Novi 20, 5-14980
Sunset
In the Grunge-Ghetto, called The Guts, of the great city of Meccen, capital of the Onsain Kingdom.
"A fashioned couch of ivory with ornate carvings and intricate detail in woodworking was next to me. The fabric of the cushions was a deep amber hue mimicking the sap of the Reigen Tree–that grows here in Meccen. Laying across the seats with head positioned on the armrest, a man slumbered in a dream. Until a shadow moved to loom over him. A shade of a man, wrought in weeping darkness, loomed overhead and stretched up to the ceiling and seemed to fill the room with a choking smoldering blackness. His towering figure held tremendous terror upon the scene, yet still, the sleeping man lay undisturbed. I fought to scream out and plea for the dreaming man, but only a garbled slur of babbling ruin broke free from my lips. Upon that, the black figure of swirling darkness stole its moment and sent forth in a wide arc a fist no mortal man could possess, with power beyond reasoning...with a frightful intent of death beyond capability It found its mark in the face of the unconscious man, devastating it with a single sickening crunch that made the blood gush forth, flowing in a heavy arc upon me as it fled to escape the crushing madness of the blow! It was here in, the reaper eye bore its stare upon me as the slick crimson dripped from my infant features.
The hooded figure of death caught me in a side glance and I felt, in that instant, it try and pull apart my very soul with a tugging and nauseating sensation until I heard it tear from my being. Then his cowl slid back as he leaned down towards me, a face of gleaming ivory unsettled the very veins of my heart as my blood tried to escape the coming terror that reigned from his skeletal features when his bone crowned orifice, where a nose should have been, shrieked with a sharp pulling of air and when death sniffed it drew not only the air of the room, but my spirit as well!
He did not steal my soul, nay. Moreover, he traded it upon his own whim. For in that moment, he put forth a clenched fist of bone and from it a golden sphere with a sapphire iris and a pearl pupil suspended in its grasp! I would beg for death over this deal, but I took the folly and now look upon you with death's glare!"
The all-black cat meowed softly as it stood and moved from the lone chair in the corner of the dark room, dropping onto the dusty floorboards of the attic before sauntering away. Boppa's golden eye left wide with shifting emotion as it watched the entire audience turn its back upon his storytelling.
The young man threw both his arms up with disgust as he scoffed at the uncaring animal before he cursed its sudden departure, "You wouldn't know a great epic of storytellin' if it bit you in the arse, you mangy bastard!" With that, the young man named Boppa stomped his old boot against the floor, and the sudden thump sent the cat scurrying.
Voices below began with upsetting fervor, forcing Boppa to wince as he realized his error.
'Shit. Better head off before the old crone sends her boy up here to clear strays again.' Boppa considered thoughtfully and
with that he went to the broken window and dove head first through the shattered frame, landing in a softly skilled roll on the flat rooftop that connected the house to the inn, before finding his feet and bolting to the ledge where a stack of crates awaited his descent down the side of the building. His movements were soundless as he appeared from the alley, casually turning his head left and then up suddenly as a young man cursed his mom for sending him up for nothing in the attic he fled. A sly smile snaked up Boppa's cheek as he turned and headed for his evening meal at the Crooked Beak pub moving through the crowded street as the red sun dared to set behind clouds to the west.
The streets grew louder as its people and carts became thicker while Boppa made his way deeper into the heart of the city. No one paid him any notion that they recognized him, but Boppa preferred it this way amongst the throngs of city folk, each one hustling to make ends meet. Being invisible in plain sight has its advantages...
Boppa eyed the mainly black oaken slab door, its surface depicting a white bird with a beak grotesquely jarred to the side of the wind fowl figure. In front of the door was a man with his arms folded across his chest, Bezal the would-be bouncer for the place. His garb was like most of the citizens, dirty and drab, but a single leather pouch swung tauntingly upon his hip.
Boppa, after a quick surveying, made his way across from the pub and slid out of the chaotically-moving crowd, and stopped in front of a natural nook between buildings. He stood leaning his back against the wall as he stared at the bouncer across the street, catching glimpses of Bezal's face and sometimes whole body through the flowing sea of bustling city folk.
After a few minutes of eyeing his prey, Boppa looked from side to side until he saw his break in the shifting current of busybodies. A wagon pulled by four oxen parted half the street and was a few paces away from him when he stole his moment; passing through behind a woman and her bratty son and sliding around a cart going the opposite way of a wagon, winking coolly at the maiden being pulled above next to some smug-faced bureaucrat, before he came to the wagon. Once to the wheel, he followed it by its side, crouching as he did so. When the wagon was passing the pub, he spun about and casually walked into the bouncer.
"Ah, mind where you're going!" The man whined as he caught his balance.
"Sorry bout that, just here for a drink. I didn't see you there... that bloody wagon!" Boppa layered the lie as he angled his body to hide the hand that held the bouncer's purse.
"Well, you need coin to drink or eat here, boy." The man's eyes narrowed as he spoke.
Boppa repositioned his hand in front of him and jiggled the pouch, sending the coins into a clanging medley of wealth as he added, "What do you take me for some beggar?"
The eyebrows on the man's face popped with quizzical puzzlement as he reached for the coin purse he had tied to his waist. As his hand grasped the air, he twisted his upper half with due worry as he saw the cords dangling at his hip. With renewed fury, he spun back on Boppa, but Flea-toe had already vanished.
Boppa couldn't hold in his amusement as he fled down the busy street, heading for a different pub on the upper side of town.
Today is gonna be a good day...
The pub he chose had a savory aroma wafting over the entrance. No bouncer at this establishment, but a cheery greeting met him as he entered.
"Welcome. Welcome. Come in, go ahead, and leave it open." The small faced robust man waved him in, and Boppa happily obliged.
The humble establishment was crowded when Flea-toe found an open stool at the bar, freshly vacant--the man, unconscious, taking up a new residence next to the now toppled stool on the ground.
"Excuse me," Boppa spoke mostly to himself as he up righted the bar chair one-handed and plopped down with hopeful wonder and the coin purse tightly in his fist.
"What do you want?" The familiar tone caught Boppa off guard and forced his neck reeling.
"Jamison? What in the nine hells are you doing working here? They gave you a job?!" Boppa's questions were relentless after the initial alarm levied as the young man called Jamison moved over to him along the inner side of the bar.
"Aye, they gave me a job. What of it?" Jamison gave a rueful sneer as he spits out his last.
"Hey, no judgment, Jamie. We all gotta eat, and it is a lot easier with coin!" Boppa shifted in his stool as he opened the coin purse and procured a few silver coins.
"Ya right 'bout that. Though working for the coin is, definitely, less rewarding..." Jamison busily wiped the bar top in front of them.
"What makes you think I didn't work for this?" Boppa questioned as he held the pouch out and gave it a shake, drawing Jamie's attention.
"Not honest work, Fleatoe." Jamison reached to snatch the purse, only to find air as Boppa deftly retracted his prize.
"You think you're better than me?" Boppa held a rye smile as he puzzled aloud, but pressed the banter on, "Please, Jamie, tell me; when has honesty ever gotten anyone anywhere?"
Jamison looked back down at the bar top and held his tongue as he spit on a random dark mark scored into the wood. He picked the rag up and began scrubbing at it, refusing to meet Boppa's stare.
Fleatoe, after letting out a sigh, flipped one of the coins over at the unaware barkeep. Jamison, without missing a beat, snatched it mid-air, abandoning the scrubbing and finally meeting his gaze.
"Still quick on the jump, I see." Boppa stated with a beaming smile.
This made Jamison crack a smile, a smile he tried to keep hidden, but he rolled his eyes after he couldn't hide it any longer and finally offered, "What'll it be, Boppa?"
Boppa's face winced at the use of his name, "Oh, come off it, you know I hate my law name."
Jamison, after rolling his eyes a second time, "Fine, what'll it be, Fleatoe?"
"I would like to break my fast, and I believe something expensive will be the only thing that will truly satisfy my appetite." Boppa set the other coins in front of them and slid them over to Jamison.
"Right. Well, it's evening, so not servin' fast-breakin' style food, but you're not at the Jeweled Chalice so an arm will get ya what we got for expensive." Jamison slid the other three coins back over to him after he spoke.
"Fine then, an arm to feast, and an arm for an old friend." Boppa slid one of the silver coins back in front of the bartender.
Jamison let out a sigh and rolled his eyes again before he grabbed the silver awaiting him.
"You should see the clergy, get that eye lulling looked at. Ya might be possessed." Boppa advised while stifling a giggle.
"The only demon I worry 'bout is you." Jamison turned on his heel at that and left Boppa staring after him, stunned and for once silent.
Fleatoe shook free of the comment and took the moment to look about. Sitting at the other end, furthest from him, an old man casually offered him a wink when they locked eyes. This made Boppa's eyebrows pop before falling into a quizzical furrow. The elderly fellow only offered a smirk as he pushed off the countertop and stepped around his stool before making his way to the door. Not giving Boppa a single look when he crossed the tavern floor, until he reached the open entryway where he paused and looked back over his shoulder and gave a wink--only this time when his eye opened back up it was inverted--the white of his eye was black as coal and the iris was a tiny white dot. With that, the stranger departed and Boppa was left staring after him, turning to the point where he was only halfway in his chair.
Who in the nine hells was that?
Boppa sat awkwardly stunned in silent contemplation when Jamison returned with a beige clay platter bearing a spit-roasted chicken still skewered by a cast iron rod caked in remnants of past meats. Caramelized onions clinging to the fragrant spice freckled golden-brown skin that glistened with hot juices daring to seep out with sizzling pleas of carnivorous allure. Piled roasted spuds with a few that were skin-cracked, albeit fire-marked, had been placed below the main dish, which was held aloft on a wiry tray, to have the falling grease from the wind fowl splatter and coat the would-be dry potatoes. When the meal was suddenly set down in front of him Boppa nearly fell out of the chair in his startlement when his concentration broke.
"Woah Flea-toe, little skittish are we?" Jamison slid a clean plate in front of Boppa, between the feast and him, but Boppa replied with an un-answerable question.
"Who was that man?" Boppa was looking to the doorway once more while he spoke and did not notice Jamison's slack-jawed gaze of bewilderment.
"Who was who?" His tone held the confusion as it only frustrated Flea-toe further.
Boppa, with a quick scoff, got to his feet and headed for the door. Jamison called for him when he was at the door, but Boppa stepped out without another word.
The street was still a heavy torrent of traffic as Boppa stood in front of the door to the tavern with his head whipping back and forth as he scanned the street--feeling the futile effort mount on his frustration as the slough of the city folk began to drown out his thoughts--when he realized he was staring straight into the man's face he was looking for. Fifteen yards away the eyes burned into his own as he was drawn entirely into the man's gaze. Boppa felt the crowd fall away as the sky above darkened, but the menacing scene did not make Boppa change his focus. With affixed eyes to each other's, Boppa unknowingly began moving toward the mysterious being--oblivious to the traffic he could no longer see, but was very much there.
The ground was a squelching expanse of heavily traveled wet soil and dirt, but Flea-toe was determined in his unwilled footsteps to close the distance to the man. A rider on a grey and white bronco pulled desperately on the reins to avoid the aloof Boppa who stepped out in front of him, and in doing so, cut off a wagon. The freight, atop the ox-pulled vessel, shifted as the oxen came to a halt causing a crate to leap over the edge crashing into the ground below. The driver of that vehicle was furious as he leaped off the seat, landing on sturdy dwarven legs, before charging at Flea-toe with a raised fist.
Flea-toe, having at last snapped out of it, realized the dwarf was rushing him and reflexively Boppa dashed away to the other side of the street before turning down a narrow alley-way, pausing at the turn to scan the area one final time for that strange man. In the brief glimpse, Boppa saw the man, but the man held a grotesque look upon his manic features that were facing to the side of Boppa's view; eyes focused hauntingly on something straight ahead, yet his hand appeared to be forcing his chin with a pained effort to turn its fixed-eyes to see Boppa in full. The self-puppeted jerking style of head motion was violent, albeit horrific, despite the throngs of city folk all about. Suddenly Boppa felt the cold impaling of fear seized his waist as he considered what might happen if it got to directly lock eyes again with him so Flea-toe broke his fear-stricken hips and ran harder and faster than he ever had in his life as the side of the buildings constructing the alley-way blurred past. For what seemed like hours Boppa's legs drove him onward with desperate abandon. Snaking through the slums of the capital city, doing his best not to spill over rogue crates or the occasional slumped-over addict that littered these alleys, Boppa felt the jelly-like sensation of his tiring limbs struggling to go one in front of the other when an uneven bit of cobblestone snagged his footfall sending him crashing into a massive support beam to the building's awning he was trying to pass.
The nearby shopkeeper, whose arms were laden with heavy drayage, tried to kick at Boppa while he cursed the downed ruffian. Boppa was trying to get to his feet when the boot grazed his hip, but Flea-toe barrel-rolled taking the stranger off balance and the load in his arms forced him over to spill while Boppa got up with limbs shaking. Flea-toe paid the fallen worker no mind while his eyes scanned for that man from the alleyway with panic-stricken features.
"You filthy slum-rat!" The man roared as he pushed off the ground, now scattered with iron and copper trinkets, but his foot slid on a metal rod that had spilled initially from his arms, forcing him back to the ground hard.
Boppa struggled to see as his eyes ebbed on darkness as his heart raced in his chest forcing himself to stoop and rest his frame with hands on his knees, pulling at the hardened burlap that made up his shorts, the emblem of the Onsain Trading group emblazoned along the outer trim wrinkling into something unrecognizable. The stitch in his side was building and his head began to throb forcing his thoughts to race with panicked, wide-eyes. Flea-toe looked up and for a split second saw a frame of darkness begin to swirl and a voice echoed in his thoughts, "Drink deep and behave, I am the one of strife...of magic...of death!"
As the final word was telepathically received the form emerged as a small female humanoid with a complexion that did not seem long for the world, with eyes just as dead and wings like a dragonfly only ghostly iridescent...not the demonic-looking man-puppet from before, but something far viler with a smell like acidic cinnamon mixed with decay.
Flea-toe realized he was choking on the aroma, but was frozen in place in fear, aware of all but entirely helpless, and began asphyxiating on his saliva that seemed to well with purpose to relieve him the horror of life. His vision was suddenly no longer hindered as he took in the visage of the undead pixie before him by a supernatural force, 'PLEASE GODSAIN, CLOSE MY EYES!' Boppa screamed mentally with all his mind, but only laughter filled his head, an oddly weak, yet energetic cackled-guffaw that made his eyes turn dry and twitch with a slicing pain as he was unable to move still, even such a small involuntary action despite mental effort and physical torment.
"You, he who wields the eye of Tal'phire and the anklet of Durmoin. The eye of omission and the anklet of returning...yet you plead for another God in my presence. Fear forevermore, for I am the Goddess in your presence now." Her words were a series of snippets of other voices spliced and spoken in changing order of relevance with the conversations continuing in fading wave-like rhythm of many people's speech like they were pulled from all over at once to formulate the words, with many voices echoing the 'and' forcing Boppa's ears to glow and burn deathly-white-hot as a vein began to protrude from his head threatening to burst when he heard a sickening squelch erupt from behind him where the shopkeeper had fallen.
In his peripherals, Flea-toe saw the crimson flow creeping more and more into view as he felt the warm liquid pool around his raggedy shoes and seep between his toes flowing with a supernatural fruition as it neared the being.
"I see now. I give you a choice... Strife or Luck, choose thy destiny."
This time its words did not hurt him and the relief brought tears to his eyes and suddenly he could move, but he was sobbing. Frantically he wiped the blur from his eyes as all his symptoms suddenly vanished and the sensation of relief filled him to bursting, but when he looked up that entity was gone and only a dusty graffitied fence remained bordering the shop.
Boppa slowly turned while looking down, remembering the sound from before, and as his gaze fell on the headless body of the shopkeeper, the voice echoed in his head once more, "Bathe in his blood and you will have luck for 100 years. Or run away and face a long life of strife and an even longer afterlife of my governance, the torture from Ag'gila the Goddess Witch of strife death, and magic."
When she finished the world came back to and nausea flooded him as he stared at the decapitated man whose blood he still stood on with now-quaking legs.
"Fuck...fuck.....FUCK!" Boppa grabbed at his head and hair as his reality closed in on him until sudden clarity struck.
'Wait for a tick...' Boppa stomped his heel and a small wooden box magically snapped into existence at his feet, accidentally on the pool of crimson, "Ahh, Shit." Boppa let out simply.
Quickly Boppa knelt down and opened the chest and pulled one of the vials out of its cubby and dipped it into the crimson and once it filled he stoppered with the tiny cork and held it up for inspection. Gazing with horrified awe, he stared at the vial for a split moment before he randomly put the glass to his forehead and smeared the blood that had covered the outside across temple, and pulled it away after it passed cheek. Shaking his head he put the vial away and repeated the process with all 29 other vials, smearing more all over his body as he did so. When the box was full he shut it and turned his right eye upon it and felt the eye pull his energy as it magically siphoned the box, breaking down its physical matter into a dust that vanished into his magical orbital.
Boppa looked down at the now bled dry corpse of the shopkeeper and shook his head in denial once more before laying in the gore.
YOU ARE READING
Tales From Sios: The Wishing Well Arc
FantasyA unique world view of a time far in the Earth's future when the land is known not by Earth but by Sios! However, this is no futuristic science fiction... Those of you brave enough, come visit a time-stream where reality blends with fantasy in a med...
