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bigskydreaming · 5 years

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The Ric Grayson AND Talon storylines both end at the same time, and in the same way:

Great Grandpa Creeper Cobb successfully manipulates Ric into position to be brainwashed and become the Talon that Willie the Weenie has always wanted him to be.....this happens for like, two issues.

Then Grandpa Get Ye To A Graveyard Already fucks up....he accidentally brings Talon Ric within sighting distance of the Court’s latest crop of prospective Talon recruits, including a wee baby ten year old orphan being trained to be a future Talon.

And the essential corn kernel of Dick Grayson’s essence, deep down in his psyche, just fucking POPS like its Orville Redenbacher and someone just nuked it in the microwave.

And the real Dick Grayson comes SHRIEKING to the forefront of Talon!Ric’s brain, nothing subtle about it, and the next thing his Rancid Relative knows, he’s being fucking impaled by his great grandson’s blades as said great grandson, who is SUPPOSED to be docilely brainwashed, wtf, is already halfway across the room, diving into the mass of other Talons like they’re a collection of bowling pins and he’s a wrecking ball straight out of a Miley Cyrus music video, but instead of the caterwauling lyrics “I never hit so haaaaaaaard in love,” Dick’s accompanied by a soundtrack of him screaming:

“I WILL PROTECT YOU SMOL CHILD!!!”

As said smol child is just standing there, staring, like....dude, wut?

And then Dick finishes absolutely DESTROYING everything undead and nefarious in sight like he’s the Tasmanian Devil on meth, and he turns to said smol child and begins the process of Smothering, as his hands flutter all up and down checking for injuries but not touching, like:

“Did they hurt you are you alright you’re safe now cough once for I’m all good or punch me in the no-no’s if I’m making you feel unsafe, I will make sure you are totally safe from here on out, you are my baby now, I have decided, but like, only if you want to be.”

And smol child is decidedly overwhelmed but Man-Who-Speaks-Like-He-Has-Pixie-Sticks-In-Place-Of-Blood-Vessels seems harmless, if weird, and is definitely preferable to the weird Bird Men who kidnapped him off the streets and tried to teach him how to kill people and make death threats out of nursery rhymes. And he doesn’t have a lot of experience in OTHER subterranean lairs to compare this one too, but he’s decidedly not a fan, so when Dick asks if he would like him to take him to see Batman and Batgirl and Robin and other superheroes who can also reassure him there will be no more homework on How To Torture People Good, he’s like....”yeah I guess. If you want.”

And so Dick scoops him up with glee and takes off through the tunnels, yelling back over his shoulder: “Bye Greatly-Gross-Grandpa, hate you lots, don’t call, don’t write, you’re officially off my Christmas card list, hasta la neeeeeeeeeever.”

Thereupon swiftly grappling across the Bludhaven rooftops, yelling PARKOUR! just because he can and its fun, and its weirdly relaxing for his wee passenger, because look, this dude may be weird as fuck, but he’s clearly got the moves to protect him from the Undead Legions of Ornithologists and he seems too....fun to be evil, like not in the Joker kinda way like he’s seen on TV in previous foster homes where its like, jeez dude, try hard much, but more like an adult who just quit a soul-crushing cubicle-dwelling corporate-craphole job and has suddenly been reminded that the sky is blue, flowers smell good, and there IS a Santa Claus, Virginia.

Thus by the time they arrive at Wayne Manor, with no attempt made to hide where they’re going from his wee passenger’s eyes - Dick has already decided he’s keeping the kid, pending said kid’s approval but look, kids like him and he’s determined to bring his A game to the pitch meeting, so he likes his chances - said wee passenger disembarks in the Batcave but stays close by, clinging to Dick’s side in an ever so slight way that allows for plausible deniability later, once he gets his bearings and also his bravado back.

“Dick?!” Comes the chorus of voices from the rest of the family, who are all there already, by great coincidence and in great defiance of the crapfests in their own individual titles, but also who the fuck cares. And Dick puffs out his chest, cuz he’s putting on a good show for his new kiddo, first impressions are important...

“Tis I, fam! The one true Dick Grayson has returned! Huzzah!”

Look, being completely oblivious to his Greatest Dork Energy coinciding with his Times He Most Attempts To Be Impressive, is like, Peak Dick Grayson characterization, you can trust me, I’m a doctor.

And Tim’s like, “Why are you dressed like a Talon?”

And Dick’s like, “Isn’t the better question why AREN’T you dressed like a Talon?”

Which makes no sense but shhh, I’m running out of steam here, don’t question the atmosphere, just let it be.

And Bruce is like, “Who’s your friend?”

With like...designs and agendas already in mind, because said wee Talon-to-be is cute and adorable and bravely trying to act like he is not at all intimidated by his surroundings and is in total control of what’s going on like, he meant to be here, this is all according to plan, yes, excellent, everything is progressing nicely....

Which as everyone knows, are the three key essential traits Bruce looks for in prospective adoptees....

So Dick snarls and later blames it on residual Talon-ness, they’re very territorial bird...assassin....people....anyway, the adrenaline is still high and also he has swiftly become attached because whether kiddo knows it or not, Dick 100% credits him with the brainwash-breaking and thus when factored in with the cuteness quotient, what we have here is an instant recipe for Protectiveness slash Possessiveness that would be creepy and inappropriate if this wasn’t pure crack.

But crack it is, and thus Dick curls a protective arm around the kiddo like the lap-bar on a particularly turbulent roller coaster and applies G-Force sufficient to keep even Superman from prying him out of his hands - but in a gentle, non- ’crushing kinda way that might hurt the kiddo,’ even though physics doesn’t work like that, except look, these are CRACK PHYSICS, they can and they do work like that.

And he’s all, “I already adopted him, so back off, Bruce, I’ll cut you. But also hi dad, I missed you. In spirit I mean, like I had amnesia and then I was brainwashed so technically its probably a reach to say I missed anyone but just roll with it. Also I can haz hugs now, please?”

And then Damian apparates in front of Dick amid a cloud of Disapproval that’s really just a cover for OMG-I-Was-Without-You-And-It-Was-Terrible-And-I’m-So-Glad-You’re-Back-But-Also-Who-Is-This-Interloper-And-Why-Is-He-Stealing-My-Hug.

“Tt. Grayson. Your absence was...less than desirable. See to it that this doesn’t happen again. Also what is that and why is it here.”

“Aww, Dami, I’m sorry. I promise to install a “please have the nearest available psychic reboot my brain in case of future brain damage slash amnesia” clause in my living will, and soon as I get a free second, I’ll break the fourth wall and blackmail the DC editorial staff into declaring me off-limits for all death, brainwashing and/or kidnapping plots for at least the next four major crossover events. I have naughty pictures. They’ll cave.”

“Hmph,” Dami says. He resumes staring pointedly at the kiddo, who juts his chin defiantly and stares back while clinging more tightly to Dick, because he may have very little clue what’s going on, but he’s a quick one and has at least picked up on the fact that Dick wants him and this other kid wants Dick. Which combined with the rescuing and the kicking of bad guy ass means Dick is probably Quality and In Demand and Of Value, and thus he might as well stake a claim now and worry about whether or not to act on that or skedaddle later, once he’s got more intel. He’s a natural Bat, this one, but then, that’s probably why he was in Toddler Talon Boot Camp, he scored high on whatever weird aptitude tests they used to scope out talent, and by talent we mean murder-skills.

“Dami,” Dick admonishes then, “This isn’t an it, he’s a person, and he was recently traumatized so promise me you’ll be on your best behavior or at least your ‘engaging in shenanigans with Jon’ behavior. And he’s not competition, you’re my Dames and my little bro, and he’s potentially your nephew, which is a whole separate category and no threat to you and your baby bro status at all, so retract the claws. If anything, the real danger is Pops adopting him and thus supplanting you as the official Baby Bird of our generation, so make like an ally and help me get that dangerous “I’m gonna adopt this kid so hard” gleam out of Bruce’s eye before it gets any gleamier. We’re still only halfway through my tearful reunion and having to cut Dad before we even get to cake would be a major mood-killer, but I’ll do it, I swear. Also, get your Baby Bird behind over here and hug me already, I have two arms.”

Damian rolled his eyes but obediently disappeared and reappeared nestled against Dick’s other side in the blink of an eye. The proper application of ninja skills has always been the pursuance of hugs and cuddles. Thus sayeth the crack.

“Hey, I do get cake, right?” Dick asked suddenly, looking around dangerously. “I was amnesiac and also brainwashed, I deserve cake, TELL me there’s gonna be cake.”

“Well that answers whether or not we should be worried about this being an attempted infiltration or not,” Jason says, strolling over casually. “No impostor or brainwashing script-writer could ever duplicate the Essence de Dick so perfectly. Hey squirt. Welcome to the madhouse. I’m Jason, what’s your name?”

“Oh right,” Dick realized, cocking his head. “Hey, what is your name?”

“Really, Dick?” Tim sighed, fondly exasperated. “I realize you like to jump from A straight to Z whenever possible, but steps B through Y aren’t usually just mere suggestions.”

“It hadn’t come up yet,” Dick defended himself.

“Yes, why would it have,” Duke mused from where he was leaning over and snapping his fingers in front of Bruce’s eyes, in a futile attempt at tearing his gaze away from the viable adoption candidate within 20 meters from him. It was probably best that they get this adoption thing inked out and signed off on as soon as possible - it was the only thing that was definitively going to get that “Argh, I’ve spotted treasure ahoy” look out of Bruce’s eyes. And Alfred had been very clear :Bruce was forbidden to adopt any more kids himself until he got a better handle on juggling the six he already had. Which. The past year had...probably not met Alfred’s standards on, so it didn’t seem likely he’d be waiving that requirement any time soon.

(And nobody wanted to get in between the Unstoppable Force that was Bruce’s ‘must adopt all the orphans’ and the Immovable Object that was Alfred’s ‘must maintain at least a reasonable fascimile of order in this household, even if it is a total sham, appearances matter.’)

“Hey!” Dick protested. “I’ve been busy, okay? There was fighting and then there was parkouring and now we’re reunifying, and it wasn’t like I was just calling him ‘that kid’ in my head, I was calling him ‘my kiddo’ which is a perfectly reasonable identifier and thus more specific detail just....hadn’t been relevant yet!”

“So uh, bee tee dubs, what is your name, buddy?” Dick asked, looking down. His kiddo looked back up at him for a long, measuring moment, and then he shrugged.

“I’ll tell you in exchange for some cake. You said something about there being cake, but I don’t see any.”

Dick got misty-eyed at that. “See? He already prioritizes like me. This was destiny! Also, you heard my kiddo, do we not deserve cake? It has been a very long day, there was murder and mayhem and more. Also, my creeper great grandpa was there being icksome, and you know how much that weirds me out.”

“Come along, Master Dick,” Alfred said then, appearing out of nowhere thanks to his Bat-Butler Magic. “And your young charge as well. I already have your favorite baking in the oven and it should be done shortly. Lemon meringue with raspberry layers.”

“That’s disgusting and I will not participate in any ceremony that treats that as part of a celebration instead of just a weird kind of laxative,” Jason said loftily, though it escaped no one’s notice that he was the first to the stairs.

“Shut your facehole, its delicious and amazing and you will like it or I will kick your ass,” Dick said, equally loftily.

“Boys,” Bruce said with a long-suffering sigh, as the threat of brotherly bloodshed was enough to finally shake him out of his orphan-induced stupor.

“At MARIO KART. I will kick his ass at MARIO KART, ugh, jeez, B, why do you always assume the worst of us?”

“Precedent,” Tim said dryly.

“Who the hell asked the Oompa Loompa Brigade to weigh in with all ninety of his pounds?” Jason called back from the top of the stairs.

Cass came up on Dick’s left, where the kiddo was one half of the sandwich made by him and Damian on Dick’s other side. She smiled down at him when he directed his still very wide-eyed gaze at her, landing on her after his latest sweep of the cavern and all its contained chaos, as if trying to take it all in - most likely in the hopes that if he could manage that, somehow the last 72 hours of his life might suddenly make sense. He really was adorable.

“Don’t worry,” she beamed at him, reaching out to pat him comfortingly on his shoulder, right above where Dick’s arm was still curled around it like a warm blanket - albeit one with the tensile hold of a python. “They’re all crazy, but only in the good ways.”

Duke scoffed as he slipped ahead of them and started taking the stairs two at a time. “It’s funny how you say that like you’re some kind of exception to the rule.”

“Bold words, little brother,” Cass called after him. He only shouted back from the top in a booming voice, his words echoing down the narrow stone stairway dramatically.

“Am I not Batclan?”

“Oooh, is that a new thing we’re doing?” Dick asked excitedly. “Somebody catch me up, I demand context. I smell a story there.”

“It was Jason’s fault,” Tim said automatically. Dick nodded.

“Sure, that tracks. Continue.”

Bruce trailed after his brood of batlings and birdlets, sidling over to where Barbara was waiting for the elevator. The latter having hung back to watch the commotion with the air of one taking notes for repurposing in the form of future blackmail material. Her ever extending network of spies and informants made so much more sense, suddenly.

He cleared his throat while they listened to the hum of the elevator’s machinery as it descended to their level.

“I wasn’t really thinking of adopting the boy,” he said. Not at all sullenly, nor with a trace of defensiveness to be found.

“Of course you weren’t, Bruce,” Barbara said. She patted his arm fondly, with all the conviction of a kindergarten teacher whose student was attempting to claim innocence on the matter of a paint disaster perfectly matching the paint stains on his hands.

“I wasn’t,” Bruce muttered as she preceded him into the elevator.

Why did nobody ever believe him?

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muinaru-novel-blog · 7 years

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Chapter Ten - Prisoner

Erik awoke in a cold room, lit only by moonlight that streamed in through a wall of bars on the far side of the room. Slowly, he sat up from his wooden bench upon which he laid. The bench was old; the thick wood was marked with mysterious dark stains and had begun to crack and splinter. The walls were made from large bricks of stone, which were incredibly cold to the touch. Erik stood and listened; it was quiet, the only sound came from the occasional eerie howl of wind and the tap, tap, tap of dripping water.

Erik moved towards the bars that blocked the exit. The bars were old and rusty but, still, they were very thick; sturdy enough to keep someone detained. Outside of the bars was an arena of barred rooms, with a large tower erected in the centre. The arena stood several floors high but had no roof to protect it. Erik presided on the third floor up, which appeared mostly intact.

The floors were connected by two dilapidated stone staircases that were missing many steps, which must have had crumbled at some point. The stairs wound up the sides of the arena, climbing all the way up to the top. However, the very top floor had fallen apart; the tops of the walls were crumpling, many of bars had broken away from the cells walls, and the stairs to this floor now required some hefty long jumps to get there. The floors below were a little more intact, however, stone bricks and debris, which had fallen from above, littered the walkways around the barred rooms.

Slowly, Erik turned away into the room; his hands were quivering as he unclasped the bars. Then, suddenly, he froze as his gaze had landed upon two green eyes that sat in a dark corner, glistening in the moonlight. The owner of the eyes was cast in shadow; only their general size could be made out, which appeared far greater than Erik’s own stature.

Erik continued to freeze whilst the eyes remained fixed upon him. The eyes didn’t blink neither did the owner of them move a muscle; the figure simply remained concealed in the shadows, sitting stiff like a statue.

Cautiously, Erik retreated to his bench and the green eyes followed him. He sat down and still the green eyes followed. He dropped his gaze and muttered to himself, “It’s a dream, a very intense dream.”

A deep voice grumbled from the dark, “This place is no dream.” The green eyes rose and a tall man walked out from the shadows. He was lean and broad. His shoulders were dressed in a thick cape that reached down to his knees. Under the cape he wore a thick coat that stopped at his waist, which was made from a tightly knitted fabric and was kept closed using large toggles made from large animal teeth. Around his waist was a fur cloth, which was kept in place by a strong leather belt. The fur cloth overlapped the brim of his thick trousers, which tucked into the top of his large boots that were heavily scratched and scuffed.

The man further added to his initial comment, “Though, this place maybe be a nightmare.” and walked further into the moonlight, revealing his peculiar face. His ears were thrice the size of a normal man’s and his nose twice if not thrice the size too, (depending upon the man). His skin was tanned to a dark shade of caramel and his hair was jet black. His hairstyle wasn’t traditional; it was kept long just a few centimetres above the top of his ears, and was tied around at the back into a small bun, whilst the back and sides were shaven very short, leaving only a shadow of his hair visible. Upon the left side of his face, his shaven hair was split by three parallel scares, like claw marks.

The man sat beside Erik and looked out of the bars. He inhaled and remarked, “You’re not from around here, are you?” Erik kept silent. The man then leant in and enquired more sternly, “You’re an earthling, aren’t you?”

Erik timidly replied, “Human, yes.”

The man smiled and proclaimed, “I knew it. You can tell the difference by the hair.”

“The hair?”

“It’s a bit thinner and the colour of it has no purply gleamier.” Suddenly the man snorted and remarked, “But you’re not very tall. I thought ‘humans’ were taller.” The man waved his hand over the boy’s head and added, “Are you eating enough?”

Erik smirked, “I’m only fourteen … I still have a lot of growing to do.”

“Oh, right.” The man then asked sympathetically, “First time in prison?”

Erik replied solemnly, “Yes.”

“First time in Kotala?”

“Urm, I guess so.”

“What do you mean, you guess so?”

Erik shrugged, “I don’t really know where Kotala is.”

The man smiled, “You don’t know where you are? You’re in Mylox, my world. You, earthlings, are from Earth. How could you end up here and not know that?”

“Well, I didn’t plan on being here.”

The man chuckled, “You’ve been unfortunate then.” The man held out his grubby hand and explained, “The name is Herax.” Erik reached out hesitantly but Herax quickly clasped Erik’s forearm firmly, pulling him forward and gave his arm a good shake.

Erik replied in turn, “The name is Erik.”

As Herax dropped the boy’s hand, he frowned and explained, “I was farmer once but my farm is gone now. Those shades saw to that. But it has given me the chance to lead a brigade against the shades. You’ve always got to look on the bright side. Been doing it for seven years now.” Quickly he smiled and asked, “What about you earthling boy? What do you do?”

Erik replied, “Well, nothing, I’m err… still in school.”

Herax grunted, “School, I see.”

“I’ve done some paper rounds.”

“What’s that?”

“Delivering newspapers.”

“Right.” Herax nodded.

Erik timidly asked, “What exactly are the shades?”

Herax looked shocked and scorned, “You don’t know much, do you?”

“I don’t know anything.”

“Not a thing.”

“Well, a few things.”

“What are these things?”

“I know about a strange lake.”

Herax nodded, “And that’s how you got here.”

“I know of those creatures that grabbed me are called ‘shades’.”

Herax frowned, “You’re lucky those shades didn’t turn you.” His face stiffened and his brow crumpled as he explained, “Shades are a plague across this territory. They drain the living beings of their spirit until they become nothing but shadows like them. Their lives become one of hunger, never able to satiate their desire for food and water. They can feed indefinitely and never be full.”

Erik asked, “What are the larger ones?”

“The larger ones are still shades, but they have fed excessively. You see, shades can never us energy, they merely consume it; drain it from the living. The more they consume the bigger they get and the worse they smell.”

Erik gulped, “Where did they come from.”

Herax shook his head, “It’s not really known, but they arrived less than a decade ago, when great tragedy struck a frontier city.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s a city that borders the belt of lands with no civilisation, or at least, any known civilisation. Anyway, technology brought in by an earthling was used to destroy the city. A bomb of destructive power.”

Erik uttered the only sound that came to his head, “Oh.”

“Sometime after that day these shades began to appear, they spread and now they are everywhere in Kotala. But the Sun keeps them from spreading any farther out of Kotala.”

“Why’s that?”

“Intense levels of energy destroys them, but they’re not stupid. They stay well away from the sunlight.”

“So, who did the bombing?”

“That’s a great mystery. Many suspect the wargos, but they haven’t been found guilty.” Before Erik could ask he explained, “Wargos are a being of this world.”

“Oh, do you believe they did it.”

Herax shook his head, “Nah, they’re not intelligent enough to have done it.”

“Oh,” Erik responded before asking, “So, why do you think the shades imprisoned us?”

“I’ve never heard of a shade imprisoning anything. This is an old prison built by beings before my time. Typically, they use it to hide themselves from the sun, or hoard shiny red objects.” Herax hummed and added, “Maybe they’re becoming organised. Maybe they’re now gathering beings to be consumed at a regular rate.”

Erik gulped, “Consumed?”

“You know, drained, like I was talking about earlier.”

Erik stuttered, “But, we … we can break out of here, r-right?”

Herax lamented, “This prison was built to detain some of the cruellest and cunningest of criminals, so I wouldn’t entertain any ideas of hope, boy. The bars are thick, the guards are many, and ... well … hmm … I started that believing there would be a third thing, but I suppose that’s pretty much sums up a prison; bars and guards.”

Erik added, “Walls?”

“Of course. The bars are thick, the guards are many and the walls are … hmm … I can’t say thick again.”

“high.”

“Of course. The bars are …”

“Do you really have to say it? I know what you going to say.”

“Alright, no need to be so miserable. Anyway, what was I talking about? Oh yes. We’re stuck in here and eventually we’re going die a horrible death and become a shade. Yes.” He paused, gazed sternly upon Eric, leaned in and whispered intensely, “We will never, ever, ever, escape this hell.” Suddenly, Herax stopped and rose up. He smiled and chirped, “Oh wait, the gate is open. Never mind, follow me boy.”

“Huh?”

“The gate, its open, we can leave, let’s go.” Herax walked up to the bars and pushed opened gate to the prison cell. “Come on, let’s go Erik.”

Erik sneered and his brow crossed. He asked, “the gate was just open?” He stood and walked over to the gate, adding as he reached Herax’s side, “You just noticed it was open?”

Herax grinned, “Sure. But, keep low and quiet as we leave. Also, follow me, don’t go off on you own.”

The two left the prison cell, crouching low to the floor, and scuttled along the walkway, clambering over fallen rumble. After a several metres they stopped in front of another man who looked much like Herax; large nose and ears. Herax introduced, “Erik this is Skrik.” He then said more seriously to Skrik, “Where are the others.”

Skrik replied, keeping his gaze fixed up Erik, “They’re just waiting farther up,” he then enquired, “Where’d the boy come from?”

Herax shrugged, “I just saw him sleeping in a cell. Apparently, he was detained by shades, so he says.”

Skrik grimaced, “What? I’ve never heard them do that. Sounds fishy to me. He’s probably a spy.”

Herax shook his head, “He’s an earthling.”

Skrik’s eyebrows nearly rose of his head as he asked, “What’s an earthling doing here.”

Herax shrugged, “We’ll find I guess, but now is not the time.”

Erik demanded in a low voice, “What are you talking about? What’s going on? Were you not a prisoner?”

Herax smirked, “Nope, but shades are very much real and are crawling all over this place. Oh, and we are of course going to escape, I was just screwing with you.”

Skrik quickly interposed, “Herax, we really must go.’

Herax affirmed, “Yes.” He grabbed Erik by the shoulder and explained firmly, “We need to leave this place, so keep quiet, only speak when necessary and when spoken too. No pointless questions, got it?” Erik nodded. “Follow me and keep close.”

They moved on through the rumble, keeping low to the ground as they went, until they reached a stone bridge. The bridge was damaged and had started to break apart. Sections of the banister hand broken away and a few holes had been chipped away around the edges.

Herax stopped at the beginning of the bridge and looked over to the tower in the centre, as did Erik. At the top of the tower, scuttling back and forth, were dozens of shades. The silhouette of their thin, frail bodies could be seen against the moonlight gleaming over the tip over the tower.

Erik pinched Herax’s shirt and asked, “Won’t we be seen?” pointing to the shades.

Herax snapped, “What did I say about questions? We’ll be fine, just keep low.”

Skrik went first across the bridge. He dropped down to his stomach and army crawled across to the other side. “Okay,” Herax began, “You’re next, boy. Keep low to the ground and don’t get up until you’re off the bridge.” Erik dropped and crawled across. Herax wasted no time and followed close behind. Once they reach the end, they reverted to their crouch position and continued along the walkway, with Skrik leading the way.

Eventually, they met a woman, a female of Herax’s kind. Her nose and ears were a little smaller, but her cheek bones were larger. She explained as Herax came near, “The explosives are in place and the crew is waiting by the exit.”

Herax unpinned his cape, unveiling the plates of leather armour on shoulders and the unusual gun affixed his hip. He unlatched the gun, which was imprinted with a symbol of an electric bolt upon the handle, and handed to the woman. The woman in turn passed to Herax a long, curved sword. The handle was unusually bulky and, again, an electric bolt symbol was imprinted upon the handle.

Erik asked cautiously, “What’s that?”

Herax replied, “Protection ─”

The woman abruptly asked, as she concealed the gun handed to her, “Where’s the boy come from?”

Herax smiled, “Sorry, Erik this is Freta.” He looked at Freta and explained, “I found the boy in one of the cells. He’s an earthling who claims he was arrested by the shades, but I don’t know why shades would do that.”

Freta threw forward a coat and asked, “Is this the boy’s?”

Erik smiled, “That’s my coat.”

Freta smirked and held up a little book, “It had this inside.”

The corners of Erik’s mouth dropped and he muttered, “That’s mine too.”

Herax took the book and examined it. He looked at Freta and compressed his lips as he frowned. He turned sharply and asked, “Who gave you this book?”

Erik replied expediently, “I found it.”

“Where?”

“It was in the fireplace at an old house.”

“Whose house?”

“I don’t know. I think it was some guy called Kingdom.”

Herax sighed, “Fool!” He slipped the book inside his coat and explained, “We don’t have time for this. We need to move.” Herax threw back the coat to Erik and added, “I’ll be keeping the book.”

As Herax turned away, Eric Immediately began searching the pockets, checking for the pocket watch. It was still there, along with the scrap of folded paper he’d found.

Herax whispered loudly, “Come on you stupid boy. Let’s go.”

Eric enquired, “Where are we going?”

Herax snubbed, “What did I say about questions.”

The continued down to a crew waiting by a large hole in the wall, with an equally large round grill sitting by against the wall close by. The hole in the wall oozed a green sludge, which poured out from the bottom and pooled onto the floor. It was smeared and covered in recent footprints.

Erik rhetorically asked with disgust in his tone, “You came through the sewers?”

Herax scowled, “Oh, I’m sorry, maybe we should have knocked on the front door and asked the shades whether it would be convenient for them if a little princess, such as yourself, could just walk in and have a look around?”

Erik frowned and kept quiet

Herax turned back to the crew and began, “Okay, Tyru.” He looked at a man about the same age as himself and with similar features, big nose and ears. Tyru was missing his right hand little-finger and the rest of his hand was visibly scared by burns. His hair was shaven short all over but he wasn’t bald, in fact his hair line moved in close on the temple of his forehead. His cloths were much like Herax’s, however, his coat was kept closed with the use of typical buttons. Herax commanded, “You lead the crew out, I’ll be right behind. Once we’re out, push through forest, then we’ll detonate charges just as the sun rises. Any questions?”

A younger man, again with big ears and nose, raised his hand. His hair was cut short, the sides were pattern with diagonal strips, whilst the top was merely trimmed short. Wrapped around his shoulder was a large gun, with several warning signs of possible death by electric shock plastered across the barrel. The young man snarked as he pointed at Erik, “When did we get a little apprentice?”

Herax rolled his eyes, he looked at Erik and explained, “This is Muran the moron.” He gazed around the crew and announced, “I’ll explain at the airship, right now we need to move.”

Tyru stepped into the sewer pipe and, quickly, the rest of the crew followed, climbing inside one by one. Herax helped Erik up by interlocking his fingers to create a step and hoisting Erik inside. Although the sewer was no longer in use, it still smelt rancid. Many different creatures had died and decayed in the pipe, which had created a cesspit of unwelcoming smells.

As they crawled Muran kept up the morale with terrible jokes all the way through pipe, “This was a crap plan.”, “I wonder if this leads to the poop deck.”, “I hope we’re the only one’s evacuating into the sewer.”, “Smells like that curry place back home.”

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