You are on a trail that switchbacks down the face of an escarpment. A river lies thirty paces, about a hundred feet, below you at the base of the cliff. The lip of the cliff is about the same distance above you. Six imperial legionnaires a couple of switchbacks below you are unlimbering their short swords and spears and headed in your direction. They are proceeding slowly, trying to hide behind the only shield they have between them, as Twix yowls and screams abuse at them and hurls fist-size rocks.
He manages to bean another one, who topples over backwards and falls into the river, where his armor drags him under. Then another. The remaining four are breaking into a run towards you now, abandoning all caution, no doubt regretting that they left their helmets somewhere else because of the stifling heat.
They get closer. Twix is frothing at the mouth now, and he picks up a small boulder in his rage. It probably weighs as much as he does, and it makes him sway on his feet as he actually lifts it over his head and hurls it into the midst of the remaining legionnaires, just one switchback below now. They are swept off the cliff.
Which is a good thing, because the weight of the rock pulls Twix after it. He falls down to the next switchback with a heavy thud. He lies unconscious. Chip flutters down after him, and perches on his head, apparently unconcerned.
This all took something under one minute. You all stare after Twix, not entirely sure of what you just saw.
Bombar stares, looks away, spits on the ground, looks back at Twix. He rubs his wrists where the cord chafed them. "Sweet bride of Fcuk", he mutters. The rest of you are surprised. You didn't know he was a devotee. Fcuk is the god of clothing and small household items, and his legendary mortal bride is the patron saint of women's undergarments. It seems appropriate, somehow. since you are all dressed in tattered negligees.
Insects buzz in the heat. The midday sun bores through you like a blast of fire. Twix lies on the switchback below, out cold and drooling, the dragon curled up and maybe napping on his head. Bodies of imperials lie in the river and on the bank. You see some small stone buildings across a bridge, just on the other side of the river. A red flag with that same sigil from the tower floats over one of them. It's hot and quiet.
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I’m having a bad dream. In it, I’m sitting at a table on a chair with no backrest and a fantastic array of tropical dishes is set before me. Faceless women are walking all around the table and placing entrée’s in front of me. After placing the viand, they calmly start burrowing into my back like a terrier after a gopher. The scratching is excruciating. Then they take the food away from me and whack me on the back of my head with the flat ceramic bottom of the plate.
I awaken from a sharp blow to my stomach and start violently retching the coconut mango compote that we consumed around the pool of water. I’m confused. As I heave, my body is in motion. I have no idea what is going on when my head slams against a rock wall. I see stars and am roughly aware that I am vertical, upside down… because the vomit acid (besides dripping into my eyes) is pooling in my sinuses and causing me to hack and retch even more. This creates a feedback loop of retching.
My back and head are on fire from pain.
I try to brush the vomit from my face… but my hands are being held taught over (under?) my head. As I lift (lower?) my head to peer down (up?), I see that my vomit is spattering the face of the Imperial guard holding onto my arm for dear life. As he looks up at me, I puke yet one more time directly into his eyes. He grunts, but does not release his iron grip.
I’ve woken to better things.
Is a girl so much to ask for?
She doesn’t even have to be pretty.
The soldier looks me in the eye, “if you save my life, I will show you how to control The Smith. That’s worth more then all of us combined”. He glances down at the maimed, lifeless figure of his comrade on the rocks of the river below. Broken neck no doubt.
I begin to take stock of my surroundings. I’m bound (ankles and wrists), upside down on the side of a sheer cliff. I become aware of a loud commotion on an apparent path from which my ankle tether leads. A body vaults off the path about 20 feet away quickly followed by another. They are wearing Imperial guard raiment. This and the guard’s comment to me lead me to believe that we are winning!
Excellent! Yeah for us!!
That means I can negotiate from a point of power. “Tell me as much about The Smith and what you are doing here now, or I’ll drop you.”
At this point, my floral blouse slips up over my body and snags around my neck so the only thing I can see is the soldier’s arm and head below me at the same time I hear the screams of more guards going over the side off the path.
He looks up, “Nice blouse” he says “poofter”.
I don't know where I am.
The last thing I remember is fighting the Imperials. I was so ... angry.
I look around. Everything is indistinct, like it was painted by an artist who wanted to redefine known principles of shape and detail. It all feels vaguely foreign.
I am next to water lilies.
I wonder, "Am I dead?"
"You are not dead, Twix son-of-Talos."
I turn around, but I can't see anyone. Everything is so fuzzy and it's hard to distinguish one thing from another.
"Who are you? Where am I?"
"You're lying on the ground. You are uninjured, but the fall and the force of your exertions have placed you in a recuperative state."
"I'm dreaming?"
The landscape shifts a bit. No one stands out, but it's almost like the world around me is smiling. Two patches of scenery glow like the dragonet's eyes.
"No. Not dreaming. This is no random shifting of memories and desires. This is communion."
I notice other patches of landscape that are glowing as well. Small orbs across the landscape, which has taken on more of a third dimension and seems to stretch out into infinity. I cannot begin to count them.
The voice speaks again, "What you see are souls, Twix. Souls of the beasts, of the birds, of the fish, and of beings beyond your imagining."
I'm intrigued beyond measure. I should be freaked out right now, but with my body in a state of rest I lack the impairment of adrenaline.
"I don't understand. You said I wasn't dead. This is the land of the dead."
The voice takes on a patient tone. Even with my emotions in such a heavily muted state, I get a little annoyed with its tone.
"There is no land of the dead. Not as humans conceive of it. Not for us. These souls, these memories, these abilities -- they are all around you, always. You have simply never been able to see them before."
"Will I be able to see them when I wake up?"
"Perhaps some day. But not today. But now you know they are there. You have seen them. You have touched them."
Touched? I look down, and I see one orb in my hands. It is pulsing. I place my hand inside it and see visions of the forest, my enormous hairy limbs scratching at trees, my face in a lagoon. I'm a bear.
I pull my hand from the orb.
"You touched the strength of the bear in your rage, Twix. You, in a small way, became the bear."
"Did it hurt him?", I wonder.
"No, but you must release him now. Let him rest."
I open my hands and the orb drifts away.
"I don't understand any of this." I am ashamed to hear the whine in my voice. I need to work on that. "Who are you?"
The landscape shifts again, twisting in on itself. The world folds and bulges until it becomes the body of an enormous dragon, towering over me. It's enormous, the size of a small castle. The coloring is familiar, though....
"Chip?"
"So you have called me, Twix, though some day you shall know my true name."
"But you're huge!"
"I am as I am, and one day will be in the fullness of time. You know me as a babe, practically a hatchling. I am moving towards my truth, towards what you see now. I am moving into what I truly am. -- just as you are."
I cannot speak. Chip is magnificent. He's like a god of power and beauty and grace. It takes me a moment to register the end of his sentence.
And then my eyes open. Heflam is standing over me, holding a large stick over my face.
"What are you doing?"
I feel something heavy on my head. I reach up, and feel the warm and smooth scales of Chip. The dragonet chirps and crawls from my head to my chest.
Heflam stands up straight and drops his stick. "We should get moving."
"You gotta be kiddin' me!"
That's what we hear from Gepetto as he dangles over the edge. The next sound is a scream. Then a thud and splash somewhere in the gorge below.
I pull the dumbfounded lad back up to the path - alone. Apparently he lost his hold on the Imperial. No shame in that, but he seems more than a bit bewildered by something or other. As he works at shedding his bonds, I move to Bombor, borrow his branch, and saunter down to the prone Twix.
I prod the body with the stick, carefully avoiding Chick, who seems to be sleeping atop his fallen master. The kid comes to. I lose the branch.
"We should get moving."
Moments later, after a wee bit of pointless bickering, I lead us to the weathered wooden bridge. We all pause and eye the stone structures on the other side.
"Aren't those the same colors that flew at the tower you blew up?" asks Dane, now wearing an unfortunate Imperial's leather chest plate as a diaper of sorts. We choose to ignore the sores peaking out.
Gepetto is miles away, his brain pouring over something. "That can't be right. That can't be right."
Bombor casts a wary eye at the rickety nature of the bridge, and tries to suck in his gut just a bit.
"Doesn't look like it g-g-gets much use." Twix kicks gently at the railing, summoning dust and insects from the woodwork.
"That may work to our advantage." Emboldened by what I don't know, I strut forward, planks creaking and crunching with every step. I'm half way across before I look over my shoulder and realize no one is following. "Thanks for your support."
Dane bites his lip and begrudgingly plants toe to timber. One by one they fall in line. Nobody wants to be behind Bombor; Twix actually hurries to be in front of him, forcing the big guy to again bring up the rear.
Reaching the other side without incident, I wave the others forward. Dane. Gepetto, who I smack in the head as he again mutters, "You gotta be kiddin'." Twix and Chick.
"Come on, Bombor!" I cry. He's barely half way across and moving like a slug. Honestly, I think he's wet himself.
When the voice comes, it's like wind tearing through a sail. We all stiffen and realize that we are - again - unarmed.
"By the Smith, what is that bulbous oaf doing on my bridge!?"
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