The dubious origins of a monster

[Hacken]

[ I started writing this a long time ago for the last "Legends" contest...and with my usual timeliness, I just recently got it into finished shape. I figured I'd post it anyway for anyone with a lot of time on their hands to read- H ]


The campfire had burned down to a heap of coals, emitting glowing light and warmth. The orange shimmer gleamed off the face of each child seated in the comfortable zone between the blast furnace heat of the ember bed and the dark chill of the night. The Warrior adjusted his position on the tree stump, taking a moment to capture the eyes of each gathered child, and then cleared his throat to finish his story.

"So, a beacon of light began to shoot outa his nose and like any nervous person with a fear of things they don't understand, he began to run. Now, the spell ‘Infusion of Eternal Godly Light’ is known by only the most powerful Enchanters in the land and when cast on the tip of your nose it's extra blinding. Not the kinda thing you see everyday. No wonder the Silly Initiate ran. 'Course, being on top of The Wall like he was, there wasn't much room for him to run."

The Warrior paused and grinned a bit as he realized the fading firelight was making the nose of each child glow, then grunted gruffly as he continued.

"His legs were churning like he was trying to make butter, running faster than he ever had in his life. And, as such, he ran right off the edge. And that's when the enchantment ‘Infusion of Massive Featherweight’ took effect. When he shoulda fell over the edge, he launched himself into the air, never noticing he was nearly flying. Legs kept stroking, nose kept on beaming, body kept being lighter than a feather and in a few seconds he'd gone higher than anyone had ever gone before."

A dozen pair of wide eyes were riveted on the Warrior, waiting for him to tell what happened next.

"Well, he rose and rose and rose till finally he stopped. His body couldn't rise any more cause the Featherweight spell wasn't strong enough, but he didn't fall neither. He stayed there, nose twinkling and beaming, and he's still up there today for us to take example from."

The Warrior slowly raised a gauntleted hand with extended finger to point at the brightest star in the night sky.

"See. There he is. You can see him floating and shining in our sky whenever Sunrifter rests."

He waited until each child had their head turned upward to regard the indigo black ceiling before kicking the remains of the campfire with a well-worn Stygian boot, sending a cascade of sparks upward to blind their view.

"And that's the story of the Silly Initiate who asked High Lord Azeraphel the Archmage to give him some ‘Sparkles’. Now, to sleep with you all. I'm neither babysitter nor storyteller and we got a busy day tomorrow and many miles yet to travel. Playing nanny to a bunch of ankle nippers wasn't part of my plans tonight."

There was a collective sigh from the youthful entourage, followed by a furious passing of whispered words between them. Elbows prodded one to step forward who spoke with imploring eyes and earnest face.

"Mister, please, one more story. Somethin’ to help us all gets to sleep."

The Warrior prepared his best defense but was utterly defeated by a foe he had no riposte for. He sighed heavily as he realized he faced a more daunting antagonist than the most fearsome demons of Balthazar; the hopes of a child. He grunted and shifted while he struggled to keep a dispassionate yet efficient face to the enemy.

"One more story", grumbled the man of swords. "One more and this isn't a story that'll send you off to sleep with contented grins. Sometimes we all need to take great care with what we ask for. This story almost makes me shudder."

The man slid slightly on the stump and leaned forward a bit toward the ring of children. The failing glow of the fire pit cast odd shadows on his features. From face to face he peered at them until he was certain that each young ear was straining to hear his next words. He spoke in low tones to insure that there would be no rustling or wriggling for fear of missing part of the tale.

"Dundee. It’s a fine town. Many of you come from Dundee. Living there, growing up there. Couldn't pick a finer place to call home, least around these parts. Like all towns around here, Dundee has a Mayor. Been that way, well, since Dundee's been around I guess. Dundee's been lucky. She's been blessed with good and honorable Mayors, like our present hizhonor, but that hasn't always been the case."

The Warrior picked up a dried tree branch and dropped it onto the bed of coals. Within moments, flame began to lick upward around the fresh fuel to lend new light to the clearing.

"The wickedest man to ever walk Valorn was once the Mayor of Dundee. How he ever came to be Mayor remains a mystery, but Mayor he was. His heart was black as obsidian, his greed was boundless, and his mind was wretched. I know what you're thinking. You're thinking "how could any man be viler than a demon or the Maggot Lord his-self”. Well, I'll tell you how. He was flesh and blood like you and me, with the breath of the Lifegiver in his lungs. He shoulda known better. But he didn't."

A cool breeze blew across the campsite causing the children to hunker down while the fire was fanned to a bursting luminance. As they slumped lower, they settled into their bedrolls and fought against the fatigue that called them to rest. Weary yet anxious eyes plied open to hear more of the part-told tale.

"Nobody knows for certain how he came to be so evil and depraved. Some blame it on his folks on account that they used to fight like a sack full of wet plains cats. In fact, one of their favorite things to fight over was what to name their little bundle of joy. As such, he was nearly four years old and still called ‘That Baby’. Finally his daddy lost his patience and declared ‘That Baby’ would be named the very next morn. Vowing to label him with the first notion that came to his mind upon waking, his father stormed out of the house to share a mug or six with his buddies at the local inn. 'Course, he didn't count on getting an undercooked Dundee Burger to wash down with his ale, but he was good to his word. As dawn broke on the new day, ‘That Baby’ became little Hurlin Bucket."

The Warrior paused as a few giggles emerged from the shadowy bedrolls, and stared at the offenders with mock seriousness.

"I wasn't aware I said something funny but moving on with the story. Some say that Hurlin Bucket was part demon or even a demon in human skin. Still others will tell you that deep inside him, in that secret place where we keep those things that make us human, he was busted and twisted or just plain empty. I dunno, I don't have an answer. Always felt if you spent too much time thinking over things that have no answer it's like filling your head up with Chanter Powder. I do know that early on Bucket determined there were only three things in life he cared about; power, plat and stature. From there, it was only logical for him to pursue a career in politics."

"I reckon he became Mayor by fooling, bribing or threatening enough people to win the vote. Once in office, he took advantage of the good name of ‘Mayor of Dundee’ for his own personal gain. He'd make a big show of raising up food and plat to help the orphins, only to have the best donations delivered by dark of night to the back door of the fancy house he'd built for himself from tax monies. Oh, and he loved collecting taxes. Once a week he'd make the rounds with his group of thugs he called ‘Assistants’, and if you didn't have the plat for taxes he'd gladly take your food, heirlooms or home. 'Sides, 'gathering the tithe' as he liked to call it, just gave him a reason to parade about town with his chest stuck out reminding people how much better he was than them. He ruled like a king for years, which he practically was due to the throne being empty at that time."

The man stopped for a moment to look and listen. Already one child was asleep, breathing with the slow peaceful rhythm of youthful slumber, but the others were wide awake and wide-eyed.

"Lots of good people tried to stand against him whenever another election came round. Usually they just disappeared with whispered rumors of things no Life Monument can fix. Those that didn't go missing ended up packing up their families and leaving town shortly before the vote day. After years of abuse, the citizens were desperate. On the day before an election that had old Bucket running unopposed, they convinced a bos farmer from out east of town to run for mayor. Gustav Stridge was a mountain of a man and entirely fearless owing to the fact he'd been kicked in the head a few too many times by his bos, but he was as honest as a Verthedge tree is tall. They all gathered at the Dundee Inn, cast their votes out in the open and then sealed the ballot box. The whole lot was handed over to the High Cleric, himself just off the ferry for a visit to the Dundee temple, and they let the Holy Man do the counting. Somehow, when all the votes were tallied, Stridge was the Mayor-Elect and the beleaguered population of Dundee was free of the dark days of Mayor Hurlin Bucket."

"Now, there's always a little bit of time between when a new mayor gets elected and when they actually take over the office. Usually it gives the outgoing mayor a chance to pack up their stuff and pardon a few criminals, but not Bucket. He spent every moment of his last days thinking on what he'd miss most about being Mayor of Dundee. Sure, he'd miss actually being mayor, but there were other towns that needed a leader with a strong hand, like Caernivale or Fartown. Places where folk didn't spit on the ground after speaking his name. It'd be easy enough to pick up and find a new village to extort, burgle and strong-arm. Without a doubt, what Bucket would miss most was The Crystal."

A soft questioning murmur arose from the sedentary children and the Warrior put his hands on his knees and leaned forward.

"What? You don't know about The Crystal? Well, back in the day the Mayor of Dundee always wore a beautiful crystal amulet as a symbol of their Office. It was one of them Golden Age relics and had been passed from mayor to mayor for as long as anyone could remember. They say that to gaze into the core of The Crystal was like watching ocean waves breaking on rocks. Bucket himself used to stare into it for hours on end. In fact, he practically worshiped The Crystal. To Bucket, The Crystal was more than an official symbol; it was the object of his constant obsession and craving. It was exquisite evidence of his own power. But it weren't just a pretty trinket. It carried powerful magic within it too. When the Mayor wore The Crystal their entire body was protected even better than wearing a suit of armor. And it was a good thing that the Mayor was protected too, because part of their mayoral duty was to lead the village militia during times of demon raid. It wasn't like it is today when we have inns full of professional adventurers ready to charge into the fray. When the Town Crier made his call, it fell upon the Mayor to lead the troops into battle.”

"As if his lust for The Crystal weren't enough, he also worried that without the protection it gave he'd likely end up with a dagger in his back. Years of gaining wealth and power had also gained him lots of enemies. There was no way he was going to give up his cherished Crystal to the Mayor-Elect, so Bucket began to hatch a devious plan. He pried The Crystal loose from its setting and replaced it with an ordinary Ancient Glowing Gold Crystal. Then, he waited. When the next raid came he rushed out into Dundee Square where he met Mayor-Elect Stridge getting ready to fight off the demons. Hurlin walked right up to Stridge, placed the bogus amulet around his neck and said something bout how ‘Stridge was the Mayor now and that he needed to be kept safe’. Stridge grinned, struck a heroic pose and dashed off toward the Dark Forest. He was never seen again. Bucket slunk back to the Mayor’s office to hide until the raid was over, his hands caressing The Crystal like a worry stone while he listened to the fading sounds of battle."

The Warrior straightened and stretched, letting his elbow brush reassuringly against the pommel of his broadsword. When he continued the tale his voice carried an ominous tone.

"They say you can sometimes hide your deeds from the eyes of men, but the Gods see all. And the Gods had seen enough. Cory and Ben and likely a few others judging from all the thunder and lightning came to visit Bucket as he cowered in his office. They called him out for his crimes and cursed him. Bucket was vain as well as evil and they forced him to watch in a mirror as he was transformed into a hideous Horror. The Gods then banished him for all eternity to N'rolav Dundee to serve as “Mayor”. The only people to ever visit him would be there for the sole purpose of killing him off to take his Crystal. Over and over it happens. Sometimes he gets the best of the fight, but he never wins the war. It always ends with him losing the thing he covets most, the thing he murdered to keep."

"He's there this very night prowling the shattered remains of a mayor's office in a backward world. He counts the marcs until the next adventurer arrives to fight him for The Crystal and he grows meaner and more determined each day. If you walk into his office they say you may not see him right away as he likes to hide in the shadows, but you can smell him. The smell of bitter, rotting dead takes days to cleanse from your lungs. If ever any of you undertake the long journey to seek him out and face him, take a stout heart and a steady sword arm, or he'll gladly send you sprawling to your Life Monument. And that's the story of the Horror known as Mayor Hurlin Bucket."

The Warrior sat silently for several moments and extended his sense of hearing into the dark woods beyond the clearing to detect furtive noises: the hoofsteps of hostile centaurs. He made a barely audible growling deep in his throat. They'd keep their distance so long as watch and fire were kept. His left hand found some fresh firewood stacked beside the stump, and carefully tended the blaze to keep it burning in a minimal way. The voice that broke the silence was timid and unsure.

"Mister…Mayor Bucket, he don't ever leave N'rolav does he?"

A chuckle escaped the man's lips as he trained his eyes through the near-dark toward the last wakeful child.

"Nah. When the Gods curse forever, it's forever. Besides, I've had a run-in with him and found out he wasn't so tough."

The Warrior gently tapped the golden crystal on his breastplate as evidence of his victory.

"Now, to sleep with you. Your folks will see the dark circles under your eyes tomorrow and wonder why I let you stay awake all night."

There were several more moments of silence as the Warrior made a count of the number of centaurs on the move and their respective locations, and then the hesitant voice spoke again.

"Mister, what are you gonna do? Sleep?"

"I don't feel very sleepy tonight. I figure I'm going to sit here and watch Silly Initiate for a while."

The man craned his neck back as if to look at the sky, though his eyes never left the inhabited forest.

"He's shining particularly bright tonight. I'm thinking he might be trying to come back to Valorn to beg forgiveness of the Archmage. That'd be a sight I wouldn't want to miss, but you rest easy now. If that happens, I'll be sure to wake you."