HUMERUS
By Mayavan Thevendra
Part 3 of 8
THE LAST HURRAH
Murasef Jhunna was hiding underneath the exquisitely woven sheets of his luxury four-poster bed, and shivering like a newborn weasel when his fourth wife walked into the room, the obligatory bunch of grapes pinned between her thumb and forefinger. It could have been the shivering, but most likely it was the feverish, squeaky whimpering that told her that her husband was not in good spirits that night. She stepped closer and peeled back the blanket, at which point Murasef bolted upright, and yelled:
"THEY TOOK MY PURSE!"
"Who took your purse, my dearest husband, whose face shines like the softest buttocks of the grazing -"
"THREE.THREE.THREE SKELETONS! AND A HUGE, WALKING SHISHKEBAB!"
As Murasef degenerated into a gibbering, blubbering wreck, halfway across the city, three skeletons and a huge, walking shishkebab were standing at the doorway of the 'Munter's Mirror' - one of Lut Gholein's more upmarket, though typically rowdy taverns; frequented by, amongst others, ship captains, foreign traders (both legal and illegal) and all manner of wealthy opportunists looking for a place to spend their well-stolen cash.
"Christ, Barry, what're ye thinkin'? There's no way they'll let us stay in here, not wi'out the Man in Black!" said Morag.
Barry, however, strolled forward, his teeth clicking with anticipation.
"Don't worry about it, I came in here alone by mistake once, and they didn't bat an eyelid - would've stayed longer if the Man hadn't called me back."
As unlikely as it sounded, Morag looked around and figured it was probably true; the prodigious amounts of alcohol being funnelled down every throat, along with liberal amounts of substance abuse meant that most of the people in there were smelling sounds and hearing at right-angles. Three skeletons and a flesh golem were probably quite tame compared to what some of them were seeing.
Morag followed quickly behind, and behind her skulked Bludluxor, who was muttering angrily about something or other ('wretched, bony bastards.!'), and following him lurched the golem. Reaching the bar, Barry pulled out a small, but very heavy silk pouch, untied the neck, and peered inside.
"Och, I can't believe we robbed that poor chappie," muttered Morag, "Ye know, if he goes to the guards, we'll be in the shite, an' no mistake!"
"Well, to be fair, we didn't actually rob him," said Barry, "You were there - all I did was ask him directions, and he shoved it into my hands, and begged me not to devour his eternal soul. Barmy!"
"Aye, well, I s'pose ye've jus' got one o' those faces, Barry."
"What, the sort that isn't actually there?"
Bludluxor shouldered his way past a large drunken tradesman who seemed to be arguing with his left hand, and grabbed Barry by the arm.
"Haah shit, watch it," squealed Barry, "your hands are freezing!"
"Now look here!" hissed Bludluxor, "I don't know what you think you're playing at, leading a sorcerer of my stature into this stinking pit of sin, but I assure you, I'm not in the slightest bit amused!"
"Aw, come on, Kevin-"
"I TOLD YOU -"
"Sorry! Sorry- Bludluxor! My mistake! Look, Bluddy, we're in here on special business.err," Barry looked across at Morag, who shrugged, and turned her attention to the large assortment of vividly coloured bottles arranged behind the bar.
"Er, we're looking for.a magical.thing! A big, powerful magical.thing, artefact, if you will, that'll, er, help us fight Tenblade tomorrow! Really!"
There was a long pause.
"Indeed?" said Bludluxor.
Bludluxor the Chill-handed Defiler of Worlds considered this. If this walking xylophone was indeed telling the truth, then things had definitely begun to look up. An artefact powerful enough to defeat Tenblade - surely whole armies would fall before its might, whole cities.whole countries. He would bide his time, and then, when the moment was right, the artefact would be his for the taking. Yes - yes, it was all coming together.
"S'right!" Said Barry as earnestly as he could, "It's here in this tavern, but it could be difficult to find it, so we may be here a while.okay?"
"Very well," said Bludluxor slyly, as he scanned the tavern's interior, "begin your search here, and I will examine the other end of this.establishment."
"Right you are, Kev- err, Bludluxor. See you later." Said Barry, and fished a few golden coins out of the purse.
Morag stared suspiciously at the chinking handful of money.
"What's happenin'?" she asked.
"We're searching for a magical artefact that's going to help us face Tenblade." Said Barry, giving his temple a knowing tap.
"Aye, so I heard. An' what'd that be, then?
"Huge quantities of brain curdling alcohol." Said Barry, and motioned across to the bartender.
The bartender of the 'Munter's Mirror had pretty much seen it all, being an old hand at the game of life (as well as the game of bartending, which used much the same rules, but had smaller pieces); he'd come across odder things than skeletons and golems - his own brother for instance had been left with the head, hind legs and odour of a pack mule after a nasty run-in with a sorcerer, but that was neither here nor there.
"I'll have a mug of whatever brew you've got going," said Barry, and handed over a coin. The bartender poured his drink, and pushed it in front of him.
"Right, lovely." Said Barry, closing his hand around it, "Let's get this show on the road, shall we?"
At this point, Morag, who was looking at Barry in much the same way as you would look at a person who's trying to unlock a door with a cucumber, thought about saying any of a huge variety of things; she could have brought up the point that, being a skeleton, Barry didn't have a tongue to appreciate the taste of his drink, or a throat to carry it to his stomach, or indeed, a stomach. And perhaps most importantly of all, he had absolutely no brain matter to be subjected to the drink's (illegally high) alcohol content. In the end, being spoilt for choice, she simply said nothing, and watched.
In one long, smooth motion, Barry drained the mug and slammed it down on the bar.
"Aah!" he said, scraping the back of his hand across his teeth, "It's been too bloody long since I had one of those!"
"How - how did yeh.?" stuttered Morag, staring Barry up and down. Tossing another coin onto the bar, Barry motioned for another drink and said, a little blearily,
"Don't ask me, love - I know, I know I'm a skeleton, so how's it possible.all I know is that was the best pint I've tasted in ages. On the other hand, I'm pretty sure there's a puddle down by my feet, so who knows what's going on? You getting one?"
There was a short, thought-intensive pause, after which Morag pointed down at a bottle filled with a deep amber liquid and said to the bartender:
"I'll 'ave tha' one."
Over in the corner, the flesh golem waited silently. In the murky, unfathomable depths of its consciousness, it had come down to a toss-up between watching the soon-to-be drunken antics of the two skeletons at the bar, or keeping track of the skeleton who had wandered to the rear of the tavern. It was a strange thing, more than simple, idle interest that compelled it to observe the three of them. The golem put the thought to the back of its mind, and squelched its way into the shadows at the back of the pub.
***
Today was not a good day for Bludluxor, the Chill-handed Defiler of Worlds, but then, life in general had been rather testing of late. It was enough of a chore to have to endure the companionship of three utter morons with barely a savvy thought between them, but to be subject to the beck and call of some novice, brazen necromancer (and quite how a necromancer was able to hold sway over him was quite beyond Bludluxor's considerable grasp) was a slight on his being that would have to be repaid a hundred-fold. But that would come in time; for now, his main concern was turning aside enough crusty tankards and sifting through enough puddles of grease and other thankfully unidentifiable substances, that he might find this artefact of great power. However, with said artefact being nowhere in sight, and his forearms sticky with spilt ale, and covered with bits of hair, fluff, and the odd tooth, Bludluxor's mood was quickly degenerating from poor to flesh- devouringly malevolent. Wherever his icy stare fell, there was yet more to irritate him - slack-jawed, pampered debutants, fat and woozy upon every vice their money could purchase, garishly dressed women, completely devoid of any class or intelligence or subtlety. Still Bludluxor searched, his arms lashing out, toppling pots of tobacco, vials of sickly perfume, and eventually, a drink - into the lap of a very, very large man, who happened to be carrying a very, very large axe, and who was accompanied by several of his friends, all of whom were also very, very - well, you get the idea. Not a good day at all.
***
Barry had given up trying to keep track of exactly how many drinks he'd had; however many it was, it had barely made a dent in the funds in his pouch. A better measure, perhaps, might have been the ever-expanding pool of alcohol that he was now standing in. In any case, he was now, as the saying goes, completely rat-arsed. Yet another tankard went to his mouth full, came away empty, and the pool swelled a little more.
"Ffuhh!" he said, "I tells you, M'rag, 'ss best thing inna world, cutting llloose like this, with your mates, y'know? And you really are my mate, M'rag. Really, really, rrreally."
"Aye."
"I mean, I know we.didn't 'sactly hit it off when w'firs' met," continued Barry, "aw t'be fair, I thought you were a rrright barmy old cow. Still do, in fact. But th' plain truth've it is - your like fffamily to me, Morag, you and Kevvin, and, well, even Fffleshy.you're the- the best mates've evvver had, and God knows hhhow I'd have made it through all a' this bollocks withou' yuh."
"Aye."
"An' I know thisss is gonna sound soft, but I'm gonna say it aaanyway - I fffuckin' love you Morag! And Kevin, I fuckin' love him as well! And Wossface. Oh, but the Man in Black, don' get me started on 'im! Bleedin' arrsse bandit!"
A short pause followed, while Barry gazed vacantly ahead. "Wha' was I sayin'?"
In actuality, Morag hadn't heard a great deal of what Barry had just been saying, as she was staring, completely entranced, at the gold-coloured buttons on the bartender's tunic.
"Hoi there missser, who makes your wee gold buttons?" she slurred.
"Rrright, right," said Barry, "who makes my wee gold buttons? Well it's uh, I mean, it's - uh.eh? Gold buttons?"
There was a great roar of noise, that against the tavern's soft mix of giggling, contented sighing, and wet, slurping noises, seemed as mighty as a thunderclap. Barry and Morag turned, or rather lolled their heads in its general direction, to see a huge mass of bodies, furniture, flailing weaponry, and, curiously, ice, crashing towards them.
By Mayavan Thevendra
Part 3 of 8
THE LAST HURRAH
Murasef Jhunna was hiding underneath the exquisitely woven sheets of his luxury four-poster bed, and shivering like a newborn weasel when his fourth wife walked into the room, the obligatory bunch of grapes pinned between her thumb and forefinger. It could have been the shivering, but most likely it was the feverish, squeaky whimpering that told her that her husband was not in good spirits that night. She stepped closer and peeled back the blanket, at which point Murasef bolted upright, and yelled:
"THEY TOOK MY PURSE!"
"Who took your purse, my dearest husband, whose face shines like the softest buttocks of the grazing -"
"THREE.THREE.THREE SKELETONS! AND A HUGE, WALKING SHISHKEBAB!"
As Murasef degenerated into a gibbering, blubbering wreck, halfway across the city, three skeletons and a huge, walking shishkebab were standing at the doorway of the 'Munter's Mirror' - one of Lut Gholein's more upmarket, though typically rowdy taverns; frequented by, amongst others, ship captains, foreign traders (both legal and illegal) and all manner of wealthy opportunists looking for a place to spend their well-stolen cash.
"Christ, Barry, what're ye thinkin'? There's no way they'll let us stay in here, not wi'out the Man in Black!" said Morag.
Barry, however, strolled forward, his teeth clicking with anticipation.
"Don't worry about it, I came in here alone by mistake once, and they didn't bat an eyelid - would've stayed longer if the Man hadn't called me back."
As unlikely as it sounded, Morag looked around and figured it was probably true; the prodigious amounts of alcohol being funnelled down every throat, along with liberal amounts of substance abuse meant that most of the people in there were smelling sounds and hearing at right-angles. Three skeletons and a flesh golem were probably quite tame compared to what some of them were seeing.
Morag followed quickly behind, and behind her skulked Bludluxor, who was muttering angrily about something or other ('wretched, bony bastards.!'), and following him lurched the golem. Reaching the bar, Barry pulled out a small, but very heavy silk pouch, untied the neck, and peered inside.
"Och, I can't believe we robbed that poor chappie," muttered Morag, "Ye know, if he goes to the guards, we'll be in the shite, an' no mistake!"
"Well, to be fair, we didn't actually rob him," said Barry, "You were there - all I did was ask him directions, and he shoved it into my hands, and begged me not to devour his eternal soul. Barmy!"
"Aye, well, I s'pose ye've jus' got one o' those faces, Barry."
"What, the sort that isn't actually there?"
Bludluxor shouldered his way past a large drunken tradesman who seemed to be arguing with his left hand, and grabbed Barry by the arm.
"Haah shit, watch it," squealed Barry, "your hands are freezing!"
"Now look here!" hissed Bludluxor, "I don't know what you think you're playing at, leading a sorcerer of my stature into this stinking pit of sin, but I assure you, I'm not in the slightest bit amused!"
"Aw, come on, Kevin-"
"I TOLD YOU -"
"Sorry! Sorry- Bludluxor! My mistake! Look, Bluddy, we're in here on special business.err," Barry looked across at Morag, who shrugged, and turned her attention to the large assortment of vividly coloured bottles arranged behind the bar.
"Er, we're looking for.a magical.thing! A big, powerful magical.thing, artefact, if you will, that'll, er, help us fight Tenblade tomorrow! Really!"
There was a long pause.
"Indeed?" said Bludluxor.
Bludluxor the Chill-handed Defiler of Worlds considered this. If this walking xylophone was indeed telling the truth, then things had definitely begun to look up. An artefact powerful enough to defeat Tenblade - surely whole armies would fall before its might, whole cities.whole countries. He would bide his time, and then, when the moment was right, the artefact would be his for the taking. Yes - yes, it was all coming together.
"S'right!" Said Barry as earnestly as he could, "It's here in this tavern, but it could be difficult to find it, so we may be here a while.okay?"
"Very well," said Bludluxor slyly, as he scanned the tavern's interior, "begin your search here, and I will examine the other end of this.establishment."
"Right you are, Kev- err, Bludluxor. See you later." Said Barry, and fished a few golden coins out of the purse.
Morag stared suspiciously at the chinking handful of money.
"What's happenin'?" she asked.
"We're searching for a magical artefact that's going to help us face Tenblade." Said Barry, giving his temple a knowing tap.
"Aye, so I heard. An' what'd that be, then?
"Huge quantities of brain curdling alcohol." Said Barry, and motioned across to the bartender.
The bartender of the 'Munter's Mirror had pretty much seen it all, being an old hand at the game of life (as well as the game of bartending, which used much the same rules, but had smaller pieces); he'd come across odder things than skeletons and golems - his own brother for instance had been left with the head, hind legs and odour of a pack mule after a nasty run-in with a sorcerer, but that was neither here nor there.
"I'll have a mug of whatever brew you've got going," said Barry, and handed over a coin. The bartender poured his drink, and pushed it in front of him.
"Right, lovely." Said Barry, closing his hand around it, "Let's get this show on the road, shall we?"
At this point, Morag, who was looking at Barry in much the same way as you would look at a person who's trying to unlock a door with a cucumber, thought about saying any of a huge variety of things; she could have brought up the point that, being a skeleton, Barry didn't have a tongue to appreciate the taste of his drink, or a throat to carry it to his stomach, or indeed, a stomach. And perhaps most importantly of all, he had absolutely no brain matter to be subjected to the drink's (illegally high) alcohol content. In the end, being spoilt for choice, she simply said nothing, and watched.
In one long, smooth motion, Barry drained the mug and slammed it down on the bar.
"Aah!" he said, scraping the back of his hand across his teeth, "It's been too bloody long since I had one of those!"
"How - how did yeh.?" stuttered Morag, staring Barry up and down. Tossing another coin onto the bar, Barry motioned for another drink and said, a little blearily,
"Don't ask me, love - I know, I know I'm a skeleton, so how's it possible.all I know is that was the best pint I've tasted in ages. On the other hand, I'm pretty sure there's a puddle down by my feet, so who knows what's going on? You getting one?"
There was a short, thought-intensive pause, after which Morag pointed down at a bottle filled with a deep amber liquid and said to the bartender:
"I'll 'ave tha' one."
Over in the corner, the flesh golem waited silently. In the murky, unfathomable depths of its consciousness, it had come down to a toss-up between watching the soon-to-be drunken antics of the two skeletons at the bar, or keeping track of the skeleton who had wandered to the rear of the tavern. It was a strange thing, more than simple, idle interest that compelled it to observe the three of them. The golem put the thought to the back of its mind, and squelched its way into the shadows at the back of the pub.
***
Today was not a good day for Bludluxor, the Chill-handed Defiler of Worlds, but then, life in general had been rather testing of late. It was enough of a chore to have to endure the companionship of three utter morons with barely a savvy thought between them, but to be subject to the beck and call of some novice, brazen necromancer (and quite how a necromancer was able to hold sway over him was quite beyond Bludluxor's considerable grasp) was a slight on his being that would have to be repaid a hundred-fold. But that would come in time; for now, his main concern was turning aside enough crusty tankards and sifting through enough puddles of grease and other thankfully unidentifiable substances, that he might find this artefact of great power. However, with said artefact being nowhere in sight, and his forearms sticky with spilt ale, and covered with bits of hair, fluff, and the odd tooth, Bludluxor's mood was quickly degenerating from poor to flesh- devouringly malevolent. Wherever his icy stare fell, there was yet more to irritate him - slack-jawed, pampered debutants, fat and woozy upon every vice their money could purchase, garishly dressed women, completely devoid of any class or intelligence or subtlety. Still Bludluxor searched, his arms lashing out, toppling pots of tobacco, vials of sickly perfume, and eventually, a drink - into the lap of a very, very large man, who happened to be carrying a very, very large axe, and who was accompanied by several of his friends, all of whom were also very, very - well, you get the idea. Not a good day at all.
***
Barry had given up trying to keep track of exactly how many drinks he'd had; however many it was, it had barely made a dent in the funds in his pouch. A better measure, perhaps, might have been the ever-expanding pool of alcohol that he was now standing in. In any case, he was now, as the saying goes, completely rat-arsed. Yet another tankard went to his mouth full, came away empty, and the pool swelled a little more.
"Ffuhh!" he said, "I tells you, M'rag, 'ss best thing inna world, cutting llloose like this, with your mates, y'know? And you really are my mate, M'rag. Really, really, rrreally."
"Aye."
"I mean, I know we.didn't 'sactly hit it off when w'firs' met," continued Barry, "aw t'be fair, I thought you were a rrright barmy old cow. Still do, in fact. But th' plain truth've it is - your like fffamily to me, Morag, you and Kevvin, and, well, even Fffleshy.you're the- the best mates've evvver had, and God knows hhhow I'd have made it through all a' this bollocks withou' yuh."
"Aye."
"An' I know thisss is gonna sound soft, but I'm gonna say it aaanyway - I fffuckin' love you Morag! And Kevin, I fuckin' love him as well! And Wossface. Oh, but the Man in Black, don' get me started on 'im! Bleedin' arrsse bandit!"
A short pause followed, while Barry gazed vacantly ahead. "Wha' was I sayin'?"
In actuality, Morag hadn't heard a great deal of what Barry had just been saying, as she was staring, completely entranced, at the gold-coloured buttons on the bartender's tunic.
"Hoi there missser, who makes your wee gold buttons?" she slurred.
"Rrright, right," said Barry, "who makes my wee gold buttons? Well it's uh, I mean, it's - uh.eh? Gold buttons?"
There was a great roar of noise, that against the tavern's soft mix of giggling, contented sighing, and wet, slurping noises, seemed as mighty as a thunderclap. Barry and Morag turned, or rather lolled their heads in its general direction, to see a huge mass of bodies, furniture, flailing weaponry, and, curiously, ice, crashing towards them.