Mr Hamphyll's lost brother I

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The kingdom of Riveildia; A land that is home to many marvels. Beasts, enchantments and mystical creatures are but a few of the wonders that dwell on these lands. And although all these spectacles are indeed amazing, it is the tales that its people unravel that is truly magical. 

This story began in a classroom filled with young aspiring scholars. And when I say young, I mean little children, none of them a day past twelve years old. Little young minds open to learn anything and everything that is thought to them. The future of Riveildia. Mr Hamphyll however, often referred to them as;

"Little snot nosed brats." The noisy chatter the children made often put Mr Hamphyll in a nasty mood. But then again, when was he not. The class only ever took his rants seriously when his large round nose turned pink and began throbbing. This usually happened right after the wrinkled skin beneath his chin trembled furiously. His dull grey eyes were usually covered halfway by his furrowed brows and his lips were never not twisted in disgust.

His foul remark about the entire class was drowned out by the sounds of their noisy chattering. The class had a tradition of ignoring him once they heard the duskbell chime. A sound usually accompanied by the setting sun. It signalled the end of classes in all institutions all over Riveildia. It was a sound Mr Hamphyll utterly despised.
The noise from the class had become too much for his nerves. He picked up a leather covered book and slammed it the table. The sound of the book echoed throughout the class, briefly followed by a sharp silence.

His lips curled distastefully before saying, "How many times do I have to tell you little.... TWATS!!! That I say when the class is over, not that wretched duskbell." The whole class was aware of how much Mr Hamphyll loathed magical items that worked on their own. And the duskbell was no exception. It was rumoured that Mr Hamphyll lost most of the hair on his head because the duskbell chimed by itself every sundown. This was believed because every once in a while, when he was pushed to the brink of his nerves, Mr Hamphyll would pull his own hair as he gritted his crooked teeth.

Just when one magical item tested the limits of Mr Hamphyll's short patience, another one which was mounted on the wall of that very classroom hummed to life. Hung right above the chalkboard was an impractically large silver wall clock. Its facet had but a few inscriptions that didn't make the slightest sense when read. A pair of II's and three X's all positioned around the dial. Its hands casted a shadow in only one direction since it was mounted on a wall inside a classroom with but a few windows. As subtle sounds of life emitted from it, the set of II's inscribed on it shifted opposite sides of its hands while the X's aligned themselves right beneath them. The clock now looked like a make-shift face with the II's serving as its eyes, the minute and hour hand looking like an overly large nose and the X's forming a mouth. One could say it told the time in a literal sense.

"Now, now, Hamphyll, is that anyway to talk to your dear students?" its voice was croaky and high pitched as if formed from the clicks and clacks of a machine. It was hard to tell if the voice mimicked that of a woman's or a man. Mr Hamphyll's eyes narrowed as he grunted;

"I wouldn't call them dear."

"You know, if you keep them here well past the duskbell, I'll see to it you explain your reasons to the headmistress." The talking clock said. Mr Hamphyll seethed silently through is gritted teeth. He turned to the class and announced;

"Since you are all so eager to leave, I expect a ten-page essay on the life cycle of a blue forest pixie by tomorrow morning." The whole class groaned in frustration. Just before Mr Hamphyll dismissed the class, he noticed a raised hand from one of his pupils. It was a boy, with great blue eyes and thick hair that danced well between brown and reddish orange. He had very visible freckles on either side of his little round nose and slightly large ears.

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