Grimdux
I. This is the direct sequel to Touch O' Luck
Touch O' Luck
II) It serves as a prologue to the Old Realms series.
It will be a superior reading experience
to start this story from the beginning
Please give it a good rating if you liked it, it will help the story reach a much bigger audience:)
Chapter specific maps of the realms
Maps of the Realms
'If you don’t follow the Merchant Path, but opt instead to hug the Far Peak Mountain range, straight through the desolate sands to Queen’s Point, you’ll have cut your journey in half, by the time you reach the ruins of Lebesos. But you wouldn’t have come out of the desert yet. You see from there, you’ll either head southwest hoping to find Kraken’s Spine at the end of it, or you rush East, to Dead Camel’s and Shavemont plateaus and take on the nightmare that’s the Endless Dunes, from the ancient weather-beaten Horn, to the warm waters of Devil’s Cove.'
Sir Dominique Valwarin
Also ‘The Oaf’, ‘Carmine Bard’
(A bard, adventurer, lover then knight, according to his self-inscribed epitaph stone in Altarin)
Recollections of Ebenezer Framtond describing their journey in the former’s infamous Wicked Quartet’s chronicles,
Commonly celebrated today as
Beyond Elauthin
-the tales of Ebenezer Framtond & the Fab Three-
Chapter One-
The Basilisk of Queen’s Point
*Circa described 60-78 NC
Assembled in written form along with Valwarin’s vulgar songs in 108 NC in Asturia by Duke Rupert the Second and published the next year after the famed bard’s death.
Luthos stepped on a soft turd
Raised foot to wipe it clean
‘n had his cock stricken,
by a witch’s bird
Lewd graffiti
Found in Shroudcoast’s market,
Circa 190 NC
Glen
(aka Garth)
The Architect & a Wyvern’s egg
Part I
A day after they left behind Marcus’ Grave, Glen got out of his plate armour, the metal burning his fingers. Two days after that, he was riding in his linen shirt, which the young man discarded briefly to ride bare-chested for a couple of hours. It proved an unwise decision. Seeing as he was turning a morbid darker shade of red, much as a well-roasted fat cut of meat, forgotten over the hot coals, Flix loaned him a thin silk robe to wear over it.
With his shirt and –female looking- garb on, Glen made it another two days, slowly boiling under the stupendous heat, before he declared the desert a nigh silly place to travel through. Ten days into their journey through the Desolate Sands, following the mass of the Far Peak Mountain Range, they had almost run out of water and Glen had the rich tan of a pure-bred Issir, paired with the swollen tongue of a drown dog.
“Cut left over yonder, up this slope,” Flix stoically ordered, face hidden under a shrill Hijab, clad in an almond-colored dress, large hat-like construct over that, richly decorated at its long arms with white beads.
Glen, one hand on the Cofol horse’s reins, the other on his leather flask of remaining water, eyed the rocky dry ground with incredulity. Sweat was burning his eyes and a piece of skin peeled off his nose, was hurting him something fierce.
“You want us to climb up there?” He asked, unwilling to leave the semblance of shade they’d found following this yellow dry crag, after kilometers of flat scalding sands. “Has the sun boiled yer brains?”
“I told you there’s water ahead. Hopefully,” The Gish insisted and moved ahead of him, to start up the rocky terrain. The Sun blinding over their heads.
“You said an Oasis!” Glen blasted him, his lips cracking and bleeding down his chin. “And I don’t much like dis sneaky ‘hopefully’ added shit! Ye don’t toss more words in such matters, after the bloody fact!”
“What matters?” Flix probed and turned around to look at him, hint of a smile under that cover.
“Important?” What the fuck? How is that funny? “Life and plaguin’ death?” Glen attacked the smirking Gish verbally, then stopped as getting frustrated meant he was also getting hotter and Glen had no moisture to spare.
“It’s here,” Flix said simply and turned around to lead his horse. “When we stop, avoid sitting on unshaded rocks.”
“Stop where?” Glen croaked and downed his remaining water, feeling a heat wave overcoming him to the point of fainting. Momentarily recovered, he howled at the white sky with righteous indignation. “Luthos ye darn crook of a god, we’re goin’ to die out here!”
“There,” Flix announced, having already taken the turn at the end of the vertical limestone wall. “The Oasis!”
Glen pushed his horse to stop next to his and eyed the opening amidst the rocky slopes with suspicious eyes.
There were some palm trees sprouting out of the small gorge, what appeared to be a muddy hole behind them.
That was just about it.
“That’s like four trees,” he murmured trying to locate the water source, but failing. “One of them, pretty dried up. If I give it a good kick, it’ll topple over and turn into a petrified log.”
“There’s a couple of more at the back,” Flix tried to save it, but Glen was no fool.
“Bullshit! That’s not a bloody Oasis Gish!” He griped and pushed his horse forward, looking about for a spot with enough shade to stop, but finding none.
He did find the small spring though. A finger-like crack on the rock, dribbling water.
“Well,” Glen murmured, wiping the blood and sweat off of his face.
Flix sighed. “We are pretty lucky, thank the gods. Although this looks mostly Luthos doing.”
Huh?
Glen whipped his head angrily. “Fuck are ye talking about?”
The Gish let out a whistle and jumped off his horse nimbly. “Most times, it’s just the mud. Not easy to drink from that.”
Damn it, this isn’t what I had envisioned, Glen thought, dragging his tired feet towards the pitiful spring of water, carrying two large empty leather flasks and a small one, to fill them up.
Hopefully, before that stupid thing dries up!
He uncorked the first and glanced towards the Gish still standing next to the muddy waterhole –pond was stretching it- now in the process of checking the depth, a hand sunk deep into the murky water.
“What in the Allfather are ye doing?” Glen queried, some of the water spilling on his hand, from the shock.
“Looking for a good spot,” Flix replied, dress gathered to show his hairless legs, the black boots contrasting to his pale skin, not flattering at all.
“A good spot for what?”
“Uhm… um.”
Glen rolled his eyes, seeing the old Gish almost falling inside the waterhole head first. Flix managed to keep his balance –some bloody how- right hand dipped in murky water to his shoulder, the sleeve turning a shit-dark color.
“There! Hah!” He announced joyful, finally getting up.
“Well?”
“It’s deep enough. See?” The Gish said pleased. Glen couldn’t tell, if it was, or not. “Almost a meter at this spot. Uhm.”
Glen stared at him numbly, still in the process of filling the water-flasks up.
“For me,” Flix explained, seeing him unconvinced. “Unless you want to try it first, young lad.”
“Jump in the mud,” Glen said unemotionally, to see if he’d gotten his meaning correctly.
“Well, it’s mostly water.”
“Not from where I’m standing,” Glen deadpanned.
“Haha, yeah. Right. More for me then!” Flix proclaimed, more excited than he’d been in more than a week.
“What is it with Gish and holes?” Glen asked, corking the first flask and reaching for the second.
“Water,” Flix corrected him. “You have met my kind.”
“That’s true. Two of them,” Glen replied, as the Gish untied his boots, after checking the waterhole for snakes with a long stick.
“Lovers, I take it?”
Glen blinked. “Friends. Well, one of o’ them. The other one… is iffy.”
“A thief,” Flix -who’d probably seen Alix alongside Glen, during their exodus from Rida- commented casually. “Rather handsome, for a Gish.”
“Huh, I don’t know about that. Pretty though, is… cute,” Glen blushed at that.
“There’s a moniker worthy of note,” Flix said, looking at him impressed.
“The full moniker is ‘Pretty Nose’, so I don’t know about that either,” Glen retorted, recovering.
“I bet she loves it,” Flix commented with a chuckle. “Ah, the young are so much fun. Hehe.”
“How can you tell, she’s a female? Is it the name?” Glen asked him curious, finishing up with the second flask and reaching for the one he always carried over his shoulder.
“Nah, I could tell right away, by the manner you spoke of her. Gish names are androgynous by the way.”
“That sounds confusing,” Glen noticed.
“Not really. We don’t care about it enough, is all,” Flix replied with a shrug. “A Gish can pick any name he, or she, wants. We don’t like rules, unless we can break them. Then we love rules…” He sighed, hanging his head. Flix had removed his Hijab. “I guess this applies mostly to your friends, my life wasn’t typical.”
Right.
“Because of the whole Servants thing?” Glen asked, finishing up with his last flask.
Flix smacked his lips and stared at the waterhole.
“I started as a slave, Garth,” he finally said.
“We talked about this. The name is Glen,” Glen hissed and approached, stopping to drop the heavy water-flasks under a palm tree.
“Nah, you mostly gave up,” Flix insisted. “Do you mind?” He asked seeing him walking to his spot.
“What?” Glen queried, narrowing his eyes.
The Gish made a grimace with his wrinkled, rosy face that meant nothing to Glen.
Flix sighed, a little apprehensively.
“I’ll admit I became rather shy,” he revealed with an uncomfortable blush. “In my older age.”
Glen pushed a sweaty and hot mass of hair away from his forehead, the skin irritated to the touch and stared at the older Gish for a good minute.
“Seriously?” Glen finally asked.
“Yep.”
Luthos stepped on a soft turd.
“That’s not my experience with yer kind,” Glen pointed out, but turned his back so he can undress. “Like at all.”
You don’t want to see this.
I’m dead serious here.
Oh, for fuck’s sake! Glen griped inwardly and walked frustrated to their animals, now resting the two biggest trees in this tiny copse. Where have you been? He asked the stupid voice in his head. He got no answer back and Glen poured his frustration on unloading their supplies and armor, the large sack holding Jinx’s weird egg, another laden with dried up and salted pork, hardtack and fat sealed in glass jars and two large sacks with feed for the animals, mostly grain. Marcus had packed all that and Flix had somehow gotten hold of one of their mules during the rumpus at the East Gates.
Glen found a flat rock, under a tall palm tree –two of them were mature enough to offer shade, another five or so were decent and the rest, either too small, or just dried up and dead. The small Oasis had a sum of a mere fifteen palm trees all and all. Number of trees aside, Glen deposited the sack with the egg on that rock and placed the saddle of the Cofol horse down, right next to it, to use as a seat. The shade had moved in the meantime and he had to move the finely-ornamented saddle again, much further back, murmuring under his breath and sweating all the water he’d drunk right out, while Flix enjoyed his mud-bath whistling an annoying tune, not a care in the world.
“What about the water?” Glen asked, when he made himself comfortable. He used a dirty piece of cloth to wipe his face and then checked on the tip of his nose still hurting, the skin there peeling off, well cooked.
“We need to sleep once a week or so in it, in order to rejuvenate… ahm, our bodies,” Flix replied turning his head, so he can see him fully. The Gish was about ten feet from him, up to his neck sunk in the sludgy hole.
“What if you don’t?” Glen probed and stooped to get a biscuit to chew on. He heard something moving about, narrowed his eyes and then looked suspiciously around the large tree trunk.
“We slowly weaken and get sick,” Flix explained and seeing the young man alarmed, he added. “It’s probably a snake.”
“I’ve checked for snakes!” Glen shrieked, his voice cracking a bit and got up from the saddle.
“Desert snakes are pretty sneaky,” Flix said with a grin.
“You think?”
“No, I’m certain.”
“There’s no snake here!”
“You probably scared it away.”
“Good then!”
“Don’t be all wound up about it.”
“I’m not!”
Glen sat down puffing out hard and reached for the sack again to fish out something to eat.
“Smoke some redleaf to calm yourself down,” Flix suggested and Glen envisioned throwing the hardtack on his head. Sturdy as the piece he held was, it would probably crack the Gish’s head open, than bounce off of it. “If you prep a fire, I’ll make a stew on it,” Flix added.
“You want me to build a fire?”
In this bloody heat!
“A small one shall suffice.”
Glen smacked his lips and got up again, his back protesting. “Any other wishes?”
“Fill my flasks with water, if you have the time,” Flix said politely and lowered his head even more, the murky waters reaching under his eyes.
Ye darn sneaky ‘n noseless wrinkled brat!
A fire needs wood, so Glen searched about the pitiful oasis for stray pieces and broke more branches out of a dried up and dead Palm tree, using kicks and curses to vent his frustration. Drenched in sweat, he returned to their camp to find out the sun had moved again, taking the shade with it. Repositioning the saddle and building a small firepit with stones gathered from the entrance of the cove, he lost about another hour, doing what could only be described as hard labor in horrendous conditions.
“Hey!” He yelled at the still and with only a bit of washed-out pink hair showing, Gish. “Are you dead?”
Flix raised his head out of the waterhole, half his face muddy now. “Alas, that’s so close to the truth. My best years are behind me, I’m afraid. Not much left in the tank.”
“How old are you?”
“It’s not polite to ask a lady for her age, Garth,” Flix replied, sounding serious and genuinely insulted.
Huh?
“You’re not a lady!” He blasted him. “And stop with the plaguin’ Garth shit!”
“Let’s agree to disagree on that.”
“Sometimes you answer, others ye don’t,” Glen noticed, shaking his head.
“I’ve told you many things.”
“Sure ye did.”
“You need to keep the conversation under control, never let it veer away,” Flix advised him. “But you know that as well.”
“I do,” Glen replied, staring at the sun slowly sinking, behind the walls of limestone surrounding the small gorge.
“Don’t expect people to tell you things, just because you ask,” Flix continued. “To learn secrets, first learn to keep them.”
Learn to listen, Lith whispered.
Mind where you are.
Glen nodded and stared at the stone surfaced biscuit. His teeth were hurting at the mere thought of biting on it.
“There’s no one here,” he finally said. “Not since we entered the desert.”
Flix pushed himself to rise from the waterhole. “That is true.”
Glen turned his head the other way, to give him some privacy. He heard water splashing, as the Gish moved about out of sight near their animals.
“Where’s the egg?” Flix asked casually, a moment later.
“I got everything under the shade over there,” Glen replied pointing with the hardtack.
“On the rock? Oh, goddess,” Flix commented annoyingly and the young former thief got up to approach the small bodied and now covered with a soaked tunic, Gish. Glen scratched his head and stared at their supplies, everything in a neat pile around the flat rock that was once under a pretty decent shade. The egg right on top of it.
Glen snorted, his nose itching something fierce.
“Twas under it a couple of hours back,” he defended his choice, while blushing a bit. “And these supplies are as dry as they’ll ever be, I reckon.”
Flix sighed and stooped to pick up the sack containing the big egg. Darn thing was as big as the Gish’s torso. He carried it carefully to the shaded side of the Palm tree, with Glen following perplexed and lay it down on the soft sand.
“Isn’t the sand like a furnace on that side?” Glen probed, to make a point.
Flix now in the process of getting the black –though green-striped here and there- large egg out nodded, after touching its scaly surface -almost fearfully- a few times to check its temperature.
“It’ll help,” the Gish said simply.
“Is that thing alive?” Glen asked, looking at the sinister round ovum.
“It’s ancient. At least a couple of centuries old,” Flix glanced at him. “But not older than me.”
“Haha,” Glen guffawed, until he realized Flix wasn’t jesting this time. “Wait, egg age aside, are ye fuckin’ serious?”
“It’s not something, I enjoy talking about, but yes. Why would I lie on this matter?” Flix replied affronted.
“How long does the Gish normally live?”
“No longer than the Folk. Nowhere close to the Zilan, or the Wyverns,” Flix added, pointing to the black egg half sunk in the sand.
Right.
“Can we eat it?” He finally asked, after thinking about everything he’d learned and seeing the Gish staring at him befuddled, he added a little apprehensively. “After it’s all done of course.”
Ahahaha! HAHA!
Imagine the angst! Yes, DEW IT—
Hey, fucker! Glen snapped at the stupid voice popping in and out of serious conversations. Either learn to answer questions or—
Or what?
Glen stormed away and headed towards the tiny spring seething. He splashed himself –mostly his face and head- with as much water as he could gather in his palms, his skin hurting, badly burned from sun exposure and his eyes tearing up.
You haven’t thought this through kid.
“Thought what?” Glen blasted and Flix turned his derelict face and stared at him curious. Glen licked his lips and returned the Gish’s stare, remembering their earlier half-talks.
“Who’s Gimoss Gish?” He asked and Flix’s wrinkled mouth pressed down on his round jaw. Then the Gish rubbed both his hands on his still wet hair, whatever was left of them and sighed.
“A ghastly myth,” he finally replied, voice barely above a whisper. “The Old Realms Crafters god,” Flix shook his head and grimaced. “Some thought, it might have been a Wyvern. A bad one.”
“You’ve seen one,” Glen asked him, “A Wyvern.”
“Aye, I have,” Flix said, with a nervous glance at the motionless egg. “Everyone in Goras had seen them.”
Wow, Glen thought intrigued.
Luthos cock stricken by the witch’s bird.
“How many were there?”
“I know of Turlas, Nenderu and Ovinet,” Flix blurted out, arms nervously hugging his shoulders.
“And Gimoss?” Glen pressed on.
“He was before them, but didn’t live on Eplas,” Flix replied. “The Aken were the ones that talked about him, that is the tale I’ve heard,” he smiled bitterly at that. “I guess none of you ever learned about it. It makes the tale about your meeting with the Sorceress ring truer now.”
“I was telling the truth!” Glen blasted him, the insult cutting deep.
“Much as you knew it,” Flix agreed, not wanting to anger him more. “She would know of Gimoss for sure though. Aelrindel is much older than Ralnor after all and her mother fought at the Plague Isles.”
“When was that?” Remembering the name from his talks with Fikumin months back.
“Ah, ten or fifteen centuries in the past. You’ll need to read a book in the Library for that,” Flix said and shrugged. “I’ll boil some water for the stew.”
“Okay,” Glen replied numbly, desperately trying to sort through all the information.
I’m an Architect first and foremost, Gimoss hissed and he sounded all furious now, the moment Flix walked away from Glen.
That balless, trout-faced whore, is keeping the best parts out!
Grimdux
I. This is the direct sequel to Touch O' Luck
Touch O' Luck
II) It serves as a prologue to the Old Realms series.
It will be a superior reading experience
to start this story from the beginning
Please give it a good rating if you liked it, it will help the story reach a much bigger audience:)
Chapter specific maps of the realms
Maps of the Realms
'If you don’t follow the Merchant Path, but opt instead to hug the Far Peak Mountain range, straight through the desolate sands to Queen’s Point, you’ll have cut your journey in half, by the time you reach the ruins of Lebesos. But you wouldn’t have come out of the desert yet. You see from there, you’ll either head southwest hoping to find Kraken’s Spine at the end of it, or you rush East, to Dead Camel’s and Shavemont plateaus and take on the nightmare that’s the Endless Dunes, from the ancient weather-beaten Horn, to the warm waters of Devil’s Cove.'
Sir Dominique Valwarin
Also ‘The Oaf’, ‘Carmine Bard’
(A bard, adventurer, lover then knight, according to his self-inscribed epitaph stone in Altarin)
Recollections of Ebenezer Framtond describing their journey in the former’s infamous Wicked Quartet’s chronicles,
Commonly celebrated today as
Beyond Elauthin
-the tales of Ebenezer Framtond & the Fab Three-
Chapter One-
The Basilisk of Queen’s Point
*Circa described 60-78 NC
Assembled in written form along with Valwarin’s vulgar songs in 108 NC in Asturia by Duke Rupert the Second and published the next year after the famed bard’s death.
Luthos stepped on a soft turd
Raised foot to wipe it clean
‘n had his cock stricken,
by a witch’s bird
Lewd graffiti
Found in Shroudcoast’s market,
Circa 190 NC
Glen
(aka Garth)
The Architect & a Wyvern’s egg
Part I
A day after they left behind Marcus’ Grave, Glen got out of his plate armour, the metal burning his fingers. Two days after that, he was riding in his linen shirt, which the young man discarded briefly to ride bare-chested for a couple of hours. It proved an unwise decision. Seeing as he was turning a morbid darker shade of red, much as a well-roasted fat cut of meat, forgotten over the hot coals, Flix loaned him a thin silk robe to wear over it.
With his shirt and –female looking- garb on, Glen made it another two days, slowly boiling under the stupendous heat, before he declared the desert a nigh silly place to travel through. Ten days into their journey through the Desolate Sands, following the mass of the Far Peak Mountain Range, they had almost run out of water and Glen had the rich tan of a pure-bred Issir, paired with the swollen tongue of a drown dog.
“Cut left over yonder, up this slope,” Flix stoically ordered, face hidden under a shrill Hijab, clad in an almond-colored dress, large hat-like construct over that, richly decorated at its long arms with white beads.
Glen, one hand on the Cofol horse’s reins, the other on his leather flask of remaining water, eyed the rocky dry ground with incredulity. Sweat was burning his eyes and a piece of skin peeled off his nose, was hurting him something fierce.
“You want us to climb up there?” He asked, unwilling to leave the semblance of shade they’d found following this yellow dry crag, after kilometers of flat scalding sands. “Has the sun boiled yer brains?”
“I told you there’s water ahead. Hopefully,” The Gish insisted and moved ahead of him, to start up the rocky terrain. The Sun blinding over their heads.
“You said an Oasis!” Glen blasted him, his lips cracking and bleeding down his chin. “And I don’t much like dis sneaky ‘hopefully’ added shit! Ye don’t toss more words in such matters, after the bloody fact!”
“What matters?” Flix probed and turned around to look at him, hint of a smile under that cover.
“Important?” What the fuck? How is that funny? “Life and plaguin’ death?” Glen attacked the smirking Gish verbally, then stopped as getting frustrated meant he was also getting hotter and Glen had no moisture to spare.
“It’s here,” Flix said simply and turned around to lead his horse. “When we stop, avoid sitting on unshaded rocks.”
“Stop where?” Glen croaked and downed his remaining water, feeling a heat wave overcoming him to the point of fainting. Momentarily recovered, he howled at the white sky with righteous indignation. “Luthos ye darn crook of a god, we’re goin’ to die out here!”
“There,” Flix announced, having already taken the turn at the end of the vertical limestone wall. “The Oasis!”
Glen pushed his horse to stop next to his and eyed the opening amidst the rocky slopes with suspicious eyes.
There were some palm trees sprouting out of the small gorge, what appeared to be a muddy hole behind them.
That was just about it.
“That’s like four trees,” he murmured trying to locate the water source, but failing. “One of them, pretty dried up. If I give it a good kick, it’ll topple over and turn into a petrified log.”
“There’s a couple of more at the back,” Flix tried to save it, but Glen was no fool.
“Bullshit! That’s not a bloody Oasis Gish!” He griped and pushed his horse forward, looking about for a spot with enough shade to stop, but finding none.
He did find the small spring though. A finger-like crack on the rock, dribbling water.
“Well,” Glen murmured, wiping the blood and sweat off of his face.
Flix sighed. “We are pretty lucky, thank the gods. Although this looks mostly Luthos doing.”
Huh?
Glen whipped his head angrily. “Fuck are ye talking about?”
The Gish let out a whistle and jumped off his horse nimbly. “Most times, it’s just the mud. Not easy to drink from that.”
Damn it, this isn’t what I had envisioned, Glen thought, dragging his tired feet towards the pitiful spring of water, carrying two large empty leather flasks and a small one, to fill them up.
Hopefully, before that stupid thing dries up!
He uncorked the first and glanced towards the Gish still standing next to the muddy waterhole –pond was stretching it- now in the process of checking the depth, a hand sunk deep into the murky water.
“What in the Allfather are ye doing?” Glen queried, some of the water spilling on his hand, from the shock.
“Looking for a good spot,” Flix replied, dress gathered to show his hairless legs, the black boots contrasting to his pale skin, not flattering at all.
“A good spot for what?”
“Uhm… um.”
Glen rolled his eyes, seeing the old Gish almost falling inside the waterhole head first. Flix managed to keep his balance –some bloody how- right hand dipped in murky water to his shoulder, the sleeve turning a shit-dark color.
“There! Hah!” He announced joyful, finally getting up.
“Well?”
“It’s deep enough. See?” The Gish said pleased. Glen couldn’t tell, if it was, or not. “Almost a meter at this spot. Uhm.”
Glen stared at him numbly, still in the process of filling the water-flasks up.
“For me,” Flix explained, seeing him unconvinced. “Unless you want to try it first, young lad.”
“Jump in the mud,” Glen said unemotionally, to see if he’d gotten his meaning correctly.
“Well, it’s mostly water.”
“Not from where I’m standing,” Glen deadpanned.
“Haha, yeah. Right. More for me then!” Flix proclaimed, more excited than he’d been in more than a week.
“What is it with Gish and holes?” Glen asked, corking the first flask and reaching for the second.
“Water,” Flix corrected him. “You have met my kind.”
“That’s true. Two of them,” Glen replied, as the Gish untied his boots, after checking the waterhole for snakes with a long stick.
“Lovers, I take it?”
Glen blinked. “Friends. Well, one of o’ them. The other one… is iffy.”
“A thief,” Flix -who’d probably seen Alix alongside Glen, during their exodus from Rida- commented casually. “Rather handsome, for a Gish.”
“Huh, I don’t know about that. Pretty though, is… cute,” Glen blushed at that.
“There’s a moniker worthy of note,” Flix said, looking at him impressed.
“The full moniker is ‘Pretty Nose’, so I don’t know about that either,” Glen retorted, recovering.
“I bet she loves it,” Flix commented with a chuckle. “Ah, the young are so much fun. Hehe.”
“How can you tell, she’s a female? Is it the name?” Glen asked him curious, finishing up with the second flask and reaching for the one he always carried over his shoulder.
“Nah, I could tell right away, by the manner you spoke of her. Gish names are androgynous by the way.”
“That sounds confusing,” Glen noticed.
“Not really. We don’t care about it enough, is all,” Flix replied with a shrug. “A Gish can pick any name he, or she, wants. We don’t like rules, unless we can break them. Then we love rules…” He sighed, hanging his head. Flix had removed his Hijab. “I guess this applies mostly to your friends, my life wasn’t typical.”
Right.
“Because of the whole Servants thing?” Glen asked, finishing up with his last flask.
Flix smacked his lips and stared at the waterhole.
“I started as a slave, Garth,” he finally said.
“We talked about this. The name is Glen,” Glen hissed and approached, stopping to drop the heavy water-flasks under a palm tree.
“Nah, you mostly gave up,” Flix insisted. “Do you mind?” He asked seeing him walking to his spot.
“What?” Glen queried, narrowing his eyes.
The Gish made a grimace with his wrinkled, rosy face that meant nothing to Glen.
Flix sighed, a little apprehensively.
“I’ll admit I became rather shy,” he revealed with an uncomfortable blush. “In my older age.”
Glen pushed a sweaty and hot mass of hair away from his forehead, the skin irritated to the touch and stared at the older Gish for a good minute.
“Seriously?” Glen finally asked.
“Yep.”
Luthos stepped on a soft turd.
“That’s not my experience with yer kind,” Glen pointed out, but turned his back so he can undress. “Like at all.”
You don’t want to see this.
I’m dead serious here.
Oh, for fuck’s sake! Glen griped inwardly and walked frustrated to their animals, now resting the two biggest trees in this tiny copse. Where have you been? He asked the stupid voice in his head. He got no answer back and Glen poured his frustration on unloading their supplies and armor, the large sack holding Jinx’s weird egg, another laden with dried up and salted pork, hardtack and fat sealed in glass jars and two large sacks with feed for the animals, mostly grain. Marcus had packed all that and Flix had somehow gotten hold of one of their mules during the rumpus at the East Gates.
Glen found a flat rock, under a tall palm tree –two of them were mature enough to offer shade, another five or so were decent and the rest, either too small, or just dried up and dead. The small Oasis had a sum of a mere fifteen palm trees all and all. Number of trees aside, Glen deposited the sack with the egg on that rock and placed the saddle of the Cofol horse down, right next to it, to use as a seat. The shade had moved in the meantime and he had to move the finely-ornamented saddle again, much further back, murmuring under his breath and sweating all the water he’d drunk right out, while Flix enjoyed his mud-bath whistling an annoying tune, not a care in the world.
“What about the water?” Glen asked, when he made himself comfortable. He used a dirty piece of cloth to wipe his face and then checked on the tip of his nose still hurting, the skin there peeling off, well cooked.
“We need to sleep once a week or so in it, in order to rejuvenate… ahm, our bodies,” Flix replied turning his head, so he can see him fully. The Gish was about ten feet from him, up to his neck sunk in the sludgy hole.
“What if you don’t?” Glen probed and stooped to get a biscuit to chew on. He heard something moving about, narrowed his eyes and then looked suspiciously around the large tree trunk.
“We slowly weaken and get sick,” Flix explained and seeing the young man alarmed, he added. “It’s probably a snake.”
“I’ve checked for snakes!” Glen shrieked, his voice cracking a bit and got up from the saddle.
“Desert snakes are pretty sneaky,” Flix said with a grin.
“You think?”
“No, I’m certain.”
“There’s no snake here!”
“You probably scared it away.”
“Good then!”
“Don’t be all wound up about it.”
“I’m not!”
Glen sat down puffing out hard and reached for the sack again to fish out something to eat.
“Smoke some redleaf to calm yourself down,” Flix suggested and Glen envisioned throwing the hardtack on his head. Sturdy as the piece he held was, it would probably crack the Gish’s head open, than bounce off of it. “If you prep a fire, I’ll make a stew on it,” Flix added.
“You want me to build a fire?”
In this bloody heat!
“A small one shall suffice.”
Glen smacked his lips and got up again, his back protesting. “Any other wishes?”
“Fill my flasks with water, if you have the time,” Flix said politely and lowered his head even more, the murky waters reaching under his eyes.
Ye darn sneaky ‘n noseless wrinkled brat!
A fire needs wood, so Glen searched about the pitiful oasis for stray pieces and broke more branches out of a dried up and dead Palm tree, using kicks and curses to vent his frustration. Drenched in sweat, he returned to their camp to find out the sun had moved again, taking the shade with it. Repositioning the saddle and building a small firepit with stones gathered from the entrance of the cove, he lost about another hour, doing what could only be described as hard labor in horrendous conditions.
“Hey!” He yelled at the still and with only a bit of washed-out pink hair showing, Gish. “Are you dead?”
Flix raised his head out of the waterhole, half his face muddy now. “Alas, that’s so close to the truth. My best years are behind me, I’m afraid. Not much left in the tank.”
“How old are you?”
“It’s not polite to ask a lady for her age, Garth,” Flix replied, sounding serious and genuinely insulted.
Huh?
“You’re not a lady!” He blasted him. “And stop with the plaguin’ Garth shit!”
“Let’s agree to disagree on that.”
“Sometimes you answer, others ye don’t,” Glen noticed, shaking his head.
“I’ve told you many things.”
“Sure ye did.”
“You need to keep the conversation under control, never let it veer away,” Flix advised him. “But you know that as well.”
“I do,” Glen replied, staring at the sun slowly sinking, behind the walls of limestone surrounding the small gorge.
“Don’t expect people to tell you things, just because you ask,” Flix continued. “To learn secrets, first learn to keep them.”
Learn to listen, Lith whispered.
Mind where you are.
Glen nodded and stared at the stone surfaced biscuit. His teeth were hurting at the mere thought of biting on it.
“There’s no one here,” he finally said. “Not since we entered the desert.”
Flix pushed himself to rise from the waterhole. “That is true.”
Glen turned his head the other way, to give him some privacy. He heard water splashing, as the Gish moved about out of sight near their animals.
“Where’s the egg?” Flix asked casually, a moment later.
“I got everything under the shade over there,” Glen replied pointing with the hardtack.
“On the rock? Oh, goddess,” Flix commented annoyingly and the young former thief got up to approach the small bodied and now covered with a soaked tunic, Gish. Glen scratched his head and stared at their supplies, everything in a neat pile around the flat rock that was once under a pretty decent shade. The egg right on top of it.
Glen snorted, his nose itching something fierce.
“Twas under it a couple of hours back,” he defended his choice, while blushing a bit. “And these supplies are as dry as they’ll ever be, I reckon.”
Flix sighed and stooped to pick up the sack containing the big egg. Darn thing was as big as the Gish’s torso. He carried it carefully to the shaded side of the Palm tree, with Glen following perplexed and lay it down on the soft sand.
“Isn’t the sand like a furnace on that side?” Glen probed, to make a point.
Flix now in the process of getting the black –though green-striped here and there- large egg out nodded, after touching its scaly surface -almost fearfully- a few times to check its temperature.
“It’ll help,” the Gish said simply.
“Is that thing alive?” Glen asked, looking at the sinister round ovum.
“It’s ancient. At least a couple of centuries old,” Flix glanced at him. “But not older than me.”
“Haha,” Glen guffawed, until he realized Flix wasn’t jesting this time. “Wait, egg age aside, are ye fuckin’ serious?”
“It’s not something, I enjoy talking about, but yes. Why would I lie on this matter?” Flix replied affronted.
“How long does the Gish normally live?”
“No longer than the Folk. Nowhere close to the Zilan, or the Wyverns,” Flix added, pointing to the black egg half sunk in the sand.
Right.
“Can we eat it?” He finally asked, after thinking about everything he’d learned and seeing the Gish staring at him befuddled, he added a little apprehensively. “After it’s all done of course.”
Ahahaha! HAHA!
Imagine the angst! Yes, DEW IT—
Hey, fucker! Glen snapped at the stupid voice popping in and out of serious conversations. Either learn to answer questions or—
Or what?
Glen stormed away and headed towards the tiny spring seething. He splashed himself –mostly his face and head- with as much water as he could gather in his palms, his skin hurting, badly burned from sun exposure and his eyes tearing up.
You haven’t thought this through kid.
“Thought what?” Glen blasted and Flix turned his derelict face and stared at him curious. Glen licked his lips and returned the Gish’s stare, remembering their earlier half-talks.
“Who’s Gimoss Gish?” He asked and Flix’s wrinkled mouth pressed down on his round jaw. Then the Gish rubbed both his hands on his still wet hair, whatever was left of them and sighed.
“A ghastly myth,” he finally replied, voice barely above a whisper. “The Old Realms Crafters god,” Flix shook his head and grimaced. “Some thought, it might have been a Wyvern. A bad one.”
“You’ve seen one,” Glen asked him, “A Wyvern.”
“Aye, I have,” Flix said, with a nervous glance at the motionless egg. “Everyone in Goras had seen them.”
Wow, Glen thought intrigued.
Luthos cock stricken by the witch’s bird.
“How many were there?”
“I know of Turlas, Nenderu and Ovinet,” Flix blurted out, arms nervously hugging his shoulders.
“And Gimoss?” Glen pressed on.
“He was before them, but didn’t live on Eplas,” Flix replied. “The Aken were the ones that talked about him, that is the tale I’ve heard,” he smiled bitterly at that. “I guess none of you ever learned about it. It makes the tale about your meeting with the Sorceress ring truer now.”
“I was telling the truth!” Glen blasted him, the insult cutting deep.
“Much as you knew it,” Flix agreed, not wanting to anger him more. “She would know of Gimoss for sure though. Aelrindel is much older than Ralnor after all and her mother fought at the Plague Isles.”
“When was that?” Remembering the name from his talks with Fikumin months back.
“Ah, ten or fifteen centuries in the past. You’ll need to read a book in the Library for that,” Flix said and shrugged. “I’ll boil some water for the stew.”
“Okay,” Glen replied numbly, desperately trying to sort through all the information.
I’m an Architect first and foremost, Gimoss hissed and he sounded all furious now, the moment Flix walked away from Glen.
That balless, trout-faced whore, is keeping the best parts out!
