Jack of All Trades (And King of a Few!)
-
The Super-Awesome . . .
Prologue
A Wayward Son Returns . . .
Tales of the Past
Heartwell
Tales of Adventure
Return of the Silver Mage
The Legend of Stingie and Stabbie: The Brothers Kobbie
Tales of Romance
Tales of Mischief
Billy Boy
Umber Pie
-
"Good work, soldier." Kenton nods appreciatively to the city guard, relieved that someone had finally done their job. Arikess straightens out his robes, heading for the gate where the huge umberhulk had trodden not a few moments before. He throws open the gate as briskly as his scrawny elven arms allow. The umber is moping about, looking altogether depressed, his little antenae drooping sadly over his dull red eyes.
"Hey. Big guy."
The umber perks up, his antenae sproinging back to rigidity.
"Alright, don't say I'm unsympathetic . . ."
"Click click click . . . clicky clickity click?"
The elf strides up confidently to the insect, regarding it calmly as he speaks. "If you can convince me why I should actually believe you and bother to get you a pie, I'll get you one."
"Click?" It looks quizzically at him.
"Oh yeah?" he says, as though picking up on the umber's confusion. "How do I know its not some kind of trick? You could be a very bored mage, you know?"
"Click click!" It shakes its ugly head.
"Nothing? Prove it.
"Click?"
"Give me something of value and I will get you your pie. Sounds fair? That should be a good way to proove this is really serious," the elf says, perhaps a little smugly, his skepticism obvious.
The umber scratches the carapace on its head, looking around curiously for anything that would fulfill the mage's request. Then, suddenly, it looks down at the muddy clump of grass it still holds in its paw and holds it out offeringly to the elf. Arikess does not seem amused.
". . . you got gold? Last chance."
"Click click click!" It pats down its naked, armored hide as though feeling for a gold pouch, then, of course finding nothing opens its arms wide as though saying, "What gold?"
Pinching the bride of his nose and inhaling deeply in exasperation, Arikess says, "That's it . . ." and walks back through the gate.
"Squirk!" It exlaims, extending a claw in futility toward the elf's back, snapping two of its razor-sharp claws together. So close!
-
It is twilight, and a storm is on the horizon. A light drizzle tickles the earth, speaking of the deluge to come; but even so, two mages known as Kenton and Arikess chat amiably by Peltarch's western border. And naturally, like any folks with good sense, they are right-properly surprised when a twelve-foot insect bursts through the Giantspire gate, the dimming sun framing its massive silhouette as it waves its arms about in distress with a giant wolf in hot pursuit.
"Ah, thank you–" Kenton began to say, looking over the elf's shoulder, his eyes going wide.
"Click click squeak grrrr!!!" the beast squeals as it rushes toward the pair standing by the public bonfire.
"Uhm . . . should we be . . . concerned?" Kenton points to something behind Arikess, who turns to regard the pair of creatures calmly.
"Hmmph. Noisy umberhulk."
The hulk stops before the two, finally having gotten their attention, sputtering incoherently through its sword-like mandibles, "Splurch grrfffle nurrgle click."
"Ah. There is a shadow mastiff following it." Arikess notes, stroking his slender, pointed chin. "This . . . bug must be a mage."
"Click," the hulk seemed to squeak in agreement.
Kenton grunts irritably, eyeing the thing with a certain degree of suspicion despite his comrade's assurance. "Still, an odd sight . . . I hope it is a mage. . ."
"Why else would it have a shadow mastiff following it, hmm?" the elf says.
"Click click squeal click splortch!"
"Eh," Kenton shrugs.' Who can tell? Either way, it is heading towards the city. I . . . and the guards will attack."
The elf shooes the notion away. "Bah, ignore it. It's not attacking. Should we head to the Ettins to collect 'donations'?"
Ignoring the elf's words, Kenton approaches the beast, drawing his blade. Arikess sighs. ""Pffft, why bother . . . "
"Change back if you are a mage . . . " Kenton says, brandishing his sword with obvious intent.
"Click click," it says, shaking its grotesque head.
"Come on, Kenton. The guards will take care of it. It's obviously no threat."
"Mage or no . . ." Kenton says lowly, his voice threatening as his eyes narrow on the beast."
"Ah, fine," the elf concedes, readying a few spell components from his robes. "We'll blast it. I don't really bother but since it's in the way, then I suppose I'll just get rid of it."
At this, the bug-like monster's barrel-like chest shakes with unusual rumbling sounds–almost as though it were laughing, or trying to laugh.
"Click," it squeaks, either unaware of its present danger, or uncaring. "Click click click click click click click click!" It nods with each clicking sound clanging out of its rigid mouth, shaking its head again as though in disapproval.
"Wait a moment . . . it appears to be sentient . . ." the elf said, holding his friend back with a slender hand.
It nods again at those words, pointing to the mud at its feet and digging a single claw into it, carving something into the wet earth. Arikess walks over, curious, reading whatever it had written in the mud. Three words: CURSE. PIE. CURE.
"Curse? Pie? Cure?" He says, his slender features scrunching up in confusion. The beast nodded its head quickly.
"Are you trying to say you're cursed?" It nods again.
"You want a cure?" Kenton asks.
"I think it's trying to say it's cursed. I think it's asking us to help cure it."
". . . what?"
"It wrote curse, pie, cure," the elf says, pointing to the words in the mud as he spoke them." The hulk claps his meaty, armored hands together in concurance, as though relieved as Arikess explains the situation. It taps its claw on the middle word again.
"Pie?"
Kenton looks skeptically over at Arikess. "How does pie fit?"
It nods again, tapping the sloppy word PIE that begins to fill with muddy water as the clouds break.
Arikess hushes the beast. "Yes, that's the word. I don't understand. Pie cure? Wait . . . wait, I think I know."
"He wants us to get him a pie?"
"Precisely."
"Click!" it exclaims emphatically.
The elf looks between Kenton and the giant insect as rain pours down around them. For a moment, he said nothing, as though letting the complete obsurdity of the situation sink in before daring to reply.
". . . is this some kind of joke . . . go rob the bakery or something . . ."
The hulk, noting that his audience is untrusting, shakes his insect-like head, dropping his shoulders dejectedly.
"Fine, fine. I suppose it's for real–"
"OI! WHAT IS THIS??" A defender soldier approaches from the gate, shaking a longsword in his mailed fist. "GET THAT THING OUT OF HERE!"
"Click!" It rips up a clump of grass, holding it in front of him, as though trying to hide. It peeks out tentatively from its scanty cover, seeing if the soldier is still there. The soldier prods the beast in its soft underbelly with his sword. "Move it, chunky! Out the door!" The hulk clicks softly in distress.
"Uh, soldier . . . I think it's trying to--"
"I don't care what it's trying to do--I don't want it in here! OUT BEAST!"
The hulk sighs despondantly--as much as such a beast can sigh--his claws dragging the ground impotently as he mopes toward the gate.
"AND STAY OUT!" The soldier slams the gate shut as the giant insect lumbers through, its wolf padding softly behind it. The umber lays its muddy claws atop the gate, staring mournfully at the trio as they return to their fire, their voices quickly drowned out by the downpour. It mandibles click pathetically, patting the mangy wolf comfortingly on its head. No pie tonight . . .
-
A strange wind passes over the land–not unlike a vast expansion of hot air--heralding the coming of something so sinister, so unspeakably vile, as to be beyond the articulation of mortals to fully express their loathing for this being that so permeates their souls. Fathers barricade their doors as impressionable young maidens cling breathlessly to their windowsills . . . merchants clamber frantically through the streets of Peltarch, scooping armloads of their horde of shiny, easily "borrowed" goods and fleeing into the night . . . veritably, the darker denizens of Narfell cower in apprehension, knowing their end is nigh . . .
. . . or so it should have been. But alas, for this harbinger of Chaos cowers in absolute terror betwixt a bundle of tightly packed thorn bushes, his silvery eyes not daring to so much as glance at the hideous being that pursues him through the night, warbling its lonesome cry:
". . . kiiiiiiiiitttennnnsssss . . . "
