Radulf: The Unlucky [Act 1]

Chapter 1: Hic incipit (Weepy Godlets)

Weepy Godlets

Chapter 1: My Friends

Hic incipit

Have you ever started something only to decide very early on that it was a complete waste and give up, placing it forever upon a shelf? This is not one of those. You should not give up on things. It is a huge character flaw; and don't think people haven't noticed. I've noticed, that's how obvious it is. You should also take better care of your teeth. And carry a towel. I'm not entirely sure why, I've been assured it is a good idea and it has always worked out well for me.

Our story begins—I mean—Once upon a time…

There were three men, well, one man and two reptilian creatures which did—and do—a remarkable job passing for men. And they'd just completed an intense adventure—over in the Archangels Range and its forever forgotten valley—which shall forever remain secret and untold—burned the last copy myself this very morning—but it is enough to state that it was amazing and you are completely missing out by not having access.

My notes from the time are sloppy, written using a kind of primitive chalk produced by Ignatios, the older of my reptilian friends, who would scorch raw twigs and roll them in the coals and ash left by one of his many childish bonfires. The paper? That is a different story, but since you asked. It was simply the under-bark of the great birch, a kind of monstrous cousin of the tall, thin foreign skylands birch with which you are likely most familiar; anyway, I could simply break off the bark of this rather common tree and easily peal the skein from beneath it—and this, I could write upon and keep forever plus one day. The notes, as I was saying, are sloppy and consist of observations of the area, sure, but were mainly concerned with the events from the previous months and my companions.

We'd managed to leave the Archangels behind us after a brief visit to a monument, a disquieting carving upon an east-facing cliff. This, my notes repeatedly emphasize, was truly magnificent and horrifying. We shall not dwell upon the unpleasant details here, but plainly put, there was—and is—an inexplicable and enormous statue in the shape of my friend—I did not know at the time that it could easily have been a statue of either of them or another, a creepy figure, who may be their father or another clone—Iapyx with some nearby museum-like pedestals containing more mysteries, writings and remarkable three-dimensional color carvings where my friend could be plainly seen. The writings seemed to contain a warning, cryptic though it was—is, I'm sure it is still there.

I need to describe my friend Iapyx in slightly more detail. To the naked modern eye, this is a man, on the tall side, on the handsome side, on the sweet-smelling side … and yet plain somehow; you would either become entranced or you would not even look twice. At the time these journals begin, he was rather the worse for wear and his brother, the fireman, Ignatios and I carried him in turns.

We'd come to learn that inside his head there was, to him at least, a contest or a fight going on. It was my friend and his oldest adversary in a battle of wits. And to be honest, I am unsure Iakovos is ever the man for the job in a battle of wits; I would not bet on him at least. So, was later stated plainly, he simply beat the creature to a bloody pulp and stepped over the moaning corpse to open his eyes as though from a deep and terrifying sleep.

We had quail. We always had quail. Ignatios, an unmatched hunter, is not, however, the most picky and I, away from modern conveniences and out of my element, was in no position to complain.

Anyway, as pertains to the breathtakingly enormous statue and its surrounding paraphernalia, the walk away from the mountains and Iapyx's eventual, tho sudden, recovery, he was surprisingly lightweight, friendly and helpful, honest—as shall become clear later, this may not have been his own virtue—to a fault and willing to cry or fight as the occasion required. And my could he fight.

Due to his special virtue, it had always appeared that Iapyx was the older of the two brothers. This is untrue. Piecing together a coherent narrative of the time of their youth is impossible as it was roughly half a billion years ago when they were born and being separated by a few months—or years given that enormous time-span—seems less than trivial. But to them it was a huge issue.

And! Given that they were—excuse me, are—very powerful creatures—almost one has to describe them in magical terms(!)—these two brothers are the most weepy and emotional men the planet has probably ever seen. To put it in Athanasia's terms, the two were the biggest babies to inhabit the universe ever before or forever after. Forgive me, I'll soon get to the place where we meet the ‘bitch’, the scourge of the horde, Theophilia—or, as I think of her—for reasons which will become obvious—Tyzmyn.

Iapyx favored a cloaking robe and iridescent boots covered with a kind of fish-scale-like animal hide. His head was balding, and he kept his hair cut quite short but would regularly wear the robe hood up. Our modern Sun is not his friend—nor, obviously, his brother's friend—and he, Iapyx, is clearly uncomfortable being out in daylight uncovered.

When I met him he had a staff covered in a line of ancient carvings … “Iapyx the great” or “Iapyx. I am come as time” or “Iapyx who shall never die” … these and many many more, as he changed staves quite often. No one noticed at the time. And even our dopey friend did not seem to realize he was cutting and decorating them himself. As incredible as it seems after the fact, we all thought there was only the one and that it had existed the whole of those five hundred million years of Iapyx's life. Given the frequency he must have changed them in just the short time I had known him thus far, there have to have been billions of these walking stick-sized—or bigger—staves over the course of Iapyx's life. Billions! All on hand at once, a person could cover the olde continent with them two or even three deep!

Ignatios, who is more properly called Icon, wore the most amazing outfit ever to be placed upon the body of anyone, again, I'm tempted to talk like Tyzmyn: No suit of any kind could be found to match it in all of the universe, ever before or after. The fabric was a soft crushed velvet but appeared to be a thin bronze or copper, indeed, metallic orange; but if you weren't looking directly at it, it appeared to be his skin which was metal and the garment was transparent, a mere wisp of a blur of a substance.

I was just now re-reading the above and I have obviously completely abandoned the narrative for a kind of homoerotic fixation upon my friends and their clothing. I now need to point out that due to events which are forever out of reach of any storyteller, Iapyx gave up carrying a staff or sceptre or walking stick only a few days before the events recorded here. As far as I can tell, he did this out of spite for his own stupidity in not realizing their recent genesis! …and this is too bad, as the jerk clearly needed help walking in a straight line!

And Icon, besides making hella dangerous bonfires, catching and cooking our diet of one hundred percent quail and making my pencils, was an engineer at heart, a tinkerer. He'd been, when we weren't walking to our—eventual—destination or eating, &c, working on a problem which perplexed him and consumed him, making him kind of grunt suddenly and talk softly to himself as we traveled the rocky paths north of The Wolf.

Icon had been building wee saddles for the sorts of tiny lizards one finds in the mountains and foothills in the regions surrounding the great city. I say building because it was not just a question of bending and curing the leather, he had invented and miniaturized a contraption the like of which I carried on my belt in a sheath. …But was otherwise, on Earth at least, unheard of.

And at the point where our journey commences he had figured it out.