Sunday, 7 March 2010

Scrap Metal (by Daniel)

Another humid day threatend to lay it's soggy armpits over the roofs of throssenspurt, a mighty metropolis, that has seen it's share of tavern brawls, heroic quests, oriental dooms, and the tentacular monstrosities usually mandatory therein. the sun deigned to wearily rise, casting inviting rays to aspiring country lads and steppe barbarians alike, who would be soon devoured by urban ennui and unhealthy feeding habits.

not much after sunrise, jut the armorer rose from a very pleasant dream in which several nubile maidens, tending towards terminal duskiness, were in the midst of explaining the intricacies of the famous "hide the dojimbuh" game to him. the fruit, originating from the jungle-continent of humbaza, was known to serve as an aphrodisiac as well as a deadly throwing-weapon... whatever could it be that had to be done so early in the morning with such loud knocks at his door? jut rose angrily, wore a house-robe over his paunchy stomach and grumphed his wayy to the door of his house. his armory was situated 15 buildings away up prince roderic the melancholy street, as a point of insistence: let those who indulge in the barbarian romances build an apartment above an armory. "people who place an apartment over a metal-working lot go around later on wearing their swords on their backs. and we all know i'ts the begining of the end from then" said jut's father to him years ago. well, the old man died peacefully, three years ago, but the common sense he bequethed his son was as sound as the weaponry they both made.

at the door, stood an alarming sight: 600 men, all in recently-polished armor, were rigidly arrayed before him, eyeing him and the street around them with a combination of irritation and confusion. the man jut decided was their commander, on account of his horse-hair-plumed helmet and apparently-winged-horses ornamented breastplate, tried to speak to him: "ave caesar". he said, in an obvious attempt at authority. the commander handed jut a scroll. jut, who could never miss a buisness opportunity, was well versed in the proceedings. these men will need a good armorer as a friend with so much metal on them. he took from a small shelf on the hallway wall a flask, and dropped four red drops on the four corners of the unfurled scroll. the foreign script now became legible in the local tongue:"

"my dear something-or-marcus" read the scroll. "as i could'nt possibly stand all that much broomstick-straight gravitas around me these days, about to be crowned as zeus king of the gods and all that, you and your men are exiled. for all that i care, go find another world to settle on my divine behalf. whoever governs it has you, as my gift to them. honesty is as useful as scrap metal these days".
the signature was:

"right" said jut to himself, and took two goblets from the same shelf. he poured some of the same liquid into them, offering one to the commander and quickly drinking himself. the freindly gesture seemed to ease the tension a bit. the commander drank. "can i help you, men?" asked jut. "i am castor paulinus, commander of the 34' legion in the imperial roman army. these are my men. we were to establish ourselves in ostia when a thunder-storm erupted just as we landed on the beach, and we found ourselves here, wherever here is." jut knew what to do. "follow me" he said. the fat, balding armorer, still in his dressing-robe, found himself suddenly leading a legion of foreign fighters to the city barracks, where he found the man he was looking for. "hullo turtledove fork-beard" he stated to the wizzened battle-mage seated on a stool before him. " i guess these men are here for some reason beyond our ken." he said, shifting to a dialect unknown to the foreigners, now that at least on of them could understand him. he told the tale to turtledovix. the latter tugged at his beard thoughtfully. "well, from what i recall, the flying horse is a symbol not uncommon among the men known as greeks, a group thereof arrived a decade ago under similar circomstances and were sent to fight by our divine empress against the canibal amazons of humbaza. they were peirced to a man by very sharp dojimbuh spears. now did i tell you that dream i had eralier this morning just before waking up? funny, it involved a game of "hide the dojimbuh" played by a group of terminally-dusky maidens and for some strange reason you were there...i'll tell you all about it soon". turtledovix hurriedly referred to the romans, seeing the hurt look on jut's face. "mind you, these chaps, who go around putting wings on horses are a step away, if you ask me, from taking a perfectly reasonable tyrannosaurus the wings from som hapless pterodactyl and calling it a dragon. these greeks told such tales to me when they arrived. my ribs still hurt for laughing." jut nodded sagely at the ever-patient romans, as would a parent at a child adding two and two and not knowing it was four.

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