Wednesday, April 05, 2006

Why you SHOULDN'T drop acid and write

Kieran looked up. The maelstrom brewing over the distant purple horizon was now much nearer and decidedly a lot more violent than he had anticipated. Lightening zigged and then zagged through the hovering gloom as thunder charged across the deepening sky. and he could discern tiny scurrying figures far, far below, anxious to get out of the storm. His perch high above Khand'um's clock tower was not exactly a vacation on the golden beaches of Parsvania but it would have to do. The rain began. Slowly at first but with increasing intensity till each drop was a boulder. His proud aquiline brows furrowed against the slanting rain. Kieran grunted, shrugged his massive shoulders and unfurled his gigantic wings, shaking liquid pearls from his feathers before tucking them away under his billowing sable cloak.

Twelve feet from tip to tip and black as the other side of midnight, Kieran's wings were the most obvious symbols of his authority. The race of Anduluza – the birdmen, dominated the Fifteen (and a half) Kingdoms*—or what was left of it. Their slaves were the lowly Homo Sapiens—menial servants fit for nothing except agriculture, beer-brewing and occasional sexual amusement. Not tonight. Kieran rubbed his hands together. Not so much too keep warm, than out of anticipation of the events to follow. His death had been foretold. He was going to die before dawn would break. Even though he held the tales of the soothsayers in regal disdain, he could not ignore the prickly feeling that ran down the base of his neck, settling in his spine.

Kieran stood slowly and grimly removed his cape, laying it on the parapet below him. He stowed the great jewelled clasp that held it around his mighty throat in a fine leather pouch by his waist. The giant beryl gleamed in a flash of lightening. It was time. Time to hunt the men, nay the slaves, who had dared scheme against him. He unfurled his great black wings slowly, flexing his immense muscles. With a snap that was lost in the thunder, and a sneeze that drowned it out, he soared away into the black mountains of cloud, high above the city, hunting…hunting for prey.

(* The half kingdom was really the unruly princedom of Bahir that saw way too many succession battles for its own good. The old king had died leaving an only daughter. Bahiri succession laws being as outdated as they were, women were not allowed to rule. Princess Barbi was now pushing 80 and her multitude of offspring (legitimate and otherwise) fought tooth and nail for what was the lamest excuse for a country.)


Two thousand feet below him and several metres to the right, Randall nursed his eye. This was the second fight he'd gotten into in the past half-hour—unnatural even by his standards—and the unemployed thief was getting bored, not to mention bruised. He pulled his large misshapen feet up of the filth-covered excuse of a floor and gestured to Pandu, bartender, waiter, bouncer, manager and owner of the Pisspot Tavern for a refill.
The damn Anduluzans had been patrolling the streets of the Inner City for hours now, despite the pouring rain. He\'d learnt, through trial and error (mostly error), that the best time to pick pockets was in the rain. The birdmen abhorred water, especially when they couldn't control it. To see them now in groups of three gliding through the slick streets with giant plastic umbrellas, ignoring the drizzle, gave him the shivers.
Pandu had leaned over and whispered that Kieran, the Lord of the Citadel, was looking for a groom and the Anduluzans were out in force to match make as it were. Randall had rolled all three eyes at this.The Anduluzans (he preferred calling them birdbrains—it seemed so much more appropriate) were always looking for excuses to maul, dismember and occasionally sodomise the local human population. That was all the entertainment they had. Gulping down the last of his firewater, he shrugged on his great (stolen) coat and shambled into the sleet. Far above him, a small figure circled, watching, waiting. Kieran wasn't unduly worried about dying. He knew no human hand could kill him. Still, he wasn't about to sit around and let them have a go at him. Sachor his chief counsellor and wisest of the Anduluzans had come to him earlier that day whispering words of doom and death.
Kieran had laughed, finished masturbating and patted the old buzzard (wiping his hand at the same time) on his shoulder. "You worry too much," was all he said before pulling his cloak around him and strolling from the room. The rain was beginning to irritate him now. Already he had narrowly avoided being skewered twice by passing lightening bolts as the Thunder Giants took their game into over time.Then he saw it. Below…far, far below, a group of humans were assembling. Kieran's eyes, already sharper than a wareagle's, were pinpricks of concentration. The time had come.

Randall was lost…hopelessly, irrefutably and completely. He lived across the street from the Pisspot. He had taken three steps out the front door, had been hit by SOMETHING moving incredibly fast and had passed out. When he awoke a few minutes later, he was spread-eagled on the pavement with a street lamp rising out from between his legs. Staggering to his feet, he had started in the general direction of his house when he realised that nothing looked familiar. He was in an unfamiliar street, looking at unfamiliar people who held very unfamiliar razor sharp rapiers. Randall searched his rags for his back-up pint of firewater. The leader of the group already had the point of his sword on Randall's rapidly bobbing Adam's apple. "Are you from around here?" asked the stranger in haughty yet urgent tones. Too petrified to speak, Randall merely shook his head. "Want to live?" was the next question and Randall came within a quarter of an inch from losing his neck. Five more men came up out of the gloom and peered at the dishevelled stranger. Randall could make out that although they were clearly slaves, they had the look, the build and the manner of the Anduluzans. He swore under his breath. "Halfbreeds," he muttered and was promptly pushed down. Although the Anduluzans never attempted to force themselves on human women (being an entirely homosexual species) they nonetheless needed their wombs to extend their race. Most of the ensuing offspring were genetically modified before birth to be exactly like Daddy with defective embryos discarded in the trash or served as pickled hors d'oeuvres at State dinners. There were rumours of a few that had survived, but had proved to be unfounded. Till now.
Randall, although intrigued, was more interested in keeping his head on his shoulders and his penis between his legs. Half-Anduluzan or no, they still looked decidedly gay and definitely homicidal. He was yanked up, dragged to the curb and thrown unceremoniously against a helpfully open doorjamb. "Stay here," said the fallen faggot and slunk away down the alley with his cronies right behind. "Well that's the end of that," sighed Randall to himself, picking himself up gradually. He didn't see it till it was too late. Out of the corner of his centre eye (the left one as already swollen), he saw a black blur drop out of the sky and head toward him at impossible speed. By the time he turned his head, it was all over. All that was left of Randall, the three eyed, unemployed thief was a bundle of rags and a slightly cracked half empty bottle of firewater.

Kieran soared away sheathing his flamethrower, pleased with himself. He had sensed the beggar would be the instrument and he had taken care of it. Sachor had spoken of a threat on foot and now it had been destroyed. He, Kieran, Lord of the Citadel of Khand'um had cheated Fate and shown Death the middle finger and this pleased him no end. He turned away from the squalor of the Inner City and set his sights on the Citadel—a massive dome of stone that reared its jewelled head into the now-clear night. Flapping his mighty wings to gain height and speed, Kieran soared heavenward on a current of warm air.

Warm air? No, that didn't seem right, especially in the middle of winter. He looked down and saw the fire. The North Gate was burning merrily. Concentrating his phenomenal vision, Kieran could see tiny, armed humans jump out of a cart and stab the nearest Anduluzan sentry between his giant brown wings.Dropping like a rock in an avalanche, Kieran sped to the rescue of his men. As he got nearer and nearer, the flames grew higher and higher till he could feel the tips of his outermost feathers slowly frying. Pulling out of his nosedive in frustration, he banked first right and then left looking for a safe place to land. What had happened? How did the humans get the courage to attack? More importantly…who was their leader? Only one way to find out. Summoning all his arcane strength, Kieran sped toward the Citadel, dodging random bursts of flame frombelow. The Apothecary's storeroom burst into flame and the sweet smell of intoxicating herbs filled the air, washing Kieran with a wave of drowsiness and also a mind wrenching hunger.
No time.
The polished rock dome of The Citadel gleamed dully in the dying firelight as Kieran alighted. The fire had yet to reach the higher reaches of his \nfortress and it looked like the Anduluzans had been successful in stamping out the rebellion.In the Throne Room, two floors below, Sachor paced nervously. Kieran had been gone since sunset hunting for his murderer and there was still no sign of him. The large ornate crystal door creaked heavily on its hinges as Kieran entered. His long, black hair hung dankly around his shoulders and his wings looked decidedly bedraggled. Some feathers were beginning to moult. "Lord, we have captured the rebels," said Sachor genuflecting, "and their leader," he added, raising his ancient head to stare into the blackness of Kieran's hooded eyes. "Bring him," grunted Kieran in satisfaction as he swept toward his diamond throne.
The giant crystal door swung open once more to admit four Anduluzan sentries hauling a manacled figure by his arms between them. They swung shut with a clang that had finality written all over it. The prisoner although dishevelled, bloody and with a welting scar running down the length of his throat, looked strangely calm. "We found him hiding behind the Apothecary's store, my Lord," offered the leading sentry. Kieran stepped forward. "Who are you? What is your name?" he roared with as much rage as he could muster. The prisoner, apparently not hearing him, began picking his nose, inserting the results in his mouth. "I am who I am," he mumbled cryptically, pulling himself up to his full height, which to his credit was nose-to-nose with the birdman.

Sachor was struck by the similarity between the two figures before him. The only thing the rebel didn't have were wings, clean clothes and an erection. Sachor stopped staring. His lord had made a decision.
"Take him to my chambers and see that his wounds mended and he is cleansed," he ordered, massaging his groin. The guards examined the hazy ceiling and the minuscule amounts of dirt under their fingernails, while the Lord of the Citadel examined his new toy.
Garib was hurt, but not as badly as he had feared. The Anduluzans had him bound in chains and were dragging him down wide, marble corridors to their master's bedchamber. "This is it," he muttered bitterly to himself, "I'm about to be buggered by the biggest prick in the Eleven Kingdoms. So much for freedom of speech and human rights." Then he saw it. He had to wait almost three long ahn before the door swung silently open and Kieran strode in. He looked around the room and espied the prisoner chained to the bedpost, squatting on the floor. Walking toward him, Keiran dropped his robe and stepped before Garib stark naked. Lust had driven all thought of caution from the birdman's brain and now it took complete control. He wanted this stranger so desperately, the desire made little red spots dance in front of his eyes. Glancing down, Kieran pulled the prisoner's head by his hair, drawing his mouth to his member.
To Garib, the next few seconds seemed to stretch beyond Time and Space. To Kieran it was a blink of an eye. Kieran staggered back, his own letter-opener protruding between his testicles."You think I didn't know," said Garib rising from the floor and removing his manacles (he had obviously been pretending). "I was one of you," he continued walking toward the gasping birdman, brandishing Kieran's own sword at him, "till you had my wings cut off." The Anduluzan racked his febrile brain to remember, but there had been too many executions and the pain between his legs had turned into a white heat that burnt its way to every nerve ending in his once-majestic body.
Garib stepped forward and swung the tempered steel blade, slicing off first the birdman's head and then, almost ceremoniously, his penis. Wiping the green blood on a nearby curtain, Garib gathered his clothes and staring back once more at the prone figure, made for the balcony. He pushed open the heavy wooden doors in time to see a new sun break the sky sending the moon scuttling for cover. A cold wind swept down from the distant Dragontooth Mountains and into the royal bedchamber, teasing Garib's hair and making the heavy curtains dance a slow waltz.
His grimace faded into a smile. It was over.

1 Comments:

Anonymous Anonymous said...

Liked this, man. And nice blog. Another sentence fragment. And another.

2:07 AM  

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