Day 6, June 4th 703 CR
Cursing at rotten luck and the universe in general, Zyn scowled at the retreating forms of the crabs as in the distance they scampered back to the protective covering of the ocean, his spear wedged into the sand ineffectually ten feet away. It was an understatement to say that it was a bad day. The entire group was a hair’s breadth away from pissing their pants at any moment. As Zyn fruitlessly hunted for crab they were relocating the camp out from the interior position they had selected days before, moving everything to the large neck of land that jutted out a healthy fifty yards or from the main portion of the island. The whole thing was made of sand and Zyn was not entirely convinced that a really high tide wouldn’t just sweep them all away.
He hated this island.
Truly. Deeply. To the core; he hated it. The whole thing was a rotten cesspit where he was doomed to waste the remainder of his life (however long that might be) to squating around, hunting fleeing crabs, sucking on coconuts and listening to that idiot Pols bitch about everything under the sun. He was doomed to put up with the group of idiotic sailors that had piloted the ship that had sent them to this speck of rock well beyond the middle of nowhere. So what if the captain had been overbearing and tried to run everything into the ground, that didn’t absolve these idiots of responsibility; they were the crew, they were just as responsible for plunging headlong off course as that puss bag of a captain was.
Not to mention that some of them were abject fools, not least of which was that buffoon Pols. If that insufferable shit cast another smug look at him he was going to be injured in the face, end of story. The fat mage was next to worthless; aside from (barely) being able to cast fire spells, Parn merely served to consume food and patience, and Zyn was increasingly feeling that he was worth neither. Grumiah simply played the “aloof fearless leader” role which in a group of merely six seemed rather superfluous. If they were going to live on this cursed speck on the map for many years if not the rest of their lives and have to deal with each other (Heaven forbid that), such posturing actually seemed rather idiotic. What was he going to do, keep up the pointless façade until his hair fell out and had lived with his fellows longer than he had lived with his parents in his childhood? Lorian was certain to make himself a pain in the ass; with no Business to teach Zyn or even anywhere new to take him the one armed fool would no doubt increasingly take to lecture Zyn on the finer pointless points of living on a speck of an island with a total population of six clueless cast aways. Out of all of them Lum seemed the only one without any glaring flaws, but that was probably only because Zyn hadn’t gotten to know him very well yet. Everyone had their flaws, everyone.
He was stuck here to contemplate a thrice damned curse that saw fit to screw with them, taunt them before probably ending their pathetic lives in as slow and painful a fashion possible. All it had to do was wait for sundown, then crawl out of its hole and haunt the place and send them all screaming into the ocean, which in and of itself would be no less of a death, and not just for reasons of exposure as they had been in danger of in their days drifting helplessly across the ocean. No, Zyn had seen things in the water, and not just that of fleeing crabs. There was something serious down there; big hulking forms lurking under the surface. Nor was he alone in spotting such fleeting phantoms. The others had caught glimpses as well, though none of them could tell if they were just ordinary fish or not. Zyn sure didn’t think so.
This whole place was purposefully set up to drive him out of his tiny mind. Seriously, that’s what it was for. As if his endless contemplations and broodings floating solo in the middle of the ocean weren’t enough. Now instead of waiting to just sit (or float rather) and wait to die of exposure now he had the pleasure of twiddling his thumbs on a beach and wait for some evil curse to evict him from the mortal world. In a perverse way the death he had faced on the ocean actually seemed preferable to the pitiful life he’d have by remaining here. He thought nothing of the plans the others had concocted to escape; they were all ludicrous; none of them would successfully even get them past the coral reefs! There was only a slow, draining insipid life to be had on this island.
In the end of his ordeal of trying to catch some crabs, Zyn finally caught two stragglers who by some quirk of fate were not caught up in the unnaturally punctual shelter seeking behavior right as the cast aways came along. Out of proportion to capturing the two crabs out of the dozens that had slipped away Zyn crowed and beat his chest, screaming himself hoarse in triumph.
Prizes in hand, the conquering hero strutted from the beach in such a blissful state that didn’t notice one of his trophies wiggle its claw free and clamp down on its captor’s finger. A chaotic dance and tumble ensued, with Zyn shaking his arm vigorously enough to shake it off his body entirely while his crustacean tormentor retained its iron grip on his pinkie.
No doubt still fearful of the curse that had haunted them the previous night, Lorian, Pols and Lum charged out of the brush, apprehension written on their face at the prospect of facing a great unknown evil only to find Zyn screaming, shrieking and hopping around trying to dislodge a crab from his left pinkie. The result was what could be expected; they laughed their damn heads off. Even Lorian looked as though he would fall over, to say nothing of the two sailors.
At last shaking the crustacean loose, Zyn stared angrily. “What, you think that’s nothing? Do you have any idea how much that hurts!?”
As expected, Zyn received no sympathy, only mocking imitations and mimicking screams and wails.
Seething, Zyn chucked the crab that had not deigned to cause him pain flying strait at Pols’ ugly face. The stupid whore-lover barely had time to react as the crustacean smacked into him. Thrusting his hands up reflexively, he was rewarded an instant later by the crustacean clamping down on his thumb. Now it was Zyn’s turn to laugh, and laugh he did as Pols let out a cry of pain and a frantic dance of his own trying to remove his crabby tormentor. The taste of justice delivered didn’t last long as the short sailor snatched the crab off his thumb and promptly marched up straight into Zyn’s face. In one instant all signs of civility and cooperation were gone, and the two of them stared at each other, tense and ready to strike.
For his part Zyn didn’t say anything, he just projected himself into his opponent’s eyes, pushing with all his might in a contest of wills; Pols however would not back down either.
The others of course immediately stepped in, seeking to defuse the smoldering tension. “Alright you two, let’s not do anything stupid,” Lorian said while Lum tried to pull his pal back from the brink.
“Stupid?” Pols said derisively, “The only one stupid here is this arrogant little bastard.”
“Yeah,” Zyn shot back, “I suppose you’d know all about stupid, wouldn’t you?” Pols was about to respond but then Lum rather forcefully pulled him back. Laughing, Zyn moved in to exploit Pols’ forced hand. “Besides, what’s wrong with some more crabs in addition to those you already have?”
That proved to be the breaking point and not even Lum could stop his friend from pushing himself loose and once again closing the distance between Zyn’s face and his own to an inch. “You might wanna keep watch over your mouth, landlubber, you’ve already let loose a couple wrong ideas as it is.”
Zyn’s face darkened and his eyes narrowed darkly. “Go to Hell.”
The next instant Pols swung his shoulder back to throw a punch aimed at decking Zyn, who saw it coming but not being terribly experienced in fistfights was only able to partially avoid it, resulting in his being caught on the left corner of his jaw. Predictably he wasn’t prepared for this sort of thing and his world was sent spinning in a collage of lights and pain, with his only measure of fighting back the wild swinging of his arms, one of which happened to swing low and catch Pols in the groin. Stunned for a moment by the agony such a hit would obviously cause, Pols didn’t immediately strike back, and Zyn didn’t wallow too much in his lucky shot. His disorientation had cleared enough that he rushed the short sailor again and slugged him. Incredibly, however, Pols managed to recover almost instantly and plowed into Zyn, knocking both of them over into the sand.
The fight’s sudden onset must have taken the others by surprise, but by now their common sense had had enough time to return as Lorian and Lum descended upon them like hawks and pried them away from each other’s grasp. How on earth Lorian could pull him away with his one arm was a mystery that was by no means new to Zyn, but the mere fact that it was so infuriated him, and he let his eyes do the talking to his mentor for dragging him away from the fight.
His venomous gaze was rewarded by a pounding blow from Lorian. And not his good arm, but the stubbed limb ending above the wrist that was his right one. To this day Zyn did not know how it was lost, but he was acquainted with it regardless as it slammed into the side of his face. It wasn’t powerful enough to knock him over; it probably hadn’t intended to have been so. Lorian had meant it to remind him of certain things.
The two exchanged a war of words in that very instant with their eyes, but of course it was Zyn who lost, though begrudgingly so. Trying his utmost to control himself, he pushed himself past Lorian’s crushing presence and saw Lum in a heated discussion with Pols. The two sailors were whispering, but it could hardly hide the fire they were exchanging with each other. But they were peers who had to deal with each other, the same as it was with Lorian and Zyn. Lorian was the master and both he and Zyn knew it perfectly well. He didn’t bother giving Pols a parting glance that would only serve to start another fight.
Zyn stormed off and let the fools to pick up the crabs themselves, to see if they could avoid having their fingers clamped down on. He listened behind him as he marched off, paying attention for any sudden screams or whatnot as they made light of his pain, but was met only with frustrating silence.
He putzed around for some time, not really setting out to do anything constructive, when he bumped, literally, into Grumiah. Startled, and swearing that the grizzled quartermaster must have literally come out of nowhere as Zyn had not seen or heard him coming, he backed off and cursed. “Crap, Grumiah. What’s this with you popping up out of the blue like that?”
Grumiah responded by doing something very strange; he smiled. “Nothing, just looking around,” he said pleasantly.
Zyn blinked and looked over the quartermaster cautiously, noting his relaxed (which for him was an awkward sight) stance, his odd smile, and the downright creepy glint in his eyes. “Uh, you ok?” Zyn asked, trying to subdue the unease in his voice.
“Nope,” came the totally unexpected reply. Now thoughts of hauntings or at the very least hallucinogenic mushrooms rushed through Zyn’s head.
“...What... what’s the matter then?”
“Nothing at all.”
Zyn just looked at Grumiah who was still boring into him with those damn creepy eyes, looking like he had just escaped from a madhouse or something. “Then why aren’t you alright?”
“Well, that’s just the thing,” Grumiah declared, and without warning snapped around and marched away. Too stupefied to follow, Zyn just stood there with his mouth hanging open like he wanted to catch flies.
Very belatedly, he came to his senses and called out, “Grumiah!” only to receive silence in return. “Grumiah!” he shouted again, and set off after the quartermaster. His search was rewarded only by a good ten minutes of hunting aimlessly through the brush with no sign of the very peculiar acting Grumiah. Just what was up with him? Zyn hoped that it didn’t have to do with the ethereal happenings on this island, though he couldn’t avoid it as the most logical conclusion. Shaking his head, Zyn gave up on his fruitless search and made his way back to camp.
Looking up he saw that the sun was now completely obscured by cloud cover, cover that was thickening by the minute leading him to wonder if a storm was coming. Great, that would just make things perfectly fine and dandy.
“This is quite possibly the stupidest thing I’ve ever seen.”
This of course prompted the predictable groan from Zyn’s fellows as they hoisted supplies down the beach. “You’ve said that already,” Lorian muttered.
“Whoopty freaking doo. The high tide’s gonna come swamp us at the middle of the night and drown us while we’re sleeping,” Zyn complained, pointing out the painfully obvious fact that in their new found phobia of the island they were now preparing to spend the night on the open beach, a small peninsula of sand that thrust out from the bulk of the island; more to the point a strip of land that looked seriously exposed and vulnerable to the tides.
The others just groaned and shook their heads in response, though Grumiah seemed to ignore the whole thing. Zyn, of course, had been watching Grumiah ever since their brief encounter earlier but, curiously enough, the quartermaster didn’t seem to know a thing about it. Zyn didn’t know what was going on, but deliberately did not elaborate on his encounter in front of the others; they were already spooked enough as it was.
Unspoken tension hung in the air as the overcast sky became darker and darker, heralding the coming night, and all they could do was huddle helplessly by the edge of the beach. There’d be no confronting this evil, no resolving anything as darkness came with the night. None of them could do anything; Zyn couldn’t do anything.
Somewhere further down the beach Parn managed to slip something up and tumbled to the ground face first. What under other circumstances would send the rowdy sailors roaring in laughter merely roused a meager chuckle. Zyn just scowled.
At that moment Pols returned from whatever it was that he’d been doing (taking a dump probably) back to camp, except he was whistling. Giving him an odd look, Zyn stared at the squat sailor. Lum caught the sight too. “Imagining a having a whorehouse?”
Pols shrugged. “Eh, about,” he answered but didn’t say anything more and got to work helping the others.
All seemed well and good, or at least as well and good as could be given the setting and circumstances when Zyn saw someone else approaching the camp. This was odd, considering that all six of them were already present. It became really odd when Zyn looked and saw that it was Pols, a very shocked looking Pols, staring at... well, another Pols.
Zyn snapped his head back, examining the other Pols who had arrived just a few minutes earlier. “Wait, what the hell?” Lum exclaimed as he noticed as well.
Awkward silence descended and no one moved for the longest time. Then, Zyn declared, “Maybe we should just clobber them both, figure out who’s real after we’ve beat the snot out of them.”
Both Pols sneered at that comment, before they glared at each other with harsh but also slightly terrified eyes. “Just what the pagan hells are you?” the first Pols, the one who had been with the group when the second showed up, asked.
“Me?” the second asked incredulously, “The stupid doppelganger asks who the real person is?”
The absurdity of the scene stumped even Grumiah. “So which one is the real Pols?”
“I am!” came the predictable duel response.
Zyn sighed. “Well that gets us somewhere.”
“They both seem to have the same agreeable disposition,” Lorian commented. “Whichever one is the fake is doing a real good job imitating the real one.”
“But I’m me!” the first Pols declared.
“Shut up you lying abomination!” the second Pols shouted, “no one calls this ugly mug their own but me!” This comment, despite the situation, caused Zyn to chuckle. “Shut up, landlubber!” they both shouted at him derisively.
“Alright then, Lum,” the second Pols said. “You remember that time in Prekan? I walked in and scored it big with that great looking wench and—”
“-and you got yourself busted up real good when you kicked the bartender’s dog?” the second finished, though as if he we speaking to a ghost.
The second Pols’ eyes shot wide. “How did you know that?”
“Me? How did you know about Prekan?” the first asked.
“Well then,” Grumiah jumped in. “Lum, you know him pretty well right?” Upon the sailor’s nod, Lorian continued. “You know more details? Good. Pols, both of you, start talking about more obscure details.”
“But... they did just that,” Parn pointed out.
“Get them to divulge even more. At some point the fake will slip up on something and we’ll know.”
Clearing his throat, Lorian had his hand with the developing mess. “I think that would miss the point. How could the fake know of a story that only Pols and Lum knew from years back in the first place? It could only be done with extensive and penetrating magics.”
Zyn quickly caught on. “Meaning that if something like that was used once it could be used again just as easily. They could tell a thousand stories and the doppelganger could know them just as well as the real Pols.”
The first Pols shuddered. “I really don’t like the idea that this fake is swimming around in my head.”
“Look who’s talking you demon,” the second shot back.
“Monstrosity!” the first shouted.
“Shut up ya ghost!” the second fired back. “I’ve had it up to here with your cursed antics!” he said and promptly charged the first.
The two Pols disintegrated into a chaotic jumble of limbs as they each tried to punch and wrestle the other to the ground. Zyn looked at the others but no one, not even Lorian, had a clue just what they should do, so they all just stood there dumbfounded as the two Pols beat the crap out of each other.
One of the Pols, Zyn couldn’t tell which was which by now, kicked the other with a solid blow to the face. Instead of flying back, however, the other Pols just took it as if nothing had happened at all; he just smiled in a manner that was very un-Pols-like. Suddenly this Pols reached forward with one arm and grabbed the other, hoisting his counterpart into the air with decidedly unnatural strength. Just as quickly the (obvious) doppelganger Pols bolted into the brush lightning fast, laughing insanely and the real Pols screaming bloody murder.
“Damnit! Pols!” Lum yelled as he tried to take off after them. “Pols!” But by then they were already far out of sight. This didn’t seem to deter Lum for more than a moment, as whatever uncertainties he had were brushed aside before the knowledge that his best friend had been carried off by something unmistakably evil. “Come on, we have to go after him.”
“Bu-but that thing could get us just as easily,” Parn protested. The sailor promptly ignored the short mage’s blithering protestations and charged headlong into the brush. Apparently the group decided that saving Pols, however much of an ass he may have been, was the right thing to do. But whether Zyn thought the same thing may have been a different matter entirely.
“Pols!” Grumiah shouted as he slogged through heavy brush, “Pols!” They’d been yelling and searching for only about ten minutes, except for Zyn who’d done less yelling and more searching. Stupid fool Lum had near screamed himself hoarse by that point. Just what did they expect, that they’d just find Pols and that’d be the end of it? Were they just being willfully blind and stupid? The guy was a goner, and even if he wasn’t finding him wasn’t going to simply be a matter of overturn a rock and exclaiming “Oh there you are!”
Of course the most logical place to start looking was one which everyone avoided aside from meekly approaching and casting a few futile glances. Zyn, noticing the others’ reluctance, just had to approach it. Doing so he gazed down into its dark depths, where the receding daylight was actively retreating from the black abyss. Despite his opposition to the others’ mindless herd mentality, the he found he couldn’t do any more than peer into the cave from its entrance; even that took an amount of courage.
Along with the fear came gall, gall at why he could not simply push past his fear. It was just fear, wasn’t it? It was just a feeling, nothing more. A useful feeling, but a feeling nonetheless, one that could alert to danger but could often get in the way, as the present dilemma demonstrated. That such a thing that resided in his own mind did not bend to his beck and call was nothing short of infuriating.
Try as he might, Zyn felt his heart beat faster and his breath quicken. Damn it, why was his fear getting the better of him? It was just a little peace of mind, a little pool of tranquility that he happened to want to cling to. Why the hell couldn’t he let it go!? Instead of going forward and finding out the answer of Pols’ whereabouts, Zyn stood with trepidation at the entrance, until with a mixture of relief and disgust he stepped away to resume the search elsewhere. Just why did he care anyway what happened to that stupid sailor anyway? He was an arrogant idiot who practically deserved what had happened to him. If it was his time to get taken away by some evil spirit, that was just how it was.
Another hour past, and the sun sky grew progressively darker as the afternoon wore on. The five of them had regrouped near a rocky outcropping halfway between camp and the island’s domineering plateau. “Did any of you see anything at all?” Grumiah asked. All that question got were a few dismal headshakes. An equally dismal silence permeated, until Lorian suddenly pointed at the plateau. “Look, up there!”
The island’s central plateau was actually two plateaus, one large one that could be climbed up, and another separate segment with quite sheer edges that were impossible to scale. Atop that second plateau, however, now stood a rapidly moving and flailing figure who was shouting something indistinct but highly agitated.
The group promptly rushed to the sudden apparition, unsure if this was simply another trick but not willing to take a chance. The figure’s shouting was at least enough to convince them that it was most certainly Pols or his double.
“Get the hell over here you stupid ladies! Get your asses over here right now and get me down from here!!
“Sounds like him at least,” Grumiah chuckled.
There were still very unresolved issues, however. “Uh, I figure you’re not going to be appreciative of being asked this right now,” Lum shouted as they reached the base of the rockface separating them and the screaming figure above, “but are you the real Pols?”
The response was predictable. “Of course I’m the real Pols you drunk dope! Do I look like that horrible cursed fake!?”
“Well,” Zyn ventured, “we can’t really know from down here.”
“Shut up landlubber!”
“Could you at least tell us how you got up there?” Lorian asked.
“How the hell should I know!? I’ve been being dragged around by that cursed demon the whole time!”
“The whole time? We’ve searched this entire island for over an hour and you suddenly appear up there—”
“What’s with you people!?” Pols demanded. “I’m me, I’m Pols and I’m stuck up on this stupid rock and I need a damned way down, now!!”
Zyn turned to Lorian. “You buy it?”
His master shook his head. “I’m not sure what to buy at this point. It could be him, it could be the double, it could be a trap. I’m not sure at all what to do; whatever spirit set this up could be planning anything and we could be walking into it.”
“But we cannot just leave him up there,” Parn objected.
“What do you propose we do?” Zyn demanded, “For all we know getting him down, whether he’s really the real Pols or not, could be just what that thing wants.”
“But our not doing anything could be what the spirit wants us to do by the same logic,” Grumiah.
Lum let out a long sigh. “There’s another problem. Just how are we supposed to get him down from there anyway?” That silenced all of them for a good minute, until Pols deigned to interrupt their standing around doing nothing.
“What the hell are you ladies standing around for!? What the hell’s taking you so long!?”
“Why the hell can’t you shut up?” Zyn muttered.
As they stood around bouncing ideas back and forth and shooting them down just as quickly, they also noticed that the sky was darkening as the cloud cover thickened in roiling blankets of forming storm clouds.
“Great,” Lum grumbled, “we’re not going to be able to see a thing in an hour or so.”
Lorian gazed up at the sky to assess it himself. “Less, probably.”
“Well that’s just peachy,” Zyn complained.
The situation’s peachiness became magnified when Zyn felt something on his nose. Rubbing it, he distinctly felt a slight wetness. “Um, guys... I think it’s starting to rain.”
The mage looked up at the sky. “The sky certainly seems dark, but I do not see any signs of rain.”
“Why, weather magic that one thing that happens to be your specialty?” Grumiah quipped, eliciting a few chuckles, chuckles that were quickly drowned out by a literal cascade of rainfall that smashed onto them.
Taken aback by the sudden downpour, Zyn stood back for a minute before slumping his shoulders. “You know, I think this is turning out to be a really bad day.” At which point the entire island was permeated with a deafening roar. “Ok, that did not sound good.”
“Guys, guys!” Pols shouted above the rain. “Great... shit! Shit! There’s something huge coming in from the clouds right towards us!!”
Like a pack of mice they scattered in an instant. Lum and Grumiah bolted in one direction, Zyn and Lorian in another, and poor Parn stood rooted to the spot petrified. “Parn, move, now!”
Zyn didn’t get a chance to see if Parn’s sense overrode his terror, because off in the distance a huge crashing of trees thundered. Zyn and Lorian promptly took off in the opposite direction. The sky seemed to have darkened into night almost instantaneously with the coming of the storm, making it hard to see in what was in front of him, causing Zyn to trip up in his mad scramble. Stumbling around, he felt Lorian’s firm hand hoist him up and carry on.
Looking up, the sky seemed unnaturally dark and stormy; in fact in a matter of moments it may as well have been midnight. It became so dark that Zyn’s eyes barely had time to adjust and once more he was brought to a stop, this time by clipping right into the trunk of a tree. Whatever horrible apparition was after them, it seemed its evil reflected itself in the very weather.
Another roar thundered across the island, followed by the distant but distinct sounds of human screams. This was it. His time was coming. Even so, the instinct to survive pushed him on, and he scrambled to his feet and scrammed as fast as his legs would take him. This, however, proved to be a mistake as in his hast he barreled right over a jumble of rocks, causing him to again crash to the ground, only this time on rocks, rocks that sloped downhill. The first thing that got bashed was his left arm, still raw from his nasty brush with the coral reef. Next came his foot, then the back of his head as he tumbled downward.
Confused and so disoriented he didn’t even scream in pain, Zyn wobbled for a moment while the dark wet world around him spun several times. He might have been disoriented and vulnerable even longer had not another shrill cry roused him. Once again it was fear that directed him, and examining his surroundings he realized that Lorian was nowhere to be found; in the dark and with Zyn’s literal stumbling off the path, they had become separated. He was alone, dark and wet on a deserted island, though probably not for long.
Wiping some of the dirt and rocks from his face, trying his utmost to ignore the pain he incurred from his fall, Zyn hoisted himself from the ground and staggered forward getting as far away from... whatever it was, as possible. It didn’t help that if anything the storm was getting worse, as in addition to the violent rain the wind was picking up. All in all it seemed to be getting just as bad as the storm that stranded them on this island in the first place. The good news was they were on solid ground and not in the middle of the ocean. The bad news was that solid ground happened to be cursed by some demonic apparition that was now hunting them all down. From what he had heard all of the others could have been run down by that thing, to say nothing of Pols who had been trapped on top of the plateau. Curse it all, he had probably just been bait, a convenient lure to entice them all to come to a place of the thing’s choosing to pick them apart whenever it wanted. It was so simple, and he and the others so stupid for falling for it. Then again, on an island this size, and with a curse that could seemingly move about at will, just where could any of them go and be safe?
There was no safety on this island, it was a death trap. Zyn was going to die here. And he didn’t even know how he should feel about that.
Zyn’s fatalistic musings were interrupted by the steady massive thumping of massive footsteps as they quaked the entire island, and they weren’t far off at all. What was more he could hear the trees thrash and snap as something enormous thundered toward him. Zyn of course did the only thing he could do; he ran faster. Even as he did so he swore he saw some massive shape zoom overhead. Panicking, Zyn looked around in the dim, rain and wind thrashed brush for any sort of cover. After what seemed like an eternity, he found a small rocky alcove and dashed into, scraping his knees in the process but altogether not caring in the slightest.
No sooner had he found this tiny piece of shelter than a mighty gale, far too powerful and concentrated to be from the storm, swept the immediate area. Zyn heard a massive thud and saw some huge shape land nearby, but that was all he got before everything went black.
The knife and the darkness.
It was always that choice; he had to choose between one or the other.
Choose.
“Why?”
Choose, came the repetition.
“Why!?” Zyn demanded to the void, “Why, why, why!? Just give me a damn answer!”
You do realize you’re just dreaming and unconscious, don’t you?
That one took Zyn by surprise; every time he had been here he had never encountered that level of frankness. But it was true nonetheless.
Awaken...
Zyn’s eyes snapped open rather quickly, quicker than they should have given... well, he couldn’t really say that for certain. But he was definitely fully awake. The pounding rain and the thrashing wind told him so, as did the more mundane sensation of one of his headaches. At first he couldn’t tell where he was, but a colossal arc of lighting illuminated his surroundings enough for him to see he was apparently on top of the plateau, the second, smaller inaccessible one.
Out of all misfortune, the rain at least seemed to be dying down, and examining it Zyn discovered Parn on his back next to him. As his eyes adjusted, he saw however that the plump mage was petrified, rooted to the spot, eyes very wide open. That could only mean...
Sure enough, the deep resonation breathing of something absolutely enormous was right behind him, practically on top of him. The monster’s overwhelming presence shredded every bit of courage that Zyn could muster, nay, all the courage he had ever mustered in his entire life combined. Inevitably he found himself scooting, backpedaling on his back at a frantic but not quite too frantic pace, lest the monster be agitated too much. In so doing he bumped into someone else, two people actually, Pols and Grumiah from what he could make out, waking them up in the process. “Wha...?” Pols mumbled as he was roused from his likely induced slumber, before hearing the breathing and seeing the dark shadow before them. “Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh...”
“Mommy...” Lum finished behind him, apparently woken up as well by Zyn’s rustling. All six of them lay prostrate before the great and terrible shadow that towered before them, which aside from its omnipresent breathing made not a sound or gesture. It just... stood there. For minutes it stood there, sapping their will to stand up, sapping every bit of courage from them. It was a hell unto itself.
Another flash of lightning lit a distant portion of the sky behind the monster, enough that Zyn could distinctly see its outline, which, though he couldn’t be absolutely sure, looked very much like a dragon. Then, it spoke.
“You will do exactly as I say,” it declared in a voice that was quiet yet dripped with power and threat, full not of dark contempt, but merely of fact, damning, horrible fact that could with the slightest effort rip their souls from them. “On your bellies.”
With a few audible gulps from the others, all six cast aways complied, rolling over on their bellies in a most undignified manner. “Shrill,” the dragon commanded. Shrill? What could that possibly mean?, Zyn thought. “Shrill. Do it,” came a darker command. Realization dawned as it meant make a shrill noise. Oh great Eli; images of deadric rituals and sacrifices came to mind, of dark chanting and unholy sacrifices. Was that...?
Next to him Pols and Lum had already started, making as shrill a noise as they possibly could, to be joined soon by Parn and Grumiah, creating an off pitch cacophony that was reminiscent of the shriek of those facing judgment before Eli. Behind him he heard Lorian give in and join the piercing chorus, leaving only Zyn silent. This fact did not escape the horrible dragon and even though its face was obscured by the darkness, he could feel its twisted hideous eyes boring into him, crushing his heart and suffocating by presence alone. Zyn slammed his eyes shut and he too joined his fellows in the dragon’s bidding.
“Curl into yourselves.”
What kind of devilish ritual the dragon was even now causing them, all Followers, to partake in Zyn didn’t know, but it was all that he could do but do as their captor demanded; he curled into a tight fetal position, all the while continuing his unnatural shrilling.
Zyn’s voice was beginning to ache at this point, but as he struggled to keep it up lest the dragon instantly destroy him he felt a strange power reach out and sustain him, causing his throat to cease its weariness. With a start, Zyn realized that he could keep this up for a long while, which must have been exactly what the dragon was planning. It was sustaining their shrilling so it could complete its plan for them. That sealed it for certain. The dragon was casting a demonic spell fuelled by dark ritual and forcing the six feeble men to participate in their own demise.
The rampant fear and terror was only amplified when the dragon utter several, low, indistinct phrases that seemed to permeate the entire plateau with dark, unholy energy. “Now,” it added after a minute of incanting, “insert your fingers into your nostrils.”
Madness, that’s what this was, absolute and utter madness. Beside him he heard Parn break and begin sobbing even as he attempted his utmost to continue their unwilling, unholy cacophony. Zyn was too terrified to do almost anything but that which the dragon commanded. He had faced sickness, he had faced ridicule, he had faced hatred, he had faced slow death, but never, not once in his life had fear such an overwhelming clasp on his heart, on the verge of choking the very life out of him. It compelled him to do as the dragon told them. Zyn’s mind raced with what it could be part of; some spell to influence their breath, maybe the area would fill with a poisonous, noxious gas as part of the ritual. Whatever it was, it had the overwhelming stench of satanic darkness.
“Back and forth. Sway,” the dark voice spoke. It was a voice that was so terrifying it did not have to speak boldly or with malice; its very essence was unbridled power. It was power that was such it need not bother with pretention; when it spoke, the earth moved before its awesome might.
So sway back and forth he did, though he was likely selling his soul in partaking of this profane ritual, this cursed abomination of the demonic world. Inch by inch, he was surrendering to the power of darkness, even though he knew what path that would take. But before the power of this dragon, this demon, he had no choice. No choice! What was he to do?
There was a great slam upon the plateau, shaking the entire rock beneath their feet. Zyn’s first instinct was to open his eyes, even though he suspected that he would not like what he saw; but he did anyway. He was rewarded with the sight of the dragon on its back. Was it surrendering to the powers of darkness so that it might serve as an unholy channel? But Zyn’s entire mind was sent for a loop when he realized that the dragon was laughing.
It was rolling on its back laughing like a giddy school girl.
What... the crap?
The dragon was laughing so hard it seemed to be crying, though it was hard to tell in the dark and with all the rain, even though it was letting up.
A bewildered Zyn passed his gaze upon his fellows, who too had just been roused from their doomed ritualistic submission just as he had and were staring at the massive dragon as it laughed hysterically. Grumiah was the first to break the stunned silence. “What... what was that?”
The answer came, surprisingly, from the dragon. “Funny as hell, that’s what it was. Oh,” it wiped its eyes, “That was the funniest thing I’ve seen in years!”
Zyn could hardly believe his ears. “...Funny?”
“Oh yeah, it was a riot,” it got up and stared at them with eyes, now that Zyn could see them, that seemed vibrant, energetic and even hyper in the darkness. “You do realize you, all grown men, were all curled into fetal positions sticking your fingers up your nose, wobbling back and forth and shrilling like a bunch of babies? You don’t call that funny?”
Pols’ face contorted in abject confusion and small but exploding outrage. “Are... are you?... Eli damnit are you kidding me!?
“Wait, wait, lemme think,” the dragon declared putting its claws up to its chin in a contemplating manner. “Nope, no kidding, I was having fun totally screwing with you poor bastards’ brains, and I was enjoying every minute of it!” the dragon declared like an exuberant five year old.
The cast aways exchanged glances, and it was clear that they all couldn’t decide whether they should be relieved or more scarred than ever. “So,” Lorian ventured humbly, “you’re not going to eat us then?”
“Probably not,” the dragon said, “Only if I get really bored.”
Zyn gulped at the dragon’s casual address of their edibility. Pols, however, had had enough of being afraid and all the pent up fear and anxiety exploded. “Well then would you care to tell us just why the hell you put us through that in the first place!!?”
The dragon seemed to regard the sailor’s demand for a moment before casually curling his tail and womping him to the ground. The next moment Pols found himself face to face with the dragon’s creepily exuberant face which declared, “I already told you, it was funny. Now then,” it said as it released the terrified sailor, smiling, “Who wants to have more fun!” Upon the predicable utter lack of enthusiastic cheers, the dragon suddenly looked wounded and sad. “Nobody? Aw, that’s sad, but oh well. We can always do some more fun stuff later. Anyways, I’d like to welcome you all the Island of Me, home of me, myself, and a bunch of rocks... and shrubs... and coconuts... and other stuff. You may all call me Me, but since that would be confusing you may address me as the Great Monkey Eviscerator.”
Upon the bewildered stares the dragon received upon that, it shrugged. “But you can all just call me Xayk instead, ‘cause that would be easier.”
The one thing that Zyn couldn’t complain about was at least he was someplace dry and out of the rain. Ever since the storm on the ship they’d been at the utter mercy of the elements, rain or shine (though admittedly there’d been more shine than rain), but here at least in the dragon’s cave they at last had some reprieve. The insane dragon’s cave.
Strange as the great beast may have been, they found a massive bundle of firewood already waiting for them when they arrived, ever more wet and dreary as they were brought to the cave via a tortuous flight through the rainstorm. The only problem of course was that it wasn’t lit, and in the nearly pitch black cave they stumbled around several times trying not to knock each other over. Impatient and chilled to the bone, Lorian approached the dragon who was even now watching them all settle.
“Eh, Xayk, you wouldn’t be able to light up this firewood you’ve assembled for us, would you?” he said deferentially.
“Can I do it while I dance like a monkey?” the dragon responded
with insane amounts of enthusiasm.
“Um...” Lorian stopped at a loss for words, “Why... do you
have to dance like a... monkey?”
Rather than respond directly to Lorian’s question, Xayk instantly started stomping around in the dark, spinning in circles and knocking several of the men over with his tail. “What makes you think I can start a fire huh?” the dragon squealed as he danced like a maniac. “Only older dragons can breathe magic crap you know.”
“Er...” Grumiah said as Xayk finally began to calm down. “And are you old, then?”
“I’m negative forty two years old, that’s how old I am!” the dragon declared in a proud fashion.
The sound of soft chanting filled the room followed by sparks and crackles as flame quickly found root in the stack of wood and kindling and morphed into a raging inferno in seconds. Zyn stared at the firewood stunned to see none other than Parn standing over the now roaring flames, who finished chanting and plopped to the ground exhausted. On the other side of the cave Lum whistled amazed.
“It... it had some form of fuel already on it,” the puckered out mage said as he lay down against the stone floor.
The cave well illuminated now, Zyn caught his first good glimpse of their host. A thirty foot long brown scaled beast smiling excitedly at them, sitting upright on his haunches like an attentive dog. His dull brown color was unremarkable, and his build seemed to be lean but not excessively so. Unlike some depictions of dragons he had seen, Xayk lacked adornment of built up scales and striking horns, instead his body seemed to emphasize form over natural ornamentation. The only thing truly striking were his eyes; orange irises of a rather odd bright color that pierced right into Zyn’s soul. Zyn gulped and turned his attention to getting warm by the fire, trying his best not to think about the dragon’s creepy gaze.
All the men wasted no more time in shedding most of their drenched clothes and huddling around the fire, shivering but in a state of bliss at the warm relief that the flames provided. “Ooh, you’re all taking your clothes off. Does that mean someone’s going to get raped?” Xayk asked innocently.
The dragon was officially beginning to creep Zyn out at this point. Was he really as nuts as he was appearing? Maybe being the only sentient being on the island had something to do with it. He had to confess he knew very little about dragons aside from stories, so he didn’t really know if they were social or antisocial to any real degree meaning he wasn’t in a position to make any concrete judgment; it was an ignorance that irked him. “Um, no,” Zyn said, “no... raping.”
“Oh. Cannibalism then?”
Zyn turned a flabbergasted look at the dragon. Maybe he had just lived most of his life alone and didn’t know how to socialize very well, whatever that meant for a dragon. “Are you...” he couldn’t believe he was openly asking this of a creature that could easily rip him in half, but he did so anyway. “Are you just insane or something?” He heard Lum take a sharp intake of breath at Zyn’s rather abrupt question.
“Probably.” Zyn just let his mouth hang open in response.
“So then,” Grumiah said as he warmed himself, “it was you who was causing all the noise at night?”
“Yup,” Xayk grinned exuberantly. “I did that. Making noise, moving trees around.”
“Imitating me,” Pols added indignantly.
“That too. It was a fun role to play; I like playing assholes.” Pols scoffed crossly, but clearly not wanting to argue with the huge creature even given its seemingly amicable nature.
Zyn’s stomach rumbled with discontent, and he realized that all the food and provisions, meager as they were, that they had stored were back at their camp. Lorian noticed the audible gurgle and raised an eyebrow. “You wouldn’t happen to have any food in here, would you?” he asked the dragon.
“Nope, but I can get some,” he declared, and suddenly moved forward, sending the six men shrinking back fearfully, thinking that he was about to “get” some food from them. Instead of moving against his guests, however, Xayk spread his wings and thrust himself out of the cave and into the storm outside.
“Um, is anyone else utterly creeped out?” Zyn asked.
Lum openly shuddered. “That dragon’s going to be in my nightmares for years.
The six “guests” spent the next hour huddled against the fire, periodically feeding it with surplus wood that Grumiah discovered further back in the cave. Pols raised the possibility that this could be connected with the cave Zyn and Lum ventured into the other day, but upon brief exploration they discovered that this particular cavern had an end about forty yards in. However, Lorian had pointed out, it must have been Xayk who was responsible for the evil power that was felt in the first cave. This did nothing to convince Zyn of his own safety though. If the dragon, no matter how off his rocker or “polite” he may have presented himself, could produce such an unholy wave of darkness, even if it was only an illusion, then he had to possess extraordinary power.
Shuddering, Zyn shifted his attention to the cave’s mouth. Peering out,
he realized that it had to have been the opening in the rockface they had seen
before. It certainly made a secure location; unless you could fly you weren’t
getting up there; none of them would have ever made it inside if Xayk hadn’t
flown them. Outside he could barely see anything save when flashes of lightning
lit up the sea and the island below. Zyn was content to sit down and listen
to the storm outside. Growing up in Ainador he had known rain but it had not
been a common occurrence. He remembered growing up sensing the excitement of
his village at every approach of rainfall, then sitting in the doorway of his
home listening to the rain. He tried that now, tried to relax, focus on the
rain, listen to it patter against the rockface and flow down in innumerable
tiny streams. He tried to immerse himself in its white noise.
But his mind had other ideas, as he thought again of his future. What future?
he thought. Stuck here on this island with Lorian, a inept mage and three useless
sailors, and now an insane dragon...
Wait, dragon? Why didn’t he think of that earlier? Couldn’t dragons,
you know, fly?
Staring out into the black rainstorm, the smallest kernel of hope rose up in
Zyn. There were of course unanswered questions, like why the dragon stayed here
at all and if he could even fly the distance to the mainland (though Zyn thought
they could), and the like. Plus there was the fact that Xayk was... mad. They’d
at least have to learn more about him before they tried anything. Still, it
was something where before there had been nothing.
A shiver rattled its way through Zyn’s soaked body, reminding him he was still very much cold and wet. Sitting down next to the roaring and roasting flames, he saw to his amusement the three sailors lying down next to each other, if not asleep yet then pretty close. It could only be expected, he reasoned, as they had been laboring hard all day and had been through a very uncomfortable and stressful predicament. Thinking about it, he wondered why he wasn’t passed out on the floor as well with exhaustion.
Speaking of exhaustion, Parn at that moment must have felt the same way as one moment he was sitting next to Zyn, then the next toppling over into him. “Wha... Oh!” Parn woke with a start, “Oh, sorry. Sorry about that, I just... uh...”
“Fell asleep sitting up?” Zyn finished for him.
“Uh, yes,” the mage said, “yes, I underestimated my fatigue, I do apologize.”
Zyn shrugged, and stared at the fire for a few minutes longer in silence. He noticed that the mage hadn’t fallen back asleep, and there were things he was curious about. “So, what’s a young aristocrat from Yesulam doing way out here by himself?”
The look of shock on Parn’s face was palpable. “H-how did you know that?”
Zyn tried his best to suppress his smile; he had gotten it right! He knew for certain that Parn had to be Ainadorian aristocracy from the way he talked, though his features bespoke of some Pyralian ancestry somewhere mixed in, but he wasn’t so sure exactly where he was from. Luckily, he’d guessed right.
“You don’t exactly hide it very well. Let’s just say the way you speak gives certain things away.”
“...Oh. I suppose it might,” Parn said thoughtfully.
“I... take it your being a mage doesn’t sit well in Yesulam,” Zyn ventured.
Parn let out an exasperated sigh. “No, no it does not. The Church does not look kindly upon magic users.”
“Nope,” Zyn agreed, “Nope they don’t. Yet you still went ahead and became a mage?”
The mage shuffled, positioning himself a bit further from the fire. “It... I...” he fumbled for words. “I have never... been one for the politics that come with my position.”
Something about the way Parn said that made Zyn cock his head in curiosity. “Position?”
“Yes. I am the eldest child in my family.”
Zyn blinked. “Wait, you’re the main heir?”
“Unfortunately,” Parn sighed.
“...Damn.” Zyn figured that Parn, being an Ainadorian aristocratic mage, would face some ostracism, but he never thought about his exact position. His being the eldest son made things somewhat more complicated. “What was your family name again?”
“Scolastin,” Parn answered.
Searching his memory, Zyn tried to remember that name. “Sorry, doesn’t ring a bell.”
Parn sighed again. “It... there is more. Let me explain it to you this way. Do you know who Biathan was?”
“Wasn’t there a Patriarch named Biathan?” Biathan had been a Patriarch roughly two hundred years before, other than that Zyn didn’t know much.
“Yes. Two centuries ago,” Parn explained. “He came to power in good part due to his being well placed in Yesulam politics from the earliest age. He was from the house of Motesta. That is the house that my mother was born into.”
Yikes. This guy was related to Patriarch who got to that position by family connections? “Your mother, is she particularly influential?”
The response was unexpected; Parn laughed, something Zyn had never seen him do in the past week since he had met him. It was not, however, an easy going laugh; half nervous and half bitter irony. “She likes to think of herself as the second most powerful person in Yesulam besides the Patriarch himself. But then again she is my mother and is prone to certain... eccentricities.” He may as well have been confiding secretly about an affair, such was nervousness exuding from him; he was uncomfortable to speak ill off his mother even in secret. It was plainly evident from the tense was Parn held himself the power that this women held over him; though in retrospect that wouldn’t be particularly hard with Parn. But the picture was becoming clear nonetheless. “She has never been-I...” Parn fumbled.
Zyn said nothing, giving Parn time to explain. When you got someone willing to talk, you didn’t force them through roughshod into spilling the beans, you let them come out with it on their own.
“I... she will always mention Biathan to those around her; everyone she meets is given an earfull. It is always ‘Biathan did this,’ and “He was such a great member of our family.’ But everyone just nods their heads politely, not wanting to offend her.”
“Offend her?” Zyn asked.
Parn nodded uncomfortably. “Yes, she is an... easily insulted woman. No one has the nerve to tell her anything that contradicts what she already has in her head.”
“So I take it the Motesta family was held in quite esteem in Biathan’s time.”
“Oh yes, it was the most influential family in Yesulam. It was its golden age; everyone looked up to it,” Parn said with a hint of melancholy.
What was he getting at? “You’re mother likes to think on those days then?”
For a moment, Parn gave him a curious look, but it quickly subdued itself into something more amicable. “I suppose. It is something she frequently speaks of, especially when talk drifts to...” he drifted off.
This caught Zyn’s attention like a dog seeing meat drop right in front of him. “Drifts to what?” Mentally he cursed himself for being just a tad bit too direct.
Parn shifted uncomfortably in his spot. “It... I really shouldn’t talk about it.”
Damnit. He had been too direct. In his momentary excitement he had charged ahead too quickly and now Parn had backed off. He had done it again! Why did he keep screwing this part up? “Fair enough,” he declared, cutting his losses and saving face by nonchalantly dismissing the matter. “Does your being a magic user sit well with your family?”
“Uh... that truly depends on who... It does not really bother them, I guess.”
Zyn gave Parn a dubious look.
“No, no, they treat me well, they have never done anything against me because of my... abilities.”
“Then why were you on that ship with us alone?” Zyn asked, putting extra emphasis on that last word.
“Well, er... they had me on an errand you see, I had to find a distant relative of mine down in the Southlands. They had not heard from him in years and they needed him to... well, actually I do not know exactly what they needed him for, but still, you see...”
“Uh-huh,” Zyn replied. “And to find this guy your parents sent their firstborn son to another continent?”
The mage opened his mouth, then shut it awkwardly. “Um... I was available, you see.”
“Oh yeah, I can see pretty easily,” Zyn smiled wryly.
Parn sighed heavily, rubbing his hand through his hair. “Fine, fine, you win. There is no deceiving you. My family is constantly bothered by my magical affinity.”
Zyn blinked. He hadn’t even been trying to crack him utterly, but before he could get a word in Parn continued. “They send me funds and they try to ensure I have no want, but they do not allow me to return home as I am too great an embarrassment to the household. I have not even been home in four years. They keep me out and away with distant relatives and family friends. They do not speak of me at home, trying to pretend I do not exist. They are desperate to keep others from speaking about it, but every noble and clergy in Yesulam knows that I, the eldest child of the Scolastin family am a magic user. They all know!”
Um... wow. That was more of a gut spill than Zyn had been expecting. But even then Parn wasn’t done. “They keep me away hoping that I will not come home and cause trouble for them. Even though I am not really hated, my mother... when I left home, I did it without her permission. Against her permission, actually, I suppose, sort of, because I made my affinity for magic public.”
Zyn had been expecting tidbits and nuggets of family information, not his whole life story. “I suppose I should not have done it as I did, but...” Sheesh, now that he had this guy open he wouldn’t shut up. And he went on... and on, to the point where Zyn found it hard to listen to all of it and pick up the important bits even though he knew that was exactly what he should be doing. It was an unadulterated wave of verbal diarrhea that just kept coming and coming. “My brother is not the type who knows to keep his opinions to himself though...”
“Yes,” Zyn replied with impatience.
“But at least he is—”
“Yes I see,” Zyn snapped, shutting Parn up instantly.
“O-I-uh-sorry I did not realize I was rambling. I-I apologize, I am so sorry, I just did not...”
And then, out of the blue so quickly that Zyn almost didn’t catch it, was “I don’t suppose you have such problems with your parents.”
“Can’t really say, my parents are dead.”
Parn opened his mouth then clamped it shut, then repeated. “Um... I... sorry, I did not know.” After an awkward silence, he lifted his head, though still dripping with embarrassment. “You, uh, you had other family, didn’t you?”
“Just my grandparents.”
“Which ones?”
“Maternal; my father’s died some time ago. He kicked the bucket not long after I was conceived, then my mother died in child birth.”
“But, you must have some other relatives, some uncles or aunts at least.”
“Nope; both my parents were only childs. The closest I have really besides
my grandparents are some third cousins I think.”
Parn nodded, though it seemed to be more out of appeasement than anything else.
All other thoughts when suddenly a thunderous rush of air swept the cave, nearly knocking them over and sending Pols up with a start. “I didn’t bang your wife sir!” he shouted instinctively.
The rush of air heralded the return of Xayk, hoisting a massive fish the size of a carriage in his jaws. Spitting it out, he gave Pols a most amused look (though to be fair everyone else would likely have done so too had they not been so rudely shocked by the dragon’s arrival), but in the end didn’t comment on it. “I got something for you all, and some dinner too!”
The gargantuan fish was already quite dead with the teeth marks from Xayk having punctured it quite thoroughly. It spilled a nasty reek that set even the experienced sailors covering their mouths in queasiness. “And the thing you got for us would be?” Grumiah had to ask.
Smiling, Xayk reached up onto his back. “May I present to you...” he produced a coconut with a crude face etched into its surface, a face which could best be described as somewhat confused and slightly on the fritz. “Him. His name is Steve!”
“It’s a coconut,” Pols began, before being shoved to the ground violently.
“His name is Steve!” Xayk roared with fury. Settling back, the giddy smile returned to his face. “And yes, he is a coconut.”
Great Eli, what had they gotten themselves into?
Deciding that staying on the insane dragon’s good side, Zyn forced an amiable smile to his face and stepped forward. “Uh, hi Steve.”
The dragon looked to his... coconut, and eyed Zyn suspiciously. “Steve thinks you’re being patronizing. Isn’t that right Steve?” Upon the coconut’s ensuing silence, Xayk responded with a sudden, “Shut up moron.”
“Um, are you talking to... Steve or me?” Zyn asked.
“Who do you think?” Xayk asked sarcastically and unhelpfully.
The dragon then proceeded to grab “Steve” and huddle into the corner of the cave, engaging in a silent “conversation” with his erstwhile friend. The effect was sufficient to leave the cutting and preparing of the fish to be done in silence; none of the men wished to provoke an outburst of any kind from the eminently unstable beast that called himself their host. At first there were no tools to cut the fish open with, but looking around they happened to discover a couple of Xayk’s old teeth lying around. After some brief hesitation they went ahead and began making their meal, during which Zyn stole a glance or two back at the dragon to see him staring intently at Steve, eyes unwavering and solid as stone. Suppressing a shudder, Zyn got back to work.
“You know I’m glad you guys are all here,” Xayk suddenly declared a while later. “There isn’t much company on this island you know; now I can show things around to someone!” he said exuberantly.
Nervously looking over his shoulder as they cooked the food in silence, Zyn saw the dragon with his giddy expression that you could find on a five year old. “So, are you the only one here on this island?” he asked, before adding a placating “Besides Steve, that is.”
“Steve?” the dragon asked, looking at his crudely carved coconut. “Steve’s a know-it-all jerk; he never acts surprised to anything. Nope, I’m the only one here. Don’t you remember? I welcomed you earlier to the island of Me, Myself, and purple sheep. I think I was pretty clear in pointing out the occupants of the island in that.” Zyn was going to ask about the purple sheep, namely that the dragon hadn’t said that the first time and that there didn’t seem to be any purple sheep on the island, but decided against saying anything further about it.
“If you don’t mind my asking,” Lorian began asking.
“What if I do?”
Lorian froze, a brief wave of fear clasping him in place. “If you do?” he asked, regaining his composure.
“Um, yes,” Xayk said, “You said ‘if you don’t mind.’ Well what’s the ‘if’?”
“Um...” Lorian trailed off, not quite sure what to say.
“I mean what do you mean when you say things like that? What’s the ‘if?’ If you say ‘if,’ do you mean like ‘if it’s so I’ll eat a goat’s bladder?’ ‘Cause I have to admit that’d be pretty funny.”
“Um...”
“You do like goat’s bladder don’t you?” Xayk asked.
“...I don’t think...” Lorian began.
“Well shame on you for not keeping your thoughts in order silly human. If you’re going to add silly superfluous things in your questions you’re going to run into a lot of stupid obstacles aren’t you?” the dragon asked, raising an ironic eyebrow. “Just spit out what you want to say.”
Sighing forcefully, Lorian composed himself. “Very well. Is there a reason you’re on this island by yourself?”
“I have Steve,” Xayk pointed out, indicating his coconut.
“He means in addition to Steve,” Zyn said.
“Are you insinuating that I can’t get by on my own?” Xayk demanded.
“Er...”
“Well you may or may not be right. But who gives a crap? You know who Dvalin is?”
“He’s that supposed wine god that the pagans worship,” Pols blurted out.
“Pagans?” Xayk tilted his head in curiosity, “Are you those Following types that want to worship the creator type person?”
The thought popped into Zyn’s mind that their dragon host might not look too kindly on rejecting a well established pantheon. But before they could say anything Xayk continued. “Probably just as well, they’re all a little stingy and full of themselves if you ask me. Case in point, Dvalin’s a wine god but he’s also a wind god. And he’s also a sex god. Not a sexy god mind you, he’s got an overinflated opinion of himself, but he likes to sleep with sexy ladies.
“Now, a few years back he found this really hot virgin girl and he absolutely had to have her, so much that he went around all macho proclaiming what a ‘great prize he had found that he was going to give pleasure to,’ blah blah blah. He went around literally everywhere strutting his stuff making all these proclamations, so I just had to do something about it.”
Lum’s eyes widened. “You... didn’t eat her, did you?”
“Hell no,” Xayk said, “I banged her first.”
Every single mouth in the cave collectedly dropped at once.
“Yup!” Xayk grinned. “Got her good; you should have seen the look of shock that crossed his ugly mug when he realized what happened.”
“But... that means he did find out,” Lorian pointed out.
“Yeah, he kinda did that. Ended up chasing me halfway around the world trying to kill me, but then he eventually got tired of it for some reason or another. My guess is his balls told him he had gone on too long without some sex.”
Pols opened his mouth to say something, but a quick elbowing was delivered to his gut from Lum. The two sailors exchanged a brief meaningful silent conversation, ending with Pols shaking his head and grumbling. Something told Zyn that Pols, and quite possibly Lum too from his resigned continence, didn’t exactly hold belief in multiple deities in high regard. Granted, sailors were on the whole superstitious and prone to caution in when it came to magic or spirits, but that didn’t mean they all believed in a pantheon their own religion repeatedly and harshly denied the very existence of. Still, it was probably not the smartest thing to contradict their draconic host on the existence of such beings... or on anything for that matter.
“So he gave up on hunting you?” Grumiah asked, doing his best to ignore the very callous manner with which Xayk was describing things, “I thought this was about how you got stuck on this island.”
“Dvalin’s the wind god, remember? He controls the storms and junk across the whole world. He found out I was on this island and set a huge spell so that whenever I tried to leave a massive maelstrom would whip up almost immediately.”
Silence gripped the six men as they stared at the dragon mutely. “Wait, are you saying that whenever huge storms whip up here it’s because you’re trying to get off the island?” Lum asked.
“No, no. I gave up trying to leave years ago. I just like to see how big a storm I can whip up sometimes.”
More silence. “You didn’t happen to try this four nights ago, did you?” Zyn asked.
Xayk scratched his chin in contemplation. “Oh yeah, I think I did. I dealt with all kinds of terrible wind to see how far out I could get to see how big the storm would get. I think I got a good fifty miles worth or so. Now that was a storm!” All the cast aways gave each other startled looks. “What? Something on my face?” Xayk asked.
Pols pointed at Xayk, shaking his finger angrily. “You... You were the one responsible for the storm that marooned us here.”
“Probably,” Xayk shrugged.
“That’s it? You cause a storm that kills all our shipmates and strands us here on this Eli-forsaken island and you say ‘probably?’” Pols demanded.
“Yup.”
“Alright, alright, let’s not focus too much on blame here,” Lorian said, appealing for Pols to be calm; for Xayk, no one had any idea what to do about him. “You’re saying that you cannot fly off this island at all? No way for you to leave?”
“Nope. I’ve been stuck here for a good five years and I expect to be stuck here for quite a bit longer.” With that statement their newly raised hope of getting off the island using Xayk was officially dead.
“Well that’s depressing,” Zyn muttered.
Catching sleep wasn’t the easiest thing to do, despite how tired and exhausted they all were. The reason could be summed up in one word: Xayk. Zyn swore the insane dragon was watching them, waiting for the six men to all fall asleep and then pounce on them with whatever insane scheme his fiendish mind could conjure up. Maybe he wouldn’t wake up at all.
Fall asleep he did, though, and he was cast into a sleep full of dreams. Dreams of travelling the world, dreams of home, and one particular dream about great yellow constructs hovering high over the earth and something about a guy named Arthur or some crap, during which he swore he saw Xayk pop up every now and then, excitedly giggling to himself. The dragon must have left a real impression if he was already appearing in his dreams.
He felt something rub against his leg. As he looked down he saw a stick rubbing against him, but... something didn’t feel right. Almost as if...
With a start his eyes snapped open and he was awakened instantly, eyes immediately focusing on his leg. In the near utter darkness of the cave he could barely see anything, but he swore he spotted a long, thin object on his leg. The one thing that differentiated it from just a stick or piece of cloth or what-not was the fact that it was moving... and it had a distinctly scaly texture.
It was all that Zyn could do but scream bloody murder, a shrill screeching sound that pierced through the cave sending the others bolting up or straight for cover. Grumiah boldly stood and grabbed a large block of firewood as a club, defiantly awaiting whatever had come to torment them. Parn shrugged down low to the ground as possible. Lorian sat up in a tense expectant manner, while Lum and Pols crashed into each other in the confusion. The only one who didn’t move was Xayk, who regarded Zyn with a curious raised eyebrow.
“What is it?” Grumiah demanded, “What happened?”
Zyn, however, was too busy shrieking as he wiggled and thrashed his leg trying to get the hideous demonic thing off of his person. His hands made broad and ineffectual slapping movements near it but not actually to it as he was too terrified to actually touch it, all the while screeching, “GET IT OFF!! GET IT OFF!!”
Heroically his companions rushed forward and with Grumiah’s makeshift club flung aside the intruding monster. “What was it?” Parn found the nerve to ask as he worked to help the fire along so that they could at least see the face of their tormentor. Fortunately this was done rather quickly as light returned to the cave amidst the still wet and raining dark of night, revealing at last what had deigned to sneak up upon Zyn during his slumber.
The first reaction besides stupefied silence was from Pols as he doubled over laughing, to be quickly followed by Lum. Even Grumiah had a hard time keeping himself steadily, and Lorian let loose a wry smile.
“It was a snake?” Parn said aloud.
“No, no,” Grumiah said laughing, waltzing up to the animal in question and hoisting it before them. “It’s a little garden snake, that’s all.”
Instead of a sane, calm and cool reaction as should be expected, Zyn’s face contorted in a mixture of fear and rage. “Get that thing the hell away from me!”
This however was exactly the wrong thing to say as it served to egg on the sailors in their own torment of Zyn. “Oh, poor baby, we don’t like snakes do we?”
“NO!”
“Um, I hate to ask while you are holding it,” Parn said, pointing at Grumiah and his prize, “but might not it be poisonous?”
Lum shook his head. “Nah, I’ve seen those before. They’re called Wylund snakes. See the markings? Completely harmless.”
“You don’t know that!” Zyn shrieked hysterically. “You know snakes, sometimes they look like one kind but they’re actually another!”
Giving Zyn a funny look, Pols marched over to Lorian and took the little snake from him. “Alright landlubber, you wanna see if we know what we’re talking about? Fine!” With that he took the snake and began pecking at its face with his finger, which soon resulted in the writhing creature taking the sailor’s finger in its mouth. Zyn clamped his eyes shut, unable to watch and stomach churning up a maelstrom. Letting out only a slight grimace and grunt, Pols shook the reptile off. “See, I’m confidant enough that I’m not going to become poisoned or anything by this little guy. When I wake up tomorrow and get through the day just fine you’ll know that we’re right.” With that, he tossed the snake at Zyn, who yelped and darted aside to avoid the little devil, much to the amusement of the others.
Even as they had their fun all were eager to get back to sleep. Xayk, the only one to remain silent through the whole ordeal, sat there as immobile as a rock, staring; what he was staring at, no one knew or probably wanted to know.
However, as the night wore on the dragon moved his tail about the floor like a snake and at random would slide it across Zyn in apparent attempts to freak him out, attempts which couldn’t have succeeded better. More than once Zyn woke up screaming to the laughter of the others as well as a giddy smile from Xayk.