As viceroy of the flying city of L'hahn, I feel it is my duty to document the truth behind the incident that will soon destroy our long-lived nation.
Well, more factually, I tried to order my subordinates to do this, but they refused on the grounds that it would be incriminating. It's easy for THEM to hand wave this, personal security and all, but they haven't got to deal with a Historians itch. If in the distant future there is not a rotting book at the back of some neglected library detailing the TRUTH about what is happening here today, I just know my soul will be roasting in whatever layer of hell normally reserved for people who commit treason or keep yappy dogs as pets.
I tried to explain this to my subordinates. They cited, as additional reasons not to help me, that I was 'fat' and also 'dumb'. The chain of command is rapidly falling apart, as you can see. I'm getting off track, though.
About two months ago (I forget when exactly. I never claimed to be a very GOOD historian,) the conjurers guild received their 'Play God' license from the board of directors. Which is all well and good because tampering with the forces of nature is the preferred pass time of the people of L'hahn. (We wouldn't be very good wizards if it wasn't.) However, this time, something remarkable and unprecedented happened on account of their toying with the fabric of reality. Something went HORRIBLY WRONG. Although inconceivable, it's true.
It started innocently enough; the guild wanted to know what it would be like if they changed the sky color to green (there was some bickering over whether mauve might've been a better goal) and had appropriately emptied our military storage of mana crystals and glyphs to perform the deed. The entire ritual ended disastrously when an unforeseen reaction between the crystals, enchantment wards, and a miscast card trick (performed outside the guild house by a street performer) triggered a massive explosion. When the dust finally settled, we discovered that the Conjurers guild hall, along with a considerable portion of the West district, was not a unpleasant smelling crater.
Unexpectedly, while a few stray wizards were searching the ruins for usable salvage (or at least a few corpses to loot,) it was discovered that there was something ALIVE in the crater. It was unlike anything we had seen before, however.
A half dozen or so tiny men and women were found, perhaps three to four inches tall. They had very distinct satin black hair, and curious furless tails with very ornate yet very sharp serrated blades (horns?) on the tips of each. Despite their intimidating natural weapons, the tiny men and women were remarkably friendly. They insisted upon giving out heartwarming hugs and smiling ear to ear all the time. It was then that I developed a instinctual mistrust of these creatures.
At first we wishfully assumed that maybe these wee people were actually cursed survivors of the explosion, but this was disproven upon investigation. Not one soul signature among them matched those of the ranks of the Conjurers guild. These weren't transformations, they were an entirely new sentient race! As such they were entitled, as ruled by the Delphon Circle (who we dare not defy,) inalienable rights and protection under the law as a valid citizens of L'hahn. So, as much as we might want to, we weren't allowed to step on them. Even by accident, it would be considered a homicide punishable by the full extent of the law.
When asked what they wished to be called, the new race of people chose to dub themselves the 'Popo,' and we were all terribly excited and congratulatory about it until we discovered that this is the only word that the Popo seemed able to pronounce. It appeared that their entire language was simply the word 'Popo,' with every possible meaning derived entirely by inflection and context. This was initially adorable, seeing them cry and shout and cheer the word in their little high pitched voices and then very quickly became the most irritating thing in the entire universe.
It was discovered not soon after that the Popo reproduce remarkably quickly. One day after their formal welcoming party, the females among them were visibly pregnant. The proceeding day they gave birth to massive litters of Popo-pups, twelve to fourteen infants per mother. The gestation and adolescence of each Popo proved terrifyingly short, as by the end of the week a third generation was well on its way. Their numbers rose exponentially with each passing day.
The Popo integrated into our society covertly, not unlike a virus. They found their ways into odd corners of our homes, into the woodwork, and once there they became nearly impossible to get rid of. They crafted crude garments by tearing fabric from our drapes and clothes. (Each Popo keeping a needlessly large personal wardrobe, of course.) They procreated rapidly and we were forced to recognize each new Popo born on L'hahn soil as a full fledged citizen with fully vested rights and liberties. When they violated our rights of property frequently, we were completely unable to press charges because of communication issues. (Except in a single case, where the tiny lawyer involved was so cute that the jury acquitted the defense almost immediately.) Those among us not so favorable to the Popo were unable to vent our frustration. Any attempt to eradicate the vermin would be considered manslaughter by the Delphon Circle, and any attempt to ignore such a heinous crime would bring the wrathful law of our sovereign down on us like a brickhouse.
So we were resigned to our new fate, hoping that the over population of Popo would result in enough famine to thin their numbers.
(Although, come to think of it, I've never actually seen the things EAT... Of course, they still manage to leave droppings.)
Those among of us who somehow managed to remain upbeat about the new invasive species were eager to study them. These Popologists, as they came to be called, managed to nab preposterous sums in grant money to observe and research the damnable things in the comfort of their own homes. (I'm not bitter, but I know I could've thought to do that before them had I thought of it first.) They discovered a number of things of interest that did nothing to abate the growing popular demand for genocide.
In the three weeks they had been on our island, the Popo had developed a religion. (...Or we at least learned enough observing them to make heads or tails of it.) They worshiped a single goddess (Popo) who unsurprisingly governed fertility. They looked forward to The Great Coming wherein the Goddess would descend to our mortal plane and grant all females of the Popo race accelerated reproductive cycles. I consider this prophecy to be of the End Times variety.
Besides one other fact, very little else about their religion was gleaned. Although the Popo are excessively friendly, they are intensely private about their ceremonies and rituals even among each other. They never gather to observe their worship of Popo, but the race at large has demonstrated its devotion more than adequately.
Allow me to elaborate about this 'other fact'. The Popo (the species) believe that when Popo (the Goddess) descends from on high, she might need a chair or perhaps a sofa to sit on. As such, they have convicted themselves to constructing mass amounts of furniture and spacing it out evenly across as much surface space as possible to insure that regardless of where the Goddess arrives, she will have ready access to any type of seating imaginable. Every newborn Popo is immediately trained in the arts of carpentry as soon as they are able to walk (typically about 45 minutes after birth.) Where-after they set to work eagerly. Using their saw like tail horns, they are able to carve out wood from available sources (See: Our houses, and furniture) and make their own.
As I speak, a team of Popo are attempting to heft a (to scale) queen sized bed onto this writing parchment. They are proving frustrating to discourage. I am unable to walk through my home or office without crushing hundreds of pieces of masterfully crafted doll house furniture. So, I've taken up indoor aerobics. They won't give me the satisfaction of anger, though. They are far too insufferably friendly to confront me about my open hostility.
Some attempts to explain to the Popo just how obnoxious they are being have met with success but because the things have no concept of oral tradition, any social boundaries we erect are discarded by the generation following the consecutive day.
Worst of all, we have discovered that the Popo do not lead short lifespans as we had hoped. To date it has been two months since the incident, and the original six Popo have been positively identified among the legions of progeny. On the bright side, we are lucky that these things were spawned here, in the flying city of L'hahn, cut off to the mainland by a six hundred foot drop. I shudder to imagine how far the infection might have spread if it weren't so isolated.
Regardless. I sit here today, with no single garment to my name that is not shredded or filled with holes. I sit here while they cheer their name, never shutting up for an instant. I sit here with itty bitty ottomans, loveseats and stools cluttering every square inch of my home. Any moment spent lingering idle in my own house is one spent with tiny people hugging my ankles, and I am SICK OF IT.
I am not alone.
As it happens, the solution to our problem fell into our lap entirely by accident.
The generators that keep our magic city aloft have begun to malfunction. Routine maintenance would readily remedy the problem, but we have chosen instead to allow the problem to runs its course. In two days, the mana crystals will crack enough to shatter and cause the entire city to plummet violently into the ocean. Delphon will not be able to blame us. It will look like an accident. The engines malfunctioned. There was nothing we could do. We evacuated, but the valiant Popo refused to abandoned their beloved motherland even if it meant tasting the cold kiss of death. We assume, anyway. We're not going to explain to them why personal teleportation runes are being handed out to every human citizen of L'hahn. The Delphon council will not find this confessional, as I will hide it in a library where only future scholars will be able to pass judgment on our decision.
Assuming there are future scholars. With our luck, the Popo are excellent swimmers.