robbdn

Here is a story that I wrote years ago, and I have been conflicted about sharing it, but I have decided to go ahead and post it. The story starts out like the title, but I encourage you to stay with it and read the whole thing, because the story is not what it seems to be. I look forward to your comments. Thanks in advance.

The path is dangerous. The landscape is mostly scarred black from war past, thick layers of crusted battle-soot chipped away to form the path they travel on now. Charred remnants of once wondrous arbors cling to the barren wasteland like bony fingers breaking under the pressure of hanging on the edge of a cliff. A thousand creatures had once descended upon this place to threaten the lives of humans, and their blood was all that was left. It was a mysterious, unnatural blood that refused to sink into the ground or wash away with the rain to make way for new life like blood should. But it made a decent enough path, the going was easy as far as the landscape was concerned. No, it was not exactly the path that was dangerous. It was the history of this place and the things that might be left over from its history.

Kandre tries to remind himself of this every time he feels himself nodding off in the saddle. Every time he feels his brain going numb and his eyes surrendering to the corners of their sockets he jolts to attention dramatically with a swing of his fist, like he is literally trying to fight off sleep with his fists, and scans the horizon desperately looking for danger. It was a warrior’s instinct.

Riding at this pace for three days straight, with only brief moments for rest, is not something he is used to. He is used to being well-rested and properly fed before a fight, but he has not had a decent meal for nine days; just jerky, stale bread, and water. He is also used to knowing how his enemy operates and planning for every battle before it happens. He is an army man, not an adventurer.

Kandre looks to his left at Volker and assesses that he is not at the mercy of fatigue in the way that Kandre is. And why should he be? For the last sixteen years he’s been on the road, and it’s not the first time he’s been on the run, Kandre muses as he notices that Volker has a calm, relaxed look about him that he has not seen for nearly a month. It’s a good look for Volker; it makes all of his features more appealing. His dull, gray hair seems to be more of a silver now that he had actually bothered to pull it back into a pony tail. His bushy, greasy, salt-and-pepper beard seems less like the man who was forgetting the importance of hygiene and more like a bold statement of self-confidence. The worry lines on his forehead, the ones that he hung from his brow so long ago, are gone. Today, Volker is handsome, and he should be. Whether they are to die on this path home or not, he is reunited with his only surviving heir, his daughter Melina.

And oh, Melina, is she beautiful. Kandre can’t help but feel energized every time he thinks about her, and about how happy he is to have her back. He sees the way she carries herself, the proud look of a woman who was never told that she shouldn’t do certain things simply because she was a woman. Volker had raised her to be a tracker like himself after her mother passed away and it shows in her strong, athletic frame. She wears the clothes of a tracker, which in Kandre’s view only accentuate her feminine features even more. She is intelligent, witty, and brave. He doesn’t see the scars on her arms, he doesn’t see the roughness of her skin, he only sees a female strength he never knew existed before. Kandre is glad to have her back as well. As he basks in the warmth of his thoughts to shut out the cold of the wastelands he doesn’t even realize he’s fallen asleep.

Kandre dreams. He sees two weeks ago when Melina was captured. He sees the noble family she was guiding through the wilderness, and he sees the rotting pile of bones leap up from the ground and snatch her off her horse. He sees the mayor’s fat face flapping meaninglessly as he explains that this was unusual behavior for an undead -- why would it capture a human instead of just killing it? He says that’s why he can’t send troops north to get her back. It might anger whoever was controlling the undead, as they obviously hadn’t decided to abduct someone on their own.

Kandre twitches. He sees vividly in his dream the same image he saw after he and Volker had decided to brave the wastelands alone. He sees the dark cross in front of a blood-red sunset. As he gets closer, and the sun sets, his eyes begin to adjust and he sees Melina hanging from the cross limply, as though she had been born on the cross. Her fair hair is matted with dried, caked blood and her eyes look empty like they might fall out of her skull. Her cheeks are stained red, as though blood had poured from her eyes and trickled slowly down her face to her chin.

He sees himself weeping as he digs up the cross hastily. He and Volker lower the cross to the ground, and Volker starts to weep over her body as he removes her nail-raped body from the unholy wood. Her breathing is weak and shallow, but she is alive. Volker administers the cleric’s healing potion he brought and begins to pray.

A shout brings Kandre to consciousness once more. He fights away the haze of sleep and reprimands himself silently for letting his guard down. He blinks away the images of Melina’s torture and they are banished along with his slumber. The wasteland solidifies in his view and he can see that Volker is looking straight at him with his bow drawn and an arrow ready to release. No, not at him, past him. Kandre feels his sense sharpen and a second wind filling his lungs, and he ducks as Volker releases the arrow. A crunching sound behind him confirms that the skeletons found them.

They are so close to home. A random encounter with undead, as though fate were playing a game of dice, means that whoever is controlling the undead now knows their precise location. Kandre’s battle instincts take over as he dismounts his horse and unpacks his war axe. The shaft is as long and thick as his arm with an elaborate two-handed grip, and the blade is as wide as his shoulders.

Kandre surveys the situation and sees that a group of seven skeletons, minus one, had discretely closed in on them. They are large, and while apparently human, they could accommodate no human skin he had ever seen. He rushes them ignorantly as he always does in combat. The horrible stench of the green rot dripping from their bones make it difficult for Kandre to keep the contents of his stomach where it is supposed to be, but he manages to engage the demons nonetheless. It is easy for him to avoid their slow, stupid attacks as he deftly finds weaknesses in their defense while mage-fire imbued in his weapon explodes with every contact. Together they crush the skeletons without any injuries of their own.

And then Melina lays down her long-sword. She looks sick, her breath deepens and she drops to her knees. Kandre and Volker rush to her side, but she has already collapsed and is unconscious when they reach her. A loud shriek shatters the fabric of Kandre’s senses, and he feels a thump deep in his chest.

Kandre spins around to see a fair-haired man floating two-feet off the ground, holding a scythe, and wearing what appears to be a long black evening gown. His features are fine and submissive, almost as though he has been sculpted by a masterful hand. His shape is of perfect beauty and his face delicate enough to give the impression that he is capable of providing the gentlest care. But his demeanor is one of disgust and hatred, perverting his beauty in a twisted mirror of evil.

He waves his arms toward the sky and begins conjuring. Guttural sounds emanate from his waif-throat, the sound of demons to beget demons. The crusted, hard ash of the path breaks free from the ground and forms together in the shape of something vaguely reminiscent of a panther. Spikes decorate the spine, knees, and tail of these ash bastards and their eyes glow the brightest yellow Kandre has ever seen.

He is mesmerized with the sight in front of him, this gorgeous man summoning these vile creatures from this dead earth. Kandre takes a step forward to deal with these foes and feels his soul take a back seat to his brain. His thoughts and emotions disintegrate into the background of his being while synapses begin to fire rapidly in his mind. He is changing from a person with feelings and ideas into an alchemical compound of flesh and bone and blood made for the sole purpose of battle. With each step forward he becomes more confident, methodical, and deadly.

His muscles tense around his bones, which exist only to provide leverage to his swing. His grip becomes so firm on the hilt of his mighty axe that it becomes a part of himself, an extension of his mind reordering itself to provide exclusively the functions of killing. Before he meets in combat the first of the demon cats he resigns himself that he will not stop taking steps forward until he has met with and killed this witch.

The first cat lunges, and Kandre swings. The cat’s head is sliced clean from its body, the explosion of fire from his axe igniting the soot-being’s head as it flies cleanly over his shoulder. The cat body recoils, poises itself, and jumps at Kandre again not seeing any particular need for its exorcised head. Kandre swings again, and the motions of his body become distant and unfamiliar as though he has no control over it. He obtains several wounds during his forward death-march, but feels none of them.

Kandre is within five steps of the witch now. He begins summoning flame between his fingertips, and it grows twofold in size with each step Kandre takes forward. Kandre drops his axe low in front of him and begins to swing it in a counter-clockwise motion feinting a horizontal blow from the right. A pillar of hard ash rises quickly on the witch’s left to block the supposed blow, and Kandre grins a sadistic satisfaction as he realizes that he has guessed correctly and already won this battle. He continues his counter-clockwise wind-up and satisfies his need by craning and twisting his back for maximum torque. Bones pop and crack from the enormous strength he positioned behind the vertical downward swing of the overhead blow. The witch sees the axe coming from above, but it is too late. He raises his delicate hands with the fireball still brewing between to block the blow. Kandre’s axe passes through the flame and the magnificent blade crunches against the witch’s skull. The mystical fire spews forth from the axe blade and mixes with the witch-fire causing an explosion of sparks washing Kandre’s face with a brilliant white light. His glorious strength and impervious blade flow through the witch’s body cleaving it into. The two flames mix and follow his axe-blade like a bacteria, hungrily consuming the waste products of Kandre’s carnage. Fantastic plumes of blood and fire erupt from the witch’s body into Kandre’s face satisfying the need that forced him to take the first step forward.

Kandre takes a few deep breaths and turns around. Volker is wounded badly; he is clutching his gut as he stands over the remains of a few of the cat demons. Melina is down and blood seeps from an enormous wound in her chest. It looks fatal. Kandre screams, forgetting his own wounds, and rushes to her side and falls down to his knees. He cries up at the heavens and sobs into Melina’s breast alternately. He professes his undying love for her, and sobs as he presses his lips against hers and kisses her corpse with unrelenting desire and passion.

“What the fuck are you doing?” says Volker.

“I love her, can’t you see how I love her?” Kandre continues to kiss her, madly lamenting their misfortunate lover’s plight.

“Seriously dude, what the fuck are you doing? Jamie, push him off you or something, seriously. Are you enjoying this?”



Jamie? Jamie… oh my God what have I done.

Peter chimed in, “Yeah, this is some seriously weird shit.”

“Can’t you see that we’re in love, Peter?” Jamie laughed. Her laugh was sweet and forgiving, not a hint of judgment in her tone. If there was, I probably would’ve killed myself right then and there. Jamie was lying on the floor, and I was hovering over her. I was kissing her. Oh my God, I was kissing her!

I got up and sat back at the table. I stared blankly at my friends, Peter and John. Peter was running the game, his own campaign based on 3rd edition rules, and John was playing as Volker.

“What the fuck, man? I mean seriously, what the fuck?” John threw an eight-sided die at me. I winced. Shame engulfed me – how could I apologize for what I’ve done? What would I say to my friends to make them forgive me? I saw Jamie sneaking out of the room in the corner of my eye.

“You just messed up the best game session we’ve ever had. I mean, shit, the combat was intense, the roleplay was top-notch, and goddammit we’re probably never going to get a dynamic like that going again.” Peter was rolling some dice mindlessly on the paper in front of him as he whined.

I felt suffocated by the piles of empty mountain dew cans decorated with a pinch of beer cans and empty shot glasses scattered about the room. Starbucks double-shots, chips, and pizza boxes littered the kitchen floor, and the old light above me was buzzing its disapproval. The reality of the situation completely destroyed the buzz of the fantasy I had just been experiencing. What time was it? 6am. We had been playing D&D for fifteen hours.

“I don’t know what happened… really… I’ve never been more into playing than that before. I…” I faltered, looking back down at my character sheet. For a moment there, I really had been Kandre the 18th level Barbarian.

“Well, what you did with Jamie just now sure as hell wasn’t in character.” Peter shot a sly glance at John trying to get a laugh out of him. It wasn’t coming. But he was right.

I hadn’t been in character. There’s no way that Kandre would act like such a wimp, he would’ve kept on going. He would’ve started planning instantly, dealt with the situation at hand before giving in to his emotions. Why couldn’t I be more like that? It didn’t make sense; I was normally so serious about gaming. I’d been gaming for 13 years, and this kind of thing was exactly what I hated in other novice players: breaking out of character or not playing a situation true to your character.

“I’m going to take a break.” I got up from the table and went outside.

“Good idea.” John encouraged as I shut the door. There were a few more frustrated noises from the guys inside, but I ignored it because I had noticed that Jamie was sitting on the deck smoking a cigarette like her life depended on it.

I panicked at first. I didn’t know what to say, it was an outburst so unlike me. Did she hate me now? I convinced myself that it would be worse trying to deal with it later than now, so I approached her.

“Hey, can I have one of those?”

“I thought you didn’t smoke.”

I couldn’t say anything to that. I didn’t smoke. I just looked at her for a little while, afraid to say anything else. She eventually handed me her pack and a lighter, so I lit up. It was raining and the clouds only let through a small portion of the dawn light. I couldn’t see too well in the dark, so Jamie’s expression and emotional state evaded me. I contented myself to awkwardly examining the uncut grass, tall weeds, and run down fence that surrounded us.

I fidgeted a little with my hands. I do this thing where I rub my palms together when I get nervous. I was never very good at dealing with women, and even worse at dealing with intimacy. Wow, I had just shared an intimate experience with Jamie.

“So… how come you felt like you had to explain yourself to those assholes?”

The question came as a bit of a shock. “They’re my friends, I ruined the game session, I don’t want them to be mad at me.”

“And what about me? You didn’t feel like you had to explain yourself to me?”

I froze, I couldn’t think of what to say. I really started to rub my palms together. I could feel the skin starting to rub off in pieces that looked like the fragments that come off an eraser on paper. I opened the corner of my mouth like I was about to retch some really good explanation onto her lap.

She took a deep drag off her cigarette and sat down on the wet deck. “You don’t have to explain yourself to me, and if you don’t have to explain yourself to me you certainly don’t have to be your friends’ bitch. You were pretty in-the-moment, but I wouldn’t have let you do anything to hurt me. We were just having fun, both of us. It was a thrill being that in-character. So let’s just forget about it.”

She was so beautiful right then. I couldn’t help but feel inspired by her presence, about how I had kissed her. I saw the way she carried herself, the proud look of a woman who was never told that she shouldn’t do certain things simply because she was a woman. She was a geek like her father, and proud to be one. She wasn’t afraid to compete with men for network admin positions or full gamer status. She wore the clothes of a geek, which in my view only accentuated her feminine features even more. She was intelligent, witty, and brave. I didn’t see her small breasts, I didn’t see her lack of makeup, I only saw a female strength I never knew existed before. As I basked in the warmth of my thoughts, I didn’t even realize I had taken a seat next to her, close, on the wet deck with a smile on my face.

“There you go, giving me that look again,” she smiled, the same smile from the kitchen floor. It gave me confidence. “And you’re not even pretending to be Kandre this time.”

“I wasn’t in-character.”

“What?”

“Earlier… I wasn’t in character. That was me. We’ve been friends for what, four years? I’ve really wanted to ask you out, but I didn’t want to ruin our friendship. I, uhh…” I hesitated, “I’ve never really been very good at that sort of thing.”

She looked up at me, still smiling. She put her arms around me. They were wet, but I didn’t care. I felt that things were more natural this way, as we hugged, because I didn’t have to struggle with finding the words that are usually so hard for me to find. Now that our bodies had contact, we could communicate our emotions and feelings without the barriers of language and the contrived assumptions and misunderstandings that accompany it. It’s okay.

“You’re cute.” She pulled away from our embrace and smiled at me again.

“Yeah?” I was puzzled, having spilled my guts about how I felt I was kind of hoping for confirmation, or at least reassurance that I’d done the right thing. “What does that mean, exactly?”

“It means you’re a really nice guy, not like those assholes inside.” She laughed, leaning back on the deck with her hands behind her, letting the rain fall onto her face, “They couldn’t get a girl to kiss them like that if their life depended on it,” she cocked her head and peeked at me through one eye, “You’re a really good kisser by the way.”

I blushed, and the rain on my cheeks suddenly felt colder. “Thanks,” was all I could say. And then, “You too.”

“Well, look, Ash…” she stood up, “I’m gonna take off. I don’t really want to deal with those guys again.”

“Yeah, I don’t blame you, I would just go home myself if I wasn’t already at home.”

She laughed and scratched my head reassuringly. I felt like purring and rolling up into a ball with my head on her lap, but I had not completely lost my self control. “See ya.” She started to open the gate to the driveway, and stopped, “I’m going out tomorrow with some of my girlfriends from work. Y’know, no boys allowed kinda thing. But I think we can make an exception just this once. They don’t get out much, and they’re used to hanging out with the guys in sales and customer service. I think they’d get a real kick out of a guy like you. I’ll give you a call.” Then she was gone.

Hang out with her friends from work? It was not exactly what I was hoping would happen. But, apparently, I’d done something to prove myself worthy of meeting her “other” friends… her normal friends. Was that normal, what I did back there? I usually wouldn’t be caught dead at the bars and dance clubs they were almost certainly planning on going to, but what the hell, it might be fun to be somebody that I’m not for one night.

I stood there on the deck in the rain for awhile. I watched the sun come up and over the horizon for the first time in years and I thought about Kandre and Melina, and then about Jamie and I. Kandre knew Melina a lot longer than I’ve known Jamie, and they’d been through a lot more together. They’d battled dragons and demons together, saved towns, averted destruction of their kingdom, saved each others lives, and played off of each other to become new, more interesting characters. All Jamie and I did was play games together. But we did it very well.

The buzz of the fantasy vibrated through my body and my mind once again, only this time it was real.

__________________
I'm swimming in the digital residue of a media-drenched world. It's too cold.

JustJess

Maybe it's not productive commentary... but I really enjoyed reading this. It flowed very well and I easily cared what the character was feeling. Nice!

__________________
My heart knows me better than I know myself, so I'm gonna let it do all the talkin'.

tecoyah

I agree....very well done, and worth reading all the way through. Excellent wrap up and good Body to the story. You even managed to form the main characters quite well considering the length of a short story.

I am pleasantly impressed....thank You.

__________________
Holding onto anger is like grasping a hot coal with the intent of throwing it at someone else; you are the one who gets burned. - Buddha

msh58

i enjoyed it a lot too.

SpikeQX99

Let's hear it for the RPG'ers out there!!

At last we get the girl!! haha!

Well done! Nice read.

__________________
I'm so in love with a girl... she is my everything