Non-canon and proud, unless Papata Fren can figure out how to rig a radio transmitter that can't be back-traced to Senzu Hall... waaait, cloak yourself in wards and set up a pirate radio station out in the middle of nowhere, then broadcast from there.
Well, probably still noncanon.
The Last DJ
It was, literally, magical. Like some legendary artifact from myth, like the Power Pole or the Bansho Fan. The Cloak of Shadow, she'd taken to calling it. To ward the wearer from all perception, by mind or machine or magic. And it worked, by and large. Dandelor was
good.
It let her walk right into an Aramaian long range military radio transmitter station, and smash the ceramic disk that contained, itself sealed by the disk, a spell that would render all the soldiers inside unconscious and amnesiac. For juuuust long enough for her to install the recording and
tsew the hell out, then for it to play a few minutes later.
She knew what the recording would say, before the extra equipment she'd attached to the big long-range transmitter melted itself into slurry at the end of the message. It was her radio show. Hyper-compressed now, instead of encrypted. A burst of incomprehensible static to anyone with a power level below several hundred, on several of the most popular radio frequencies on Garenhuld. Never the same frequencies one time as the next.
First the three quick notes, and one long-
'dun-dun-dun-DUN,' drawn from a very fragmented music file she'd found as a child. Earth vintage. She wondered if it was part of a longer piece, but even if it wasn't, it sure grabbed attention. She'd used it in her old program sometimes. Then the narration beginning.
"This is Lookout calling! The Exiles, speaking to the Exiles... Hello, folks, welcome to Lookout Radio! I'm Papata Fren, your host."
It would go on. This time, it'd be...
"Before we begin our program, some personal messages from Lookout to gallant warriors the world over. Firstly, Mato has a long mustache. Remember this on Tuesday. Tuesday. Secondly, there has been a fire at the insurance agency. A fire. Thirdly, and this is very important, the coffee is in the cup. I repeat, the coffee is IN the cup!"
As a general rule, none of the 'personal messages' actually meant anything or communicated anything to anyone. But Papata had to hope they kept that usurping witch wondering, just what they meant,
and who they were aimed at... Then there'd be one song. Usually one of Dandeer's favorites. If she was going to wide-angle mind-wipe memories of the whole broadcast, and she liked to do that, she could at least accidentally blow up everyone else's memory of her favorite songs in the collateral damage.
Their little resistance had planted a bug, once. While the reason for it hadn't been to get a shot of Dandeer pulling at her hair in incomprehension... The look on her face when no one around her could figure out what she was talking about, when she told them to put one of last year's Top Forty on the speakers...
fucking priceless.
Then, the message, always substantially the same. Ringing with every ounce of sincerity she could put into it. She didn't know if it worked often enough to matter. She wasn't entirely sure it was working at all. But dammit, she had to try.
"You will likely soon forget this message; the false queen has woven her magics well. But if you concentrate- really concentrate- and will with all your might and all your power and all your soul, maybe, just maybe, you can remember it, in spite of what the false queen wants you to forget. The Princess did it, once."
"Remember this. All you hear from other sources is a lie. Trust no one who denies this truth. For they are minions of Dandeer, the secret usurper, the reigning false queen of Garenhuld, Babidi reborn! Dandeer, who has made all but one of the royals of the two Houses into her loving slaves. All except for the Princess, who has passed from us to the stars, to find help and begin the liberation. Remember, there is hope! Speak of it never, but think of it always!"
"If you remember this message, and look upon your kings and princes, remember that you look upon Majin Berra, and Majin Jaffur, and, in a sense, Majin V- I will not speak the name. Still mighty warriors, but robbed of their heroism, for now. Enslaved to an evil wizard, to be redeemed when the Princess returns. Remember those who have gone mysteriously missing these past months- and know that they are free, and with us, on Lookout."
"The false queen's magic will try to rob you of this memory now. Now, concentrate, with all your will, and resist!"
Then, the bookend. The music that closed every broadcast. She'd recorded it herself, thinking it might some day be her final swan song, to a tune she'd found
in an ancient, half-corrupted music collection left in the computer aboard the Senzus' ship, a lost echo of Old Earth. Maybe not Earth's best, but the most fitting, for a time like this.
