It's been a funny sort of week

SkibedeBOW!

Debededee...

BebyabadeBOW!

ByabadeBO....gaCHA!

Badabada BOOM!

Just thought I'd start off proceedings with a bit of freestyle scat this time. Never mind.

Well, actually, it's been not so much a funny sort of week, as a pretty much totally disastrous week. As I'm sure it's become abundantly clear to you that I'm always saying that, I feel the need to impress on you that this is the real deal - the Limpet apocalypse, or something like that. It's only my upbeat cheeriness that's keeping the whole thing running right now, of course.


Well, I expect you're wondering what's happened? Either that, or you're wondering something completely different, like whether you left the gas on, if you forgot your dentist appointment or indeed why you're reading this at all. I don't blame you, really. Well, I'll tell you, though I reserve the right to have to go off and do something else right in the middle of typing this, thus leaving an EXCITING CLIFFHANGER, or something like that. That, and avoiding the necessity of you spending all day reading a stupidly long post. Actually, I probably can't manage something as dramatic as a cliffhanger, it'll probably be more like standing slightly too close to a curb while wearing unnecessarily high platform shoes. Come to think of it, why have I never thought of buying some shoes like that? Flares, glasses in the shape of stars, purple stove-pipe hat.... Now that would be something worth investigating.

Our tale begins as our hero makes his steady progress back to Zarafang one afternoon across the good old Howling Waste we know so well... He is carrying two large cans of black paint, one in each hand, the reasons for this being obvious had the reader become acquainted with the last post. The rather schizophrenic weather that those parts were so famed for was today bright and sunny, and our intrepid wizard felt the need to stop occasionally and wipe the sweat from his brow. Upon one of these stops, no sooner had he set the paint cans down when he heard a muffled but distinct voice coming from some unknown place in the landscape around him. He chose this moment to seamlessly shift back into the first person.

"What was that?" I thought. "I could have sworn I heard a voice."

I waited a moment, straining my ears. The voice came again, this time it was unmistakable.

"HELP!"

It sounded like a woman's voice and it seemed to be coming from somewhere off to the left of me, behind a small, jagged pile of rocks, no different to the thousand other small, jagged piles of rocks that make the Howling Waste so inviting and stimulating to the senses.

I went over to it, picking my way across the pebbles, small boulders and scree (whatever that is) and encountered a large, gaping black hole.

"IS SOMEBODY THERE?" came the voice again, this time with a note of desperate hope.

"Yes, it's me!" I shouted back down the hole, realising too late that this was a stupid thing to say. Maybe I should get out more and have more in the way of practice at conversations; maybe Mrs Fengleworth was right.

There was a pause.

"THAT'S IVAN, ISN'T IT?"

"How could you tell?" I asked.

"ONLY YOU COULD SAY SOMETHING SO DAFT!"

Honestly, how rude. Only one person could manage to say something like that after such a brief acquaintance.

"Maevrin? Is that you?"

"YES! GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

"Have you been down there long?"

"NO, ONLY A FEW HOURS. I WAS JUST STARTING TO ENJOY IT."

"Really?"

"NO! WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU! GET ME OUT!"

Getting her out of there was probably easier said that done. I shouted "Just a minute!", set the paint pots down beside the hole's opening and scurried off in the direction of Zarfang.
I hurriedly opened the door and entered, finding Grott cutting little pastry shapes on the kitchen work surface, for reasons unknown.

"Come, Grott!" I said, dramatically "Things are afoot!"

Grott dropped his pastry cutter and presented himself for duty. Once again, I was touched by his unrivalled dedication to my evil schemes. Yes, I know I've not had any evil schemes for a while, but let Grott's good example for any young people that might be reading this and aspiring to a career as a minion - learn from the professionalism!

I grabbed the rope I was planning to use as a safety line while painting the tower and set off in the direction of the hole, Grott trotting along and wheezing away at my heels.

I soon arrived at the scene of the action and began to let the rope down, as Grott eagerly capered at my side. At this point, Grott didn't prove to be as helpful as I'd hoped, as his eagerly twitching feet knocked over one of the paint pots still perched near the edge of hole, its lid falling off as it overbalanced, sending liberal quantities of black paint spilling into the depths of the hole.

An unearthly scream issued forth.

"WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT? I'M ALL WET! AHH! WHAT IS THIS STUFF!"

I turned to Grott, who was looking sheepish. Honestly, why does this sort of thing have to continuously happen? When trouble comes, call the A-Team, me and Grott, and prepare to receive a face full of paint.

"Grott! Watch what you're doing! The fate of Zarfang rests on that paint!"

I was in the mood for grand proclamations that day. Grott shuffled his feet embarrassedly. You know, if I didn't know better, I'd say he did it one purpose in retaliation for Maevrin's over-reaction at his unusual appearance, but it was too late to worry about that now. Oh, my life is full of fun, as exemplified by this jolly little incident, we all have such a good laugh, don't we....

"Don't worry!" I shouted. "Just a bit of paint, we had a small accident! I'm just going to chuck a rope down, we'll have you out of there in a minute!"

After a while, Maevrin's grimacing, bespectacled countenance emerged from the gloom. I'm sure that you can very easily summon up a mental image of what it looked like, which will surely be more impressive and amusing than anything I could provide. It was matt paint, rather than gloss, just to let you know. Actually, the effect was a curiously piebald one, I noticed as more of her came into view. A certain oriental species of bear-like appearance generally fond of bamboo came to mind, and her hair looked like it was made of liquorice. Her heavy duty glasses had been rather ineffectually cleaned, leaving only small holes to see through, giving the impression of some kind of flying goggles.

"Well," said Maevrin, gazing in disbelief at the condition of her adventuring costume, "I suppose I'd better thank you, in spite of everything. Starving to death down a hole is a lot worse than getting a whole load a paint thrown over you, after all. Yes, actually, why the hell did you just throw a whole load of paint over me?"

"Ah, don't mention it," I said, "It was just Grott getting a little bit over excited and knocking the can over. You're OK? Uninjured?"

"Oh, so it was him," she said, casting an unfriendly eye at the beknobbled dwarf that was grinning by my side. "Yes, I'm OK. I don't suppose I could borrow your shower, could I?"

"Yes, of course," I said, "And, if you don't mind me asking, how's the questing coming on?"

"Oh, that," she said, impatiently, "I'll tell you about that when I've got this paint off me. What were you doing with it, anyway?"

"Well," I hesitated, thinking it was probably best to draw a veil over the incident that made the paint necessary, "Just a bit of DIY. Come on, let's get that stuff off you."

We set off for home.

"So," I said, trying to lighten the mood "How did you find yourself down that hole?"

"I fell down it, of course, what else! I was trying to watch that mage of yours, wasn't watching where I was putting my feet. Normally, sneaking around is one of my specialities. I think I was more out of practice than I thought."

As normal, I couldn't think of an immediate answer to that, or at least one that didn't largely consist of the empty "oh well, never mind" style of optimism that probably wouldn't improve things, so the intrepid Limpet Man, Panda Girl and The Wartazor made their way back to Zarfang in silence.

I noticed as we entered the tower that the unfortunate smell left behind by the disappearance of my supernatural visitor from a few days back was still lingering about. You only notice this sort of thing when you've got guests, and I regretted not having aired the place out. It seemed Maevrin had noticed it as well, judging by her expression.

"It's not what you think," I said wearily. "It involves sprouts, but not the way you might expect."

While Maevrin was upstairs doing her best to clean herself up, I got Grott to make us a cup of his famous scorpion and arrowroot tea, in the hope it would act as a quasi-apology. I even put a little bit of Grott's special liquor in there, in the hope it would cheer her up a bit, taking a liberal swig of it myself. After a while, Maevrin re-emerged, looking marginally more cheerful. The paint had come off her face and body reasonably well, but her clothes still had a rather impressive modern art appearance. Maybe she could make it into her new trademark feature, or something.

"Feeling better?" I said, passing her a cup of the deep green liquid Grott had brewed up.

"Thanks, not so bad now I can actually see where I'm going."

By this, I presumed she meant her glasses were now entirely transparent. She took a sip of the tea and looked somewhat surprised.

"Hey, this is pretty good." she said, appreciatively.

"I got Grott to make it, you know, I think you've got off on the wrong foot with him - he really is a great guy once you get to know him."

Grott, standing next to me, bowed deeply, grinning and letting off the occasional small gibber.

Maevrin looked at him doubtfully.

"Well, OK, I'll take your word for it. I suppose you'll be wanting to hear what I've discovered, then?"

"Yes, whenever you're ready."

She took another sip of the tea, then poked at her face suspiciously.

"Hey, this tea's making my face go numb."

"Oh, don't worry about that," I said hurriedly, wondering weather I'd become tolerant to the strange effects of Grott's drinks, "It's perfectly normal. Tell me what you've found."

"Right, well, I've basically spent my time trying to follow him around, or asking people if they've met or know him. From what people have said, it seems he's a total newcomer to the area, nobody knew him previous to his arrival. Whenever he arrives on the outskirts of town, he just says a few words under his breath, and a moment later, he's disguised as an old man with a beard."

So he could do that as well? Actually, this was starting to get a little bit strange. You see, dark wizards aren't uncommon and can show up in almost any place. They might be generally benevolent but a bit alarming, or they might cause a limited amount of nuisance, but they generally don't do all that much, as it's easy enough for the average town to hire someone to get rid of them if they're a problem. Plus, in this day and age, no wizard, no matter how good, can withstand a totally unexpected burst of machine-gun fire - the modern age has rather broken the monopoly on dangerous weaponry that magic used to have. I don't think I've ever heard of a dark wizard that could do all the things this one could. Well, only once, but that doesn't really count.

"So what's he been doing in town?" I asked.

"Well, as far as I can see, all he's been doing is hanging around in taverns, pubs and the like, talking to people. Getting to know them, that sort of thing."

"Getting to know them?" I said sarcastically. "I'm sure he can't be here for the social life."

"Yes, yes, very amusing. I didn't like to get too close to him, but I did manage to overhear a few things he was saying. It seemed he was always turning the conversation towards old legends and tales, he wanted to hear if there were any specific to the area. I don't think he managed to hear anything he was looking for, I saw him leaving a place looking annoyed several times."

"What is he, some kind of travelling historian? You know, it's not the sort of thing dark wizards normally get up to. Maybe if I can convince him that there's absolutely nothing of interest around here, he'll go away."

"Well, don't ask me, I just gather the information, I couldn't care less what he's doing."

During this time, she'd been sipping away at the tea and had already finished it, in the process going noticeably red in the face.

"What's in this stuff?" she said, staring at the empty cup. "It doesn't half make you feel weird."

"Oh, various things," I said, vaguely, "But I put a little bit of Grott's special brew in it, just thought you could use it after your ordeal. Here's the bottle."

I held up the flask, swishing its mysterious black liquid liquid about.

"Do you want to try a bit? It's.... unique."

"Alright," she said, suddenly and unexpectedly cheerful, "Why not."

She held up her mug and I poured a small amount in, thinking a little would probably go a long way. She took a tentative sip.

"You know, that's not half bad, I could get used to this stuff. Should I feel like I'm about to take off and fly around the room?"

"Oh yes," I said, "That's perfectly normal. Anyway, carry on, what else did you find out?"

"OK, yes, where was I? Ah yes, that wizard. All I found out about him was that he seems to fly about all over the waste land around here, normally off to the north of here and he seems to be looking for something, systematically. I've hidden under the cover of boulders and watched him. He circles around in the air, then goes up and down, backwards and forwards, covering the ground bit by bit. Hey, it's pretty impressive the way he can fly around on that purple cloud thing, isn't it? Can you do that?"

"No," I said, "Not... quite. But nearly. So he's searching for something?"

"Yes, he seems to be. He seemed to be getting frustrated with it yesterday at dusk. I was watching him gliding across the sky, when he suddenly stuck his hand straight up in the air above him, and this bright purple beam came shooting from the tip of his finger. It was so bright, I could barely look. It was bloody lucky I was the other side of him, the beam tore a great gouge out of the landscape."

I've probably no need to tell you that this news was even more disturbing than the previous.

"So, did you find out anything else?"

"Well, no, not really. But that's pretty good for 56 Waldroons, isn't it?"

I agreed with her, though come to think of it, I probably could have done what she did myself perfectly well. Why do I always assume things are going to be worse than they actually are? Well, I suppose I didn't have to take the risk of him seeing me, that would have given the game away. The trouble was, despite my half-hearted efforts to get rid of the depressing spectre that was Eldrigar, dark whatsname of Mandri-something, investigation had shown he was even stronger than I could possibly have expected. Just where would I go from here? Perhaps "going from here" would be the best plan. But leaving Zarfang, my beloved mage tower would be such a wrench...

Maevrin cut off this gloomy train of thought.

"Well, cheer up! How about some more of that stuff from the bottle, you know, I think I can feel it doing me a power of good."

I very much doubted it, but poured her some anyway.


**** two hours later ****


We'd spent an enjoyable time in gradually increasing states of drunkenness. The conversation had slowly degenerated into an insane babble, and after the running up and down the stairs and screaming contest, we had a look at the place I'd scrawled the message on the wall, and had a good laugh. I complained for the fifteenth time that I couldn't be sure how many arms and legs I had, as I kept loosing count, she complained for the seventeenth time that she had too many knees. Who would have thought Grott's concoction could be even more entertaining when consumed with someone else?

As darkness started to fall, it found us sprawled in the kitchen, me with my face against the work surface, Maevrin lying flat out on the kitchen table, having a conversation that consisted largely of non-sequiturs.

"You, you know, you know" she said, indistinctly "Nobody understands me, you know."

"Ah, yes, no, I mean, no," I said, staring at and incredible close-up of the plastic work surface in wonderment. "I mean, I know."

"Stamps, that's all they think of me, you know. Just 'cos I like 'em. Stamps. Can't help liking 'em. Not a crime."

"No!" I said, with sudden intensity. "NO! Indeed. You know, you've got to go on.... living your life, yeah! Gotta live it, ha! What?"

"They all... think it's the sort of thing men do mostly, you know, you know, sexists the lot of 'em. AH!"

"Wah, it's too... nobody understands me, either!"

"Really, why?"

"Don't know... can't remember."

I'll spare you any more of this inspired dialogue. You know, at that moment, though intoxicated I felt I was enjoying the presence of someone else in Zarfang for the first time I could remember. Suddenly the peace, quiet and solitude didn't seem so perfect, it was nice to have someone about after all.

Why is it good things always seem so brief, fleeting and impossible to get hold of? At that moment, something happened that seemed to drive the alcohol from my veins instantly.

There was a sudden banging sound from the front door, followed by a click. I looked up, and saw Maevrin was doing the same.

The door slid slowly open by itself.

Eldrigar was standing there motionless in the doorway in the twilight, fixing his cold blue eyes on mine.

TO BE CONTINUED>>>>