A Tale from Cabaret Ghost Productions

My interpretation of :  "Baron Von Reseller. Half man, half cyborg, all moustache"

(ps - notice the Dyson ball technology?)

Most of us are familiar with etsy, an online site for artists and crafters to vend their handmade items—many of us have even experienced the love-hate relationship that being an etsy shop owner sometimes entails. On any given day one can usually find a disgruntled thread. . .or two. . .or three, on the esty forums. So it was with a welcomed surprise that I ran across one of the most delightful, satirical threads I've ever had the honor to stumble upon in etsy's forums.
This short, lighthearted satire should more than tickle you funny bone, it should have you, literally, rolling on the floor in laughter.
It is my honor to present to you a story written by Heidi O'Brien of Cabaret Ghost Productions

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A great dark smog hung over the whimsical city of Etsia. High up in the mountains, far above the puffy clouds with their dangling raindrops, were the dark mills of the Baron Von Reseller. Half man, half cyborg, all moustache, the Baron surveyed his mountains of shipping boxes marked 'OOAK HANDMADE COPPER OWLS' and laughed his maniacal laugh.
"Fill these orders, boys!" he called to his clockwork cyborg minions. "These owls aren't going to mass-produce themselves!"

The Baron stopped mid-chuckle as he spied something from the edge of his monocle. There was movement in the clock tower above. Suddenly, the swarthy figure of Sir Reginald Steampunk smashed through the great clock face and swung down from a thick rope crafted from leftover knitting wool. He landed on both feet, his massive chest barely covered by his damp, white shirt.

"Who is this who dares to enter the realm of Von Reseller?" snarled the Baron. "Could this be the Integrity Team?"

"The Integrity Team is GONE!" Sir Reginald bellowed, and at least ten swarthy and handsome men appeared behind him, all brandishing swords.
"WE are the new Integrity Team!"
With these words, Sir Reginald and his army tore off their shirts in one powerful motion, their chests rippling with muscles and seething with righteous anger.  Sir Reginald and his soldiers made their tight-trousered way over to the sniveling villain.

"We are a collective I tells ya, a COLLECTIVE!" yelled the Baron as he twirled his moustache.

"Show us your workspace, you miserable whelp," demanded Sir Reginald, his sword glimmering before him.
"No? Then we will have to see for ourselves, then!" he pulled on a golden-tasseled cord and the thick velvet curtain fell down to reveal a fog of industry, cyborgs, conveyer belts and furnaces all moving and bellowing smoke on the factory floor.

"Collective ACTIVATE!" Screamed the Baron, and his hundreds of cyborg minions moved together, cogs joining cogs and metal fusing into metal until all that was standing before the integrity team were three enormous machines.

"A sly trick," said Sir Reginald, "a sly and cunning piece of trickery indeed."

"There are only four of us," giggled the Baron,"' Count us if you please."

"Count you we will," said Sir Reginald, "Count you we will, indeed."
He turned to his windswept and dashing army.
"Let us give him a counting he will never forget."

"Look up!"
It was too late. Heavy nets of coloured bunting fell from the ceiling and ensnared the army of swashbucklers in its bright flags. Struggling for air under the festive yet lethal party decorations, the army took courage and began slashing the white twine with their swords.
Above them was an enormous vintage mason jar full of a glowing liquid substance.
"Gentlemen, what you see above you are the souls of artists and crafters that we have imprisoned in our Mason Jar of Mediocrity," The Baron laughed. "It is a heavy weapon indeed, and soon you will feel its descent upon you!"

"Holy Bird on a Branch!' ejaculated Sir Reginald. "Men! We must not let this happen. We will fight to the very death!"

The army of heroes tore and ripped at the bunting until they had freed themselves enough to stand, but the mason jar was being lowered at an ever more alarming speed. Just as it seemed the end was nigh for our noble knights of the hand-crafted, the jar stopped in mid-air, its shining liquid made still.
"Could it be? My dearest friend, the Count Upcycledonio?" Sir Reginald's heart almost exploded with joy as he spied his dear comrade and one-time nemesis of old hanging artfully from the factory rafters, the chains holding the mason jar stilled in his manly and capable hands.
"I can't hold on forever old chap!" cried the Count. "Run, dear fellows, run!" 

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Credits for story and imagination go to:

Author: Heidi O'Brien

esty shop: cabaretghostproductions

Heidi O'Brien's CaberetGhost facebook page: CabaretGhostProductions

The following words are Heidi's own and, hopefully,  I'll be able to complete the installation of this tale of heroic daring do, honor, righteousness, justice and all that there stuff ... 

"Providing this thread is still open tomorrow, I will finish the daring exploits of Sir Reginald and his stout-hearted fellows in the morning. Thank you for your kind words and goodnight."