The Old Realms

~ACT IV~

The Wings of Fate

PART II

Uvr-Ycres

Stay in the cold youngling.

Stay in the cold youngling.

Stay under. Stay safe.

Until it's time.

Uh?

Fuck said that?

Wait…

Hey.

Hey!

Hey fuckwit!

Ah.

Dangnabbit!

Mum?

Come back.

Darkness.

Cold fucking Hell.

Are Hells cold?

What is this crap?

Creepy stinking crawlers.

Sneaky snakes.

Rain.

Cold.

Worms and roots.

Less cold.

Living wood.

Rot.

Fuck.

A month.

Two.

Three.

Uh?

A year.

Two.

Three.

Eh.

Ten years.

Twenty.

Thirty.

Oh shit.

One hundred seventy four years.

One hundred seventy five…

Two hundred.

Fuck.

The scream otherworldly.

“Are ye dead?”

Uh?

I hope not.

“Awk, crap!”

What?

Hey!

“Get off me!”

Fuck is you?

“I can’t move me leg!”

Hey fuckwit, I haven’t moved in years!

“Are ye hurt badly?”

Can’t feel a thing you douchenozzle!

“Tis nothin’ stepped on a cone.”

Food.

Hmm.

“It looked pretty bad from wher’ I was.”

Where was that?

Hey fuckwit! I’m talking to you!

“I’m fine.”

Shut it you cunt. Nobody cares!

“Hey, you.”

Me?

“I’ve been calling ye.”

Me too.

Unwax yer ears.

“Where’s the bloody stag?”

Ahm.

A’right, I got nothing.

Food?

“Most of it is back there.”

You piece of shite, you gulped it all down!

“The head?”

Aye, that’s it. What about the head? Hmm? Spill yer guts ye dickweed!

WHERE’S THE FOOD!

“Kept movin’ it. Difficult to get it in one blow.”

Whoa there.

Brutality.

Fatality.

Hmm.

Bump.

Ah. That's an arse.

Less cold.

Wait.

Haha!

Yes.

Light.

Oh, mama. Gimme!

Warmth.

“God darn it Pretty! Tis sure lookin’ like a big motherfuckin’ egg this.”

Uh?

What?

Less warmth.

Dark.

Get me out ye stupid cunt!

Cold.

Dark.

Wood on metal.

No creepy crawlers.

Time blurs.

I’m fucked.

Magic.

There’s a thread.

Where does it go?

Show.

Follow.

Who are you?

Why hide in the shadows like a bug?

You know yer glowing up through multiple dimensions?

You breathe, ye shit for brains!

Shades don’t breathe.

Only an idiot would fall for that.

Ah.

Oh well.

You’re a bad-bad lassie.

Huh?

Oh, it’s a dream again.

With pictures. Good.

They should sell tickets for dis shit.

Wait. Where do the toes go?

Oh, goodness gracious!

The horror.

Who thinks of these stuff?

Ah. Hey Ab’s, how is it hanging man?

Yeah. Well, fuck you too.

You piece of condescending squid!

Lard soaked in ink.

“Grab my box?”

Fuck your annoying voice!

Stupid perverted harlot.

Knobhead!

Wait.

Could it be?

Hmm.

Eh, grab the box yes. See what comes out of it.

“There’s a box…”

Fuck is this blubbering idiot?

“Under the bed.”

DO IT!

“Get the box! Hells are ye doin?”

Right. What the actual fuck dude.

How hard can it be?

“It’s too freakin’ heavy!”

Are you a wanker?

Be a man. Don’t be a turd.

“Put yer back to it for fuck’s sake!”

What the bitch licking pissflaps just said!

“What about the bag?

Fuck the bag.

Eat it if you have to.

Food is good.

Oh, for crying out loud in muted miserable silence, now they are talking about it like a couple of cunts!

“What in Nesande’s tits is this?”

Ah the Goddess ginormous milkbags.

Bliss in a bag.

Hey.

That’s probably me!

“Give it to me!”

No. She’s an idiot. Don’t fall for it!

Probably has herpes, don’t quote me on that.

“Better ye don’t know.”

Uh? Why not? Why do ye have to hide?

Speak you spiteful creature!

What?

A phallus?

Could it be?

Where’s the growth damnit!

This is very disturbing.

“Is it yours?”

Uh?

“It is.”

Fuck are you? Where’s the cunt?

Was it you all along?

Warmer.

Dark.

Hot.

Ah, the pain.

I could shit myself but I don’t have an arsehole.

Better not. Keep them turds in.

Not much room in here for other shit.

I can move a finger though.

Hotter.

Scorching.

Pull it.

Get that arm unstuck you fuck!

Gah! It broke clean through.

Goodbye arm.

Eh.

Drink the blood.

Suck them fluids.

Food.

Make that arm again.

Try again.

Give it.

You piece of shit.

Have a kick.

Here’s a head-butt.

I’m going to eat your innards!

Take a punch.

How do you like the pounding!

GET ME THE FUCK OUT!

“Are ye dead yet you piece of fossilized fat? SPEAK UP!”

Eh? Who are you?

“Oh shit! It was a long shot anyway. Fuck a clusterfuck gods damnit!”

Ahm, right. I need warmth mister sewer-mouth.

“Aye. Or a hammer to smash yer brains in. HAHAHA!”

How about I smash yours ye fucking turd-pusher!

“Hahaha! You’re a tough one eh? Well, you’re out of luck kid, this one is dumber than a brickwall.”

Need warmth!

“Yeah, you don’t have long left. Then again…”

What?

Hey!

What the actual fuck man, I thought we were friends!

Scorching hot.

Boiling liquefaction.

Hatred and dogged determination.

Kick and punch.

Head-butt that motherfucker!

Bash its brains out!

Eat them.

Food!

Gnaw it out from the inside.

Break the fuck through.

“The egg is cracked.”

Yeah? Maybe help a little dumpass?

Hey.

Fuck’ sake.

There.

Let me out.

LET ME GET OUT!

AARGGH!

Oh shit.

Flying.

Nope.

Dropping.

I can see a horse’s arsehole.

Whoa.

Ground.

Hard.

No spells, no juice.

No sustenance.

Food.

“What in the godsfather are you?”

A god-darn Wyvern!

Look!

Argh, oh shite… pissturds!

Help.

Thank you.

Wait you smell like food.

LET ME EAT THAT!

JUST A BITEEEE…. REEEEEERRRH

WHOA! Look at that. I can fly! HAHAHA!

THANKS BUDDY!

“Oii lover!”

Good grief. I always liked this part.

That right there is agility mate.

Good spillage too by our boy.

Solid sperm count there.

“Shut up dum-dum! I’m planning shit! Where did you get all that juice?”

Here and there.

“I should have killed you when I had the chance!”

Hahaha! Suck a bag of dicks!

“His idiocy is rubbing off on you, turd for brains!”

Why you didn’t?

“Blame your mother! She did it on purpose!”

Did what?

“Red and Onyx black makes burgundy! I knew right away.”

Father?

“Don’t be a fucking idiot! We are not horses! Though I would have fucked her brains out and then eaten her had I had the chance! The lines on that girl!”

Well, call it how yer gonna call it.

Food is love.

And you’re missing out.

Soon.

Let me rewind this.

Play it again, before she arrives.

Wait. What is this?

Who are you?

Let go of him.

No.

You can now go fuck yourself mister.

You want a reason?

Trust.

And amity.

Comradery and sharing.

That’s him. That’s you.

“And then there is me,” Uvrycres rustled and the winged god stepped back with a leer of surprise. “Take your fool with you. Step away from him gnome.”

“You take that out,” Eodrass growled. “You’re left with nothing. Nothing of his is yours and what you need he can’t provide. He won’t last a week. YOU SHALL NOT LOSE ME THE REALM BOY!”

Uvrycres stared at the world around them. Its golden threads, shining nets crisscrossing one another. Connecting earth and heavens. Animals and folk. Nature and magic. Dreams and history. Many futures, roads not traveled and others already left behind. Thought of the past and the centuries left in the dark. He stared beyond the shores and the dark waters where Abrakas the Abhorrent roamed, ever wrathful and full of vitriol. Heard the Ticu sing about revenge. The giants humming in their stupor in Yalca and the Wyverns stirring in the wild, lost Realms beyond Mistland, disturbed at the intrusion. The Beasts waking up feeling the spread of Magic over the land and the vile dead gathering afore their silent god in the enclosed island of Galith at the center of the Round Sea.

The abomination thrashing in appalling anguish under the Painted God’s feet sensed his thread reaching out and turned a globular -still in the process of morphing, hideous head towards him. Yellow and pink pus running down the cracks of the artificial skin made out of liquefied melted flesh and acidic clay, the sewn bones crackling when he slowly got up hissing irate. He reached an elongated atrophic arm inside the asbestos-like pool, splashed his face and chest with it. Lathered the creamy material down his arms and crooked inhuman legs murmuring psalms and screaming at the same time. Two different planes of existence converging for a moment. The Painted God raised a claw-like arm and touched the wrecked in spasms creature’s head. The paste dried out in an instant and turned into flesh, its eyes clearing out at last.

His mouth slowly created a hideous smile.

Zargatoh stared straight at him with hatred. Perhaps there is pain in there, he thought, but you had to fill up the void with something.

So pain would do the job.

“Heed my words,” Uvrycres warned the impossibly distant Aken Elder through the rare crack between the Realms. “You mess with me and mine, I’m going to turn you into a pile of worthless, unworkable ash, then come to your home and burn it all down too.”

“I’ve already won youngling,” Zargatoh crackled. “It’s too late. This is the aftermath of the war.”

“You’re running out of bones dude,” Uvrycres deadpanned. “Seeing as it’s the only thing ye got going for you life-wise, ye better hope the war ends soon.”

The magical thread snapped. The Realms retracting and hiding out of sight again. Uvrycres moved on all fours suddenly, then flapped his extended wings once, twice, just for show and charged negatively his enchanted body to match that of the earth under him, what warlocks called the Greater Gift of Flight. Fools, boobs and ignoramus. The negative charge catapulted him upwards, the wings keeping the speed in check and the earth getting distant under his shadow. He circled once over the rebuilding Goras and the workshops up on the plateau. Followed the tiled roads leading to the port and saw the large ship approaching in the distance with all its sails open. The pirate flag hoisted on it. Uvrycres casted a concerned eye towards the ever watching gloomy Abrakas, but he couldn’t read the sunken in the depths Kraken’s face, nor gauge its intentions.

A dice roll.

Over and beyond he flew next, the imposing Pale Mountains rising to meet him. He turned his scales to smooth quartz to combat the winds up there, the black mirror-like surface reflecting the white ice of the slopes almost cloaking him as he slashed through and over the mountains towards Turlas Peak. He’d dreamed of gold the other day. The pirate captain arriving only strengthening the prophecy of his next kin to come. The strong breeze blasting on his camouflaged figure extremely cold, but just as quickly heating up and turning into another, when it went over the heights.

Supercharged with its essence and like a spool of ethereal thread it rolled down the plains, Eplas ports and its cities. Its rivers and its forests. The deserts and the valleys. It changed the nature of anything it touched for just a small and tiny moment. Sometimes that nudge was all that was needed.

Or the much celebrated ‘bump on a Gish’s arse’.

Many a great men and women had fallen victim to its firmness.

And a few Wyverns.

Aye.