I just came off an incredible weekend, and I wanted to share this moment from Sunday at our Kris and Scott’s Scott and Kris Show Live. Patrick Rothfuss, author of The Name of the Wind and A Wise Man’s Fear, left World-Con early just to come to our event, and he was a great guest.

While there, he helped bring my Name of the Wind fanfic to life. Joining us onstage was another of our guests, Mikey Neumann of Gearbox and author of The Returners. Hit the jump for a fan video (thanks @William_Shade and rshosler), and the full script of the skit. Wish we had better audio, but at least you can read along!


The Even More Name of the Winds, Plural

A fanfiction by Kris Straub which will be canonized by Patrick Rothfuss when he reads it on stage

Chapter 1: The Namening

PATRICK. Kote looked around the Waystone Inn, the morning sun beaming in through its shuttered windows. Last night the people of Newarre had gotten recklessly drunk, and as a result the bar looked super shitty. “Guess I’d better start by wiping this place down,” Kote said as he wiped the bar down with an old wiping rag. It was his favorite rag. He smiled to himself, remembering everything he’d wiped with this rag: mostly, spilled drinks… but sometimes, spilled blood.

PATRICK. Then something — a presence — sent a chill straight through him. “What was that? Is somebody making ice cream in my bones?”

PATRICK. The doorbell rang. Funny, visitors don’t usually come this early, thought Kote. I’d better not answer it. I don’t want to do anything to let on that I’m actually Kvothe Kingkiller, aka Maedre, Lightfinger, Sixstring and on and on.

MIKEY. Just then, his assistant Bast appeared. Bast was concerned lately about Kote’s depression. What did he have to be depressed about, anyway? He was an incredible musician, magic-user and fighter. Jesus. “We have a faery saying, Kote: ‘Sometimes good things are behind a door in the morning, so you should open that door.'”

PATRICK. “Another of your quizzical faery word-riddles!” Kote said.

MIKEY. “You should open the door, Kote,” Bast said. They both shared a hearty laugh.

KRIS. When Kote opened the front door to the bar, a tall, handsome man stood there, his throaty laugh soaring like man-music. He was dark and ethnic, but not too ethnic. He really looked great. Also he had three magic swords.

KRIS. “Hail, Kote,” said the cool and tough-looking stranger, “or should I say… Kvothe Kingkiller?”

MIKEY. Bast’s handsome face turned toward the man. “Wow. This stranger is really ‘on the ball,’ which is a faery expression.”

PATRICK. What the fuck? thought Kvothe. This guy must be as smart as he is strong and handsome. I can already tell he’s either going to be my best friend or my worst nightmare. I hope it’s the former…

KRIS. “I want to be your best friend,” said the stranger. That took some of the edge off. “My name is K’thris Stribe. Some know me as K’thris Godkiller. Also Three-Sword.” K’thris warmly took Kvothe’s hand, and shook it warmly.

PATRICK. “Ha ha,” laughed Kvothe, “that proves you’re no demon — feels like your hands and muscles are made of pure iron.”

KRIS. “Your handshake use some work, ha ha,” said K’thris. Kvothe smiled. He was really starting to like this dude. “But I’m here to warn you of a great danger. Soon the land will be darkened by the shadow of the Satangod, Skrot Krotz.”

PATRICK. Kvothe shivered. He’d heard of Skrot Krotz and his army of savage, drooling eel-men. I’ve only killed kings… and this ‘Godkiller’ is worried?

KRIS. “I’m not worried,” said K’thris. “I know I can defeat him… but I need a trusted companion with me to chronicle my victory. You are that trusted companion.”

PATRICK. Kvothe reeled. What an incredible twist. Kvothe’s amazing life had been chronicled just days before by Chronicler — and now he was being given the chance to chronicle an even more amazing life?

PATRICK. “At first I thought this was some kind of fiction,” said Kvothe. “But now I know it’s real. No fiction was ever as well-written as this. You are a great writer, Kris.” [sic]

MIKEY. “As a writer myself, I agree and I can’t wait to be friends forever,” said Mikey. Hey, this says “Mikey,” not my character.

KRIS. “Thanks, and I know. We’d better start on our journey together.” K’thris readied his three magic swords, two of which were even nicer than Kvothe’s sword. (The third one was the same as Kvothe’s, but white.)

SCOTT. “Looks like your journey is at an end before it even started,” boomed Lord Skrot Krotz, who used sewermancy to magic his way out of a toilet. Most magic-users never dabble in a magic so vile, but Skrot already smelled — and looked — like a real diarrhea-face. Kris, this is bullshit. I’m not gonna read anymore!

KRIS. Shh, shh, don’t mess it up, it’s gonna get really good!

PATRICK. “Fuck you, Scott, Kris is the best.”

SCOTT. You’re not even in character, it’s not even hidden in a metaphor!

KRIS. “I’ll tell my story, my way,” said K’thris, who in the meantime had combined his three swords into the best of all swords named “The Best of All Swords.”

MIKEY. “Go get ‘im, handsome,” the sword said to Kris. The fuck?

SCOTT. How long is this shit?

KRIS. Don’t skip ahead!!

SCOTT. Chapter 36: A Sexual Interlude. “With Lord Krotz dead, the kingdom is safe to fuck again,” said a busty lass who bore a striking resemblance to Kris’ high school crush Amy Plotzmueller.

 

Share