The Tale of the Phantom Check and the Enchanted Camera

A Curious Chronicle from the Village of Clevelandia

In the ancient land of Serbianna, within the troubled Eastern Province governed by Lord Golden Tongue, there arose a most peculiar series of accusations that would make even the court jesters scratch their heads in bewilderment.

For you see, dear reader, after the noble Father Theodor the Just was banished from his ministry by Lord Golden Tongue (for the crime of being too competent and too beloved by the people), those who remained loyal to the Lord began crafting tales most fantastical. Tales so absurd that even the village children—who believed in dragons and magic beans—found them difficult to accept.

The Mysterious Case of Dame Dew-of-the-Sea's Phantom Check

Dame Dew-of-the-Sea, keeper of the village treasury ledgers and faithful servant to Lord Golden Tongue, made a most startling proclamation one day in the village square.

"Hear ye, hear ye!" she announced, clutching her head dramatically. "Father Theodor the Just has stolen from our coffers! I myself wrote a check—a great check—for the sum of seventeen thousand golden coins! And he cashed it for his own enrichment!"

The villagers gasped. Seventeen thousand golden coins! What treachery!

But then, from the back of the crowd, a merchant who understood the ways of banking raised his hand. "Dame Dew-of-the-Sea," he inquired politely, "might we see the banking statements that show this check?"

Dame Dew-of-the-Sea's face grew pale. "Well... you see... the statements are... temporarily unavailable."

"Then perhaps the canceled check itself?" pressed the merchant. "Or the check number and date?"

"The Royal Bank is... conducting an audit," Dame Dew-of-the-Sea stammered, though no one at the Royal Bank had heard of such an audit.

"Surely," interjected a village lawyer, "the ledger shows the check number and payee?"

But Dame Dew-of-the-Sea had already hurried away, muttering something about urgent treasurer business.

The merchant turned to his fellow villagers. "Good people," he said, "banks keep records. If a check for seventeen thousand coins was written and cashed, there would be undeniable proof. No such proof exists."

"Then why," asked the villagers, "would Dame Dew-of-the-Sea make such a claim?"

The merchant smiled sadly. "Because she serves Lord Golden Tongue, and Lord Golden Tongue wishes to destroy Father Theodor's reputation. What better way than a claim of theft that sounds serious but cannot be disproven because it never happened?"

The Enchanted Camera of Lady Stankorious

But wait! The tale grows stranger still!

Lady Stankorious, a woman of eighty winters who served as godmother to Lord Golden Tongue, proclaimed an even more outrageous accusation.

"Father Theodor the Just," she announced with great solemnity, "installed an enchanted scrying device—a magical camera!—in the chambers of the Kolo Sisters, specifically to spy upon me as I changed my garments!"

The villagers fell silent, not from shock, but from utter confusion.

Finally, young Apprentice Thomas spoke up. "Begging your pardon, Lady Stankorious, but..."

"Yes?" she demanded.

"Well, first, there is no camera in the sisters' chambers. We've all been there. No device exists."

"It's hidden!" Lady Stankorious insisted.

"Second," continued the brave apprentice, "you are eighty years old."

"What of it?"

"And Father Theodor is forty years of age, happily married to a beautiful wife."

Lady Stankorious's face reddened.

"Third," the apprentice pressed on, "even if someone DID want to install a spying device—which they didn't—why on earth would they choose to surveil an eighty-year-old woman changing clothes? This makes no sense whatsoever. It's like claiming someone built a tower to watch rocks sit still."

The villagers nodded in agreement. This was, indeed, the most absurd claim they had ever heard.

But Lady Stankorious would not be deterred. "The camera exists! I feel it watching me!"

"Have you considered," suggested the village physician gently, "that perhaps what you feel is not a camera but merely the passage of time and an overactive imagination?"

Lady Stankorious huffed away in indignation.

The Five Phantom Manors and the Imaginary Trucking Company

Not content with phantom checks and enchanted cameras, the tale-spinners added even more fantastical claims to their repertoire.

"Father Theodor the Just," they whispered in taverns and marketplaces, "secretly owns FIVE grand manors which he rents to travelers for profit!"

The villagers looked confused. "Five manors? Where are these manors?"

"Hidden throughout the land!" the accusers proclaimed.

"Can you show us the deeds to these properties?" asked the village recorder, who kept records of all land ownership.

"Well... they're registered under secret names!"

"Can you show us the rental agreements? The tax records? Any evidence whatsoever?"

Silence.

The village recorder checked his ledgers. No manors. No rental properties. No secret real estate empire.

But the tale-spinners were not finished! They added an even grander claim:

"Father Theodor also owns a trucking company!—in the distant town of Wolfden!"

"A trucking company?" the villagers asked, now thoroughly bewildered. "In Wolfden?"

"Yes! He runs a vast commercial enterprise while pretending to be a simple priest!"

The village lawyer sent a messenger to Wolfden. The messenger returned with a simple report: "No such company exists. No business licenses in Father Theodor's name. No trucking company. Nothing."

"But even if he DID own rental properties or a business," observed a wise elder, "what concern is that of ours? If a man lawfully owns property and operates an honest enterprise, that is his affair. We have no claim to his personal finances."

"Aha!" cried the accusers. "So you admit he COULD own five houses!"

"No," sighed the elder wearily. "We're saying your claims are both FALSE and IRRELEVANT. He doesn't own these things, but even if he did, it would be none of your business. You're grasping at straws because your other lies have failed."

The accusers, having no response to logic, simply shouted their claims louder.

The Traveling Tale-Spinners

Now, loyal to Lord Golden Tongue and devoted to spreading these fantastical tales, a band of wandering storytellers emerged:

Young Liarfire the Loyal - Son of Lady Stankorious, who inherited his mother's gift for creative narrative. If his mother could imagine cameras, he could imagine entire surveillance networks!

The Three Disgruntled Knights:

• Sir Lukas the Loudmouth

• Sir Pete the Petulant

• Sir Demetrius the Dramatic

These three young men shared a curious history. They had once been close companions to Father Theodor's daughters—attending feasts together, sharing secrets, and going to dances and sports events. But then came a mysterious falling out. Friendships ended.

And now, coincidentally, these three knights roamed the province spreading tales of Father Theodor's alleged misdeeds with the enthusiasm of professional town criers.

"Father Theodor was stealing coins ALL THE TIME!" Sir Lukas the Loudmouth would shout in the tavern.

"Proof?" the tavern keeper would ask.

"Everyone knows!" Sir Lukas the Loudmouth would reply, which is what people say when they have no proof.

"There are cameras EVERYWHERE!" Sir Pete the Petulant would add.

"Where exactly?" someone would inquire.

"Hidden places!" Sir Pete the Petulant would answer mysteriously.

"And he owns FIVE rental houses!" Sir Demetrius the Dramatic would contribute.

"Where are they?" the villagers would ask.

"Secret locations!"

"He also runs a trucking company in Wolfden!" Young Liarfire the Loyal would add enthusiastically.

"Can you show us the business license?" the merchant would ask.

"It's... under a different name!"

"The seventeen thousand coins!" Sir Demetrius would continue dramatically. "Dame Dew-of-the-Sea saw it with her own eyes!"

"Actually," the merchant would correct, "she only claimed to have written a check. No one has seen any evidence of this check."

But the Three Disgruntled Knights and Young Liarfire the Loyal cared not for evidence. They had their narrative, and they would stick to it.

Questions the Storytellers Refused to Answer

The village lawyer, being a man of reason, compiled a list of simple questions for the accusers:

For Dame Dew-of-the-Sea:

1. What was the check number of this alleged seventeen-thousand-coin check?

2. On what date was it written?

3. To whom was it made payable?

4. Can you provide banking statements showing this transaction?

5. Can you provide ANY documentation whatsoever?

For Lady Stankorious:

1. Where exactly is this camera located?

2. Can you show us this camera?

3. Who installed it and when?

4. Do you have any evidence this camera exists?

5. Have you considered that you are eighty years old and Father Theodor is a forty-year-old married priest with absolutely no interest in spying on you?

For Young Liarfire the Loyal and the Three Disgruntled Knights:

1. What specific evidence do you have of theft?

2. Where are these five rental houses? Show us the property deeds.

3. Where is this trucking company in Wolfden? Show us the business registration.

4. Does your campaign against Father Theodor have anything to do with no longer being friends with his daughters?

5. Are you aware that spreading false accusations is a crime?

6. Do you understand that lawyers can investigate these claims?

7. What will you do when all your tales are proven false?

The accusers avoided these questions like villagers avoiding the plague.

The Village Council's Investigation

Being people of wisdom, the village council decided to investigate these serious allegations.

They summoned Dame Dew-of-the-Sea. "Show us the banking records," they commanded.

Dame Dew-of-the-Sea arrived without records. "They were... misplaced."

They searched the Kolo Sisters' chambers for cameras. They found none. Not even a suspiciously placed candlestick.

They interviewed the Royal Bank. "No such check exists," the bankers confirmed.

They questioned Father Theodor. "I have all my financial records available for inspection," he offered. "Every coin accounted for."

The council's conclusion was swift and unanimous: "These accusations are entirely false. Dame Dew-of-the-Sea's check does not exist. Lady Stankorious's camera does not exist. This is defamation, pure and simple."

The True Tale Revealed

As the council's investigation unfolded, the real story became clear:

Lord Golden Tongue, desperate to destroy Father Theodor's reputation, had enlisted his most loyal servants to spread lies.

Dame Dew-of-the-Sea, who managed the actual treasury records and knew Father Theodor had stolen nothing, nevertheless fabricated the check story to please her lord.

Lady Stankorious, godmother to Lord Golden Tongue and longtime opponent of Father Theodor, invented the camera tale to paint him as a predator.

Young Liarfire the Loyal, dutiful son to his mother and servant to the Lord, amplified these tales throughout the province.

The Three Disgruntled Knights, motivated by their mysterious falling out with Father Theodor's daughters and their desire to curry favor with Lord Golden Tongue, became enthusiastic propagandists.

Together, they formed a chorus of false witness, hoping that if they shouted their lies loud enough and often enough, some villagers might believe them.

They forgot one crucial detail: lies crumble when confronted with truth.

The Reckoning Approaches

As word of the false accusations spread, the village lawyer began preparing documents.

"Defamation," he wrote in his careful script. "False witness. Intentional infliction of emotional distress."

He compiled evidence:

• Banking statements showing NO seventeen-thousand-coin check

• Photographs of the Kolo Sisters' chambers showing NO camera

• Property records showing NO five rental houses owned by Father Drago

• Business registration records from Wolfden show NO trucking company

• Testimonies from dozens of villagers attesting to Father Theodor's honesty

• Documentation of the accusers' connections to Lord Golden Tongue

• Records of the Three Knights' previous friendship with Father Theodor's daughters

"When this reaches the High Court," the lawyer told his clerks, "these accusers will face consequences. You cannot destroy a man's reputation with fabricated tales and expect no reckoning."

The clerks nodded solemnly.

A Warning to Future Tale-Spinners

Let this story serve as a lesson to all who would spread false witness:

In the age of banking records and legal documentation, phantom checks are easily exposed.

In the age of physical reality, imaginary cameras remain imaginary.

In the age of lawyers and courts, defamation has consequences.

Dame Dew-of-the-Sea, Lady Stankorious, Young Liarfire the Loyal, Sir Lukas, Sir Pete, and Sir Demetrius learned this lesson the hard way.

For when the court summons arrived, demanding they provide evidence of their claims, they had nothing to show.

No check. No camera. No rental houses. No trucking company. No proof. No defense.

Only shame.

The Moral of Our Tale

And so, dear reader, what lessons can we draw from this curious chronicle?

First: Those who serve corrupt lords often become corrupt themselves, willing to lie and defame to please their master.

Second: Claims without evidence are merely noise. Banks keep records. Cameras are physical objects. Truth leaves traces.

Third: Scorned friendships and family loyalties can motivate the most absurd accusations.

Fourth: What goes around, comes around. Those who bear false witness will face justice, whether in earthly courts or divine reckoning.

Fifth: The people of Clevelandia, having endured Lord Golden Tongue's mismanagement and now his minions' false accusations, grew wiser. They learned to demand evidence, to question authority, and to stand with the truth even when powerful lords opposed them.

~ The End ~

(Or perhaps merely another chapter in the ongoing saga of Lord Golden Tongue's declining reign...)

Epilogue for the Wise

To the 120 families who departed the Eastern Province when Father Theodor was unjustly banished: these false accusations reveal the depths to which Lord Golden Tongue and his followers will sink.

They cannot produce the missing Pavilion funds, so they accuse Father Theodor of theft. They cannot explain the vanished forest treasury, so they invent phantom checks. They cannot justify their corruption, so they fabricate camera scandals. They cannot defend their actions, so they claim Father Theodor owns secret rental properties and trucking companies.

You were right to leave.

For a province that tolerates lies this absurd is a province beyond redemption.

Author's Note:

Every accusation mentioned in this tale is based on actual claims. Every rebuttal is based on verifiable facts. Banking records either show a seventeen-thousand-coin check or they don't. Cameras either exist or they don't.

This is not complicated.

If Dame Dew-of-the-Sea's check exists, let her produce the bank statement. If Lady Stankorious's camera exists, let her show it to us. If Father Theodor owns five rental houses, let them show us the deeds. If Father Theodor owns a trucking company, let them show us the business license.

Until then, this fairy tale remains what it is: a chronicle of false witness and the inevitable consequences that follow.

Truth endures when tales fade.