I could say I'm bumping this due to making an edit.... But that would be a lie.
Hokum Member
The man in the moon
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As long as you're accomplishing things then it's good.
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Bio
. . .
I ' m a w r i t e r
I l i k e i t
I l i k e i t
. . .
Most Recent Posts
BRAIN SURGERY!
AKA
Hokum's Interest Check
Hey there, and welcome to my interest check!
Normally I lurk about like a creep looking for 1X1 interest checks from others I might find interest in, though for one reason or another not at all because I haven’t found anything of interest lately I’m feeling the urge to post my own!
To begin, I’d like to point out a few things, 1. There are cookies in the corner of the room if you want to feed your face while reading, 2. Mind goes blank hating on the number two. And of course, 3. The following is a list of objective, or possibly subjective… objectively subjective… subjectively objective… points that may help you make a decision on whether you want to RP with me. Most of them feel very a little redundant to mention, but I figure I better keep the trend.
By the way, if you don’t laugh at all while reading this, you’re not alone and it’s not your fault.
To begin, I’d like to point out a few things, 1. There are cookies in the corner of the room if you want to feed your face while reading, 2. Mind goes blank hating on the number two. And of course, 3. The following is a list of objective, or possibly subjective… objectively subjective… subjectively objective… points that may help you make a decision on whether you want to RP with me. Most of them feel very a little redundant to mention, but I figure I better keep the trend.
By the way, if you don’t laugh at all while reading this, you’re not alone and it’s not your fault.
Anyway
Genres and Time Period pains: Most I enjoy, but just to say I have no interest in Anime related RP’s, or existing content such as movies, series, games and other fandom. Feels like I’ve committed a sin by saying that. Please put away your pitchforks.
Writing style: Casual to lower Advanced, but of course there are times when writing more than a couple of paragraphs isn’t needed for a response (that old sense of redundancy). I also try to make the effort of being as legible as possible - and for the love of Cheesecake, please return the courtesy!
Characters: I always create my own OC’s, I mean, that’s a lot of the fun for me right there. I feel the same about world building, and I like to delude myself into thinking my partner shares that mindset as well.
One, but up to three main characters can be good, with no real limit on npc’s.
In cases of romantic development, I prefer heterosexual inclinations. Please don’t stone me, there are never enough rocks. That said, my leading main character is normally male.
No sneaky, indirect requests being made here, no ma’am.
Smut – oof, the word itself sounds distasteful. Let’s just call it Erotica: Either way it isn’t needed unless you’re writing a porno. I mean, my motto is: Don't run into an RP naked! Oh… wait, never mind, I’ve actually done that. Twice. But I swear on both occasions there was a good reason for it! eyeballs pitchforks. Seriously though, most things can have its place as long as it’s done well and done tastefully, and not just there for the sake of it being there. I know that ‘tasteful’ means something different to each person, and this is why PM’s are good for discussing matters that people tend to place an unhealthy amount of attention on.
A sense of self-disappointment
Slash and Gore. Again, it isn’t needed unless the RP is based around these themes, like duh. Really, I sometimes enjoy delving into the darker side of storytelling. But even then, projectile bloodletting shouldn’t be there just for the sake of being there.
A good plot and story is first and foremost.
Ah, and yes, almost forgot the almighty posting speed scenario. Ahem. I don’t care much for speed posting. Rush jobs just aren’t my thing. Why you so urgent, key-masher? I know some people like it, but for me, there is enough pressure in RL without having to feel it in an RP where casual fun is meant to be had. Not to mention that RL doesn’t always allow a person to post every hour or even every day at times. So a casual pace is good. Just take your time and enjoy the ride. I insist. The character building, world building, using your imagination to create. Good stuff. Anyway, I usually post within a few day, but could be delayed for up to a week if RL commitments poke at my ribs. I don’t expect anything faster from my partner either - BUT PLEASE HURRY UP! Oh yeah, I also like to keep my partner informed of any major changes that dramatically effect or delay the RP for lengthy periods. …Not to say I haven’t been guilty of doing otherwise once or twice. Oof.
...Feels the need to point out at this time that I can actually be serious when I write, so if you're sneering at my lack of serious tone right now, then get a hold of yourself!
Crap, I just remembered something important to mention: Plausibility! Or believability, however you want to tag it. When in RP’s that are fantasy or Sci-Fi etc. Actually, any genre for that matter. I do like things to remain at a plausible level. Like, having a super hot paper cut-out flying about will-nilly and throwing planets around is just kinda, uh, well, “See ya!”
Characters: I always create my own OC’s, I mean, that’s a lot of the fun for me right there. I feel the same about world building, and I like to delude myself into thinking my partner shares that mindset as well.
One, but up to three main characters can be good, with no real limit on npc’s.
In cases of romantic development, I prefer heterosexual inclinations. Please don’t stone me, there are never enough rocks. That said, my leading main character is normally male.
No sneaky, indirect requests being made here, no ma’am.
Smut – oof, the word itself sounds distasteful. Let’s just call it Erotica: Either way it isn’t needed unless you’re writing a porno. I mean, my motto is: Don't run into an RP naked! Oh… wait, never mind, I’ve actually done that. Twice. But I swear on both occasions there was a good reason for it! eyeballs pitchforks. Seriously though, most things can have its place as long as it’s done well and done tastefully, and not just there for the sake of it being there. I know that ‘tasteful’ means something different to each person, and this is why PM’s are good for discussing matters that people tend to place an unhealthy amount of attention on.
A sense of self-disappointment
Slash and Gore. Again, it isn’t needed unless the RP is based around these themes, like duh. Really, I sometimes enjoy delving into the darker side of storytelling. But even then, projectile bloodletting shouldn’t be there just for the sake of being there.
A good plot and story is first and foremost.
Ah, and yes, almost forgot the almighty posting speed scenario. Ahem. I don’t care much for speed posting. Rush jobs just aren’t my thing. Why you so urgent, key-masher? I know some people like it, but for me, there is enough pressure in RL without having to feel it in an RP where casual fun is meant to be had. Not to mention that RL doesn’t always allow a person to post every hour or even every day at times. So a casual pace is good. Just take your time and enjoy the ride. I insist. The character building, world building, using your imagination to create. Good stuff. Anyway, I usually post within a few day, but could be delayed for up to a week if RL commitments poke at my ribs. I don’t expect anything faster from my partner either - BUT PLEASE HURRY UP! Oh yeah, I also like to keep my partner informed of any major changes that dramatically effect or delay the RP for lengthy periods. …Not to say I haven’t been guilty of doing otherwise once or twice. Oof.
...Feels the need to point out at this time that I can actually be serious when I write, so if you're sneering at my lack of serious tone right now, then get a hold of yourself!
Crap, I just remembered something important to mention: Plausibility! Or believability, however you want to tag it. When in RP’s that are fantasy or Sci-Fi etc. Actually, any genre for that matter. I do like things to remain at a plausible level. Like, having a super hot paper cut-out flying about will-nilly and throwing planets around is just kinda, uh, well, “See ya!”
Okay, I think I’ve covered everything that I still feel didn’t need to be mentioned. So here are a few unfathomably loose plot ideas I’ve slapped together. Maybe they are of interest to someone else as well. Everything is open to discussion.
Unfathomably loose and ill-written plot ideas
Unnamed. Slice of Life/horror: Grumpy, cynical man (MC) buys a rundown old house without doing his research on the joint. He soon finds out that the house might just have a mind of its own, and that the lady living next door (YC) isn’t exactly normal either. A strange and possibly terrifying relationship ensues between the three of them.
Unnamed. Slice of life: An escaped criminal on the run (MC) in the 90’s, manages to elude recapture and hunkers down in what he thinks is a nice little hidey place until things cool down. Little does he realise that he has been followed, not by the law, rather by your own character. Reasoning for being after my character is open to discussion. Heck, I don’t even mind if you keep the reasoning a secret to be revealed as the RP unravels. That’s fine too.
The Hard Way. Fantasy: Medieval. A thief (MC) is sentenced to death by hanging, only to be saved by YC in the nick of time. Cliché. Why your character wanted to save mine is also open. In any case, they escape together. Their efforts to stay one step ahead of those in pursuit, leads them down a crazy path of adventure as an unlikely relationship develops. I agree, that last part sounded cumbersome and corny. My bad.
Launch. Sci-Fi/Fantasy: A character (mine or yours) in the communication/computer age, discovers a way to travel faster than light. Being a hermit type, they don’t tell anyone about their discovery, but instead build a craft to launch them self into space. Gallivanting across the universe, they soon encounter other life form/s, inhabited worlds, and an adventure like no other. Gosh dammit, I did it again!
Poisoned Hope. Post-apocalyptic: At a time when disorder and famine oppress those that linger on, at a time when even so much as a drop of clean water is hard to find, word of a great city reaches the ears of the desperate throughout the ashen land. The rumours of this city lure the hopes of many with stories of clean water, food aplenty, even glory and wealth. But what is the true fate of those that succumb to such tantalising promises in this God forsaken land? (Honestly I’m also considering creating a group RP with something like this in mind)
That’s all I’ll put here for now. Probably add more later. Hope you enjoyed the read!
Unnamed. Slice of life: An escaped criminal on the run (MC) in the 90’s, manages to elude recapture and hunkers down in what he thinks is a nice little hidey place until things cool down. Little does he realise that he has been followed, not by the law, rather by your own character. Reasoning for being after my character is open to discussion. Heck, I don’t even mind if you keep the reasoning a secret to be revealed as the RP unravels. That’s fine too.
The Hard Way. Fantasy: Medieval. A thief (MC) is sentenced to death by hanging, only to be saved by YC in the nick of time. Cliché. Why your character wanted to save mine is also open. In any case, they escape together. Their efforts to stay one step ahead of those in pursuit, leads them down a crazy path of adventure as an unlikely relationship develops. I agree, that last part sounded cumbersome and corny. My bad.
Launch. Sci-Fi/Fantasy: A character (mine or yours) in the communication/computer age, discovers a way to travel faster than light. Being a hermit type, they don’t tell anyone about their discovery, but instead build a craft to launch them self into space. Gallivanting across the universe, they soon encounter other life form/s, inhabited worlds, and an adventure like no other. Gosh dammit, I did it again!
Poisoned Hope. Post-apocalyptic: At a time when disorder and famine oppress those that linger on, at a time when even so much as a drop of clean water is hard to find, word of a great city reaches the ears of the desperate throughout the ashen land. The rumours of this city lure the hopes of many with stories of clean water, food aplenty, even glory and wealth. But what is the true fate of those that succumb to such tantalising promises in this God forsaken land? (Honestly I’m also considering creating a group RP with something like this in mind)
That’s all I’ll put here for now. Probably add more later. Hope you enjoyed the read!
If you don’t like any of the above very loose ideas, then bite me. Nah, really, if none of those are your cup of tea but you’re still interested in RPing with me, then please feel free to PM me with some ideas of your own… that is, if you still feel comfortable doing so. I’ll be look’n forward to hearing about them!
Leave any uneaten cookies at the door on your way out.
See ya!
See ya!
𝕵𝖆𝖈𝖐
Earth. April 22, 2018
Darling Point. Sydney, Australia.
Darling Point. Sydney, Australia.
His blood appeared roasted in the dim orange light of the hallway, almost thoughtful in the way it conformed to the contours of his face as not to obstruct his vision. He huddled constricted and naked on the carpeted floor, arms wrapped about his knees, forlorn eyes rolled up at Jack.
Mercy was for the good at heart, not for this filth. As the female whimpering of the man’s latest victim filled the house form a nearby bedroom, Jack kept the cold steel of his gun pressed firmly to the blood-soaked temple of the man’s head. Jack was dressed in his black leather overcoat, boots avoiding the puddles of blood on the carpet, his gloved finger securely covering the trigger.
“You’re running out of chances, Bob.” Jack’s voice was a rasped whisper, increasing the press of the barrel against Bob’s Temple. “You can tell me where it is, save me some time, and I’ll leave you here alive. Or you can keep holding out on me and I’ll turn this place upside down finding it… then leave you here with your ugly, dead balls exposed for whoever turns up to find your corpse. Either way it turns out well for me, don’t you think?”
“I’m not stupid…” Bob wheezed, a gurgling sound heard as blood filled his lungs from a prior blow to the chest. “You’ll kill me anyway.”
Jack narrowed one eye auspiciously. “Are you certain you wanna take that chance? Currently you’re not in any condition a hasty trip to the hospital can’t fix, well… maybe. But every moment you delay diminishes that chance of survival. Fact is, every word I’m currently talking brings you just that much closer to dea-“
“Shut the fuck up!” Bob coughed as he spat the words, sending a spray of blood over the hem of Jack’s coat and well-polished boots. Bob’s diminishing strength then loosened, the grip his arms on his tucked knees was released; one foot sliding forward as his hands dropped haplessly to the floor. “It’s behind the fuck’n...” His voice choked on more blood as his eyes diverted down the hallway. With a little wet coughing he cleared his throat enough to finish his sentence; “…painting in the lounge.” His eyes turned back up at Jack with shy hope of salvation.
'You really are stupid' Jack thought to himself, grimacing at the spray of blood on his clothes. His face lost all expression, raising his view to meet Bob’s uninspiring look of hope, and then spoke in a flat tone:
“Thanks for the information, you really saved me some time. Maybe you can take the peace of the only good deed you’ve done to your grave.”
Bob’s face fluctuated through a variety of questionable expressions before settling on one of grim acceptance. Jack had lied to him.
With the loud crack, muffled only slightly by the silencer that was Bob’s head, the brains of Bob coloured the wall in yet more bloody chunks. His body slumped to the side as his legs fell open to expose his nakedness.
“You really do have ugly balls.” Jack murmured, tucked his gun into the holster within the fall of his coat.
Mercy was for the good at heart, not for this filth. As the female whimpering of the man’s latest victim filled the house form a nearby bedroom, Jack kept the cold steel of his gun pressed firmly to the blood-soaked temple of the man’s head. Jack was dressed in his black leather overcoat, boots avoiding the puddles of blood on the carpet, his gloved finger securely covering the trigger.
“You’re running out of chances, Bob.” Jack’s voice was a rasped whisper, increasing the press of the barrel against Bob’s Temple. “You can tell me where it is, save me some time, and I’ll leave you here alive. Or you can keep holding out on me and I’ll turn this place upside down finding it… then leave you here with your ugly, dead balls exposed for whoever turns up to find your corpse. Either way it turns out well for me, don’t you think?”
“I’m not stupid…” Bob wheezed, a gurgling sound heard as blood filled his lungs from a prior blow to the chest. “You’ll kill me anyway.”
Jack narrowed one eye auspiciously. “Are you certain you wanna take that chance? Currently you’re not in any condition a hasty trip to the hospital can’t fix, well… maybe. But every moment you delay diminishes that chance of survival. Fact is, every word I’m currently talking brings you just that much closer to dea-“
“Shut the fuck up!” Bob coughed as he spat the words, sending a spray of blood over the hem of Jack’s coat and well-polished boots. Bob’s diminishing strength then loosened, the grip his arms on his tucked knees was released; one foot sliding forward as his hands dropped haplessly to the floor. “It’s behind the fuck’n...” His voice choked on more blood as his eyes diverted down the hallway. With a little wet coughing he cleared his throat enough to finish his sentence; “…painting in the lounge.” His eyes turned back up at Jack with shy hope of salvation.
'You really are stupid' Jack thought to himself, grimacing at the spray of blood on his clothes. His face lost all expression, raising his view to meet Bob’s uninspiring look of hope, and then spoke in a flat tone:
“Thanks for the information, you really saved me some time. Maybe you can take the peace of the only good deed you’ve done to your grave.”
Bob’s face fluctuated through a variety of questionable expressions before settling on one of grim acceptance. Jack had lied to him.
With the loud crack, muffled only slightly by the silencer that was Bob’s head, the brains of Bob coloured the wall in yet more bloody chunks. His body slumped to the side as his legs fell open to expose his nakedness.
“You really do have ugly balls.” Jack murmured, tucked his gun into the holster within the fall of his coat.
As Bob had specified with his final words, the item was found strapped to the back of a painting in the lounge room. He placed the paper bag and its content in his coat pocket then walked to the bedroom where the sound of the girls whimpering continues to hail from.
There she was, a teenage girl, disrobed, clothes strewn in the shadows of the dingy room. She was belly up, arms and legs bound to the four bedposts. Jack felt instantly sick, his teeth grinding at the sight of the distribution of blood that dictated the inhumane type of sexual abuse she had suffered at the hands of Bob.
“Fucking animal….” He shuttered, withholding tears of compassion.
He stepped up slowly, looking down at the girl; her eyes wide with terror, lips fluttering, her whimpers becoming louder with escalating fear.
“P-p-plea… don’t…” Her words were barely audible. Her body writhed in a vain strain to free herself.
“I won’t hurt you.” Jack assured her in his most soothing baritone voice as he produced a Bowie knife. “He’s dead. He won’t hurt you anymore, sweetheart.” He smiled, though mildly, assisting his words in an effort to set her at ease. Still, she remained understandably unsettled, even shuttering with further emotional agony as he drew the blade close to the rope that restrained her arm.
“I’m gonna set you free. When I do, put your clothes on and run from here. Don’t look back. Go home to your family. It’s all over now.”
The girl froze, only relaxing enough to scamper from the bed and gather her clothing once all four ropes had been cut. Jack turned away out of respect as the girl fumbled to dress herself. As she was about to exit the room, she paused to thank him in a timid, broken voice. Jack turned to her, deadpan, gave her a confirming nod to leave.
She followed his instructions and ran. The front door could be heard slamming on her departure.
Jack sighed, a small sense of satisfaction for his deed, then returning the knife to its sheath before casually making his way through the house in search of any other valuables he could lift. Several minutes later he was done and gone, the rumble of his Mustang’s V-8 engine fading into the distance….
There she was, a teenage girl, disrobed, clothes strewn in the shadows of the dingy room. She was belly up, arms and legs bound to the four bedposts. Jack felt instantly sick, his teeth grinding at the sight of the distribution of blood that dictated the inhumane type of sexual abuse she had suffered at the hands of Bob.
“Fucking animal….” He shuttered, withholding tears of compassion.
He stepped up slowly, looking down at the girl; her eyes wide with terror, lips fluttering, her whimpers becoming louder with escalating fear.
“P-p-plea… don’t…” Her words were barely audible. Her body writhed in a vain strain to free herself.
“I won’t hurt you.” Jack assured her in his most soothing baritone voice as he produced a Bowie knife. “He’s dead. He won’t hurt you anymore, sweetheart.” He smiled, though mildly, assisting his words in an effort to set her at ease. Still, she remained understandably unsettled, even shuttering with further emotional agony as he drew the blade close to the rope that restrained her arm.
“I’m gonna set you free. When I do, put your clothes on and run from here. Don’t look back. Go home to your family. It’s all over now.”
The girl froze, only relaxing enough to scamper from the bed and gather her clothing once all four ropes had been cut. Jack turned away out of respect as the girl fumbled to dress herself. As she was about to exit the room, she paused to thank him in a timid, broken voice. Jack turned to her, deadpan, gave her a confirming nod to leave.
She followed his instructions and ran. The front door could be heard slamming on her departure.
Jack sighed, a small sense of satisfaction for his deed, then returning the knife to its sheath before casually making his way through the house in search of any other valuables he could lift. Several minutes later he was done and gone, the rumble of his Mustang’s V-8 engine fading into the distance….
𝕹𝖎𝖍𝖎𝖑𝖔
𝕹𝖎𝖌𝖍𝖙 𝖔𝖋 𝕭𝖊𝖈𝖐𝖔𝖓 𝕾𝖊𝖆𝖘𝖔𝖓
Affection for Piper was being nurtured by the creatures expanding personality. He really was a cutie pie. But Jack sensed there was more to Piper than met the eye. Telepathic abilities were one thing – at the same time and despite Pipers size and feathery appeal – there was an underlying ominous stigma. At any moment he could imagine this critter suddenly transforming into a ferocious, wicked beast. Or, well, maybe it was just Jack’s paranoia of being in this strange world playing on his mind. Either way, it was more or less Jack’s lack of knowledge about Piper that had him hold his tongue about the messages on his phone, messages that, somehow indirectly, related to what Piper was telling him.
“You don’t say….” Jack spoke with listless sarcasm at Piper's first remark. Things were becoming very clear; meeting Piper and Cheryl was not a chance encounter. As the colour returned to Jack’s face, as he regained his composure and listened to the remainder of Pipers telepathic concerns, his mind flashed back to the incident not that long ago, when he’d acquired the special item for his employer and freed that teenage girl from the torture she had suffered.
“But why that specific memory….?” He uttered rhetorically as Pipers words came to a close. Jack had seen a lot in life, and a lot of death. He’d witnessed more than his fair share of the extremes that existed, allowing him to understand there was no coincidence in life, not random chance. Even seemingly random memories such as these provided their evanescent purpose. The only question was; what in all of God’s lost creation did that night have in common with what was taking place right now? The abducted teen? The item he had gone to that house to obtain? The dead villain, Bob? His ugly balls? Or maybe it was something more subtle, something he’d overlooked…. He searched the flashback before replying to Piper with yet another forced but substantially convincing smile:
“Alright. I’ll do what I can to convince her – and don’t worry, my little friend, I don’t know exactly what’s spooked you, but stick with me and I won’t let you get hurt. We good?”
After Pipers possible response to this, Jack stood, the seat sliding back across the floor by his sudden exertion. He gave a quick motion of his head, inviting Piper to his shoulder. “Take a ride or fly. Either way, let’s go.”
Jack slid his phone in his pocket, and whether Piper took to his shoulder or not, he headed out. Stepping into the night, he added flatly; “I’ve gotta do some thinking, but whatever happens, follow my lead and just play along, understood little buddy?” He lifted one finger to his lips, suggesting not to alert Cheryl of their approach.
Jack strode faster than his usual pace, a profound and never-before sense of instinct guiding his direction. Sheryl soon came into sight shortly past the nightly-abandoned market stalls of town. Jack was good at what he did, and one thing he did extremely well was sneak, a necessity in his line of work. Despite his hastened pace, he would manage to approach to within a few arm’s length of Cheryl before revealing his and Piper's presence with a sharp, deliberate scuff of his boot against the ground.
“I don’t want your help taming my magic.” He lifted his voice in a stern manner upon snatching Cheryl’s attention, “All I want is some damn courtesy, just like I’ve shown you. I know you didn’t need my help back there, that’s obvious now, but what, I don’t get any points for at least trying to save your life? What sort of bitch are you, anyway?”
Assuming Cheryl had stopped and turned to meet them, Jack would step up a little closer, a look of severe sincerity riding his face, and continued quickly before Cheryl had a chance to respond:
“I know you might not give two shits about anything else but your own damn problems, but I do. This isn’t my world – but a year ago I lost my daughter to this place, and now I’m here to find her. She’s lost. Alone. Scared as shit in this unknown land, and all I’m asking for is a little help finding her. I don’t know if you have any family left you actually care about, but maybe stop and think for a moment about what I’m going through. Yes?”
He paused to steady his breath.
“You heard Piper, all I want is to be guided to these so called mages. Is that what you call them? Now I don’t know if that will help in finding Hannah, but it’s a start. Anywhere is a start right now. God knows your help has gotta be better than the rest of the bigoted fuck's I’ve seen around this shithole. And if you can possibly find it in your stone-cold heart to help me fulfil this task, I will devote everything I have to helping you in turn. You might think I’m a crazy fuck that you’re better off not dealing with, but I can tell you right now, you could do a lot worse than having me on your team. And just for the record….”
Jack glanced at Piper.
“...In case it wasn’t already obvious by what happened back at the bar, your little friend here is in danger too. Didn’t mean to put anyone in danger, but shit happens in life and for that I’m sorry. So if you care about his life at all….” Jack grit his teeth then extended his tongue with emotional intensity. “…I know I do… and I’ve only just met the little bugger. So if nothing else… if you can’t help us both out of genuine kindness – or just being the right thing to do – how about you do it for the sake of your little friend here?”
He finished with a small half-smile and settled his voice to a modest level;
“Sure would mean a lot….”
Boris
𝕾𝖔𝖒𝖊𝖜𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖊 𝖎𝖓 𝖙𝖍𝖊 𝕱𝖔𝖗𝖊𝖘𝖙𝖘 𝖔𝖋 𝕹𝖎𝖍𝖎𝖑𝖔
It happened again. Boris sat on the forest floor, legs outstretched with knees slightly bent while carefully surveying his new surroundings. This wasn’t the first time this had happened, that’s for sure. Over the last long while Boris would wake from his sleep to find himself in strange places. It had become a common thing, but this time it was just a little bit different – yes, a little bit different indeed.
Now, usually he would wake in the morning, but this wasn’t morning at all! He plucked a chunk of sand from his eyes and blinked a few times, enchanted by the three moons shining down through the trees above. But night wasn’t all that was different, his face was all wet on one side as well, and that wasn’t normal either! It wasn’t water, though, Boris knew the difference between water and other stuff. This was saliva, saliva had its very own texture, the same texture Boris could feel as he ran his fingers over his cheek and turned his eyes to see a wolf-like creature nearby.
Gosh
Maybe two arm lengths away, the grey and white marble-patterned animal was like nothing Boris had ever seen before, in that it had six legs.
One… two… three… four… and two after that makes six!
It also had a very fluffy face and floppy tongue hanging out to one side as it sat between two shrubs, its moonlit eyes of animal caution aimed at Boris.
Boris smiled, face distorted in a happy little-boy manner, saying: “Thank you for waking me up, Mr. Dog. Boris sure does appreciate it, a lot!”
The animal whined softly, lowering and angling her head with growing curiosity.
“And gosh.” Boris gave a look of immense approval. “You sure are cute, no doubt about that at all.” He lowered his look to regard the extra set of legs with a satire smirk. “And don’t you worry, Mr. Dog, not even a little – Nah-ah! Boris won’t tell anyone about your extra legs. Gosh….” Boris quickly imagined all the things he could do with an extra set of legs like that; “I sure do wish I had more legs. I bet you can run very, very fast with legs like yours.”
The animal remained seated while pulling herself a little closer with her front-most legs, buttocks dragging when Boris finally gathered himself from the ground to stand. He briefly dusted himself off and checked all his possessions were still on his person. They were, and he gave another expression of approval.
“Begging your pardon, Mr. Dog. If you sure can talk at all, Boris really would appreciate it if you told him where he is.” Boris looked around again with a note of concern. “I sure hope people here are nice, just like Jack!” Boris looked down at Mr. Dog again, who was now standing on all six legs, snout gently probing Boris’ fingers. “Jack is a very, very, very special friend.” His strong sausage fingers caressed the animals’ snout. “But you can be my new friend. I don’t mind at all.”
Mr. Dog perked her ears, angling them forward at Boris’ words, licked his thumb, fingers, then turned to commence sniffing the ground where Boris had been lying just moments before.
“Heh, you sure are right about that,” Boris chuckled, “Boris sure could use a bath.” With that, Boris had an idea! His face lit up like a little boy who just received the best idea ever. He removed his backpack quickly, rummaging through the contents, tongue slightly protruding with concentration before finally producing his tin of hard candy. He shook the tin, then swiftly removed the lid and offered Mr. Dog two pieces. Mr. Dog lifted her head. Her nostrils flared as she assessed the sweet aroma in the palm of Boris’ hand.
With a hasty lap of her tongue, a single crunch, and another lick of her chops, the candy was devoured. Boris sure was happy with the result. After placing one candy in his own mouth, he made loud sucking noises as he returned the tin to the pack and the pack to his back.
“It’s time for me to go now, Mr. Dog.” He garbled, and pat the animals head with a heavy hand. “You can come if you want, Boris doesn’t mind at all..."
While Boris was still talking, Mr. Dog had already started moving away. She stopped momentarily to look back and beckon Boris with an expectant widening of her eyes and a small howl-like bark. She then looked in the directed she had started walking, then back at Boris before continuing on her way. Boris stopped sucking on his tasty treat, lips puckered in thought while strained his simple mind. It took several seconds for him to realise that Mr. Dog wanted him to follow.
Sucking on his tasty treat and with a spring in his step, Boris pursued his new friend.
Boris was led through the woods not far at all before discovering a dirt road, which at first made Boris’ adventurer’s spirit leap in his chest. But, sadly, that wasn’t all he found.
There was an overturned wagon, the horses were gone, its contents of boxes and other items broken and strewn all over the road. Among the mess were two dead bodies. One man, one woman. Boris might have been a dumb-dumb, but he recognized straight away what had happened. These people had been killed while being raided by the very bad outlaw types.
His newfound exhilaration sank to the pit of his tummy like heavy lead.
Boris couldn’t be sure how long ago it had happened, but the still-burning guiding torch at the front of the carriage was a sign that it hadn’t been too long.
While Mr. Dog sniffed out the area, Boris approached each of the dead bodies, poking suspiciously with two fingers at their necks to check for signs of life. There were none. With confirmation that they really were dead, his attention was taken by Mr. Dog, who gave a swift nudge to Boris’ elbow.
Boris shifted quickly in his squatted position to see the sandal in Mr. Dog’s mouth. Mr. Dog had a clue for sure! Boris bit his tongue, concentrating hard while he took the sandal and analysed it carefully. Then, his eyes lit up with childlike revelation as he realised some very important things! This sandal didn’t belong to the dead people, it belonged to someone else, someone who was no longer here! He knew this because the sandal was too small to fit the dead man and woman. It was a much smaller fit, and no one in the whole wide universe needed to be a smarty pants to figure that much out.
Boris clutched the sandal as he stood up straight, barrelled chest expanding with determination as he looked at the tree-line shouldering the road. It was obvious that these two dead people had not been travelling alone. There was someone else, someone smaller, someone who just wasn’t here anymore. That must have meant that the bandits had taken them. Boris had witnessed people stealing other people before, and leaving behind sandals was an easy thing to do.
Normally, it took some time for Boris to figure out the reason why he woke up in a new, strange place, but this time he had found the reason quickly. He now knew what he had to do – and that was partly due to the help of Mr. Dog!
“Mr. Dog!” He exclaimed, raising the sandal and using it to point in no particular direction, “It sure would help if you used that nose of yours. Boris really wants to know where the bad men went, that’s for sure!” He turned to lower the sandal for Mr. Dog to take another sniff of its scent, since it was a well-known fact that Dogs and other animals could smell things better than Boris could.
Mr. Dog had cowered for an instant, initially frightened by Boris’ excitable outburst, but she soon took another quick sniff of the sandal and promptly took off in a six-legged canter down the road. In tail of the strengthening scent, it wasn’t long before she deviated from the road and into the woods again. Boris had taken Revel Yell from its holster, preparing for combat as he tiptoed hastily in Mr. Dog’s wake.
Through the forest Mr. Dog led Boris to a ridged clearing. From there a camp of tents could be seen below. Boris Huddled like a child playing hide-and-seek, peering down from the fall, Mr. Dog by his side, both of them quietly taking notes of what they were seeing:
There were four - no, five tents! And a whole gang of ugly bandits living there as well! These must have been the bad men! No doubt about that at all! Six… seven.. ten – No, there were more than ten, but Boris couldn’t count past ten. There was a camp fire in the midst of the camp as well, where all the bad men were cooking an animal over the flames. Boris could see a young girl too, she had a sandal missing from one of her feet, and she was wrapped all up in rope and crying on the ground beside one of the tents.
Boris, with his finger and thumb, grabbed hold of Mr. Dog’s ear too whisper close:
“You sure do make a good partner, that’s for sure. I’m going down now, no doubt about that. We have to save that girl from those bad, bad men – because that is what true heroic adventurers do!”
Mr. Dog regarded Boris with an apprehensive furrow-browed look before whimpering soft enough not to alert the bandits of their position.
“You can stay here if you want.” Boris replied. “I wouldn’t blame you at all – No sir!” He released Mr. Dog’s ear, fastening his grip on Revel Yell. “Boris is going down now, Mr. Dog.”
Chaos erupted in the form of shattering bones, exploding skulls, the wet mashing of flesh, screams of human terror, and the victorious bellows of a Dragons’ battle cry violating the tepid moonlit night for miles around.
…But it was soon to come to an end.
As the short yet brutal slaughter gave way once again to the peace of night that had preceded it, Boris stood victor, unscathed though showered in the blood of his enemies. Returning Revel Yell to its hold, he tottered unbalanced, fatigued, and barely able to glimpse the girl he had come to save before passing out.
He fell to his face with a heavy thump and instantly started snoring.
Just a few minutes later, Boris woke again, still in the same place he had passed out. He lifted his face from the dirt to see a young girl seated beside him. She was dressed in a pretty blue dress, legs crossed. She was no longer bound in rope, but recent tears had made tracks through the dirt on her face. Despite her obvious pain, she was holding out a delicate purple flower for Boris to take.
Boris smiled so wide that his face appeared deformed as he sat, crossing his own legs, facing her in a mirrored pose. He carefully took the flower from her tiny fingers with one of his massive hands.
“Gosh….” He sniffed the flower. His smile reduced to something less freakish looking. “I sure do like purple, little Miss. Thank you very, very much. Boris will keep this forever.”
The girl bit her bottom lip and folded her hands in her lap. It could be seen that she wanted to smile back, but the horror of what had happened prevented it. Another tear rolled from her eye instead.
Boris felt sad now, reduced to a pouting face as he held the flower delicately in both hands like a sacred treasure. He had to look away for a moment, his eyes diverting to Mr. Dog. Apparently, Mr. Dog had released the girl from her binds. Nearby, she was snarling and chewing away at the rope that had been binding the girl… as though she were blaming the rope itself for what had happen.
“That sure is bad rope….” Boris grumbled confirmation. His eyes moved about furtively, assessing the blood-sullied ground of the camp, the mangled bodies, and of course the untouched meat still cooking over the flames of the fire. But his attention was quickly brought back to the girl when she finally spoke in the softest, sweetest voice Boris had ever heard.
“Did you save my mommy and daddy too?”
Boris’ mouth dropped open. He pressed the flower to his breaking heart. How could such a sweet, sweet voice cause so much pain…? He hung his head in shame.
“Boris is sorry, little Miss…. Your mommy and daddy were dead before Boris arrived…. I’m so very, very sorry…. They all gone now.”
Mr. Dog had stopped gnawing on the rope. She had turned to the girl when she asked about her parents. She then dropped slowly to a lying position, whimpering, head lowered to the ground as she too mourned.
As the girl began to sob, ripping Boris’ heart open even more, he clenched his eyes shut, wishing with all his might that the girls’ parents hadn’t died. He wanted nothing more in the whole wide world then to make them live again. Every last ounce of his person yearned for it. The terrible longing stung his flesh and caused his very bones to ache.
It was then that a gentle breeze disturbed the mourning night, rustling the leaves of the forest like the arrival of a ghostly entity. The breeze carried it with an aroma, like that of cinnamon, and sent an eerie shivers through Boris.
Somehow, Boris’ pain was numbed in that moment. He lifted his head to look at the girl who was staring back at him with wide eyes of speculation. She had felt it as well. So too had Mr. Dog; her whimpering silenced as she raised her own head and looked around at the invisible breeze with the upmost peculiarity.
“Did you….” The girl whispered, though her words drew silent as the effects of the breeze subdued her further.
Boris didn’t answer. He couldn’t. All three of them were still, absorbing the mysterious event in silent wonder. In a short while, the breeze settled, leaving the night in peaceful calm. The night and everything in it had become tranquillity.
Except for Boris’ tummy that started rumbling for food.
Boris, the girl, and Mr. Dog were noshing into the meat prepared by the bad men when the most amazing thing took place –
“Sashannah!!”
All three of them stopped eating at once, jumping in surprise at the sound of the name being called by the voice of a woman behind them. Boris leaped to his feet, dropping his meal to turn. Mr. Dog spat out her own mouthful of food and turned in equal surprise. And Sashannah - that was the girls’ name - pivoted quickly with a gasp as her marvelling eyes laid hold of her parents stepping down from ridge at the edge of camp.
Boris was very confused. His face screwed up, then formed a deranged smile. Mr. Dog tilted her head with a look of similar confusion. Sashannah, on the other hand, was already running to the arms of her parents, giving the apparent miracle no second thought. Her parents were alive and that was all that mattered.
Mr. Dog’s happiness soon overthrew her stunned state. She looked up at Boris with a small bark, slapped her tongue against his hand to kiss him, and then followed in Sashannah’s footsteps, leaping in bounding ecstatically towards her owners.
“Gosh…” Boris muttered weakly, as Mr. Dog, Sashannah and her parents joyously reunited as a family. “I sure was wrong. They aren’t dead at all.”
Not too far away, shrouded in the shadows, an entity watched on.
Boris
The Bonecrusher
𝕵𝖆𝖈𝖐
Jack knew full well he was the intruder here. It would have been rude to try and influence the discussion, or be it the debate, taking place between these two friends. But as Cheryl left the premises he also realized that he needed this pact. He was fortunate to have found someone in this place who actually accepted the fact that he was from some other era and place in the universe, and he was more than certain it was going to be damn hard to find anyone else around these part who would accept him with such good graces. Besides, he liked Piper, and he had a feeling he would grow to like Cheryl as well if she would remove the broomstick from her ass. That, right there, was the most immediate problem. Piper was right. It wasn’t just that, of course, removing the broomstick would be a lot easier had Cheryl not been preoccupied with her own rather large problems at the present. That alone was probably the main factor in her decision making.
Still, there was a lot more to this situation than the surface dialogue. Jack couldn’t pretend to know about the unseen intricacies of the things taking place around him, but he would have been braindead not to have noticed the change in Piper when Cheryl had first entered the room. In a way, Piper had behaved like a frightened, cornered cat, and Jack wasn’t inclined to think that his behaviour was a response to Cheryl’s presence. There was more to his new little friend than met they eye.
He had to think. He had to be clever. He had to think of a way that would help everyone involved, and he couldn’t do that without knowing as much as he could about this damnable situation. The time had come to check his messages.
“One second, my friend.” He spoke calmly to Piper with a raise of one finger as his other hand reached back to remove the cell phone from his pocket. With a quick few strokes and taps of his thumb he opened up the content. His eyes narrowed with peculiarity in the glowing light of the screen, mouth twisting like he were reading some disturbing excerpt from a horror novel. He read the messages over several times before the glow of the screen faded and he lifting his eyes back to Piper with besieging intensity. One might say he had just seen a ghost.
“Tell me, Pipe. What just happened to you? Don’t lie to me. I saw that you were scared. You can tell me. I’ll keep it to myself if you need me to. But I think it’s best that I know everything that’s going on before we take any further action.”
𝔔𝔲𝔢𝔢𝔫'𝔰 𝔓𝔞𝔩𝔞𝔠𝔢
𝔗𝔥𝔢 ℜ𝔬𝔶𝔞𝔩 ℭ𝔦𝔱𝔶.
𝔗𝔥𝔢 ℜ𝔬𝔶𝔞𝔩 ℭ𝔦𝔱𝔶.
When the three moons of Beckon Season were high, the Queen attired herself in servant’s clothing - as not draw the guard’s attention - and descended to the Magus labyrinth beneath the castle. With three knocks, followed by a moment’s pause then another rap of her knuckles, she was granted entry to the living chambers of Magus Ashan, her personal mage.
From here in this dingy abode would Ashan rarely venture. This was his sanctuary, little more than a cave-like construct, the stone walls of which clustered with the various spectrum veins of ore, ore of mana, mana he had no use for. Indeed, it served as fine decoration. Ashan was seated in a solemn pose upon his self-ordained wooden throne at the far side of the room when the Queen entered. Shutting the door behind her, she removing the raiment from her head to confirm her identity. She was a young queen, neigh older than thirty, with sharp azurite eyes and striking appeal. Her milky-white skin and supple contours embellished by the flicker of candlelight. She stood, daring not venture farther as she awaited the news that drew her here this eve.
“Could you not refrain until morning, my Queen?” Ashan spoke, his words guarded by far away thoughts. Yet, respect for his queen raised him from his throne as he collected the chestnut fall of hair from his colourless eyes. His muscular torso was bare, his nakedness clothed only in a full-length skirt of Griffon leather that fell rigidly from waist to floor.
“I must know.” She exclaimed with all the virtue expected of royalty, yet her eyes regressed, caressing the form of his torso like a young princess tasting of forbidden fruits. “Tell me, has he arrived?”
Ashan was void of emotional portrayal, his response being nothing but a wave of is hand towards the table in the center of the room. There, responding to the command of his gesture, a clay bowl of herbs quivered and released a spectrum of hues that embodied all the colours of life, swirling and palpating to construct a feed like that of holographic image that displayed a view of the current interaction between Piper, Jack Cheryl.
The Queen tore her eyes from Ashan, now fixated on the muted interaction taking place in Blackgale Inn so many miles away. She watched as events unfolded, one hand to her breast in heartfelt observance until Cheryl departed the tavern, and at this point the image dissolved as the queen and Ashan returned attention to each other.
Her question had been answered.
Previously withheld by suspense, she now breathed with the sound of a gasp while provoked to take several steps closer to the royal mage.
“Is he everything I had hoped he would be?”
Ashan undressed the queen with his eyes, a shy-less audacity, while his thoughts performed the task of establishing an appropriate response to her true needs. He conformed, abiding his eyes to hers, and replied;
“Had it not been for ancient doctrine prophesying his coming, I would think of him as an imbecile. But there is little question, my Queen…” As though guided by the irony of disappointment, his eyes ventured for another undressing of his majesty, “He is the one, yes. The one that has been foretold.”
The Queen was now close enough. She extended one hand, allowing her fingertips to fondle the contours of Ashan’s chest.
“And does she know?”
“She does.” Ashan seized the wrist of his Queen, that they should take their lust no further this evening. “She has already made plans to acquire him for her own purpose. But she has grown more powerful these days…. I’m having difficulty keeping watch of her actions. We are all in danger.”
“No!” The Queen ripped her hand from his grasp. “She will not receive him – at first light you will send out a legion. You will prevent her from acquiring him! Terra as we know it depends on it. And be sure that other whore and her pipios are destroyed. We cannot have them abiding her. We must not delay!"
“It’s…. just a photo, a still image caught by science magic. Has no detection powers besides using it as a reference like I’m doi….”
Jack’s sentence dwindled to silence as disappointment squeezed his heart. There wasn’t much point in explaining any further. Piper hadn't seen Hannah. Not like Jack didn’t expect that, honestly, but what shy hope he did have just became that little bit shyer. Still, it wasn't Piper's fault, and he refrained from appearing upset while slipping the photo away and giving Piper a small nod to thank him.
“It’s okay. I’ll find her somehow.” He elaborated on the sentiment while honouring Pipers wishes by slipping the watch back on his wrist. “I’m glad you enjoyed the meal.”
Jack’s last sentence may or may not have been heard by Piper, since as he was speaking Piper's attention would have been interrupted by an outside influence, and this time it was not the sound of Cheryl’s whistle. It would be a feeling that perhaps Piper wasn’t accustomed to. An immense foreboding presence watching him from nearby, like a tower looming over him, yet far away at the same time. Distance unknown. This dark, eerie sensation was part of a telepathic link; a deep audio reverberating through Pipers mind and trembling his little body like a rag of wild horses passing by. Such tremendous force, indicative of a mighty beast drunk on poisonous quantities of power:
“Little one, be sure she brings the outworlder, lest your days be numbered like the scales upon my bloodied crest.”
The link to Pipers mind was severed as Cheryl, like the telepathic message had been a prelude to her arrival, entered through the door to declare her persisting disdain for Jack - Jack, who turned in his seat at the sound of her voice, though not at all surprised to see her there.
“There you are.” He said, face distorted with a crooked grin. “Was kinda wondering when you’d show up again. Rush off to make your daily quota of kills, did ya?” His foot pushed back a chair to welcome her to the table. “Take a seat, why don’t ya, share the tale of your latest victory in battle.”
Though Jack’s words were obviously those of jest, he had a sneaking suspicion Cheryl wasn’t about to come lightly, especially when right at that moment his phone alerted him of yet another incoming text.
He sighed, then mumbled to himself; “I should really check my messages.”
Jack’s sentence dwindled to silence as disappointment squeezed his heart. There wasn’t much point in explaining any further. Piper hadn't seen Hannah. Not like Jack didn’t expect that, honestly, but what shy hope he did have just became that little bit shyer. Still, it wasn't Piper's fault, and he refrained from appearing upset while slipping the photo away and giving Piper a small nod to thank him.
“It’s okay. I’ll find her somehow.” He elaborated on the sentiment while honouring Pipers wishes by slipping the watch back on his wrist. “I’m glad you enjoyed the meal.”
Jack’s last sentence may or may not have been heard by Piper, since as he was speaking Piper's attention would have been interrupted by an outside influence, and this time it was not the sound of Cheryl’s whistle. It would be a feeling that perhaps Piper wasn’t accustomed to. An immense foreboding presence watching him from nearby, like a tower looming over him, yet far away at the same time. Distance unknown. This dark, eerie sensation was part of a telepathic link; a deep audio reverberating through Pipers mind and trembling his little body like a rag of wild horses passing by. Such tremendous force, indicative of a mighty beast drunk on poisonous quantities of power:
“Little one, be sure she brings the outworlder, lest your days be numbered like the scales upon my bloodied crest.”
The link to Pipers mind was severed as Cheryl, like the telepathic message had been a prelude to her arrival, entered through the door to declare her persisting disdain for Jack - Jack, who turned in his seat at the sound of her voice, though not at all surprised to see her there.
“There you are.” He said, face distorted with a crooked grin. “Was kinda wondering when you’d show up again. Rush off to make your daily quota of kills, did ya?” His foot pushed back a chair to welcome her to the table. “Take a seat, why don’t ya, share the tale of your latest victory in battle.”
Though Jack’s words were obviously those of jest, he had a sneaking suspicion Cheryl wasn’t about to come lightly, especially when right at that moment his phone alerted him of yet another incoming text.
He sighed, then mumbled to himself; “I should really check my messages.”
Sancho was standing in wait outside. Something had spooked him. Even in the moonlight his distraught condition would have been clear. An open abrasion was bleeding above his right eye. That same eye was heavily bloodshot, having had blood vessels burst. He was trembling, his skin gleaming with a film of thick sweat. His usual calm façade had been forsaken. Behind him, keeping their distance, were two lower ranking guards lacking any physical injuries of their own. But they were agitated, nervously surveying the area like soldiers awaiting the enemy on a battlefield. More than anywhere else, their attention went to the sky above where a large winged beast was circling, silhouetted against the cluster of the three moons.
When Cheryl emerged from the house, Sancho stepped up like a frightened child approaching his teacher after doing something terribly wrong. He didn’t give her a chance to react to his presence. Wiping a stream of blood from his brow with his forearm, his voice was shaken, but low, as not to let his men hear what he was saying.
“I didn’t know you were affiliate with….” He choked on the following word, too frightened to even utter the name in that moment. “…I’m sorry, Cheryl… I just didn’t know.” He cleared his throat, glanced back at his men, braved a shy glimpse at the circling beast above, and then continued to speak his piece; “You can take a couple of weeks to get your affairs in order. But you know I can’t allow you more time than that. I just can’t. Just uh… do me a favour and please keep your dogs off me and my men from now on. That’s all I ask. Enjoy your night.”
It was obvious that in his current condition, Sancho would have been willing to clear Cheryl’s name of all charges, but the decision wasn’t up to him anymore. Word of the two murders had already been sent by horse courier to the Royal City. A few weeks was all he could allow without the Queen herself having his own head on a platter. It was out of his hands. These were things that Cheryl would have already understood. She would have been aware of how the laws of the land worked.
In finishing what he had come to say, Sancho raised his hand as a gesture to stop her from replying, then swiftly turned away to head back to the Guard house with his men.
The winged beast followed Sancho’s direction, remaining directly above him, continuing to circle like an eagle stalking its prey.
“Good to meet you Pipe….” Jack’s words were stolen by an amused smile as he watched Piper attack his food like he hadn’t eaten in a year. It was downright amazing just how much the little critter managed to tuck away, like watching a cartoon of a small animal swallow copious amounts of food. Leaving him to continue feasting, Jack resumed eating as well. He was just about done when Piper projected again, yet still busy crunching his way through the bones that remained of his meal.
“Ah, yeah.” Jack replied, took a swallow of mead to wash the last of his food down. “Not to worry. I suppose I can limit myself to defending my friends.”
Jack dropped back the final mouthful of mead. The bottle touching down on the table as he reverted to the topic that had brought the two of them there in the first place.
“And about this watch, Pipe.” Jack already short-formed the name like he did with all his friends. “I’m just going to give it to ya. You obviously like it more than I do, and I doubt it will do me much good here.” Jack slid his plate and bottle to the center of the table and removed the watch, saying; “But I really need you to try and help me with my problem if you can.” He placed the watch neatly beside the empty plate for Piper to collect at his leisure.
“I lost my daughter. A year ago. She was ten years old. Far as I can tell she was stolen and taken to this world. One year to the day, today, I was taken away as well. Don’t know what brought me here, don’t know why…. All I know is that this just might be the same place she was taken to. I need to find her. She’s my baby, you understand?”
With that, Jack took his wallet form his pocket, opened up one of the flaps inside and withdrew a picture of Hannah. He held the photo loosely between his middle and index finger, extending his arm for Piper to take a close look. Of course, Jack didn't stop to think that people of this world wouldn't have known what a photograph was.
“Do you remember seeing her at all?” His voice lowered with refraining sorrow. “Maybe a year ago? Maybe last week. Any time at all? Anywhere…?”
The photo Piper would see is one of a girl roughly ten years of age. Shoulder length brown hair, fair skin, a broad, precious smile, blue eyes like her daddy, and wearing a soft pink summer dress.
“She wouldn’t have been wearing those clothes when she got here.” He added. “She would have been in a one piece swimsuit. Emerald green. Her favourite colour. Kinda hard to describe, though…. Like a stretchy skin-tight outfit without sleeves or leggings. Not something people in this world would have seen before. Hard to miss, you know….”
When Cheryl emerged from the house, Sancho stepped up like a frightened child approaching his teacher after doing something terribly wrong. He didn’t give her a chance to react to his presence. Wiping a stream of blood from his brow with his forearm, his voice was shaken, but low, as not to let his men hear what he was saying.
“I didn’t know you were affiliate with….” He choked on the following word, too frightened to even utter the name in that moment. “…I’m sorry, Cheryl… I just didn’t know.” He cleared his throat, glanced back at his men, braved a shy glimpse at the circling beast above, and then continued to speak his piece; “You can take a couple of weeks to get your affairs in order. But you know I can’t allow you more time than that. I just can’t. Just uh… do me a favour and please keep your dogs off me and my men from now on. That’s all I ask. Enjoy your night.”
It was obvious that in his current condition, Sancho would have been willing to clear Cheryl’s name of all charges, but the decision wasn’t up to him anymore. Word of the two murders had already been sent by horse courier to the Royal City. A few weeks was all he could allow without the Queen herself having his own head on a platter. It was out of his hands. These were things that Cheryl would have already understood. She would have been aware of how the laws of the land worked.
In finishing what he had come to say, Sancho raised his hand as a gesture to stop her from replying, then swiftly turned away to head back to the Guard house with his men.
The winged beast followed Sancho’s direction, remaining directly above him, continuing to circle like an eagle stalking its prey.
“Good to meet you Pipe….” Jack’s words were stolen by an amused smile as he watched Piper attack his food like he hadn’t eaten in a year. It was downright amazing just how much the little critter managed to tuck away, like watching a cartoon of a small animal swallow copious amounts of food. Leaving him to continue feasting, Jack resumed eating as well. He was just about done when Piper projected again, yet still busy crunching his way through the bones that remained of his meal.
“Ah, yeah.” Jack replied, took a swallow of mead to wash the last of his food down. “Not to worry. I suppose I can limit myself to defending my friends.”
Jack dropped back the final mouthful of mead. The bottle touching down on the table as he reverted to the topic that had brought the two of them there in the first place.
“And about this watch, Pipe.” Jack already short-formed the name like he did with all his friends. “I’m just going to give it to ya. You obviously like it more than I do, and I doubt it will do me much good here.” Jack slid his plate and bottle to the center of the table and removed the watch, saying; “But I really need you to try and help me with my problem if you can.” He placed the watch neatly beside the empty plate for Piper to collect at his leisure.
“I lost my daughter. A year ago. She was ten years old. Far as I can tell she was stolen and taken to this world. One year to the day, today, I was taken away as well. Don’t know what brought me here, don’t know why…. All I know is that this just might be the same place she was taken to. I need to find her. She’s my baby, you understand?”
With that, Jack took his wallet form his pocket, opened up one of the flaps inside and withdrew a picture of Hannah. He held the photo loosely between his middle and index finger, extending his arm for Piper to take a close look. Of course, Jack didn't stop to think that people of this world wouldn't have known what a photograph was.
“Do you remember seeing her at all?” His voice lowered with refraining sorrow. “Maybe a year ago? Maybe last week. Any time at all? Anywhere…?”
The photo Piper would see is one of a girl roughly ten years of age. Shoulder length brown hair, fair skin, a broad, precious smile, blue eyes like her daddy, and wearing a soft pink summer dress.
“She wouldn’t have been wearing those clothes when she got here.” He added. “She would have been in a one piece swimsuit. Emerald green. Her favourite colour. Kinda hard to describe, though…. Like a stretchy skin-tight outfit without sleeves or leggings. Not something people in this world would have seen before. Hard to miss, you know….”
As the creature pounced his way across the room to a table of his liking, Jack smiled with adoration like a man watching his new puppy familiarizing itself with the layout of its new home. He took a seat across the table from the Pygmy’s position, placed the meals down, and popped the cork of his mead to take a sip while Piper posed his curiosity.
“In my world,” He replied in a sober tone; “We have similar types. There is prejudice, cruelty, all the things that make life more unpleasant than it needs to be. We even had a world war where millions of people from one race were executed in the most inhumane manner, just because of one mans’ personal grudge.”
Jack paused to pop a piece of potato in his mouth, chewed, swallowed. Honestly, the food wasn’t all that bad. He then gave the Pygmy a thoughtful stare as he continued;
Not all of us are like that. Many of us have learned from our mistakes, we strive for a better world. To accept one another, respect each other’s beliefs and ways of life even if they don’t conform to our own. It can only serve to make life better for everyone, right? But don’t get me wrong, little fella, I’m not perfect, not by any stretch of the imagination.”
Jack had to laugh as his thoughts diverged to judge himself for a moment. He took another sip of mead and continued;
“My own work back home involves hurting people from time to time, but I try my hardest to only do it to those I feel deserve it. Yeah, that might make me hypocritical, but I’m good at what I do – And I’m trying, I’m really trying to be a better man. As for you, my new little friend” Jack smiled, though it may have looked to be a smile spawned of pain “You’ve given me no reason to believe you are worth anything less than equal respect. So hey, here we are….”
He reached out across the table - not with any sudden movement - to feign a caress down the side of the Pygmy’s cheek. Making contact might not have been appreciated, even despised by the creature, but the affection was portrayed in the motion. He withdrew his hand and topped his spoon with a mouthful of meat from his plate.
”My name’s Jack. What is yours?”
The intruder still didn’t move, utterly motionless, only the aura around it would pulsate when talking. Regardless of this inactivity, their presence seemed to portray a great amount of consideration, remaining quiet for quite a while even after Cheryl had spoken, as though they were decisively deliberating on everything she had said. Or… maybe they were waiting.
Whatever the case, close to a minute must have transpired before they replied in the same randomized voices from around the room:
“My master understands your plight. Your mother. Do not be alarmed. You will be granted time to address your personal matters. But the patience of my master will not stand as stone. You have been chosen. You will deliver the outworlder. It will be wise of you to accept the terms of my master. …We will return soon.”
Without allowing further response from Cheryl, the ground once again trembled as the intruder faded to nothing. In their stead, a leather pouch appeared on the floor. If Cheryl were to look inside she would find it filled with coins of gold and silver. The count would equal greater than the annual earnings of a well-paying job.
“In my world,” He replied in a sober tone; “We have similar types. There is prejudice, cruelty, all the things that make life more unpleasant than it needs to be. We even had a world war where millions of people from one race were executed in the most inhumane manner, just because of one mans’ personal grudge.”
Jack paused to pop a piece of potato in his mouth, chewed, swallowed. Honestly, the food wasn’t all that bad. He then gave the Pygmy a thoughtful stare as he continued;
Not all of us are like that. Many of us have learned from our mistakes, we strive for a better world. To accept one another, respect each other’s beliefs and ways of life even if they don’t conform to our own. It can only serve to make life better for everyone, right? But don’t get me wrong, little fella, I’m not perfect, not by any stretch of the imagination.”
Jack had to laugh as his thoughts diverged to judge himself for a moment. He took another sip of mead and continued;
“My own work back home involves hurting people from time to time, but I try my hardest to only do it to those I feel deserve it. Yeah, that might make me hypocritical, but I’m good at what I do – And I’m trying, I’m really trying to be a better man. As for you, my new little friend” Jack smiled, though it may have looked to be a smile spawned of pain “You’ve given me no reason to believe you are worth anything less than equal respect. So hey, here we are….”
He reached out across the table - not with any sudden movement - to feign a caress down the side of the Pygmy’s cheek. Making contact might not have been appreciated, even despised by the creature, but the affection was portrayed in the motion. He withdrew his hand and topped his spoon with a mouthful of meat from his plate.
”My name’s Jack. What is yours?”
The intruder still didn’t move, utterly motionless, only the aura around it would pulsate when talking. Regardless of this inactivity, their presence seemed to portray a great amount of consideration, remaining quiet for quite a while even after Cheryl had spoken, as though they were decisively deliberating on everything she had said. Or… maybe they were waiting.
Whatever the case, close to a minute must have transpired before they replied in the same randomized voices from around the room:
“My master understands your plight. Your mother. Do not be alarmed. You will be granted time to address your personal matters. But the patience of my master will not stand as stone. You have been chosen. You will deliver the outworlder. It will be wise of you to accept the terms of my master. …We will return soon.”
Without allowing further response from Cheryl, the ground once again trembled as the intruder faded to nothing. In their stead, a leather pouch appeared on the floor. If Cheryl were to look inside she would find it filled with coins of gold and silver. The count would equal greater than the annual earnings of a well-paying job.
There were some things in life that Jack just couldn’t tolerate. Malicious prejudice was one of them. Jack had caught wind of the bigoted nature of these people before that point, and seeing the old man react to the Pygmy in such a manner only served to confirm his suspicions. Sure, he was willing to give mostly everyone the benefit of the doubt, so to speak, but when he saw fear being the only thing restraining this old bastard from showing his true colours, something turned sour in the pit of Jack’s stomach.
Nevertheless, he managed to keep his rage contained long enough to smile kindly at the cute little creature, before turning to the old prick to relay the message;
“And a cut of meat for my friend here….” Jack paused, his eyes narrowed, the sound of his grinding teeth could be heard across the room. Had his stare been steel it would have cut the old man in two. “You better make damn sure it is the best piece of meat you have ever served in this shithole you call an establishment. Do I make myself clear?”
By the time Jack had finished speaking, his voice had turned into a grated, raspy tone like that of a demon. The bartender failed twice to swallow hard, but finally managed to before scuttling off to retrieve food from the open kitchen - or be it just a bench with a fire stove, a kettle, and hotplate - situated along the wall beyond the bar. The man’s knees were literally knocking together as he shuffled and fumbled in haste to prepare the food on wooden plates, and while so doing, Jack took that moment to glance at his feathered friend with a wink.
There was limited time for further reaction before the bartender returned with the meals. One dish of stewed meat and potatoes, as Jack had ordered, and another plate of what looked like finely roasted lamb ribs. That serving was bigger than Piper himself.
“On the house -” Was all the bartender said before Jack interrupted with a final word of warning:
“If I even hear so much as a whisper that you’ve mistreated any of my friends, ever again, I will use my fist to send your nose into your sorry excuse for a brain. And yeah… thanks for the food.”
The old man didn’t reply, just shaking in his boots as he backed away.
Jack took up both plates, one in hand, the second rested on his forearm, the mead in his other hand.
“Pick a table for us?” His tone to Piper was kind and smooth, so very far detached from the one he just used on the bartender.
“A gentle demonstration of my masters power.”
The intruder didn't move, though their shrouded aura began to pulsate as they spoke. The voice that emitted from them would have seemed very strange, as it didn't derive from them directly, instead it spoke from around the room, each word born of a different location and varying tones of gender and age. While the words were being spoken the knife in Cheryl’s hand would have become hot, red hot, too hot to handle by time the first sentence was fully delivered.
“I am an emissary with word from my master.” The many voices continued; “You will bring the outworlder. You will guide him to us. For this you will be well compensated with abundance of mana beyond your needs. It would be wise of you to accept my masters terms.”
Nevertheless, he managed to keep his rage contained long enough to smile kindly at the cute little creature, before turning to the old prick to relay the message;
“And a cut of meat for my friend here….” Jack paused, his eyes narrowed, the sound of his grinding teeth could be heard across the room. Had his stare been steel it would have cut the old man in two. “You better make damn sure it is the best piece of meat you have ever served in this shithole you call an establishment. Do I make myself clear?”
By the time Jack had finished speaking, his voice had turned into a grated, raspy tone like that of a demon. The bartender failed twice to swallow hard, but finally managed to before scuttling off to retrieve food from the open kitchen - or be it just a bench with a fire stove, a kettle, and hotplate - situated along the wall beyond the bar. The man’s knees were literally knocking together as he shuffled and fumbled in haste to prepare the food on wooden plates, and while so doing, Jack took that moment to glance at his feathered friend with a wink.
There was limited time for further reaction before the bartender returned with the meals. One dish of stewed meat and potatoes, as Jack had ordered, and another plate of what looked like finely roasted lamb ribs. That serving was bigger than Piper himself.
“On the house -” Was all the bartender said before Jack interrupted with a final word of warning:
“If I even hear so much as a whisper that you’ve mistreated any of my friends, ever again, I will use my fist to send your nose into your sorry excuse for a brain. And yeah… thanks for the food.”
The old man didn’t reply, just shaking in his boots as he backed away.
Jack took up both plates, one in hand, the second rested on his forearm, the mead in his other hand.
“Pick a table for us?” His tone to Piper was kind and smooth, so very far detached from the one he just used on the bartender.
“A gentle demonstration of my masters power.”
The intruder didn't move, though their shrouded aura began to pulsate as they spoke. The voice that emitted from them would have seemed very strange, as it didn't derive from them directly, instead it spoke from around the room, each word born of a different location and varying tones of gender and age. While the words were being spoken the knife in Cheryl’s hand would have become hot, red hot, too hot to handle by time the first sentence was fully delivered.
“I am an emissary with word from my master.” The many voices continued; “You will bring the outworlder. You will guide him to us. For this you will be well compensated with abundance of mana beyond your needs. It would be wise of you to accept my masters terms.”
Jack was many things at that moment: Amazed by everything going on. Disturbed by the dark figure that had momentarily appeared on the road just beforehand. Cautious not to wake up Travius. Distracted by thoughta as to whether Cheryl actually did have a boyfriend. Realising he hadn’t had a bowel movement in two days. Remembering he had to check the messages on his phone. Enchanted by the little pygmy creature. Glad the pygmy accepted his offer. Hoping this alliance would shed light on his daughter’s whereabouts. But the one thing winning the moment for Jack was hunger. He really was feeling kind of peckish.
He also had to think fast as his mind pieced together the fragments of information thrown at him, rolling over every word that Piper projected. The word ‘Mana’ and its context helped a great deal, allowing Jack to fit numerous pieces of the puzzle together in one contained, glorious moment.
He grinned.
“Magic works a little different on my world.” He assured the Pygmy, giving the watch a good affirming squeeze in his fist. “We don’t need Mana to do magic. For us it’s…. more science based. But to be honest with you, little fella….” Jack glanced around at the night, “Here wouldn’t be the best place to discuss our agreement.” He gave Piper a raise of one brow with a clever nod, but not conceited at all. “How about we discuss this over some food? I haven’t eaten all day. My shout. What do ya say?”
Assuming Piper would agree to the extended proposal, Jack would slip the watch back on his wrist and started walking in direction of the Blackgale Inn across the street. Departing Travius’ porch, he would give Piper a little toss of his head to follow.
If Piper had agreed and were to follow Jack, they would soon enter the tavern once more. The place was a little on the empty side now, just a few stragglers staring with confusion at the pair. The old bartender was still looking a little worse for wear, but at least he had recovered after wetting his pants and passing out earlier; his mildly trembling lips and an expression of pending doom shading his face as he nervously stepped up to meet them.
“My little friend and I would like something to eat. Something well-cooked for me, maybe some meat and potatoes if you have it? Another bottle of mead.”
Jack would then turn his focus to the Pygmy with the intent to relay his order as well…..
Cheryl was drifting off to sleep on her strewn mattress back home when she may have been roused by the passing tremble of the mattress and floor beneath her. If she became aware of the slight quake and opened her eyes, she would see a dark figure looming over her from beside the mattress. The trespasser would stand eight feet in height, the hood of their garment almost touching the ceiling with an emerald glow shrouding their entire person. The identity of this person would be completely hidden in the depths of the dark cloak they were wearing.
He also had to think fast as his mind pieced together the fragments of information thrown at him, rolling over every word that Piper projected. The word ‘Mana’ and its context helped a great deal, allowing Jack to fit numerous pieces of the puzzle together in one contained, glorious moment.
He grinned.
“Magic works a little different on my world.” He assured the Pygmy, giving the watch a good affirming squeeze in his fist. “We don’t need Mana to do magic. For us it’s…. more science based. But to be honest with you, little fella….” Jack glanced around at the night, “Here wouldn’t be the best place to discuss our agreement.” He gave Piper a raise of one brow with a clever nod, but not conceited at all. “How about we discuss this over some food? I haven’t eaten all day. My shout. What do ya say?”
Assuming Piper would agree to the extended proposal, Jack would slip the watch back on his wrist and started walking in direction of the Blackgale Inn across the street. Departing Travius’ porch, he would give Piper a little toss of his head to follow.
If Piper had agreed and were to follow Jack, they would soon enter the tavern once more. The place was a little on the empty side now, just a few stragglers staring with confusion at the pair. The old bartender was still looking a little worse for wear, but at least he had recovered after wetting his pants and passing out earlier; his mildly trembling lips and an expression of pending doom shading his face as he nervously stepped up to meet them.
“My little friend and I would like something to eat. Something well-cooked for me, maybe some meat and potatoes if you have it? Another bottle of mead.”
Jack would then turn his focus to the Pygmy with the intent to relay his order as well…..
Cheryl was drifting off to sleep on her strewn mattress back home when she may have been roused by the passing tremble of the mattress and floor beneath her. If she became aware of the slight quake and opened her eyes, she would see a dark figure looming over her from beside the mattress. The trespasser would stand eight feet in height, the hood of their garment almost touching the ceiling with an emerald glow shrouding their entire person. The identity of this person would be completely hidden in the depths of the dark cloak they were wearing.
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