HUMERUS
By Mayavan Thevendra
Part 2 of 8
ONCE BEFORE I'M GONE
The hectic bustle and imaginative swearing of the early evening tavern were mostly absent in the 'Urdar's Nose'; the drinkers were, needless to say, thoroughly unnerved by the sight of three skeletons and a golem made of flesh, inhabiting their drinking hole - the spectacle of Barry reaching up through his own ribcage, and then scratching his chin, was alone enough to send five of them running for the door.
"Kindly refrain from doing that." Muttered Bludluxor. "You're disturbing my meditation."
"Oh, I'm just having a bit of fun, Kev. Oh shit, I think me arm's stuck!"
"Serves ye right Barry," frowned Morag, "now quit muckin' about, the Man's tryin' to conduct his business!"
Over in the corner, the Man in Black was seated at a small table, conversing quietly, yet rather intensely with a mysterious robed gentleman. The flesh golem was standing close at hand, presumably acting as the Man in Black's bodyguard.
"Will you stop that!" Bludluxor said angrily, as Barry began to wriggle and gyrate, in order to free his arm.
"Hang about, I've nearly got it!"
Barry wrenched his arm loose with a sickening crunch that sent another patron scurrying for the exit.
"Good grief, why I must share company with a pair of moronic skeletons such as yourselves is beyond even my unfathomable comprehension!"
"Well, p'raps it's 'cos we share so much in common." Said Barry. Morag flashed him a stern look, and shook her head, stiffly.
"Indeed?" scoffed Bludluxor, turning his nasal cavity up at Barry, "And what, may I ask, could a sorcerer of my superlative efficacy possibly have in common with a pair of summoned skeletons?"
Barry caught Morag's glare once again, and gave a soft sigh.
"Ehh, I guess nothing. Forget I mentioned it, Kevin."
Bludluxor bolted from his chair, and pointed a cruel finger at Barry, the air at its tip beginning to condense.
"Bludluxor! Damn your eye sockets! My name, you stupid, bony wretches, is Bludluxor the Chill-Handed! I am the defiler of worlds, the bane of heat, the antithesis of all things warm and comfortably temperate! You shall refer to me by my true name, and no other, else I shall freeze your bones and shatter them into a thousand pieces! Bah! Curse you! Curse you all to the chilly abyss!"
And with that, he stomped out into the street, and slammed the tavern door shut behind him The Man in Black peered over his shoulder for a moment, then returned his attention to the robed figure, while the rest of the tavern looked about ready to empty their bowels at any moment.
"Och, tsk. Now see what ye did! Ye've upset him!" said Morag.
"Oh get over it, yer stupid trout, it's not my fault he doesn't even know his own name! Christ, it's bad enough that he thinks he's still alive." Said Barry.
"Well, if it's what he believes, then let him. He does'nae do any harm to anyone, with all of that 'mighty Bloodlicker' guff, so we might as well go on humouring him."
"Right fine, whatever. And just what the hell are we doing here anyway? All these breathers looking at us like that, I'd rather be somewhere else, know what I mean?"
"I told ye," said Morag, "The Man's trying to find out about his next quest."
"Oh Gawd, his quest," scoffed Barry, and rested his head on his hand. "I ask you Morag, what sort of a muggins goes his whole life taking and completing quests, eh? One after the other, never-ending bloody quests. It's not normal, I'm sure of it."
"Hush up, ye daft bastard, he'll hear ye!"
"Oh sod him. So what is it this time, do you think? More crypt-robbing p'raps? Kill some mutated vultures that've been gobbling up local children, or maybe its bugs again?"
"Ach not bugs, I hope," said Morag, with a grimace-like turn of her skull, "I hate bugs. Awful little fekkers, even when they're not two hundred times their usual size. Anyhow, I've no idea. I s'pose we'll find out sooner or later."
Just then, they felt a sudden psychic 'push', as the Man in Black relayed his commands to them.
'MINIONS, REST.'
He had already left the table and was on his way out; the robed figure was nowhere to be seen. With a distasteful squelch, the flesh golem sagged on the spot, its various chunky outcroppings drooping down onto the tavern floor.
"Wonderful. 'Rest', he says. Gawd only knows what lovely surprises he has planned for us tomorrow." Said Barry.
"More o' the same, I guess." Sighed Morag. "No reason to expect anything different."
"Bloody hell, what a life, eh? Jesus, just once, I'd like to know beforehand what it is we're about to get chucked into."
"Oh aye? An' how'll ye do that? Ask the Man, mebbe?"
"Oh, very bloody funny. Yeah, he'd like being disturbed, wouldn't he?"
"Well, p'raps, if ye catch him in an impatient mood, he'd go an blast ye to smithereens with his wand- that's what ye'd want, isn't it?" said Morag, suddenly sounding a little bitter.
"Hardly, love. How often do these magic types just plain kill their servants? Nah, more likely I'll end up damned for all eternity, or he'll make me into a suit of armour, or a snow globe or summin'. Not exactly what I'm looking for."
"A' right. Then what'll ye do?"
Barry shook his head, at a loss, and then noticed the flesh golem's slowly swaying form across the table from him.
"Hey - Fleshy was standing over by him when he took his quest, he must've heard the whole thing! Oi, Fleshy!"
Barry stepped up in front of the slumbering meat mannequin, and gave it a sharp prod in the region that was roughly equivalent to a person's chest.
"Fleshy!"
Deep within the recesses of the flesh golem's mind, all was calm and at peace. Having considered the nature of the cosmos and the various laws of existence, it had just discovered that the true meaning of all life was the sound 'bollabollabollabolla'. It had also been pondering the various dimensions of reality - the first, second and third, of course, being that of height, breadth and depth, and the fourth being that of time, it had made the monumentally significant discovery that the eighteenth dimension was that of banana. These were mysteries that humanity would not uncover for eons to come, and yet to the flesh golem, they were piffling things - mere fleeting wisps of thought. Far more engaging were the activities of the summoned skeleton who was currently standing in front of it, gesticulating like a drunken chimp.
"Hello, anybody in there?" asked Barry. "Come on, mate, speaky speaky! Gawd, this thing's dense. Wake up, you muppet!"
"Your wasting ye time," said Morag, "he never says nuthin' to anyone."
"Ah, but he's just never had the opportunity. I mean, he's only a lump of meat - it's not as if he's ever had anything intelligent or profound to say, so I suppose he just kept his gob shut. Or whatever it is that he speaks with."
Barry stood on tiptoes, and peered into the cavernous, blood-sodden sockets that housed the golem's eyes somewhere deep inside.
"Hoi! I need - to ask you - a question!" he said slowly. A wet flicker of reflected light within signalled the golem's attention.
"Right. What is the Man's next quest?"
A very low, and throaty gurgle built in the golem's throat. Churning its way upward, a mix of blood, bile and spittle welled into its mouth, and in a sudden, vigorous sputter, ended up on Barry's face.
"For fuck's sake! You disgusting bast-"
"TENBLADE." Rasped the golem.
"-ard, if you ever, do.that.what?"
"Did he say 'Tenblade'?" asked Morag.
"Yeah.yeah he did."
"Well, who's Tenblade?"
Morag stared, awaiting an explanation, but Barry said nothing, and just stood, his jaw ajar, and the flesh golem's upchuck dripping from his chin.
"Barry?"
It was a name rooted in the past, and it was tied with an overpowering sense of fear. Had he known the name when he was alive? He held some memory of it, that was certain - a mix of blurry images, and the ringing sound of cold steel.
"He's a demon. That's what some people say - a monster, he lives out beyond the edge of the Golden Dunes, he's killed more people than.well, he's killed a lot of people. Armies, whole armies, he's supposed to have slaughtered. He's got ten arms, and holds a scimitar as long as a man in each hand; only a few have ever seen him and lived, and most of them have lost a limb or two."
"So, what are ye thinkin," said Morag, "that we're goin' to pick a fight wi' 'im?"
"Looks that way. Has to be."
No wizard, no warrior, no rogue or priest had ever defeated Tenblade. The bodies of brave and powerful fools trailed in his wake like large, gory, funny-looking footprints, and the Man in Black would be no different. He would fight to the end, and he would lose, and if by some miracle, Barry hadn't already been hacked to splinters by then, he would perish the very instant the Man in Black lost his life. Barry spun around, and clutched Morag by the shoulders.
"We're going to die tomorrow, Morag. Properly, I mean. There's no two ways about it; we ain't got a blind, featherless duck's chance in hell against Tenblade. And then that'll be the end of it. We'll be free!"
"Dinnae lose your head, laddie. We've pulled through tougher scrapes than this Tenblade feller, I'm sure've it."
"No! We haven't, Morag, not ever! He'll be the death of us!" said Barry, a look of desperate, morbid hope in his eye sockets.
"Oh, why Barry? Why do ye want it so? Why do ye want to die, when ye've got a second chance here, when ye've got a life?"
"This ain't no life, Morag. It's a gag, and a crappy one at that. Don't tell me that this is what you want, for the rest of your whole existence!"
"No. It's not," Morag said, shaking her head wearily, "but I'm afraid. And I know you are too, I've seen ye cower as soon as the fightin' starts!"
"I'm afraid of dying, not death," said Barry, "I don't have the guts to stand up and watch it happen, but that doesn't mean that I don't want it. I want it, Morag! I can't go on like this!"
"But, I dinnae want to die, Barry!" sobbed Morag.
"Come on now, we've already done it once, this next time.well, we'll be doing it right. It'll be peaceful this time, I promise! Like death's supposed to be."
Morag nodded, and the two of them sat slowly back down at the table. The golem shuffled alongside them; most of the tavern's occupants were warily keeping to their own business, trying to pay as little heed to the three of them as possible.
"So what now?" asked Morag.
"I don't know. This is our last night of 'life'. We're in the unique position of knowing that we'll most likely be dead this time tomorrow."
Barry drummed his fingers on the table, and gave a resounding nod.
"Right. I want to do something special tonight. Let's hit the town - we've got twelve hours or so, to do whatever the hell there is to do in this city. So let's do it all!"
"Are ye mad, Barry? What if the Man finds out?"
"He won't!" said Barry, rising to his feet. "Trust me! Come on, our last night on Earth, let's make it the best one we've ever had!"
"But - but - we're fekkin' skeletons! What can we do in a city?"
Barry took Morag by the hand, and gave her a look that she hadn't seen in all of the time she'd known him - a sort of strange bravery, not in the face of blades, or magicks, but death itself. It would come for them soon enough, but not before they'd had one last shindig - a proper sending-off.
"Come on, Morag. Please come with me."
She rose from her seat, and the three of them, Barry, Morag, and the flesh golem, made their towards the tavern door, just in time to bump into Bludluxor.
"Ah, there you are!" he said, "Now see here. Considering your apparent usefulness, I have, for the present time, leastwise, decided to forgive your blatant display of impudence, but I should warn you that the unusually forbearing state of mind which I am currently in is most likely transitory at best, and so you should be aware that any further slips on your part would most likely result in your immediate, and utter eradication amidst a hail of frozen death the likes of which you have nev-"
"Get your arse in gear, Kevin!" said Barry, spinning him around, and shoving him back onto the street, "We're going out on the lash!"
By Mayavan Thevendra
Part 2 of 8
ONCE BEFORE I'M GONE
The hectic bustle and imaginative swearing of the early evening tavern were mostly absent in the 'Urdar's Nose'; the drinkers were, needless to say, thoroughly unnerved by the sight of three skeletons and a golem made of flesh, inhabiting their drinking hole - the spectacle of Barry reaching up through his own ribcage, and then scratching his chin, was alone enough to send five of them running for the door.
"Kindly refrain from doing that." Muttered Bludluxor. "You're disturbing my meditation."
"Oh, I'm just having a bit of fun, Kev. Oh shit, I think me arm's stuck!"
"Serves ye right Barry," frowned Morag, "now quit muckin' about, the Man's tryin' to conduct his business!"
Over in the corner, the Man in Black was seated at a small table, conversing quietly, yet rather intensely with a mysterious robed gentleman. The flesh golem was standing close at hand, presumably acting as the Man in Black's bodyguard.
"Will you stop that!" Bludluxor said angrily, as Barry began to wriggle and gyrate, in order to free his arm.
"Hang about, I've nearly got it!"
Barry wrenched his arm loose with a sickening crunch that sent another patron scurrying for the exit.
"Good grief, why I must share company with a pair of moronic skeletons such as yourselves is beyond even my unfathomable comprehension!"
"Well, p'raps it's 'cos we share so much in common." Said Barry. Morag flashed him a stern look, and shook her head, stiffly.
"Indeed?" scoffed Bludluxor, turning his nasal cavity up at Barry, "And what, may I ask, could a sorcerer of my superlative efficacy possibly have in common with a pair of summoned skeletons?"
Barry caught Morag's glare once again, and gave a soft sigh.
"Ehh, I guess nothing. Forget I mentioned it, Kevin."
Bludluxor bolted from his chair, and pointed a cruel finger at Barry, the air at its tip beginning to condense.
"Bludluxor! Damn your eye sockets! My name, you stupid, bony wretches, is Bludluxor the Chill-Handed! I am the defiler of worlds, the bane of heat, the antithesis of all things warm and comfortably temperate! You shall refer to me by my true name, and no other, else I shall freeze your bones and shatter them into a thousand pieces! Bah! Curse you! Curse you all to the chilly abyss!"
And with that, he stomped out into the street, and slammed the tavern door shut behind him The Man in Black peered over his shoulder for a moment, then returned his attention to the robed figure, while the rest of the tavern looked about ready to empty their bowels at any moment.
"Och, tsk. Now see what ye did! Ye've upset him!" said Morag.
"Oh get over it, yer stupid trout, it's not my fault he doesn't even know his own name! Christ, it's bad enough that he thinks he's still alive." Said Barry.
"Well, if it's what he believes, then let him. He does'nae do any harm to anyone, with all of that 'mighty Bloodlicker' guff, so we might as well go on humouring him."
"Right fine, whatever. And just what the hell are we doing here anyway? All these breathers looking at us like that, I'd rather be somewhere else, know what I mean?"
"I told ye," said Morag, "The Man's trying to find out about his next quest."
"Oh Gawd, his quest," scoffed Barry, and rested his head on his hand. "I ask you Morag, what sort of a muggins goes his whole life taking and completing quests, eh? One after the other, never-ending bloody quests. It's not normal, I'm sure of it."
"Hush up, ye daft bastard, he'll hear ye!"
"Oh sod him. So what is it this time, do you think? More crypt-robbing p'raps? Kill some mutated vultures that've been gobbling up local children, or maybe its bugs again?"
"Ach not bugs, I hope," said Morag, with a grimace-like turn of her skull, "I hate bugs. Awful little fekkers, even when they're not two hundred times their usual size. Anyhow, I've no idea. I s'pose we'll find out sooner or later."
Just then, they felt a sudden psychic 'push', as the Man in Black relayed his commands to them.
'MINIONS, REST.'
He had already left the table and was on his way out; the robed figure was nowhere to be seen. With a distasteful squelch, the flesh golem sagged on the spot, its various chunky outcroppings drooping down onto the tavern floor.
"Wonderful. 'Rest', he says. Gawd only knows what lovely surprises he has planned for us tomorrow." Said Barry.
"More o' the same, I guess." Sighed Morag. "No reason to expect anything different."
"Bloody hell, what a life, eh? Jesus, just once, I'd like to know beforehand what it is we're about to get chucked into."
"Oh aye? An' how'll ye do that? Ask the Man, mebbe?"
"Oh, very bloody funny. Yeah, he'd like being disturbed, wouldn't he?"
"Well, p'raps, if ye catch him in an impatient mood, he'd go an blast ye to smithereens with his wand- that's what ye'd want, isn't it?" said Morag, suddenly sounding a little bitter.
"Hardly, love. How often do these magic types just plain kill their servants? Nah, more likely I'll end up damned for all eternity, or he'll make me into a suit of armour, or a snow globe or summin'. Not exactly what I'm looking for."
"A' right. Then what'll ye do?"
Barry shook his head, at a loss, and then noticed the flesh golem's slowly swaying form across the table from him.
"Hey - Fleshy was standing over by him when he took his quest, he must've heard the whole thing! Oi, Fleshy!"
Barry stepped up in front of the slumbering meat mannequin, and gave it a sharp prod in the region that was roughly equivalent to a person's chest.
"Fleshy!"
Deep within the recesses of the flesh golem's mind, all was calm and at peace. Having considered the nature of the cosmos and the various laws of existence, it had just discovered that the true meaning of all life was the sound 'bollabollabollabolla'. It had also been pondering the various dimensions of reality - the first, second and third, of course, being that of height, breadth and depth, and the fourth being that of time, it had made the monumentally significant discovery that the eighteenth dimension was that of banana. These were mysteries that humanity would not uncover for eons to come, and yet to the flesh golem, they were piffling things - mere fleeting wisps of thought. Far more engaging were the activities of the summoned skeleton who was currently standing in front of it, gesticulating like a drunken chimp.
"Hello, anybody in there?" asked Barry. "Come on, mate, speaky speaky! Gawd, this thing's dense. Wake up, you muppet!"
"Your wasting ye time," said Morag, "he never says nuthin' to anyone."
"Ah, but he's just never had the opportunity. I mean, he's only a lump of meat - it's not as if he's ever had anything intelligent or profound to say, so I suppose he just kept his gob shut. Or whatever it is that he speaks with."
Barry stood on tiptoes, and peered into the cavernous, blood-sodden sockets that housed the golem's eyes somewhere deep inside.
"Hoi! I need - to ask you - a question!" he said slowly. A wet flicker of reflected light within signalled the golem's attention.
"Right. What is the Man's next quest?"
A very low, and throaty gurgle built in the golem's throat. Churning its way upward, a mix of blood, bile and spittle welled into its mouth, and in a sudden, vigorous sputter, ended up on Barry's face.
"For fuck's sake! You disgusting bast-"
"TENBLADE." Rasped the golem.
"-ard, if you ever, do.that.what?"
"Did he say 'Tenblade'?" asked Morag.
"Yeah.yeah he did."
"Well, who's Tenblade?"
Morag stared, awaiting an explanation, but Barry said nothing, and just stood, his jaw ajar, and the flesh golem's upchuck dripping from his chin.
"Barry?"
It was a name rooted in the past, and it was tied with an overpowering sense of fear. Had he known the name when he was alive? He held some memory of it, that was certain - a mix of blurry images, and the ringing sound of cold steel.
"He's a demon. That's what some people say - a monster, he lives out beyond the edge of the Golden Dunes, he's killed more people than.well, he's killed a lot of people. Armies, whole armies, he's supposed to have slaughtered. He's got ten arms, and holds a scimitar as long as a man in each hand; only a few have ever seen him and lived, and most of them have lost a limb or two."
"So, what are ye thinkin," said Morag, "that we're goin' to pick a fight wi' 'im?"
"Looks that way. Has to be."
No wizard, no warrior, no rogue or priest had ever defeated Tenblade. The bodies of brave and powerful fools trailed in his wake like large, gory, funny-looking footprints, and the Man in Black would be no different. He would fight to the end, and he would lose, and if by some miracle, Barry hadn't already been hacked to splinters by then, he would perish the very instant the Man in Black lost his life. Barry spun around, and clutched Morag by the shoulders.
"We're going to die tomorrow, Morag. Properly, I mean. There's no two ways about it; we ain't got a blind, featherless duck's chance in hell against Tenblade. And then that'll be the end of it. We'll be free!"
"Dinnae lose your head, laddie. We've pulled through tougher scrapes than this Tenblade feller, I'm sure've it."
"No! We haven't, Morag, not ever! He'll be the death of us!" said Barry, a look of desperate, morbid hope in his eye sockets.
"Oh, why Barry? Why do ye want it so? Why do ye want to die, when ye've got a second chance here, when ye've got a life?"
"This ain't no life, Morag. It's a gag, and a crappy one at that. Don't tell me that this is what you want, for the rest of your whole existence!"
"No. It's not," Morag said, shaking her head wearily, "but I'm afraid. And I know you are too, I've seen ye cower as soon as the fightin' starts!"
"I'm afraid of dying, not death," said Barry, "I don't have the guts to stand up and watch it happen, but that doesn't mean that I don't want it. I want it, Morag! I can't go on like this!"
"But, I dinnae want to die, Barry!" sobbed Morag.
"Come on now, we've already done it once, this next time.well, we'll be doing it right. It'll be peaceful this time, I promise! Like death's supposed to be."
Morag nodded, and the two of them sat slowly back down at the table. The golem shuffled alongside them; most of the tavern's occupants were warily keeping to their own business, trying to pay as little heed to the three of them as possible.
"So what now?" asked Morag.
"I don't know. This is our last night of 'life'. We're in the unique position of knowing that we'll most likely be dead this time tomorrow."
Barry drummed his fingers on the table, and gave a resounding nod.
"Right. I want to do something special tonight. Let's hit the town - we've got twelve hours or so, to do whatever the hell there is to do in this city. So let's do it all!"
"Are ye mad, Barry? What if the Man finds out?"
"He won't!" said Barry, rising to his feet. "Trust me! Come on, our last night on Earth, let's make it the best one we've ever had!"
"But - but - we're fekkin' skeletons! What can we do in a city?"
Barry took Morag by the hand, and gave her a look that she hadn't seen in all of the time she'd known him - a sort of strange bravery, not in the face of blades, or magicks, but death itself. It would come for them soon enough, but not before they'd had one last shindig - a proper sending-off.
"Come on, Morag. Please come with me."
She rose from her seat, and the three of them, Barry, Morag, and the flesh golem, made their towards the tavern door, just in time to bump into Bludluxor.
"Ah, there you are!" he said, "Now see here. Considering your apparent usefulness, I have, for the present time, leastwise, decided to forgive your blatant display of impudence, but I should warn you that the unusually forbearing state of mind which I am currently in is most likely transitory at best, and so you should be aware that any further slips on your part would most likely result in your immediate, and utter eradication amidst a hail of frozen death the likes of which you have nev-"
"Get your arse in gear, Kevin!" said Barry, spinning him around, and shoving him back onto the street, "We're going out on the lash!"