Thursday, July 2, 2015
Evil has entered Victorian England. Londoners are being frozen to death on their doorstep. Sherlock Holmes and "The Case of the Yellow Hand!"
Sherlock Holmes as you've never seen before!
Also you can buy it directly at my author site from my bookstore.
Where's a friendly god when you need one? Thor's Hammer "A Cartoon Story" By John Pirillo. And you thought you had it bad!
Thor's Hammer
"A Cartoon Story"
By John Pirillo
Hi! My name's Johnnie and I am the Comic Book Commando. No, not the kind you read about. Or see in the movies. Or watch on TV. I'm the real thing. I live and breathe comic books. I get my power from comic books.
I did this really dumb thing when a building was on fire and tried to rescue a young girl whose life was in danger. Trouble is. There wasn't a young girl. It was a set up to test me. It worked. I passed.
The young girl was really a Princess from another universe. And now I've got the power to draw on the superpowers, looks, and energies of any comic book hero I'm in contact with and then sometimes when I'm not as well. And it all came about because of a princess named Cartoon. You see she is a comic book. Comic book princess, that is.
She comes from a universe where everything is real, but everything is also a cartoon. And all the cartoons there are the ones we write here. She's in love with me. She glows in the dark. And I love her. Weird, huh? You haven't heard the half! Oh, did I tell you she's a Princess?
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Johnnie woke up that morning with a headache that wouldn't quit. He had been up most of the night studying Norse mythology for his history class. Mister Morgan, his Professor, was a buff on the stuff and Johnnie loved mythology of any kind. The ancient myths were kind of parallel to the comic books of today, except with bolts of lightning, chariots and flying horses. But in this case it was more a case of a one-eyed god, Odin, who used his favorite son, Thor, to hammer some sense into the villains of their mythic world.
"It is believed." Professor Morgan had recited from an article clutched in his bronzed hands that had hair thick enough to make an ape jealous. "It is believed that ancient man had closer ties to not only nature, but to the gods. That at one time the gods walked the earth, sharing their knowledge and uplifting humanity."
Randall Garrett, an obnoxious twerk from the south side of town, raised a hand.
Professor Morgan winced, knowing what was to come, but being a patient and kind man, he nodded. "Yes, Mister Garrett?"
"I've heard that mead they drank would knock your socks off!"
The class burst into laughter, except for Johnnie and the Professor, who glared at Randall for a moment, then continued to read, ignoring the question. "One such god has been fictionalized and made quite popular by the Marvel Comics people."
He looked up. "Anyone guess who?"
Johnnie's hand bounced up first.
"Yes. Johnnie."
"Thor."
The class cheered.
Johnnie blushed. "A straight ace that is always fighting Loki and huge snakes that want to cause the end of the world."
Professor Morgan nodded. "Very good, young man." He turned to look at the rest of the class, who knew he had more to say. "The Ragnarok, as Johnnie so aptly pointed out, is the equivalent of modern day science's Big Bang Theory and the collapse of matter into Black Holes. The Norse were quite adept at the sciences, hiding much of their intellectual prowess in intellectual documents of mythology in order to avoid over scrutiny of the royalty at that time, who were short sighted and quite violent."
Randall jumped up. "Sorta like the way Galileo was treated by the Catholic Church for theorizing that the earth wasn't the central work of God."
Professor Morgan's right eyebrow rose. "An apt description. Very good."
Johnnie sighed. Somehow that jerk always got his neck out of the noose he made by coming up with something bright at the end of it all. Some day that game wouldn't play anymore for him, he thought as he prepared to write down the assignment for the weekend.
"This weekend's assignment. Draw sketches of two of the main Norse Gods and give a short history on both and how that history and their powers might be related to modern day history and science. That will be all. Have a lovely weekend."
He nodded to the class, and then turned his back to shuffle his paperwork into a neat pile and scoot it into a large manila folder. He was about to walk away, when Johnnie stopped him by joining him.
"Yes?"
"What if the gods were real?"
Professor Morgan gave Johnnie an appraising look. "As in truly gods with horrific powers to demolish humanity and demons?"
"That's the drift."
Professor Morgan considered the thought a moment, and then said. "Tell me more."
Johnnie started to speak. The Professor held a hand up. Smiled. "In the essay you will bring me on Monday with the sketches I requested. Good afternoon, Johnnie."
"Good afternoon, sir." He replied, then on the Professor's nod, rushed back to his desk to gather his books and notes.
He was almost done packing everything into his backpack when he felt someone behind him. He turned around and Randall stood there glaring at him. "Sucking up to the Professor ain't cool, man."
"I wasn't sucking up."
Randall looked him up and down. "You for real?"
"Are you?" Johnnie said, and then since his front path was blocked, he scooted along the aisle of desks and exited from the side door out into the quad. He sensed Randall exit after him, but ignored it. He wasn't afraid of him. Just annoyed. The kid had a chip, not a block on his shoulder and someday it was going to get knocked off. Just not by him.
"Johnnie!" Cartoon's voice called to him, interrupting his thoughts.
He sat up, stretched, and rubbed his temples, easing the pains somewhat. Cartoon walked into the room, her skin emitting a soft golden glow. Her huge almond shaped eyes smiled at him as they always did. He always felt like he was somehow drowning in those gorgeous orbs.
"What?"
"I made breakfast."
"Oh." He said. "Great." He went on a bit too quickly.
Her smile fell away. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing. Nothing. Just some problems at school and a massive essay I have to get done before the weekends out. I also have to work the whole day at Al's Shop."
"Then you'll need a good breakfast." She told him.
He nodded. "Give me a sec and I'll be there." He told her, dashed into the bathroom, did a quick wipe of his face, put on deodorant and aftershave. He didn't shave. His face was always hairless. He slipped on his favorite Hulk Tee Shirt and jeans, then a pair of white socks. He whipped a hand through his long hair, sweeping it out of his eyes and ran into the kitchen where Cartoon was placing everything.
Bacon. Burnt. Eggs. Runny. Toast. Even more burnt. The smell in the kitchen was. Burnt.
Johnnie sighed inwardly, but made a brave show of it. "Looks great."
He dropped into his chair and she sat on the opposite one, watching him as he forced himself to eat the food without grimacing. "I love to watch you eat." She told him sweetly. "I'm going to make lunch for and dinner when you come home. I'm really getting a hang of this cooking thing."
Johnnie gulped the one good thing on the table. Orange juice. He slid from his chair. "Practice makes perfect."
She rose and gave him a hug. He hugged her back. He might have felt like he had just been subjected to ten minutes of harrowing torture, but he still loved her. "I love you." He told her, inhaling her fragrance. She always smelled like vanilla. Something about the makeup of her cartoon nature. Even when she had blood all over her from a battle, she never smelled like anything but sweet vanilla.
"I love you too." She told him and gave him a kiss that made him forget about homework.
She stopped him. "That essay?"
"Right. The essay." He said, working to subdue his savage hormones. She gave him a knowing smile and a promise of later, and then began cleaning up.
He went into the living room where he'd dumped the library books he'd checked out after his class. He thumbed through them. All were heavily illustrated. Like historical comic books, he mused to himself.
When he lifted the hand from Odin he could have sworn he saw a lightning flash through the blinds of his living room window, but that would have been impossible as there were no clouds in the sky that morning. It was a perfectly clear sky.
He quickly closed that book, and then looked at the one with Loki. The man was dressed like a circus clown, but with a look like the Joker from the Dark Knight Batman series. Hideous, but with a kind of pleasant grin. Then it struck him. What he had been missing all that week. When Randall had entered the class at the beginning of the week there had been this tremendous lightning storm and everyone had been drenched.
It was Randall's first day in the class. For a brief moment Johnnie had looked his way to see the kid staring directly at him. He had waved, and then looked away, thinking nothing of it.
But now as he eyed the sketch of Loki on the cover of the book, he noticed how close the resemblance was. Take away the scars and the hideous outfit and...Randall!
"Oh crap!" Johnnie groaned. "How did this happen?"
A swirl of cloud spun into existence in the center of the living room and lightning bolts shook in and out of it, lancing the living room air with bright strokes of incandescent light. Johnnie fell off the sofa, knocking the books off with him. He didn't notice that his right hand had fallen across one of the books.
Cartoon shrieked in the kitchen.
Johnnie started to get up, when the door blasted off its hinges and landed against the wall behind him. Randall walked out, clutching Cartoon by her right wrist. She was struggling to break free from him, but somehow he managed to hold on.
"Just like the Midgard serpent, hey glow lady?" He asked Cartoon.
She tried to slap him and he caught her other wrist. Then he flung her hard across the room. She landed in a heap against the front door. She was so stunned by the movement, she didn't move for a long time.
"Cartoon!" Johnnie cried out, leaping to his feet.
The moment he did something big weighted down his left fist. He glanced that way and almost dropped it. It was a huge hammer.
Randall's eyes widened a moment. "Thor!"
Johnnie said nothing. He was in a state of shock. But after another moment, he regained his senses and moved to step in front of Cartoon. "No. Me. What do you want, Loki?"
"The End of the World. What else would a god want?"
Johnnie's eyes tightened into a glare. "Not on my watch."
Loki waved a hand.
The front door to the apartment swung open and a huge snake's head flung inside and darted about, stopping once it located Johnnie. "I'd like to introduce you to one of the children of the Midgard serpent. His name is..." Loki paused, a finger to his chin in a thoughtful manner. "Ah, that's it. Your death!"
"Eat him!" Loki ordered. "Then eat her!" He finished.
The snake struck at Johnnie, its mouth opening to reveal huge fangs that were dripping poison. Without thinking about it, Johnnie ducked to the right of the snake head, and then struck it with all his might on the side of its face near its right eye. The eye splattered into orbs of blood and goo. Johnnie whirled around and smashed the hammer in his right hand into the back of its head. The snake's head exploded into globs of matter, blood and goo.
Johnnie stood there, his body immersed in gore, and Cartoon rising to stand next to him. "Get behind me." He warned her.
Randall eyed Johnnie thoughtfully. "Oh, I don't think so. You've got much worse to deal with than me, Johnnie."
Randall vanished in a cloud of lightning and thunder, which whipped past Johnnie, almost knocking him and Cartoon down, then shot up into the skies.
Cartoon threw her arms around Johnnie. "We're safe."
Before he could reply...
"Ahoy Mateys!" The Landlord said from the open door. "In a bit of a mess, are we?"
Johnnie felt a sense of relief, and then horror as he realized what it must look like with him holding this huge hammer and gore all over the place.
"Don't worry. I'll have it all cleaned up before the day is out. I was practicing a fun little lab experiment for my finals."
The Landlord looked at the mess. "What you kids call fun these days is disgusting!"
Then he saw Cartoon. His face brightened into a smile. "Look, whenever you get tired of this college brat, I'm just ten doors down and one floor up."
Cartoon smiled at the Landlord, but when he exited from view. She slammed the front door shut and grimaced. "He is disgusting."
Johnnie looked at the mess on the walls, ceiling and floor and himself and Cartoon. "I have to go to work and everything's ruined."
Cartoon shoved him towards the bedroom. "Clean up. Go. I'll take care of the mess."
Johnnie did as she said, but when he ran down t he stairs and to t he street to catch a bus, he hoped her idea of cleaning up wasn't the same as cooking. If it was, he'd have hell to pay.
He grinned. As if he didn't already!
He caught the bus and sat in the back. He watched the homes go by as the bus wound along the street towards his job. Someday he'd have to get a car.
For a brief moment a huge chariot appeared next to the bus, floating there, its wheels golden and sparkling like fire was living in them. Other bus passengers saw and screamed. The chariot followed them about another block, as passengers gestured and shouted, and then a very beautiful and huge man dressed in Viking Armor appeared in the chariot. He smiled at Johnnie and raised his hammer, and then he and the chariot shot up into the sky and vanished.
That night the news on every channel reported a very unusual UFO in Sacramento.
Wednesday, July 1, 2015
Just released a Fractal Flame Art Book. Filled with beautiful images in full color!
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Don't miss out on this beautiful edition of heart warming images. Purchase now for 99cents at my bookstore on my author site.
There's no explaining the appetites of some men. A Matter of Taste "A Sherlock Holmes Story" by John Pirillo. Sometimes we must just rise up in anger.
A Matter of Taste
"A Sherlock Holmes Story"
by John Pirillo
"Merely a matter of proper observation, Watson." Sherlock said, as he lowered his binoculars to look at his best friend and companion. They had left Baker Street before dawn, heavy overcoats, mufflers and caps. Watson wore a more stylish Slavic style, which was the rage of Her Majesty Good Queen May's court at the time. It started quite high at the back of the head and raked forward over the eyebrows, drooping like a kitten sleeping at rest over a counter. Sherlock hated it, but wouldn't comment directly for fear of hurting his friend's feelings. He had been quite testy lately since Mrs. Hudson had departed to the Whiteshores to visit some relative.
"Indubitably." Watson agreed, taking the binoculars and fixing his own eyes on the eyrie that's roost was high above the raging sea waters below.
"I suspect our man hasn't the least idea that we are on his trail."
Watson nodded. "I agree. Look."
He handed back the binoculars and Sherlock looked at the eyrie again, but this time focused on the right edge of it where an older man sat with his legs perched over the drop below. He seemed to be peeling something.
"An apple."
"What?"
Sherlock turned to Watson, lowering the binoculars. "He is peeling an apple."
"How can you tell at this at this distance?"
"For one thing, he needs only one hand to hold the fruit, or object if you will. Two, it is round, as he is easily able to rotate it in the one hand, and three it is small enough to fit in one hand."
"That describes a potato, a tomato and a round of cheese equally well."
Sherlock took it with a grain of salt. "A potato would be unlikely, as the man is from Dublin and is known to hate potatoes because of their symbol of slavery to the Britains. The tomato is out of season and unavailable and a round of cheese would be too soft and cling to his hand, therefore not rotating easily, nor peeling so effortlessly."
Sherlock looked to Watson to come up with a counter argument. But instead he said. "That's brilliant, Holmes!"
Sherlock didn't honor the compliment with a reply. In fact he was pretty sure it wasn't an apple at all, for he had seen the clump of scalp the man had discarded before he began carving the head of the baby dog.
It was a foul deed. Eating babies of anything. Sherlock grimaced. And this man had eaten the babies of far worse. This brought him and Watson to why they were observing the man.
"There appears to be a path." Watson noted, making a series of quick notes in his notebook, before carefully inserting it back into his black bag, which he was never without.
A sudden surge of brisk, freezing sea wind blew across their hiding place and Watson's teeth began to chatter.
Sherlock began sliding away from the sparse shrubbery and log they had been peering from behind. "Come. A warm fire awaits us."
"But we haven't caught the bugger yet." Protested Watson.
"Ah, but we have."
No sooner did the words exit his mouth than Inspector Bloodstone and his son, Constable Evans showed up along with about twenty Constables.
Sherlock stood up, brushing off his overcoat, and replacing his deerstalker cap on his head, adjusting it slightly so it wouldn't catch the surging wind. "Good to see you, Inspector."
"And you, Holmes. And our guest?"
"Comfortable." Sherlock answered with the hint of a smile.
The Inspector nodded and his men spread out.
Watson looked back at the cliff again and saw a horde of dark cloaked men descending the side of the cliff where the eyrie was, rappelling down knotted ropes. "Our men should have him in no time."
They heard a man's scream and turned to see the old man, arms akimbo, swinging like windmill blades as he tumbled from his hiding place towards the sea far below. They couldn't see him land.
Inspector Bloodstone crossed himself, and then turned to Sherlock. "It would appear our guest h as refused our offer of companionship."
"Indeed." Sherlock acknowledged. "But do not call your men off just yet."
He rushed for the edge of the drop they had been near and as he did so, he and the others saw a very strange thing occur. The old man was not lying on the rocks below, but instead was soaring away on a strange device that hung from his back and that he clung to and guided with his arms and hands.
"The DaVinci!" Inspector Bloodstone cursed.
"The bloody cannibal has escaped us again, father."
Inspector Bloodstone eyed his son thoughtfully a moment.
"I mean, Inspector." Constable Evans hurriedly corrected himself.
"Yes." The Inspector finally replied, then folding his hands behind his back, headed back down the rise where the Constable wagons awaited. It had been a long dreary drive to the God-forsaken stretch of cliff and rock, and now it would be an even longer one home. He would order his men to search the area, but he knew well enough the range of the blasted DaVinci and considered the matter no longer in his hands to control.
Watson and Sherlock watched the sullen Inspector march off.
"I gather he's having a worse day than I." Watson remarked, gripping his muffler and tightening it about his throat more as an even stronger gust of wind blew in from the sea.
"Our man appears to know the routes of the air currents, as well as the sea." Sherlock observed, turning to eye Constable Evans, who looked a bit strained.
"Constable, I would suggest you return with your...uh...the Inspector dutifully. He will need as much support as possible."
Constable Evans nodded and started to follow his father, then stopped and looked back. "Sherlock."
"Yes, Constable."
"What if that wasn't the old man on the DaVinci?"
Sherlock's right eyebrow cocked upwards at a peculiar anger.
"By Jove, Holmes, he's got you!"
Sherlock didn't answer. He ran for the Constable Wagons.
He leaped in beside the Inspector, who was signaling his driver to leave. "The game's still afoot, Inspector."
Constable Evans and Watson barely leaped into the back, before the wagon leaped into action. It lit up its lights and sirens and blasted towards the only road that led to the cliff eyrie.
It took them a bit over an hour to reach the overhang where the Constable's men had rappelled down and the ropes still hung over the cliff's edge. Sherlock went to the edge, and immediately took hold of a rope and began scrambling down, hand over hand, but Watson backed off, shaking his head.
Constable Evans had a rope in his hand and eyed Watson questioningly. "Go ahead, Constable, I'll bring up the rear...from here." He said with a cough of embarrassment.
Inspector Bloodstone gave Watson a sly smile. "Still afraid of heights, Doctor?"
"I am not...afraid of heights, sir!" Watson argued, his face turning a bright red. "Merely respectful of them."'
Inspector Bloodstone laughed, and then hurled himself over the edge like a professional mountain climber, gripping the rope between his gloved hands and sliding down, intermittently slowing himself. Constable Evans looked to Watson. "I can stay here, sir, if you like."
Watson exploded. "Do I look like a blasted child to you who needs someone to hold their hands because they're afraid of the dark?"
"No sir!" Constable Evans exclaimed, shocked at the response.
Watson brushed him aside, then grabbed a rope and lowered himself over the edge. "Afraid of heights, really!"
He lowered himself down, but as soon as Constable Evans was safe from view, he said. "Mother Mary protect me."
Sherlock reached the overhang and dropped lightly to his feet. Inspector Bloodstone came next and dropped effortlessly beside him. He eyed Sherlock questioningly. "This spot is well known. No known exit exists from it. Except..." He indicated the drop to the sea.
Sherlock didn't reply. Instead he stepped into the cave's mouth. The Inspector followed. They went into the depths of the shadows, light vanishing behind them, until Sherlock struck a match and lit it. He held it up, lighting their way. He walked several paces until a dead-end wall appeared before them.
"I was right, was I not?" The Inspector noted, with a bit too much glee. "Now we can go home and get a decent rest."
"I'm afraid not, Inspector." Sherlock replied. He dropped the match which had just burnt to his gloves, then lit a new one. He stood there with the match held high. As he did so the flames began to draw to the left. He slowly turned and the flames drew straight forward. He continued in that direction about five yards then stopped.
"Here." He said. Stopping abruptly.
The Inspector gave Sherlock a look like he'd gone mad. "Here? Here! Have you gone mad, Holmes. This is nothing but a blank wall of rock!"
"See." He pounded on it. "Nothing but..." The rock began to move aside. As it did so an older man stood revealed. He held an odd pipe shaped device to his right ear, which he quickly tossed aside and reached for a weapon on a small shelf on the inside wall of the small compartment that had been revealed.
Behind him was a man's corpse strung up on the wall by his palms. He was naked and dripping blood. Chunks of his flesh were missing around the ribs.
He held the gun aimed at the Inspector and Holmes, who did not move, thinking that might trigger a hasty firing of the hand gun.
"Very clever, Holmes."
"Your reign of terror is at an end, Sir Guiles."
The nobleman gave Holmes the briefest of smiles. "Does the Queen know?"
"She has her suspicions."
Inspector Bloodstone suddenly moved. Sir Guiles fired.
Inspector Bloodstone fell to the right and collapsed, clutching at his stomach.
Sir Guiles smiled. "The worst shot. Gut shot is the choice of men at war who wish to punish their captives as much as possible without actually killing them. It can be healed effortlessly enough, and then repeated again to greater effect, thus also making it a great tool of torture as well."
"Which you certainly are a master of." Sherlock noted casually, not moving an inch, except to glance at the fallen Inspector, who groaned on the floor, clutching at his stomach.
"I suppose you shall now elude us with the second DaVinci I see in the corner of your secret room."
Sir Guiles smiled broadly this time. "Brilliant deduction. Except you're wrong!"
He aimed his pistol at Sherlock's chest. "The heart, many foolish people believe, is on the left side of the chest, but we know, don't we, Mister Holmes, that the heart is in the center of the chest, not to the right or the left."
"So you intend to kill me?"
"No. I intend to eat you!"
His finger tightened on the trigger and the sound of two pistols firing came at the same time.
Sir Guiles face registered shock a long time, before he fell. He had a bullet hole between his eyes and one directly in his chest. Before he collapsed, his weapon fell to the floor and lay there unmoving, and then his eyes looked past Sherlock to where Doctor Watson and Constable Evans both had smoking weapons in their hands, their eyes filled with dreadful purpose.
Sir Guiles in a huge surge of will, even though dead on his feet, laughed. He plunged past Sherlock, who stepped aside from his path, and towards Watson and Constable Evans, who also stepped from his path.
They watched as he reached the edge of the hangover and lifted his arms to the skies, then fell from view.
Constable Evans ran into the room and dropped to his father's side. "Father!"
The Inspector looked up at his son. "Remind me to stop saying you upset my stomach. This gunshot hurts like bloody hell warmed over! Bollocks!" He cursed.
Watson and Sherlock went to the edge of the drop and looked down. Below lay the figure of Sir Guiles.
"Well, I guess that solves this spot of soiled humanity."
"Yes. But what of the other?"
"What other?"
"The one who got away."
Then Watson remembered the vision of the dead man hanging by his palms from the inside cave compartment. He was missing chunks of both sides of his body. Watson felt the blood drain from his face. "Dear God, Holmes, that man on the wall...the teeth marks were different on both sides."
"Yes. I'm afraid so, dear Watson. I'm afraid so."
"Then the other man who escaped."
"His twin brother."
"I didn't know he had a twin brother."
"You wouldn't, Watson, he kept the secret close to his chest, just like his...um...unusual tastes. If not for the Queen, I would never have known myself."
But that means we haven't stopped the killings at all. "This is precisely why Sir Guiles laughed at his own death. He knew precisely that."
Sherlock looked off into the distance as Doctor Watson rushed back inside to tend to the Inspector. It meant more horrible deaths. And yet another monster loose on the innocent of London.
He shook his head, and then returned inside to assist his friends in carrying the Inspector out of the cave. He helped rig a carry for him, and then he and Constable Evans climbed to the top, where other Constables were just arriving. They hauled the Inspector up and then Watson, who, when he reached the top, fell to the ground and kissed it.
"Watson, whatever are you doing?" Sherlock asked him.
"I lost my spyglass." Watson hurriedly said, getting back to his feet.
"But..."
Watson turned on Sherlock. Sternly. "I...lost...my...spyglass!"
Like a spurned lover he walked stiffly to the nearest Constable wagon and climbed inside. Constable Evans passed Sherlock, his father stretched on a length of wood carried by two Constables. "He and my father have much in common."
"Indeed, they do, Constable Evans. Indeed they do." Sherlock answered with the slightest hint of a smile.
Mary Poppins got nothing un us, guvnor! Dazzling, scrumptilicious new fractal flame gallery!
If Mary Poppins had a computer, she would have made these for the kids, and then served them with a spoonful of sugared interactive educational games.
Enjoy!
John
The Mask works to destroy America! Will the Spy Smasher stop him in time? Chapter 4 of Spy Smasher. Non stop action!
What kind of hideous death does Spy Smasher face this chapter?
Enjoy.
John
Tuesday, June 30, 2015
Invaders, Rowlf's Journey "A Journey to the Center of the Earth Story" Sometimes it's hard to know the real monster, even when you're one.
Rowlf's Journey
"A Journey to the Center of the Earth Story"
By John Pirillo
Maybe it was the never ending trek into the bowels of the earth that caught Rowlf's fancy, or perhaps it was these strange creatures who demonstrated such extremes of emotion. Emotion was not new to Rowlf. All his people had it, but jut not so extreme! His people were not nomadic by nature. Once they found a cavern or large protected area with access to water and food, they seldom left that area to adventure about.
There were some, like Rowlf though, who while tolerated, and put a stress and strain on the society they were born to, because their minds were curious. Always looking to explore one more thing. Learn one more thing.
Such had Rowlf been as an egg and such was he now as a fully grown Therm...The description his people gave themselves. It meant hard shell, soft heart.
Of course not all Therms were as reasonable as Rowlf's had been. He still remembered when their quarters were invaded by a variation of Therm that used strange weapons that sent beams of light, blistering the shells of loved ones and friends. Rowlf had been but little over an egg in size at that time, so he had been hidden in the back, protected by the Warrior Mothers, those who gave up egg lying to protect the young. More often than not, they also laid eggs, but they never had the privilege of raising and nourishing them as a mother might. Their sights were upon the overall communal protection.
They had thrown off that invasion, not because of superior weapons, but because they cared for each other. None were afraid to die for the other. And many had perished. It take many long periods of egg laying to even begin to get back into the numbers of population they had before the battle with the evil Therms.
Evil is a loosely translated word for the emotion they felt from the invading Therms. No one of Rowlf's tribe would ever have said that word. They didn't believe that creatures were made of one thing or another, but a blend. They believed in shades of gray, not black.
Rowlf had awakened the night of the invasion with a frightening vision. He saw these short white skinned creatures invading their home with weapons that could pierce their armored skin and explode them from the inside out. It had terrified him.
His mother had tried to calm him down and it might have worked, had not the invasion begun shortly thereafter. Rowlf remembered little of those moments in retrospect, because his mind was still forming. Therm brains aren't fully developed in the second area of the head until they reach ten terms. Which are about twenty earth years as measured by surface dwellers.
Rowlf had scrambled on his legs and arms like an insect. Children did that. Not adults, though they might in a warlike situation, which this was, though few at the time could believe such was happening.
Rowlf had been taken the long path, not the short, for the invaders were camped at the edge of the short path and were using their strange weapons to pick off anyone that came within range. Which in the beginning had been pretty much dozens of Therms who couldn't believe that the strange lights would harm them, let alone the invaders. It was unheard of for Therm to harm Therm. That illusion was quickly broken by the fight that ensued.
Hundreds died in the first fatal hours, before the invading Therms ran out of light throwing weapons. Their beams of light might have killed Therms, but not always on the first blow or the next. Even dying, Therms took a long time to realize they were dead and kept on fighting until their brains were fried, or their multiple hearts broke.
Rowlf's heart broke at least twice during the battle, for his mother and father were among the first to fall as they strove to protect him and the other children from the invading Therms. It had been their goal to rob the colony of the babies. Later, after they had scattered the foe, and captured a few. The majority they swiftly killed once their light weapons failed.
They learned about the goals of the invaders from one especially tall one. He had been captured and kept from biting his own body in two by four of their own. He had been interrogated and found out to have led roughly a thousand of the Therm invaders. Only fifty of them survived. He had told them that there were more waiting to invade and with even more powerful weapons, but none believed him. The cells in his eyes lied. They glowed the wrong way.
The Therms of the colony knew bitterness and sorrow for the first time in a long time. They did not feel for vengeance, so they allowed the captured leader to choose his method of death. The leader had chosen the Molten Falls. A series of volcanic rivers that burned up anything that touched them within the blink of multiple eyes.
He had marched to the edge of the precipice he would jump from, then turned back and faced his captors. "You have won this war. But there will be another. And it will be led by the White Ones."
And then he had given them a brittle smile. The only kind their sort could make and fallen backwards from the edge of the precipice, laughing.
Rowlf remembered breaking free from the others and running to the edge of the precipice. He should have seen the leader burning in the molten lava, but he saw nothing for a long time, but then he saw this mottled shell of color moving sideways about halfway down the precipice. It stopped a moment, and then a face looked up at him. One he would never forget.
Rowlf woke up with a nerve grinding roar of anger, startling both Russ...a Midwestern man with a quirky sense of humor and his friend, Everett, a British genius with an even stranger sense of humor. Rowlf never thought much about what brought their humor to life. Had he done so, he might have realized it was their way of coping with all the death they'd seen and near deaths of them during their journey beneath the earth.
"Bloody Hell! Rowlf!" Everett hollered at him. "A man's trying to sleep here!"
Russ grimaced. "Where?"
Everett glared at him. "Ha-ha. Very funny."
Everett, finally coming back to his senses from the very deep sleep of exhaustion, arose and began stretching his limbs, just in case. Rowlf had proven more than once to be a valuable friend and very much like a good watchdog when it came to danger. He clasped his stone spear and surveyed the pocket of tunnel they had put themselves in so nothing could attack from behind. It was the same bland rock with a few clutches of glow moss on its sides and ceiling. Outside their pocket the cavern was lit by thousands of glow moss, which gave it an eerie look. One that was never comfortable to wake to, because while intensely beautiful, it could also be incredibly dangerous because of the monsters that hid in the depths.
"Nothing wrong I can see." Everett muttered finally, settling down beside Russ, who hadn't bothered to open his eyes even.
Russ yawned. "Rowlfie had a bad dream."
Rowlf, who had levered himself up from the floor into a position of defense nodded. "Dweam!"
Everett. "Oh."
Rowlf looked at the two men. "Was dweam?"
Russ finally opened his eyes when Everett refused to speak.
He gave Everett a glare, and then patted his friend Rowlf on his armored shoulder. "Pal, it has to do with seeing things that aren't there."
"Rowlf swaw!"
Everett tensed again. "Saw what?"
"Dwanger!"
That brought Russ fully awake. He grabbed his own stone spear and sat with his back to the next to Everett, but opposite Rowlf. "What kind of danger?"
Rowlf considered that a long time, then shrugged. "Wusual."
Everett and Russ both groaned.
They had no water or food and had stopped to rest and sleep because their bodies were groaning for both. But now they realized they had to get on with it again. They struggled to their feet and Rowlf followed them from the pocket cave.
The path before them split and ran in two directions. North and South.
Everett made a fist. Russ did also.
"Paper."
"Scissors."
"Rock."
"Hammer."
"The Big One." Everett said with a satisfied look on his face.
Russ groaned. "Cheater."
"You saying it don't beat the others?"
Russ just glared at him, and then went the right path.
"Aren't you forgetting something, old man?"
Russ stopped and turned around. "What?"
"This way." Everett smiled, stepping on the left path. "I won."
"Yeah. By cheating." Russ grumbled, following Everett anyway.
Rowlf watched them a moment with amusement.
"Whomens!" He said in a voice that sounded like garbled metal clashing together.
He followed his human friends, contemplating what they would find this day. He was as hungry, if not more so, as them. He didn't tell them, but usually he ate much more. But he hadn't the hearts to take all the food. That wouldn't be Therman of him.
Russ got lucky first. He found a patch pod of moss eggs. The humans didn't know why eggs were always nested in the patch pods, but they were. It was almost like an Easter egg hunt, finding the spoils that way. But they didn't complain, nor did they flinch when they broke the egg shells and sucked them dry.
Only Rowlf would not eat them. He knew where the eggs really came from. And while the eggs would not grow up to be Therms, they were sentient and he respected them anyway. He did not interfere because he also knew these eggs had been lost or abandoned. The owners, he could tell by is olfactory nerves located along his jaw and nostril areas, were long gone and would not care at this point. Eggs if not kept warm...died.
So sad for the loss of the life, but happy for his friends. He watched them fill their empty stomachs. Finally, after they offered him for the last time a share of the eggs, they greedily split those up and sucked them down as well.
"Hey!" Everett called out, stumbling to his feet. He belched, and then made his way to a new pocket cave. "Anyone for a nap?"
He started to enter, and then paused. "Russ. Look at this."
Russ was so groggy from sleep loss and a full stomach, he had almost missed it.
They both stood and stared at the strange marking on the entrance to the pocket cave. It looked like a series of stars with long arms.
"Here too."
Everett nodded. "It's almost like they're some kind of territorial marking. Except that they're incredibly detailed and well done."
Russ glanced around the cavern a long time, and then sighed. "Worry about whom later. I'm beat."
He and Everett found the best spots they could to be comfortable and instantly knocked out. But Rowlf did not sleep. Rowlf stood guard. He considered his friends for a long time. Such a strange group of creatures. And then he remembered his dream. The leader screaming about the coming of the White Ones. He shook his head, making a rattling, raspy sound which disturbed Russ and Everett's sleep for a moment, then they settled back to sleep.
He didn't tell them he had also seen the symbol before. And he just might know what it meant. It was for wiser ones than him to go there. And since there were no wiser ones with them...Rowlf sighed in a gravely tone, and then locked his joints so he didn't have to worry about falling. He preferred to sleep in that position. It gave any likely invaders second thoughts about attacking, but also gave him the advantage of striking first. Therms were extremely light sleepers, even if in the middle of what had they called his experience..."Dweams?"
New burst of colorful fractal flames in this new gallery!
I'm tired. So here's a new batch! Yeah right! He's tired. That little old flame factory machine.
Enjoy!
John
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