- The Chronicles of Southpaw -
FoxGlove (Part 1)
by Mark Correia
< BGM: Swords of a Thousand Men by Tenpole Tudor >
"Whaddaya mean, 'it's dead', Toshiro?"
The tiger paced back and forth nervously like, well, a caged tiger, while the fox looked deep inside the still-smoking amplifier.
"It's dead ... What part of 'it's dead' didn't you understand?" the fox looked up from the mass of vacuum tubes and wires. "A number of leads have been burnt off, a breadboard is cracked, a tube's shattered and the transformer went foom. I told you not to keep up the feedback that long."
"Well, can it be repaired?"
Toshiro rolled his eyes. "Got a schematic and about 45 miles of wire?"
"No..." Punk said, looking a bit sheepish.
"Look..." the fox placed a caring hand on his friend's arm, "the beast is 40-some-odd years old. It needs to rest...in peace. Perhaps my dad has another amp in his shop... Maybe even a better one."
Punk nodded in agreement, but his heart was heavy. This was the first amplifier he had, and it came as a set with his balalaika. The company went out of business before he was even born, so there was no way to get any sort of factory parts for it. Still, he liked the sound that he coaxed from it; it added a certain 'spikiness' to the instrument and complemented the distortion box he had perfectly. But now he realized that he just needed a new amp.
"OK, Toshiro," he sighed. "We can check out what your dad has... IF he has anything." He looked over the dead amp. "Maybe there's some parts we can salvage from it... like the speaker, for instance."
"Let it go, Patrick." He made the sign of the Great Woulfe over the ruined remains of the amp. "Karantl Gormalos Icti. Go to your great reward, o smoking pile of..."
"All right... all right... I get the message. Sheesh!...And don't call me Patrick." He put his balalaika back in its case and walked with his friend out the door.It was a bright spring day which made the walk to "Greg's Curiosity Shoppe" that much more enjoyable. The nearly-bare tree limbs had a reddish-green covering of buds just waiting to pop open. Punk Tiger yawned and stretched as he walked in the warm sunshine. Although not as tall or muscular as his bretheren, his lithe 5'8" frame gave him respectable speed and agility.
Standing at 4'2", Toshiro Kitsune was small even by fox standards. Being born prematurely and wracked with illnesses as a baby didn't help much, either.
"Oi, Punk! Toshi! Wot's the good word?" A bear waved to them from in front of an ice cream shop.
"Hi, Obram!" Toshiro called back. "Punk blew his amp into the Netherworld and we're looking for someone to perform Last Rites."
He walked across the street and joined them. "The Melodya? Bad show, Punk." He sipped on his pineapple shake. "You beat on that thing, anyway."
"It was just a little distortion..." Punk said, slightly hurt.
The fox shook his head vehemently and implied with body language that the signal-to-noise ratio was far above tolerable levels.
Obram grinned.
"We were just going to the Curiosity Shoppe to see about another amp. Interested in coming along?" He glanced sidelong at Toshiro. "...I could use the moral support."
The bruin patted the tiger on the back. "There there," he said with mock consolation, "we'll find you a new noisemaker."
"Noisemaker? See if you get a card from me this Solstice..." he grinnedGreg's Curiosity Shoppe on Brewer's Road was housed in a two-story brownstone building in the older part of downtown. Punk and Obram always liked going there. They felt the place had an atmosphere like no other... the musty smell of old books, the colourful stained glass windows on the east and west walls, and especially the full suit of brilliant, ornate Leonid plate armour that seemed like it had been there forever, stoically standing watch from the back wall; the fur around the helmet, like a great golden mane, still had a glossy, lustrous shine.
Greg sat behind a glass counter, casually reading his copy of Inventor's Quarterly. The door opened and a set of oversized chimes clanged loudly as the three entered the shop. He looked up over his glasses from his book.
"Hi, boys. What brings you around today?"
"Hello, Mr. Kitsune," Punk waved. "I'm... uh... looking for an amplifier... My old one gave out."
Greg nodded. "Fate's smiled upon you, Pat. I just got one in yesterday. I don't know how good it is, though."
Punk bristled slightly at the use of his real name, but followed Greg. The Curiosity Shoppe was more like a cross between an antique store and a yard sale, and was indeed a curious mix of unusual items. Obram browsed by the books and thumbed through a couple that piqued his interest. Toshiro, pawed through some umbrella stands that doubled as a makeshift cane, club and sword holders. He noticed a sword in a green silk-covered scabbard. The handle looked well-used. He pulled out the sword and it was apparent that it had seen its better days. The blade looked to be a standard issue rapier. It was rather tarnished and showed signs of surface rust. On one side of the blade, he could see something... writing, perhaps, but not clearly. Somehow, it felt good in his hand. It seemed balanced... and light... almost like it was made for him. Maybe with a little polish it might even be presentable.
"Hey, dad. When did you get this?" Toshiro held up the sword.
Greg looked up and adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses; focusing on the sword. "Green scabbard? Light for its size and looks like it's been through a fire?"
"Yup."
"I got that yesterday... for that matter, it was from the same person I got the amp. A tiger by the name of Kyn'Elwynn." He looked to Punk. "Does the name sound familiar?"
"Nope..." He scratched his chin. "No."
"I paid him 5 silver marks for it. I had a look at it after he left. It looks pretty bad off. I doubt if it has much value. I could probably get 5 silver for the scabbard... If you want it, Toshi, take it."
The fox looked at the sword again. He rotated it in his hand, then took a few practice swipes with it. "Thanks, dad." He replaced the steel blade in its scabbard.===::===
"I can't believe it! It's another Melodya!" Punk was positively beaming as he carried the obviously heavy amplifier down the road. "It's the same model, too. I noticed the speaker was a little torn, but I can replace it with the one from mine..."
"I like him better when he's happy." Toshiro walked by the tiger's side.
Obram smiled to the fox. "You'd think he found the Holy Grail... and it looks like you got something special, too."
Toshiro was wearing the sword on his left side. He liked the way the scabbard brushed against his thigh as he walked and the weight of it on his belt. It felt... right, somehow.They eventually made it back to Punk's house, where the tiger couldn't wait to plug in his newly gotten amp. He hooked up his balalaika and powered up. They were welcomed by the glow of the green pilot light. The crackle of dirty switches erupted from the amp for a split second, then faded out as the tubes warmed up. Punk busily adjusted volume, tone and echo controls to his favoured points... and played.
The tinny distorted sound of his balalaika scratched through the room as his fingers danced over the fretboard. Soon he acted like he was on stage, strutting around, doing little hops and generally having a royal blast as his music clawed its way out of the wood and metal box. With a final flourish of a few power chords, he dropped to his knees; breathing just a bit heavy and an ear-to-ear grin on his muzzle.
" MEOW-WOW! " he screeched, "this is even better than my old one!"
Obram was near speechless... or perhaps puzzled beyond belief. "What... what was that song?"
"Unsupervised by They Might Be Macros with a bit of Fripp and Eno's Swastika Girls in the middle.
"Sometimes, I find it best not to ask," said Toshiro.
"And you haven't taken your eyes off that sword since you got here. Mind terribly if I took a look at it, too?"
"Not at all, Obram." He handed him the sword, pommel first.
The rapier was surprisingly weighty in the bear's hand, yet the thin little fox handed it to him casually. His eyes roamed the blade, looking it over carefully.
"I've been trying to make out what that design is on the blade.
Obram looked closer. "What design?"
Toshiro pointed the markings out. "Right here... all the way up here."
"All I see is tarnish and rust. Maybe it's just a trick of the metal."
"Clean it off, then," Punk said. "Get rid of all the crud there, and you'll probably see something"They spent the next three hours trying almost every cleaning solution in the house... With very little effect on the blade.
Obram looked at the blade again, still as dingy as they started. He scratched his head.
"There's something else about this blade that makes me wonder... Punk, pick it up. About how much do you think it weighs?"
Punk hefted the sword and tested the weight. "I'd say about 3 or 4 pounds, at least."
Toshiro looked at him. "That's way off. It can't be more than a pound."
Obram nodded. "I think it's time we take this to a higher authority."
"A swordsmith?"
"Mr. Whoopie?"
Obram hit Punk lightly on the head. "Mr. Whoopie, indeed. I meant Darimos. I was going to visit him today. Maybe he can shed a little light on this blade."
Toshiro shook his head. "I doubt he'd be interested in a sword that's worth 5 marks."
"Maybe... but it can't hurt to ask."It was late afternoon as they walked up to the huge cave enterance. The slightly-pointed arch was about 40 feet high, lined with green and gold-streaked marble topped with a bright white keystone engraved with a sigil. Outside was a huge iron tube bell and a stone mallet. Obram hefted the hammer and struck the bell. Just after the loud clang softened, a deep bass voice rumbled from the enterance.
"Enter, Friend."
The trio walked into the cave. Along the passage were torches lighting the way down the hall. After a little way, the passage widened into a huge cavern carved out of the living stone of the hills. An illumination spell on some point up in the arched roof provided ample light to view the surroundings.
There, laying peacefully in the midst of the cave was the dragon Darimos. His head rested on his crossed forepaws. The shine brightened deep within his dark eyes as he recognized friends.
"Obram! Good to see you again!" The dragon's voice rumbled up from his throat and vibrated through the stone floor of the cavern. "And you've brought guests." He narrowed his eyes slightly. "Punk and Toshiro... It's been a while since we've last met."
The tiger waved, while the fox bowed in respect.
"I was going to stop by earlier, but I got involved with Punk and Toshi."
"That's all right, Obram. The backgammon board will always be here."
"Toshiro got a sword today that seems a bit out of the ordinary."
"It's really nothing much," Toshiro spoke up. "My dad valued it at 5 marks. Hardly worth your trouble..."
"Nonsense!" the dragon rumbled, shifting his considerable bulk and standing on all fours. "I'm up for a challenge. May I see the blade please?"
"It's a bit dirty," he said, almost apologetically, "for that matter, it's resisted all of our efforts to clean it." He walked closer and unsheathed the sword. Darimos extended his forepaw as the fox handed the sword to him pommel first. He brought it close to his eye, studying it carefully. With a nod, he worked his mouth a little and licked the sword, his thick saliva fully coating the blade. Turning slightly away from the trio, he spit out a small ball of flame onto the sword, igniting it. It crackled and hissed as the fire died down. He puffed a bit of air to cool it down before handing it back to Toshiro.
The blade now shone brightly with a polished lustre it probably hadn't seen since it was first forged.
"Dragon drool and flame," Darimos rumbled, "the best metal cleaner in existance. Not sold in any store..."
Now that it was cleaned properly, Toshiro could clearly see the silver, mercurial runes that ran along one side of the blade.
"Say, that doesn't look half bad now," Obram said.
"Yeah, now it looks like something you'd be proud to take into battle," Punk added. "Whether or not it would survive a battle is another story."
"But I wonder what these runes say?" The fox ran his finger along the side of the blade, trying to feel the writing on it.
"You keep going on about runes," Obram blinked. "What runes?"
"Right here," he pointed to the blade's side.
Obram and Punk looked closer at the blade. All they could see was smooth, shining metal.
"What do they look like?" Darimos rumbled.
Toshiro got a stone and scratched out designs on the floor. But every time he started drawing, the rune he was trying to reproduce changed shape.
"They keep shifting. I can't get a clear look at any of them." He shook his head to try to clear it and focused on the blade again.
Darimos pondered. "Come closer, Toshiro."
The fox stepped closer to the dragon. He held out two forefingers on his left paw and placed them gently his friend's head.
"This won't hurt, Toshiro. Look into my eyes..."
The fox first looked into the dragon's sparkling eyes for a minute or two, then stared intently at the blade. After a moment, he looked back into the dragon's eyes. Darimos lifted his fingers from the fox's head.
Toshiro legs wavered for a moment but he remained upright. "Wow! That was... that was... Wow!"
A broad smile graced the dragon's muzzle. "I had to merge with you for a moment to see through your eyes. Your suspicions were right, Obram. This blade is indeed out of the ordinary. There are runes on the sword that only Toshiro can see because the magics affects those of vulpine racial stock."
Punk's eyes bulged slightly. "Magics??"
"Certainly. How else do you think it could stand up to dragonfire without warping or melting?"
Toshiro looked up to Darimos. "What enchantments does it have?"
The dragon smiled again. "You've probably experienced one already. Strength. As long as the sword is on your body, your strength will be greater than normal. To what degree, I can't be certain, but don't overdo it. You may have the strength to lift, say, a huge boulder, but that doesn't mean your skin, bones and joints can handle that type of stress." He looked closer at the light frame of the fox. "It could get quite...messy."
"Well," Obram piped up, "are there any other powers that the sword has?"
Darimos nodded. "A few others, but they're semi-hidden. It looks like certain qualifications need to be met before they activate... like a magic word... or perhaps a situation..."
"Oh! Something like a dragon-slaying sword? EEP!" Punk clamped his paws over his muzzle.
The dragon bristled at the example and glared; a wisp of smoke curling from the side of his mouth. "SOMEthing of that nature, Patrick Artemas Tighe, yes."
"He used your full name, Punk," Obram cautioned.
"I'm sorry, Darimos! It was the only thing that came to mind at the moment!" However, the image of being a deep-fried tiger now flooded his mind.
The flame slowly died down in his throat as Darimos realized the honest mistake. "Be careful with observations like that."
"So, you got yourself a full-fledged, bona-fide magic sword, eh Toshiro?"
"Heh... Yeah, Obram..." He didn't sound very enthusiastic.
"What're you going to do with it?"
"I dunno, Punk. Maybe take it to the Mage's Guild in Östgar... But I know I should make my dad aware of this. I mean, it's not every day that someone drops a magic sword in your lap... especially one this specialized. Why would this Kyn'Elwynn... give away something like this?"
"Well, he was a tiger, and Darimos said the magics only work on vulpines."
Toshiro nodded. "But still, Obram, there are Guilds and other avenues to turn in magic items than just sell them to a second-hand store."
Darimos cleared his throat. "Perhaps, you should discuss this back in town. It's nearly sunset, and I'd hate to see anything happen to you... It gets rather dark out here at night... No lights, you know."
"That's true." Toshiro said. "Thank you very much for your time, Grand One."
"Please, Toshiro, no honourifics. Save that for the tourists," he smiled.===::===
The sun had already set, but the evening twilight lasted until they arrived back into Southpaw. As they walked down Brewer's Road, a strange sight met them in front of the Curiosity Shoppe... Namely yellow police barricade tape. The front door was splintered badly and nearly knocked off the hinges.
"Toshiro! Toshiro!!" A bobcat walked quickly towards the trio.
"Marty! What in the name of the Great Woulfe happened here?"
"'Twas 'orrible! Couple o' hoodlums bashed down yer dad's door and roughed him up! Good thing Stan and Oliver were walkin' the beat. Heard 'im cry out, but the goons got away..."
"What about Dad? Is he all right?"
"Ee's in St. Mervyn's 'ospital. Last I 'ear, ee's in serious shape, but ee'll live. We've been lookin' for ya fer a while, where were you?"
"With Darimos...Thanks, Marty." He looked to Obram and Punk. "Guys, I've gotta..."
"We're coming with you," Obram hugged the little fox. "Don't worry, I'm sure everything will be all right."They soon found themselves in the Jason Wolf ward of St. Mervyn The-Somewhat-Divine-On-The-Hill Hospital, room 204. Greg was awake and laying quietly on his bed; his left arm and right leg in casts and his ribcage bandaged.
"Dad?" Toshiro rushed in from the doorway and tried to hug his father, being careful not to pull on his IV.
"Toshi!" Greg reached out and hugged his son, even though he grimaced at the pain this gesture of love was giving him.
"Great Woulfe, dad, what happened?" He brushed away a trace of a tear.
"Toshiro," his voice was hushed and filled with seriousness, "get rid of the sword. Dump it in the sea, throw it in a volcano, bury it in the forest, just get rid of it or they'll come looking for you, too."
"Who?"
"They said they were the 'Hunters'. The rhino was the one that did most of this to me. His canine friend ransacked the shop. They were looking for that sword... I never gave it a second thought, but they said it had powers?"
Toshiro exposed the brightened sword slightly from its sheath. "We went to Darimos on that. Obram had a suspicion. It's true, there are enchantments on this blade."
"You're not safe with it, son. They cleaned my clock, and how! They'll kill you if they knew you have it! Even with your friends. Get rid of it, son. Please."
The sword suddenly turned warm in his hand. As he held on to his father, a soothing heat flowed through him. Slightly surprised, Toshiro concentrated on the feeling; letting it run through his body and into his stricken father. After a few moments, the warmth subsided.
"Toshi... What was that? I... I don't feel the pain in my chest anymore..."
"Shhh..." he hushed him with a knowing grin, "You'll be out of here soon enough. Tell mom I'm heading to the Mage's Guild of Östgar. I'll get rid of the sword there. At least it'll be in proper hands." He kissed his father on the cheek. "See you soon." He walked out of the room with his friends in tow.
He finally stopped outside the hospital. "Obram, Punk, I can't force you to come with me. I'm going on a fool's errand and I don't want either one of you to get hurt..."
The tiger placed a paw on the shoulder of his friend. "I don't want to lose Clovertone's best drummer."
"I've been Clovertone's only drummer, Punk."
Obram placed an even larger paw on the little fox's other shoulder. "And Clovertone can't go on tour without their faithful bouncer at the ready," he beamed.
"Guys, I'm deathly serious!"
The two looked at each other, then back at the fox. "So are we."
"And, may I suggest," the bruin continued, "that we head for a safe haven tonight before our little journey?"
"Like where?" asked Toshiro.
"Darimos' lair. I doubt any hostile entity, be he rhino or otherwise, would have the stones to go up against a dragon."
It took them a little longer than usual, but they arrived again at the dragon's lair. Darimos was right about it being dark out there..."...And that's the story as far as I can tell, Darimos. Whoever, or whatever, these 'Hunters' are, they mean business."
"Of course you may stay here for the night, my friends. I shall personally see that no harm come to you."
"Do you have a clue who these Hunters are, Darimos?"
"Sad to say, I do not." The dragon motioned them towards a large down-filled mattress. "Sleep now, friends. Östgar is not close-by and you need the rest."
The mattress was as soft as a billowy cloud, and soon they were asleep.
"I may not know who these Hunters are," Darimos smiled, "but that doesn't stop me from doing some research."
He crept from his lair and emerged into the inky blackness of the night outside. He looked back upon the entrance. He held his foreclaws before him, bringing them to form a triangle. He peered through the triangle and concentrated upon the sigil in the archway."Togarth Manosis-mol-Screignac Palach!"
The archway shone a deep forest green for a moment, then died down. Knowing his friends were now safe, he worked a bit of internal magic and, with a push from his mighty legs, flew off into the night sky...
...To Be Continued...
"The Chronicles of Southpaw - FoxGlove, Part 1" is ©1997 Mark Correia. The HTML version is ©2001 Southpaw Artwerx. This story may be freely distributed by electronic media provided NOTHING is changed or omitted (including this notice). Hardcopies in any form are limited to a single printing for personal use only. All other rights reserved.
E-Mail address: punktiger@yahoo.com
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