"The Gotta-See"
THE MUSE CALL:
A duck whistle didnt work.
I think this muse is trying to shirk
Her duty to inspire me.
Probably doesn't want to do it for free.
There you are,isnpiration, where have you been.
I don't want your excuses, set the scene.
Another stolen tale?! That's not glory!!!
Ok, Ok!! Don't get mad! Tell me a story.
"THE GOTTA-SEE"
Standing amongst a closed ruin
Heroes of the night stood strewn
Panting with the exertions of their toil.
Streaked with blood and soil.
For history is penned by those who survive.
Our tales begin with....
BRENTYSSEUS: I'm too drunk to drive!
MARCKCHILLES: Bloody typical thats what I say!
A night worn against a day.
Tell me, what do we do now?
I am not staying any longer amongst this drinking most foul
BRENTYSSEUS: Umm, Markchilles, according to the tale arent you dead.
Skewered in your weakspot, your departure our dread?
I am fairly sure I saw you fall.
The tragedy of our pub crawl...
MARKCHILLES: And please,pray tell who struck the blow?
BRENTYSSEUS: Some chick? Where did she go?
MARKCHILLES: Oh her, she did not make me death bound?
BRENTYSSEUS: What happened? Did she shoot you down?
MARKCHILLES: In other words, yes...
Dont make fun, or I will skewer your chest!
BRENTYSSEUS: I was not making fun.
That would be the more hippocritical than Gods..everyone!
Who preaches that we will all live in peace and be saved.
But in an instant cleaves up unbelieiving knaves.
Pity there is no God of Beer.
Who listens to your rants,with no jeer.
Provides confidence and truth
To those to whom reality does not soothe.
Gives the unattractive beauty
Gives hope of scoring to you and me
I tell you Beer would be the superioir deity.
We would have had a more profitable quest, I say.
If we made more offerings to beer instead hope.
Now we are left alone and in need of soap.
For we prepared ourselves well,perfume for me.
And suscpiciously oiled and leather clad for thee.
Yet we walk the dark path alone again
I tell you Beer is a better God for men.
MARKCHILLES: That was a bit theological?
And quite off topic-al.
Couldnt get more tangent-er
You could be a lecturer.
BRENTYSSEUS: I have never thought of that, no.
But we should go.
The heroes boarded the ship.
The noble "Taxi" and sat within it.
Unknowing the rage they had caused.
The ship slipped slowly away from the shores.
Atop Mt.Cootha rage and wrath flared.
The Gods ranted how could they dare.
Thunder embroiled the sky black.
Smiting was to happen, the Gods planned to get there own back!
BRUES(King of the Gods): A God of Beer! Blasphemy!
I shall hurl lightning and destroy the infedelity!
ATROPPO (God of Art): No, I say we should be more artistic.
Let us send a monster that will go ballistic!
HAIRY (God of War,Men and Body hair): I could send an army like I always do.
Or I could try something a little bit new.
CHERRA: (Queen of the Gods): I am tired of your misogyny.
Your chauvanist ways are terrible, Hairy.
We need a womans touch.
That will make their lives really suck
We need something, that will teach them to scoff.
APHRODONTLOOKATMYBOBBIES (Goddess of Love& Sex): We could cut their penises off?
(Here all the male gods whince
Like any men would,faced with the loss of their Prince)
CHERRA: Long have I watched these two
Bury themselves in alcohol and lust it's true.
I have watched them rample through life.
Looking only for sex and never for a wife.
Although we should fight against the domestic patriarchy
These two have too much masculinity
Now they have cursed our name
They think blasphemy is a game.
We will send a curse unlike any ever shown.
THEY WILL WANDER ALWAYS, AND THEY WILL WANDER ALONE.
THEY WILL DEVIDE FROM EACHOTHER AND THEY WILL NEVER SEE HOME.
And so the heroes curse was wrought in wrath and stone.
There inevitable fate to be alone.
HAIRY: Can I still send an army or two?
BRUES: And a storm, that they may not live through?
ATROPPO: And a monster that will rip them apart?
APHRODONTLOOKATMYBOBBIES: And some women to rip our their hearts.
CHERRA: All those things and the last is a doozy
Should they survive, they will not survive mediocrity
Should they make it home, these two foolish men.
I condemn them to be forgotten.
The noble "Taxi" streaked through the silent sea
Carrying on it the heroes Brenysseus and Markchilles.
Also with them the sober helmsman Nickax
Who piloted them through the oceanic acts.
Where the birds were suspiciously fleeing from the sky.
And clouds were beginning to darken the heroes eyes
Nickax spoke, on the darkening of the sea.
Here his moulded soliloquy:
NICKAX: I see the sky turn from blue to black
With these two hungover warriors in the back.
One perfumed, one is oiled
Look exausted from their toil.
As for me I am the boatman.
Who travels the seas with a song and,
An eye to the rising storm
It looks as if the Gods have been scorned.
I wonder if that is a squall on the horizon there
That rises like behemoth from the depths where
Millions of ages of the damned
Curse us, Spurn us, living man.
Whats that, a crack of thunder
Like the crack of an arse,that removes my hunger
And causes my stomach to spin and wheel.
And causes damage to my mind none can heal.
What have I done, I have joined in their curse.
All I have now is fear of the worst.
Oh crap..shake out my leg
The water has come to a head
And running towards us is a tidal wave, shucks!
I guess all there is to say is
WE'RE SO FUCKED!
The wave roared,the sea bucked
The wind howled like a dog that would not shut up.
The timbers creaked, the sky ablaze.
Lightning struck the surging waves.
The boiling seas...the pressure immense
The sky became full of rain,dense.
The passion of the gods enraged
The heroes looked out towards the tidal waves.
Each of them held their hands
And checked,because they didnt want to die with soiled pants.
But they were dry but not for long
The surging climax came headstrong.
And in a surging spurting torrent of sight and sound.
The wave bashed into the ship and POUND!
The climax rushed and howled and screamed at best
And like after every climax...there was an awful mess.
BRUES: HAHA Take that you mortal fools
Who's the man? Who's the man? And you are just tools!
The sun rose slowly into the sky.
And just like good heroes,the heroes didn't die.
The "Taxi" had seen better days.
Nickax tried to repair its battered face.
While Markchilles and Brentysseus stood on a hill
Watching a distant moving shadow, that started to fill,
The horizon and the distant plains
It seemed they were not alone in this island place.
The ground started to quiver, a slight shake.
Like the sound the slow beat of a drum would make
Nickax stood from his work,unfamiliar to the sound.
But Brentyseuss and Markchilles knew what came towards their mound.
A hundred score battles had told them the meaning
Of a sound like that and a red sun gleaming
An army marched on their position
And the ranks became no longer hidden,
To the eyes of the three heroes, who stood firm and true
And unsheathed their blades, a menacing crew.
The scene was brought from the darkest place
A hundred thousand ranks of the same face.
Each of the demons clad in armor of suit and ties.
A terrible stare gleamed in their eyes.
Each held a breifcase which shielded their frame
And each had an umbrella like a sword for pain
Pens for daggers, and behind the ranks.
Ambled slowly Photocopier ballistas, like great white tanks.
The demon army of THE PROFESSIONALS advanced along the land
An army bred to destroy the cursed man.
Their faces set in steel, their souls long lost.
Now they answer to paychecks and relative cost.
They are bound to desks in hell by chains.
They know no fear, horror or pain.
Middle Managers bear the standard which says:
"Long live the 8 hr day"
They advance, the only sound their feet.
All dressed impecably neat.
The heroes stand fast, iron still
And they prepared to probably be killed.
MARKCHILLES: Let us make it a death of which bards will sing
BRENTYSSEUS: I don't know if you noticed,but bards was something I forgot to bring.
NICKAX: What shall we do? Run for it?
BRENTYSSEUS: No where to run, fix the ship.
We will hold them off if we can.
But if we die, tell our story to man.
We're entrusting you to this task, so far.
Mainly because you're the only one with a guitar.
And music sounds better than words
Hop to it Nickax. Mark, lets make some meat for the birds!
And here they charged down the hill
Blades whirling in the air, to make the kill.
The Photocopier ballistas began to shoot
And razor sharp paper came flying, one nicked Markchilles' boot.
And another scratched Brentyseuss' cheek
But still they ran towards the advancing mass
To slay their enemies and kick some ass.
The forces met in a horrid crash
A dozen Professionals heads went smash
As with warcries keening, and whirling blades
The heroes returned them to the fires of hades.
Markchilles ran down an open line,
And dodged a blow at his eyes.
Dispatched a pen weilding troop.
Slit another ones guts open,making soup.
The ranks closed in around him, so he jumped on the muck
Slipped on it like ice, and from a blow, he ducked
Along he slid on the entrails.
While the Professionals tried to catch him to no avail
Sliding on makeshift skates of gut,
Markchilles sword slashed and cut.
For they say a running man can cut a thousand throats in a night.
They have obviously never seen Markchilles on ice!
(Ok, guts but I had to rhyme
Stop picking on me or it'll be your guts for the slide!)
Brentysseus had thrown down another foe
One he used as a sheild to take the blows
Of the masses of enclosing demons
He struck them down without reasons.
The density of the enemy increased
And the pile of the dead bodies, upreached.
Brentyseeus began to scale the wall of the dead.
Lept from it! And onto the heads,
Of the tightly bunched army of Professionals.
And he lept from one to one, like stones in a pond.
Stabbing the one from before, before continuing on
Jumping and stabbing until he saw,
A Photocopier ballista, closer than before.
He lept from the head of the last demon.
Jumped atop the photocopier,and held on.
Dispatched the Professional at its' controls
And began to take up the enemy's deathtoll.
As he fired paper into the mass,he put it into "Drive" gear
And drove foward into the horde, firing, there and here
Clearing a path around the still sliding Markchilles,
Who slid on his makeshift skates of human's filling.
He jumped atop the photocopier with Brent
And firing,and hacking through the mass they went
They made it to the top of the hill and ready ship.
Departed the island and that was it!
HAIRY: No! It took me so long to raise that army!
These two are going to send me barmy!
CHERRA: Patience, you predictable man
There is death in store for that little band.
Another night of wind and rain
Sent the heroes off course again.
To a black,dead and forbidding land
With wrecks of all types of ships,and,
Bones, endless feilds of men who met their domb
Welcome to the Isle of Tomb.
Hunger consumed the heroes, which made them disembark
And search the island for food and water in the dark
It seemed never to be day in this place
And the terrain was a barren,rock face.
Suddenly the ground shook and there was a massive boom
The whole place rumbled like thunder,this Isle of Tomb.
It sounded like a dinosaur from a certain park.
A massive pounding drum in the dark.
An ear pitching sqwark brought the heroes to their knees.
A scream and the beating of wings, was not good news, for these.
Poor creatures as they watched a giant albatross fill the sky.
And on it was a collar reading "GuideDogs for the Blind"
It dragged behind it a massive chain, and on the end
Was a man a thousand times the size of the men.
He had dreadlocks, was all in black and reached to the sky
He had in his head,only one eye.
CYCLOPS: Angst and rage overwhelms me so!
I smell the stench of humanity down below.
Go forth my guide-albatross.
And scoop up these who dare to venture across,
My solitude desolate brutal earth.
Go now and extract them from my turf!
The mighty guide bird descended quick
And our heroes, it did upick.
The heroes twitched and writhed in the beak.
NICKAX: We must escape, if our bodies, we want to keep.
BRENTYSSEUS: We must! Markchilles, unsheathe your sword!
MARKCHILLES: I cannot reach it. Oh discord.
Here the heroes tried to wriggle free of their plight.
Nickax shoved at the beak with all his might.
Then the albatross jerked at this offense
And shook its head violently, hence
Nickax pushing at the beak, tumbled down.
Thousands of feet to the ground.
Amid the screams of his friends,
Nickax tumbles down to no end.
Into the depths he dissappears.
Never again to be seen by eyes or heard of by ears.
In a cage made of bone and steel.
Markchilles and Brentysseus struggled to feel.
Anything but despair for their lost ally
MARKCHILLES: So who is this guy?
BRENTYSSEUS: The call him Cyclops the Goth.
And it looks as if he has gone right off.
A monster of the ancient world, in many songs
And has obviously been listening to death metal for too long.
He hates all and believes himself to be cool
We're probably doomed, he eats men, not mules.
Here the Cyclops boomed and roared
Crashing into the floor boards.
On a waiting list for laser eye surgery.
Has been left blind as the clergy.
The guide dogs for the blind charity
Sent a giant guide-albatross to he.
And now he stumbles on the floor of the cave.
Growing ever closer to the heroes cage.
His hand groping blindly.
And calling for the albatross that snoozed behind,he.
His hand fumbled and knocked the cage down
Markchilles and Brentysseus crawled out and around.
And seeing their opportunity to flee
Crept passed the stumbling Cyclops,unseen.
Under the snoozing gargantuan bird.
It is then that the were heard.
As they took flight so did the beast.
That bore down on them without cease.
And sqwarked its terrible screech
As it accosted them to the beach
Markchilles drew threw a stone at the albatross
As the heroes hurried across,
Endless unmarked graves on the sand.
On the Isle unmeant for man.
The boarded the "Taxi" Markchilles at the sail
While Brentysseus at the photocopier, at the tail
Unleashed hellfire of streaming papercut hits.
That shred the albatross to bits.
The ocean now stretched all around
In every direction water was to be found.
Endless plains of crystal blue.
Under an endless sky of azure.
The seas enveloped out in endless calm
Placid,with no suggestion of harm
Endless seas like sheets of glass
And on the horizon,like a painting land at last
BRENTYSEUSS: I wonder what is that place?
MARKCHILLES: A rather interesting rock face.
BRENTYSEUSS: Do you hear that rising melody.
Here Markchilles was transfixed, oh tragedy
For rising from the island was the Siren song
To draw men away from where they belong
The women, witches say some
Demons say others, had just begun
To sing the song of Markchilles demise.
MARKCHILLES: I must go, they are calling me!
BRENTYSEUSS: What are you talking about? What of our journey?
Markchilles dropped his armor from his oiled frame
Cast down his might blade and expsed his body's hairy mane.
He jumped into the sea and followed the rising call.
Of all the stories of Markchilles, none is as famous as the fall.
Stories say he fell in front of a wall, destroyed by an arrow.
But it was a song that melted his tallow.
His last stand was not met with a blow
But swimming as far and and fast as he could go.
To a place that must have seemed better than our world of subtle hints.
And no one, none of us, have seen him since.
CHERRA: It has happened it is done.
Where there were two, now there is one.
The wind pickedup and a gale blew
That hurled the "Taxi" through and through
Passed a blurred world rushing passed
The winds blew hard and blew fast.
And the "Taxi" washed through the world unstopping
To the very edge of the topping
Seeing the world approaching at the speed of train powered by steam
Brentyseuss let out an almighty scream.
BRENTYSEUSS: This is it ladies and guys!
This time I am going to die!
With that last scream the ship fell off the bed.
And as the wind blew,the "Taxi" fell off the edge.
BRUES: He did not die,what shall we do to the last of men?
CHERRA: Leave him. He will be forgotten.
The waves picked up and turned something in their grasp
A piece of wreckage which held the last,
Survior of the Loopiad wars,and the gotta-see.
Now he is washed up and he is free
From everything except the final fate.
Power and Beauty's doomsday.
The sun just starting to sparkle a new days sky.
Brentysseus awakes, amazed he did not die.
Disorientated, he wanders through a day, just he.
The hours stretch out infront of him ,like eternity.
Weaving passed abandoned castles of the few,
Who left something that history remembers of me and you.
Through forests, with trees and branches like the fingers of shadows
Across endless pastoral meadows.
Passed empty houses, that look as if they were left in a hurry.
A faint whisper behind the bushes, a secret someone forgot to bury.
A glance of an eye gone in a second.
A world where simply, nothing happens.
The sky a tinted red.
Brentysseus wanders with unspoken dread.
His feet fall to the music only he hears.
Driven on by his own hopes and fears.
Ages and aeons pass. The curse expires.
The wrath and power of the Gods, tires.
And soon it is cast out of all memory
The tale of our gotta-see.
Until one day, the last hero stumbles to a place he recognises.
A place overgrown, but the memory sees through disguises.
A place he left to go out one night long ago
A place that he instinctively knows.
Memories of things,times,places and people,gone
Exhausted he falls on his bed, in his room alone.
Perhaps he creates a legacy
Kids and grandkids scamp around to hear the tale of the gotta-see
But it is all the tale of an afternoon.
Powerless in the face of the night's doom
It is the one battle you can't even fight
Us Versus the encroaching night.
The tales must end, the listeners to bed.
The heroes and their storytellers, all dead.
Despite the battles we fight or the storys we tell again and again.
The night always comes just the same.
As the sun sets slowly in the west, so pretty
Brentysseus sleeps on, just an echo in eternity.
For the hero means nothing to the ages.
Except where he is found on the pages.
SUNSET:
Muse, would you stop stressing
I dont think it's that depressing.
For melancholy is a humor too
And we continue in the face of brutal truth.
Why? Well Power has a Master. Beauty has a name.
And what makes us beautiful is our pain.
Yes. People will think I am an idiot.
But I guess you've gotta-see it to believe it.
By Brent Downes
THE MUSE CALL:
A duck whistle didnt work.
I think this muse is trying to shirk
Her duty to inspire me.
Probably doesn't want to do it for free.
There you are,isnpiration, where have you been.
I don't want your excuses, set the scene.
Another stolen tale?! That's not glory!!!
Ok, Ok!! Don't get mad! Tell me a story.
"THE GOTTA-SEE"
Standing amongst a closed ruin
Heroes of the night stood strewn
Panting with the exertions of their toil.
Streaked with blood and soil.
For history is penned by those who survive.
Our tales begin with....
BRENTYSSEUS: I'm too drunk to drive!
MARCKCHILLES: Bloody typical thats what I say!
A night worn against a day.
Tell me, what do we do now?
I am not staying any longer amongst this drinking most foul
BRENTYSSEUS: Umm, Markchilles, according to the tale arent you dead.
Skewered in your weakspot, your departure our dread?
I am fairly sure I saw you fall.
The tragedy of our pub crawl...
MARKCHILLES: And please,pray tell who struck the blow?
BRENTYSSEUS: Some chick? Where did she go?
MARKCHILLES: Oh her, she did not make me death bound?
BRENTYSSEUS: What happened? Did she shoot you down?
MARKCHILLES: In other words, yes...
Dont make fun, or I will skewer your chest!
BRENTYSSEUS: I was not making fun.
That would be the more hippocritical than Gods..everyone!
Who preaches that we will all live in peace and be saved.
But in an instant cleaves up unbelieiving knaves.
Pity there is no God of Beer.
Who listens to your rants,with no jeer.
Provides confidence and truth
To those to whom reality does not soothe.
Gives the unattractive beauty
Gives hope of scoring to you and me
I tell you Beer would be the superioir deity.
We would have had a more profitable quest, I say.
If we made more offerings to beer instead hope.
Now we are left alone and in need of soap.
For we prepared ourselves well,perfume for me.
And suscpiciously oiled and leather clad for thee.
Yet we walk the dark path alone again
I tell you Beer is a better God for men.
MARKCHILLES: That was a bit theological?
And quite off topic-al.
Couldnt get more tangent-er
You could be a lecturer.
BRENTYSSEUS: I have never thought of that, no.
But we should go.
The heroes boarded the ship.
The noble "Taxi" and sat within it.
Unknowing the rage they had caused.
The ship slipped slowly away from the shores.
Atop Mt.Cootha rage and wrath flared.
The Gods ranted how could they dare.
Thunder embroiled the sky black.
Smiting was to happen, the Gods planned to get there own back!
BRUES(King of the Gods): A God of Beer! Blasphemy!
I shall hurl lightning and destroy the infedelity!
ATROPPO (God of Art): No, I say we should be more artistic.
Let us send a monster that will go ballistic!
HAIRY (God of War,Men and Body hair): I could send an army like I always do.
Or I could try something a little bit new.
CHERRA: (Queen of the Gods): I am tired of your misogyny.
Your chauvanist ways are terrible, Hairy.
We need a womans touch.
That will make their lives really suck
We need something, that will teach them to scoff.
APHRODONTLOOKATMYBOBBIES (Goddess of Love& Sex): We could cut their penises off?
(Here all the male gods whince
Like any men would,faced with the loss of their Prince)
CHERRA: Long have I watched these two
Bury themselves in alcohol and lust it's true.
I have watched them rample through life.
Looking only for sex and never for a wife.
Although we should fight against the domestic patriarchy
These two have too much masculinity
Now they have cursed our name
They think blasphemy is a game.
We will send a curse unlike any ever shown.
THEY WILL WANDER ALWAYS, AND THEY WILL WANDER ALONE.
THEY WILL DEVIDE FROM EACHOTHER AND THEY WILL NEVER SEE HOME.
And so the heroes curse was wrought in wrath and stone.
There inevitable fate to be alone.
HAIRY: Can I still send an army or two?
BRUES: And a storm, that they may not live through?
ATROPPO: And a monster that will rip them apart?
APHRODONTLOOKATMYBOBBIES: And some women to rip our their hearts.
CHERRA: All those things and the last is a doozy
Should they survive, they will not survive mediocrity
Should they make it home, these two foolish men.
I condemn them to be forgotten.
The noble "Taxi" streaked through the silent sea
Carrying on it the heroes Brenysseus and Markchilles.
Also with them the sober helmsman Nickax
Who piloted them through the oceanic acts.
Where the birds were suspiciously fleeing from the sky.
And clouds were beginning to darken the heroes eyes
Nickax spoke, on the darkening of the sea.
Here his moulded soliloquy:
NICKAX: I see the sky turn from blue to black
With these two hungover warriors in the back.
One perfumed, one is oiled
Look exausted from their toil.
As for me I am the boatman.
Who travels the seas with a song and,
An eye to the rising storm
It looks as if the Gods have been scorned.
I wonder if that is a squall on the horizon there
That rises like behemoth from the depths where
Millions of ages of the damned
Curse us, Spurn us, living man.
Whats that, a crack of thunder
Like the crack of an arse,that removes my hunger
And causes my stomach to spin and wheel.
And causes damage to my mind none can heal.
What have I done, I have joined in their curse.
All I have now is fear of the worst.
Oh crap..shake out my leg
The water has come to a head
And running towards us is a tidal wave, shucks!
I guess all there is to say is
WE'RE SO FUCKED!
The wave roared,the sea bucked
The wind howled like a dog that would not shut up.
The timbers creaked, the sky ablaze.
Lightning struck the surging waves.
The boiling seas...the pressure immense
The sky became full of rain,dense.
The passion of the gods enraged
The heroes looked out towards the tidal waves.
Each of them held their hands
And checked,because they didnt want to die with soiled pants.
But they were dry but not for long
The surging climax came headstrong.
And in a surging spurting torrent of sight and sound.
The wave bashed into the ship and POUND!
The climax rushed and howled and screamed at best
And like after every climax...there was an awful mess.
BRUES: HAHA Take that you mortal fools
Who's the man? Who's the man? And you are just tools!
The sun rose slowly into the sky.
And just like good heroes,the heroes didn't die.
The "Taxi" had seen better days.
Nickax tried to repair its battered face.
While Markchilles and Brentysseus stood on a hill
Watching a distant moving shadow, that started to fill,
The horizon and the distant plains
It seemed they were not alone in this island place.
The ground started to quiver, a slight shake.
Like the sound the slow beat of a drum would make
Nickax stood from his work,unfamiliar to the sound.
But Brentyseuss and Markchilles knew what came towards their mound.
A hundred score battles had told them the meaning
Of a sound like that and a red sun gleaming
An army marched on their position
And the ranks became no longer hidden,
To the eyes of the three heroes, who stood firm and true
And unsheathed their blades, a menacing crew.
The scene was brought from the darkest place
A hundred thousand ranks of the same face.
Each of the demons clad in armor of suit and ties.
A terrible stare gleamed in their eyes.
Each held a breifcase which shielded their frame
And each had an umbrella like a sword for pain
Pens for daggers, and behind the ranks.
Ambled slowly Photocopier ballistas, like great white tanks.
The demon army of THE PROFESSIONALS advanced along the land
An army bred to destroy the cursed man.
Their faces set in steel, their souls long lost.
Now they answer to paychecks and relative cost.
They are bound to desks in hell by chains.
They know no fear, horror or pain.
Middle Managers bear the standard which says:
"Long live the 8 hr day"
They advance, the only sound their feet.
All dressed impecably neat.
The heroes stand fast, iron still
And they prepared to probably be killed.
MARKCHILLES: Let us make it a death of which bards will sing
BRENTYSSEUS: I don't know if you noticed,but bards was something I forgot to bring.
NICKAX: What shall we do? Run for it?
BRENTYSSEUS: No where to run, fix the ship.
We will hold them off if we can.
But if we die, tell our story to man.
We're entrusting you to this task, so far.
Mainly because you're the only one with a guitar.
And music sounds better than words
Hop to it Nickax. Mark, lets make some meat for the birds!
And here they charged down the hill
Blades whirling in the air, to make the kill.
The Photocopier ballistas began to shoot
And razor sharp paper came flying, one nicked Markchilles' boot.
And another scratched Brentyseuss' cheek
But still they ran towards the advancing mass
To slay their enemies and kick some ass.
The forces met in a horrid crash
A dozen Professionals heads went smash
As with warcries keening, and whirling blades
The heroes returned them to the fires of hades.
Markchilles ran down an open line,
And dodged a blow at his eyes.
Dispatched a pen weilding troop.
Slit another ones guts open,making soup.
The ranks closed in around him, so he jumped on the muck
Slipped on it like ice, and from a blow, he ducked
Along he slid on the entrails.
While the Professionals tried to catch him to no avail
Sliding on makeshift skates of gut,
Markchilles sword slashed and cut.
For they say a running man can cut a thousand throats in a night.
They have obviously never seen Markchilles on ice!
(Ok, guts but I had to rhyme
Stop picking on me or it'll be your guts for the slide!)
Brentysseus had thrown down another foe
One he used as a sheild to take the blows
Of the masses of enclosing demons
He struck them down without reasons.
The density of the enemy increased
And the pile of the dead bodies, upreached.
Brentyseeus began to scale the wall of the dead.
Lept from it! And onto the heads,
Of the tightly bunched army of Professionals.
And he lept from one to one, like stones in a pond.
Stabbing the one from before, before continuing on
Jumping and stabbing until he saw,
A Photocopier ballista, closer than before.
He lept from the head of the last demon.
Jumped atop the photocopier,and held on.
Dispatched the Professional at its' controls
And began to take up the enemy's deathtoll.
As he fired paper into the mass,he put it into "Drive" gear
And drove foward into the horde, firing, there and here
Clearing a path around the still sliding Markchilles,
Who slid on his makeshift skates of human's filling.
He jumped atop the photocopier with Brent
And firing,and hacking through the mass they went
They made it to the top of the hill and ready ship.
Departed the island and that was it!
HAIRY: No! It took me so long to raise that army!
These two are going to send me barmy!
CHERRA: Patience, you predictable man
There is death in store for that little band.
Another night of wind and rain
Sent the heroes off course again.
To a black,dead and forbidding land
With wrecks of all types of ships,and,
Bones, endless feilds of men who met their domb
Welcome to the Isle of Tomb.
Hunger consumed the heroes, which made them disembark
And search the island for food and water in the dark
It seemed never to be day in this place
And the terrain was a barren,rock face.
Suddenly the ground shook and there was a massive boom
The whole place rumbled like thunder,this Isle of Tomb.
It sounded like a dinosaur from a certain park.
A massive pounding drum in the dark.
An ear pitching sqwark brought the heroes to their knees.
A scream and the beating of wings, was not good news, for these.
Poor creatures as they watched a giant albatross fill the sky.
And on it was a collar reading "GuideDogs for the Blind"
It dragged behind it a massive chain, and on the end
Was a man a thousand times the size of the men.
He had dreadlocks, was all in black and reached to the sky
He had in his head,only one eye.
CYCLOPS: Angst and rage overwhelms me so!
I smell the stench of humanity down below.
Go forth my guide-albatross.
And scoop up these who dare to venture across,
My solitude desolate brutal earth.
Go now and extract them from my turf!
The mighty guide bird descended quick
And our heroes, it did upick.
The heroes twitched and writhed in the beak.
NICKAX: We must escape, if our bodies, we want to keep.
BRENTYSSEUS: We must! Markchilles, unsheathe your sword!
MARKCHILLES: I cannot reach it. Oh discord.
Here the heroes tried to wriggle free of their plight.
Nickax shoved at the beak with all his might.
Then the albatross jerked at this offense
And shook its head violently, hence
Nickax pushing at the beak, tumbled down.
Thousands of feet to the ground.
Amid the screams of his friends,
Nickax tumbles down to no end.
Into the depths he dissappears.
Never again to be seen by eyes or heard of by ears.
In a cage made of bone and steel.
Markchilles and Brentysseus struggled to feel.
Anything but despair for their lost ally
MARKCHILLES: So who is this guy?
BRENTYSSEUS: The call him Cyclops the Goth.
And it looks as if he has gone right off.
A monster of the ancient world, in many songs
And has obviously been listening to death metal for too long.
He hates all and believes himself to be cool
We're probably doomed, he eats men, not mules.
Here the Cyclops boomed and roared
Crashing into the floor boards.
On a waiting list for laser eye surgery.
Has been left blind as the clergy.
The guide dogs for the blind charity
Sent a giant guide-albatross to he.
And now he stumbles on the floor of the cave.
Growing ever closer to the heroes cage.
His hand groping blindly.
And calling for the albatross that snoozed behind,he.
His hand fumbled and knocked the cage down
Markchilles and Brentysseus crawled out and around.
And seeing their opportunity to flee
Crept passed the stumbling Cyclops,unseen.
Under the snoozing gargantuan bird.
It is then that the were heard.
As they took flight so did the beast.
That bore down on them without cease.
And sqwarked its terrible screech
As it accosted them to the beach
Markchilles drew threw a stone at the albatross
As the heroes hurried across,
Endless unmarked graves on the sand.
On the Isle unmeant for man.
The boarded the "Taxi" Markchilles at the sail
While Brentysseus at the photocopier, at the tail
Unleashed hellfire of streaming papercut hits.
That shred the albatross to bits.
The ocean now stretched all around
In every direction water was to be found.
Endless plains of crystal blue.
Under an endless sky of azure.
The seas enveloped out in endless calm
Placid,with no suggestion of harm
Endless seas like sheets of glass
And on the horizon,like a painting land at last
BRENTYSEUSS: I wonder what is that place?
MARKCHILLES: A rather interesting rock face.
BRENTYSEUSS: Do you hear that rising melody.
Here Markchilles was transfixed, oh tragedy
For rising from the island was the Siren song
To draw men away from where they belong
The women, witches say some
Demons say others, had just begun
To sing the song of Markchilles demise.
MARKCHILLES: I must go, they are calling me!
BRENTYSEUSS: What are you talking about? What of our journey?
Markchilles dropped his armor from his oiled frame
Cast down his might blade and expsed his body's hairy mane.
He jumped into the sea and followed the rising call.
Of all the stories of Markchilles, none is as famous as the fall.
Stories say he fell in front of a wall, destroyed by an arrow.
But it was a song that melted his tallow.
His last stand was not met with a blow
But swimming as far and and fast as he could go.
To a place that must have seemed better than our world of subtle hints.
And no one, none of us, have seen him since.
CHERRA: It has happened it is done.
Where there were two, now there is one.
The wind pickedup and a gale blew
That hurled the "Taxi" through and through
Passed a blurred world rushing passed
The winds blew hard and blew fast.
And the "Taxi" washed through the world unstopping
To the very edge of the topping
Seeing the world approaching at the speed of train powered by steam
Brentyseuss let out an almighty scream.
BRENTYSEUSS: This is it ladies and guys!
This time I am going to die!
With that last scream the ship fell off the bed.
And as the wind blew,the "Taxi" fell off the edge.
BRUES: He did not die,what shall we do to the last of men?
CHERRA: Leave him. He will be forgotten.
The waves picked up and turned something in their grasp
A piece of wreckage which held the last,
Survior of the Loopiad wars,and the gotta-see.
Now he is washed up and he is free
From everything except the final fate.
Power and Beauty's doomsday.
The sun just starting to sparkle a new days sky.
Brentysseus awakes, amazed he did not die.
Disorientated, he wanders through a day, just he.
The hours stretch out infront of him ,like eternity.
Weaving passed abandoned castles of the few,
Who left something that history remembers of me and you.
Through forests, with trees and branches like the fingers of shadows
Across endless pastoral meadows.
Passed empty houses, that look as if they were left in a hurry.
A faint whisper behind the bushes, a secret someone forgot to bury.
A glance of an eye gone in a second.
A world where simply, nothing happens.
The sky a tinted red.
Brentysseus wanders with unspoken dread.
His feet fall to the music only he hears.
Driven on by his own hopes and fears.
Ages and aeons pass. The curse expires.
The wrath and power of the Gods, tires.
And soon it is cast out of all memory
The tale of our gotta-see.
Until one day, the last hero stumbles to a place he recognises.
A place overgrown, but the memory sees through disguises.
A place he left to go out one night long ago
A place that he instinctively knows.
Memories of things,times,places and people,gone
Exhausted he falls on his bed, in his room alone.
Perhaps he creates a legacy
Kids and grandkids scamp around to hear the tale of the gotta-see
But it is all the tale of an afternoon.
Powerless in the face of the night's doom
It is the one battle you can't even fight
Us Versus the encroaching night.
The tales must end, the listeners to bed.
The heroes and their storytellers, all dead.
Despite the battles we fight or the storys we tell again and again.
The night always comes just the same.
As the sun sets slowly in the west, so pretty
Brentysseus sleeps on, just an echo in eternity.
For the hero means nothing to the ages.
Except where he is found on the pages.
SUNSET:
Muse, would you stop stressing
I dont think it's that depressing.
For melancholy is a humor too
And we continue in the face of brutal truth.
Why? Well Power has a Master. Beauty has a name.
And what makes us beautiful is our pain.
Yes. People will think I am an idiot.
But I guess you've gotta-see it to believe it.
By Brent Downes