Pan Post 9 revisits the destruction of Atlantis and we see Magistarr commanding his apprentices to leave and seek refuge while he tries to save the magic of Earth from the plothole consuming the city. Apprentice Belshaggath flees and reaches the isles that would become Great Britain. There he meets Dinkersmell, a pixie, who is seeking Prince Oberon. Belshaggath assures the pixie that Oberon and his family left Earth to settle colonies in space. He offers to help stabilise The Rift that has formed, creating a bridge between the magical realm of Albion and Earth. The site would become Stonehenge and, because he is hungry for doughnuts, the initial founding of Doughnutdelf.
The city, and the continent on which it stands, are breaking apart. A catastrophic plothole, of a size and power more phenomenal than any other conceived, is destroying the civilization. In the Temple of the WriterGod, at the heart of the powerful city, the Ancient One bows his head.
Ancient One: The story... has failed.
His wife Fay tugs his arm. In her free arm she is cradling a baby.
Fay: Not while we still have breath. But we must escape while we still can!
New fire seems to seize the Ancient One, and he turns to his wife.
Ancient One: You are right, my dear. Atlantis may be dying...but the dream lives!
He holds his wife and child close, and they disappear into the dreamstate.
Magistarr, the most powerful Terran mage who will ever live - save one other who will one day arise, in the 21st century A.D. - is leading his apprentices in a circle spell, focusing their powers to save Atlantis. But the plothole is too large, even for Magistarr, and he bows his head as he realizes this.
Apprentice Belshaggath: Master?
The other apprentices are still striving to enact the spell. Belshaggath, the weakest among the apprentices in terms of magical potential but the most observant, is the only one to notice the change in his master's demeanor.
Magistarr: Atlantis is lost. You must escape while you still can.
The other apprentices gasp in shock, but recover themselves enough to begin gathering their spellbooks and artifacts. Again, only Belshaggath notices the implication.
Apprentice Belshaggath: You're not coming.
It is not a question. The other apprentices pause momentarily, looking at Magistarr.
Magistarr: No, I am not. I cannot save Atlantis, but I can save the world at least. All Terran magic - and by extension, all magic in the cosmos - is centered on our city, and with its destruction, the ultranexus will rupture with enough force to break the earth in twain. I cannot stop the rupture, but I must stay and ameliorate its damage.
Apprentice Belshaggath: I will stay with you, master!
The other apprentices look around guiltily, but none of them have the courage to second Belshaggath's offer. Magistarr smiles kindly. Belshaggath is his favorite pupil, despite his relatively weak magical potential, though the high court mage would never let such favoritism be known.
Magistarr: Your heart is stout, and your mind keen. You all must escape, so that the arts of sorcery will not be lost. Magic will be a new and wild thing, with fractured ley lines, and you must be the guides of all the mages on Earth in dealing with the new mystic paradigm.
His gaze sweeps around all his apprentices.
Magistarr: You are no longer apprentices, but full mages. It is up to you to become Masters.
Belshaggath and the apprentices leave their beloved master sorrowfully, and escape before the catastrophe overtakes their land. Atlantis itself - along with Magistarr - crumbles into the plothole. The continent on which it stood shakes and cracks, most of it sinking into the waves, but a large portion of the landmass shifts across the ocean to the east, becoming isles that will one day be known as Great Britain.
Belshaggath: So ends an era.
The former apprentice has landed on the shores of Great Britain. He is alone. The other apprentices either did not survive, or are scattered to the four winds. He cannot divine which, for the leylines are too fractured to tell him, and he is too weak of a mage to force his will upon them... yet.
New Voice: Where is the prince?
Belshaggath turns to see a glowing pixie, as tall as his hand is long.
Belshaggath: I suppose that depends on which prince you mean. Although I'm not sure I could answer the question regardless.
Pixie: The fairy prince! Heir to Albion's throne!
Belshaggath: Fairy prince? I had heard rumors that the Lady Fay's father was a prince from a magical realm.
Pixie: Ah, the shame! That Prince Oberon should forsake his duties to sire a child on a mortal woman! But where is this halfbreed child now, if the prince is no longer around?
Belshaggath: I do not know if she escaped Atlantis's destruction or not. Her siblings, however, left this world for outer space many years ago.
Pixie: Then the royal fairy bloodline still lives! There is hope that the throne will not always be vacant.
Belshaggath: Er, if you don't mind my asking... it's been decades since your fairy prince left, hasn't it? Why are you just now looking?
The pixie looks reluctant to spill the beans, but caves to the young mage's curiosity.
Pixie: Albion is a sheltered realm. It is very difficult to open passages between our magic-rich dimension and any other. Only Prince Oberon himself was mighty enough to open such a portal, through which he left, and it closed shut behind him.
Belshaggath: And it took your people this long to open another?
The pixie looks ashamed.
Pixie: We still have not succeeded. But there was a rupture between our dimension and yours, just now. Some terrible mystic cataclysm must have happened to do that, but we took advantage of the opportunity.
Belshaggath's expression becomes one of intrigue.
Belshaggath: A rupture to a world flooded with magic? How long will it be open?
The pixie shrugs.
Pixie: Hours? Days? Centuries? There is no way to tell. But it seems there is little hope of it staying open until Oberon's mortal descendants return from outer space.
Belshaggath taps his chin thoughtfully.
Belshaggath: I know how to build constructs, capable of channeling magic... and sustaining it.
Pixie: You mean you could keep the rupture open indefinitely?!
Belshaggath: Yes... if you in turn help me.
Pixie: It is my duty to help you, if you will do this.
Belshaggath: My civilization, the great realm of Atlantis, is no more. I must ensure our sorcerous arts do not perish with it. If you would be my familiar and my aid, then on the site of this portal-sustaining construct, I will also establish a haven for wizards and scholars, sharing knowledge with your realm.
The pixie considers.
Pixie: Fairies are very jealous of our borders, but trading knowledge for knowledge... something can be arranged. Particular if our curiosities are sated with unfettered access to this wondrous land.
Belshaggath surveys the rocky, half-shattered province. It will be decades if not centuries before the ruins erode into more manageable terrain. But who is he to argue with a fairy's curiosity?
Belshaggath: It is agreed. I am called Belshaggath.
Pixie: I am called Dinkersmell.
There is a poof as a deity appears, wearing a business suit with a pocket protector and a stern expression.
Belshaggath: Who are you? Another fairy?
CopyrightGod: As if! I am the Copyright God! Your new little familiar is a blatant rip-off of an established trademark!
Belshaggath: Um, I'm fairly certain any trademark you might be referring to doesn't exist yet.
CopyrightGod: Bah! You can't befuddle me with such temporal logic! I can get the best lawyers to... to... AHCHOOOOO!
CopyrightGod: *sniffles* Er, maybe. I've never had allergies before, deities don't generally suffer such... such... AHCHOOOOOOO!
Belshaggath notices that Dinkersmell is grinning slyly and trailing a lot more pixie dust into the air than before.
Belshaggath: I think there's an alchemical remedy for that. I don't know how to make it though, and well, all the pharmacies in Atlantis have closed shop permanently.
CopyrightGod: Bah! I have no need for... for... AHHHHCHOOOOOOO!
Belshaggath: Perhaps you should take a break. We'll still be here when you recover.
CopyrightGod: Argh! Whatever! I'll be baaaHHHHCHOOOO!
With that last sneeze, the CopyrightGod vanishes, and Dinkersmell breaks out into raucous laughter.
Belshaggath: I can see you're going to be quite useful to have around. If you'll lead me to the rupture, I can begin constructing a henge around it.
He is thoughtful for a moment, and surveys the landscape around him.
Dinkersmell: A stone henge will be fine, I'm sure. We fairies like natural materials anyway. Before that, however, we may need to build an oven. Your stomach has been growling like a troll for the past ten minutes!
Belshaggath: Very well. First an oven to bake me a doughnut, then the Stonehenge, then the enclave!
Thus, the founding of Doughnutdelf begins!
Al Ciao's Commentary
"I have written several posts dealing with the last generation of Atlantis, and continued that tradition here. In out-of-story brainstorming chats with Britt the Writer and Gebohq the Writer, we had determined that Doughnutdelf became the center of magical learning after Atlantis's fall (and the Magium after Doughnutdelf's fall), so I chose to explore the origins of Doughnutdelf in this post.