(With apologies for the delay...)
As I left to follow the trail, a quick glance back showed that Ravyn was coming to and Herne was moving around a little bit better than he had been only a few minutes earlier. Something inside told me not to tarry long however, there was a nagging feeling that I had something to finish, and quickly.
I tightened my grip on each drawn Witchbane blade and started to follow the trail of glowing green ichor to where Grendel had decided to retreat.
The path was rather straightforward. the tunnel seemed to be heading straight, with perhaps a slight, almost imperceptible curve to the right, and an ever so slight feeling of descending as well. The thin layer of mud and even the occasional puddle of stale looking water made the trail that much easier to follow, even though there were several sets of tracks, probably his travel over the last few weeks. Apparently this place was his own personal highway through Manhattan.
There were literally dozens of side passages, old rusted doors, and wrenched open grates, both in the ceiling above and in the floor itself. Many of them showed usage of some sort, with tracks leading to and fro, but the trail I was following now was right down the middle of this passageway.
After about a half mile, the passageway took more an angle downwards, causing me to slow down, the mud was slippery, and the slope was steep enough to make the descent more than a little harrowing, especially since it went on this way for quite some time.
As I descended, I felt something almost familiar about the unknown place I was approaching. It took me a couple of minutes to recognize the spiritual residue I had felt when I had visited Ground Zero when i had first come to New York. I was definitely coming close that place again. It felt very similar, but there was a distinct difference in...flavor? There was a building sense of dread that I tried to stamp down until I realized that it was not something that I was personally feeling, but something that was pervasively present. It was emanating from where it was that I was heading.
Up ahead I saw the tunnel begin to level out, but it also made a sharp turn to the right, obscuring whatever was at the end of the tunnel itself. Something, no someone, lay slumped on the floor right at the corner. As I approached, I could make out the prone form of the one armed Grendel.
His form lay completely still. In my various encounters with him, I could not ever recall having seen whether or not it breathed in the way that all living vertebrates do, so I wasn’t entirely sure that he wasn’t faking his ‘death’ as I approached.
I came to stand just out of easy reach in case he was still ‘alive’ and surveyed my surroundings. The feelings of dread, fear, and...sorrow seemed to flow from the dark doorway at the end of the tunnel, just beyond where Grendel’s prone form lay. He was laying face down, his one arm reached out towards the inky blackness that somehow seemed to be reaching out towards him as well. There was a small puddle of his ichor pooled around his wounded shoulder, but nothing seemed to be flowing anymore.
I moved next to the body, prodded it with one foot. No response.
I crouched down next to him, used the tip of one of the blades to just puncture his skin, again no reaction.
OK, I thought to myself, if it doesn’t rect to being pinked by one of these blades, then his well and truly dead.
I put one blade aside and used that hand to grab his intact shoulder to roll him over. His body was nearly as heavy as mine, so it took quite an effort, but it did roll over part of the way. His face didn’t seem quite as demonic laying there as it had when he was alive. His face was a mask of pain and suffering as he had bled to death short of his goal.
As I was examining his face and features, I noticed a tendril of darkness emerging from the doorway and making its way cautiously towards us.
I jumped back for a moment, grabbed that other blade and assumed a defensive position. The tendril soon assumed the clear shape of an inky black tentacle that seemed to be formed not of flesh and muscle, but of the very darkness itself.
It reached out slowly towards the prone form of Grendel, it brushed up gently against his face, almost stroking his cheek lik a mother would her child...
Uh oh, Mama Grendel does exist. This can’t be good.
A second tendril began to emerge from the darkness that enshrouded the doorway, this one a little thicker than the last one. It also formed into a tentacle and started reaching out towards me tentatively.
I was curious, but not that damn curious. As soon as the tentacle got close enough, I lashed out with one of the Witchbane blades and watched satisfied as the part of the tentacle that I sliced off dissipated into a harmless smoke, while the remainder of the thing jerked back to the safety inside the doorway. The first tentacle also withdrew when I approached Grendel’s body waving the blades.
So there I stood over the dead body of my slain foe, glaring menacingly at an unnaturally black doorway. Somewhere in that darkness, Mama Grendel waited, but for how long?
“Why have you done this to my son?”
I about jumped out of my skin when I heard that question. Startled beyond words for a moment, I looked up from Grendel’s body to see a female form emerge from the doorway, although it was pretty hard to distinguish her features, she was made of the same ephemeral stuff as the tentacles had been, only the barest glints of light reflected off the shiny surface of her skin. She stood just outside of the doorway, her voice had a smoky quality to it, but I couldn’t be sure I actually heard the voice, or if came inside my mind as some sor tof telepathic message.
“I ask you again, Slayer, why have you slain my son? I must know why you have done this.”
“Uh...well you do know that he has been killing people in the City above, don’t you?”
“Grendel was a hunter. He hunted for me. He brought me sustenance. He was a good son!”
“Well, I’m sorry, but I can’t let you feed off of innocent people like that. Your son committed serious crimes against the people of this city, for that he had to be brought to justice.”
She spat at me, “Justice! What is this Justice you speak of. Our people have been cast away from your society for time immemorial. We do what we must to survive!”
“Your people? There are more of you?”
She laughed at this, approaching just a little bit more, growing in size perceptibly. “Fool! There are many of us, hidden away in the crooks and crannies of your so-called society. We feed in the Dark of Night! We bring terror and nightmares wherever we go. You take us wherever you go, for we are bound to you as one, yet you reject any knowledge of our presence. We are called by many names, demons by some, Children of Cain by others. We are the Vampires, the Werewolves, the Evil Within!”
As she loomed ever closer, I slashed out with one of the blades, it sliced through her like a hot knife through butter. Her form dissipated like so much smoke.
The voice came back inside my mind, “Fool, your blades will only affect the part of me that I choose to make flesh! We shall see how well you stand against my full might!”
A dozen large black tentacles launched from the doorway and snatched at me. I lashed out with both blades cutting off large pieces that merely dissolved when I hit them, but more kept coming out. Bdefore I knew what was happening, there were more tentacles than I could fight, one grabbed an ankle, another grabbed a wrist. Soon I was immobilized and was being dragged into the doorway, into her den.
I struggled whenver the chance was allowed, slicing at unseen appendages, feeling those disappear, only to be replaced by two more for each one I destroyed. One wrist became so entangled, that I felt the blade wrested from my grasp. It took a moment for the distant clank of it hitting the floor to tell me that I was fairly high up, suspended by the grapsing, pulling tentacles.
“Ah, I sense that you are closer to us now than to the humans whom you serve at the moment. Why do you serve those fools, when your powers could be much more usefully employed with us?”
“Never!” I gasped out loud, even though I felt the possibility of answering mentally.
“I know your Creator, your Father. I have met him many times. Why have you rebelled against Him?”
I responded mentally this time, since my face was covered by a pair of heavy tentacles. “Drake is not my father, or my creator! I am a man, a human being!”
Her voice almost purred as she answered, “Correction, you were a human. But now you are one of Us. We are brethren, you and I. Cease your struggling, and I shall teach you things, powers, that you have only dreamed of acquiring. I can give you the strength to overcome your Father!”
“I’ll never serve you! You and all of your ilk should be destroyed!”
“That is impossible. As long as humans exist, they will fear the dark, they will lust for what they cannot have. Their fears, their greed, their avarice and hatred, their lust are what feeds us. As long as humans are human, they will create that which they fear the most, they create us, we feed on them. It is a cycle that is as natural as the cycle of life and death that you have violated with your very existence.”
“I will never become like you. I am human!”
“Very well. If you wish to be human so badly, then perhaps I shall treat you as such. It seems a shame to destroy this body though. Perhaps I can make use of it after all!”
As she said that, I could feel the tip of one of those tentacles force itself into my mouth, then elongate and force itself into my body. I tried to push back Spiritually, like I had against Papa Locks that time we had faced him in the mine, but to no avail. It was like trying to stop an avalanche with a shovel, the force of her entering my body and taking control was too overwhelming.
I had a sense of falling as I was pushed back within my body, into smaller and smaller spaces within it. More and more of her essence filled my body, I soon ceased my efforts to resist her, and instead forced my way to the one hand that still held something in its grasp.
I could barely feel that the body was now standing on its own as the tentacles had all dissipated as she had filled my body with her essence. A strange feeling of near limitless power surged through the parts of the body that I could still feel, but no longer control I had been forced into the one arm, but I could feel her essence overwhelming me even there. Too much longer and I would be consumed by the power of her evil essence.
Gathering all of my remaining strength, all remaining vestiges of my control over my own body, I reversed the grip on the blade in my hand and began to bring it up to her/my chest.
She was trying to resist, but with all of her power over things magickal, she was new to my body and had not yet learned how to control it very well. I felt her try to fight me internally. A struggle of Wills ensued that I nearly lost, as her overwhelming power began to absorb me within her vastness.
With one final, desperate push, I surendered the fight against her spiritually so that I could plunge the dagger deep into her/my chest.
Pain...exquisite, blinding pain like I had’t felt since that fateful Halloween evening nearly two years ago. Pain...darkness...release...
In the far distance, I hear a small desperate female voice calling out froma million miles away. “Rusty! NOOOOO! Don’t you quit on...me....”
Sunday, July 31, 2005
Thursday, July 28, 2005
Boneswulf...Part 6
I sat up from my newly prone position. My hand was still clamped to the wrist of the arm that had blown off the creature. I held it up to take a closer look, saw small tendrils of smoke billowing up from about a dozen places and tossed the arm to the side before getting up and moving to see if Ravyn and Herne were OK.
Moving over to their prone figures, I could see that they were both still alive. Now it was Herne who was moving more than Ravyn. She had flown backwards onto him, but had hit her head on the wall behind her. Her eyes were technically open, but her dazed look indicated that she was pretty much out if for the moment. I bent down to check on her, saw the smoking ruin of the hilt in her hand, so I gently pried it out of her clenched fingers and tossed the relic aside.
Herne groaned and shifted where he was laying.
“Herne, you OK? Where are you hurt?”
He shook his head to clear some of the cobwebs, and immediately regretted it as he leaned away from Ravyn quickly and retched. After his convulsions stopped, he eked out a soft answer, “I hit my head on something pretty bad. I have splitting headache. What’s happened?”
“Well, the creature attacked, killing Fang. You leaped to the attack, but it looks like you banged your head when you were thrown aside. Ravyn stabbed the thing from behind with one of your blades, I believe. She took nasty hit early on though, and then when the explosion happened, I tihnk she hit her head as well.”
“Where did that thing go?”
“He left his arm behind, but he staggered down this tunnel, I think that’s towards Ground Zero, if I have my directions right.”
“So despite losing its arm it still walked away?”
“Yeah, but it looked pretty bad. I was just checking on you two before I went after it. Are you going to be alright here?”
“Help me to move Ravyn, I need to check her head for any serious damage.”
I helped to move her into a better position, allowing Herne to actually sit up. As I rolled her to her side, careful to keep her neck aligned, he checked the back of her head. His hand came away bloodied, but he seemed confidant that nothing was broken, just a scalp wound and a likely concussion for her as well.
He rummaged around the knapsack that he always carried and pulled out a small wooden box. He openned it after fumbling with the delicate clasp, and pulled out two small vials of a cinnamon colored liquid. He pulled the cork on the first one and downed it in one big gulp. His gasp indicated that the stuff had a potent kick to it. He openned the second vial and held it up to Ravyn’s nose first, which seemed to rouse her just a little bit, and then used one hand to plug her nose and the second to force the liquid into her mouth. She swallowed the stuff, sputtering and seeming to come around a little bit more.
“What’s that stuff?”
After wiping the remaining liquid from around her mouth with his sleeve, he responded. “It’s a concoction of the Frau’s. She claims they are healing potions, but I don’t know, I think she tries to make them so damn nasty tasting that the injured get up and get moving so as not to have to take any more of it. Seriously though, these should help to get us moving soon, the Frau makes some potent stuff.”
“Good. Look, I better at least check and make sure that bastard isn’t bringing any reinforcements. I’ll be back to check on you guys soon.”
“Fari enough. I didn’t like the idea of that thing wandering away in any event. Best to go put it out of its misery and be done with this.”
“Agreed. You have one blade left, just in case, I’ve got mine over here, but let me take Fang’s as well, since this thing has destroyed one blade already.”
I walked over to Fang’s body and said a silent prayer for him as I drew his blade from the sheath on his wrist. I then walked over to where I had left my blade, picked it up, and turned to follow the one armed Grendel, hopefully to his lair.
(Finale of the Boneswulf arc tomorrow...)
Moving over to their prone figures, I could see that they were both still alive. Now it was Herne who was moving more than Ravyn. She had flown backwards onto him, but had hit her head on the wall behind her. Her eyes were technically open, but her dazed look indicated that she was pretty much out if for the moment. I bent down to check on her, saw the smoking ruin of the hilt in her hand, so I gently pried it out of her clenched fingers and tossed the relic aside.
Herne groaned and shifted where he was laying.
“Herne, you OK? Where are you hurt?”
He shook his head to clear some of the cobwebs, and immediately regretted it as he leaned away from Ravyn quickly and retched. After his convulsions stopped, he eked out a soft answer, “I hit my head on something pretty bad. I have splitting headache. What’s happened?”
“Well, the creature attacked, killing Fang. You leaped to the attack, but it looks like you banged your head when you were thrown aside. Ravyn stabbed the thing from behind with one of your blades, I believe. She took nasty hit early on though, and then when the explosion happened, I tihnk she hit her head as well.”
“Where did that thing go?”
“He left his arm behind, but he staggered down this tunnel, I think that’s towards Ground Zero, if I have my directions right.”
“So despite losing its arm it still walked away?”
“Yeah, but it looked pretty bad. I was just checking on you two before I went after it. Are you going to be alright here?”
“Help me to move Ravyn, I need to check her head for any serious damage.”
I helped to move her into a better position, allowing Herne to actually sit up. As I rolled her to her side, careful to keep her neck aligned, he checked the back of her head. His hand came away bloodied, but he seemed confidant that nothing was broken, just a scalp wound and a likely concussion for her as well.
He rummaged around the knapsack that he always carried and pulled out a small wooden box. He openned it after fumbling with the delicate clasp, and pulled out two small vials of a cinnamon colored liquid. He pulled the cork on the first one and downed it in one big gulp. His gasp indicated that the stuff had a potent kick to it. He openned the second vial and held it up to Ravyn’s nose first, which seemed to rouse her just a little bit, and then used one hand to plug her nose and the second to force the liquid into her mouth. She swallowed the stuff, sputtering and seeming to come around a little bit more.
“What’s that stuff?”
After wiping the remaining liquid from around her mouth with his sleeve, he responded. “It’s a concoction of the Frau’s. She claims they are healing potions, but I don’t know, I think she tries to make them so damn nasty tasting that the injured get up and get moving so as not to have to take any more of it. Seriously though, these should help to get us moving soon, the Frau makes some potent stuff.”
“Good. Look, I better at least check and make sure that bastard isn’t bringing any reinforcements. I’ll be back to check on you guys soon.”
“Fari enough. I didn’t like the idea of that thing wandering away in any event. Best to go put it out of its misery and be done with this.”
“Agreed. You have one blade left, just in case, I’ve got mine over here, but let me take Fang’s as well, since this thing has destroyed one blade already.”
I walked over to Fang’s body and said a silent prayer for him as I drew his blade from the sheath on his wrist. I then walked over to where I had left my blade, picked it up, and turned to follow the one armed Grendel, hopefully to his lair.
(Finale of the Boneswulf arc tomorrow...)
Wednesday, July 27, 2005
Rusty's Rules of Demon Fighting
The shattering of my baton came as a bit of a shock, but I didn’t have much time to recover, because Grendel was grinning like a fool as he leapt to the attack. Apparently, he had tweaked his protections since our last encounter and had healed up too, since there was no hint of any wounds I had inflicted on him.
He leaped with both claws extended to try and get to my head, but I had just enough of my wits and my own reactions speed to grab each of his wrists and fall backwards, flipping him head first into the solid cement floor.
The impact of the move surprised us both, I lost my grip on his wrists, his head bounced a couple of times as he skidded away to land in a heap against the far wall.
Knowing I didn’t have much time, I leaped back to my feet and spun to face the critter, just as he used the base of the wall to launch another leaping attack at me.
I reached behind me and grabbed the hilt of the Witchbane blade that was sheathed there. I had it out just in time to dodge away from his latest attack and slash out unsuccessfully with the unfamiliar weapon. The blade felt heavy in my grip and distinctly...wrong.
We began circling each other again, he seemed to wary of the blade, like he recognized that the blacker than black blade could actually harm him.
Seeing the look of caution in his alien eyes, I waved the blade just a little bit, brandishing it while smiling and waving with one hand for him to try me out. He kept his distance, and even shifted directions in his circling with me when I changed to move to meet him sooner. He seemed to respect both the weapoon I was carrying and the degree of difficulty I was giving him.
I didn’t hear anything from my companions, our battle was being fought in a kind of eerie silence. Had I been alive, I would have thought that due to the rushing adrenaline and tunnel vision that accompanies highly stressful situations. But I no longer exeperience such things, so I could easily hear little sounds that were separate from the struggle I was engaged in. A quick glance during one of our shifts in direction confirmed that Ravyn and Herne seemed to be alive and breathing, but were either unconscious or too hurt to move much.
Not knowing the extent of any of their injuries, I figured I needed to move to finish this as quickly as I could. So I faked to my right like I was changing directions again and then dove forward in a modified forward roll where I came up with both hands on the hilt, trying to drive the blade into its chest. At least that was the effect I was trying for.
Unfortunately, I am not an experienced knife fighter, and I had never tried such a move before...I was too slow. Just for future referemce to any budding young demon hunters out there...it is never a good thing to throw yourself onto the ground in front on a faster, more agile foe. Let’s call that Rusty’s First Rule of Demon Fighting.
As I was coming up out of my nearly perfect move and looking to stab the bastard, I found myself looking for my opponent. Apparently he had faked his own response and had continued circling, allowing him to send my ass sprawling with powerful blow to my head with one closed fist. The blow was damn powerful, I realized anew the advantages to already being dead, since there a damn good chance that such a blow would have killed me had I been inconveniently alive at that moment.
I had managed to keep hold of my weapon and managed to twist onto my back and bring the blade up in defense as the thing pounced on me. I slashed out at the first claw I saw, managing to slice a half his taloned fingers off in a desperate move. It roared in pain and leaped back. So I had found a weapon that could pierce his protections and he didn’t like the feel of it one bit.
As it backpedaled, I bounced back up and started advancing, slashing wildly each time I got close enough to possibly hit it. Holding it’s wounded claw with the other, it kept bounding backwards with each of my attacks. Rusty’s Second Rule of Demon Fighting: Once you find something that works, keep doing it until your opponent finds a way to stop it!
The only problem with my current strategy (and it was a huge one) was that I pushing the damn thing right back towards Ravyn and Herne’s unconscious forms!
I slowed my attacks as soon as I noticed that I was pushing him in the wrong direction. I dropped into a more defnsive crouch, but also began preparing to leap forward in case he tried to do anything to my companions.
As soon as I stopped pressing the attack though, he stopped moving backwards and at this point he didn’t seem to have much interest in people he saw as no threat.
It was in that moment though that I noticed Ravyn moving every so slightly. I could see her eyes looking at me, imploring me not to say or do anything to bring to get her noticed. Those eyes burned with a hatred of this creature deeper than anything I thought possible from the normally bubbly and effervescent Ravyn. She was reaching under Herne’s body ever so slowly for something with one hand.
The creature was adjusting quickly to the setback and was already flexing its wounded claw, apparently working the pain out of its system. He was in a battle crouch as well now. We stared at each other for moment, but I could tell he was getting ready to make a move. I didn’t know what it was planning to do, so I thought maybe I would try to buy some time for Ravyn.
“Hey buddy,” I called out, “Don’t you like my little knife? Didn’t feel very good did it?”
His eyes narrowed, it either understood me, or was trying to figure out whatever trick he thought I was going to try next.
I needed to keep it distracted and focused on me, so I motioned with my free hand towards the blade and started talking again. “Hey you know what? I don’t think it is very fair of me to use this big nasty knife on you anymore, how about I put it down and we settle this fight naturally, man against demon?”
That perked its interest.
“Now I’m going to put this thing down to the side over here, but I don’t want you trying to jump me when I do that, OK?”
Did it just nod in agreement? Hell, I don’t know, but it sure seemed like it at the time. I made a big show of setting the knife off to my side, keeping my eyes locked on his the whole time. He didn’t make any sudden moves, so I set the blade down and got back into my battle crouch.
Now let me just say that what I just did was a serious violation of several of Rusty’s Rules of Demon Fighting, namely numbers 4--Never make deals with demons, and 6--Don’t put away your weapons until the damn smoke clears, but they are my own damn rules, so I can break them if I want to.
Once I was up and in my crouch again, the beast actually smiled like he thought I was a fool. Perhaps I am, but there was a method to my madness, Ravyn was silently getting into a crouch of her own, grimacing in pain and rage simultaneously, clutching at something I couldn’t quite make out.
I leaped forward, hands outstretched just as he made his own move, lunging in my direction with both claws out and ready to snatch at me. We grappled there, my arms on his writsts, his claws and fangs trying to reach at me. We stood there locked in a struggling embrace, each testing the sheer strength and the balance of the other, he was grunting with exertion, I was grunting out of a desire to hide Ravyn’s footsteps as she stood up and moved towards us with deadly intent in her burning eyes.
Too late it noticed that she was approaching. I held on firmly as he tried to break free. Slowly, deliberately, and with more malice than I ever thought possible from her, Ravyn came up behind the thing, limping and holding one arm close to her wounded side. She raised one of the Witchbane blades over her head with her good arm and hissed out, “Die, you fucking beast!”
With that she plunged the black blade into Grendel’s back with all of the force she could muster.
The blade pierced through its tough hide, but bounced off of some bone to sheer through the shoulder of his previously unwounded arm. There was an explosion of dark, roiling energies, whether it was from the blade or Grendel himself, I couldn’t tell. The force of the explosion knocked Ravyn back towards Herne, smoking hilt still in her hand.
The force of it blasted against me, but I had been able to maintain my grip on the wrist attached to the shoulder she had cut into, the whole arm ripped free from the beast, sending both of us flying.
Grendel was screeching in pain as he fell. He was still wailing in a strange, unearthly kind ofway as he staggered up using his one, wounded clawed hand and staggered away, trailing a stream of greenish ichor as he went.
He leaped with both claws extended to try and get to my head, but I had just enough of my wits and my own reactions speed to grab each of his wrists and fall backwards, flipping him head first into the solid cement floor.
The impact of the move surprised us both, I lost my grip on his wrists, his head bounced a couple of times as he skidded away to land in a heap against the far wall.
Knowing I didn’t have much time, I leaped back to my feet and spun to face the critter, just as he used the base of the wall to launch another leaping attack at me.
I reached behind me and grabbed the hilt of the Witchbane blade that was sheathed there. I had it out just in time to dodge away from his latest attack and slash out unsuccessfully with the unfamiliar weapon. The blade felt heavy in my grip and distinctly...wrong.
We began circling each other again, he seemed to wary of the blade, like he recognized that the blacker than black blade could actually harm him.
Seeing the look of caution in his alien eyes, I waved the blade just a little bit, brandishing it while smiling and waving with one hand for him to try me out. He kept his distance, and even shifted directions in his circling with me when I changed to move to meet him sooner. He seemed to respect both the weapoon I was carrying and the degree of difficulty I was giving him.
I didn’t hear anything from my companions, our battle was being fought in a kind of eerie silence. Had I been alive, I would have thought that due to the rushing adrenaline and tunnel vision that accompanies highly stressful situations. But I no longer exeperience such things, so I could easily hear little sounds that were separate from the struggle I was engaged in. A quick glance during one of our shifts in direction confirmed that Ravyn and Herne seemed to be alive and breathing, but were either unconscious or too hurt to move much.
Not knowing the extent of any of their injuries, I figured I needed to move to finish this as quickly as I could. So I faked to my right like I was changing directions again and then dove forward in a modified forward roll where I came up with both hands on the hilt, trying to drive the blade into its chest. At least that was the effect I was trying for.
Unfortunately, I am not an experienced knife fighter, and I had never tried such a move before...I was too slow. Just for future referemce to any budding young demon hunters out there...it is never a good thing to throw yourself onto the ground in front on a faster, more agile foe. Let’s call that Rusty’s First Rule of Demon Fighting.
As I was coming up out of my nearly perfect move and looking to stab the bastard, I found myself looking for my opponent. Apparently he had faked his own response and had continued circling, allowing him to send my ass sprawling with powerful blow to my head with one closed fist. The blow was damn powerful, I realized anew the advantages to already being dead, since there a damn good chance that such a blow would have killed me had I been inconveniently alive at that moment.
I had managed to keep hold of my weapon and managed to twist onto my back and bring the blade up in defense as the thing pounced on me. I slashed out at the first claw I saw, managing to slice a half his taloned fingers off in a desperate move. It roared in pain and leaped back. So I had found a weapon that could pierce his protections and he didn’t like the feel of it one bit.
As it backpedaled, I bounced back up and started advancing, slashing wildly each time I got close enough to possibly hit it. Holding it’s wounded claw with the other, it kept bounding backwards with each of my attacks. Rusty’s Second Rule of Demon Fighting: Once you find something that works, keep doing it until your opponent finds a way to stop it!
The only problem with my current strategy (and it was a huge one) was that I pushing the damn thing right back towards Ravyn and Herne’s unconscious forms!
I slowed my attacks as soon as I noticed that I was pushing him in the wrong direction. I dropped into a more defnsive crouch, but also began preparing to leap forward in case he tried to do anything to my companions.
As soon as I stopped pressing the attack though, he stopped moving backwards and at this point he didn’t seem to have much interest in people he saw as no threat.
It was in that moment though that I noticed Ravyn moving every so slightly. I could see her eyes looking at me, imploring me not to say or do anything to bring to get her noticed. Those eyes burned with a hatred of this creature deeper than anything I thought possible from the normally bubbly and effervescent Ravyn. She was reaching under Herne’s body ever so slowly for something with one hand.
The creature was adjusting quickly to the setback and was already flexing its wounded claw, apparently working the pain out of its system. He was in a battle crouch as well now. We stared at each other for moment, but I could tell he was getting ready to make a move. I didn’t know what it was planning to do, so I thought maybe I would try to buy some time for Ravyn.
“Hey buddy,” I called out, “Don’t you like my little knife? Didn’t feel very good did it?”
His eyes narrowed, it either understood me, or was trying to figure out whatever trick he thought I was going to try next.
I needed to keep it distracted and focused on me, so I motioned with my free hand towards the blade and started talking again. “Hey you know what? I don’t think it is very fair of me to use this big nasty knife on you anymore, how about I put it down and we settle this fight naturally, man against demon?”
That perked its interest.
“Now I’m going to put this thing down to the side over here, but I don’t want you trying to jump me when I do that, OK?”
Did it just nod in agreement? Hell, I don’t know, but it sure seemed like it at the time. I made a big show of setting the knife off to my side, keeping my eyes locked on his the whole time. He didn’t make any sudden moves, so I set the blade down and got back into my battle crouch.
Now let me just say that what I just did was a serious violation of several of Rusty’s Rules of Demon Fighting, namely numbers 4--Never make deals with demons, and 6--Don’t put away your weapons until the damn smoke clears, but they are my own damn rules, so I can break them if I want to.
Once I was up and in my crouch again, the beast actually smiled like he thought I was a fool. Perhaps I am, but there was a method to my madness, Ravyn was silently getting into a crouch of her own, grimacing in pain and rage simultaneously, clutching at something I couldn’t quite make out.
I leaped forward, hands outstretched just as he made his own move, lunging in my direction with both claws out and ready to snatch at me. We grappled there, my arms on his writsts, his claws and fangs trying to reach at me. We stood there locked in a struggling embrace, each testing the sheer strength and the balance of the other, he was grunting with exertion, I was grunting out of a desire to hide Ravyn’s footsteps as she stood up and moved towards us with deadly intent in her burning eyes.
Too late it noticed that she was approaching. I held on firmly as he tried to break free. Slowly, deliberately, and with more malice than I ever thought possible from her, Ravyn came up behind the thing, limping and holding one arm close to her wounded side. She raised one of the Witchbane blades over her head with her good arm and hissed out, “Die, you fucking beast!”
With that she plunged the black blade into Grendel’s back with all of the force she could muster.
The blade pierced through its tough hide, but bounced off of some bone to sheer through the shoulder of his previously unwounded arm. There was an explosion of dark, roiling energies, whether it was from the blade or Grendel himself, I couldn’t tell. The force of the explosion knocked Ravyn back towards Herne, smoking hilt still in her hand.
The force of it blasted against me, but I had been able to maintain my grip on the wrist attached to the shoulder she had cut into, the whole arm ripped free from the beast, sending both of us flying.
Grendel was screeching in pain as he fell. He was still wailing in a strange, unearthly kind ofway as he staggered up using his one, wounded clawed hand and staggered away, trailing a stream of greenish ichor as he went.
Sunday, July 24, 2005
Boneswulf...Part 5
Herne insisted on descending first, Fang went down next, follwed by myself and then Ravyn. Once we were all down the ladder, Ravyn dispatched another floating ball of fire to illuminate the area better. Each of the two seemed to have minds of their own, floating about in lazy, hazy circles, but always seeming to be where we needed them at the moment.
My previous trail was pretty obvious, the dark, syrupy liquid from my ‘veins’ had congealed into sticky puddles.
Herne saw the trail and motioned for us to come together briefly. “Fang and I will hug opposites sides of the walls. Rusty I want you to follow the trail, taking no care to cover any sounds. Just like that valley in the desert, I need you to be the distraction. This thing is likely expecting you to come back.”
“What about me?” Ravyn was looking a little peeved that she had to speak up.
“Babe, I know better than to give you directions. You can follow behind Rusty, that’s probably the safest place, since this thing seems to kill with its claws and teeth and doesn’t use any weapons that we know of. However we are going to need to drop the fireballs soon, that kind of magick will attract this thing. I would like us to be the hunters, not the hunted.”
“Hmmph. Wll alright then.” With that the fireballs winked out of esxistence and the soft darkness of this unlit tunnel descended. “I’ll stick close to Rusty. Once the fighting starts I will light things back up to prevent any additional surprises for sneaking up.”
‘Very well then, let’s roll. Rusty, don’t worry if you don’t see us, we’ll be there. Fang and I have some non-magickal tricks up our sleeves to stay hidden until the right moment.”
My lenses quickly adjusted the near total darkness of the place, so I was able to weatch as Fang and Herne slipped away in opposite directions and then completely disappeared from even my enhanced vision. Ravyn was shifter on her feet nervously. I reached out and gave her arm a freindly squeeze, to reassure her that we would be OK.
“Can you see at all?” I whispered to her.
She managed a wan smile, “Don’t worry about me, you big lummox. I just hate being cooped up in this small, dark place. I’m fighting very hard against the urge to light this place up like the Fourth of July! Now get moving before I lose that battle!”
I gave her one more squeeze and then turned to follow the trail of my own dried up ‘blood’ to find Grendel and have our little rematch.
I walked loudly down the hall, keeping more to the middle this time than I did the first time. I felt more than heard Ravyn following behind me, a few paces back. After a hundred feet or so, I came to the first intersection where I had turned down the first time. This would lead to a much smaller hall, with hardly any room for Herne or Fang to be hidden to the side, so I hesitated before proceeding. I was just about to say something, when a sickening wet ripping sound and a gurgled half-grunt cut me off.
Ravyn gasped, “What was...”
Fang’s headless body crumpled to the floor about twenty feet away to our right, blood gushed out in a showering fountain from the stump of his neck.
I immediately dropped into a battle ready stance, snapping my wrist to drop my baton into place. I reached behind me with one hand to make sure Ravyn wasn’t exposed.
A form rushed out of the darkness from the other side of the hall straight towards the darkness that still stood over Fang’s lifeless body. Silently, Herne had drawn one of the two blades he carried and leaped towards the form, trying to bury the knife in its side.
One bloody clawed arm lashed out of the darkness and caught Herne just as he was leaping to the attack, catching him under his extended arm and spinning quickly to throw him solidly into the wall. With a crashing clang, and the sounds of something snapping, whether it was bone or blade, I wasn’t sure. Herne sunk to the floor, seemingly lifeless as Grendel turned towards us.
With a fierce, defiant cry of “No!” Ravyn leaped past my protective arm and launched a massive bolt of fiery red flames at the creature.
The bolt of flames lit up the hall in a blinding flash, and splashed harmlessly off the chest of Grendel who was now clearly quite visible, standing there with Fang’s head in one terrible, bloody claw.
In the quick glance I had of him before the fire dissipated, I could see that Herne was still alive, but was clearly dazed, if not unconscious.
Seeing that Ravyn was not going to play it safe, I rushed forward as the darkness descended yet again. I passed her easily and put myself between her and the creature.
It saw me and dropped into its own battle crouch, apparently it remembered the damage I inflicted upon it before and was taking a more cautious approach with me now. We circled as we closed on each other, allowing Ravyn to rush towards Herne to see she could help him.
Just as I was about to make the first move, the creature reared back and faked throwing Fang’s head at me, before hurling it at the darting form of Ravyn. I tried to call out, but it was too quick, the head struck her in the side with a sickening thud and slammed her up against the wall.
I lashed out at that, hoping at least to get an advantage on this damn creature. I landed what I hoped would be a solid blow on its shoulder, only to see my baton slam into it and shatter like it was glass.
Uh oh...
My previous trail was pretty obvious, the dark, syrupy liquid from my ‘veins’ had congealed into sticky puddles.
Herne saw the trail and motioned for us to come together briefly. “Fang and I will hug opposites sides of the walls. Rusty I want you to follow the trail, taking no care to cover any sounds. Just like that valley in the desert, I need you to be the distraction. This thing is likely expecting you to come back.”
“What about me?” Ravyn was looking a little peeved that she had to speak up.
“Babe, I know better than to give you directions. You can follow behind Rusty, that’s probably the safest place, since this thing seems to kill with its claws and teeth and doesn’t use any weapons that we know of. However we are going to need to drop the fireballs soon, that kind of magick will attract this thing. I would like us to be the hunters, not the hunted.”
“Hmmph. Wll alright then.” With that the fireballs winked out of esxistence and the soft darkness of this unlit tunnel descended. “I’ll stick close to Rusty. Once the fighting starts I will light things back up to prevent any additional surprises for sneaking up.”
‘Very well then, let’s roll. Rusty, don’t worry if you don’t see us, we’ll be there. Fang and I have some non-magickal tricks up our sleeves to stay hidden until the right moment.”
My lenses quickly adjusted the near total darkness of the place, so I was able to weatch as Fang and Herne slipped away in opposite directions and then completely disappeared from even my enhanced vision. Ravyn was shifter on her feet nervously. I reached out and gave her arm a freindly squeeze, to reassure her that we would be OK.
“Can you see at all?” I whispered to her.
She managed a wan smile, “Don’t worry about me, you big lummox. I just hate being cooped up in this small, dark place. I’m fighting very hard against the urge to light this place up like the Fourth of July! Now get moving before I lose that battle!”
I gave her one more squeeze and then turned to follow the trail of my own dried up ‘blood’ to find Grendel and have our little rematch.
I walked loudly down the hall, keeping more to the middle this time than I did the first time. I felt more than heard Ravyn following behind me, a few paces back. After a hundred feet or so, I came to the first intersection where I had turned down the first time. This would lead to a much smaller hall, with hardly any room for Herne or Fang to be hidden to the side, so I hesitated before proceeding. I was just about to say something, when a sickening wet ripping sound and a gurgled half-grunt cut me off.
Ravyn gasped, “What was...”
Fang’s headless body crumpled to the floor about twenty feet away to our right, blood gushed out in a showering fountain from the stump of his neck.
I immediately dropped into a battle ready stance, snapping my wrist to drop my baton into place. I reached behind me with one hand to make sure Ravyn wasn’t exposed.
A form rushed out of the darkness from the other side of the hall straight towards the darkness that still stood over Fang’s lifeless body. Silently, Herne had drawn one of the two blades he carried and leaped towards the form, trying to bury the knife in its side.
One bloody clawed arm lashed out of the darkness and caught Herne just as he was leaping to the attack, catching him under his extended arm and spinning quickly to throw him solidly into the wall. With a crashing clang, and the sounds of something snapping, whether it was bone or blade, I wasn’t sure. Herne sunk to the floor, seemingly lifeless as Grendel turned towards us.
With a fierce, defiant cry of “No!” Ravyn leaped past my protective arm and launched a massive bolt of fiery red flames at the creature.
The bolt of flames lit up the hall in a blinding flash, and splashed harmlessly off the chest of Grendel who was now clearly quite visible, standing there with Fang’s head in one terrible, bloody claw.
In the quick glance I had of him before the fire dissipated, I could see that Herne was still alive, but was clearly dazed, if not unconscious.
Seeing that Ravyn was not going to play it safe, I rushed forward as the darkness descended yet again. I passed her easily and put myself between her and the creature.
It saw me and dropped into its own battle crouch, apparently it remembered the damage I inflicted upon it before and was taking a more cautious approach with me now. We circled as we closed on each other, allowing Ravyn to rush towards Herne to see she could help him.
Just as I was about to make the first move, the creature reared back and faked throwing Fang’s head at me, before hurling it at the darting form of Ravyn. I tried to call out, but it was too quick, the head struck her in the side with a sickening thud and slammed her up against the wall.
I lashed out at that, hoping at least to get an advantage on this damn creature. I landed what I hoped would be a solid blow on its shoulder, only to see my baton slam into it and shatter like it was glass.
Uh oh...
Tuesday, July 19, 2005
Boneswulf...Part 4
“I’ll carry the fourth blade,” Herne said, looking to calm things down. “I can use two if I need to, but it is alway good to have a spare on hand if needed. I should tell you one more thing about these blades.”
Now Fang spoke up, “What’s that dude?”
“The reason there are only four of these blades left is because Moira and I have made it our personal mission to destroy these cursed weapons. They black magick that was used to create these blades caused the Spirit of an innocent child to be trapped inside each blade. When the forging of the blades was nearing completion, the evil bastards that the Arch Bishop had hired to make these things cooled them in then living bodies of children of people who had been accused of using witchcraft.
“After this fight, I want to ask your help in destroying them for once and for all.”
Ravyn looked like she could kill with a thought at this moment, she was shaking as she said, “I will certainly see that we do whatever is necessary to destroy them and release those poor Spirits.”
“Me too. I have some personal experience on being a trapped Spirit, I couldn’t imagine being trapped inside a prison like that for hundreds of years.”
“Agreed.” Fang looked as outraged as I felt when he said that.
“Good. Shall we track ourselves a monster then?” Asked Herne.
With that, he sealed up the case again after restoring the one sheathed blade he had pulled out to show us. He muttered some more words as a small flash lit up the locks again. He loaded the case back into the van that they had rented. We piled into the vehicle with Herne taking the driver’s seat.
The ride into the City was a quiet one, we had already shared everything we could on the coming struggle already, and the talk of those damn daggers put a damper on any kind of idle chat.
On the way into the City, i called up SAIC Murphy of the Manhattan office and informed him that I was going to the scene of the last crime for another look around. He was more than a little surprised to hear my voice and to hear that I was well enough to try tracking that thing again. He did manage to regain enough composure to ask if I needed any backup, but seemed more than a little reassured when I indicated that no additional men would be needed, other than a pair of men to watch the scene from the outside to keep curious onlookers away.
He agreed to send the one car and hung up.
About 45 minutes later, we were pulling up to the alleyway where a car with two bored looking agents were waiting near the still roped off entrance to the home and business of the dead gypsy fortune teller, Henna.
The agents perk up with more than a little interest when they recognized me, both of them spent more time looking at my resotred leg and hand than at any of my new companions. I approached the driver’s side of their sedan. “Look, I’m going back down there with these folks. We’re taking in some special tools to deal with the killer. I need you guys to make sure that no one slips in behind us and tries to interfere. Also, keep a line open to Murphy in case we need to request assistance.”
The driver looked at Ravyn, Herne and Fang and then back to me. “You sure you gonna be OK down there Agent Bones? You were messed up pretty bad the last time.”
I made a point of patting him on the shoulder with my new hand, which I saw he noted, and said, “We’ll be OK down there. Just keep anyone else from getting involved, OK?”
“Yes sir.”
With that, I led the three others to the rusty door and pried it open, “Be advised, it stinks pretty bad in here.”
Herne follwed me in, carrying the closed case containing the blades. Fang followed him with Ravyn trailing. Her gagging cough sounds told me all I needed to know about how bad it actually smelled down here. Remembering the way back to the manhole cover, I led them through the warren of bookshelves and knicknacks until I came to the still open cover.
“I think we need to get ready right here, that thing could be anywhere down there, so we better be armed for trouble.”
Herne nodded, set the case down and did his little ritual to open it back up. Once it was open, he carefully handed one sheathed blade to me. I used the clip on the sheath to attach the thing to my belt in and angled the blade so that the hilt pointed down from the small of my back, making it easily accessible with either hand.
Fang took his sheathed balde carefully as well and clipped it to a device on his left forearm, giving him a tool to block blows with the sheathed weapon, and the ease to draw it with his other hand when needed.
Herne attached the remaining two sheathed blades to his own belt and nodded when he finished.
Ravyn stood by the hole waiting impatiently for us. Once she saw Herne nod his readiness, a ball of flame erupted from her outstretched hand and balsted down into the darkness below. The ball of fire then seemed to settle near the floor, illuminating the place with its flickering flame. The shadows danced to an unheard music as Herne took the lead and climbed down into the tunnel below....
Now Fang spoke up, “What’s that dude?”
“The reason there are only four of these blades left is because Moira and I have made it our personal mission to destroy these cursed weapons. They black magick that was used to create these blades caused the Spirit of an innocent child to be trapped inside each blade. When the forging of the blades was nearing completion, the evil bastards that the Arch Bishop had hired to make these things cooled them in then living bodies of children of people who had been accused of using witchcraft.
“After this fight, I want to ask your help in destroying them for once and for all.”
Ravyn looked like she could kill with a thought at this moment, she was shaking as she said, “I will certainly see that we do whatever is necessary to destroy them and release those poor Spirits.”
“Me too. I have some personal experience on being a trapped Spirit, I couldn’t imagine being trapped inside a prison like that for hundreds of years.”
“Agreed.” Fang looked as outraged as I felt when he said that.
“Good. Shall we track ourselves a monster then?” Asked Herne.
With that, he sealed up the case again after restoring the one sheathed blade he had pulled out to show us. He muttered some more words as a small flash lit up the locks again. He loaded the case back into the van that they had rented. We piled into the vehicle with Herne taking the driver’s seat.
The ride into the City was a quiet one, we had already shared everything we could on the coming struggle already, and the talk of those damn daggers put a damper on any kind of idle chat.
On the way into the City, i called up SAIC Murphy of the Manhattan office and informed him that I was going to the scene of the last crime for another look around. He was more than a little surprised to hear my voice and to hear that I was well enough to try tracking that thing again. He did manage to regain enough composure to ask if I needed any backup, but seemed more than a little reassured when I indicated that no additional men would be needed, other than a pair of men to watch the scene from the outside to keep curious onlookers away.
He agreed to send the one car and hung up.
About 45 minutes later, we were pulling up to the alleyway where a car with two bored looking agents were waiting near the still roped off entrance to the home and business of the dead gypsy fortune teller, Henna.
The agents perk up with more than a little interest when they recognized me, both of them spent more time looking at my resotred leg and hand than at any of my new companions. I approached the driver’s side of their sedan. “Look, I’m going back down there with these folks. We’re taking in some special tools to deal with the killer. I need you guys to make sure that no one slips in behind us and tries to interfere. Also, keep a line open to Murphy in case we need to request assistance.”
The driver looked at Ravyn, Herne and Fang and then back to me. “You sure you gonna be OK down there Agent Bones? You were messed up pretty bad the last time.”
I made a point of patting him on the shoulder with my new hand, which I saw he noted, and said, “We’ll be OK down there. Just keep anyone else from getting involved, OK?”
“Yes sir.”
With that, I led the three others to the rusty door and pried it open, “Be advised, it stinks pretty bad in here.”
Herne follwed me in, carrying the closed case containing the blades. Fang followed him with Ravyn trailing. Her gagging cough sounds told me all I needed to know about how bad it actually smelled down here. Remembering the way back to the manhole cover, I led them through the warren of bookshelves and knicknacks until I came to the still open cover.
“I think we need to get ready right here, that thing could be anywhere down there, so we better be armed for trouble.”
Herne nodded, set the case down and did his little ritual to open it back up. Once it was open, he carefully handed one sheathed blade to me. I used the clip on the sheath to attach the thing to my belt in and angled the blade so that the hilt pointed down from the small of my back, making it easily accessible with either hand.
Fang took his sheathed balde carefully as well and clipped it to a device on his left forearm, giving him a tool to block blows with the sheathed weapon, and the ease to draw it with his other hand when needed.
Herne attached the remaining two sheathed blades to his own belt and nodded when he finished.
Ravyn stood by the hole waiting impatiently for us. Once she saw Herne nod his readiness, a ball of flame erupted from her outstretched hand and balsted down into the darkness below. The ball of fire then seemed to settle near the floor, illuminating the place with its flickering flame. The shadows danced to an unheard music as Herne took the lead and climbed down into the tunnel below....
Sunday, July 17, 2005
Boneswulf...Part 3
We spent the next several hours discussing all of the available information on the Grendel-thing and its potential mother/companion that was suspected to be present as well. I pulled up the recorded images I had downloaded onto my iMac and after those were viewed and reviewed and view again, I led everyone into the back of the motorhome and tried to demonstrate some of the moves the creature had displayed. I alternated using Herne and Fang as the ‘dummy’ creature in recreating some of the scenario, in part so that the other could watch some and also in part to get a true feeling for their individual strengths. I also wanted each of them experience my strength so that they could have a better understanding of this creature’s strength. Combined with its sheer speed and the vicious claws and jaws, it was going to be a very dangerous opponent.
I found that both Fang and Herne were stronger than they looked and had better trained reflexes and hand to hand combat skills than most athletic men. But I was still very concerned. A part of me didn’t want any of these people down there with me, I would feel so responsible if they were grievously injured, or worse yet, killed.
Fang alleviated some of my fears when he offered to spar with me, one on one. He was an expert in several forms of martial arts and demonstrated an amazing ability to escape my punches and blows. For the most part he was able to land blow after blow on me, but with my much heavier frame and reinforced skeleton, he was unable to land any disabling blows. So many of his various forms were designed to impact nerve centers and to otherwise incapacitate living opponents who could feel pain. The contest was ended rather abruptly when I allowed him to make a leaping kick where he landed two solid blows, one to my head, another to my chest. Once he was fully committed to the attack I grabbed the foot that hit me in the head and held in place with one hand and reached out with the other hand, landing a glancing blow to his ‘nads. He fell to a gasping heap on the floor as I stepped over him and grabbed his neck, lifting him off the floor with one hand.
“This creature doesn’t have the same weak points as a human. I don’t think it feels pain any more than I do. You would be dead right now, if you were facing it alone.”
Fang nodded as I put him down. He hid his obvious pain and embarassment very well, bowed to show he respected the lesson and took a seat.
“Are you done flaunting that testosterone that you claim not have anymore Mr. He-Man Zombie?” Ravyn was not so impressed.
“Look Ravyn, I’ve fought beside Herne and you before, I know what you can do. I needed to know what Fang was capable of, and I think he needed to know for his own good what it was like to face an opponent that was virtually unstoppable. Am I right Fang?”
He nodded, still flushed from our sparring, “Dude, no worries there. I appreciate and shared your concerns. I had read about you, but it was good to find out first hand what I am up against. I also have some skills I didn’t bring to bear that will be very useful. I didn’t think it was appropriate to use any of my Chi powers in the sparring match.”
“That’s all very well and good gentlemen,” said Ravyn, looking rather perturbed that Fang had agreed with me, “but I don’t think we’ll destroy these creatures with your punches or kicks. Herne, can you get the case that Moira sent with us?”
Herne nodded, left to get the case, and returned very soon with a long black suitcase that looked large enough to hold a rifle.
He brought the case into the room, placed it on the floor and then muttered some Celtic sounding words over the locks before reaching to the now glowing locks and clicking them open. He carefully openned the lid to reveal four long, sheathed daggers that were so black in color that the light seemed to grow dimmer right around them. There was a definite feeling of deep, dark magick about these blades.
Herne reached into the cushioned case and pulled out one of the still sheathed daggers. I could see Ravyn almost shiver as the dagger was brought out into the full light.
“What’s up with these things?” I asked as I reached towards one of the other blades.
Herrne stopped me from touching it, but brought the sheathed one in its hand closer to me to see better. “These blades are exceptionally dangerous. Don’t try to unsheath any of them until you are prepared to use it in battle. These are the last four Witchbane blades known to exist.”
“Witchbane blades?”
“Yes,” he continued, “there were originally thirteen of these blades created by some very talented and very twisted men during the Spanish Inquisition, the Burning Times. They were conceived and commissioned by a powerful Arch Bishop in order for his men to be able to face and slay powerful Casters. These blades will cut through any and all known spells, wards, or protections raised by any Caster, and should be able to put this Grendel thing out of its misery rather easily.”
“Why can’t we unsheath them then?”
“These blades are evil. Once they are drawn from their protective sheath, it is literally impossible to sheath them again until they have drawn the blood and life energies of a Caster or magickal creature. If you try to sheath one of them without quenching its thirst, it will pull the life energy right out of its wielder through the hilt. When we recovered the fourth blade, it was from some poor soul who thought those were just stories. I sheathed the blade while it was still in his cold, dead grasp.”
“I see. So what’s the plan with these things then?”
“Well, you, Fang and I will each carry one of the blades down there with us. Once we locate the beast and its mother, we’ll use these blades on them to cut through the protective spells that prevent most weapons from harming them.”
I looked over at Ravyn, “Aren’t you going to carry one as well?”
She shuddered visibly. “No. I won’t touch one of those cursed things.”
“But what if they get to you, you won’t have a weapon that can hurt them.”
“You worry about keeping your own damn hide intact. I can take care of myself. Always have, always will. Besides, you’ll need my brains around since you are all so impaired by that terminal condition known as manhood.”
I found that both Fang and Herne were stronger than they looked and had better trained reflexes and hand to hand combat skills than most athletic men. But I was still very concerned. A part of me didn’t want any of these people down there with me, I would feel so responsible if they were grievously injured, or worse yet, killed.
Fang alleviated some of my fears when he offered to spar with me, one on one. He was an expert in several forms of martial arts and demonstrated an amazing ability to escape my punches and blows. For the most part he was able to land blow after blow on me, but with my much heavier frame and reinforced skeleton, he was unable to land any disabling blows. So many of his various forms were designed to impact nerve centers and to otherwise incapacitate living opponents who could feel pain. The contest was ended rather abruptly when I allowed him to make a leaping kick where he landed two solid blows, one to my head, another to my chest. Once he was fully committed to the attack I grabbed the foot that hit me in the head and held in place with one hand and reached out with the other hand, landing a glancing blow to his ‘nads. He fell to a gasping heap on the floor as I stepped over him and grabbed his neck, lifting him off the floor with one hand.
“This creature doesn’t have the same weak points as a human. I don’t think it feels pain any more than I do. You would be dead right now, if you were facing it alone.”
Fang nodded as I put him down. He hid his obvious pain and embarassment very well, bowed to show he respected the lesson and took a seat.
“Are you done flaunting that testosterone that you claim not have anymore Mr. He-Man Zombie?” Ravyn was not so impressed.
“Look Ravyn, I’ve fought beside Herne and you before, I know what you can do. I needed to know what Fang was capable of, and I think he needed to know for his own good what it was like to face an opponent that was virtually unstoppable. Am I right Fang?”
He nodded, still flushed from our sparring, “Dude, no worries there. I appreciate and shared your concerns. I had read about you, but it was good to find out first hand what I am up against. I also have some skills I didn’t bring to bear that will be very useful. I didn’t think it was appropriate to use any of my Chi powers in the sparring match.”
“That’s all very well and good gentlemen,” said Ravyn, looking rather perturbed that Fang had agreed with me, “but I don’t think we’ll destroy these creatures with your punches or kicks. Herne, can you get the case that Moira sent with us?”
Herne nodded, left to get the case, and returned very soon with a long black suitcase that looked large enough to hold a rifle.
He brought the case into the room, placed it on the floor and then muttered some Celtic sounding words over the locks before reaching to the now glowing locks and clicking them open. He carefully openned the lid to reveal four long, sheathed daggers that were so black in color that the light seemed to grow dimmer right around them. There was a definite feeling of deep, dark magick about these blades.
Herne reached into the cushioned case and pulled out one of the still sheathed daggers. I could see Ravyn almost shiver as the dagger was brought out into the full light.
“What’s up with these things?” I asked as I reached towards one of the other blades.
Herrne stopped me from touching it, but brought the sheathed one in its hand closer to me to see better. “These blades are exceptionally dangerous. Don’t try to unsheath any of them until you are prepared to use it in battle. These are the last four Witchbane blades known to exist.”
“Witchbane blades?”
“Yes,” he continued, “there were originally thirteen of these blades created by some very talented and very twisted men during the Spanish Inquisition, the Burning Times. They were conceived and commissioned by a powerful Arch Bishop in order for his men to be able to face and slay powerful Casters. These blades will cut through any and all known spells, wards, or protections raised by any Caster, and should be able to put this Grendel thing out of its misery rather easily.”
“Why can’t we unsheath them then?”
“These blades are evil. Once they are drawn from their protective sheath, it is literally impossible to sheath them again until they have drawn the blood and life energies of a Caster or magickal creature. If you try to sheath one of them without quenching its thirst, it will pull the life energy right out of its wielder through the hilt. When we recovered the fourth blade, it was from some poor soul who thought those were just stories. I sheathed the blade while it was still in his cold, dead grasp.”
“I see. So what’s the plan with these things then?”
“Well, you, Fang and I will each carry one of the blades down there with us. Once we locate the beast and its mother, we’ll use these blades on them to cut through the protective spells that prevent most weapons from harming them.”
I looked over at Ravyn, “Aren’t you going to carry one as well?”
She shuddered visibly. “No. I won’t touch one of those cursed things.”
“But what if they get to you, you won’t have a weapon that can hurt them.”
“You worry about keeping your own damn hide intact. I can take care of myself. Always have, always will. Besides, you’ll need my brains around since you are all so impaired by that terminal condition known as manhood.”
Tuesday, July 12, 2005
Boneswulf...Part 2
I was so happy to get back to being functional again, I virtually kicked Mike and his crew out of the Bonesmobile. I only half listened to Mike as he mentioned something about him and the crew heading off to a hotel closer to the City itself, just in case I needed further repairs in the course of this assignment.
Once I had them packed up and out of my home, I spent the better part of the rest of that day and night getting my sense of balance back and practicing with my new arm and hand. I couldn’t actually feel them, but there was a sense of stiffness about the limbs. It was probably purely mental, but I still felt a need to work out the kinks.
With everyone out of the bedroom, I put away the examination table and cleared the space to use for physical and mental meditations.
In my mind, I replayed the encounter with Grendel, trying to wrap my mind around just how fast and agile that thing had been. It was easily faster than I was, and probably close to having the same brute strength I did. It had advantages in various things like arm length, leaping ability, razor sharp claws, and a mouth full of teeth that could crush through my armor-plated skeleton and bite my hand right off my arm.
I certainly hoped that I had some advantages. I felt that I had slightly more brute strength, and was slightly heavier to boot, so there was a chance that I could get ahold of him and use my size and strength to hold him down, but to what end? I had been told that this thing was probably immune to most modern weapons such as firearms and explosives, and magick likely made him stronger rather than harming him. My baton had hurt the thing before, but it was hard to bludgeon something that quick and that strong to death, if it could even die.
After the exercises, I got online and read through the research material that the Professor had been able to dig up in the intervening time. Most of that material was historical in nature, some of it consisted of different translations and interpretations of the original Beowulf tale, while other stuff seemed to be even more obscure. The most interesting stuff was rather recent...stories from local newspapers in half a dozen languages (with translations) from war torn and chaotic areas where ‘strange, murderous creatures’ were often blamed for some of the most gruesome killings.
Overall it appeared that these creatures (or something quite like them) had appeared in different places where strife and violence were commonplace. Of course those who saw these creatures were often belittled or disregarded as crazy. Each incident or sighting seen individually didn’t seem very noteworthy, but when put together by someone as good at research as the Professor, the evidence was rather compelling that creatures like this Grendel and his mother had been around for as long as men had been killing each other.
I stayed up all night long reading through the dossier of information and stories that the Professor had compiled, losing all track of time until I heard the rather insistent knock on my door and the shouted impreccations, “Rusty, you better still be in there or I’ll be roasting whatever flesh those creatures leave behind over a spit!”
Ah yes, Ravyn to the rescue!
I got up and openned the door to the waiting cavalry. Standing front and spunky center was the defiant and agnry looking Ravyn. Her face softened somewhat when she saw me open the door, and even smiled as she exclaimed, “Oh, you don’t look half bad now!” Her jaw tightened though as she finished with, “Now let’s try not to get let it get all messed up again, shall we?”
Standing behind Ravyn were a healed and refreshed looking Herne and another man, with raven dark hair and strongly oriental features. Herne grinned and introduced him, “Rusty, meet our friend Fang.”
The man smiled extended his hand and spoke with a California accent, “Daniel Wang, actually, but most people like to call me Fang.”
I shook his hand, and motioned for everyone to come on in.
Once I had them packed up and out of my home, I spent the better part of the rest of that day and night getting my sense of balance back and practicing with my new arm and hand. I couldn’t actually feel them, but there was a sense of stiffness about the limbs. It was probably purely mental, but I still felt a need to work out the kinks.
With everyone out of the bedroom, I put away the examination table and cleared the space to use for physical and mental meditations.
In my mind, I replayed the encounter with Grendel, trying to wrap my mind around just how fast and agile that thing had been. It was easily faster than I was, and probably close to having the same brute strength I did. It had advantages in various things like arm length, leaping ability, razor sharp claws, and a mouth full of teeth that could crush through my armor-plated skeleton and bite my hand right off my arm.
I certainly hoped that I had some advantages. I felt that I had slightly more brute strength, and was slightly heavier to boot, so there was a chance that I could get ahold of him and use my size and strength to hold him down, but to what end? I had been told that this thing was probably immune to most modern weapons such as firearms and explosives, and magick likely made him stronger rather than harming him. My baton had hurt the thing before, but it was hard to bludgeon something that quick and that strong to death, if it could even die.
After the exercises, I got online and read through the research material that the Professor had been able to dig up in the intervening time. Most of that material was historical in nature, some of it consisted of different translations and interpretations of the original Beowulf tale, while other stuff seemed to be even more obscure. The most interesting stuff was rather recent...stories from local newspapers in half a dozen languages (with translations) from war torn and chaotic areas where ‘strange, murderous creatures’ were often blamed for some of the most gruesome killings.
Overall it appeared that these creatures (or something quite like them) had appeared in different places where strife and violence were commonplace. Of course those who saw these creatures were often belittled or disregarded as crazy. Each incident or sighting seen individually didn’t seem very noteworthy, but when put together by someone as good at research as the Professor, the evidence was rather compelling that creatures like this Grendel and his mother had been around for as long as men had been killing each other.
I stayed up all night long reading through the dossier of information and stories that the Professor had compiled, losing all track of time until I heard the rather insistent knock on my door and the shouted impreccations, “Rusty, you better still be in there or I’ll be roasting whatever flesh those creatures leave behind over a spit!”
Ah yes, Ravyn to the rescue!
I got up and openned the door to the waiting cavalry. Standing front and spunky center was the defiant and agnry looking Ravyn. Her face softened somewhat when she saw me open the door, and even smiled as she exclaimed, “Oh, you don’t look half bad now!” Her jaw tightened though as she finished with, “Now let’s try not to get let it get all messed up again, shall we?”
Standing behind Ravyn were a healed and refreshed looking Herne and another man, with raven dark hair and strongly oriental features. Herne grinned and introduced him, “Rusty, meet our friend Fang.”
The man smiled extended his hand and spoke with a California accent, “Daniel Wang, actually, but most people like to call me Fang.”
I shook his hand, and motioned for everyone to come on in.
Monday, July 11, 2005
Life Intrudes
Even for the Undead, Life often intrudes upon Art.
My apologies for the delay in posting entries to the blog, but events have conspired to make it impossible for the last few days. New entries are forthcoming, starting with tomorrow's episode in which Ravyn brings the cavalry. But will it be enough?
Will Grendel and his mother be able to escape to kill again?
We shall see...
My apologies for the delay in posting entries to the blog, but events have conspired to make it impossible for the last few days. New entries are forthcoming, starting with tomorrow's episode in which Ravyn brings the cavalry. But will it be enough?
Will Grendel and his mother be able to escape to kill again?
We shall see...
Wednesday, July 06, 2005
Parts is Parts
The next morning Mike and his crew of showed up. Mike and three and his assistants pulled up in a white Caravan with government plates, soon to be joined by another two assistants driving a highly modified Hummer with a big cap on the back.
I stood on my one good leg inside the doorway to the Bonesmobile watching them. Mike was all business. He was evaluating my damaged arm as he was shaking my good hand. “Let’s get inside and take a look.”
Without delay, I hobbled back into my modified bedroom, which was the largest open space in the Bonesmobile. I even had an examination table that I had pulled out of a closet and erected before they had arrived...not an easy thing to do one handed, but I managed.
As we filed into the bedroom, Mike looked around and nodded that he could work in this space. His assistants began filing in behind them, each carrying cases of various sizes, some were obviously tool boxes while others had the look of modified rifle or guitar cases.
Mike began talking before I could even ask any questions. “OK Rusty. We’ve been able to pull up the schematics from the old NecroLab files on your modifications and assembly. I’ve had my team and I working on the body of the other zombie...”
“His name was Greg.” I snapped, interrupting him.
“Oh right. Well, we’ve been practicing on Greg’s body and have a pretty good handle on the modifications that were made in your transition from corpse to working zombie. I’ve been pretty impressed by what I’ve found.”
“Yeah, and what is it that you have found?”
“Well, essentially, your limb structures were modified after your death in such a way that most of those moveable parts are easily detached and replaced. Matter of fact, we have at least functioning replacements for each of your limbs, and multiple copies of your hands and feet.”
“You mean they have whole extra limbs just sitting around for me?”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I am saying.”
“How’d they manage that?”
“Best as I can figure, when they were preparing your corpse, they removed each of your limbs in order to wire you up properly and to strengthen your bones with metal casings that make you so much heavier than a living person. Your whole muscular system had to be replaced with a specially designed system of bundled wires and microprocessors that functioned like your own natural muscles. When they did that though, they must have figured on using you in situations like this where you might get damaged, so while they had you all disassembled, they made a bunch of exact replicas of your limb bones and entire sets of the accompanying wires and such.”
“Did they do this for me and for Greg?”
“Yeah. They had to, since each of you is different in size in the various long bones, things just wouldn’t quite fit if we were to mix your parts with his.”
“So replacing this hand and fixing my leg shouldn’t be much of a problem then?”
“Nope. Like I said, we’ve been practicing on...Greg...so we’ve become pretty good at finding the release points on the joints and we can get you fixed up here in a couple of hours.”
“How about replacing the skin I’ve lost?”
“We’ve got some of that too. It was one of last things that Dr. Bernstein was working on before he...retired. We’ve got some very realistic looking synthetic skin that we can use to replace some of the stuff that has worn off, or been...”
“Eaten.” I waved my damaged arm at them, showing them the tooth marks and twisted metal and bone at the end of it.
Mike turned a shade paler when I made that last comment. One of the assistants dropped his case and ran for the bathroom. A couple of the others looked like they wanted to join him, while still others were snickering.
“Well,” he managed to spit out, “in any event, we can replace some of it for you. This new skin is in shorter supply however, and we are still larning to run the machinery to produce more. So, shall we begin?” He motioned for me to get onto the table.
I hopped up onto the table and laid down. “OK Doc, make me beautiful again.”
“That’s a tall order Agent Bones. We’ll be happy with just making you presentable.”
“Yeah, I guess that’ll have to do. Look, I don’t want to distract you and your team here. I’m going to shut down for a bit and watch things from a different perspective. Don’t worry if you feel a draft and a chill in the air, it’ll just be me. If you need me, just call out my name loudly, and I’ll bring myself back online.”
“Uh, OK. Thanks for this chance to make history Rusty.”
“Hey, thanks for putting my ass back together. See you in a couple of hours then.” With that, I detached my Spirit from my body and drifted up to watch them work as they began opening the stacked cases of tools and assembling portable work tables.
I had a chance to reflect on the strangeness that is my so-called life...how many folks can sit and watch a team of mechanics disassemble their limbs and pull out brand new shiny replacements that they almost snap into place like a damn machine with broken parts. Maybe this is the future for living people people too, like for the all too many wounded soldiers returning from Iraq and Afghanistan. Maybe they too would benefit from the technology...and magick...that had gone into making me possible.
I marvelled at the business like way that Mike and his team basically unzipped the remaining skin on my forearm with a sharp knife, peeled it like a banana and then detached the still shiny, but damaged bones of my forearm at the elbow. Mike tossed the damaged pieces into an open case for return to the NecroLab and then set about attaching the new, fully assembled forearm and hand into place. It was all so amazingly simple, but still so very strange.
Once the new forearm was locked into place, they cut off the peeled off skin and pulled out a roll of skin to wrap around the exposed muscle and nerve system. Once it was in place, they used what appeared to be a hot glue type gun to seal up the seem on the inside of my new forearm. At this point, my hand was still without a covering, but that was fixed when they pulled out a new pair of skin colored gloves, complete with fingernails and even a few stray hairs on the backs of the gloves. They slipped these obviously fitted gloves into place and used the glue gun like device to seal the skin gloves on the exposed edge of forearm skin on hand.
Next was my leg. After examining the damage, Mike apparently wasn’t satisfied that it was just the knee cap that was damaged, so he apparently ordered a couple of his assistants to go get another case. It took both of them to carry in a very long, and obviously quite heavy case that contained a fully assembled leg. The process was quite similar to my arm.
Overall, it took less than two hours to affect the repairs and make me more human looking than I had been in a while. They even took the time to patch up my head and neck, using scissors to cut away patches of damaged skin and then patching in new skin to replace those patches. The glue gun device actually did a passable job of making seals look like healed up scars.
The crew was just starting to pack away the myriad of tools and the used up parts when Mike called my name out. I slipped back into my body and felt things click into place nicely.
I stood on my one good leg inside the doorway to the Bonesmobile watching them. Mike was all business. He was evaluating my damaged arm as he was shaking my good hand. “Let’s get inside and take a look.”
Without delay, I hobbled back into my modified bedroom, which was the largest open space in the Bonesmobile. I even had an examination table that I had pulled out of a closet and erected before they had arrived...not an easy thing to do one handed, but I managed.
As we filed into the bedroom, Mike looked around and nodded that he could work in this space. His assistants began filing in behind them, each carrying cases of various sizes, some were obviously tool boxes while others had the look of modified rifle or guitar cases.
Mike began talking before I could even ask any questions. “OK Rusty. We’ve been able to pull up the schematics from the old NecroLab files on your modifications and assembly. I’ve had my team and I working on the body of the other zombie...”
“His name was Greg.” I snapped, interrupting him.
“Oh right. Well, we’ve been practicing on Greg’s body and have a pretty good handle on the modifications that were made in your transition from corpse to working zombie. I’ve been pretty impressed by what I’ve found.”
“Yeah, and what is it that you have found?”
“Well, essentially, your limb structures were modified after your death in such a way that most of those moveable parts are easily detached and replaced. Matter of fact, we have at least functioning replacements for each of your limbs, and multiple copies of your hands and feet.”
“You mean they have whole extra limbs just sitting around for me?”
“Yeah, that’s exactly what I am saying.”
“How’d they manage that?”
“Best as I can figure, when they were preparing your corpse, they removed each of your limbs in order to wire you up properly and to strengthen your bones with metal casings that make you so much heavier than a living person. Your whole muscular system had to be replaced with a specially designed system of bundled wires and microprocessors that functioned like your own natural muscles. When they did that though, they must have figured on using you in situations like this where you might get damaged, so while they had you all disassembled, they made a bunch of exact replicas of your limb bones and entire sets of the accompanying wires and such.”
“Did they do this for me and for Greg?”
“Yeah. They had to, since each of you is different in size in the various long bones, things just wouldn’t quite fit if we were to mix your parts with his.”
“So replacing this hand and fixing my leg shouldn’t be much of a problem then?”
“Nope. Like I said, we’ve been practicing on...Greg...so we’ve become pretty good at finding the release points on the joints and we can get you fixed up here in a couple of hours.”
“How about replacing the skin I’ve lost?”
“We’ve got some of that too. It was one of last things that Dr. Bernstein was working on before he...retired. We’ve got some very realistic looking synthetic skin that we can use to replace some of the stuff that has worn off, or been...”
“Eaten.” I waved my damaged arm at them, showing them the tooth marks and twisted metal and bone at the end of it.
Mike turned a shade paler when I made that last comment. One of the assistants dropped his case and ran for the bathroom. A couple of the others looked like they wanted to join him, while still others were snickering.
“Well,” he managed to spit out, “in any event, we can replace some of it for you. This new skin is in shorter supply however, and we are still larning to run the machinery to produce more. So, shall we begin?” He motioned for me to get onto the table.
I hopped up onto the table and laid down. “OK Doc, make me beautiful again.”
“That’s a tall order Agent Bones. We’ll be happy with just making you presentable.”
“Yeah, I guess that’ll have to do. Look, I don’t want to distract you and your team here. I’m going to shut down for a bit and watch things from a different perspective. Don’t worry if you feel a draft and a chill in the air, it’ll just be me. If you need me, just call out my name loudly, and I’ll bring myself back online.”
“Uh, OK. Thanks for this chance to make history Rusty.”
“Hey, thanks for putting my ass back together. See you in a couple of hours then.” With that, I detached my Spirit from my body and drifted up to watch them work as they began opening the stacked cases of tools and assembling portable work tables.
I had a chance to reflect on the strangeness that is my so-called life...how many folks can sit and watch a team of mechanics disassemble their limbs and pull out brand new shiny replacements that they almost snap into place like a damn machine with broken parts. Maybe this is the future for living people people too, like for the all too many wounded soldiers returning from Iraq and Afghanistan. Maybe they too would benefit from the technology...and magick...that had gone into making me possible.
I marvelled at the business like way that Mike and his team basically unzipped the remaining skin on my forearm with a sharp knife, peeled it like a banana and then detached the still shiny, but damaged bones of my forearm at the elbow. Mike tossed the damaged pieces into an open case for return to the NecroLab and then set about attaching the new, fully assembled forearm and hand into place. It was all so amazingly simple, but still so very strange.
Once the new forearm was locked into place, they cut off the peeled off skin and pulled out a roll of skin to wrap around the exposed muscle and nerve system. Once it was in place, they used what appeared to be a hot glue type gun to seal up the seem on the inside of my new forearm. At this point, my hand was still without a covering, but that was fixed when they pulled out a new pair of skin colored gloves, complete with fingernails and even a few stray hairs on the backs of the gloves. They slipped these obviously fitted gloves into place and used the glue gun like device to seal the skin gloves on the exposed edge of forearm skin on hand.
Next was my leg. After examining the damage, Mike apparently wasn’t satisfied that it was just the knee cap that was damaged, so he apparently ordered a couple of his assistants to go get another case. It took both of them to carry in a very long, and obviously quite heavy case that contained a fully assembled leg. The process was quite similar to my arm.
Overall, it took less than two hours to affect the repairs and make me more human looking than I had been in a while. They even took the time to patch up my head and neck, using scissors to cut away patches of damaged skin and then patching in new skin to replace those patches. The glue gun device actually did a passable job of making seals look like healed up scars.
The crew was just starting to pack away the myriad of tools and the used up parts when Mike called my name out. I slipped back into my body and felt things click into place nicely.
Tuesday, July 05, 2005
Boneswulf...Part 1
Yeah, yeah...I know the title of the post is a bit cocky...but can’t a dead guy with blog indulge himself once in a while? Hey, it wasn’t me who compared this freaky killer to Grendel, I’m just swiping a little credit...but alas, I’m afraid dear readers that I will be unable to compose my posts in this part of the story in the traditional prose of such epic poems...you’re stuck with my usual wry obserations and more than my fair share of smart ass comments. Hopefully that’ll be enough to keep ya reading!
So after my little dressing down by Ravyn, Cerrydwen and the Frau, I headed back home to the Bonesmobile (sorry, I just couldn’t resist).
The only eventful part of that journey was when I was on my way out of the place that Cerrydwen had called Glimmerdown Fells. The fog was still thick and roiling, but this time I saw more than a few pairs of glowing eyes peeking around corners at me, some well above head level, and others way down near the ground. I never saw more than their eyes and hints of serpentine forms, so I really can’t tell you what the heck was guarding that place, but I can tell you I wouldn’t want to have to fight my way out of there (or back in!).
I found my way back to my body and merged things back together just in time to hear my cell phone ringing. I reached over to answer it without looking at who might be calling (remind me not to do THAT again!) and found myself on the end of the longest, loudest, and most creative ass chewing I had had since being in boot camp some twenty years before. Needless to say, Ravyn was back in her body and she was letting me have it, apparently being around Jasmine and the others had tempered her tongue somewhat. Now she was unfettered, and the part of me that wasn’t shocked into mumbling ‘yes ma’am’ and ‘no ma’am’ was thinking that she was enjoying it just a little too much.
But, just to show I am a gentleman, I won’t reveal the details of her comments, other than to say that I know career drill sergeants who don’t know that much profanity, or how use what they do know so creatively. The general gist of the conversation was that I should stay put until she arrived, OR ELSE!
Luckily, that was something I could easily agree to, since I was still waiting on Mike and his crew of mechanics to show up and fix me up with a new hand and repair my leg.
So, after I was dismissed, I hung the phone up and set it aside to cool down.
Nothing much to do at that point but re-play Drake’s second message and bump around on the internet to do some research. I will post that message in the next day or two, but I wanted to take a couple of days first to ponder the stuff he has to say in it...some of it seems strangely relevant to the reading I’ve been doing into Beowulf and Grendel.
So after my little dressing down by Ravyn, Cerrydwen and the Frau, I headed back home to the Bonesmobile (sorry, I just couldn’t resist).
The only eventful part of that journey was when I was on my way out of the place that Cerrydwen had called Glimmerdown Fells. The fog was still thick and roiling, but this time I saw more than a few pairs of glowing eyes peeking around corners at me, some well above head level, and others way down near the ground. I never saw more than their eyes and hints of serpentine forms, so I really can’t tell you what the heck was guarding that place, but I can tell you I wouldn’t want to have to fight my way out of there (or back in!).
I found my way back to my body and merged things back together just in time to hear my cell phone ringing. I reached over to answer it without looking at who might be calling (remind me not to do THAT again!) and found myself on the end of the longest, loudest, and most creative ass chewing I had had since being in boot camp some twenty years before. Needless to say, Ravyn was back in her body and she was letting me have it, apparently being around Jasmine and the others had tempered her tongue somewhat. Now she was unfettered, and the part of me that wasn’t shocked into mumbling ‘yes ma’am’ and ‘no ma’am’ was thinking that she was enjoying it just a little too much.
But, just to show I am a gentleman, I won’t reveal the details of her comments, other than to say that I know career drill sergeants who don’t know that much profanity, or how use what they do know so creatively. The general gist of the conversation was that I should stay put until she arrived, OR ELSE!
Luckily, that was something I could easily agree to, since I was still waiting on Mike and his crew of mechanics to show up and fix me up with a new hand and repair my leg.
So, after I was dismissed, I hung the phone up and set it aside to cool down.
Nothing much to do at that point but re-play Drake’s second message and bump around on the internet to do some research. I will post that message in the next day or two, but I wanted to take a couple of days first to ponder the stuff he has to say in it...some of it seems strangely relevant to the reading I’ve been doing into Beowulf and Grendel.
Saturday, July 02, 2005
Tribunal...Part 2
“I find it hard to believe that that thing has a mother.” I must admit, I was beginning to see certain similarities here in how I had been responding to Murphy and how Ravyn was responding to me. I grew silent after this comment, intent on listening to the information they had.
Raven turned a beet red as her anger showed on her face. No one else even bothered to try to talk while she recovered and started again. “Dammit man! That’s the kind of thinking that will get you torn limb from limb and eaten if you go down there unprepared again.”
I held up my hands in surrender. “OK, I’m sorry. Tel me what you know or suspect about this thing and its mother. I can’t afford another draw like my last meeting with Junior there.”
With my last comment, she seemed to calm slightly, her color began to return to normal. “It’s about time you gained some wisdom. I’m going to ask the Frau to tell you what she knows at this point. I have a student to counsel.” She stepped back into the line and turned to face Jasmine. I could see poor Jasmine flinch as Ravyn turned her anger on her.
There was a part of me that wanted to interfere with the tongue lashing that Jasmine was sure to receive at this point, but something stopped me from doing so. Perhaps it was the realization that she was as hard headed as I was and that she would only learn some lessons through taking some lumps. If she was going to study what appeared to be a pretty dangerous business of magick under Ravyn, then I darn sure wanted her to respect and listen to her instructor. Instead I turned slightly to face the Frau who was now stepping forward, I did my best to ignore the only half-whispered admonitions that my daughter was now receiving.
The Frau cleared her throat, also doing her best to ignore the situation to her right. “The story of Beowulf, as it has come down to us, has it that Grendel was of a race of creatures that was descended from Cain. In a translation by Dr. David Breeden, the story goes like this:
He was of a race of monsters
exiled from mankind by God--
He was of the race of Cain,
that man punished for
murdering his brother.
From that family comes
all evil beings--
monsters, elves, zombies
Also the giants who
fought with God and got
repaid with the flood.”
She stopped at that point. Her voice had taken on a strange, almost musical quality that had me enthralled as she had recited it, leaving me wanting to hear more told in that same way, even if the author (or the translator) had thrown zombies into the same boat with this thing. But hey, I’m a New Age kind of zombie, I’m all sensitive and stuff...well sometimes, anyway.
After a moment, she resumed speaking. (See, I was being good now, I didn’t interupt this time!) “The story is quite long, but it also tells of how this creature was able to kill and devour stout warriors, even thirty at a time, because its skin had been enchanted to be impervious to keen edges and human weapons. The only way that the hero of the story was able to defeat him was to use his hands and his own God-given strength. He wrestled with the beast and held him so firm that Grendel basically tore his own arm and shoulder out in order to escape to its home before it died.
“Of course, this story is heavily laced with Christian references and has probably been altered from its original form in that context, since it was transmitted orally for hundreds of years before being written down. What we want you to understand though Rusty, is that this thing will be extremely difficult to slay, and that it is most likely acting on behalf of its mother. It will probably be immune to standard weapons of this era, like firearms, and may well heal at an exceptionally fast pace. The stories we do have all show that Grendel’s mother is more powerful and more fearsome than Grendel himself, but that she seems to remain hidden until he is harmed or slain. The research that we, the ORC’s, have done seem to show us that this Grendel thing feeds off of the death and esruction that it causes, while its mother seems to feed off of the fear and terror that her son causes.”
Cerrydwen stepped forward at this point, “We also think that this is why this pair has chosen New York for its lair at this time. It is a huge city full of fresh meat and of course it has been deeply wounded with the September 11 attacks. The fear and trauma of that event probably brought them in the first place.”
Now it was time to speak up about my encounter with the Spirit of the firefighter and the images I had seen when I visited Ground Zero. So I told them everything I had seen and experienced there at that sight, especially of the images of the Grendel-thing emerging from the smoke and dust after the first tower collapsed.
All of them stood silently and listened as I told them of those images and the words that the firefighter had spoken to me. I then told them of the complete encounter I had had with the Gendel-thing, and how I remembered the battle playing out. Finally, I also told them everything I had learned about the victims and how items had been missing from some of the victims homes from the FBI. The Frau’s face showed a keen interest, an eagerness to acquire new bits for her own tales perhaps. Cerrydwen had her usual fierce look, but somehow it seemed slightly softer, almost sympathetic. Ravyn listened with hard eyes and a tightly clenched jaw. Jasmine’s eyes were red from tears and looked chastened.
When I was finished, Ravyn stepped forward again. “Clearly our worst fears about why this pair has come to New York are fully realized now. We have to deal with them now. Rusty, this is not something you can handle on your own.” Her face had softened somewhat as she said this, almost imploring me at the end there not go again on my own.
“Well, at the moment, I am waiting for a repair team to come and fix me up somewhat before I go down there again. That will give you some time to send some help, if you know of anyone you want to send. But you need to tell them all of this shit that I am just finding out, I don’t want anyone joining me that isn’t aware of the dangers they will face.”
The Frau stepped up again. “Rusty, we will let you know who is coming and when to expect them shortly. But before we end this council, I wanted to warn you about something. Whatever, you do, don’t reach out Spiritually to this Grendel-thing or especially its mother-she feeds on emotions like fear and on the spiritual energy of her son’s victims. Grendel has been hunting down and feeding on fellow Casters, so it likely has some major protections against the kinds of powers that many Casters possess.”
Raven turned a beet red as her anger showed on her face. No one else even bothered to try to talk while she recovered and started again. “Dammit man! That’s the kind of thinking that will get you torn limb from limb and eaten if you go down there unprepared again.”
I held up my hands in surrender. “OK, I’m sorry. Tel me what you know or suspect about this thing and its mother. I can’t afford another draw like my last meeting with Junior there.”
With my last comment, she seemed to calm slightly, her color began to return to normal. “It’s about time you gained some wisdom. I’m going to ask the Frau to tell you what she knows at this point. I have a student to counsel.” She stepped back into the line and turned to face Jasmine. I could see poor Jasmine flinch as Ravyn turned her anger on her.
There was a part of me that wanted to interfere with the tongue lashing that Jasmine was sure to receive at this point, but something stopped me from doing so. Perhaps it was the realization that she was as hard headed as I was and that she would only learn some lessons through taking some lumps. If she was going to study what appeared to be a pretty dangerous business of magick under Ravyn, then I darn sure wanted her to respect and listen to her instructor. Instead I turned slightly to face the Frau who was now stepping forward, I did my best to ignore the only half-whispered admonitions that my daughter was now receiving.
The Frau cleared her throat, also doing her best to ignore the situation to her right. “The story of Beowulf, as it has come down to us, has it that Grendel was of a race of creatures that was descended from Cain. In a translation by Dr. David Breeden, the story goes like this:
He was of a race of monsters
exiled from mankind by God--
He was of the race of Cain,
that man punished for
murdering his brother.
From that family comes
all evil beings--
monsters, elves, zombies
Also the giants who
fought with God and got
repaid with the flood.”
She stopped at that point. Her voice had taken on a strange, almost musical quality that had me enthralled as she had recited it, leaving me wanting to hear more told in that same way, even if the author (or the translator) had thrown zombies into the same boat with this thing. But hey, I’m a New Age kind of zombie, I’m all sensitive and stuff...well sometimes, anyway.
After a moment, she resumed speaking. (See, I was being good now, I didn’t interupt this time!) “The story is quite long, but it also tells of how this creature was able to kill and devour stout warriors, even thirty at a time, because its skin had been enchanted to be impervious to keen edges and human weapons. The only way that the hero of the story was able to defeat him was to use his hands and his own God-given strength. He wrestled with the beast and held him so firm that Grendel basically tore his own arm and shoulder out in order to escape to its home before it died.
“Of course, this story is heavily laced with Christian references and has probably been altered from its original form in that context, since it was transmitted orally for hundreds of years before being written down. What we want you to understand though Rusty, is that this thing will be extremely difficult to slay, and that it is most likely acting on behalf of its mother. It will probably be immune to standard weapons of this era, like firearms, and may well heal at an exceptionally fast pace. The stories we do have all show that Grendel’s mother is more powerful and more fearsome than Grendel himself, but that she seems to remain hidden until he is harmed or slain. The research that we, the ORC’s, have done seem to show us that this Grendel thing feeds off of the death and esruction that it causes, while its mother seems to feed off of the fear and terror that her son causes.”
Cerrydwen stepped forward at this point, “We also think that this is why this pair has chosen New York for its lair at this time. It is a huge city full of fresh meat and of course it has been deeply wounded with the September 11 attacks. The fear and trauma of that event probably brought them in the first place.”
Now it was time to speak up about my encounter with the Spirit of the firefighter and the images I had seen when I visited Ground Zero. So I told them everything I had seen and experienced there at that sight, especially of the images of the Grendel-thing emerging from the smoke and dust after the first tower collapsed.
All of them stood silently and listened as I told them of those images and the words that the firefighter had spoken to me. I then told them of the complete encounter I had had with the Gendel-thing, and how I remembered the battle playing out. Finally, I also told them everything I had learned about the victims and how items had been missing from some of the victims homes from the FBI. The Frau’s face showed a keen interest, an eagerness to acquire new bits for her own tales perhaps. Cerrydwen had her usual fierce look, but somehow it seemed slightly softer, almost sympathetic. Ravyn listened with hard eyes and a tightly clenched jaw. Jasmine’s eyes were red from tears and looked chastened.
When I was finished, Ravyn stepped forward again. “Clearly our worst fears about why this pair has come to New York are fully realized now. We have to deal with them now. Rusty, this is not something you can handle on your own.” Her face had softened somewhat as she said this, almost imploring me at the end there not go again on my own.
“Well, at the moment, I am waiting for a repair team to come and fix me up somewhat before I go down there again. That will give you some time to send some help, if you know of anyone you want to send. But you need to tell them all of this shit that I am just finding out, I don’t want anyone joining me that isn’t aware of the dangers they will face.”
The Frau stepped up again. “Rusty, we will let you know who is coming and when to expect them shortly. But before we end this council, I wanted to warn you about something. Whatever, you do, don’t reach out Spiritually to this Grendel-thing or especially its mother-she feeds on emotions like fear and on the spiritual energy of her son’s victims. Grendel has been hunting down and feeding on fellow Casters, so it likely has some major protections against the kinds of powers that many Casters possess.”
Friday, July 01, 2005
Resource Page Note
New post added to the Rusty Bones Resource Page...please use the listed link to that page for a brief note on the current storyline.
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