Taking Life Seriously

-1-

“My father walked into my mother's village at midnight on the longest night of the year, playing the black violin. He was limping in his mud encrusted boots, his white shirt flung open, red hair flying in the breeze. He walked with a limp but fast and swaying to the music.

The old Roma women knew what he was. They took their daughters and they locked them up in the caravans and they bound their ears with gossamer and said the rosary over them. But my grandmother was away that night, birthing in a nearby village, and so no one bound my mother's ears and no one blessed her, and she went to dance with the man. And she was damned.

And the beast made her drunk on song and dance, and he took my mother and he knew her in the forest like an animal, and she came, holding on to its horns in the full moon. And he spent himself inside her, and I was conceived.

In the morning my grandmother, an old woman of 70 even back then having only had my mother at age 54, was walking home through the forest, and she saw my mother lying in the bracken naked and with blood on her thighs and breasts and mouth, and she said: 'whore'.

I have the power of seduction of my father Satan, and of witchcraft and healing from my mother of the Roma. I am forever torn between their good and evil, I must always fight the beast inside. And so I do good deeds, and I travel the lands far and wide to heal the sick and restore faith to the lost. But heed me comrades, trust me not, for I do not trust myself.”

The young woman stopped talking and sat back down next to the fire. It was dark and the field was cold and wet. The five men also sitting by the fire, all dressed in battle gear and axed and sworded look at her over the flames until one man said:

'Jesus, Anita that was fucking brilliant.'

'Man, Dean, stay in character.' said the man in the wizard robes.

'Damn, sorry Gordon. Shit! fuck! I mean, I apologize great Halsolt of the Weir.'

'Never mind that now,' says the Great Halsolt of the Weir, 'the enemy are close, I can hear their war horn.'

and there was indeed the sound of a trumpet being blown in the distance.

“prepare yourselves!' said Finn the Elder, 'for the enemy are many, and they have in their service a great host of evil beasts and machinations.'

The five men and the woman all stood up and stared ahead into the green field and the oncoming battle. They were not handsome men. Halsolt of the Weir was far too skinny even in his bulky wizard robes, his great glasses covered up half of his face, and his scraggly beard covered the rest of it. Finn the Elder was, well, a large man, but not in the way a warrior should be large, and his long hair looked greasy. Anita of the Roma, the wild mage, was a tall redhead with a giant overbite, so that when she smiled, even with the anticipation of battle in her blood, she looked no more threatening than a field mouse with herpes. Sothoth the black knight's armour was filthy. He himself however, was a very short meticulous looking Indian man with a clean shaven head and a goatie of the kind only bards would dare wear without fear of ridicule. The great Gewain, the wild tribesman, had a giant mohawk and many tribal markings, one of which said 'Nancy forever' and seems to have been attempted to be crossed out. And finally, Agustus Minion standing poised in his black robes, black hair, black boots, well, he just looked drunk really.

'Put out the fire! Mind the smoke!' Said Finn the Elder.

The five straggled to put out the small camp fire as fast as they could.

'Shit,' Said the Great Gewain, 'My shoe's on fire.'

'Dammit, Gewain, put it out, they'll see us' said Anita of the Roma.

'I can't. Shit, it hurts!'

Halsolt of the Weir sighed and poured some water on the burning shoe. 'Ok now, comrades at arms, like we practiced it!'

The great Gewain examined his charred shoe. 'I got it on sale,' he said, 'they've gone back up to 200 now.'

'Shut up and get up the tree,' said Anita of the Roma.

Sothoth the Black who would have been completely invisible in the dark, if it wasn't for his perfectly white gleaming teeth, whispered: 'this is perfect, I've been waiting to get that little whoreson Chen for six moons.'

'Surely yer not still upset about that little wench from the ale house?' whispered Finn the Elder

'I saw her first!'

'The what in the what and the what what?' asked Augustus Minion.

'Shhhh!' said Finn the Elder, 'Sothoth was going to ask that Jemma that works at The Hub out, only he couldn't get himself to actually ever talk to her...'

'I was taking my time!' shrieked Sothoth

'Shhhhh, anyway she's with Chen now.'

'The bastard,' whispered Sothoth.

'The utter bastard,' whispered Finn the Elder.

'That prick,' whispered Augustus Minion.

The three disappeared into the trees.

For all their apparent ineptitude, the six were a fine and skilled team of warriors, probably the best in their class. They spent many days practicing routines under Halsolt the Weir's guidance. He was a brilliant strategist and a merciless slave driver, and they had much experience and trusted each others' capabilities and strengths completely.

The Great Halsolt had grouped them into teams of twos so that each member of the fighting team was backed up by a member who complemented their style and covered up their weakness. Aside from this, breaking the team up allowed for the warriors to attack from three different angles, disperse quickly if any one member was under a direct attack, organize independently as fighting cells, be able to mount rescue missions in case of capture, and ambush their enemies with stunning success.

Finn the Elder fought with Sothoth the Black. The Fat man was slow, but strong, and the short one was fast and stealthy. Together they made up one perfect warrior.

Anita of the Roma fought alongside The Great Gewain. She would often act as bait while he bid his time and took out the opposition one by one. And he, being her lover, when seeing her in danger, was subject to fits of protective berserker rage that always served in their favor.

And finally, the winning combination of Halsolt the Weir and Augustus Minion was the most dangerous of all. The two oldest warriors with the most tactical experience acted as the cavalry, saving their entry till later in the battle, (Augustus in particular avoided any unnecessary combat at all) and were able to go where they were most needed. They always secured the most amount of kills. In the right setting, the two were unstoppable.

After a small while, a group of four men and two women appeared from behind the hill, walking in single file, creeping. They were wearing identical silver armour with purple capes and a large M embezzled on their chests.

One of them said: 'Hold Morpheus, I can smell a fire.'

Morpheus turned around to face the man. He put a finger to his lips. He put a hand to his eye. He raised it and touched his ear. He pulled.

'Hey Magentta jerks, up here!' said The Great Gewain from the top of the tree.

'It's a trap,' screamed one of the Magentta women, 'run!'

but here was where the pack were at their best. In the deep black each one already had a dagger at the throat of one enemy and the Magentta crew were dead before they even had time to draw their swords.

Only Morpheus, the leader was left alive.

'Hey, not fair you guys,' said a voice from the floor. 'you ambushed us.'

'Shut up Chen, you're dead.' said Sothoth the Black.

Halsolt clicked the head of his staff and a dim green light appeared. Halsolt the Great was smiling. 'There's nothing in the rules about no ambushes. Maybe you should send scouts next time Morphy.'

Morpheus sighed, 'I really hate it when you call me Morphy, man, it's not cool. Look, I challenge you to single battle for my life under law 4.7 of fair play.'

'You dare challenge a level 21 wizard? Seriously?'

'Well obviously you can't use spells in single combat, it violates the anti magic treaty of the 2009 mage war and besides it's too dark to cast right now, I wouldn't be able to see what to counter spell.'

'a sword fight then.'

'to the death.'

'to the death.'