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Life from the Petri Dish  Sorry About the story.. It needs serious re-tuning. Look forward to a completely re edited shot story sometime between "shortly" and the "distant future". Later, Jazzman Sitting here in this dusty bar, the midday sun straggles its way through the stained over glass windows, I think to my self where it all went wrong. Contemplating, I realize in this life those certain things one cannot escape are often also a kin to those things which are out side our boundaries. I take a sip from my mug to wash down the disagreeable taste of lunch special. I grin as recall my first bite. It is funny how a revolting flavor turns to merely disagreeable over time. Choking on thick blue clouds of pub air fades from inhabiting to comforting. I feel calm among men’s cursing and the occasional crack of a fresh billiards game. Bernard’s Pub is the scent of Lyndton. It is also, to the best of my reasoning, where things went awry. It was here that I met him. I knew his type, even then. He was a thief. He was also quite handsome. Wasting no time in aquainting himself with a barmaid, he smiled and asked her if she ever met a dragon slayer before. I took another sip of my beer and muttered to myself... ...“Give it a rest, thug. Some of us are trying to eat in peace.” The man turned towards my bar stool and looked fierce with his reply, “You ain’t enjoying it anyway.” “You say it is so, slayer?” I asked, “What name do you hail?” “What does an elegant spoken lady find in such a place?” “Company.” The thief smiled at this. He turned back to find that the barmaid had returned to work. He lost any chance of making it with her and with a new found availability for company looked over at me. He walked up to the bar and sat down on the stool next to mine. “Any good food here, Bernie?” The man behind the bar looked up from the mug he was wiping with his towel, “Nope, and the name’s Geoff, mate.” “Whatever. Lunch special, please.” “You’ll ain’t enjoy it,” I mocked without talking my eyes off my own plate. The thief laughed. I asked again, “What name do you hail?” “I have no name to hail from. Call me Red if you wish.” I looked over at him. He wore an old shirt with a slightly tattered vest. His pants were belted with a sash. Tucked in the sash he kept his dagger. His jet black hair was contained in a bandana so that only a few strands escaped. I asked, “Why Red, slayer?” “Why not? So, what shall I call you, my lady?” “I am Janya, of the house of Berduma,” I said, “I kill dragons.” Red blinked. “Surprised?” I continued, “First of my kind you have seen, I assume.” A sly grin crept across Red’s face. He spoke, “So you caught my...” “Pathetic attempt to impress a barmaid into your pants.” I provided. “...embellishment of the tru...” “Or was it not your intent to merely pocket her earnings and tips?” I got up from my place at the bar and headed towards the door. “Goodbye thief.” As I extended both arms to hold open the double doors I stopped. Behind me Red commented to the bartender, “Ain’t she the specimen, huh Bernie?” “That’s Geoff, mate.” “Whatever. Hey, wait up there Janya,” he called scrambling off the barstool. I stepped out onto the cobble stones of the busy market square and let the heavy wooden doors of Bernard’s Pub slam behind me with a thud. On the edge of time recorded, the wilds of the world were inhabited by tribes of mystic ancients known as Cliyrah. The unrestrained beauty of the land was well known to the Ancients; infact, surviving texts describe a manipulated bond between elements of the land and the Cliyrah. These manuscripts of stone suggest that the Ancients achieved a true form of magic. Through their mystic art, it is also suggested that the Ancients could form physical connections with god-spirits, called Kazmis. However, the mythological civilization of Ancients fell into obscurity. As the age of scientific discovery rose up , primitive cult worship and pagan views were replaced with an accurate scientific method. The true nature of nature was discovered, study by study. The land was no longer the young and ignorant world of the Ancients. A land of kingdoms was born. The kingdoms of the world are bordered by a vast range of mountains, which run from the northern peaks of Berduma south. The Kingdom of Berduma is isolated in the high altitudes of the north while the Kingdom of Alaxis lies to the east. The most technologically advanced of the nations lies in the west: Lyndton. On the very western edge of the known world lies majestic bluffs, towering above an endless ocean. Soaring higher above the Avona Plateau, Grand Castle Lyndton looks out over the Western Sea. The castle itself stands at a dizzying height with towers and pillars reaching further above. Much lower, the Village of Lyndton extends from the base of Grand Castle. Surrounded on three sides the kingdom is guarded by a turreted wall. The forth side is a sheer drop to the foaming waters far below. Bernard’s Pub is located on the south side of Townsmen Square. Townsmen Square is a bustling market in the heart of Lyndton’s southern business district. Referred to as the Square, Lyndton’s commercial core pulses. The smells of spices and roasted meat float trough the air. The faint crackle of a hearth's fire rustles through the air. The voices of venders flood the streets mingle with the sounds of live poultry. Steel boots scrape over the cobblestone square. Each strike of the weaponsmith’s hammer and anvil sprays up a crackling fountain of glowing embers. Over all the commotion of the lively Square rings out the clear, crisp, metallic pitch of mail being forged. “Pardon me, Miss, I believe you may have dropped this.” I turned around. I was shocked to see Red standing behind me with his hand outstretched wearing a grand smile. In his hand rested my change purse. As his devilish grin beamed I felt my anger flair up through me. With a cry I quickly snatched it back, “You dishonorable bastard!” “Aha! I may very well be a bastard, but I gave back the purse didn’t I?” Red shot back, still grinning. “You thief!” I gasped. A few merchants passing by slowed pace and focused their attention to our discussion. A worried look briefly flashed across Red’s eyes but then dissolved, “Hey, shhh. Let’s not start something. Besides,” he said lowering his voice, “I’m a bandit, not a thief.” Then he winked. As if his gesture somehow, in the most bizarre of ways, pierced me, I felt my anger tranquilize. Even as I looked at Red I could feel a betraying grin start to spread across my face. I let out a soft giggle to myself. I added under my breath, “Damn.” “Perhaps we should promenade, miss?” inquired Red, still smiling. We walked down the street. The market atmosphere was intoxicating. I began to grow curious. I asked, “Where do you suppose we go?” He looked at me for a moment as we walked and the gave his reply, “Shopping.” As we brushed by people in the street Red conversed, “First off, I have to apologize. I meant to be an ally. I only not wanted you to stick around a bit longer. Still, my behavior was quite...” “Dishonorable,” I supplied. “Dishonorable,” Red agreed, “But I couldn’t lose you, Janya.” “If you think...” “I assure you, nothing of that sort,” he cut in, “I’ve always been inquisitive type. It’s only, I couldn’t pass up a chance to meet a Royal Berduman Dragon Knight. As you so elegantly put it, you kill dragons. That is a feat I wish to see.” I laughed. I asked Red, “Where do you suppose there are dragons to slay? You do realize that I am merely a slayer by title. I am trained to kill dragons with the practical application that I serve King Berduma. There are no dragons. They are myth.” Red smiled. “When you’ve traveled as much as I have you see the hint of truth held by every myth.” His eyes twinkeled. “I am a traveler by nature and I don’t intend on stay here much longer.” “Why are you here?” “The Festival.” “Hotshot,” I mocked, “Think you have the sharpest dagger, huh?” “Exactly. Here we are.” We stopped walking when we reached the shop on the street corner. Red pushed open the shop door and a jiggling bell overhead welcomed us. “You see,” Red continued, “I’d like to test out my skills.” The store was lined with shelves and cabinets. Each display rack showed the finest weaponry in Lyndton. With his back to me, Red carefully inspected each dagger in the case against the far wall. He continued talking, “The festival is a true test of gladiator spirit. I would very much like to see a dragon knight participate. Aha!” Red picked up a dagger and flung it whirling into the air. The blurred, spinning, razor hung at the pinnacle of the toss for a moment then dropped down into his hand. With a satisfying thud, Red’s palm and the dagger’s handle connected. “Nice balance,” concluded Red, “So? Shall I have the honor of battling side by side with the lady knight?” While Red talked my eye swept over the numerous display cases. Most displays contained swords. There was a very nice selection of short swords. A display case to the left housed some of the finest double-edged broadswords I have seen in Lyndton. A grand weapon for any knight I thought to myself; however, I always found swords constricting. I walked over to the weapon rack on my right. Here I found a few pieces that were more familiar to my touch. “I’m curious,” Red added, “as to who’s blade will be sharper, miss?” “I accept your challenge. Unfortunately, I carry not a blade to match yours with.” “Oh, what’s that supposed...” Red inquired as he turned around to face me again. Handle firmly gripped, I rested my new twelve foot lance over my shoulder. Red stopped mid sentance. Faced with the thought of contending a lance Red seemed somewhat intimidated. I grinned. I paid the weaponsmith's eager apprentice for both the lance and the festival's battle fees. I looked in my purse to find seven silver pieces remaining and the realization I had just forfeited four months at Bernard's. But I felt satisfied; I felt as though the wind had shifted and I would taste battle again. Perhaps the wind had shifted. Berdumans say, ‘A change in winds brings rain.’ I would then be faced now with a storm on the horizon; but, Berdumans also never fear the mountain weather. Perhaps, instead, the wind would carry my sails over the sea again. After Red too had parted with some money, we entered the street. I had holstered my new lance over my shoulder. Red asked, “Why didn’t you tell me you’re a jouster?” “And it matters to what?” I replied. “Nothing really, just curious. Most people don’t carry such a bulky weapon.” “Not in my hands. ‘To pierce the dragons heart, use grace, elegance, and a deep wound.’ So I became skilled with the lance.” Red commented to himself, “Berduma sayings are so well worded, aren’t they?” We took the railcab to the north end of the city. Railcabs are long enclosed carriages which run on rails through town. Fueled by burning coal they reduce a two day walk across Lyndton into a comfortable hour. Inside there were several tables along the sides of the cab. Facing each other at each table are booths. The booths are wide enough for two and upholstered in red leather. Just above the windows, which lined the sides of the cab above each table, were storage racks. Thankfully these were suitable to hold a large lance. Our cab was empty except for one man at the far end who was sleeping in one of the booths under a blanket of newspaper. As the whistle blasted and the cab started to slowly rock out of the station, Red reclined along his seat and informed me he should be woke if anything got out of hand. He then closed his eyes ensuring a quiet ride. The Festival of Lyndton is a grand celebration of the founding of Lyndton Kingdom. Five days of food, music, mage acts, plays, and award ceremonies lead up to the main event. The Festival’s main event is the oldest tradition in the kingdom. Although the original event was quite savage, the modern version consists of a battle arena where trained beasts are set loose upon contestants. Rarely anyone gets seriously injured. The railcab took us right up to the arena. I woke up Red and we unpacked our gear and disembarked. The arena was large and located on the edge of town. The arena is merely across the street from North Wall and the outside world beyond. Seating was all around the battle stage, high up so spectators could look down on the action. The battle stage itself was littered with artificial trees and obstacles to resemble a jungle battle ground. There were also several gates around the perimeter to enter the stage from. After we had showed our entrance fee papers at the participants booth, representatives led Red and I to separate starting gates. I waited in the darkness of the stone corridor. I could feel the weight of my spear in my hands. Ahead of me the sun shone through the lacing of the iron gate. That gate was the only thing separating me from the thrill of battle. Suddenly the gate rolled up with a metallic rattle. I gripped the lance handle tighter as the moment of battle was once again upon me. A single bead of sweat trickled down the side of my face. Driving my feet to the earth I propelled myself forward along the corridor. I passed through the gate and entered a world of pure concentration, energy, and survivor will. (Panic! Hesitation... dive? DIVE!) I dropped to the ground and rolled over on my back to see a wild cat pouncing through the air I had previous occupied. I tore myself up to my feet again and drove my steel forward. The tip of my lance tore into the side of the beast. I grinned and uttered, “One. First blood.” (Behind you!) I whirled around to face my next target. My mind instantly saw its mark and as I spun I slashed the tip of my lance through another tiger’s throat. With a spray of red, the beast spiraled to the dirt. “Ah ha ha,” I laughed, “Two!” I looked in all directions to find no more prey. From the thick forest zone ahead, burst the figure of a bandit. Red was dashing towards me and yelling. My spine tingled as I came to the sudden realization that Red was more then in the spirit of the festival. Something was horrifyingly wrong. I could barely make out his frantic yelling, “ We gotta go, we gotta go. Move it babe, we’re under a...” A deafening explosion and barrage of flames burst through the stadium wall. The sound and blaze obscured all traces of Red as a blazing barrier sprang up from the grass and separated us. Red was trapped behind a fifteen foot wall of burning chaos. Another explosion sounded further off. Through billowing, black smoke I saw the chewed away hole in the stadium wall. Five men armed with sabers climb into the stadium. They were soldiers; they were not Lyndton’s. “Dammit all to hell!” I cried as I dashed forward a leapt over the carcass of my first kill. I sprinted toward the blaze. Muscles aching, heart burning: an eternity passed before I arrived at Red’s side. I ploughed through the licking tongues of fire with my arm shielding my eyes to find him lying on his side. Steadily approaching, the soldiers were clad in a uniform I could identify. I gasped, “Alaxisians!” Fifteen feet ahead the five of them stopped and I heard one yell to his comrades, “Ooh, a lady. Mates, let’s ‘ope we can take ‘er alive; ‘ave ‘er any way we want, gents,” He laughed a gruff, perverted chuckle, “’Till she screams.” Two of men charged at me. I remembered my lance and swung it up at the pair. They blocked my attack with their sabers but none the less were knocked back tumbling to the ground. Two simulations explosions rumbled the stadium as the group of three slashed their steel towards me. (Fight!) (Watch. Study! Block them.) (Block. BLOCK! ) I struggled to ward off their alternating blows with my lance. The tip if my spear severed one of the men. As he dropped to the earth, the first two were rising to my assailants aid. “Janya!” Red’s voice called out. One of the four men dropped in a spray of blood. Red’s daggers tore through his flesh like lightning. Another of the four turned in time to see Red’s crimson, shimmering, blades tear through. The two remaining Alaxisians turn to face Red. I speared one of the soldiers through and he dropped to the ground. The last remaining soldier was frantically attacking Red. In the midst of battle I caught my mind wavering in admiration of Red. The quick blocks his daggers made. The elegant way he kept balance each time he was knocked backwards. For a moment I saw an artisan. I whirled the razor tip of my weapon round through the back of the Alaxisian’s legs. He collapsed. “Now what?” Red hollered and the flames closed in further. “Cannot say. We are under attack, babe.” Red grinned, “Some Dragon Knight you are. Trapped in this shitty little crematorium and flirting with me. Ha!” I thought I saw him wink. Anger filled up a haze in my mind. Welling up behind my eyes were tears of fury. Yet still, in the worse of all situations it was not the strain of my muscles, intense heat of hellfire, or burning, smoke-filled, lungs I felt; I felt ashamed. I felt somehow I had given away a part of my emotional soul. Somehow, I lost control of something I did not know I had within me. I open my mouth to speak when I was cut off by a brilliant blue light. The flames stopped. As if hell was frozen in heaven’s divine ice the flames became solid and shattared into fragment pieces. Dumbfounded, Red and I stared at what was the former palisade; a man. He was dressed in a pale green robe and wore a long gray beard. In one hand he held a wooden staff, the other held a broad sword. His husky voice seem to whisper, yet carried over the sounds of battle and explosions. He said, with queer calmness about it, “To the gate with haste.” Swiftly the man took the lead, gliding over the grass. Spear in hand, I pursued with Red closely behind. Through the stone entrance to the stadium we scurried. Dust from the crumbling roofwork tumbling on us. Once free of the stadium, we met horror. There was blood pooling in the street. Carts were overturned and the clanging of swords was thick in the air. The Lyndton army had met the storming front. The waring was fierce, but Lyndton actually began to force Alaxsis back again. Through the bedlam, the three of us forced our way across the street to the clearing of Lyndton Airfield. We raced across the gravel plane for salvation: one last airship primed to take off. As the bearded man and I stumbled up the loading ramp and onto the deck, the ship began to rock forward. It broke free of the passenger dock with a crash and carried us up into the sky. I was safe. (Did we all make it?) Panic flooded my being, drowning the relief of escape; Red fell behind. I screamed hoarsely, “Red!! RE---D!!!” I scrambled to the edge of the deck and dropped to my stomache. I peered over the edge. With a wide grin and clinging to a loose docking rope, Red peered back up at me. He grinned and the airship Zepplen Wind rose higher. The airship Zepplin Wind climbed high above the battling city of Lyndton. The airship was fairly large. It had a giant gas filled chamber to hold it up in the sky and steam engine powered props to guide direction, tilt, and speed. Suspended below the chamber was a deck with a piloting cabin. Under the deck was the cargo hold. On the deck, three passengers rested. Red and I, leaning against the railing, looked over at the destruction below. Fighting had broken out in all townships along the outer walls. Soaring high above the reach of battle, I could make out the flares of cannon fire from the turrets. The enemy was catapulting napalm over the walls. There were tongues of fire all over the seiged districts; the stadium was ablaze. “Shit,” Red muttered. “Pardon?” I replied. “Oh, nothing... Shit,” He said with disheartening tone. He looked back down. After a moment he added, “Thanks for waiting up for me.” A weak smile is all I could muster. It is not that I waited at all. Indeed, I thought I left him behind. I turned to rest my back against the railing. Red turned his head to look at me, but said nothing. He then looked back at the miniature scene of carnage far below. The explosions directly below us seemed to be from a distance. I wished they were. I stepped forward from the railing and walked away across the deck. I thought I heard Red grumble, “I’ll be here.” As I walked, the bearded man came out of the pilot’s cabin. I approached him and asked, “Sir, I and my company thank you, by what are you called?” In a gentle voice, he seemed to whisper his response, “Your formality ‘tis not needed. We best go below desk.” I followed him down the entrance to the hold. In the cargo hold boxes and barrels were stacked up and strapped to the wall on each side. There was a corridors made by the gaps between the cargo. The the middle of the hold there was a clearing with a table and seating. In one of the chairs sat and young lady. Standing by a crate and talking to himself was a handsome man in chain mail armor. He looked quite strong and he had a gothic looking sword strapped to his armor. Still, he seems quite agitated and worked up. The lady told the man to stop worrying and join us. The four of us sat down at the table and the bearded man spoke, “I am Alden Graebard; Druid Mage and Nature’s scientist.” I spoke up, “Guardian to the Berdumian thrown, I am Janya of the house of Berduma.” Next the lady introduced herself: “Hi,” she grinned, “I’m Leena Rose. It’s a pleasure. Oh and this,” she refered to the knight in armor, “ is my escort guard...” The knight abruptly interjected, “Sir Ritchard Adelmo, kind masters.” He bowed his head slightly. Alden chuckled lightly. He started to say, “Now we are all aquatinted...” He was interrupted by Red, who burst into the room yelling, “Janya! Come quick!” “Who’s this guy?” Leena asked puzzled |
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