it lowered its head, fully equipped with two twisted horns at each side, and charged. The centaur immediately recognized the monster as a Graphorn- his father had once told him all about them. And he usually interjected his stories with comments on how much humans suck. But now wasn't the time to reminisce about his father. Now was the time to attack.

Magorian deftly jumped over the Graphorn and yelled "BONSAAAAAAAAIIIIII!!!!!!!!" bringing down his gleaming blade an skewering the beast, unaware that a bonsai was actually a small Japanese tree and not a tried-and-true war cry. The Graphorn fell to the floor, dead. He indulged in a little victory dance (which was quite hard when one had four left feet, as the centaur expression went), and then proceeded to cook it over a makeshift flame and savagely devour it. It tasted like chicken.

But what do chickens taste like?

Flushed with his success, Magorian was turning decidedly rash, letting more and more dangerous thoughts influence his judgment. That night, he told his tribe he was going to get some twigs to make a sextant (they decided to ignore the blood in his mouth and pieces of Graphorn skin in his teeth). What he was actually doing, however, was hunting for new and exciting meals. At first, he tried hunting for chickens. Upon realizing that there were no chickens in the forest, he raided Hagrid's shack.

Well, it wasn't exactly raiding. More like getting up there and knocking on the door, asking Hagrid for some chickens, and leaving.

"Hey Magorian, it's one o'clock in the morning," said Hagrid when he saw who was at the door, rubbing his eyes. "Whaddya want?"

"Uhh... could I have some... some chickens?" replied Magorian in a whisper.

Hagrid's eyes lit up, as they always did when talking about some creature or other, and all traces of sleepiness disappeared. "Chickens! Why didn't you say so? Y'know, I've bred my stock to be extra succulent and juicy, and have a mighty pleasant aftertaste. They're very sweet and tangy, and have an extra-special chemical that leaves you feeling good all over when you're digesting them. In fact, some of the world's most prominent restaurants have asked to buy my chickens, reserving them only for the 'most important clientele.' They migh' just be the tastiest poultry on the face of the Earth." His features changed to convey pride. "Just bring 'em back to me tomorrow, okay?"

"Shh... Sure, Hagrid. Thanks."

Man, humans are stupid, thought Magorian as he carried the chickens towards the heart of the forest. Maybe that's why I'm supposed to hate them so much. Then again, Hagrid is half-giant. Mmmmm... I wonder what half-giants taste like...

And, as he devoured the chickens with unbridled vigor (they tasted like Graphorn), he couldn't help but notice that his life was getting a lot less boring.

Ch. 2: The WHEELMASTER

Magorian was starting to get frustrated. No matter how many times he poked the bear with his pole, it just wouldn't do what he wanted it to do. He didn't get it- he had wrapped the tightest rope he could find around the bear and tied it by the ankles on a tree branch, and it still wasn't dancing for him. Then he realized the fatal flaw in his plan to get more amusement.

Of course it can't dance, he thought as he whacked himself upside the head with a large mallet he had acquired in El Paso. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of this before. It's so obvious! It can't dance because it hasn't had any lessons yet!

Just as Magorian was about to initiate his attempt at teaching it the Tarantella (which he didn't realize he didn't actually know, and was impossible with four legs anyway), a sudden gust of wind and burst of light whooshed around him. He looked around him, and his eyes dilated so much that you couldn't see the whites anymore. This wasn't because of his surprise to see a Ford Anglia in front of him; it was simply a delayed reaction from one of the forest mushrooms he had experimented with beforehand. Nevertheless, Magorian leaped back in fear and the bear growled a pathetic little murmur.

However, all the benign automobile did was blink its front lights at him and rev up the engine in semi-purrs. Magorian got a great idea- something much better than getting a bear to square-dance with him. He was going to dismantle this contraption.

Grinning like a corporate lawyer who just captured his very first human soul, the mad centaur charged at the vehicle with no restraint whatsoever. The poor car had not been expecting the attack, and was totally crushed due to Magorian's feral assault--it was, after all, an American car. Magorian mercilessly ripped off the parts of the car from the chassis with his teeth and examined each one.

"Hmm... here's the entrance-door-thingy... (SLASH)... the... screen... (RIP)...the top thingy...and the... um... front-door thingy... (CRASH)... Aha! I know what this is! It's a wheel! And look, there are three more of them!"

Another brilliant idea came across Magorian's not-altogether-ideal mind. He was getting tired of prancing, galloping and trotting. What if he could roll his way to more adventure? As Magorian's grin grew wider, he put a wheel under each of his hooves, and subsequently fell to the floor. Getting up again, coolly he brushed debris off his shoulders, regaining his determination and steely resolve. He fearlessly got on the rubber tires once more... and fell off again.

It took several months' long effort and the sweat, blood and tears of several chickens before Magorian became the master of rolling for transportation. The centaur liked to believe that all the forest creatures, could they talk, would call him "The WHEELMASTER". Or at least Tirehoof. You know, as a term of endearment. Perhaps he could get his own talk show- "The WHEELMASTER Show, Starring The WHEELMASTER"- but then Magorian thought better of it. If he were going to be on television, he'd be damned if it was daytime broadcasting. Then Magorian remembered that he wasn't supposed to know what television was, and started to roll toward the centaur encampment he presided over to show off his new gear.

When he got there, the centaurs all seemed to be doing nothing and staring vacantly into space, like he had once been. He pitied them. Here they were, creating astrolabes out of mud and vines and whatnot, when he was having the time of his life. Intending to show them the true meaning of fun, he rolled around the herd all night and tirelessly yelled "Yeehawwww!" at frequent intervals, but the centaurs all ignored him. So he decided to just address them normally.

"Centaurs of Styjikuhler, listen to me!" he bellowed, and the forest dramatically echoed his sentiments back, making for a really cool effect.

All the centaurs reluctantly pulled away from their stargazing and looked at him, wincing at the word "Styjikuhler." It was then that Magorian realized that he didn't know what he was going to say, and that he had just been trying to be the center of attention.

"Erm... umm... nice weather, isn't it? I mean, a cloudless night, for sure... hehe." He chuckled awkwardly.

Crickets could be heard chirping in the background, signaling in classic fashion the silence of his obstinate audience.

"Umm... yeah... so... anything new with you Bane?" he stammered, desperate to get a topic of conversation.

"No, Magorian, just contemplating the insolence of humans as usual," was the black centaur's reply.

"Uh-huh... and what about you Bane?" he said.

"Sir, you just addressed me before. I said I was just thinking of the tyranny those insufferable humans have inflicted and continue to inflict upon us," said Bane again. All the other centaurs neighed their approval of his comment and very audible murmurs of "no respect for our ancient tribe" and "desecration of our society" could be heard.

"How interesting. Bane, how have you been doing lately?" Either it was that he clearly wasn't paying any attention, or that he was really that daft (most likely the latter).

Bane started pawing the ground and baring his teeth, which was definitely not a good sign.

"Erm... yes, good to hear... umm..." He had obviously taken the hint. Luckily, Magorian knew a quick way to get out of this mess. Quickly, he pointed to his right and shouted, "Look over there, it's Firenze!"

All the centaurs looked over to the right instantly, some even drawing their bows and firing. Magorian used the distraction to roll away.

Hehe, thought Magorian, I can't believe they fell for that. In savoring the event that had just happened, he himself got distracted and tripped over a collapsed log. Instantly, the Anglia wheels he had used for countless weeks dispersed and hit the surrounding trees in the clearing at ludicrous velocities, awakening the arboreal defenders living in them. Bowtruckles from all over cried to their kindred across the woods, and they came to their aid to punish the common transgressor. One by one, the hundreds of thousands of millions of billions of trillions (Magorian may have been exaggerating a wee bit) of Bowtruckles descended towards the fallen centaur at alarming speeds, blade-like fingers brandished menacingly. Magorian's life flashed before his eyes.

He was born... to two males? Eeew, disgusting... Aww, he remembered when he had first learned to whinny... he was made the centaur chieftain... he ate and slept and basically did nothing for 86 years... he slaughtered and ate a Graphorn... he ate some chickens from Hagrid... he ate Hagrid... wait, he hadn't eaten Hagrid, he had just thought about it... hehe, he's still waiting for his chickens back... he became the nation's most wanted fugitive after doing very illegal and heinous things with pliers that may or may not have involved chipmunks, Flash Gordon and the undead... he was immediately exonerated after trampling over Umbridge... he trained to become the world's greatest Wheelmaster... and now this.

Wow, I've done a lot of things in my life... maybe this is my time to go...

But Fate, that fickle tale-weaver, had a very different design. This was mainly because the author of this fanfic bribed and blackmailed her to change the outcome of the unfortunate turn of events he wrote himself into, but some of it may've been of her own volition. Anyway, all the Bowtruckles suddenly stopped. Apparently, there was a brief rift in time-space that had been caused by someone using a Time-Turner to go back in time and kill himself, which created an impossible paradox, shattering every law of physics known to man. Magorian took advantage of the situation and walked away unscathed.

So, what should I do now? What haven't I already done? thought Magorian. I know! I'll teach a bear how to square-dance. I've never done that before!

And, with his trademark grin, Magorian galloped off into the sunset, which conveniently appeared out of nowhere. (Thanks again, Fate.)