falling_jon

And right as I think this dream is going somewhere, I realize its a dream. A loud banging in the dream that corresponds to absolutely nothing drags me back to wakefullness.


Slowly but surely, reality coalesces around me. Wooden ceiling, wooden walls, sloppy little shack. This particular shack happens to be mounted and stacked on top of a couple thousand other sloppy little shacks, mish-mashed in between a couple of towers and mansions, and all of them stacked like building blocks against the face of one of the steepest mountains on the whole continent.


I rub sleep from my eyes, and sit up. Im still wearing my street clothes, which means I had one or two too many drinks at the pub last night. I see my mirror-blade on table, which means I couldnt have been too drunk.


The knocking comes again. I almost forgot. Rubbing the back of my stiff neck, I emerge from the pile of dirty blankets that is my bed, and make my way across the dusty, sloppy little shack towards the door.


Looking out through the sun-shaped hole in the thin wooden door, I cant see anything, so I start to walk away. About two steps into my retreat, the knocking comes again. I purposefully stand on tip-toes this time, and then I understand why I couldnt see anyone.


When I open the thin wooden door, Professor Turtle is standing there, looking nervous and uptight. Everything must be ok.


Sorry to disturb you, lad, but theres some trouble down at the forum


I cut him off on purpose. Despite the Turtle Familys well-known enmity for the fickle, aloof, ignorant ways of normal humans, Professor Turtle is the exception. I like to take advantage of that, just for fun. Especially when Im groggy and a little hung over.


Theres always trouble down at the forum, Professor. Ever since the Dynasty declared martial law, its been one of like, a dozen places across town where the thugs can cause trouble without attracting too much notice. Professor Turtle seems more flustered than usual.


Very true, young sir, but this particular trouble is of particular interest to you


He trails off, mostly because I act like Im about to interrupt him again. You have to love the Turtle Family; of all the families in Acadacia who immigrated from the dying Beast Lands, the Turtles are the most well-educated and thus, take the longest to get their points across.


You know better than anyone that I have no interest whatsoever in the old forum. Or any of the city's other historical sites. I turn away from the door, and take off my sleeveless shirt. I think about changing my long-kilt, but whats the point of living in a sloppy little wooden shack if you cant be a little sloppy yourself sometimes.


Sir, your historical interests or lack thereof not withstanding, this particular trouble has little to do with that.


I replace the day-old shirt with another one, this one also sleeveless, and a softer cotton. The black dye on it doesnt really match the thick black material of my long-kilt, but again, sloppy shack, sloppy me. I really wish Professor Turtle would get to the point.


Professor, I really wish youd get to the point.


The little old creature clears his throat before he continues. He seems even more flustered now, as though he has been trying to get his point across the whole time. Please.


Young lad, its Androkitus. He was in a quarrel with the Weasel Clan, and he challenged them to fight him at the forum. I heard it all at the marketplace just this morning.


Before he can finish explaining, I already have my oversized leather gloves on, and Im halfway to the table. I try to remember all that I can about the Weasel Clan as I slip my mirror-blade into its leather sheathe, and throw the sheathe over one shoulder.


I need to think about the Weasel Clan because, honestly, if I start thinking about Androkitus, Ill just get angry. Androkitus is my younger cousin. And Androkitus, as his name indicates, is a trouble-maker (Androkitus being the Old Acadacian Trickster-God).


Lad, what do you intend to do?? blusters Professor Turtle as he follows me out the door. I walk across the incredibly narrow street to the edge of this level, and look over the stone balcony and down over the mountainside. Professor Turtle meets me there, and adjusts his spectacles as he tries to peek over the rail.


I need to go down there and help him. The Weasel Clan is just a bunch of thieves and murderers, and if hes challenged them, they wont follow any rule other than kill the uppity human.


Yes, young sir, but if you go down there, youll most assuredly die with him. How is that a plan?


I ignore Professor Turtle, for the moment. Theres always ropes tied down from the balconies; ropes for hauling up water, ropes for hauling up fresh bread in the morning, ropes for escaping lovers when said lovers husband comes home. My balcony in particular boasts about two dozen of them, most of them for fairly legal purposes. After a couple seconds following the long horse-hair ropes down the side of the walls with my eyes, I find one that goes way, way down.


Young sir?


Just a minute, Professor. Yes, hes always had such a commanding presence. Even as my Professor at the university years and years ago, he was kind of a push-over. Loveable aspect number two of the Turtle Family. As the poor Professor continues to look flustered, I walk over to my neighbors equally shabby shack, and steal a couple wet towels from the clothesline.


Sir, youre not going to


Before Professor Turtle can object, Im down the rope. As fast as Im going, this rag isnt going to last very long hopefully its wet enough that it falls apart, not bursts into flame. I drop about three stories much faster than Im comfortable with, and then grip hard with both rags, slowing myself enough that my story-and-a-half drop onto another street level is fairly bearable. My mirror-blade clangs against my back, and I adjust the strap so that it wont clatter against me while I run.


I am running, by the way. From about the moment I hit the ground I was off. Theres still another two levels before I reach the old square, and the old forum.


The only way to do roads on a cliffside town is to do a gratuitous amount of cutbacks. On any given day, this means long, quaint little windy roads, all of them with a great view to the valley nearly a mile below. For me, today, it means a whole lot of annoyance I dont need before a fight.


I cut corners on the last cutback, dropping over the wall and onto some poor familys outhouse. The thing cracks under me as I land, but doesnt collapse or fall over, and Im off down the road too fast to see if anyone was inside.


When I reach the forum, Androkitus is squared off against a trio of really, really, really nasty-looking Weasels. He doesnt see me right away, but the lead Weasel does, and adjust his fighting-stance accordingly.


Androkitus catches me out of the corner of his eye, and turns full away from the Weasels to wave me on. I really, really wish I could pick and choose my cousins. Dioklatus! he yells out, as though Im meeting him at the fall harvest picnic.


The lead weasel takes this very open opportunity to make a move towards Androkitus, mostly to gage the situation more than anything else. As soon as his hairy foot moves, my left hand is on my mirror-blade. Androkitus catches on quickly, and turns to face his opponents again.


I cant identify what specific family these particular Weasels are from, but Im guessing its one of the more infamous. They all wear thick leather armor, most of it augmented and adorned with various metal studs and sharpened animal bones. The lead guy is carrying a club, and his two lackies seem to favor knives. Poisoned knives, more likely.


I feel my mirror-blade awakening in my hand. The hidebound bone handle shifts and expands a little in my hand, and a moment later, the familiar voice echoes in my head. Are we fighting again, Dioklatus? asks Radiant Ice.


This probably necessitates some explanation.


Radiant Ice is the name of the spirit that inhabits my mirror-blade. Im actually kind of disappointed that the Weasel thugs didnt flinch when Androkitus blurted out my name; for the most part, mirror-blades are very extremely rare, and those who wield them are usually not to be trifled with. Youd think Id live in a better place than that shoddy old shack, but I said USUALLY not to be trifled with. I do have a reputation, but not enough to intimidate myself into a cozy little house, I guess.


Mirror-blades are mostly ancient artifacts, and most of them are in the hands of generals and war-leaders of the Dynasty. Mine happens to be a family heirloom, along with the spirit inside it, and so by Ancient Law the Dynasty would have a hell of a time trying to take mine away. Most of the non-Dynasty, non-Dioklatus mirror-blades have been broken or lost in time.


Yes, were fighting again. I dont need to talk to Radiant Ice; hold a mirror-blade long enough, and you two become of one mind. Ive been fighting with Radiant Ice in my left hand for ten years now.


I can explain, Dioklatus. Androkitus actually looks happy, despite the fact that hes facing down three armed criminals in a section of town that the magistrate doesnt really care about. Maybe he knew Id show up. Leave it to Androkitus to hope for a Turtle to bring news speedily to his warrior cousin. I guess it did work out, though.


I start to say something, but lead Weasel spits on the ground, grossly close to my wooden sandals. Our fight is with this one, human. Leave us be. Rules of conduct demand such. I always have to suppress a laugh when certain families from the Beast Lands start talking about rules of conduct; maybe its just human arrogance, but I know I dont think of Weasels as being overly honorable.


Theres three of you, and one of him. Rules of conduct call that an unfair fight, rat. Weasels HATE being called rats. Theyre above them on the food chain, after all. Sure.


The lead Weasel hisses, but a sly grin reveals twin rows of nasty yellow teeth. Hes not as dumb as he looks, Im starting to think.


If you want to die with him, so be it.


I remove the rest of Radiant Ices flawless blade from the sheathe. This close to my head, I can hear the metal resonating like a tuning-fork as it slides out. I purposefully hold the blade in place out of the sheathe for a moment before I enter a fairly basic attack posture. One of the Weasels might have recognized it, as his beady little eyes dart to his partner for a moment. I dont think today is my day to die.


Androkitus starts to say something, but thankfully, the lead Weasel takes my comment as an invitation to attack. He lunges at Androkitus first, moving at him from a side that blocks me off from attacking back. He swings the wooden club impossibly fast, and Im almost let down when I dont hear a thunderous crack. Androkitus ducks low, pulling out his long knife and making a quick swipe at the Weasel.


I guess that leaves the other two for me. I lunge for the other two Weasels, who are regretfully prepared for my attack. The villain lackie clich says they shouldve been distracted watching their boss fight, but Im rarely that lucky. I can hear Radiant Ice laughing in my mind as the mirror-blade sings through the air towards the closest Weasel.


The Weasel parries my hard lunge, although from the sound of it I more than likely chipped his blade pretty bad. The other Weasel coordinates perfectly and strikes while Im recoiling, although I quickly bring my blade around to clumsily parry his attack.


A quick glance over at Androkitus shows me that hes doing just fine, trading miss for miss with the other Weasel. Just on instinct alone, I decide that leaning back would work out for me pretty good right now; Im rewarded as I hear one of the Weasels blades swipes past my ear. I spin Radiant Ice in my hand, and enter a balanced defensive position. I hold the mirror-blade upside-down, pressing the cold blade against my forearm and tensing my muscles.


The Weasels attack in unison this time, one swinging high and one swinging low. I drop way down, my sore knees cracking in the cold morning. High Weasel misses completely, and I easily parry the Weasel who struck low. Now, here comes the good part.


Before either of them can recoil, I take advantage of the fact that low Weasels momentum has been totally stopped, while his partner is both above me and overextended. I pull my arm up hard and leap to my feet, Radiant Ice resonating in the air as it erupts upwards.


I take a step back, and I swear a half-second passes before the high-striking Weasel collapses on top of his partner. The other quickly recovers, snatching up the blade of his fallen comrade in the process.


Weasel blood is quite disgusting. Thank you to the enchanted, spirit-bound sword for commentary. I wipe him clean as best I can on my long-kilt, and then prepare for further attack.


This is interrupted, however, as I hear Androkitus cry out. The Weasel gang-leaders on him, and Androkitus own blade is one the ground and out of reach. The Weasel leans into him with all of his weight, trying to choke Androkitus with the handle of his club. Androkitus doesnt appear to be of equal strength, and thus the call for help.


I return my attention to the other Weasel, and Im met with a canny sneer. I really dont like the Weasel Clan.


With a full-body turn that focuses my momentum through my arm and hand, I twist violently and throw my mirror-blade at the lead Weasel. The impact lifts him off of Androkitus, and I can hear Radiant Ice laughing in my head as the blade penetrates leather armor and flesh, nearly pinning the Weasel to the forum flagstones. Androkitus quickly rolls up to his feet, choking and coughing.


This solves one problem, but obviously presents another. As I turn back towards the remaining Weasel, hes already mid-lunge, preparing to put twin (poisoned) knives into my gut. I roll backwards onto my back, and kick up quickly, bypassing the knives and planting my feet squarely into the Weasel's jaw; I complete the reverse-somersault by landing squarely on my feet.


The dazed Weasel spits out a couple of jagged teeth at me, fury absolutely boiling in his eyes. I can see Androkitus extracating Radiant Ice from the dead Weasel a couple yards away. The last Weasel thug brings both knives out wide, and prepares to bring them back down hard. I hear a whistling in the air, and in my mind, Radiant Ice makes some comment about being on his way (which you never, ever, ever get used to hearing from inanimate objects). I open my hand with perfect timing to catch my mirror-blade.


The Weasels knives are only a couple of inches away from my chest when I swing Radiant Ice hard in front of me. This breaks both knives in half, and at the same time, deflects most of the Weasels momentum off to one side, preventing the knife-ends, broken as they are, from finding me. I continue Radiant Ices arc and spin around in a full circle myself, dropping low as I come back around and firmly planting the singing blade deep in the Weasels gut.





As Androkitus and I walk towards the marketplace, he finishes his story. So you see, I really was justified in challenging those worthless thugs. I shake my head.

Did you know Professor Turtle rushed all the way up the cliffside to tell me you were in trouble?

Yeah, I figured hed let you know.

And if you he hadnt?

I couldve handled them myself.

I really wish one were allowed to pick his family.


What?? I couldve!!! Seriously.

What?




(C) ME. 2004. Five o'clock in the morning.