The land wasn’t so much an eyesore as it was not contributing to the improvement of the public’s appreciation of the aesthetic, or so had said the consultant. No-one really knew where they had come from, least of all the town council in front of which the consultant had appeared one day, demanding payment and spouting the exact sort of gibberish that saw the word ‘aesthetic’ tossed around as if it could possibly mean anything good.
And so it was, on the consultant’s stern command-slash-suggestion, that Lord Blight was enlisted for his aid. Some members of the town council questioned the wisdom of this – or, more generally, questioned who Lord Blight was or why they were now paying him money, too – but they were shouted down by the mob, which had gathered some time earlier for reason as yet unknown.
Lord Blight arrived shortly after, riding on a magpie. After brief introductions were made between him and the town council members he dismissed his mount and with great flourish exited the council chambers and headed straight for the site in question, blasting his way through the various walls and bureaucrats who happened to be in the way. Since the site was outside, it did not take him long to get there. The mob watched at a respectful distance.
Triumphantly wielding a wand of cured bone (cured of what he never did say, nor did he explain how bone could be cured in the first place) Lord Blight spun in place, dramatically holding a hand to the sky while pointing the wand to the ground with the other. The various council workers and those members of the public who happened to be nearby gawked in stupefied awe, jaws slack and trousers loose.
A lazy waft of putrid fog spurted from the tip of the wand and settled wetly onto the grass, which withered at the touch. In this manner Lord Blight created a circle of death about himself. Agreeably it was rather a small circle and didn’t really stick out much unless you were really looking at it, but it had been fairly impressive at the time. And, what’s more, he wasn’t even finished!
With the circle completed Lord Blight dug about in the fettered tatters of his robe and produce some small, unidentifiable animal which he proceeded to do something quite visceral with, to the rapturous enjoyment of the crowd. As a natural result, mushrooms sprouted in the circle of decay he had created. Not big ones, or interesting ones, but still. At least it was something. The crowd applauded, but the council was less enthused.
“Where did they find this man again?” One of the officers of the council asked, watching proceedings with scepticism and folded arms.
“He came highly recommended,” the consultant replied, appearing at their shoulder in utter silence. The council member took it in their stride.
“By who?” They asked.
“I thought he was Lord Blight.”
“This is Minor Lord Blight. Lord Blight is someone else,” the consultant had had to clarify this to several people that day, but had yet to grow tired of it.
“Why didn’t we get Lord Blight then?”
“He didn’t come highly recommended.”
The officer of the council considered this for a moment or two and then promptly knocked off for the day. Later, they resigned. After that, they left the country. They were not present to see (Minor) Lord Blight’s circle become an area of outstanding natural beauty, nor to see the small but well-produced television series made about it. Which was a shame, as the series was surprisingly good, considering the subject matter.
The consultant was never heard from again, and in time it was forgotten they had been there at all.