Recorded by Ayszgardha Eyuonhi

Well, thank you for coming here today. The buffet table’s just inside those doors; feel free to help yourself to some croissants and lady’s fingers. That’s wine punch in the crystal, hard cider in the silver. Let me introduce myself. I am Shai’tan, the Great Lord of the Dark, the Dark One, Sightblinder, Ba’alzamon, the Lord of the Grave, the Stormbringer, Leafblighter; as many titles as there are peoples, and then some.

Now, don’t you go thinking that just because people kowtow to me and call me the Great Lord, I’m all that. I mean, yes, I am great, but male? Bah, I have better sense then to be put in that predicament.

In my opinion, nobody needs a male counterpart, especially not if they’re a deity. I mean, how would you feel if you walked into the House of the Worlds and found the godly toilet seat left up? Certainly takes a bit of the spiffiness out of the place, it does. And that habit of leaving dirty boxers lying around… fagh.

Well, truth be told it was those dirty knickers lying around all over the place that got this whole mess of my being sealed away started. You see, the Creator …you know, that man has only one name, you don’t here anyone calling him the Great Bob or Josef or Mister Bringer of Flowers or anything, now do you? It’s just Creator and Light, back and forth, back and forth, so monotonous. Glad I am that I kept my maiden name. What? Back to the topic, you say? Well… where was I… oh, yes. The Creator and I got along for quite a while, a few hundred Ages with no problems. I cooked and tinkered around in the garage, he did the kept that garden and the animals. I’d say he did the housework too, but remember the boxers, sir, I always say remember the boxers. 

I suppose in the first few millennia I was too in love to notice his faults. But after awhile, they just started showing through. The open commode. The dirty boxers around the bedroom. The racks of beefsteaks in the freezer. The remote control always going missing. It just started to nag on me. So naturally I started to nag on him. I mean, what else is a girl going to do?

I think on the whole I handled it pretty nicely. I was fair; just told him that if he didn’t start picking up his boxers and banging the toilet lid down I’d stop making his favourite biscuits and gravy. You know, not the canned gravy but the real stuff? Well, guess you don’t. They don’t make it the same these days.

Well, he didn’t take it so well. Seemed to think that it’s the duty of the Dark One to make sure he had his biscuits and gravy every morning. Well, I disagreed; we had a few tussles, and I moved out.

The Lord High Creator didn’t take that so well either. I mean, at first he did; made a bunch of friends out of those Hellenistic deities, what’s-is-name and what’s-er-name and all them; but then he decided that divorce was against his religion, of all things. Me, I said he was the head deity of his religion, couldn’t he make the rules? But he said no, he had standards, and then he flaming –oh, pardon my language, I’m just a trifle bitter still-  he flaming had me locked up! Of all the things! Then he hitched up with that gal named Aphrodite, for about three weeks… left me alone in solitary confinement, still married and completely unable to attend my weekly mah-jongg party, much less
quilting night. Sheesh!

It was like that for a while. Dull, I mean. Then, one day, someone came along and blocked me sunlight! Yah, all the gall! That’s all I had to do to entertain myself… watch the sun come up… go down… little break for the night… sun come up… go down… little break for the night. On and off for a few Ages. And then someone frilling came along and blocked the view! Big shiny citadel thing they set up, called it the Sharom. Now, Sharom sounds like some kinda French dish to me,  but that thing they set up sure as heck was no cuisine. Big, roundish, never moved. At least the sun did stuff. 

That thing drove me mad. I mean, back when I was all mobile I’d run around redecorating the garage regularly. If that thing could be tilted a little to the left, it wouldn’t have been so bad. But no…. it just sat there like a lump. That’s a very nice waistcoat you’re wearing…. Could I beg to know the brand? Oh, specialty work, very nice. Anyways…

So, when that lovely little girl –what is her name? Mierin? No, she goes by Lanfear now, doesn’t she, a pity, she had such a nice name… well, when that adorable child decided to be neighbourly and drill the Bore, I just  couldn’t contain myself any longer. I redecorated… my first move was to smash that bloody orb to smithereens.  It felt so good, doing that… I took self-defense for phys ed credits during my senior year, but I was a bit out of practice. Well, I was listless after that, and still couldn’t leave the prison entirely. But there was just so much to do… When I learned that he’d gone and made little people to populate all our gardens, I have to admit I was
pretty impressed by the ingenuousness of that. So I got one of these little people, and then a whole bunch more decided they liked my labour plan better and followed, and then some of them decided that they’d make me some special creatures in my honour.  

Well, I thought that was just darn nice of them, and encouraged the entire practice a little by saying thank you and making a couple of them immortal. The biologists, not the special creatures. Here, have another croissant. 

What? You say you want to know more about the Sharom? Well, I can’t tell you much more. It was there and it
was the most tacky piece of upholstery I’ve seen… nothing more to it. Nope, not at all. Though the flaming Creator didn’t think so. He was hanging around with another of them gods… one of them was named Rama or something…. And then he heard that I’d broken that sad little thing. Well, he was too high and mighty –not trapped, just high and mighty- to come back and deal with me himself, so he grouped together a bunch of little minions and started a war. Naturally, I retaliated… but a bunch of those mad little mortals… led by a fellow named Lose… sealed me back up again! At least they didn’t build another of those awful citadels. 

No, instead I found out they built a bunch of tiny little things that were black and white. Well, I wanted to keep one as a collector’s item –it was my prison, after all- but they said no. So I drove all those guys mad. I had quite a gift for things like that, back when I was a gel. Was awfully fun, doing it again… wasn’t sure I still had it in me. More punch? I’ll pop into the kitchen, get some more.

Ah, there we go. Well, a couple more Ages passed like that… men going mad, me still searching for the Seals…
and it turns out, the Creator has another little obstacle up my path. See, he can’t make things permanent so he keeps getting all… irritable, and trying new things. Don’t see why he can’t give up, since he’s obviously not into the holy sanctity of marriage and all that. (sigh). Well, it’s modern times now, and women aren’t subservient to men like he seems to think they should be. You know that girl called Nynaeve? Now, there’s a mortal… running around hitting men with sticks when they look at her the wrong way. That’s the way it should be, I’m thinking, and that’s the flaming way it will be once I get out of here. Solitary confinement… I’ll give the Creator solitary
confinement. Only, I won’t make it temporary.

Now, what’s your real feelings about little Nynaeve? I’m thinking… just considering, y’know… that she might
make a real competent Nae’blis. Once we get her away from that Al Man fellow. Good for business, too, shows
that I don’t hold with those old gender roles. I mean, it figures… the Creator picks three champions, and they’re all male…. Huh. Seems as if he thinks womyn can’t shake the world. Well, he’ll learn, he’ll… oh, you have to go now? Surely, you’ve only been here a tiny bit. What, you have to pick up your car, it’s in getting lubed? Ah, I’d wondered why you biked. Well, here… take some sandwhiches with you. No, no trouble. Maybe I’ll see you around, at the Last Battle and all.

Raina's Hold / Raina's Library / Raina's Library - Other People's Humour