The debut of Die King's Band launched on Arpril 2013 with Elijah King and Tompeet Friedecksen as bass and drummers, respectively.
In the vein of ZUB HUM ANZ, NIRVANA, und The BUZZCOCKS, with a lemon twist of Elijah's former band, Drop In, and Tompeet's experience as a skool of wock teacher, the duo, gratefully, added Kevin "The Butcher Take Us to Space" X, the band wocked und wolled outside in the steady mountain, unsteady as owlways.
"Long live Die Kings", said the twees.
EK from E-2 Mountain HQds.
Thursday, March 28, 2013
+The Knights of the Band of Peace or (Why Apes Have Hair)
by Elijah King Bennett
The old story of the Fwrmads, that mystery to man, is one unto you I shall unfold indeed. The Gods spake und I and my kin answered the calling to the Great Fwrmad, Geezer. I Awyan, a Knight of the Band of Peace, an ancient Aegytian order entrusted by the Gods to tale the ancient battle of twenty-five mellenium bepast and the Nine Signs that were built in honor of the Etlants, the Twolls, the Alfar, the Gwiants, the Wizards, the Men, the Trogs, the Valkr, and the Sen that is behest of this oltime. And the secret for which they died to keep alive. Owlways.
I come from the nomadic tribe of Isuls, an integrated band of Oldmen from Midgard and Alfan from Isengard. We lived in the land of Aesir, after the war of my mother’s people and their ancestrial Etlans. But that is another story. My father, Isahl, was Isa, a short breed, strong as beasts, mighty hunters and wizards. My mother’s people, the Van, were said to be descendent of Alfan, with their king, Freyr, who in turn were children of the Etlants, said to come from a Isengard-Western sanctuary, not Azgard, and had powerful magic. Together, while the wars in Azgard and Midgard, between the hordes of Trogs and Newmen rose in fury, our two peoples, following the joining of Isahl and Kyerta, became one, the Senmen, the Isol.
The joining of my parents’ two bloods was good. The Isa knew many secrets of the old ways of the world, plants, and beasts, were better adapted to hunt the massive beasts they fed upon in the cold regions of Icey Midgard, and were patient and kind and doting to the Van, as if the Isa’s very survival depended upon the success of the Van. The Van were agile, tall, fast warriors, artistic, ritualistic, and youthfully ambitious to fulfill their forefathers predictions. I was the first of this union, tall, strong and possessing both people’s magic. I have persevered through this short life to share the story of both my kinfolk and their struggle when the world turned over.
The world was changing very rapidly in these days, signalling what the elder Etlants predicted as The Coming Down. The Trogs of the south, for millenium a simple and peaceful race, were driven to a frenzy due to the increase of the Newmen and their over predaciousness to breed with the Trogs, spelling an imminent demise for tilling nesshell, the formerly thriving race of what most call Neanderthals. Rising en force the Trogs warred against the Newmen of the south for resources and ultimately survival of their species. What neither race knew was that a horrible and sinister mutual enemy, another of the billions of alien races was coming to descend upon the world and the course of their battle would weaken Newman’s own chance for survival.
The Etlants, said to be descendants of the Gods and born from the stars, were a magical and ancient race. My mother told tales of an old, frozen kingdom, made of crystalized sun houses, who fed from the sea, and how that world melted into the sea when the time of The Coming Down came. They journeyed to the inner sea of the mainland of Midgard and with the ability to fly in chariots and to move stones with song, they were considered Gods. When convienenced, peaceful, when opposed, invincibly warrish. After several millienium they became the natural nobles of the Isa. The Isa in turn became a close ally of the Vans until many of their kind could be interbreeded, which is, of course, why I am here. The Etlants and the Vans, in their knowledge of magic, created stonemen in their likeness that could walk and breathed icy stone breath, who were quite jovial, boistrous and playful. They could move and shape mountains with their hands. These were the Twolls. They would critical for the survival of The Knights of the Band of Peace and the telling of the secrets of the Etlants, the continuation of our race and the horrible war of the dark alien enemy of your not too distant future’s world. They wood west upon the showers of the Far West.
Two Million Years Ago
The steppes were covered in ice and to the sacred Isengard, the wall of ice radiated the lights of unseen Sen, Giver and Taker of Life. Far, a Bjar Trog, surveyed the stretch of mountains and sought any black specks, indicative of Mammoth herds. Further to the West, Far scanned the planes for sign of his burly cousin beast. While the day was young he would kill a Mammoth grazing in the trees or on the prairies. He would then call his people to help him with his offering. Far was known to hunt alone and was admired for his ability to do so. The Bjar Trog saw many moons of meat, warmth and fire from the Mammoth kills from Far alone. He thought it the only true way to kill.
Far, Son of Bear, was squat and strong and fearless. A long torso and powerful hinds gave him the strength to hurl his body and spear into the Gwiant, thick coated Mammoths. Long and thick fair hair covered nearly his entire head except around his eyes of ice like the frozen land he had gazed upon since birth. His skin was leathered and bronzed from the snowy reflection of Sen. Such were his peoples’ traits two million years ago when the Trog roamed Midgard.
A long rumble made Far’s senses excited and he turned to see a herd of Gwiant Moose treading across the prairie to the East. They were coming his way. Far nimbled down the wooded, rocky slopes and toward the approaching herd. He came to the flatland and could see the huge antlers of the lead moose, hairy, snortyng, charging in a fury.
“They are running from something,” thought Far.
He would use their panic to cut one of the bulls off from the herd. Far began a slow gait towards the flank of the beasts. There were over a hundred of them and their thunder was great. Raising his spear over his head he gave a loud battle cry. “Arrgghhh”. He stepped solidly into the snow and thrust his spear at the first passing bull, catching the horns. Holding tightly Far was pulled off his feet as he leapt up onto the back of the huge bull. Wresting his spear between the horns, he used his powerful arms to turn the head of the bull; towards the woods. Growling and snorting the stubborn beast reluncantly turned it’s body to follow it’s gaze and away from the herd they went. Had it been a cow, there would likely have been a bull on his heals. Darting and crashing through the woods, Far ducking, steering, and his own wooly frock protecting his skin from the thrashes of the branches. Turning with his great strength, Far led the bull, now approaching exhaustion and panting from t he weight, the struggle, the break from the herd, and the previous flight from whatever predator had startled the herd, towards two tightly grown trees. Leading the bull towards the two trees, he fell off the moose and guided it’s head between the trunks in a sideways spin, trapping the bull. Panting, snorting, trapped, but still with fight. Far was weary as he skirted the Gwiant Moose to avoid it’s tthrusting kicks and twisting head with the horns longer than his stout body.
The wind howled and a chill fell through the air causing both Far and the bull to shiver, though the bull continued to shake uncontrollably in fear. Far’s blonded, ape-long, hairy-burly arms fell full of blood to his twelve inch hands, and tingling hunger for the Gwiant Muse’s meat; oh how he did hunger for the bull’s flesh, to slaughter him now and eat his flanks, trip, liver, heart, all raw he would! Were it not for his care for his kin, he would, yes, Far slaughtered Kow, for I, for Hi-kin, for Ourn-follkt, and for Sen to see, but right now ‘twas only the Gwiant Moose bull and I, well, wouldn’t he prefer to eat my flanks.
“Harharhar,” Far laughed.
“Klear for launch,” said Kaptain Krin.
“Kooper,” said Korporal Kom.
Far stared the bull in the eye. He picked up the biggest rock he could lift. The bull watching intently, the dark grey sky, the black trees, the distant roar of the reproaching herd, the frigid air, the hunger of both prey and hunter. Hefting the bolder over his head Far cried out and crashed the skull of the moose between the two antlers. The Gwiant Moose let out a loose sigh, it’s body sagged to the ground, snapping it’s neck as the antlers stuck between the two trees. Blood poured from the dead Moose’s crushed skull.
Far stared at the Gwiant Moose and breathed heavily. A stirring built in his chest. He looked around the forest and saw nothing. Far let out a high-pitched wail, repeating it three times. He listened, then heard the responding cry from one of his brothers. He repeated the process until he heard a responding cry, this time from another. They would be tracking the moose tracks into the forrest and arrive to help carry the huge carcass to their kin.
Something swelled electrically on Far’s neck and he turned and sniffed at the air. Drawing his spear, he crouched low. It appeared he had found what the herd was running from. A Cave Lion. Spotting one another, the Cave Lion let out a hollow, rumbling growl, revealing it’s massive fanged jaws. Far let out his own snarl.
“This is my kill, Lion,” said Far. “Be gone or die.”
A loud, vicious roar was the huge lion’s response, stalking around to try and find an opening to the moose. The Twog and the Lion circled round the dead moose. Staying between his kill and his opponent, Far stared fixedly at the big kat and creapt on his haunches, clutching his sharpened stone spear. The kat growled and made high pitched hisses.
A thrashing through the woods caught both of their attentions, the lion suddenly on guard towards the sound. Three of Far’s brothers, Tro, Bjr, and Gar, booted and covered in wooly, quickly formed an angle and edged around the lion, but left it an open out. The Cave Lion let out a threating roar, which the four Twogs responded to in unison, shaking their spears and hurling insults at the lion.
“Your mother is a minx and your father is a panther,” shouted Gar, the shortest.mexico
“Harharhar, and your other father is a cougar,” piped-out with oh a high-ninnying, neighing-throated vibrator -- Bjr, the skinny.
Tro, the nextbiggest next to Far, picked up a big rock and with a cry struck the lion in the jaw, cracking one of it’s protruding fangs. The lion roared, but being outnumbered, decided to trot away after Gar, Bjr, and Far began chucking large, strongly propelled stones at the kat. The four brothers roared after the kat and continued throwing stones and insults and laughter upon him until they were sure he was out of fight.
This is a land of clarity, simplicity, and without taint. The people are filled with a natural knowledge of goodness. The women are strong hearted, loving creatures full of kindness for their men and their children. The men are honest, fun loving, and generous. A walk through the dwellings around and in the caves yields a feeling of well-being, that this people is my people, my brothers, my sisters. The sun is hidden behind the veil of white and grey clouds, but the sun of our warms hearts is never chilled by these times. These are times like no other, before the Fall and after the gift of the Life Fire from the Gods. This is the land of my awakening and of my origin. This is Midgard.
The Bjar Trog brothers sledded their kill back to the cave and the wifmen immediately set about building a spit and fire while the hunters relayed their story of the herd, the moose, and the lion to the Bjar Trog, with the especial attention of the children who stared wide eyed, wondering what they would do had they encountered a Cave Lion alone. Some of them envisioned themselves as brave and as strong as Gar, Tro, Bjr and Far as they relayed their feats while the tribe feasted.
No one loved telling stories, nor had as many as Far. Even the old Eddas gleed from his feats, especially when Far danced out the tail and his eyes got wide and his fist pounded on his heart showing the speed and ferocity at which it beat.
“This Lion, not giving, only taking. A taker!” Far shout outed and extended his arms to the fyre. “This is my kill. For Trogs, not Lions. Get your own moose! Haaor, haaor, haaor!” Far gleemed brightly and his huge teeth protruded and with his laugh the Bjar laughed for their bellies were full and it was Far who killed the moose, not Cave Lion. Let the lion get it’s own kill. Haaor, haaor, haaor.
“Pfa,” said Arn Farsen. “Was the bull taller than yourn?”
“Yes, Arn,” said Far. “Like this.” Far raised his broad, hairy arm up to the heavens. “Tall. And big!” Far hefted Arn to his head and nuzzled the young boy.
“Moder would have been proud,” said Arn.
“She is proud,” said Far. “She lives in the God’s Hall and is skinning the Gwiant Moose’s spirit hide and telling jokes with the wifmen.” Far imitated the banter and tickled Arn’s ribs to the child’s glee.
“Gw’on now,” said Far. “Hear the Eddas.”
“Nye Pfader,” said Arn. “I want to stay here with you and hear your stories.”
Far nodded his head and mussed the boys rascally head. A wifman came to Far’s side, beside Bjr and his wifman, Fiya.
“Far, a good kill, I thank yourn,” said Kara putting her hand on his chest.
“What is good for me is good for yourn,” said Far, returning the gesture.
Kara smiled. Her broad fair head, high cheeks, and toothy smile gave Far the Fire and he laughed heartily.
“The Gods made the Bjar Trognen strong,” said Far to the Bjar at his fire.
“And brave,” Tro.
“Arrggh,” said Bjr.
“And hairy,” said Tro’s wifmen, Isa, shaking the hearty, golden beard of Tro and drawing laughter.
“Arrggh,” said Tro, laughing.
“But were it not for the Trogvin,” said Far. “A Trog would have only a warm Moose hide and his brothers to keep him warm.”
“He would lose Lifefire,” said laithe and tallest Gar, “and wonder like a lost bear.”
“And die alone in the snow,” said Bjr, “for their would be no prye to the Gods.”
“Better to die in battle than alone in the snow,” said Tro.
“Arggh, better to live in bed than to die in it,” said Isola.
“Oh, I’d say it’s the Trogvin who gets beaten in bed,” said Tro.
“Beaten, aye,” said Isola, “and such a pounding and bloodly slaughter that it’s all a Trog can’t do to shut it’s ears from the piercing cries throughout the night. Oh, but in truth, it’s the Trogman who dies at the end of the Great Battle.” Isola stuck her index finger up and then watched sadly as it went limp, to the great humour of the Trog.
“Aye, but it’s proof of the Gods favor that a Trog can rise again from death and live in the Great Battle once again,” said Tro, standing up and extending his broad chest and waving his fists to the stars.
“Hmm, mostentimes,” said Isola, her dirty blonde hair, flittering over her pointed ears, showing her part descendence of Alfar. “Unless the Trog had been grogged by the fog of the dog and can no longer find the ax or the log.”
“Arrggh,” said Tro and laughter encircled the fire.
Bjr pulled a plant out of his pocket, put it in a clay pot and poured water into it. He set it over the fire. In ten minutes the pot was passed around to the Trogs. Far, Kara, Tro, Isa, Gar, Bjr and Ira, drank wine and Fireplant tea and ate Gwiant Moose meat into the night and Arn heard the stories and fell asleep staring at the stars in Kara’s lap.
A Dire Wolf howled from the neighboring tresshold.
The alignment from Twoy’s heart was only in a dream, yet he did not choose to wake from the deep sleep of the night’s debauchewy. No, Twoy only wanted to capture this vision, this centered feeling, understanding, so that he could hear what the Gods would tell him and so he would know how to build this devine structure, this monument in honor of his tribe, this telling of the story. Three Etlans pointed up to Sen, each aligned with the elements of Twoy’s upbringing: the sea, the iceland, the woods. Sen was the highest land, the Fire of Life, where his Gods wesided.
Twoy peaked up at the dancing mowning light shining through the window and nestled against a Woahmb’s warm body, slipping cozily back into the dweam. A happy walk through the village, new fwiends, greetings, twades, salutations, acknowledgments and thanks. Then the sound weturned, a high pitched and low wesonating dwone, at the same time, shaking the Kowal of Twoy. The vibration was a upload;p the voice from the Gods spoke to Twoy.
Twoy Founghtaingar. His bare bones, flesh, and hair against the entiety of a wace ov people who had waged war upon a bweed he was belowed of: The Stone Twibe -- The Twolls.
Twoy had fallen in wove with her from the stawt. Veewing her face in the wock, Twoy, a Gwiant, and taller than most to top that, saw the beauty in the wock as soon as he laid eyes upwon her. Twoy felt in his two stolid, puwple bweathing hearts that Woahomb woved him too. Her eyes watched upwon him and captuwed a glazed glee that was fiwst and fowemost a dazzling moment betwixt the two wovers to be a wove that wood go down in fiwer and remembwance of my Eldews, for Twoy and Woahamb are my kin and the first builders of the Fwrymads: The Knights of the Band of Peace.
The battle betwixt Agnon and Aron was a personal bullshit feud that meant two egos battling their families’ asses versus their in trutherst, their Own. Biullten was the field where these brothers waged war, though it was relly a spar or skirmish. A bunch of blunt fucking swerds and insulting Mother jokes. Quick and fun for the lads, though a capture the flag was found ultimately on the side of Aron and Agnon was p8issed. And got dwunk too. He bruised heads with three of his captains in the course of night and woke up to find half his herd of horses had been captured by Aron as an additional sting to his already bleeding pride.
I died the day Iltlas of the Knights took me. Part of me did. Though I died many times before for far journeys and endless chasing haunts. I warred with the Men of Asphix. I killed many of those Small Arms. I looked into their eyes as I crushed, axed, and impaled their skulls. In my village by the sea, Azerland, there was little farming and the air was always cold and damp. So the Azer Valkr set to raiding the growing race of the Small Men. I was part of many raiding parties to the coastal lands in the West and South East seas.
I wondered off after during the Departure Celebration and ate a cactus flower that was full of the Milk of Fyre. I explored deep into the Aegypxion desert and fought through many lighted demon messengers from Fl’Okay. With my sword on my chest I prayed to Woaoahdin Kom and his devlish brother to give me strength in battle for sure that was going to be my lot. But most of all, I prayered for wisdom in friendship and trusting my brothers in hour cause; the Fyre War and the keeping of Azerland, the home of my birth. I had heard from Knights passing through Azerland, the cause against the future enemy of us all, Asphix, the Dark Xrangler Priest. Above all, I wanted to kill, with my mind and body and spirit, the Immortals’ Dark Priest and his kin.
I was taken by Iltsa Fromdottir after the battle between Agnon and Aron. Agnon was my uncle and my father, though kin, was aligned with Aron. Father promised that if Agnon were ever to find himself in less favorable circumstances as village leader, he would do whatever it took to right it. So, when Iltsa of the Knights came recruit for an offering to the gods, Father sent me, rather than force Agnon to weaken his band of warriors. The requirements for the posting were that one was of Alfan blood and that they must be of highest physical abilities and of age. It was known that the Knights kept their own offspring in the Band of Peace. Awyan, another Azer Valkyrn, whom I had known since a child, was also chosen to join the Sacred Order. It was a high honor for both of us, though I cried like a little girl upon parting with Mother and Father.
The two masters, along with their two students, left the land of the Azer Valkyrns on Giant Horses, called Gharshes. Their head’s were taller than each of the riders seven foot plus frames. So tall, Jessayin had to take a short running leap to mount her beige neighing beast. Iltlas, the tallest and the oldest veteran of the Fyre Wars, easily hefted his eight foot and three thumbs frame onto his Gharsh, simply by swinging up and over. His Gharsh was a massive, black and blonde beast with a wise eye and a vicious snarl and would let no one other than Iltlas get near him without snapping. He was trained to do battle and that he had. Jessayin noticed the many scars on the Gharsh along it’s flank, rump, and even chest and near it’s eyes. Bite marks from other Gharshes as well as sword slits. Proof of the raging battles that were yet to come for Jessayin.
Though she had, like Awyan, joined in many of the raids on the Small Men, as was expected of all Valkyrn of age, it was known that the battles of the Fyre Wars were the fiercest and that many of the Small Men troops contained rogue Gwiants, Dark Wizards, and various Halvmans that Asphix had hired to fight in his war against the Alfars, Twolls, Valkrs, Troggs, Gwiants, allied Halvmans and Etlan Wizards.
Etlans -> Alfans
Twolls -> created with magik by the Etlans
Troggs-> Descendent Breed of Gwiants and Alfans -> Valkyrs
Men -> Descendent of Valkyrs, Warriors of The Fall
Gwiants -> The natural born lords of Midgard.
Fren the Twoll
The Long Years and the Showt Years, battled at the Isle of the Twoll monument, Warp Ne’er.
Fren heard a stirring in the rocks around him and for the first time in a million years, felt a distinction between himself and his sleeping kin. The witch’s song was strong and there was the smell of blood, the howls of warriors sacrificing themselves in battle, the song of frantic priests and priestesses and the low hum of the masses. The offering was that of the dying or the dead of heart. A compassionate send off rather than a senseless shedding of strong warriors’ blood.
Fren felt his arms, head, feet and torso stir with Fyre. Slowly, with a crackling, thundering and falling of bits of rock, the huge Twoll arose from the side of the volcanic mountain. He stood and gazed up at Sen, giver of Fryre, his stone eyes gradually awakening from a million year slumber. Fren stretched and yawned, though judging from the awed silence of the onlookers, it was a tremendous rumbling growl. The Twoll took a step towards a level on the mountain and surveyed the scene. The Navel Island. Yes, that is where he last went to sleep. What had happened before then? Time for that now that consciousness had returned.
Below, the tropical forests were spread thick throughout the island and the blue vision of the ocean was dancing with waves, birds, fairies, halvmans, and fish. Far below him, there were Valkrys, Gwiants, Wizards, and Men hurtled in a circle, which was surrounded by many of his kin, standing in immovable guardreadiness. With a great leap, Fren tucked into a spin and rolled down the side of the mountain, bouncing and shaking the earth on the way down. There were screams from wifmen and children below as he approached the harkening. At the last moment, he unfurled his seventy foot stone body and landed crouching on one knee. The land thundered and echoed in the valleys.
“Fren here,” he rumbled and with a smile, “at your service m’lords.”
His stone eyes were met with void and awe. A child spoke up.
“Mader, is that a talking wock?”
“Shhh,” said the mother.
The Frentwoll let out a gleeful, howling laugh that shook all present to their Koral.
Fren put his face to the child who continued to stare at the Twoll indifferently.
“What is your name,” he said.
“I am Isul,” said the Valkrylas.
“And I am your friend, Fren, the talking wock.”
“I like you,” said Isul.
“Good,” said Fren. “Then I am your friend.” Fren put out one finger and the lasses tiny hand touched it.
Isul laughed after recoiling from the cool lava finger, causing Fren to go into another laughing frenzy. The Gwiants joined in with their booming laughs, the witch who had summoned him smiled and laughed back, and then the whole village was smiling and talking and laughing and pointing at the great Twoll, Fren.
“It is good to be alive,” said Fren. “Now, what can I do for you good friends?”-------------------
Awyan - The Ghost, the God, the Goat, and the Good
The night Jessayn with the god, Ost, was the day her life began as that of a Mod - a mother warrior.
“Why did you come,” said Jessayn.
“Because you are on a spirit quest,” said Ost.
The Story of the Dead
Not sound, not site. Not wave, not lite. For some, whoe’ers doomsay, say yonder ist friend, xor here ist foe, what for Aragon’s Catherine, gone, for all foxssake, and for but a cry in the nite, transitions from noble York, to brandish Lankaster, to alien Tweder. Oh, fowl-biting King, thou hast du’nhast, far ‘twer ownly five score mellenium thou dad had’st this self-same inclination to thwart and pund, bend und lay, seek and find, all so many a giving friend in maidenhood unto brotherhood unto boodahood.
‘What,’ quothe he, ‘are thy in thine majesty of bugs!’
“Thy hast spun enough webs for this royal fly,” sayeth the King, “and who’shalt ever proclaim that a spider hath reigned, say’st too that it hath not only poisoned itself, but also hath poisened itsy’s entire realm. Thine dominion of webs and morsels left and right sickness and all thy rats, for if ye sayest ‘cut’ of this would be fly, then flyest thou to hell and speak no longer than eight, nor no shorter than one, nor brand not in healednesses, nor prune not in saltywaters, nor hear not, nor see not , but for the nocturnal infernal for which thou art have ever’st been, I say ’Yay, say’est thou, owlnly I say’st: be food for an entire family of ants!”
“Fame of kourdon, I’m the heavy life that witch ist thine to lose” said Jessayin’.
Awyan looked above at the milky stars and saw Otin, the half-blind warrior king.
"I am going to kill myself," said Archer. "I have owlweady witten a note."
"What doest yourn note say?" said Fryr.
"Thist world ist nine mine und I will it all to you."
Approcahing the Bult Mountains, the las great range before the Oval Sea, across which stood one hundred thousand New Men, under the heavy fisted leadership of Xenon.
Far, the Trogg, knew little of Xenon, other than what the Trog warriors had shared of stdories from previous battles, mostly small scale run-ins with roving scout patrols. As a species, the Troggs were far stronger and far adepter than the New Men, but Xenon was saidto be part elf and his mastery of Earthmen Magik was said to have reason to fear. Though he had never underestimated the power of Men's Magik, Far had his own ancestral lines that made him both a deadly warrior and a deadlier Elfenwizard.
Far's spirit ward was the sabertooth, the same cat he and his brother's had often scattered off from wild moose kill back in his ancestral home mountains in icy Nordgard. As he marched with the other Trogden warriors, the Bult Mountains seemed pale and squat reminders of the rilliant blue ice mountains of Nesselkrak, which made up the Trogg's vast hunting grounds and natural shelters for his Trogden. Now, he was a general of ten thousand on the march to perhaps meet a Gwiant's army of a thousand a troop of witches and wizards to give the New Men battle. If the Gwiants and Magikans did not show, either way, Far knew, there would be fierce fighting ahead. Far had given chase to many a New Men, but the ones under Xenon were heavily armed by the riches of Xenon's gold hording that was intended for the Fyrmids of Gizen. Xenon's greed and lust for power, however, had even cause the man man to steal the secrets of the Sufron structers from the Elfen priests and to attempt to erect his own Fyrmid east of the New Men capital. A New Man wielding such power was dangerous enough for the balance of the inhabitants of Gaia, but by such a greedy bastard as Xenon...well, that was too much for Far, the Trogg, to swallow. Yep.
The march through the traverses were fairly easy passage for the Trogden whose stalwart and squat yet lengthy limbs were used to mountain climbing as part of their daily routine. They hunted giant venison and moose along the way and at night shared stories under the great skies of the Gods' eye.
"I have seen the new armor and weapons the new Men utilize for their battles to protect their flimsy bodies," said Sarn, one of the Trogg captains.
"They fling arrows and fiery projectiles in the air from great distances, farther than the sacred Eye to Eye combat that every true warrior is entitled to. They'd rather scurry about like monkeys in the trees, tossing coconuts at the bears."
"Harharhar." This drew about great laughter from the Trogden.
"Only burning coconuts," said Tar, another captain from the Arsen Mountains.
"Yes," said Far, "we must plan for these coconut balls of fire."
"Who has been to the new Men capital of Surfed?" asked Captain Tron.
"I was there," answered several.
"A most inhospitable place for Troggs," said one. "Hot all day and the night's winds are dry, sandy and sometimes it rains for weeks at a time, but never snows."
"An unformed, new land," added another. The city itself is enclosed in a fortress wall, all the approaching fields are long and open except the back, which is against a huge, scaling cliff. There is said to be a passage into the city from there, but that it is enchanted."
"What strength does Men's magik have that our shamans cannot remove?" asked Captain Tron. "We should enter there."
"There is much that Xenon has done and he is said to be in knowledge of Elfen magik too, but mixed with the Dark Arts of the Darfan and New Men," said Tog. "When a scouting party of warriors and wizards were sent into the caves, none returned and the battle fought on the open fields never penetrated the fortress. The balls of fire rained down and nearly destroyed the army of First Men."
"Then we must find a way into the city, our Trogg magik must prevail," said Captain Tog.
"Magik alone will not help us," said Far. "We needs to strengthen our courage and plan our strategy."
"What good will courage do when sky rains fires?" said Tog.
"There is a way," said Far. "Come, let us warm our heart with honied barley and seek visions from the gods with the milk of poppy."
The gathering of the Gwiants concluded and it was agreed by half – there were dissenters – and this concerned the tribe leaders that would meet the Troggs and Wickans at the assembly to battle Xenon and his New Men.
The Gwiants were not the slow, dull-witted big New Men that would later shrink. No, these were the great First Men of Earth, few in number yet old and strong as trees. Some breeds even resembled trees, towering azer frames of twenty feet and higher, yet with a mystic speed of movement. The Gwiants were even said to beable slow down time with their great and odious incantations. The saying goes: “One never sees a tree grow or a Gwiant attacking.” Yet it had been thousands of years since any of the tribes of Gwiants had been known to fight outside of themselves or in hunting. An army of ten thousand Gwiants was never known except for in the days of the El Wars in Old Ages.
The Gwiants dispersed and with a rumbling of the Earth, they made their way to return to their tribes and report the word of war. The dissenting Gwiant tribes – the Onk, Oaf, Oraf, and Boff, returned to their kin to say this battle was no business of these cold weather loving Gwiants.
“Let the New Men keep Surgard, we have our Isengard to keep us at hold.”
This weighed heavily on the warring tribes – the Olaf, Okfer, Fpoh, and Waoh, who knew their bearing the brunt of the battle would ware down their own tribes by twice as much.
Oken Okfer and Off Boff were cousins and shared many family in both tribes. As they journeyed back they spoke in long, deep tones.
“Our alliance with the Onk is clear,” said Off.
“Yes, but what of our family ties,” said Oken.
“Gwiants are all brothers,” said Off.
“But don't you see brother, or are your limbs in the way” said Oken, “When half the Gwaints war and the other don't, the cost will be even greater than half.”
“But to only half the trives, thos who think this is their battle,” said Off. “If the New Men would destroy us let them come and try in our Native Isengard. And it was to this strategy that the Boff and Onk and Oaf and Oroff have made their alliance. It's just as I said at the gathering.”
“Yss Off, I know, I was there.”
“So why lament and keep moaning about your choice?” said Off. “You can always change your mind.”
“And leave the other trives with even less chance to survive? No brother, it is you who change your mind. Remember what I said and no one of the dissenters heeded: the building of the Dark Frymyd will effect the balance of the whole Earth, even Isengard.”
“And Oz Onk said 'There is no way Xenon can possess the skills to build such a monument. This is Elfarn magik.”
“Which Xenon is said to be half,” said Oken.
“Impossible, no Elfarn have revealed themselves Men in ages.”
“Yes, but they created the New Men. If Xenon does have the magik, are you willing to see Isengard destroyed or chanced?”
“Fight the battle with Xenon you choose, we will fight ours when the time comes.”
“It may be too late by then,” said Oker. He looked at Off and shook his leafy head.
“What?” said Off.
“You are blinded by your limbs.”
“Perhaps so,” said Off Boff. "But I will not lose my trunk for the sake of my limbs."
"No," said Oken Okfer, "but you will lose the forest for the sake of your own trunk."
"Oh you stump headed weed eater. Who would ever destroy a forest for the sake of their own trunk? Who? Since time without beginning it is known that Earth Spirit rules, the Elfar have learned this when their ancestors arrived and first met the Gyantans strength and in our peace we built the original Fryamads. A child of the Earth who hacks at the Earth only hacks it's own limbs. The balance of the Fryamads is empowered by this and will perservere. no Oken, these New Men will destroy themselves in timely manner."
"But in how much time?" said Oken."Should they build the Dark Pryamad they will cause a shift and use their power to feed their greed as theirs is known to do, no matter the costs. They are madmen."
"They are young and will not discover the secrets needed to build the Fryamad," said Off. "It is Elfen magik beyond the New Men."
"And if they do?" askeded Oken."Will it not be too late?"
"IT will not happen," said Off.
"If the secrets should be stolen?"
"They won't be. Our own best Gwiants guard them and they are protected by Elfan Magik, which cannot be broken by the Men," said Off.
"But what if they are?" said Oken. "New Men will build the Dark Pryamad and destroy our ancient balance. Will you fight then? It will be too late."
"It will not happen, you lumber chuck," said Off.
"Will you fight?" askeded Oken.
Off glared and searched at Oken's thick headed, bearded twigs and leaves and his bright green eyes.
"Hmmmph," grunted Off. "I will hear no more of this talk today. I am hungry. Let us find some Mammoth to snack on."
The two Gwiants stared at eachother finally.
"Woodhead," said Oken.
"Dumpstump," said Off.
Off laughed a rumble and Oken won over by his cousin's glee laughed too and spoke not again of the Gathewings outcome, but felt heavy hearted all the way home, except for after the Mammoth dinner. If there's one thing Gwants can agree upon, if not war, it is always food.
The longest living descendants of the Atlans were the Elfarn. They were the ones who came from the new breed of OuterSpacers on Earth. Pointy ears and all. They had inherited all the strengths of psyche and alien magic that was common to their kind. The split between the Elfarn, Darfarn, and Valkarn didn't come until much, much later. At one time, there were Atlans and they became the Elfarn. This is known. What is not known is that the Atlans never died away, nor faded from influence.
Far awoke at the break of day, his head still heavy with Honey Ale and poppy milk, which he and his kindred smoked around the God's Fyre, a massive bonfire of Fir, Birch, and Manzanita, doused with a Trogg shaman's oil that released colors and sparks of the tree spirits. The God's Fyre was said to show those who sought answers the secrets, which lay in each seekers's heart.
Far felt oddly clear considering the long night. He had, along with his kin, beseeched the pyre for a way into Xenon's fortress, for they all knew that any attack to the walls or entering through the haunted tunnels would yield greater loss than the Troggs could risk. Far expecially knew how his people's numbers were few compared to the new Men. Though older, the harsh lands of Norgard could only allow so many to compete for the limited resources, whereas in Surfed, the warmer weather had allowed the New Men to grow quickly, like a fast spreading virus.
Long before the son's of bears were hunted by the Newmen, their fathers -- the Bars -- were the fierciest, gyantest old grumps that ever roamed the Earth. Some say the Bars ruled the lands of Seven, where the first Earthers roamed, well before the Altans arrived and the Old Wolrd took shape. Being stubborn and proud, the Bars ne'er sought or accepted alliances with none of the Old Men, Troggs or Altans. Only the Fairies, the Bodhisattvas, and the Twolls were known to speak their language and so it was through the Bodhisattva, Ezmeral, that the Bars learned that a war for the battle of Earth balance was brewing.
The Bars detested the feeble New Men for their arrogance in desiring to meddle with the ages old balance of the old world, for even when the Elfar and the Trolls erected the first Frymads that marked the beginning of Days, the Bars were nearly driven to war by the new powers that were generated. You see, the Bars were always natural survivors. They could hybernate through ice ages, slowing their aging with the natural magik of the Earth, which they all harnessed immense access to. The Frymad opened cosmic channels of Sen's power in a way to introduce and implement the fields that would help the Outworlders (as the Bars knew them) to survive within the drastic changes of the Earth's climates and wild predators. no, the Bars feared nothing the Earth could produce. Large enough to self-defend and hunt and already possessing Earth magik, in this sense, the Bars were the true Earthers and felt they had nothing to fear until now.
The two Bars the now traveled on the Eurphos river towards Isengard had this in mind and discussed it while their raft brought them to their king -- Bargus, Lord of Bars.
The City of Surfed
The long, tall, dark woman called Xena, moved the through the woods, with a boy on her back pausing and listening all around her. The slavers were going to be aware of her escape any moment now and she knew this time would be her last chance to flee the Gold Slavvers, brutish ape-like men, who the Elfarn Earthers made a pact with to retrieve the New Men, the Gold Finders, those created by a few Elfar n alchemists who became corrupted by the power of their magiktry.
Xena was the first generation of her kind and the Alchemical nature of the priests' greedy experiment produced an unwanted and unplanned for, wicked side effect -- free will. And as a result of their creators' nature, by extension power hungry themselves. Rebellions quickly arose and brutal and betrayous means were emplored to control the New Men, such as the use of the Gold Apes. Mankind will always have a disdain for their Apish masters and their kin descendants, which stemmed from this use of one species over another and their creators -- the Fathers of Slavers.
Xena, stubborn by nature, was beaten and used and bused by the Gold Apes for always trying to escape was she. Never would Xena willingly be a Gold Whore, though she was highly sought after by both the New Men warriors and the Gold Apes.
Now, it was for her son - Xenon - that she fled.
A rustling, distant though it was, shocked Xena to her Kor, and she froze, sniffing, listening and watching. In a flash, the massive golden apemen were around her. She lept quickly, adeptly over and around of them and with all her strength she sprinted ino the trees, clutching the satchel with Xenon securely inside. It was no use though Xena fought viciously. They had a psychic lock on her and knew exactly where she was and where Xenon, the half Elfarn, half Newman was. He was to be captured, for he was the key to the Dark Elfens plans. Only his hatred for his mother's brutal murdere before his eyes would scar him so deeply that his anger could be used by the Darfen to control his life for their sinister purposes -- the Dark Fryamads.
A giant Cath Sith was unchained and devoured Xenon's mother, his only family.
Posted by Elijah King at 3:21 PM
Sunday, March 10, 2013
Elijah King B. B.
By the year 2050, things had gotten pretty grim for Mother Ocean and her children. The warming of the globe caused by man’s pollutants had sickened the Earth causing her waters to rise beyond science’s worst predictions. Cities and islands drowned, people became slaves to the OxyCorp issued oxygen lungs, and their Animachine king, Plastmatifa, changing the face of the planet to one in which a toxic ocean surface covered nearly a third of the waters. A precious few regions of the vast ocean were left suitable for ocean life.
From this man made pollution, emerged a twisted evolution of humans who thrive upon toxins - the Patrelmatons. Plastmatica, the Dark Xen Monk, and his evil horde, the Animachine Front, waged a full scale war against the Earth, together with the OxyCorp, the oligarchial government of the Evostaks - the numb, tax indentured human masses. CleanCor, a synthetic material made at Synth Labs for the refilling of Air Lungs, reduced the risk of peopof the Earth, suffocating the Evos, and putting the Earth into a toxic cycle which only an le asphyxiating in their sleep or during physical exertion, which was common in condensed urban areas or where residency in Clean Air domes could not be obtained. Mountain tops were scaled down to the ground and oil rigs made new forests, lining the ocean’s horizons. The labs also made ToxiCor, providing the Animachines a food source. While allied with EarthCorp, the Earth's planetary goberment prtectorate, the ultimate aim of Plastmatica was to sabotage the labs and provide the Animachine Front with a source of fuel that would trigger further toxicifcation ice age and space travel could solve, thus ensuring SpaceCorps ultimate ends.
The only thing in his way were the Nauherds - the New'ole Earthlings. Secreted from polyps in the depths or by decree of Mother Ocean herself, no one knows. Any change or new advantage in a species will invariably surprise the previous inhabitants. Perhaps they evolved simultaneously when the Petrolmaton was made. Such is the mystery of life. What was unexpected was the rise of a hybrid. A Serferfish. Jack Straw was his name and he heralded the way forward for humankind, as we do not yet know it.
"Fuck yeah, tan it, brother," said Stubbie.
"Catch a wave at the Crag for me," said Court. "I'm gonna kill some 'trolls."
"Whilst I stomp Plastmatica in the line up," said Stubbie.
"First lower the banner of your arrogance," said Court.
"Sharks on ya kook."
A giant sea snail slugged along the sand between two rocks that overlooked an expansive underwater canyon just off the coast of Under California. The sun shone brightly through the blue waters and the snail, who was called Miles, made out an oblong shape on the surface . A small dot broke off and submerged into the canyon.
"That would be the Reefer Break," mused Miles. "And her captain."
The tiny figure descended and Miles saw the naked limbs of a human, tanned and lithe, in the reflective waters. The man fluttered and propelled towards Miles who saw a lion mane of hair, sharp face and piercing eyes of ice. Bubbles escaped through his ears and each spin and movement was more fish in calculation than human and jettisoned the lanky figure rapidly through the deep.
"Cousin." Two detached snail eyeballs nodded upwards in a friendly gesture.
"Miles," said Jack’s steady sonar voice.
Jack Straw floated over one of the rock cliffs beside the overhead sea snail and created a mysterious energy bubble with his voice, which burst into fantastic lights in front of Miles. In quick response, a similar phenomenon occurred from the eyes of the giant snail and two lights briefly intertwined and spun in unison before retracting to their sources.
"Always a show off" said Jack Straw in a wide smile.
Miles blinked and shrugged. "I grow bored in the deep. I do miss the land, even what’s left of it. Been surfing?"
"Those petrolmatons still after yourn?" asked Miles.
"Sailed over a few on the way here. They must be pretty thick here."
The snail sighed. "More than you would believe, Jackie. They attack the Nauherd settlements weekly and ambush the scouts and capture the Nauherdesses, keeping them as fish slaves to unnaturally inseminate their greasy blood with the Nauherds, birthing twisted and mutated, black-hearted animachines. New fodder for Plastmatica's army. And unlike petrolmatons, the animachines are life-forms and need no toxics to materialize. What's worse, these pitiful, lost Nauherd offspring can withstand Zobsphere attack as well as any full-grown Nauherd fighter fish. In their wake, the settlement waters are polluted and soiled."
The ancient sea snail appeared sullen and worn.
"The old man's had it," thought Jack...
After all, Miles was King of Heirnau and the responsibility for the future of Mother Ocean's survival must have laid heavily on the shell of the old warfisch.
"How 'bout you?", drawled the snail in a slow and deliberate slur of underwater vibration. Jack Straw was reminded that he always detected a Pacific accent in the old snail's sound bubbles. He wondered if the Nauherd had, like himself, once been human, saved perhaps by a lover from the sea.
"Plastmatica still got it out fer ya?" asked Miles.
Jack Straw paused and levitated momentarily before nodding. "It's coming to a head," said Jack. "Just had a run in with his thugs, some dieselers - heavy sized petrolmatons on the way here. Plastmatica, from a safe distance, watched twenty of his minions fall under a combined zobsphere pulse. They couldn't even get within striking distance to launch any toxicans. The currents were with us. Things could have turned out differently."
"Zounds! Twenty dieselers with one combined zobsphere!" ejaculated Miles. "Who's on the Reefer Break with you?"
"Stubbie, Eddie Spaghetti, Elton, some kook my sister brought along, used to be a Marine in the Man Wars. Katherine and Adolfo."
"All humans," pondered Miles. "Who was the additional Nauherd who provided the zobsphere join? "
Two leafy eyperatuses wirled in glee.
"Meerim," said Jack Straw.
"Ah haha, Meerim still after ya too then."
"By the kurrents strong she still is," said Jack. "I had no idea until we were attacked. Leaping out of the water, she got my attention and we made a zobsphere that sucked the diesel right out of those greasers' dirty veins. Filled 'em up with ocean water and zoblife. Who would have thought that mob had the makings of fish, but sure enough, they morphed into a school of big purple, jellyfish. Spineless as machines and spineless as fish. Maybe they deserved worse.” Jack chuckled to himself, then shuddered at the thought of bad things that had gone poorly for him and Meerim. Had not he got involved.
“They swam towards the deep with quicks jets of water. From dieselers to little tentacles and brightly colored blooms. Plastmatica was so mad at my good luck that he nearly fell off that black surfboard he calls 'Deathwind' before speeding off on the darkkurrents."
"Luck?" retorted Miles, his giant shell heaving enormously over the fit, yet relatively puny human form of Jack Straw. "If it weren't for Meerim, you'd be one dead serferfisch. She's been hopelessly in love with you ever since you drowned in that boating accident and she breathed zobsblood onto you making you the first. A Nauherd. And as beautiful as she is. Her mother a mermaid from the northern waters. Her father a shipwrecked sailor from New Zealand. Fair hair, eyes like blue tide pools of endless promise, a suple figure, and fugs so long and strong to make even a thousand year old snail like myself stir!"
"You sure got a way with words," said Jack in his easy tone. "Alone in my bunk at sea, I dream of those eyes, her womanly figure, and mystifying face. Knowing all along that she is likely not far, swimming the waters just below me."
"Then you love her too" declared Miles seriously, but not without a hint of relief.
"More than any man or fish has ever loved another," said Jack Straw. Eyes of ice stared at Miles and a thick halo of yellow hair swam towards vitamin D.
"So save yourself," said Miles, the giant sea snail. "And her. Or die ist he sklaven!"
Chapter 1: Indo dreaming…
Jack Straw sat at the helm and drying off in the sun, sang to himself. Katherine put a fishing line over the port side of the Reefer Break and sat next to Elton. They exchanged whispers and a sour faced Adolfo sat on the bow and tied knots and sipped tequila from a thermos. The tip of the rod yanked down to the sea and Katherine reeled in a plenty-for-everyone sized Yellowtail. Elton gaffed the fish at it’s side and lifted the pole, hand over hand, out of the water. The gawking tuna urgently opened and closed it’s mouth, perhaps trying to say something important about it’s current state. A feeble protest. A violent splash and Katherine screamed. A white wall of teeth, followed by a megolithic fury, tore the speechless orator down into a cavern of chaotic bloodshed.
“Owwwww! Owwwwww!” wrenched Katherine, her arm wrapped in the gaffing hook line. The huge tiger shark slam danced it’s meal beside the Reefer Break. The line, tangled around the bolus sushi, tightened and yanked Katherine’s skinny arm, cutting into her tanned flesh.
Jack Straw was there in a blur and sliced the line below her hand with a flash of his knife. Katherine was free.
“Motherfucker!” Elton grunted and from inside the bench beside him, grabbed the speargun and shot at the lurching hulk.
Jack reached quickly at the speargun, but Elton sidestepped him and the spear flashed loose and lodged into the shark’s side. A thin red line careened along the metal shaft. The shark outbled the little tuna now.
“There better be a good reason for nearly fucking up my shot.” Elton fumed and leaned into Jack. “Like a fucking spectacular one!”
“You can’t get revenge on a shark” said Jack, shaking his head and smiling. “Unbelievable”.
“Wanna bet,” said Elton. “She bled, he bled. Simple.”
“Fucking G.I. Joe!” Adolfo laughed sloppily, a Mexican bull frog drinking tequila. “Fuck that pinche muddafucker up, shark! Ha-hah-Aaahyyyeee!”
“Better him than me,” said Elton and hummed satisfied and swayed on his feet like a happy dairy farmer.
“You are soooo my hero!” said Katherine and rubbed her arm and her tears and jumped and wrapped her legs around Elton. Elton chuckled and stiffened and squeezed her bikini-exposed ass and Katherine squeeked and squelched and hopped back down onto the deck. Her hand reached at Elton’s shorts. Eddie Spaghetti grumbled and coughed.
“You don’t kill a tiger shark like that,” said Jack. “Bad mana. He will bleed and suffer and get devoured by his own kind.” Jack breathed in deeply and sighed. “Wow! Not a good way to go. You know?”
“You can’t really run that kind of mana,” mumbled Eddie Spaghetti. “Tiger shark, that’sumsa. Kai’lua way’stons! My own bradda foun’sum…”
“Friendly fire,” said Elton and chortled and leaned into Adolfo. “These things happen.”
“Americanos are hungry for la guerra!” Adolfo puttered. “La violencia! Pero I know why you shot the pinche cabrone!” Adolfo smacked Katherine’s ass. “La Amarilla!” Adolfo laughed drunkenly.
"Why you dirty beaner, I'm gonna..." said Elton.
Katherine smacked Adolfo’s face smartly. Adolfo contorted his reddened moon and rubbed his cheek and shook his head and laughed wildly.
“Uh!” Katherine pushed Adolfo and with the roll of the waves, he plopped down on the bench.
Adolfo flashed his tongue and loco eyes at Katherine and hopped back and forth. Katherine squinched her face and puckered, Marilyn style, and blew him a kiss and flipped him the bird. Katherine waved it in the air, Elton and Adolfo watched it. Katherine’s supple hand, the one they had each held all night, did a hula.
“I call that one ‘Freebird’! Katherine sang.
“Play some Skynard,” said Elton and did the farmer sway.
Jack Straw brushed past Elton, stepped up onto the swim ladder and with a divers knife in his hand, jumped over the starboard side of the Reefer Break.
“Good time for a swim,” said Elton.
“What the fuck is my brother doing?” asked Katherine. “Fucking freak of nature! Oww!” Katherine rubbed her arm. “Jack!” she shouted. “Forget the stupid shark!”
The tiger shark, disinterested, but aware of the visitor, thrashed and drifted. The eaten tuna metabolized proteins to defend the mega-fish’s bleeding side. She hovered below the surface, partially floating. Blooded and calm, the water. The metal shaft indicated where the sharp, triple-edged arrow cut the shark’s bowells and organs. The spotted dorsal fin listed gainfully, like a capsizing boat, it’s mast sinking into the wild ocean.
Jack Straw surfaced near the shark, breathed deep, and dived back into the water. The body of the shark was a grey mass with lavender streamers, there was a brief thrashing, followed by a long, still silence. Jack resurfaced and hovered.
“You are simply crazy, Jack!” Katherine declared.
“Welcome back,” said Meerim and exchanged a pained smile with Jack.
The winds picked up and the Reefer Break heeled to port. Katherine exalted in the fresh air and squeezed Elton’s arm, like lovers do. Elton cracked a beer and flicked the bottle top expertly at the shark’s fin. A cool barroom trick. Katherine tittered. The fin submerged, together with the bottle top and the shark faded from the eyes of men and into the primal deep.
“Pinche puto,” slurred Adolfo and glared at Elton.
“Sounds like a stomach ache,” said Elton.
“Sometimes being overwhelmed,” said Jack, “really absorbed by a physical force stronger than ourselves helps us to have humility towards our environment.”
“We called that: ‘having your ass handed to you on a silver platter through a brief encounter with superior fire power,’” rambled Elton. “Wipeout!” He screeched through the maniacal and unrepeatable laughter of the surf anthem and followed the chorus with a fit of chortling, swaying, and grins, and was severely pleased with himself.
Katherine scolded Elton with her eyes and said: “You’re ridiculous. It’s you who was wiping out at Top’s! Kook!” Katherine grabbed Elton’s leg and rubbed it strongly and smiled seductively.
“A head dunk,” said Elton.
“Cuidado, amigo” said the drunken frog. “Pero you’ll get the BEEEG dink!”
“Dunk” said Elton.
“Como?” Adolfo asked.
“Oh look!” Katherine shouted and pointed to a large blue whale. The grey-blue giant breached, turned belly-up and splashed down into the royal blue, life-giving Pacific.
Katherine screamed: “A baby!”
The baby emerged and emulated the maneuver. The white caps peakabooed and glittered across the horizon. The sun was high and the sky was clear blue. A strange white bird, large and ugly, glided steadily overhead, somehow going faster than the Reefer Break, though they were all riding the same wind. Were they not?
Chapter 2: Kat
The winds picked up to ten knots, ending the five day streak of doldrums. The gusts prevailed from the Northeast, pushing the crew of castaways southerly towards Maui. After day twenty, Katherine returned to allowing Adolfo to stay in her stateroom, though she fooled around with Elton during their watch. No one really gave a shit. Katherine’s whims were as shifty as the winds and her mind as difficult to grasp.
Time to surf.
The trades picked up and blew steady twenty five knot winds. The seas swelled at fourteen feet and the Reefer Break surfed wave upon wave, for hours and parts of days.
She was a beautiful ship. Sleak from the bottom, wide at the stern. A ketch, cruiser. She had a large aft cabin and a center cockpit; polished brass, teak wood; all the right electronics and spares; two staterooms, two heads, one with a five foot tub; tons of cold and non-perishable food storage, four burner electric stove; reverse osmosis water system, water heater; wind and solar power; electric outboard motor; bio-Willie powered Volvo 6000 inboard; autopilot, GPS, and a killer sound system that lived through generations of technologies and could play .mp3’s, cassettes and if someone felt like digging through moldy storage, 8-tracks.
The Reefer was constantly tilted. For the lovers, the rocking seas added a variety of wonderment to the realm of adventure sex. Necessarily, they adjusted to the whims of mother ocean. None of them had any seasickness when it came to a roll in the hay, despite the rolls in the sea. Though Elton got sick when Jack told him to scrape the bottom for barnacles after he killed the Tiger Shark. The rhythms of the body, fucking at sea. Synching in time subconsciously to the expansive embrace of the sea. Descending and rising, a touch on the surface, revealing deeper undercurrents. The internal eye of each shipmate, fully open to the vast, transhuman ocean, for they were fully exposed to the sea. The light and the dark. At night, below deck, for those not on watch, in the moonlit cabin, the living sea unmasked the lies and shortfalls of the day. She exposed words and unspoken intentions, like a skilled Japanese kabuki actor weaving the complexities of culture and politics with the undulating of a fan. Words returned from the frontline of the day, with humiliation or honor on it’s side and plainly echoed in the minds of their speakers. Lovers and aliens. All alike and each alone. No one but themselves to bear witness, to vouch for their dreams, hopes, nightmares. In the great expanse of the Pacifist ocean, they were embraced by the incalculable vastness of the Blue Mother. When the night lights glowed red, each hand was accountable to her alone. The lovers sweated and moaned and she caressed and rocked them in her supple bossom. At the end of the night, she always got the last kiss ‘good night’. She whispered day and night. Never was there silence. No false, forced quietude. Not an office or a small white room of an apartment. A living organism. She splashed and sprayed and the sails slapped. The ocean bathed and breathed on the crew of the Reefer Break, salting their pores to the bone, until each of them was hers completely. The only thing separating them from the bottomless depths of her immortal embrace was a few hundred square feet of fiberglass…named after a broken joint. The Reefer Break.
No day without a line. Who said this? Beethoven? Belushi?
The Reefer Break was three hundred miles east of Lahaina Harbor. The winds picked up and the crew found themselves in a strong gale with fifty knot gusts. The main was reefed and the jib was open wide to the wind. The Reefer heeled constantly to port and everyone got use to sitting, walking, sleeping on the portside. Katherine and Elton were on watch since 1500 and everyone else was down below. Jack and Meerim meditated in the salon. Adolf napped in Katherine’s stateroom. Eddie Spaghetti lounged on the galley bench and, with headsphones plugged into his ears, stared at the screen of a laptop, watching fuck knows what crap and murmuring out loud. His murmurs kelidescoped with the zealous chanting and the calm was somehow unsettling.
Jack scrambled up the hatch. “Where?” Jack shouted over the wind and sea.
Elton unhinged the dinghy violently and worked the controls methodically.”A hundred seventy degrees!” Barked Elton.”Visual?” Elton balanced his legs stoutly on the deck and pointed.
Amid seven foot swells and choppy, dancing whitecaps, Jack could see nothing of Katherine. A swell lurched and briefly exposed her orange lifevest. She bobbed and waved and dissappeared descended down the face of another swell. Jack took the helm and brought her about. Elton lowered the RIB and drifted in the wake of the Reefer, unable to start the unused outboard. Eddie Spaghetti, awakened from his DVD daze, jumped over the port side and with the blessed autism of a water savant, swam trhough the waves and emerged behind the RIB. Elton rescued Eddie with a line and Eddie got to work on the engine.
“Fucking BEEG one!” Adolfo shouted and shot his freckled chin out at the uncompromising sea.
A burrowing ditch preceded a burley, sixteen foot wave. The hurler charged with all of its momentum of existence directly across the path of Katherine’s vestibule of air.
“I see her!” Claudia shook her pointed finger. “There!”
A hundred meters upwind, bobbed Katherine, a hapless tangerine lifevest, drifting away from the Reefer Break. Jack tacked to starboard and kept Kathinerine at their bow. The wind against them was strong.
“La verga!” growled Adolfo, the displaced lover.
A thin thread of white smiled at the top of the wave. The lip, the grin, the rolling, carefree laughter, revealing toothful fangs of ocean spray, hanging over Katherine’s feeble flame of life. The lip curled and waivered, like a toddler unsure of whether to laugh or to cry.
“Ahh!!” Claudia gasped.
The wave exuded it’s joy of being across the small path of Katherine’s air bubble of life, like the car on the country road beats over nature’s path in the course of it’s commute. Grasping at hope, Claudia saw the force of the wave shift it’s direction. The wave hesitated and moved outside of Katherine’s horizon. But that was only from the angle of the tossing boat. The goliath cracked itself up all over Katherine’s tiny morsel of life, swallowing her whole, like a maniacal snuff flick ending with a fatal desert.
“La verga,” prayed Adolfo.
“Take the helm,” said Jack. Jack scrambled down the hatch and dissappeared into the belly of the boat. Claudia sang herself into a trance and tried to reach Katherine’s ears.
“Breathe Kat!” Kat remained below the surface, toiling within the white wash, her body rolling, limbs yanked, coveted pockets of air insurged upon. The massive wave could have been restraining itself, but it made little difference to Kat. The wave, released of it’s energy, dissipated into white trails on the ocean’s transcendent skin. The storm momentarily subsided, as if in a vortex, an eery calm prevaded over the atmosphere. But the dark clouds on the outside indicated that it would not be relinquishing it’s hold on the Reefer. Queitude laid it’s heavy body across the hearts of the crew. Seeing no sign of Kat’s emergence, Adolfo wept openly.
Jack Straw emerged from down below, leapt beyond the life lines of the Reefer Break, and flew into the sky, like a colorful, ocean bound tucan.
Adolfo kicked the engine into gear and fought against the wind that pushed the Reefer away from Katherine.
“Furl the sails! Get the life raft inflated! Drop the swim ladder!” Claudia called out. Claudia took the helm and Adolfo wandered around cluelessly and picked up life-jackets and useless pieces of rope.
“Bro!” Elton stood in front of Adolfo and pressed his chest firmly.
“Si, si, si!” Adolfo snapped out of his fearful daze. His face was pale and his eyes, hallow. Adolfo’s lips said something, but there were no words. A sea crossed the deck and drenched Claudia, Adolfo, and Elton. Adolfo’s face contorted and he looked pissed off, but got to work on securing the sails.
A swell rocked the Reefer and Claudia leaned into the wave and steadied the healm. The Reefer rose up towards the sky and the illuminating sunball shone through the old white gaurd of the clouds.Jack became a brightly colored flag of red, yellow, and blue. The flag became a kite and the sky birthed Jack Straw, held him tight with a nylon umbilical chord. His feet skipped and shuffled across the water. Between the vast winds of the sky and the momentus waltzing of the sea, Jack Straw found a path forward. And towards his drowned sister did Jack go.
Chapter 3: The Nauherds
There is no one adjective that describes Jack Straw;
Project Surferfish has no face,
He lives by a natural way.
The way that is tied in with the Mystic Ho
The Ho Burrito as the gringos say.
And though it may fall beyond this soothsayer,
To accurately depict this mystical
Manner and manera ’bout Jack Straw,
It is believed that one seed of desire
To transmit a single paint stroke
Of a wisp of the way,
Will reach the reader.
They will know, in one thousand years, that we too hurt
We live and hope and fear and long to escape
We do escape - into other worlds.
Worlds of underwater post-human Earthers.
Into worlds of epic surf, we fall asleep.
Worlds and words, flowing with real love,
The kind we all deserve.
For fuck’s sake we do. The kind we all feel.
The kind of love that Kat
And Sammie, the White Dolphin, had.
The kind you and I have.
And so we become the adventure.
And the battle for literature is thus waged…
The struggle of the living imagination
Versus the stagnant drone of flashing
And sound and linear, one-sided exchanges.
This is the essence of the great conflict.
The Zobsphere-wielding Nauherds,
Fighting side by side, interspecially,
To defeat the perpetual lure of dull-mindedness,
And the greed of economy
And the anger of it’s unfufilled false promise.
At the heart of this wastefulness, dear honorable King,
Lies the Dark Xen Monkhood, Plasmatica,
Who together with the masses of Petrolmatons
Surfs the Ho from the dear mother ocean
And leaves only it’s carcass,
filled with the three poisons.
They are the pollution
And erosion of material obsession,
Making toxic, the fertile soil of the offspring,
The youth, and the sincere.
By all means, Jack Straw thinks to himself,
How can these hurtful deeds be stopped?
Yes, alas, Jack Straw, said Sammie,
The cartooned White Dolphin. How?
By seeking to make all the creatures,
Throughout the ten directions
Of the Zobsphere’s corners,
To be equal in their ability to get sick surf.
But dear honorable lad, said the White Dolphin
The seas will be littered with Plasmatica’s broken drones.
The sea will be free, by my hand, said Jack Straw
And by you Flipper.
Sammie, the animated White Dolphin, winked.
And each will have to them their own.
We will get shacked in the sea
‘til heart’s redemption.
It is only in the barrel of the Mystic Ho
Where the essence of getting shacked can be found.
Oh most wonderful, jazzsensical cat, said Kat
What you say brings great joy
To the heart’s of the assembly.
And to the heart’s of all living beings.
So it is in the ten corners of all Zobsphere.
Surf lies within the hearts of those who perceive it,
It is not the sea of this world,
on which we surf,
But the faces of the waves that have no beginning
And onto which there is a timeless,
and yes, endless summer.
And through the single minded vision,
To see oneself, skirting past
These legions of Petrolmatons,
Beyond the reach of their twisted, littered wake,
The water will be cleared of Plastmatica’s wretched cancer.
I am the cancer. I âm the cancer.
Each creature, continued the wrecked sailor,
Without distiction of species,
Shall ride the wave,
which has since it’s timeless inception,
Drowned and tossed these beings
Into a cycle of an endless bummer.
But now, they shall ride until satisfied.
Now, oh varied gatherers of seaweed, they surf!
And, know this, said Jack Straw
To the King of the Nauherds,
This is not because of what I say,
Or by my own doing
Know King that this is the work
Of the wonderment of the vast,
Spaceless and Ageless sea of life
And due solely to the boundless joy that exists in the Ho itself.
Book of Nauherds 2112
Kat came to consciouness and relayed her story to the hapless crew of the Reefer Break, through swollen lips that seemed cosmetically altered. Her face was beyond pale or fair, it was transparent. Iridescent, like a shrimp.
“I followed the White Dolphin down into the sea. It was mentally terrifying at first, but I could easily breathe and swimming was just a matter of willing a direction and velocity. Nor was I cold.” Kat spoke and her neck pulsed and Elton noticed she had slits behind her ears.
Gils, thought Elton, but the slits were so thin and naturally hidden in the shape of her ears that he also thought he wasn’t seeing clearly, with the waves and sea spray and all.
“The giant White Dolphin cocked it’s head back from time to time to check on me. Sammie’s face was extremely animated and a toothful, wide smile, with warm and wise eyes, like that of an old yogi, was his most common expression. Though he had many others. Just like a man. At first, I understood most of what he said - another welcome mystery - but his words and explanations would sometimes get past me and I would be focused on swimming and I would get lost. With the dotting patient look of a teacher, he would rephrase his concepts, slowly, so that they were more easily comprehensible to the remants of my Kloon’s consciousness.”
“Clowns?” said Adolfo.
“Kloons are what the Nauherds call those who, still tied to the ichcant…”
“Itch my what?” said Elton.
Adolfo laughed like a drunken frog and said, “La verga”.
“Ichcant is the delusion that there is separation from the Ho — the life law. Thus Kloons work against the natural rythym of the universe. ‘You are one with all, all within you,’ said Sammie and swam a giant whirlpool around me and a hearty, otherwordly laughter that resonnated ebracing, stacatto overtones, tickled flourescent spectrums through the Seather around us! Oh, he was amazing!,” concluded Kat, dazing off.
“Who the fuck are these Nauherd kooks and how come we’re not blowing their asses out of the water!”, ejaculated Elton and snuffed through his nose and ribbed Adolfo, who glared and said, “pinche huedo Americano! Todo del tiempo piensariais sobre capitalistica bullshit, imperialista weapons de panochas!”
“An egg was born,” said Kat, “from the greed and anger and dull-mindedness of the world. Cracked and ready to hatch, an insect crawled out of the egg and onto the Earth. It’s name is Plasmatica. The more people dispose it, the more Nauherds are born. We are the balancing factor.”
“Fucking supernatural fish cleaning the latrines,” said Elton. “Earth’s janitors on head duty.”
Jack Straw sat at the helm and the wind blew through his notted and sun racked, platina hair and the cool of the morning was burning off and his brow furrowed as he listened to Elton’s homogeneous flurry of hegemony.
“PT and an atomic number of seventy-eight,” said Adolfo the drunken frog.
“The significance of the Nauherd’s appearance in the underwater world of Here Nau lies in their behavior as fish,” said Kat. “Protecting Gaia is a natural extension of their existance.”
“World domination”, said Elton.
“Evolution, Cappie” said Claudia.
“Sounds like a terrorist plot to undermine capitlaism,” sounded Elton.
“It’s the Americano militar mafia”, said Adolfo.
Elton grinned and said, “I can neither confirm nor deny those charges, sir”.
“You are the pinche fascist regime in this equacion, amigo,” said Adolfo and pressed his finger hard into Elton’s chest. Elton grabbed Adoflo’s finger and twisted his wrist behind him and held him with Adolfo’s arm up and his face down.
“So you’re one of these evolved mutant creature’s now?”, said Elton casually to Kat.
“Pinche puto,” said Adolfo, his face writhing like a squid on the deck.
Elton pressed his wrist and elicited an angry, helpless grunt from Adolfo.
“Cappie, you stop that now,” said Claudia in her windy stocatto Kauai’ian dialect.
Elton moved Adolfo’s wrist with a shove and timed with the roll of the sea, Adolfo had to sit and grab the lifeline to keep from going overboard.
“Yes,” said Kat. “I am a Nauherd. And so are you.”
“Are you accusing me of being a fucking squid? That’s those Navy boys” said Elton and grinned like a dairy farmer. “I may be a jar head, scout sniper and a dirty fighter, but one thing I am not, young lady, is a goddam fishhead.”
“Fish heads, fish heads,” sang Eddie spaghetti, the winnie pooh, “rolly polly, fish heads,” and he shook silently.
“I think what she means,” said Jack Straw, his eyes obscured beneath his hair, “is that the way to a higher way of being is before us all.”
“Deep,” said Stubbie stonily and pursed his lips in seriousness.
The sun broke through all of the remnants of the clouds. The sky was tropical blue and calmly warm. The ocean was fathomlessly deep and there was an entire race of higher evolved earthlings living in the canyons and valleys far below the hapless crew of teh Reefer Break. On the horizon they could make out a plume over Under Tahiti.
For the next thirty hours that it took to sail to Under Tahiti, Kat talked more about her experience with the Nauherds, the evolutionary advanced version of Earthlings, here, now, to fight the evil scourge of Plastmatica, the Dark Xen Monkhood, who along with it’s legions of Petrolapos, devour the nutrients of Gaya and leave only poison in it’s toxic wake. In the eyes of the hapless crew of the Reeefer Break, Kat had been gone no more than an hour, although due to their pitiful sadness at having thought her drowned, it was an eternity. But the change which overcame her was either she became a madwoman, a side affect of the violent drowning, perhaps — “Dain Brammage”, wondered Eddie Spaghetti and shook silently in glee — or perhaps it was all true.
Elton was skeptical.
“I followed Sammie into a valley and then to the Namstay where the Nauherds were gathered,” said Kat.
“What is that,” asked Elton, like a man collecting intelligence for a reconnaissance mission. “Somekind of Def Con Central?”
“It’s a spiritual hub where Newherds are evolved, important decisions affecting Here Nau are discussed, and it’s where Zobspheres are generated.”
“Hobgears?” said Adolfo. “Puto hobnobs from Plato! Que es esto?” And Adolfo shoved his chin out to the sea.
“Vibrational strings,” said Kat flatly. “Bio-rhthym waves, created by intra-specie communities and stored or released as needed. And projected in energy bursts, as needed.”
“Goddam doomsday device,” said Elton patriotically.
“We are a different species, existing together and as one,” said Kat. “Not just a population of the concrete-jungle dwelling, human race. A true community coexists with other beasts. The Nauherds have reestablished this type of boundryless Earth citizen and the Zobspheres are the kenetic manifestation of a biosphere that is vibrationally in rhthym with the Ho. This power is within our ability to wield.”
“See, now we’re talking,” said Adolfo. “Tell us more about the ho’s.”
Elton grinned and chortled like a dairy farmer. “Fucking Jedi mind trick!” said Elton, but then shuddered at the thought of Katherine drowning and gasping for breath and sucking in water and her becoming a different evolution that could breath under water and wield the Force©.
A ghastly, white face, devoid of life. Hollow, empty eyes. Straggled hair. A flash, a ghastly, white face.
Kat’s eyes were crystal, but transparent, her skin fleshier, for colder depths, and her body more disireable, brave and bold, exposed from beneath her nylon onepiece suit. Meatier.
I bet she fucks like a horse now, thought Elton and smiled wily at Kat, who looked at him blandly with her strange eyes and Elton had another vision.
“A lot of interbreeding going on in this community of beasts?”, said Elton, jealously.
Kat blushed in a way that turned her near transparent skin a deep hue of violet, pink, passionate and visible, her blood pumped, though he thought it to be so, it was not the type of rise Elton was hoping for.
Elton’s imagination twisted and he saw the White Dolphin, What was his name? Sammie. Finning Kat around in the deep, blue cold water a place he could not go, unless…Fuck that. He saw Sammie’s ridiculous, yogi smile and Japanimated wink.
Kat’s colored flesh returned to it’s suntansculecent opaque and her stare into the horizon landed softly back on her brother, Jack Straw, who laughed shrilly and his eyes went wild and Elton winced and thought about Sammie again and was sea sick for the first time on the thirty seven day trip and barfed his guts over the side and Adolfo, the drunken frog, laughed and Eddie Spaghetti shook silently and Kat stared like a fish and Jack Straw laughed shrilly again and Claudia said “You okay Cappie?, and Stubbie said “Gnar!” and Elton chucked again and the Reefer Break bobbed up and down in the windy, blue Hawaiian sea and five humans and two Nauherds cruised towards killer surf, and the raw natural danger of the Tahitian Islands. Iorana.
The Reefer Break continued its sail to more Tahitian islands, minus Kat, who chose to swim the rest of the way with Sammie, the Giant White Dolphin. Their love had grown exponentially as Kat and the dolphin explored the underwater Zobspheres, the habitat of the New Earthlings, the Nauherds.
There were fantastic sites to see along the way and Kat, somewhat reminiscent of her former self, absorbed it all with the naivete and gullibility of a Midwestern tourist on their first trip to a tropical island.
“Look, see the glowing lights. The Alchemists of Neon Seaweed, they are mostly deep dwellers, giant squids, whales, and Megators and Manitords.
“Megatards and Manitrons?” exclaimed Kat.
Sammie guffawed a burst of air bubbles. “Very old and prehistoric underwater creatures. Giants!”
“Bigger than whales?”
“Way bigger! Sharks the size of blue whales and whales bigger than those floating deaths nests for the fire birds.”
“Whales as big as aircraft carriers! No way!”
“Yeah,” said Sammie incredulously, with a dolphin click. “Waaaay bigger! Ohhohoho, at least ten times bigger! Like cities! And turtles too!”
“Turtles as big as cities,” said Kat in awe, but her Nauherd insticnts told her that it was only as unreal as the metamorphosis that had changed her from a human compulsive shopper and wine snob from the Santa Ynez Valley into a sea mutant. yet her greatest awe lie in the fact that she was a part of this advanced race, on the edge of evolution, or de-evolution, and fated to save Mother Ocean from the evil scourge of the Petrolmatons and Plastmatica, the Dark Xen Monk.
“So strange,” said Kat.
“It’s completely natural,” said Sammie telepathically. “It’s not so strange.”
“Oh no, no, no! It’s just that there’s this whole change in the earth,” explained Kat, “and the humans had no idea. They’ve just assured that they would take care of the Earth’s ills in their time, but nature has taken matters into her own hands. The human is no longer the apex of billions of years of evolution.”
“Ishmael’s cage has been broken,” said Sammie with a smile.
“Who?” said Kat.
“The talking ape,” said Sammie, the talking dolphin.
“Oh that,” said Kat, who had never been very well versed in literature.
“Yes, as he said,” continued Sammie, “humankind has believed that they were the pinnacle, the reason for the existence of the earth. This story has been handed down to the Takers for Ten Thousand years. They never guessed that Mother Ocean would unleash her righteous anger upon her children for injuring her.”
“Wow,” said Kat, not able to contain her shock at her own anger and disgust at the way she used to believe the myth of special privilege for the human race. So many disasters had occurred leading to the great meltdown of 2050, ones that made the BP Gulf spill of 2010 like a cup of spilled milk. It would never occurred to Kat that the Earth would take matters into her own hands and create an evolutionary leap, at the height of humanity’s power as a species. Just like the flourishing and diminishing of the dinosaurs. Kat swam in silence for sometime then said: “If humans have essentially become a virus, a plague to Mother Ocean, and are no longer safe to the Earth, then what will happen to mankind?”
“It will come to an end,” said Sammie factually. “Or at least an end as we know it.”
“An end?” inquired Kat.
“Man must be eliminated,” said the Giant White Dolphin.
“Eliminated!”, exclaimed Kat, crestfallen. “But how?”
Sammie paused in his swim and turned and looked sternly at Kat and let out a slow, bubbling from his blow hole, which vibrated the water around them, his eyes, white and pink except for the pupils, took on an ominous hue.
“By whatever means necessary,” said Sammie.
Chapter 4: Stubbie
Jack Straw reclined on the deck of the Reefer Break and drying in the sun and smoking, gazed over the sea. Sunbeams danced on the waves. A speed boat passed by and the Tahitian flag - red and white - flapped over the pier. Waves crashed on the manmade breakwater, where Claudia, Elton, and Adolfo were surfing. The dinghy, tied to a stern cleat, splashed perpetually.
Jack returned his attention to the spliff and relit it. Smoke wafted across his view and he contemplated the other boats in the small anchorage. Tall jagged green rainforested mountains ruled majestically over the tiny bay and its inhabitants.
The Reefer Break, in the tropical harbor, with the sea rolling beneath her, was a palace of safety and comfort in the open ocean. Still there was always an edge of danger at sea these days, thought Jack Straw. Especially when the threat of a surprise attack from Plastmatica, the Dark Xen Monk and his twisted scourge of pollution feeding Petrolmatons, loomed. There was no true hiding place from Plastmatica’s wicked eye.
Eddie Spaghetti, short, barechested and potbellied with wild hair and a bushy mustache, leapt from the spreaders, twenty feet up the mast, and cannonballed into the aqua blue waters, clear and clean, so much so that the reef and sand were visible and it appeared he would hit bottom, though it was forty feet below.
“Nice one, uncle!” ejaculated Stubbie, who paddle boarded around the Reefer Break. Fair haired with dark, Indonesian skin, protected beneath the hot, Tahitian sun, Stubbie Raiz’s tall, lanky frame arched into each stroke of the long koa wood paddle, projecting him towards the old Hawaiian. With the island mountains, sharp and green in the background, Jack Straw fathomed an air of ancientness about the boy and pondered it through a cloud of smoke. Eddie Spaghetti laughed and mumbled gleefully through a soggy mustache.
“Hahaha! Dat was sumsa,” he said, snorting water. “Beeg dunk, haha! Snort! But notink like dat giant cliff at Napali, snort! Cuzin Benny make dat kine beeeeg cannonball in da wada! Oh sumsa, cuzin’, I tell you how, amaaazin blues of allll ponahone is gearin’ sun in da wada! Snoooort! Haha!” And Eddie Spaghetti rolled and disappeared under the water like a seal.
Jack Straw felt a strange tingle behind his ears and stood up quickly. Looking at the pier’s pylons, he could see the water line receding suddenly and drastically.
“All haole outta water!” he yelled senatorially. “Waster!”
A wall of whitewash, dirty brown and toxic, not well shaped, but crumbled, massive and solid, an anomalous line of corrupted ocean, pounded the outside reef on it’s way towards the harbor. Jack Straw looked over to where the breakwater was being surfed by his friends, but could not make them out in the distance. Plastic bottles, bags and debris swirled in the murky mess and from it’s midst, Jack saw a Petrolmaton’s droned face metabolize from a two liter bottle of coca-cola and the last glints of the sun reflected on a shiny, red Ronald McDonald mask, which another Petrolmaton had materialized a face from, before the hazy mist of the wave covered the sky. The evil clown’s arm formed from a long stretch of marine toilet hose and gushed it’s sickly fluids, polluting the waters around.
Jack could see the sinister wave making it’s approach. An old fisherman stood up in his small row boat and with rod in hand, raised his arms to the heavens and bravely faced the petrolmatons. The old man was submerged violently beneath the massive wall of white wash, which Jack imagined the local would fight all the way.
Three petrolmatons emerged from the spot where the dinghy was crushed. One of the gassy brutes had a head made from the fisherman’s outboard and his ghastly voice wined rapid sputters like a stock broker trapped in a Tohatsu 6 horsepower.
Jack knew he must act quickly. The Reefer Break and all the boats in the harbor were doomed to pop their anchors and crash to the beach once the venomous tidal wave ripped through the tranquil, tropical bay. Jack Straw grabbed a small hand paddle and launched himself into the water. From underwater, he made the Nauherd distress call, his voice not garbled like a human’s, but bellowing and distinct, a far-reaching, pure sound, sending ghostly vibrations into the ancient deep.
In response, two nearby whale centurions belched and pinged their diligent response and turned instinctively toward the lucent call. Upon arriving, the two mammoths of de-evolution approached the Reefer Break and charging, put the full brunts of their mass in the path of the dark wash. Spinning, finning and rolling, the behemoth megamammals covered the breadth of the rolling waste and created a breakwater. Jack figured they intended to collapse the speed and force of the tidal wave with their bodies, a bold and honorable act, but one which seemed impossible.
The whales continued to be rolled, but always returned and charged to resist the force of the wave. Petrolmatons angrily rose to the surface of the wave to hurl objects at the centurions. One fell swoop of a massive tail crushed three of them at once. After the third charge against the wave, the smaller centurion let out a cry of pain, deep and harrowing and eerily urgent and appearing to be injured, first rolled with the wave, then broke free and limped back to her mate to make another charge against the wave.
One of a school of many giant jellyfish, responding to the Nauherd call, leapt out and struck the tentacled fiberoptic cables of a petrolmaton bwith it’s whispy tinger. A rainbow of colors from the myriad of brightly lit and massive mutant blobs of nerves fluttered and swirled, bespeckling the dark mass of polluted and toxic water. A cold gust of stormy wind lifted from the south and the rigging from the tiny boats clanked and sang out a sad and plaintiff alarm.
Undaunted, a petrolmaton stretched out of the tsunami wielding a mooring boyu and with black plastic lungs, belched out a violent and hateful digiscream, the war cry of the Xen monkhood. A horde of emboldened petrolmatons surfaced from the wave and with the wind howling the sound of the false voices carried and echoed in the bay, disturbing the Tahitian island spirits and it’s inhabitants with dread.
The tsunami, slowly but surely approached the Reefer Break. Jack Straw watched an imposing, tentacled petrolmaton leap on deck and slither towards the mast and he sped through the water to return to his ship just as the waste wave was approaching her. The wave engulfed the Reefer Break and the petrolmaton clung to the mast with it’s eight arms. Barely making it back, Jack Straw clung to anchor chain with superhuman strength and was engulfed together with his ship by the black swirling mass.
Before the impact, Stubbie who was down below in the cabin, charged at the petrolmaton who had found it’s way to the engine room, where the Zobthruster was housed, and was tearing it apart plank by plank. With an ax in hand, Stubbie drove the beast to the deck and upon getting hit by the wave, was knocked overboard and left wresting for air and life entangled with the slick skinned monster beneath the surface where they disappeared.
An animachine with a propellor head and a crane hook for a body had been ordered to free the Reefer Break of her anchor and began descending just below her. When he reached the depths, he found Jack Straw who sat crossed legged above the ground tackle, a white mane flowing around his head, massive underwater eyes staring at the black souled mutunt. The petrolmaton let out a horrendous digiscream and throttled it’s propellor in anger. Jack Straw opened his mouth, wider than any human and a forceful air bubble, full of zpbsphere, launched into the petrolbeast’s head. The monster imploded into a glob of waste, plastic pieces, and a bright green chemical fire, contained in a ball and burning underwater - the Toxicor - the essential element for a petrolmaton’s existence, briefly raged. Without the petrol shell to protect it, the fiend was crushed and collapsed into a rainbow of oil-slicked bubbles and floated harmlessly to the turmoiled surface. Lifelessly it expelled it’s carbon soul into the stratosphere, to joint the billions of tons of gasses caused by the humans. Metaphysically, the whole question of a purpose in life surely took on new meaning for the expired petrolmaton.
Jack Straw pushed off the ocean floor and propelled upwards. The scene from beneath the tidal wave was eerily tranquil, blue and white light splattered the canvased sky and swirling syphons and whirlpools created a kaleidoscopic view. Drifting boats and debris rotated galactically in the whirlpools midst. If not for the black masses of octritrons, large squid like petrolbeasts, pillaging and demolishing the wrecks for fuel and petrolmass, the scene would have been beautiful and peaceful. However, the more wreckage they absorbed, the larger the Toxicor entitites grew, taking on additional parts who swapping existing appendages for larger, more deadly ones.
How did it all come to this? Jack Straw thought to himself. He broke through the surf. Like a leaping dolphin he charged into an attacking rubber ninja attempting to board the Reefer Break and with a single blow expelled the life from the wiry animachine. He boarded. A petrolmaton was burrowing his tentacles around the mast of the Reefer Break, to snap the kona spar. The mechanical arms of a huge octitron with a diesel running in it’s torso were reaching around from beneath the hull and trying to capsize the vessel, violently rocking her from port to starboard side. The buoyancy and the strength of the balsa wood hull offered protection against the fiberglass and metal feeding petrolmatons. There was no petrol base from which the beasts could feed their voracious appetite for fuel and shortly they would expire. The rapid, machine precision the petrolmaton wielded proved it’s diesel heart pumped steadily, synthetically.
Jack Straw leapt onto the Reefer Break. With the broken remains of a forestay cable he deftly lashed at and amputated four of the octitron’s slimey, plastic tenticles and heard the diesel roar, blow in agony, and the azure water, already littered with debris and toxics, bled purple diesel around the white hull of the Reefer Break, creating a cosmic color scape of chaos and catastrophe. Primitive soups of opposing forces battling for a resolution.
The petrolmaton from the mast leapt down onto Jack Straw like an angered cat. Jack Straw fell to the deck with a thud, smacking his cheekbone painfully onto the teak deck. The petrolborg slithered his tentacled, suction cup hands onto Jack, clinging desperately, violently, instinctively realizing with his small neural net that if he destroyed Jack Straw, the Xen Monkhood would flourish and sing his name. Jack Straw rolled out from under the oiled beast and reaching behind its arm pulled up and yanked the petrolmaton up by it’s throat, bringing its head only an inch away. A massive jolt of zobsphere sent the petrolmaton’s head and tentacles into spasms and bubbling and anxious respiratoins. The collapsing toxicore made the sound of sinking, twisting metal, like a damned oil rig. Damned.
Jack Straw coolly surveyed the damage that the petrolmatons and the waster had wrought on the quiet Under Tahitian harbor. All manner of vessels, docks and moorings were beached or wrecked on the reefs, beaches, and roads. Houses and shacks, gone. Cars, trucks, and drained petrolmatons littered the terrain giving it the battleground scene that the war the Animachines had finally begun, the War for the Ocean.
“Now is the time,” said Jack Straw.
The pier, already a reconstruction after the Big Sink, was a third it’s length, a sad version of it’s former self. The once postcard perfect white sandy beaches were black and polluted and the crystal blue waters were brown and littered with plastic, oil, waste, sdead fish, all kinds of shit. Straw felt his heart pang when he looked to see a massive structure of corpse, the centurian whale, sprawled across the bay. Her mate breached often, getting in as shallow as he could, sending deep vibrations of whale cries, a primitive, true sound, through the towering temples of the green island outpost.
Jack ached to see any sign of his shipmates, but saw only displaced sailors and fishermen in life rafts, vests, and any debris that was buoyant to prevent sinking from exhaustion. An exhausted Tahitian boy of about fifteen was holding half a surfboard and smiled when he saw Jack and gave him a shaka.
“Iaorana!” Jack Straw called, returning the gesture and asking him if he needed to rest, but the boy shook his head and pointed excitedly at washed out village.
“Ya, go check on your family!” Jack gave a thumbs up. He had to check on his family too. Waving to the boy he noticed he still had a surfleash attached to his ankle.
Jack mused. “Wonder what that drop was like?”
The tsunami’s destructive and wicked force was deflected by the cenutruians who swirled and dwindled in the bay, speaking whale to eachother. Most of the boats had been washed to the shore. The Reefer Break remained only because of the efforts of Jack Straw. The Selena Rae was still in place. Furthest out on the anchorage was the Selena Rae, a Bonteau 42 foot sloop that belonged to a retired urchin diver from Under Santa Barbara and his wife Debbie. Jack and the crew had met them getting supplies at Nemos. When Jack asked Harv Wall why he preferred to anchor so far out, Harv smiled widely and looked at his bubbly blonde first mate. “More privacy.” Debbie also smiled. They were just a stoked couple, surviving in the After Sink (A.S.) years. Jack was to relieved see their boat still bobbing. He vowed to check on their safety as soon as his crew was accounted for.
The tide rode down and the few boats that hadn’t run aground bobbed like tossed wine corks. Some with crews making repairs, most were unmanned local fishing vessels or scrappy and haggard sailboats. Hordes of humans flocked to the sea after the Sink. Many were unprepared for sea life and fell like lemmings into Mother Ocean’s womb, to become carbon, photoplankton, fish food. Jack’s rescue by the hands of a mermaid were unheard of except in folklore. Times had become strange. Just like the old days, something out of The Land of the Lost, but worse. Sleestaks never were fast enough to catch you. Petrolmatons were. Man was in peril again. So it is when man is no longer at the top of the food chain.
By sundown Claudia, Elton, Adolfo and Eddie Spaghetti had made their way back to the Reefer Break, all with varying stories of survival over the waster and petrolmatons. There was no sign of Stubbie. The most comical saga of course was that of Eddie Spaghetti who had to remove the fuel filter from the outboard motorhead of a petrolmaton while keeping the propellor from chopping poor Eddie into a pile of leftover spaghetti and meatball mush, all covered in grease. He said he kept dropping his wrench and had to keep pulling it’s spark plugs out so it would stall. The resulting spasmodic toxiscream, imitated by Eddie, on and off, stalling and starting had everyone laughing. You could see the anibeast struggling to grab the spark plugs while losing power, holding its fuel filter on, spurting petrol all over itself. And Eddie, not a baffoon, but a angered Hawaiian warrior, fighting for life against a soulless machine, battering his thick forearms against its neck and gripping savagely at the plugs, fuel lines, fighting off the tentacles, until finally it was ripped apart piecemeal by a will more intent than it’s own.
Elton, Claudia, and Adolfo had all been surfing on the leeward side and completely avoided the destruction of the water. They reported the surf to be significant in size and was good fun until the lineup drained to the reefs and they all ran to the hills, following the example of the locals. There had been enough tsunamis since the Sink to make humans long for gils. In the meantime, they just ran to the highlands when the shift came. The three had spotted a few amphibmatons on the beach and were close enough to hear their wretched barks from broken and reworked rigs. Junkyard elephant seals. By sticking to the cliffs they moved upcountry, where they stayed higher than the tide.
Well after midnight, after the crew had gone below, Elton took the first watch. He thumbed his automatic rifle and sitting on the broken teak deck, whistled the Marine Corps hymn.
Elton had bought the M-14 from some visiting pirates Jack knew on an archipelago down south. Jack Straw explained that bullets didn’t stop petrols, but added to their armor, perhaps only briefly distracting them while they assimilated the lead.
“That’s good enough for me,” retorted Elton. “Plus, this is most reliable rifle ever made!”
Jack Straw could see things Elton’s way. He had seen the near future of man. Before morphing, Jack Straw had sought to escape the fate of the masses. He and his friends were still young and took to the sea and chased surf. They had not been trapped by the Industry Police, who were the last stronghold against anarchy in the Under World, rounding up debt and labor fugitives and throwing them into prisons where they were given an aqualung, snowlung, or citilung, depending upon which labor factory they were sent to. New and undiscovered geography caused by colossal sea shifts, or shifts, made all charts useless and satellites were corrupted by other symptoms of climate infection. For the first time in millennium, the sun, word of mouth, and true currents were all that guided the world’s sailors. To sail the Underseas was taking your life into your own hands. For most of the masses, the evostaks, the thought of losing creature features and simple luxuries, even while needing a rechargeable unit to breath with, even while being a slave in a maledict dynasty, was too much consideration for freedom.
The last adventure to Under Indo had cost Jack Straw all three of his companions and nearly his own life. Invading petrolmatons attacked the Reefer Break, the first time he encountered the animachines. Hideous. Terrifying. Violent and militaristic. His rescue by Meerim had given him an evolutionary leap over his species. Homo aquaticus. Would this happen for others? Would the assimilation of man be universal? What about Elton? What were his chances? What else could he use to protect himself, but the most reliable rifle known to man? Man was not physically equipped to fight the animachines. EarthCorp had amassed arsenal of war toys, which only showed the petrols how to assimilate more advanced weaponry that could in turn be used on man. Without the zobspheres of the Nauherds humanity would become extinct. There chances of retaining their current form was already slim. The food sources on land had dwindled to worldwide famine. 15 billion people crowding the hills of the continents or taking to the sea to avoid flood. Cropping hillsides for genetically modified crops with steroid enhanced soil to encourage even the slightest growth. Asphyxiation. Small children, sick and old people with lungs unable to adapt. Only the wealthy were given aqualungs. Man was a dying species. Elton was apex of that culture, but young and still hopeful. The curve returning to a healthy balance, however, was not turning in Elton’s favor. Jack Straw wished there were some way to help the boy.
A bumping noise alerted Elton.
“Who the fuck goes there?” Elton warned, true to his Marine Corps form, and raised his gun.
It was Stubbie, now the giant sea turtle.
Plastmatica sat on a cushy black couch aboard the oil rig Ocean’s End and viewed a psychic conjure of the Nauherd strongholds in Under California derived from the mind of Meerim who was his captive. He drove her mind into a weakened state of frenzy when his largest octomachine Ford, hefted the mermaid from the water and placed her in a dry space in the metal fortress out of sight of the ocean or sun and without water - salt or fresh - for three days. The poor Nauherdess fretted not so much for her own life, but for worry that should she escape alive she would be so terribly dried and robbed of Zoblife that her dear Jack Straw would no longer find her pretty. Though in her hours of illumination she knew this could never be, she understood it was only a matter of time before the effects were permanent. The longest a Nauherd had been known to survive clear of the ocean was seven days. Meerim resolved to die before allowing Plastmatica to derive any information about the Nauherd’s main fortress Nau Pyrobi, which meant “guardian of the sea”. Little did the mermaid know that the Dark Monk had sinister plans for her. Only when Plastmatica had placed Meerim back into a giant fishbowl with three especially lusty octomachines amidst taunts that he was going to keep her for breeding animachines, did the brave mermaid truly begin to despair for her hopes to ever be mated with Jack Straw. When she returned to her dry cell that night Meerim cried precious tears of Zoblife onto her rosy cheeks.
By day five of her captivity, Meerim’s physical needs to survive outweighed her psychic powers to resist Plastmatica’s relentless mind probes and the Dark Xen Monk twisted his dark, braided locs and coveted plans of destruction for the Nauherd settlements, particularly the Zobcenters in the volcanoes of Under Indo.
Jack Straw watched Ocean's End for any signs of Meerim through toxic rains and low-stratosphere lightning clouds that hung over Platmatica's dark lair. He saw the outer guard of petrolmatons rushing to meet the Reefer Break and her two following Nauherds, Sammie the giant white dolphin and Kat, the amazonian water nymph. There were a variety of bpetrol beasts; some like giant octopi; others on the surface like speeding zodiac's with dark Spec Op Navy SEALS riding their hull. All with beating diesel toxicore hearts, powering their sinister intent to destroy Jack Straw the Merheim.
Though Jack could have taken the time to face each of the animachines with all the rage he had in his heart for these evil minions of Meerim's captor, he had not another second to waste. He had been receiving messages from the mermaid through their unique telepathic connection. She was drowning, drying out in the air, being held in a shallow tank by the Dark Xen monk.
Jack Straw summoned all the indignate anger and strength of love he held for Meerim. What if she should die before he reached Meerim and was able to declare his true love for her once and for all? How he wished now he had not waited to bond with her in Nauherd ritual before it came to this. With this sense of life and death ha
te and urgency he called forth a tremendous Zobsphere and with a single, prolonged sound sent a massive ball of cosmic energy into the mass of dark attackers.
The sea flattened as the swirling ball of light emanated from Jack Straw's core and quick as lightning shocked above and below the surface, rocking each beast at it's toxicore and destroyed the horde. A collective howl of demise issued forth from the dark regiment, a curdling scream sound of pain and failure of purpose.
In an instant of reincarnation hundreds more of the dark petrolmatons leapt off the oil rig like ants falling off a sinking mound of soil, splashing into the waters. Jack Straw was pissed. He prepared to unleash another zobsphere and inhaled deeply in preparation, but was stoppped by a deep, booming voice.
"We've got this here bunch," said Sammie, the great white dolphin, with a breeching leap.
"Save Meerim", said Kat, his sister. "She needs you."
Jack Straw watches as he sailed away with no small amount of trepidation in his pounding heart as Sammie sped beneath and above the surface sending deadly spurts of zobsphere with each dolphin call.
"Eh eh eh eh eh."
Twenty odd petrolmatons ceased. And scores more with each leap and dive He was a machine gun of nature, hurling mystical balls of Mother Ocean's revenge.
Kat sped towards a massive octipaton and quickly found herself entangled in it's tentacles. She called forth the focused strength of both a woman and a sea creature and with unreal brawn, ripped one robotic limb after another off the petrolmaton, her transparent skin showing great, pulsing muscles. The scream of the synthetic beast carried a warming to thos nearby and stirred fear into their toxic, artificial souls.
Mercilessly, a gang of petrol beasts flung themselves at Kat with each twist and turn, each kick and flying arm, she unleashed destructilon upon the crusty metal heads. A black zodiac of animachines jumped into the water and attempted to restrain her legs, clawing at her flesh with diver's knives and diesel powered jabs of matallic martial arts.
Tough as her skin was, able to withstand phathoms of pressure, Kat began to suffer damage from the slices of the petrol forces and her physical strength waned, though her determined will only gained more courage with each attack. She withstood the onslaught, though she seemed a black mass of ill intentioned metal thrusts. From deep within, she called forth the power of the zobsphere.
"Let me stop these beasts so that Jack can free Meerim," she prayed to the sea gods.
And with that intention, she unleashed her strength of spirit for the first time in a great vibration.
Not only was the immediate horde of petrolmatons repelled, but all the sea around her shook in a field of her essential being. Scores of the beasts cried out in demise like a screeching train halting the rails of destruction.
Only silence remained and even the petrolmatons from the oil rig froze in inaction. A forboding fear struck their hearts and the will to attack was briefly stopped.
Sammie swam to her and they swirled in an embrace.
"My love," he said.
Jack Straw sailed the Reefer Break single handed with an intel soul to rescue Meerim Plastmatica’s oil rig lair. Sammie, the Great White dolphin, and Kat, the princess Nauherd, swam gracefully and surely in her wake towards ocean’s End.
The moon was full and brown in the day, the seas grew desolate, dark and toxic, with asphxiated wastes of the human corpses that were drained of their lifeforce by the toxicore hungry protonfurnaces.
Ripples of tainted ocean floated shastfully along the slick surface of the Dark One’s zone. no fish. No seaweed, seals sea bass, octipus, starfish, crabs, mussels, molasks, urchins, lobsters, sand shark’s, dolphins, white sharks, orkas, merwaifs, wolfsharks, or nauherds. The hunger of the furnaces never ended as deep as darkness can reach the bottom of the sea so Plastmatica’s lighted oil rig shone grey and brown and violet in the false sunset and the furnaces burned high and hot and were ready for the greatest fuel it’s ever had, a Mermaid nauherd princess. Already her life was slowly draining from Meerim and when Jack cracked against the pier and climbed up the rig pylons to rescue her, it was all that any one could do to prevent the breeding morphisim of peternaturalism.
Jack Straw caught his first glimpse of Meerim, the beautiful mermaid through the setting smoke and smoot and quirting oil veins of the horde of wounded and dying and dead Petrolmatons. She stared brightly, yet oh so helplessly at him, through teary, bloodshot water eyes. Jack nearly leapt out to her when her saw her dried, parched skin, her naked form suffocating and exposed in the toxic air for all the world to see, so very vulnerable and broken down. But Plastmatica saw his piteous stare at the moment when had been waitinf for to blast Jack Straw’s mutant ass into fish food for Neptune and Mars to feast on for millenium of ocean bio cycles.
Jack Straw’s zobsphere was a split second behind Plastmatica’s guttural “Nammasstay....”, but likened to an old show down or a cosmic martial arts duel, the slightest hesitation was critical and deadly. A horrendous black wave of dark art magic rolled destruction towards Jack, while his zobsphere only defelected and struck a massive squad of heavy dieselmatons on the guard risers, send them curdling and burning into the magnesium core furnace engine. Jack Straw was knocked down, stunned and windspent, if only for a second, but timing was everything in this deathly duel. The second attack was formed from the “Gooooaaah” of Plastmatica’s giant head on his lithe neon black nexosupremeskin covered frame and threw Jack against the furnace bulkhead and hatch.
Plastmatica was calling upon a death blow ritual magik with the sound “Aaarrghuuuwaahhooohhh”, tiny hands up in the air, dark laughter from petrolmaton thugs watching on like an gladiatorial audience. Jack lay helpless and stunned.
“Nooo!” screamed Meerim in a heart wrenching parched cry.
As the swirling dark toxikloud around Plastmatica began to blurr the surrounding molocules, Jack briefly came to, open a battered eye and saw the emenation of the death cloud about to depart from the Monk’s core. Knowing summoning a zobsphere would be difficult in his weakended state, Jack used all of his remaining strength to launch himself over a small opening only large enough for Jack to plunge over the side of the rig and into the toxic waters below. The deathsphere that Plastmatica hurled collided with the furnacer where he lay and caused the great oven to combust, explode and leave the surrounding animachines to melt to the deck or to follow suit and dive into the waters to put out their black burning hearts.
“Wahhaaahaaa” followed Plastmatica’s dark, oddly mechanical and meniacal bellowing laugh.
“Prepare Toxifurnace Two for zobsmelting of the wiffish,” rang the robotic voice of one of the chancellor drones beside the Dark Monk. Sobs from Meerim . Followed by a tremndous rumbling and shaking of the entire rig platform.
“What is it?” barked Plastmatica.
“My lard,” replied the chancellor drone. “Centurian whales on the sonar. They are striking the rig.”
“Impossible,” rang the Monk. “They cannot breathe here.”
“My Dark Lard, there are additional ones coming in, along with movement on the sea floor. They must have been holding their breath since arriving in the dead xone.”
“Dielsers, attack,” said the Monk.
And with that three hordes of heavies plunged and jettisoned themselves down into the depths. A tremendous light, an underwater percussion, followed by huge bubbles and then silence. A single heavy jettisoned out of the water, whaling a high rpm pitch, torn to pieces were it’s limbs and leaking oil as it propelled in a random circular patern before catching fire and the last sound was gurgling motor before the anibeast sank to it’s brothers. Then the shaking and rumbling continued, intenser than before. The whole platform was like an earthquake at sea or a tiny craft rocking in a huge midocean storm.
“Take the mermaid and put her in the furnace,” said Plastmatica.
“But my lard...”
But as the robots moved to move Meerim’s a figure blurred onto the platform delivering great waves of zobshpere towards the animachines. Platmatica perpared another dark incantation to hurl at Jack Straw, but he was already throwing huge balls of white zobsphere towards the monk and the body of Plastmatica was struck hard, flinging him into the open door of the second furnace. Jack pulsed a vibration from his hand in a closing motion and the door slammed shut.
“Let’s get outta this shit hole,” said Jack Straw and carefully lifted a emaciated and puckered Meerim over his shoulder, flinging shots of white light at the encroaching, commanderless animob.
“Hold your breath,” shouted Jack and Into the water they fell. As Meerim entered the water she saw a most amazing and unreal site. At least a dozen centurian whales, bigger than any she had ever scence, like great underwater submarines, white and fierce, swirling round the entire rig, with shadows of others in the deep, hurling themselves into the great pylons. From all directions at once, the huge leviathans had converged and were making piecemeal of the dark rig. The young Nauherds raced to board the Reefer Break to where she had drifted without her captain or crew and where they saw Sammie and Kat swimming towards them, looking battered and beat, but in good spirits considering. Meerim quickly plunged into the saltwater jacuzzi and immediately her beauty, health and strength were restored. Then, the crew of the Reefer Break saw a most unusual site. Deigned only to be legends, a great millenium whale, bigger than any aircraft ever made by man, pushing it’s way just above the surface from the distant end of their portside. The trough it created was a towering wall of whitewash. There were engines whining all over the rig and the fires started by the Dark Monks toxic magik were now engulfing a third of the rig causing the animachines to fling themselves off the rig like lemmings. A most phenomenal event then happened. The giantic mellenial whale launched itself into the air, breaching the surface and landing it’s side into the flat portion of the rig closest to them, sang a deep, whalesong, like an ancient war call from the sea. The destruction was instant. The entire half of the massive rig was curshed beneath the leviathans weight and plundered into the dark waters, leaving the tiny whales below to scatter and then return to finish off the rig, which they did, and Plastmatica’s dark lair, the machine for draining the zobslife from the Nauherds, the Ocean’s End, slipped into the water like a breaking iceberg, until there was nothing left.
The massive waves around the impact zone turned moving away from the starboard side of the retreating Reefer Break were oddly perfectly shaped. Suddenly, a small rubbing sound beside the boat and the emergence of a head. A turtle’s head.
“Surf’s up,” said the giant turtle.
“Stubbie,” came the cries from all.
“What do you say Jack?”
“Let’s do this,” said Jack Straw. And with that the boys went surfing on the great wave while the girls cleaned up and laughed and cried and all were happy.
And in the distance, far below the dark waters, a furnace burned and bubbles arose to the surface, sounding something like a gurgling and muted: “Naammaassstay.....”
The End of Serferfish
Posted by Elijah King at 5:10 AM