Fraker the Axe & The Peeper Surprise
Apr 5, 2011 7:29:30 GMT -8
Post by Tim Willard on Apr 5, 2011 7:29:30 GMT -8
I decided to post this in here, just the first couple of sections, so you guys can have a look at it. (I like you guys) It hasn't had the smoothing touch of an editor yet, so you're seeing the rough final draft.
The sign plastered to the gray stone wall was crudely written in two of the most common Trade Tongues, as well as Low Novakian, and was a simple instruction. “Pay No Attention to Dancing Lizards” was the command, but like most signs, people ignored it even when it was right in front of them. Below the sign was a trio of overturned barrels, a common sight in Novak-Eck, and would have been unremarkable.
Except for the brightly colored lizards the size of small cats dancing around on the upended barrels. They hopped back and forth on their little feet to drum out a tune, turned somersaults, and even jumped on one another’s backs to form pyramids of six of them. Nearly a dozen lizards made musical peeping noises as they capered for the small audience that had gathered up in front of the barrels. Their wide, liquid eyes were guileless over the permanent smile that nature had put on their faces. Whenever flies swooped by they jumped up and snapped them up in mid-air, usually with an accompanying somersault. If the insect was too high they would spring onto the back of one of their fellows before jumping in order to get the height they needed.
The small crowd was oohing and aahing over the antics of the mottled green lizards, apparently led by a slightly larger one the color of highly polished bronze, ignoring the warning sign in order enjoy the unexpected (and most importantly: free) entertainment going on at the edge of the crowded marketplace. Most of the people watching were minor nobility, aristocrats come to the Grand Market of the Historic District of the ancient city of Novak-Eck in order to buy trinkets and exotic wares to impress one another with. Their clothing, hats, gloves, shoes, and accessories were adorned with small gems, bright metal beads on tassels, and other eye-catching decorations that were intended on displaying just how wealthy and/or powerful the wearer was.
Unfortunately for the crowd gathered up, those tassels within reach of the small lizards darting around the crowd’s ankles were being quickly bitten through. With the tassel hanging from their mouth, the larcenous little lizard would quickly dart behind the barrels to spit out its prize, then return to the crowd to repeat their action. In the space behind the barrels a small lizard with skin the color of polished silver was hopping from foot to foot excitedly as the shiny trinkets piled up. It quickly pulled the tassels free of the shining baubles, mostly glass or metal beads, and threw the tassels aside while shoving the shiny stuff into a small sack between its silver feet. It was making purring sounds like a small kitten while it was doing so, pausing every once in awhile to chew up and swallow the leather tassel rather than toss it aside.
The gathered crowd was exclaiming and clapping at the trick the little lizards had just performed which had resulted in all of them in mid-air at the same time, their powerful tails launching them over two feet up into the air, when someone began pushing into the crowd from the back.
Those that turned to complain at being pushed aside nervously swallowed any protest they had been ready to deliver when they saw the stranger. To say that the man was massive was an understatement. His shoulders nearly obliterated his neck, his rough sleeveless shirt was stretched tightly over his bulging pectorals. His right shoulder sported the tattoo of a set of crossed swords in the middle of the laurel wreath with the number one below it, which silently proclaimed that the man had been part of the Iron Legion from the beginning when it was a scant handful of men rather than an entire army of highly disciplined legions. His left shoulder bore the nine skulls arranged in a V that silently attested that the one who bore the mark was a survivor who had served on the losing side of the massacre that had taken place at the Valley of the Stacked Skulls toward the end of the Lich King War. The mahogany skin of his forearms and biceps were crisscrossed with white scars, and his massive hands had the bumps between each knuckle that spoke of cat-like claws hidden beneath the skin. The man’s face was rough hewn with a crooked nose, a mouth twisted by the scar that started above the right eye and ended at the left corner of his mouth. Fierce bloodshot brown eyes were locked on the performing lizards from beneath the shaggy brown hair and the notched and fearsome axe swung from the iron skull-buckled leather belt that held up his leather pants. A dagger stuck out of each of his leather boots, and a medallion dedicated to Lorshani, Goddess of destruction, carnage, and battle rested against his chest, glowing softly.
The massive man stopped in front of the barrels just as the lizards all landed, facing away from the crowd. He stared down at them as they suddenly back flipped and twisted so that they landed facing the crowd, their arms outstretched and all of them letting out a peep that sounded suspiciously like “Ta-dah!”
The lizards froze, their heads slowly moving up the man’s body until they saw his face, and as one they all hunched down, somehow looking guilty despite the permanent reptilian smiles that nature had bestowed on their little faces. Almost in unison, the small mottled green lizards all pointed at the bronze one and began all peeping at once. The bronze one ducked his head down until it was stretched out on the barrel, long neck flat against the wood, arms and legs outspread, and tail resting flat.
“Yes, yes, I know, he made you do it.” The giant rumbled, setting down the woven wicker basket he was carrying. “All of you get in.” he ordered, lifting the lid to reveal a thick layer of sand on the bottom of the basket. He picked up the bronze one by the neck, letting the body dangle between his fingers and lifted the little lizard up until he could stare at its face, his bloodshot brown eyes level with the bronze lizard’s clamped shut eyes. He ignored the green lizards, which were busy swarming down the barrels and into the basket, snapping and peeping at each other as they jockeyed for the best spot in the sand.
“Where’s your egg-mate?” the giant asked. The little lizard opened one eye, then began peeping rapidly, pointing behind the barrels with one hand frantically enough to make his body start swaying. The giant nodded, then gently set the bronze lizard down, ignoring the muttering crowd. He reached out, grabbed the barrel, and pulled it aside, revealing the little silver one, caught in the act of stuffing a last few trinkets into the pouch. Before the silver lizard could dart away, the massive giant scooped it up with one swoop of his massive paw, dangling it by the neck from between two fingers just like he had the other. Just like the bronze, the silver went completely limp, the bag dropping from between its hands and into the basket.
“I hope you’re happy, little princess,” The giant rumbled, shaking his head. At his feet, in the basket, the other lizards had opened the bag and were fighting over the baubles from inside. The little silver peeped softly and the giant chuckled. “Yes, yes, you did good. You’ll be a good queen.” The silver peeped once, pride evident in the high pitched chirp, and the giant chuckled again as he set her into the basket and replaced the lid. He picked it up carefully and turned around, seeing the crowd. Many of them were examining their ankles, dress hems, boots, and pant legs, and many of them looked angry after having seen the missing baubles and trinkets.
“Aw, ox-biscuits.” The giant muttered.
“Are those your lizards, sirrah?” One man asked, stepping forward, his face mottled with rage, the effect of his icy glare lost because of the height difference.
The giant looked down at the man, his bloodshot brown eyes narrowing dangerously. “Do I look like their egg mother?”
The man looked confused for a second, “I asked you a question, sell-sword.” The man snarled, poking the basket with an outstretched finger.
“Don’t poke my basket,” The giant growled, “Or you’ll be standing in front of Vondelius the Judge.” From one of the large pouches on the giant’s belt a small lizard head poked out and the head began chirping at the man rapidly. The big man glanced down. “Shush, little one.”
“Really? We’ll see about that.” The nobleman snarled, reaching forward and stabbing at the basket with the same bejeweled finger.
With an almost subsonic growl the giant reached out his free hand and wrapped his hand around the nobleman’s head. The crowd gasped as the giant lifted the man off of his feet, raising him up high enough that his waist was over most of the crowd’s head.
“Say hello to Vondy for me, heshtlan.” The giant snarled, his forearm bunching. The noble began screeching, clawing at the giant’s forearm and kicking in the air. In the crowd a woman screamed, her voice high pitched and carrying over the constant conversation of the Grand Market. Many in the crowd gasped at the horrific slur that had escaped from the giant’s mouth. It was an old word, only used as a curse or a slur, that called a male an impotent, worthless creature that was unworthy of even leaving out for the animals to eat, that should only exist on the dung of dung eating creatures, a twisted and malformed weak creature that all females would turn away from and revile. It was a vile, disgusting term, and almost never used in modern, polite society.
“You! Ogre!” a shout rang out. The man gave a disgusted exhalation and dropped his head down to shake it wearily as the shout continued. “Put that man down or face the Hammer of the law!”
The giant turned and faced the direction the shout had come from, still holding the basket in one hand, the nobleman in the other, and the small lizard in the belt pouch still chittering away. Just on the other side of the crowd was a squad of Novak Hammers, dressed in leather with steel plates riveted onto it, the squad leader carrying a heavy warhammer, six men carrying spears and shields, two men carrying bows, and a pair of robed figures that the giant knew were a pair of casters, one divine, one arcane.
“I’m not an ogre.” The giant rumbled, shaking his head.
At the sight of the man’s face the officer with the warhammer took a half step backwards, his face paling.
“M-my Lord Fraker, my apologies, I did not recognize you outside of your armor.” The man said. The robed man on the left of the rear of the column took a step to the side and vanished into the crowd, while one of bowman dropped his weapon and ran screaming into the onlookers.
“Yeah, I get that a lot.” The giant said, then shook the nobleman. “Is this yours?”
“My Lord Fraker, you know your Step-Mother would be wroth with you if you were to kill a member of the aristocracy outside of a formal duel, as she promised the Duke himself that you would curb your natural instincts.” The watchman said, unaware that two more of his squad has slipped away, one leaving behind his spear. “Put the man down.”
“I was just… helping him with his hair.” The giant rumbled, almost petulantly, lowering the man to the ground and releasing his grip on the man’s face. The noble’s face was red and he began gasping for air.
“By squeezing his head until his hair burst into flame, My Lord?” The man asked archly, raising an eyebrow. Fraker hung his head and twisted one foot, looking to be little more than an errant schoolboy standing before the headmaster. “My Lord, is there a problem?”
“His thieving little lizards stole the decorations on my pant legs!” the formerly suffocating noble shrieked, “And assaulted me with his foul smelling hands! I demand you revoke his sell-sword medallion at once!”
“They’re Peepers.” Fraker answered, nodding at the basket. At his waist the one poking its head out of the pouch kept right on chittering disapprovingly at the nobleman, pausing to stick its tongue out and blow a raspberry every few moments.
“Ahh, is that so?” The watchman asked. Fraker nodded and the man squinted to look closer at the lizard poking out of the belt pouch. “Yes, it certainly looks that way.”
“What difference does it make what kind of blasted lizards they are? They’re thieves, and I demand you arrest this man and put his filthy lizards down like the thieving animals they are!” the nobleman screeched. Some in the crowd nodded in agreement, but more had dawning looks of comprehension on their faces. The little Peeper poking out of the pouch hissed at that statement and blew a raspberry.
“If they are Peepers, it is not theft.” The watchman answered.
“What? But they stole from me.” The nobleman sputtered.
“Do you know the history of this city?” The giant, Fraker, rumbled.
“Of course, I am educated, what difference does it make?”
Educated, but you don’t know who you are standing there insulting? I hope your estate can get the cost of your education back if you keep insulting Fraker the Axe like that. The watchman thought, wishing he hadn’t stopped the legendary hero from crushing the annoying aristocrat’s head. Instead he simply replied: “Peepers are well known in the city, and in order to amuse and reward the Peepers for their ancestors’ great deeds during the founding of our grand city, it became custom for the common man and the nobility alike to wear tassels adorned with small bright and shiny objects, which Peepers are attracted to and crave.”
“That’s preposterous! What kind of blithering imbecile comes up with a stupid idea like that?” The nobleman snarled, unaware of the fact that Fraker’s bloodshot eyes seemed to completely fill with blood until the brown irises seemed to float in crimson.
“My Step-Mother, in her youth.” Fraker snarled back, his shoulders seeming to swell up and veins standing out on his forehead. The lizard poking out of the belt-pouch hissed in the nobleman’s direction, exposing a mouthful of needle sharp teeth. “And you’d best be keeping a civil tongue in your mouth if you want your teeth to stay in it.”
“Milord Fraker, let the Hammers of Novak handle this problem.” The watchman suggested, hoping he could defuse the situation before it ended up with the streets drenched in blood and the aristocracy of Novak lessened in a swath of carnage. “I am sure that there are deeds you must attend to.” The giant stared at the nobleman for a long time before slowly turning his head to the watchman, who noticed that the brown eyes seemed to be set in pools of blood.
“Aye, I do at that.” Fraker agreed, hefting the basket slightly, “I have been tasked with taking these baby Peepers to a village a few weeks from the city.”
“Then perhaps you should see to your task, Milord, since it is nearly three days to the northern gate from here.” The watchman suggested.
“Fine.” Fraker answered, then looked down. “Hush, little one, you shouldn’t be using that kind of language.” The one in the belt bobbed its head and stopped chittering. The watchman noted that the little lizard looked almost ashamed, and breathed a sigh of relief as Fraker the Axe began walking away, moving through the crowd as if it didn’t exist.
“Honestly, I don’t know where you would have picked up words like that, little one”, floated back to the watchman as he turned to face the angry crowd, many of whom felt that Fraker and his lizards should be in custody.
“By Novak-Eck law, items on tassels are considered gifts for Peepers, and since the Duke has affirmed this law within the last year, I assure you that there has been no theft.” The watchman called out, holding out his hands in a placating gesture.
Better this crowd than an angry Fraker the Axe. The watchman thought to himself.
The restaurant was only a few hours from the Great Northern Gate by foot and was often patronized by wealthy merchant princes and nobility who oversaw the dealings of their trade caravans personally. It was well known for tasty and exotic dishes, and served only clientele that not only could afford their prices but also fit in with the genteel décor.
Which made Fraker sitting against one wall and tearing apart a gravy soaked stuffed turkey with his fingers and wiping his hands on a large shaggy war-dog completely out of place. Many nobles who didn’t recognize the hero shook their heads and muttered to one another about how disgraceful it was for the restaurant to serve whatever they thought Fraker was, from a giant spawn, to a particularly ugly ogre, to a freakish mercenary. Many of the lesser nobility present was outraged at the fact that Fraker had simply walked up, shown his life-mark on his palm to the maître d’ and had been shown to a table that was normally reserved for very few VIP’s.
The fact that Fraker’s Step-Mother, the Eternal Elba Quarryn duVek, not only owned the restaurant, but had supervised the work crew that had built it when the very bones of Novak had been laid, had helped build it with her own two hands, was unknown to all but the management. When the Eternal Elba’s most favored son arrived, the staff was more than pleased to serve him, and through him, his Step-Mother and their liege.
Most of the restaurant was taken up by a private party, nobility of the High House of Novak, aristocrats who could trace their bloodline to the soldiers who had marched with Eck the Anvil out of the Valley of the Stacked Skulls to take control of the huge city. The rest was taken up by lesser nobility, members of the Low House, who wanted to be at the party.
The House of Jarmo was celebrating the marriage of one of their nieces to a young Count of the House of Vohnar, a marriage of heart rather than political or economic leverage, set up and approved by the Haut Ton itself. The bride and groom were not present for the after marriage party, but that was customary, since a newly married couple had better things to do than attend the whirlwind of dinners, parties, and celebrations in their honor. Most of which concerned expanding the bloodline.
Two tables over Grand Matron Vohnar had noticed Fraker being seated and had made the unmarried men and women switch tables with the elderly members of the families while a large dog had been led in to sit next to Fraker. Now she sat, wrapped in crimson silk edged with silver shimmersilk, and watched him eat, nodding to herself as the hero stripped the turkey to the bones, once in awhile slipping small strips of meat to the small Peeper hiding in the pouch on his belt. While most men a large belt pouch was the size of a man’s hand, the pouch on Fraker’s belt was roughly large enough to fit a baked turkey into it, leading the Grand Matron to believe that the Peeper had plenty of room to make a nest in the pouch, and so was not being mistreated. The fact that she could hear it purring as it rubbed its head against the hero’s linen shirt was proof of that, as was its obvious affection toward the fearsome warrior.
The House of Vohnar remembered their debt to the Peeper’s ancestors, and Grand Matron Vohnar would not countenance to anyone mistreating the baby lizards, even the Favored Son of the Thorn Lord herself.
Fraker was unaware of the gray-haired scrutiny as he pushed away the bones of the turkey after he had cracked the bones open and sucked out the marrow then started in on devouring a bowl of Novak Fire-Clam Chowder, relishing the heavy spices and thick and crunchy pepper kernels. He dipped the sour-dough bread, made from naka milk, into the bowl, feeding pinches of the chowder soaked bread to the Peeper at his waist, smiling when it sneezed after every bite. Fraker knew that while it was tart and spicy to him the Peeper would find it sweet to its non-human taste.
The Grand Matron turned her attention from the hero, and her memories of having been seduced by him decades before, as the head chef and his assistants came out of the kitchen bearing the wedding cake. It was three layers, each layer separated from the others by thick sugar crystals carved to look like nymphs and painted with a thin layer of frosting. Each layer was almost a foot thick, decorated with artfully carved frosting, thin layers of gold and silver to make designs of the sigils of the two houses intertwined, and representing enough money to buy a nice house. The cake layers were alternating rich chocolate and creamy vanilla, each layer separated by strepple-berry jam and naka-pudding, with candied berries baked into the cake.
“That cake costs more than most peasants will see in a year.” One of the younger girls, a member of the House of Jarmo, giggled to the other maids. The Grand Matrons of both houses frowned disapprovingly at her snide tone toward the very people who filled the coffers of the families and made the city what it was. It was one thing to have such prejudices privately, it was the uncouth and ill-bred who voiced them.
“And tastes better than most of them will ever smell.” Another girl laughed, this one from the House of Vohnar, unaware that the Matrons of the houses had heard her and made mental note. The young women didn’t know it, but the marriages that they’d be considered for had just dropped dramatically in status and importance until they learned some manners and decorum. Both young women had spoken such many times, and currently the ladies of the houses who sat on the Tons would not even consider them for marriages to anything more important than the second or third wife of a city accountant, much less someone as important as a commoner.
“In honor of the union of the members of your noble houses, the House of the Love of Feast would like to present you with this humble token, a sign of respect from Foreman Elba to two such important houses who have never forgotten their roots and duties.” The maître d’ announced waving the four assistant cooks carrying the massive cake on an engraved and bejeweled silver platter. The head cook walked alongside the cake, beaming with pride as the cake was his invention, a creation that had earned him a permanent stipend from the Eternal Elba and he had been allowed to inscribe the recipe and cooking directions into her cookbook himself. Those who knew the Eternal knew that her cookbook was more precious to her than even her spellbook and was protected and preserved with more numerous and powerful magics than most had guarding their vaults.
“Naka pudding to remind us of the humble roots of those who crafted the bones of our great city, strepple-berry jam to honor the work of the Kobolds, chocolate to remind us of the darkness of the Lich King rule, vanilla to remind us of the purity of life itself. “ The Head Cook stated as the massive cake was set onto the table. With a flourish he tossed a sprinkle of glittering sugar onto the cake and proclaimed “TA-DAH!”
Fraker had just glanced up as the sugar flew through the air to land on the cake as everyone had begun oohing and ahhing appreciably over it. He realized with a sinking sensation that the Peeper that had decided to take possession of his belt pouch had its mouth hanging open and was making the muffled cough sounds of Peeper laughter.
The cake shivered for a second before tiny lizard heads popped out of the cake, their long necks allowing their heads to stick out an inch or two from the frosting, the thick frosting atop their heads like white hair. Their heads were cocked at an angle, their little eyes open, their ears flared out, and their natural smiles wide. A dozen were on the lowest layer, six on the middle layer, and a bronze and silver erupting from the top layer.
“TA-DAH!” They all squeaked out.
“Aw, ox-biscuits.” Fraker murmured as everyone at the table began screaming in surprise. The Matriarchs and Patriarchs of the family began laughing uproariously, the children shrieking with joy and laughing, and the adults exclaiming in horror.
The Peepers burst from the sides of the cake, swarming out of cake covered in frosting, their stomachs plumped out so many of them waddled ungainly, and immediately streaming under the tables all in one direction.
Toward Fraker.
As the hollowed and ruined cake slowly and stately collapsed upon itself, Fraker could feel the little clawed feet trample over the top of his boots, and knew where they were going. Back into the basket. A glance down showed that the lid was slightly cocked, allowing a large enough space for the Peepers to get out, and the leather thong used to latch the lid had been chewed through. He saw the silver Peeper lead the way, tossing the bejeweled gold pepper shaker into the basket before she squirmed in after it.
Chairs and tables were upending, dishware shattering on the floor, silverware flying through the air, and people were scrambling to get out of the way, many of them shouting in confusion or screaming in fear. At the far side of the restaurant an elderly gentleman with a magnificent and aggressive white beard thrust himself to his feet, raising his engraved and inlaid cane, and shouting a word of power. The table’s edge disintegrated as the arcane master’s defenses sprang into being, the razor sharp shards of metal appearing around him in a glittering whirling cloud, blue and purple fire covering his skin which turned a dark gray with a pebbled and rough appearance. As his arcane defenses leapt into place his beard bristled and crackled with sparks of arcane energy.
The bronze Peeper was last into the basket, and Fraker saw it carrying a jewel encrusted silver salt shaker. It tossed the shaker into the basket and climbed in, and the lid was pulled back into position almost before the bronze lizard’s tail had slithered into the safety of the basket.
Fraker nudged the basket with his boot, pushing it more behind him, and watched as chaos enveloped the entire restaurant. Two spellcasters were duking it out with magic, flinging complex and deadly magics at one another as they guarded themselves at the same time. Two warriors, each bearing the marks of martial holy orders, were rolling around the floor, cutlery in their hands, each fully intent on killing what they were convinced was a sneak attack by a member of a hated rival church. The older man had summoned up guardians from the stone of the floor itself, the eyes of molten rock watching for any threat to the bearer of the magnificent beard that had summoned them. The Head Cook was still standing where he had been presenting the cake, his expression one of horror, and his face and clothing covered in frosting. From the looks of it, Fraker figured that the lizards had almost completely hollowed out the cake layers, leaving only enough of the bottom layer to support their weight and pillars of cake to support the layer above.
It required long minutes, and threats of the Hammers being called into the restaurant, to calm things down and restore order to the dining room. Almost a dozen people had been badly injured, and healers from the Church of Kaa Iron Eye had been called in to treat the injuries. Several people had left, furiously stomping out amid threats of legal action and refusal to pay their bills, and the maitre-d had been forced to allow many of the patrons to not only receive the meal they had ordered for free, but also receive a reservation and another free meal.
Finally everything was settling down, with the tables, chairs, and dinnerware being replaced. People were returning to their meals, the Patriarchs and Matriarchs of the two noble families had restored order among their families under the watchful eyes of the two Grand Matrons, and the old man was grumpily accepting a cup of hot mint and pepper-oil tea after dismissing his miniature stone guardians, his aura of power still faintly simmering around him. His beard, of course, had been completely aloof to the near-brawl that had enveloped the dining area, instead swaying and bushing with authority and magnificence mere mortal concerns could never approach.
Fraker had scooped up his basket as everything calmed down and was moving toward the exit, muffled peeping and squeaking coming from within the basket as the Peepers celebrated their victory in making off with two containers of yummy treats, the salt and pepper as sweet as honey to their taste buds. The Peeper in his belt pouch was still watching the crowd with bright eyes, his head swiveling back and forth to take everything in.
“Ahem.” The sound was dry and acerbic, drawing Fraker’s attention immediately.
In front of him the tall, thin, and dapper maitre-d was staring up at Fraker with a disapproving expression on his narrow face. The man was obviously not intimidated by a man who had spent decades on the battlefield and fought his way out of the Halls of the Dead. Nor was he intimidated by the fact that Fraker stood a good three feet higher than him, and massed enough to make at least four of him.
The Peeper ducked back into the belt pouch with a small chagrined peep as Fraker stopped dead in his tracks before the maitre-d.
“Were those young ones in your care, sirrah?” The man asked, one hand on his hip and the other motioning at the basket.
“Uh… no?” Fraker said, feeling sweat bead on his forehead.
“Really?” The man asked, narrowing his eyes as if he was looking at a deadbeat diner. “May I ask what is in the basket?”
“Umm… severed heads?” Fraker lied, knowing he was starting to blush.
“Is that so? Do the heads still live and are still making noise, milord?” the maitre-d wondered, then glanced down at the Peeper that was peeking out of the pouch. It made a squeak and ducked back in. “May I look in the basket, Lord Fraker, or did you gather the heads for your Step-Mother in order for her to interrogate them?”
Fraker resisted the urge to mop his brow, twisting one foot back and forth slightly. “Um… no?”
“And why not, Milord?”
“They’re, uhh… sleeping! Yeah, they’re asleep, and I wouldn’t want to wake them!” Fraker blurted out.
“The severed heads are sleeping, or are you claiming that the young ones you denied were in there are sleeping?” The maitre-d raised one eyebrow, and Fraker hung his head. “They are in your care, aren’t they, Milord?”
“Yes, I’m taking them to a village for my Step-Mother.” Fraker admitted.
“For shame, Milord, your Step-Mother would be ashamed of you lying like an errant schoolboy holding a sweetbun behind his back.” The maitre-d chided, and Fraker knew he was flushing deeply.
“I’m sorry.” The legendary hero murmured. “Don’t tell my Step-Mother.” The massive man half-pleaded.
“I’m sure we can come to an arrangement, Milord.” The maitre-d said, then stepped to the side and waved at the door at the back of the dining area. “Step into my office, Lord Fraker, and we’ll discuss ways to handle this unfortunate incident and uphold your honor, your Step-Mother’s honor, and the honor of this establishment.”
Fraker nodded dumbly and followed the man toward the back of restaurant.
The basket had leather straps over the top, and Fraker was carrying it by the handle as he stomped down the cobblestone of the highway. He was still dressed in his street clothing, heading north from the gates of Novak-Eck as he had for the last two days. The sun was low in the sky, and he knew that there was an established camp area only a few hours further along the road.
“Stupid maitre-d making me wash dishes or he’d tell my Step-Mother. Stupid restaurant for making me pay the damages.” Fraker grumbled as he stomped his way up the highway. “Stupid Peepers for…”
A chorus of chirps and hisses erupted from the basket, and the Peeper in his belt pouch popped up to chirp at Fraker with wide liquid eyes looking hurt and vulnerable.
“No, no, not you ones. Those ones that.. uhh… from the Tale of the Peeper and the Honey Pot.” Fraker quickly lied. There was purring from the basket, and the one at his belt rubbed its head on his shirt and purred loudly. There were a few peeps from inside the basket.
“No, I’m not telling it to you again.” Fraker laughed, “I told it to you yesterday.” He thought for a second, “OK, I’ll tell you the Peeper and the Scorpion.” He shifted the basket. “Once there was a Peeper, named Shassez, who liked to swim in the river. He caught fish, rode frogs, dug up sweet frog eggs to eat, but he had no pack-mates and was often lonely. One day a scorpion came to the bank, climbing up on a rock and sighing greatly as he stared at the far bank.” Fraker kept up the story, smiling gently when the Peepers reacted with fear then horror then sadness as the scorpion stung poor Shassez and they both drowned. Peepers were normally sung the songs to teach them lessons, his Step-Mother had taught him that during his long childhood, and Fraker had a responsibility to teach them during the trek.
The tale taught the Peepers not to trust everyone they met, as the affectionate little reptilian predators liked other living things from the time they hatched and it was not uncommon for a wild Peeper to adopt baby bunnies, little birds, and other wild creatures they might normally eat on a whim. Kind of like the Peeper in his belt pouch had adopted him.
That story finished, he began telling more tales, keeping the curious and energetic little things occupied as the miles vanished beneath his boots, his spurs ringing on the cobbles of the Wild Road.
When he reached the campsite, he set down the basket, removed the leather straps, and set the lid to the side. Inside the Peepers all looked up at him, twenty-eight sets of eyes looking at him with complete and unconditional trust. He reached in and brushed his fingertips down each little neck, starting at the back of the brainpan and running it all the way down to the mid-back. They all purred when it was their turn and pushed to get closer to his hand. After they were all petted, the bronze looked up and peeped curiously.
“All right, you can leave the basket, but when I ring the little chime, you need to come rushing right back to the basket.” Fraker told them, his voice strangely soft and gentle. “This part of the World Roads can be dangerous, and I don’t want anyone stealing you.” Then he poked his finger at the silver one and then the bronze one to emphasize his next point. “And if there are any local tribes of your people, they’ll step on the two of you if they see you, so don’t stray far.”
A chorus of peeps answered him and he grunted.
“Remember, if you hear the chime, run back to the basket as fast as you can and burrow into the sand.” He reminded them. They peeped again, and then swarmed out of the basket, some of them, the females, following the silver one, the majority of them, the males, following the bronze. Fraker saw the silver and the bronze were each holding the spice shakers stolen from the restaurant. They swarmed into a strepple-berry bush and vanished, and Fraker knew they’d be digging burrows to spend the night.
A small peep from his waist drew his attention to the one on his belt. Fraker looked down and raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t you want to go play?” the hero asked. The lizard peeped again, sounding sad. “I know it hurts to walk, but you know, you can’t live your whole life in a belt pouch, you have to grow up sometime, you’ve been riding in there for…” Fraker’s voice trailed off as he tried to figure out how long ago he had found the lizard. The lizard peeped again. “Really, six months? Shouldn’t you be bigger?”
Fraker laughed when the Peeper cut loose with a few quick chirps. “Really? You’re just not going to grow up? That’s all it is? You’re going to live in my belt pouch until the Last Battle and be the same size the whole time?” The lizard sounded off again and Fraker chuckled and shook his head as he dropped his heavy pack to the ground so he could pull his bedroll off the bottom and pull it from the sealskin sack it was wrapped in. The lizard kept chattering at him, Fraker nodding and answering in monosyllables to the little lizard as he laid out his bedroll and tapped a runestone dug out of one pocket against a small rock. An opaque white half-bubble appeared over the bedroll, and Fraker nodded in satisfaction then turned to making a fire, a task that only took a few moments since the rocks were set up, a bed of ashes present, and there was plenty of firewood only a few paces away.
While Fraker roasted a bunch of rabbits he had killed earlier in the day, the strepple-berry bush quivered and shook, and several times the weird high pitched war cries of the lizards sounded out, bringing a grin to the massive man’s ugly face. He knew they were play-fighting over the best spots, invading each other’s burrows, and stealing berries and other trinkets from one another. The silver one would be digging a burrow she could hide things in and defend from others while the bronze would be trying to figure out how to get into it and take all her goodies.
He had just begun eating, feeding little strips to the lizard that was still mostly hidden by the belt pouch, when he heard a sudden silence drop over the clearing. The Peepers in the bush went completely silent and the one in the belt pouch pulled its head in quickly as Fraker’s hand dropped to his boot and pulled out an unadorned straight blade with a deep blood groove in it. He froze in place after cocking his head slightly, listened for a long moment, then stood up and turned around in one smooth motion, the other boot knife appearing in his hand as if by magic, his eyes raking across the clearing until they locked onto the person stepping out of the waist high ferns and into the clearing.
She moved like silk in a warm breeze, her long blood red hair bound in a braid, bright green eyes with pupils like a hunting cat, her skin the color of oak, and dressed entirely in linen. She wore a plain brown linen dress with blue flowers embroidered onto it, belted at the waist with a blue linen belt as wide as a child’s hand with brown wheat sheafs embroidered onto it. Her boots were Von-Lon Imperial Legion, the tops covered by the bottom hem of the simple dress, and Fraker knew that a pair of jackal-man fighting daggers would be tucked into them. The woman sat down on the ground, keeping her hands away from her waist and open, showing Fraker that she was no threat. She was beautiful, liquid sex-appeal, packed with grace and energy, her breasts small and firm, hips wide and buttocks a bubble of perfection, her face flawed only by a small scar on her cheek that enhanced her beauty rather than diminished it, and her eyes were full of sharp predatory intelligence.
“Hello, youngest brother.” The lithe redhead said, leaning back on the mossy log and smiling at Fraker with a mouth full of sharp teeth that showed her inhuman heritage.
“Eldest and most loved sister.” Fraker replied, dropping to one knee and bowing his head. He sheathed his daggers in one smooth motion. The little lizard pushed up the lid of the pouch with the back of its head so it could look out of the pouch without exposing its snout, and Fraker heard a soft susurration of fear. The redhead came to her feet like someone lifting a piece of cloth, a smooth motion that made an observer think of how the woman would feel skin to skin while she moved. She gave a flawless curtsey better suited to a throne room than meeting in the woods then returned to sitting down while Fraker stood back up, walked to the opposite side of the fire, and knelt down facing the young woman.
“Travelling alone?” He asked. The woman laughed, a sparkling laugh as clear as a silver bell that danced around the silent clearing. In the belt pouch the lizard whimpered again and shivered.
“As do you.” She replied, folding her hands, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “The great Fraker the Axe, destroyer of nations, deflowerer of legions, renown warrior, Stygian Legionnaire, Survivor of the Valley of the Stacked Skulls, slayer of the Lich King Zubek, Iron Legionnaire, founder of the Brotherhood of the Axe.” Fraker’s eyes narrowed at the dark mirth filling the words, and did not even flinch when she finished. “Relegated to carrying a basket of Peepers through the World Roads.” She laughed again.
“True.” Fraker admitted, reaching out and tearing free a strip of rabbit and feeding to the Peeper in his belt pouch.
“How the mighty have fallen.” She giggled as Fraker grabbed a strip of meat and shoved it into his mouth, “I’m sure ballads will be sung of this great deed and the bards will compose poetry and plays to this event, and virgins will swoon over this courageous tale of delivery of a basket of babies.”
Fraker swallowed the mouthful of rabbit meat. “Our Step-Mother bade me to complete this task.” He rumbled.
The woman’s eyes widened and she looked around, wiping her palms her dress covered knees. The mirth vanished from her eyes to be replaced by fear as her hands slid down from her knees to her ankles, disappearing under the edge of the dress.
“Do you require or desire my assistance, beloved youngest brother?” The woman asked, her voice small and trembling at the name Fraker had invoked.
“No, Aveliene, I am sure our Step-Mother has tasks for you.” Fraker answered. The woman, Aveliene, nodded slowly, casting one final look around before sliding her hands back up to her knees.
“Rabbit?” Fraker asked, and Aveliene nodded, scootching closer to the fire.
“I almost didn’t recognize you outside of your armor.” Aveliene said, and Fraker knew she was teasing. She’d known who he was before she had ever even seen him.
“Yeah, I get that a lot.” He answered, shrugging.
“So what did you do with it?” She asked. Fraker went still, his brow furrowing.
“You know,” He answered softly, “I honestly don’t know where it goes when I don’t need it, I just know it appears when I need it.”
“A gift from our Step-Mother, our Mother, or from Father?”
“Step-Mother.” Fraker answered. “One of her many gifts.” Aveliene nodded and cracked open a bone to suck the marrow out.
“So what brings you to the World Roads?” Fraker asked. The Peeper stuck its nose out of the pouch and Fraker fed it a tidbit of steaming rabbit meat. Aveliene looked at the pouch and raised an eyebrow but Fraker shook his head and she nodded.
“Someone needs killing.” Aveliene replied simply. “Our Step-Mother bade me to do the task, so I shall.”
“Anyone I know?” Fraker asked.
“Just some minor nobleman in Novak-Eck. Not sure why she wants him dead, but I’m supposed to make it look accidental, his own stupidity, or the fault of his own little known vices.” She sighed and shook her head. “Whatever caused him to come to the notice of our Step-Mother, it’s pretty urgent. I’d managed to infiltrate the high levels of the Von-Lon Imperial Army command, most of the intelligence and troop movement data moved through my hands, and she barely gave me time to fake my own death and get out of there.”
Fraker raised an eyebrow in surprise. Usually their Step-Mother was much more careful, making sure that insertions and extractions of her children could be handled without any danger of blowing the operation after the fact, and for Aveliene to have to fake her own death quickly and abandon a task was a rarity.
“Tell me about it. Oh, and get this, after I kill him, making sure it’s as painful as possible, I’m supposed to wait a month then make a personal visit to his survivors.” She laughed brightly again, “His surviving family members get a personal visit from me, in the flesh, to tell them that if he had not died before I arrived, I would have been forced to slay the entire family, and to congratulate them on handling the insult to my Step-Mother’s name.”
“I hate politics.” Fraker rumbled.
“That’s because Step-Mother never taught them to you.” Aveliene laughed, pulling free one of the rabbit’s leg and nibbling at it with her sharp teeth. “See, when you kill someone, they only die once. In politics, I can kill someone over and over for years.”
“That makes no sense.” Fraker grumbled. The setting sun of the World Roads plunged beneath the horizon and the shadows grew.
“I love you sometimes, you know that?” Aveliene laughed. “So uncomplicated, so direct. You’re a breath of fresh air in my murky life.” She stood up and wiggled out of the dress, standing in the clearing stark naked. A swirling mark swept down her left side, starting on her shoulder, sweeping down her back, breast, stomach, and hip, before winding down her leg to her knee. Fraker could see that the runes had grown in the two decades since he’d last seen her naked. Tattoos etched into her skin by the hand of their Step-Mother for deeds done in her name.
Naked she was the picture of the patron goddess of lust, rich brown skin, bright red hair, and a body that was deliciously firm in the right spots and lusciously soft in the others. Her slightly more than a handful breasts looked just as firm as Fraker remembered, dark skin capped with chocolate, her legs still as thick and muscular as they had been, her stomach flat with a thin layer of softness hiding the hard muscle beneath with no bellybutton to mar its sweet expanse.
“Know my favorite thing about you?” Aveliene whispered huskily. Fraker shook his head, his mouth dry. A normal woman Fraker would already be jumping on, but normal women weren’t Aveliene, and Aveliene was nothing like a normal woman. “You know me, and you don’t recoil when I’m naked.”
She wasn’t even human.
“You don’t fear my touch, I can be unrestrained without hurting you.” She continued, unwinding her blood-red hair from its braid. “I still remember the first time I took you, how I wept for more.” Her green eyes were glowing emeralds.
Not even as human as Fraker was or had been in his youth.
“Let us feast on these rabbits, and then on one another.” She growled softly, licking her lips with a serpentine tongue, the sharp, predatory, inhuman planes of her face rising out of the human softness she normally clothed herself in.
She was a Wraithkiller. The blade of their Step-Mother, hidden dagger of the All Powerful IV, Queen of the Six Worlds, daughters of the Blossom of Death. She was one of the best, the Sterile Queen.
“Run for me.” Her voice was hungry. She reached out and grabbed the last of the rabbit with her sharp taloned fingers as Fraker quickly took off his belt and set it aside, the Peeper inside chirping worriedly.
“It’s OK, little one, I won’t hurt him more than he asks me too.” She reassured the Peeper. Fraker could smell her, a wild feral smell, and it sent his senses reeling as he quickly stripped away everything and stood there naked before her in the light of the fire. Her eyes roved over the hard muscle, the tattoos etched by the same hand as hers, the scars gathered over eons of warfare.
“Run, male, for this stratgurt is hungry for meat other than rabbit.” Aveliene whispered, shifting to a crouch.
Fraker ran into the wildlands of the World Roads and Aveliene followed.
A sharp rapping noise caused the opaque dome to disappear and Fraker stood up, fully dressed, from where he had been sitting after tightly rolling back up his bedroll. The redhead was nowhere to be seen, gone as if she had never existed, and Fraker glanced around while he was dropping the runestone into one of his belt pouches. Satisfied that she was actually gone, he withdrew a small chime and tapped it twice with a cracked and chipped fingernail. The ring shimmered in the clearing and the strepple-berry bush rustled as the little lizards poured out of it in two packs, one following the bright silver one, the other following the bronze one, both merging and flowing into the basket to roll around in the sand, snapping and hissing playfully at each other.
Fraker stood up, wincing as he came to his full height, putting a hand to his lower back and grunting.
“Every time. I should know better” He groaned. “It’s like rutting with a silk pillowcase full of giant pythons and hot coals.” There was a chittering from the belt pouch as he gingerly made his way over to the basket.
“Yes, that’s probably when she wrenched my back. Those legs are a lot stronger than they look.” He looked down at the pouch. “What were you doing sneaking looks anyway?” There was more cheeping, this time sounding somewhat ashamed. “We do not get covered in slime! It’s sweat!” Fraker protested, laughing as he picked up the basket, then groaning slightly as his back cramped up for a moment. The Peeper started up again, this time joined by a few peeps from the basket. “That’s not true, where do you little ones get such bizarre ideas?”
As he began walking down the highway of the World Roads, he sighed and shook his head.
“OK, let me explain the dance of garden faeries to you. When there’s a female, those are the ones with the big round bumps on their chest...” There were more peeps. “No, he was just fat. Be quiet. Anyway, when a female likes a male enough and is stronger than him, or can bewitch him well enough, or sneaks up behind him with a rock, or has more sisters than he has sisters, or can get him drunk enough, she decides to…”
And yes, it is satire.
Fraker the Axe
&
The Peeper Surprise
Where the Herald of Carnage treads even the Gods themselves grow nervous, for the fates are blind in his presence and the bite of his axe can even fell Immortals like young saplings.-Saint Kalimia, Church of the Crimson Waters of Life
&
The Peeper Surprise
Where the Herald of Carnage treads even the Gods themselves grow nervous, for the fates are blind in his presence and the bite of his axe can even fell Immortals like young saplings.-Saint Kalimia, Church of the Crimson Waters of Life
The sign plastered to the gray stone wall was crudely written in two of the most common Trade Tongues, as well as Low Novakian, and was a simple instruction. “Pay No Attention to Dancing Lizards” was the command, but like most signs, people ignored it even when it was right in front of them. Below the sign was a trio of overturned barrels, a common sight in Novak-Eck, and would have been unremarkable.
Except for the brightly colored lizards the size of small cats dancing around on the upended barrels. They hopped back and forth on their little feet to drum out a tune, turned somersaults, and even jumped on one another’s backs to form pyramids of six of them. Nearly a dozen lizards made musical peeping noises as they capered for the small audience that had gathered up in front of the barrels. Their wide, liquid eyes were guileless over the permanent smile that nature had put on their faces. Whenever flies swooped by they jumped up and snapped them up in mid-air, usually with an accompanying somersault. If the insect was too high they would spring onto the back of one of their fellows before jumping in order to get the height they needed.
The small crowd was oohing and aahing over the antics of the mottled green lizards, apparently led by a slightly larger one the color of highly polished bronze, ignoring the warning sign in order enjoy the unexpected (and most importantly: free) entertainment going on at the edge of the crowded marketplace. Most of the people watching were minor nobility, aristocrats come to the Grand Market of the Historic District of the ancient city of Novak-Eck in order to buy trinkets and exotic wares to impress one another with. Their clothing, hats, gloves, shoes, and accessories were adorned with small gems, bright metal beads on tassels, and other eye-catching decorations that were intended on displaying just how wealthy and/or powerful the wearer was.
Unfortunately for the crowd gathered up, those tassels within reach of the small lizards darting around the crowd’s ankles were being quickly bitten through. With the tassel hanging from their mouth, the larcenous little lizard would quickly dart behind the barrels to spit out its prize, then return to the crowd to repeat their action. In the space behind the barrels a small lizard with skin the color of polished silver was hopping from foot to foot excitedly as the shiny trinkets piled up. It quickly pulled the tassels free of the shining baubles, mostly glass or metal beads, and threw the tassels aside while shoving the shiny stuff into a small sack between its silver feet. It was making purring sounds like a small kitten while it was doing so, pausing every once in awhile to chew up and swallow the leather tassel rather than toss it aside.
The gathered crowd was exclaiming and clapping at the trick the little lizards had just performed which had resulted in all of them in mid-air at the same time, their powerful tails launching them over two feet up into the air, when someone began pushing into the crowd from the back.
Those that turned to complain at being pushed aside nervously swallowed any protest they had been ready to deliver when they saw the stranger. To say that the man was massive was an understatement. His shoulders nearly obliterated his neck, his rough sleeveless shirt was stretched tightly over his bulging pectorals. His right shoulder sported the tattoo of a set of crossed swords in the middle of the laurel wreath with the number one below it, which silently proclaimed that the man had been part of the Iron Legion from the beginning when it was a scant handful of men rather than an entire army of highly disciplined legions. His left shoulder bore the nine skulls arranged in a V that silently attested that the one who bore the mark was a survivor who had served on the losing side of the massacre that had taken place at the Valley of the Stacked Skulls toward the end of the Lich King War. The mahogany skin of his forearms and biceps were crisscrossed with white scars, and his massive hands had the bumps between each knuckle that spoke of cat-like claws hidden beneath the skin. The man’s face was rough hewn with a crooked nose, a mouth twisted by the scar that started above the right eye and ended at the left corner of his mouth. Fierce bloodshot brown eyes were locked on the performing lizards from beneath the shaggy brown hair and the notched and fearsome axe swung from the iron skull-buckled leather belt that held up his leather pants. A dagger stuck out of each of his leather boots, and a medallion dedicated to Lorshani, Goddess of destruction, carnage, and battle rested against his chest, glowing softly.
The massive man stopped in front of the barrels just as the lizards all landed, facing away from the crowd. He stared down at them as they suddenly back flipped and twisted so that they landed facing the crowd, their arms outstretched and all of them letting out a peep that sounded suspiciously like “Ta-dah!”
The lizards froze, their heads slowly moving up the man’s body until they saw his face, and as one they all hunched down, somehow looking guilty despite the permanent reptilian smiles that nature had bestowed on their little faces. Almost in unison, the small mottled green lizards all pointed at the bronze one and began all peeping at once. The bronze one ducked his head down until it was stretched out on the barrel, long neck flat against the wood, arms and legs outspread, and tail resting flat.
“Yes, yes, I know, he made you do it.” The giant rumbled, setting down the woven wicker basket he was carrying. “All of you get in.” he ordered, lifting the lid to reveal a thick layer of sand on the bottom of the basket. He picked up the bronze one by the neck, letting the body dangle between his fingers and lifted the little lizard up until he could stare at its face, his bloodshot brown eyes level with the bronze lizard’s clamped shut eyes. He ignored the green lizards, which were busy swarming down the barrels and into the basket, snapping and peeping at each other as they jockeyed for the best spot in the sand.
“Where’s your egg-mate?” the giant asked. The little lizard opened one eye, then began peeping rapidly, pointing behind the barrels with one hand frantically enough to make his body start swaying. The giant nodded, then gently set the bronze lizard down, ignoring the muttering crowd. He reached out, grabbed the barrel, and pulled it aside, revealing the little silver one, caught in the act of stuffing a last few trinkets into the pouch. Before the silver lizard could dart away, the massive giant scooped it up with one swoop of his massive paw, dangling it by the neck from between two fingers just like he had the other. Just like the bronze, the silver went completely limp, the bag dropping from between its hands and into the basket.
“I hope you’re happy, little princess,” The giant rumbled, shaking his head. At his feet, in the basket, the other lizards had opened the bag and were fighting over the baubles from inside. The little silver peeped softly and the giant chuckled. “Yes, yes, you did good. You’ll be a good queen.” The silver peeped once, pride evident in the high pitched chirp, and the giant chuckled again as he set her into the basket and replaced the lid. He picked it up carefully and turned around, seeing the crowd. Many of them were examining their ankles, dress hems, boots, and pant legs, and many of them looked angry after having seen the missing baubles and trinkets.
“Aw, ox-biscuits.” The giant muttered.
“Are those your lizards, sirrah?” One man asked, stepping forward, his face mottled with rage, the effect of his icy glare lost because of the height difference.
The giant looked down at the man, his bloodshot brown eyes narrowing dangerously. “Do I look like their egg mother?”
The man looked confused for a second, “I asked you a question, sell-sword.” The man snarled, poking the basket with an outstretched finger.
“Don’t poke my basket,” The giant growled, “Or you’ll be standing in front of Vondelius the Judge.” From one of the large pouches on the giant’s belt a small lizard head poked out and the head began chirping at the man rapidly. The big man glanced down. “Shush, little one.”
“Really? We’ll see about that.” The nobleman snarled, reaching forward and stabbing at the basket with the same bejeweled finger.
With an almost subsonic growl the giant reached out his free hand and wrapped his hand around the nobleman’s head. The crowd gasped as the giant lifted the man off of his feet, raising him up high enough that his waist was over most of the crowd’s head.
“Say hello to Vondy for me, heshtlan.” The giant snarled, his forearm bunching. The noble began screeching, clawing at the giant’s forearm and kicking in the air. In the crowd a woman screamed, her voice high pitched and carrying over the constant conversation of the Grand Market. Many in the crowd gasped at the horrific slur that had escaped from the giant’s mouth. It was an old word, only used as a curse or a slur, that called a male an impotent, worthless creature that was unworthy of even leaving out for the animals to eat, that should only exist on the dung of dung eating creatures, a twisted and malformed weak creature that all females would turn away from and revile. It was a vile, disgusting term, and almost never used in modern, polite society.
“You! Ogre!” a shout rang out. The man gave a disgusted exhalation and dropped his head down to shake it wearily as the shout continued. “Put that man down or face the Hammer of the law!”
The giant turned and faced the direction the shout had come from, still holding the basket in one hand, the nobleman in the other, and the small lizard in the belt pouch still chittering away. Just on the other side of the crowd was a squad of Novak Hammers, dressed in leather with steel plates riveted onto it, the squad leader carrying a heavy warhammer, six men carrying spears and shields, two men carrying bows, and a pair of robed figures that the giant knew were a pair of casters, one divine, one arcane.
“I’m not an ogre.” The giant rumbled, shaking his head.
At the sight of the man’s face the officer with the warhammer took a half step backwards, his face paling.
“M-my Lord Fraker, my apologies, I did not recognize you outside of your armor.” The man said. The robed man on the left of the rear of the column took a step to the side and vanished into the crowd, while one of bowman dropped his weapon and ran screaming into the onlookers.
“Yeah, I get that a lot.” The giant said, then shook the nobleman. “Is this yours?”
“My Lord Fraker, you know your Step-Mother would be wroth with you if you were to kill a member of the aristocracy outside of a formal duel, as she promised the Duke himself that you would curb your natural instincts.” The watchman said, unaware that two more of his squad has slipped away, one leaving behind his spear. “Put the man down.”
“I was just… helping him with his hair.” The giant rumbled, almost petulantly, lowering the man to the ground and releasing his grip on the man’s face. The noble’s face was red and he began gasping for air.
“By squeezing his head until his hair burst into flame, My Lord?” The man asked archly, raising an eyebrow. Fraker hung his head and twisted one foot, looking to be little more than an errant schoolboy standing before the headmaster. “My Lord, is there a problem?”
“His thieving little lizards stole the decorations on my pant legs!” the formerly suffocating noble shrieked, “And assaulted me with his foul smelling hands! I demand you revoke his sell-sword medallion at once!”
“They’re Peepers.” Fraker answered, nodding at the basket. At his waist the one poking its head out of the pouch kept right on chittering disapprovingly at the nobleman, pausing to stick its tongue out and blow a raspberry every few moments.
“Ahh, is that so?” The watchman asked. Fraker nodded and the man squinted to look closer at the lizard poking out of the belt pouch. “Yes, it certainly looks that way.”
“What difference does it make what kind of blasted lizards they are? They’re thieves, and I demand you arrest this man and put his filthy lizards down like the thieving animals they are!” the nobleman screeched. Some in the crowd nodded in agreement, but more had dawning looks of comprehension on their faces. The little Peeper poking out of the pouch hissed at that statement and blew a raspberry.
“If they are Peepers, it is not theft.” The watchman answered.
“What? But they stole from me.” The nobleman sputtered.
“Do you know the history of this city?” The giant, Fraker, rumbled.
“Of course, I am educated, what difference does it make?”
Educated, but you don’t know who you are standing there insulting? I hope your estate can get the cost of your education back if you keep insulting Fraker the Axe like that. The watchman thought, wishing he hadn’t stopped the legendary hero from crushing the annoying aristocrat’s head. Instead he simply replied: “Peepers are well known in the city, and in order to amuse and reward the Peepers for their ancestors’ great deeds during the founding of our grand city, it became custom for the common man and the nobility alike to wear tassels adorned with small bright and shiny objects, which Peepers are attracted to and crave.”
“That’s preposterous! What kind of blithering imbecile comes up with a stupid idea like that?” The nobleman snarled, unaware of the fact that Fraker’s bloodshot eyes seemed to completely fill with blood until the brown irises seemed to float in crimson.
“My Step-Mother, in her youth.” Fraker snarled back, his shoulders seeming to swell up and veins standing out on his forehead. The lizard poking out of the belt-pouch hissed in the nobleman’s direction, exposing a mouthful of needle sharp teeth. “And you’d best be keeping a civil tongue in your mouth if you want your teeth to stay in it.”
“Milord Fraker, let the Hammers of Novak handle this problem.” The watchman suggested, hoping he could defuse the situation before it ended up with the streets drenched in blood and the aristocracy of Novak lessened in a swath of carnage. “I am sure that there are deeds you must attend to.” The giant stared at the nobleman for a long time before slowly turning his head to the watchman, who noticed that the brown eyes seemed to be set in pools of blood.
“Aye, I do at that.” Fraker agreed, hefting the basket slightly, “I have been tasked with taking these baby Peepers to a village a few weeks from the city.”
“Then perhaps you should see to your task, Milord, since it is nearly three days to the northern gate from here.” The watchman suggested.
“Fine.” Fraker answered, then looked down. “Hush, little one, you shouldn’t be using that kind of language.” The one in the belt bobbed its head and stopped chittering. The watchman noted that the little lizard looked almost ashamed, and breathed a sigh of relief as Fraker the Axe began walking away, moving through the crowd as if it didn’t exist.
“Honestly, I don’t know where you would have picked up words like that, little one”, floated back to the watchman as he turned to face the angry crowd, many of whom felt that Fraker and his lizards should be in custody.
“By Novak-Eck law, items on tassels are considered gifts for Peepers, and since the Duke has affirmed this law within the last year, I assure you that there has been no theft.” The watchman called out, holding out his hands in a placating gesture.
Better this crowd than an angry Fraker the Axe. The watchman thought to himself.
* * * * *
The restaurant was only a few hours from the Great Northern Gate by foot and was often patronized by wealthy merchant princes and nobility who oversaw the dealings of their trade caravans personally. It was well known for tasty and exotic dishes, and served only clientele that not only could afford their prices but also fit in with the genteel décor.
Which made Fraker sitting against one wall and tearing apart a gravy soaked stuffed turkey with his fingers and wiping his hands on a large shaggy war-dog completely out of place. Many nobles who didn’t recognize the hero shook their heads and muttered to one another about how disgraceful it was for the restaurant to serve whatever they thought Fraker was, from a giant spawn, to a particularly ugly ogre, to a freakish mercenary. Many of the lesser nobility present was outraged at the fact that Fraker had simply walked up, shown his life-mark on his palm to the maître d’ and had been shown to a table that was normally reserved for very few VIP’s.
The fact that Fraker’s Step-Mother, the Eternal Elba Quarryn duVek, not only owned the restaurant, but had supervised the work crew that had built it when the very bones of Novak had been laid, had helped build it with her own two hands, was unknown to all but the management. When the Eternal Elba’s most favored son arrived, the staff was more than pleased to serve him, and through him, his Step-Mother and their liege.
Most of the restaurant was taken up by a private party, nobility of the High House of Novak, aristocrats who could trace their bloodline to the soldiers who had marched with Eck the Anvil out of the Valley of the Stacked Skulls to take control of the huge city. The rest was taken up by lesser nobility, members of the Low House, who wanted to be at the party.
The House of Jarmo was celebrating the marriage of one of their nieces to a young Count of the House of Vohnar, a marriage of heart rather than political or economic leverage, set up and approved by the Haut Ton itself. The bride and groom were not present for the after marriage party, but that was customary, since a newly married couple had better things to do than attend the whirlwind of dinners, parties, and celebrations in their honor. Most of which concerned expanding the bloodline.
Two tables over Grand Matron Vohnar had noticed Fraker being seated and had made the unmarried men and women switch tables with the elderly members of the families while a large dog had been led in to sit next to Fraker. Now she sat, wrapped in crimson silk edged with silver shimmersilk, and watched him eat, nodding to herself as the hero stripped the turkey to the bones, once in awhile slipping small strips of meat to the small Peeper hiding in the pouch on his belt. While most men a large belt pouch was the size of a man’s hand, the pouch on Fraker’s belt was roughly large enough to fit a baked turkey into it, leading the Grand Matron to believe that the Peeper had plenty of room to make a nest in the pouch, and so was not being mistreated. The fact that she could hear it purring as it rubbed its head against the hero’s linen shirt was proof of that, as was its obvious affection toward the fearsome warrior.
The House of Vohnar remembered their debt to the Peeper’s ancestors, and Grand Matron Vohnar would not countenance to anyone mistreating the baby lizards, even the Favored Son of the Thorn Lord herself.
Fraker was unaware of the gray-haired scrutiny as he pushed away the bones of the turkey after he had cracked the bones open and sucked out the marrow then started in on devouring a bowl of Novak Fire-Clam Chowder, relishing the heavy spices and thick and crunchy pepper kernels. He dipped the sour-dough bread, made from naka milk, into the bowl, feeding pinches of the chowder soaked bread to the Peeper at his waist, smiling when it sneezed after every bite. Fraker knew that while it was tart and spicy to him the Peeper would find it sweet to its non-human taste.
The Grand Matron turned her attention from the hero, and her memories of having been seduced by him decades before, as the head chef and his assistants came out of the kitchen bearing the wedding cake. It was three layers, each layer separated from the others by thick sugar crystals carved to look like nymphs and painted with a thin layer of frosting. Each layer was almost a foot thick, decorated with artfully carved frosting, thin layers of gold and silver to make designs of the sigils of the two houses intertwined, and representing enough money to buy a nice house. The cake layers were alternating rich chocolate and creamy vanilla, each layer separated by strepple-berry jam and naka-pudding, with candied berries baked into the cake.
“That cake costs more than most peasants will see in a year.” One of the younger girls, a member of the House of Jarmo, giggled to the other maids. The Grand Matrons of both houses frowned disapprovingly at her snide tone toward the very people who filled the coffers of the families and made the city what it was. It was one thing to have such prejudices privately, it was the uncouth and ill-bred who voiced them.
“And tastes better than most of them will ever smell.” Another girl laughed, this one from the House of Vohnar, unaware that the Matrons of the houses had heard her and made mental note. The young women didn’t know it, but the marriages that they’d be considered for had just dropped dramatically in status and importance until they learned some manners and decorum. Both young women had spoken such many times, and currently the ladies of the houses who sat on the Tons would not even consider them for marriages to anything more important than the second or third wife of a city accountant, much less someone as important as a commoner.
“In honor of the union of the members of your noble houses, the House of the Love of Feast would like to present you with this humble token, a sign of respect from Foreman Elba to two such important houses who have never forgotten their roots and duties.” The maître d’ announced waving the four assistant cooks carrying the massive cake on an engraved and bejeweled silver platter. The head cook walked alongside the cake, beaming with pride as the cake was his invention, a creation that had earned him a permanent stipend from the Eternal Elba and he had been allowed to inscribe the recipe and cooking directions into her cookbook himself. Those who knew the Eternal knew that her cookbook was more precious to her than even her spellbook and was protected and preserved with more numerous and powerful magics than most had guarding their vaults.
“Naka pudding to remind us of the humble roots of those who crafted the bones of our great city, strepple-berry jam to honor the work of the Kobolds, chocolate to remind us of the darkness of the Lich King rule, vanilla to remind us of the purity of life itself. “ The Head Cook stated as the massive cake was set onto the table. With a flourish he tossed a sprinkle of glittering sugar onto the cake and proclaimed “TA-DAH!”
Fraker had just glanced up as the sugar flew through the air to land on the cake as everyone had begun oohing and ahhing appreciably over it. He realized with a sinking sensation that the Peeper that had decided to take possession of his belt pouch had its mouth hanging open and was making the muffled cough sounds of Peeper laughter.
The cake shivered for a second before tiny lizard heads popped out of the cake, their long necks allowing their heads to stick out an inch or two from the frosting, the thick frosting atop their heads like white hair. Their heads were cocked at an angle, their little eyes open, their ears flared out, and their natural smiles wide. A dozen were on the lowest layer, six on the middle layer, and a bronze and silver erupting from the top layer.
“TA-DAH!” They all squeaked out.
“Aw, ox-biscuits.” Fraker murmured as everyone at the table began screaming in surprise. The Matriarchs and Patriarchs of the family began laughing uproariously, the children shrieking with joy and laughing, and the adults exclaiming in horror.
The Peepers burst from the sides of the cake, swarming out of cake covered in frosting, their stomachs plumped out so many of them waddled ungainly, and immediately streaming under the tables all in one direction.
Toward Fraker.
As the hollowed and ruined cake slowly and stately collapsed upon itself, Fraker could feel the little clawed feet trample over the top of his boots, and knew where they were going. Back into the basket. A glance down showed that the lid was slightly cocked, allowing a large enough space for the Peepers to get out, and the leather thong used to latch the lid had been chewed through. He saw the silver Peeper lead the way, tossing the bejeweled gold pepper shaker into the basket before she squirmed in after it.
Chairs and tables were upending, dishware shattering on the floor, silverware flying through the air, and people were scrambling to get out of the way, many of them shouting in confusion or screaming in fear. At the far side of the restaurant an elderly gentleman with a magnificent and aggressive white beard thrust himself to his feet, raising his engraved and inlaid cane, and shouting a word of power. The table’s edge disintegrated as the arcane master’s defenses sprang into being, the razor sharp shards of metal appearing around him in a glittering whirling cloud, blue and purple fire covering his skin which turned a dark gray with a pebbled and rough appearance. As his arcane defenses leapt into place his beard bristled and crackled with sparks of arcane energy.
The bronze Peeper was last into the basket, and Fraker saw it carrying a jewel encrusted silver salt shaker. It tossed the shaker into the basket and climbed in, and the lid was pulled back into position almost before the bronze lizard’s tail had slithered into the safety of the basket.
Fraker nudged the basket with his boot, pushing it more behind him, and watched as chaos enveloped the entire restaurant. Two spellcasters were duking it out with magic, flinging complex and deadly magics at one another as they guarded themselves at the same time. Two warriors, each bearing the marks of martial holy orders, were rolling around the floor, cutlery in their hands, each fully intent on killing what they were convinced was a sneak attack by a member of a hated rival church. The older man had summoned up guardians from the stone of the floor itself, the eyes of molten rock watching for any threat to the bearer of the magnificent beard that had summoned them. The Head Cook was still standing where he had been presenting the cake, his expression one of horror, and his face and clothing covered in frosting. From the looks of it, Fraker figured that the lizards had almost completely hollowed out the cake layers, leaving only enough of the bottom layer to support their weight and pillars of cake to support the layer above.
It required long minutes, and threats of the Hammers being called into the restaurant, to calm things down and restore order to the dining room. Almost a dozen people had been badly injured, and healers from the Church of Kaa Iron Eye had been called in to treat the injuries. Several people had left, furiously stomping out amid threats of legal action and refusal to pay their bills, and the maitre-d had been forced to allow many of the patrons to not only receive the meal they had ordered for free, but also receive a reservation and another free meal.
Finally everything was settling down, with the tables, chairs, and dinnerware being replaced. People were returning to their meals, the Patriarchs and Matriarchs of the two noble families had restored order among their families under the watchful eyes of the two Grand Matrons, and the old man was grumpily accepting a cup of hot mint and pepper-oil tea after dismissing his miniature stone guardians, his aura of power still faintly simmering around him. His beard, of course, had been completely aloof to the near-brawl that had enveloped the dining area, instead swaying and bushing with authority and magnificence mere mortal concerns could never approach.
Fraker had scooped up his basket as everything calmed down and was moving toward the exit, muffled peeping and squeaking coming from within the basket as the Peepers celebrated their victory in making off with two containers of yummy treats, the salt and pepper as sweet as honey to their taste buds. The Peeper in his belt pouch was still watching the crowd with bright eyes, his head swiveling back and forth to take everything in.
“Ahem.” The sound was dry and acerbic, drawing Fraker’s attention immediately.
In front of him the tall, thin, and dapper maitre-d was staring up at Fraker with a disapproving expression on his narrow face. The man was obviously not intimidated by a man who had spent decades on the battlefield and fought his way out of the Halls of the Dead. Nor was he intimidated by the fact that Fraker stood a good three feet higher than him, and massed enough to make at least four of him.
The Peeper ducked back into the belt pouch with a small chagrined peep as Fraker stopped dead in his tracks before the maitre-d.
“Were those young ones in your care, sirrah?” The man asked, one hand on his hip and the other motioning at the basket.
“Uh… no?” Fraker said, feeling sweat bead on his forehead.
“Really?” The man asked, narrowing his eyes as if he was looking at a deadbeat diner. “May I ask what is in the basket?”
“Umm… severed heads?” Fraker lied, knowing he was starting to blush.
“Is that so? Do the heads still live and are still making noise, milord?” the maitre-d wondered, then glanced down at the Peeper that was peeking out of the pouch. It made a squeak and ducked back in. “May I look in the basket, Lord Fraker, or did you gather the heads for your Step-Mother in order for her to interrogate them?”
Fraker resisted the urge to mop his brow, twisting one foot back and forth slightly. “Um… no?”
“And why not, Milord?”
“They’re, uhh… sleeping! Yeah, they’re asleep, and I wouldn’t want to wake them!” Fraker blurted out.
“The severed heads are sleeping, or are you claiming that the young ones you denied were in there are sleeping?” The maitre-d raised one eyebrow, and Fraker hung his head. “They are in your care, aren’t they, Milord?”
“Yes, I’m taking them to a village for my Step-Mother.” Fraker admitted.
“For shame, Milord, your Step-Mother would be ashamed of you lying like an errant schoolboy holding a sweetbun behind his back.” The maitre-d chided, and Fraker knew he was flushing deeply.
“I’m sorry.” The legendary hero murmured. “Don’t tell my Step-Mother.” The massive man half-pleaded.
“I’m sure we can come to an arrangement, Milord.” The maitre-d said, then stepped to the side and waved at the door at the back of the dining area. “Step into my office, Lord Fraker, and we’ll discuss ways to handle this unfortunate incident and uphold your honor, your Step-Mother’s honor, and the honor of this establishment.”
Fraker nodded dumbly and followed the man toward the back of restaurant.
* * * * *
The basket had leather straps over the top, and Fraker was carrying it by the handle as he stomped down the cobblestone of the highway. He was still dressed in his street clothing, heading north from the gates of Novak-Eck as he had for the last two days. The sun was low in the sky, and he knew that there was an established camp area only a few hours further along the road.
“Stupid maitre-d making me wash dishes or he’d tell my Step-Mother. Stupid restaurant for making me pay the damages.” Fraker grumbled as he stomped his way up the highway. “Stupid Peepers for…”
A chorus of chirps and hisses erupted from the basket, and the Peeper in his belt pouch popped up to chirp at Fraker with wide liquid eyes looking hurt and vulnerable.
“No, no, not you ones. Those ones that.. uhh… from the Tale of the Peeper and the Honey Pot.” Fraker quickly lied. There was purring from the basket, and the one at his belt rubbed its head on his shirt and purred loudly. There were a few peeps from inside the basket.
“No, I’m not telling it to you again.” Fraker laughed, “I told it to you yesterday.” He thought for a second, “OK, I’ll tell you the Peeper and the Scorpion.” He shifted the basket. “Once there was a Peeper, named Shassez, who liked to swim in the river. He caught fish, rode frogs, dug up sweet frog eggs to eat, but he had no pack-mates and was often lonely. One day a scorpion came to the bank, climbing up on a rock and sighing greatly as he stared at the far bank.” Fraker kept up the story, smiling gently when the Peepers reacted with fear then horror then sadness as the scorpion stung poor Shassez and they both drowned. Peepers were normally sung the songs to teach them lessons, his Step-Mother had taught him that during his long childhood, and Fraker had a responsibility to teach them during the trek.
The tale taught the Peepers not to trust everyone they met, as the affectionate little reptilian predators liked other living things from the time they hatched and it was not uncommon for a wild Peeper to adopt baby bunnies, little birds, and other wild creatures they might normally eat on a whim. Kind of like the Peeper in his belt pouch had adopted him.
That story finished, he began telling more tales, keeping the curious and energetic little things occupied as the miles vanished beneath his boots, his spurs ringing on the cobbles of the Wild Road.
When he reached the campsite, he set down the basket, removed the leather straps, and set the lid to the side. Inside the Peepers all looked up at him, twenty-eight sets of eyes looking at him with complete and unconditional trust. He reached in and brushed his fingertips down each little neck, starting at the back of the brainpan and running it all the way down to the mid-back. They all purred when it was their turn and pushed to get closer to his hand. After they were all petted, the bronze looked up and peeped curiously.
“All right, you can leave the basket, but when I ring the little chime, you need to come rushing right back to the basket.” Fraker told them, his voice strangely soft and gentle. “This part of the World Roads can be dangerous, and I don’t want anyone stealing you.” Then he poked his finger at the silver one and then the bronze one to emphasize his next point. “And if there are any local tribes of your people, they’ll step on the two of you if they see you, so don’t stray far.”
A chorus of peeps answered him and he grunted.
“Remember, if you hear the chime, run back to the basket as fast as you can and burrow into the sand.” He reminded them. They peeped again, and then swarmed out of the basket, some of them, the females, following the silver one, the majority of them, the males, following the bronze. Fraker saw the silver and the bronze were each holding the spice shakers stolen from the restaurant. They swarmed into a strepple-berry bush and vanished, and Fraker knew they’d be digging burrows to spend the night.
A small peep from his waist drew his attention to the one on his belt. Fraker looked down and raised an eyebrow.
“Don’t you want to go play?” the hero asked. The lizard peeped again, sounding sad. “I know it hurts to walk, but you know, you can’t live your whole life in a belt pouch, you have to grow up sometime, you’ve been riding in there for…” Fraker’s voice trailed off as he tried to figure out how long ago he had found the lizard. The lizard peeped again. “Really, six months? Shouldn’t you be bigger?”
Fraker laughed when the Peeper cut loose with a few quick chirps. “Really? You’re just not going to grow up? That’s all it is? You’re going to live in my belt pouch until the Last Battle and be the same size the whole time?” The lizard sounded off again and Fraker chuckled and shook his head as he dropped his heavy pack to the ground so he could pull his bedroll off the bottom and pull it from the sealskin sack it was wrapped in. The lizard kept chattering at him, Fraker nodding and answering in monosyllables to the little lizard as he laid out his bedroll and tapped a runestone dug out of one pocket against a small rock. An opaque white half-bubble appeared over the bedroll, and Fraker nodded in satisfaction then turned to making a fire, a task that only took a few moments since the rocks were set up, a bed of ashes present, and there was plenty of firewood only a few paces away.
While Fraker roasted a bunch of rabbits he had killed earlier in the day, the strepple-berry bush quivered and shook, and several times the weird high pitched war cries of the lizards sounded out, bringing a grin to the massive man’s ugly face. He knew they were play-fighting over the best spots, invading each other’s burrows, and stealing berries and other trinkets from one another. The silver one would be digging a burrow she could hide things in and defend from others while the bronze would be trying to figure out how to get into it and take all her goodies.
He had just begun eating, feeding little strips to the lizard that was still mostly hidden by the belt pouch, when he heard a sudden silence drop over the clearing. The Peepers in the bush went completely silent and the one in the belt pouch pulled its head in quickly as Fraker’s hand dropped to his boot and pulled out an unadorned straight blade with a deep blood groove in it. He froze in place after cocking his head slightly, listened for a long moment, then stood up and turned around in one smooth motion, the other boot knife appearing in his hand as if by magic, his eyes raking across the clearing until they locked onto the person stepping out of the waist high ferns and into the clearing.
She moved like silk in a warm breeze, her long blood red hair bound in a braid, bright green eyes with pupils like a hunting cat, her skin the color of oak, and dressed entirely in linen. She wore a plain brown linen dress with blue flowers embroidered onto it, belted at the waist with a blue linen belt as wide as a child’s hand with brown wheat sheafs embroidered onto it. Her boots were Von-Lon Imperial Legion, the tops covered by the bottom hem of the simple dress, and Fraker knew that a pair of jackal-man fighting daggers would be tucked into them. The woman sat down on the ground, keeping her hands away from her waist and open, showing Fraker that she was no threat. She was beautiful, liquid sex-appeal, packed with grace and energy, her breasts small and firm, hips wide and buttocks a bubble of perfection, her face flawed only by a small scar on her cheek that enhanced her beauty rather than diminished it, and her eyes were full of sharp predatory intelligence.
“Hello, youngest brother.” The lithe redhead said, leaning back on the mossy log and smiling at Fraker with a mouth full of sharp teeth that showed her inhuman heritage.
“Eldest and most loved sister.” Fraker replied, dropping to one knee and bowing his head. He sheathed his daggers in one smooth motion. The little lizard pushed up the lid of the pouch with the back of its head so it could look out of the pouch without exposing its snout, and Fraker heard a soft susurration of fear. The redhead came to her feet like someone lifting a piece of cloth, a smooth motion that made an observer think of how the woman would feel skin to skin while she moved. She gave a flawless curtsey better suited to a throne room than meeting in the woods then returned to sitting down while Fraker stood back up, walked to the opposite side of the fire, and knelt down facing the young woman.
“Travelling alone?” He asked. The woman laughed, a sparkling laugh as clear as a silver bell that danced around the silent clearing. In the belt pouch the lizard whimpered again and shivered.
“As do you.” She replied, folding her hands, her eyes sparkling with mirth. “The great Fraker the Axe, destroyer of nations, deflowerer of legions, renown warrior, Stygian Legionnaire, Survivor of the Valley of the Stacked Skulls, slayer of the Lich King Zubek, Iron Legionnaire, founder of the Brotherhood of the Axe.” Fraker’s eyes narrowed at the dark mirth filling the words, and did not even flinch when she finished. “Relegated to carrying a basket of Peepers through the World Roads.” She laughed again.
“True.” Fraker admitted, reaching out and tearing free a strip of rabbit and feeding to the Peeper in his belt pouch.
“How the mighty have fallen.” She giggled as Fraker grabbed a strip of meat and shoved it into his mouth, “I’m sure ballads will be sung of this great deed and the bards will compose poetry and plays to this event, and virgins will swoon over this courageous tale of delivery of a basket of babies.”
Fraker swallowed the mouthful of rabbit meat. “Our Step-Mother bade me to complete this task.” He rumbled.
The woman’s eyes widened and she looked around, wiping her palms her dress covered knees. The mirth vanished from her eyes to be replaced by fear as her hands slid down from her knees to her ankles, disappearing under the edge of the dress.
“Do you require or desire my assistance, beloved youngest brother?” The woman asked, her voice small and trembling at the name Fraker had invoked.
“No, Aveliene, I am sure our Step-Mother has tasks for you.” Fraker answered. The woman, Aveliene, nodded slowly, casting one final look around before sliding her hands back up to her knees.
“Rabbit?” Fraker asked, and Aveliene nodded, scootching closer to the fire.
“I almost didn’t recognize you outside of your armor.” Aveliene said, and Fraker knew she was teasing. She’d known who he was before she had ever even seen him.
“Yeah, I get that a lot.” He answered, shrugging.
“So what did you do with it?” She asked. Fraker went still, his brow furrowing.
“You know,” He answered softly, “I honestly don’t know where it goes when I don’t need it, I just know it appears when I need it.”
“A gift from our Step-Mother, our Mother, or from Father?”
“Step-Mother.” Fraker answered. “One of her many gifts.” Aveliene nodded and cracked open a bone to suck the marrow out.
“So what brings you to the World Roads?” Fraker asked. The Peeper stuck its nose out of the pouch and Fraker fed it a tidbit of steaming rabbit meat. Aveliene looked at the pouch and raised an eyebrow but Fraker shook his head and she nodded.
“Someone needs killing.” Aveliene replied simply. “Our Step-Mother bade me to do the task, so I shall.”
“Anyone I know?” Fraker asked.
“Just some minor nobleman in Novak-Eck. Not sure why she wants him dead, but I’m supposed to make it look accidental, his own stupidity, or the fault of his own little known vices.” She sighed and shook her head. “Whatever caused him to come to the notice of our Step-Mother, it’s pretty urgent. I’d managed to infiltrate the high levels of the Von-Lon Imperial Army command, most of the intelligence and troop movement data moved through my hands, and she barely gave me time to fake my own death and get out of there.”
Fraker raised an eyebrow in surprise. Usually their Step-Mother was much more careful, making sure that insertions and extractions of her children could be handled without any danger of blowing the operation after the fact, and for Aveliene to have to fake her own death quickly and abandon a task was a rarity.
“Tell me about it. Oh, and get this, after I kill him, making sure it’s as painful as possible, I’m supposed to wait a month then make a personal visit to his survivors.” She laughed brightly again, “His surviving family members get a personal visit from me, in the flesh, to tell them that if he had not died before I arrived, I would have been forced to slay the entire family, and to congratulate them on handling the insult to my Step-Mother’s name.”
“I hate politics.” Fraker rumbled.
“That’s because Step-Mother never taught them to you.” Aveliene laughed, pulling free one of the rabbit’s leg and nibbling at it with her sharp teeth. “See, when you kill someone, they only die once. In politics, I can kill someone over and over for years.”
“That makes no sense.” Fraker grumbled. The setting sun of the World Roads plunged beneath the horizon and the shadows grew.
“I love you sometimes, you know that?” Aveliene laughed. “So uncomplicated, so direct. You’re a breath of fresh air in my murky life.” She stood up and wiggled out of the dress, standing in the clearing stark naked. A swirling mark swept down her left side, starting on her shoulder, sweeping down her back, breast, stomach, and hip, before winding down her leg to her knee. Fraker could see that the runes had grown in the two decades since he’d last seen her naked. Tattoos etched into her skin by the hand of their Step-Mother for deeds done in her name.
Naked she was the picture of the patron goddess of lust, rich brown skin, bright red hair, and a body that was deliciously firm in the right spots and lusciously soft in the others. Her slightly more than a handful breasts looked just as firm as Fraker remembered, dark skin capped with chocolate, her legs still as thick and muscular as they had been, her stomach flat with a thin layer of softness hiding the hard muscle beneath with no bellybutton to mar its sweet expanse.
“Know my favorite thing about you?” Aveliene whispered huskily. Fraker shook his head, his mouth dry. A normal woman Fraker would already be jumping on, but normal women weren’t Aveliene, and Aveliene was nothing like a normal woman. “You know me, and you don’t recoil when I’m naked.”
She wasn’t even human.
“You don’t fear my touch, I can be unrestrained without hurting you.” She continued, unwinding her blood-red hair from its braid. “I still remember the first time I took you, how I wept for more.” Her green eyes were glowing emeralds.
Not even as human as Fraker was or had been in his youth.
“Let us feast on these rabbits, and then on one another.” She growled softly, licking her lips with a serpentine tongue, the sharp, predatory, inhuman planes of her face rising out of the human softness she normally clothed herself in.
She was a Wraithkiller. The blade of their Step-Mother, hidden dagger of the All Powerful IV, Queen of the Six Worlds, daughters of the Blossom of Death. She was one of the best, the Sterile Queen.
“Run for me.” Her voice was hungry. She reached out and grabbed the last of the rabbit with her sharp taloned fingers as Fraker quickly took off his belt and set it aside, the Peeper inside chirping worriedly.
“It’s OK, little one, I won’t hurt him more than he asks me too.” She reassured the Peeper. Fraker could smell her, a wild feral smell, and it sent his senses reeling as he quickly stripped away everything and stood there naked before her in the light of the fire. Her eyes roved over the hard muscle, the tattoos etched by the same hand as hers, the scars gathered over eons of warfare.
“Run, male, for this stratgurt is hungry for meat other than rabbit.” Aveliene whispered, shifting to a crouch.
Fraker ran into the wildlands of the World Roads and Aveliene followed.
* * * * *
A sharp rapping noise caused the opaque dome to disappear and Fraker stood up, fully dressed, from where he had been sitting after tightly rolling back up his bedroll. The redhead was nowhere to be seen, gone as if she had never existed, and Fraker glanced around while he was dropping the runestone into one of his belt pouches. Satisfied that she was actually gone, he withdrew a small chime and tapped it twice with a cracked and chipped fingernail. The ring shimmered in the clearing and the strepple-berry bush rustled as the little lizards poured out of it in two packs, one following the bright silver one, the other following the bronze one, both merging and flowing into the basket to roll around in the sand, snapping and hissing playfully at each other.
Fraker stood up, wincing as he came to his full height, putting a hand to his lower back and grunting.
“Every time. I should know better” He groaned. “It’s like rutting with a silk pillowcase full of giant pythons and hot coals.” There was a chittering from the belt pouch as he gingerly made his way over to the basket.
“Yes, that’s probably when she wrenched my back. Those legs are a lot stronger than they look.” He looked down at the pouch. “What were you doing sneaking looks anyway?” There was more cheeping, this time sounding somewhat ashamed. “We do not get covered in slime! It’s sweat!” Fraker protested, laughing as he picked up the basket, then groaning slightly as his back cramped up for a moment. The Peeper started up again, this time joined by a few peeps from the basket. “That’s not true, where do you little ones get such bizarre ideas?”
As he began walking down the highway of the World Roads, he sighed and shook his head.
“OK, let me explain the dance of garden faeries to you. When there’s a female, those are the ones with the big round bumps on their chest...” There were more peeps. “No, he was just fat. Be quiet. Anyway, when a female likes a male enough and is stronger than him, or can bewitch him well enough, or sneaks up behind him with a rock, or has more sisters than he has sisters, or can get him drunk enough, she decides to…”
* * * * *
And yes, it is satire.
