Parmenion Posted June 14, 2003 Report Posted June 14, 2003 Dashier had not met anyone on the road to Pontaka for over two days. Not that he was complaining because there were two types of people he was most likely to meet. The first (and most likely), were dull redneck farmers who would probably drone on for as long as they could get you to listen about the wonderful animals they had purchased in the spring markets. The second, were bandits who had become more widespread of late, the reasons for this we will be getting to in a second. The bandits would be slightly more entertaining than the farmers would. They would boast about their recent raids, including the slaughtering of dull farmers who liked to talk a lot about the sheep they bought, before they took your money and/or your life. It really depended on their mood and if there were any homosexuals in their group who liked the look of you. The king of the land, Bob, had died two months ago and left no heirs. As usual in these situations the lords, barons, illegitimate children, cousins, nephews, nephews who were nieces until recently, all became part of the power frenzy. Alliances between the nobles and gentry were formed, broken and renewed as often as the local serving wench drops to her knees to mop up spilt liquid. The majority of the organised military was too busy serving the nobles in minor skirmishes and quelling riots in towns and cities to patrol the roads and protect farmsteads and small villages. The two-horse cart stopped in the middle of the roadway caught Dashier’s attention, mainly because it was hard to miss unless your eyesight was bad. An enormous man dressed in the bright colours of a merchant seemed to be repairing the wheel. If indeed the man was a merchant, Dashier thought he must have been a damned fool to be dressed the way he was despite the dangers of travelling these roads alone. Uncertain whether he should skirt the area or indulge in his usual generous nature and help the man, he decided to forgo his generosity yet again. In a bid to let his conscience know that he was not listening to it, he started to whistle as he walked from the road into the woods. A few seconds later he realised his conscience had tricked him when he heard the other man bellow. “ Ho stranger!” The voice sounded familiar, unfortunately, and Dashier recognised him as he approached. It was Porky from Ikinloa. It was the same city that Dashier was from and although he had not seen the man in years he hadn’t changed much apart from the bright clothes and about one hundred pounds. (On a man his size it made little or no difference.) Of course, Porky was not his real name but people had called him by it for so long even his own parents could not remember the original one. Porky, worked as a blacksmith, or rather his occupational title was that of a blacksmith. He spent most of his time eating and drinking beer. It was a wonder his father’s business did not fall apart. Rumour has it that his father mended a lot of pots, pans and tankards from the local inn after Porky visited. The pair were friendly before Dashier enlisted in the king’s army five years previously. Generally, it meant that Dashier would hang around with Porky for free booze and food when it suited him or when he was broke. It was compulsory for all human members of the kingdom to spend at least three years in the army. The tradition of enlistment existed for over two hundred years since the great wars the kingdom fought against their neighbours. When the wars ended about one hundred years ago the following kings never bothered to abolish the tradition. “Well I’ll be the great grandson of a human woman raped by a troll who later had her belly beaten by her father when he found out she was pregnant, if it is my old pal Dashier,” laughed Porky as he approached and slapped Dashier firmly on the shoulder knocking him clean off his feet. Dashier picked himself up off the ground and glared indignantly at Porky as he dusted himself off. “You are, and it is,” he replied. “Sorry Dash, I’ve been told I’m a tad bitter about my lineage. Still, it saved me from having to join the army and sadly, that’s the best redeeming quality I can ever seem to come up with for it. Anyway, it’s good to see you, it has been quite a while hasn’t it?” “It has,” responded Dashier somewhat distractedly as he frowned at what appeared to be fresh horse manure on his elbow. His suspicions were confirmed as he traced the offensive trail to Porky’s cart where both horses were indulging in another session of relief. Unfortunately, his deteriorating mood was soon to get worse and so it did when he noticed his boots were nicely decorated with around-the-side-of-the-sole shit smearing. He heard his conscience giggle slightly at his misfortune and then burst into a from-the-soul laugh as he sniffed an odd smell. “Ah for fuck’s sake!” he roared. It could only be the belly-churning stink of fresh manure violently disturbed. It wafted up over him and clung to him like a lost dog when he tried to walk away. He ran to the nearby trees, kicked his boots in the loose muck, and wiped his elbow on some dead shrubs while retching periodically. He emerged after a few minutes with an expression, which could only be interpreted as – it’s going to be one of those days. “Sorry again Dash. I was really excited to see you. I was on my way to Pontaka to deliver this cart of weapons to my uncle when the wheel came off. I don’t think I could have fixed it on my own. How good are you at fixing wheels?” asked Porky apologetically. Dashier mentally calculated the amount of gold he had left and how long it would last him in Pontaka before he would be forced to find work and concluded that he might afford one good night. His expression made way for a broad smile as he returned Porky’s affectionate slap. He was momentarily disappointed when it did not have the same effect as the one he received. “So am I correct in saying Porky, old friend, that if I did not come along you may not have been able to make that delivery?” queried Dashier. “Well I suppose you could say that but someone else could have…” “Enough said,” interrupted Dashier as he turned his back to Porky and walked toward the cart. His left eyebrow raised into an arch as he continued. “I take gold up front and usually charge twenty gold pieces for my good deed of the day but since you are a friend,” he stopped and thought. “I’ll do a real upright job,” he added. “Hold on there a tick. I could nearly buy a new cart for that price!” said Porky somewhat hurt by the charge since he was an old friend. Dashier looked around and not seeing any cart stores nearby, he replied, “Maybe you could convince a few of these trees to chop themselves up and turn themselves into a cart for you. Maybe I’ll change my mind and raise the price or maybe you should stop whining like a baby, give me the cash and lift that side up while I fix the wheel back on.” Reluctantly Porky gave Dashier the gold and heaved the rear left side of the cart off the ground. It took Dashier no more than a minute to reattach the wheel and Porky’s face flashed with relief once the job was completed. In a moment of greed, Dashier decided that some company on the road to Pontaka would not go astray. Besides, he could probably hit Porky for some more gold while he was sleeping. The two of them journeyed the road for the remaining hours of light. Dashier found out that Porky was also heading to Pontaka to take up working with his uncle as a forger. He would be getting paid better and had the chance to visit the capital for the first time. Dashier did most of the talking recounting tales of various expeditions he undertook until he left the army one year ago and the more exiting ones since he left. Dashier toyed with the mental image of Porky sitting at a table tucking into brick after brick while listening to Dashier, all the while refusing the salt. He finished the tale of how he tracked down and single-handedly slew ten ogres who had raided a village for women slaves. And how they were so grateful that he pleasured all twenty-five of them that evening before returning them to their men and collecting a princely reward which he, of course, refused to accept. Dashier lapsed into silence while he wondered why the captain of Pontaka’s guards had asked him to come to the capital and furthermore why great rewards were promised. He organised to meet up with a few friends in the Scorpion’s Den tomorrow evening and was confident he would be on time. At least now, he had a little flash gold to impress potential bed warmers. Porky looked troubled as they made camp in a clearing off the road. “What’s the matter Porky?” asked Dashier. “You look like you’ve eaten a large plate of meat and can’t figure out how to tell the cow’s family how good it tasted.” “Dash,” Porky began. “I have some bad news for you but I don’t know if you already know or not so I’m trying to work out the best way of telling you.” “You’re gay and haven’t had a piece of pork in a while?” Dashier asked absent-mindedly as he collected some dead wood for a fire. “And you think I might be open-minded about the idea?” “No, no, nothing like that at all,” said Porky. “You are really hungry, don’t have enough provisions, and want to borrow my arm to tie you over until morning. Then you’ll ask if I mind giving you my other arm for breakfast?” inquired Dashier as he lit the fire and started to fish out his cooking utensils. “No, no Dash. If you’d just give me a chance I’m trying to tell you that your sister is dead.” Porky stopped as he realised he had just blurted out callously what he was trying to get across in a delicate manner. “How?” asked Dashier as he began heating some water from his canteen to make a stew from the few scraps of dried jerky he had left. “Now I’ve gone and done it,” said Porky. “Oh well I might as well just tell you. Do you remember that guy your mother didn’t want your sister to marry?” Dashier was not a very family orientated chap. In the last five years, he had not been home at all. He had sent some gold home from time to time with short messages that usually said that he was on a top-secret mission and that he could not be contacted. In truth he felt like a failure for the first few years as his rank in the army meant that he had the prestigious job of cleaning the soldiers’ mess and privies. After that he moved on to border patrol where nothing much happened and the most exciting part of each day was trying to avoid being gang raped by the lieutenant and his cronies. He prided himself with not being caught for the first six months but after the first time they realised what a sweet ass he had and it became regular. He decided to quit when he thought one time that he may actually have enjoyed it. He served guarding warehouses and escorting caravans after that. He had all but forgotten about his family until meeting Porky today. “Dexter the candlestick-maker? Yeah I remember him. Quite the ladies man. Go on,” he encouraged despite his overwhelming urge to ask Porky for gold for having to put up with his incessant chatter. “Well, now how should I put this? They got married.” “Who?” “Dexter and your sister.” “She has a name Porky,” muttered Dashier with distraction. He was concentrating on the patterns the bubbles were making in the stew-pot. As a secondary interest he had begun counting the seconds until the next lump of jerky broke the surface of the water. He remembered that someone, somewhere was talking at him and decided to pay attention. “…after all that she went home to your parents house last month. She didn’t speak to anyone for a few days. The postman got a funny smell from Dexter’s house and decided to investigate. He found Dexter dead with a knife in him…” Dashier had become fully aware of what was being said and whooped with delight. “Never did like that guy, good for her.” Porky seeing Dashier a little more animated continued with the obligatory, “But wait, there’s more.” “The authorities arrested your sist…Corpsis. They took her to the Council of Seven a few days later. The evidence was put forward and she said that she killed him in self-defence. The Council ruled that one hundred and fifty two stab wounds and castration did not constitute self-defence and she was sentenced to be sold into slavery for ten years.” “Ouch! The girl always did have a temper. Betcha he called her the F-word.” “The F-word?” “Yeah. You know the F-word, means the same as your name but nobody says it to a woman.” Dashier held out his arms forming a large circle around his waist for emphasis. “Hey, I’m not fat Dash. I’m just…” “Big Boned,” interrupted Dashier. “Anyway. She was purchased by a sea-captain as a serving wench for his crew. Last I heard the ship was sunk after an attack by pirates. She is probably dead but could have been taken as a slave,” continued Porky. “Glad I bumped into you Porky. You really have made my day. Watch the stew would you while I go chop some firewood.” With that Dashier grabbed his longsword and marched angrily off into the woods. Well, he thought, he best make a show of being upset. People generally seemed sad when things like this happened and even though he never felt that way, he didn’t want to seem callous. It wouldn’t be good for his reputation with the ladies, not that there were any around to draw sympathy from but he might as well get some practice in before he got to Pontaka. That way Porky could back up his grief stricken friend and he might get laid for free. A light drizzle started as they finished the stew so they both got settled under the cart and drifted off to sleep. Dashier began to dream. He was walking in a heavily wooded forest and the occasional high pitched shriek from an airborne reptile above the trees penetrated the green canopy. He didn’t feel bothered or startled by it. Eventually, while cursing Mother Nature’s insensitivity for putting all these trees where he had “chosen” to walk, he stumbled upon a clearing. As predicted there was a small cabin at the centre of the clearing and a little old man with a long white beard smoking a pipe and dressed in white clothes sat outside waiting for his arrival. “Come in my child. Your journey has been a long one and you have much to learn and so little time,” said the wise old man in an all-knowing tone. Dashier thinking quickly remembered that when he was a boy his mother had warned him about taking candy from strange old men. “Have you got any candy?” he asked the old man who turned and looked at him with a puzzled expression. “No I don’t but I do have some poppy-tea if that is more to your liking?” replied the old man. Quickly trying to remember all his mother had told him about poppy-tea and strange old men he found that she had said nothing on the subject. He did recall someone saying that poppy-tea had strange effects on people and deduced that the strange old man must be drinking far too much tea. “That would be lovely. But I think you should ease up off the tea. Maybe you should switch to coffee for a while at least until you lose that spooky, weirdo old-dude feel you got coming from you,” suggested Dashier, which was greeted with a frown by the old man as he disappeared into the cabin. Dashier decided to follow him. “Sit down my child and make yourself at home. You are about to be caught up in a tide of events that will change and maybe ruin your life forever. We have much to discuss and plan for Dashier,” said the old man while pouring two cups of tea. Dashier wasn’t fully listening and was very curious about the dimensions of the cabin. From the outside it seemed small consisting of one room or two small ones. Inside an open door opposite the entrance led into what appeared to be a massive library and there was a spiral staircase going up and down to his right. Dashier popped back outside just to make sure he wasn’t mistaken. Reassured he entered the cabin again and put it down to this just being an odd dream...
Parmenion Posted June 16, 2003 Author Report Posted June 16, 2003 oops, forgot this: parmenion_eire@yahoo.com
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