HOME - MEDIA - WORLD - CHARACTERS - ABOUT - RANDOM
Hey, you. I'm gonna tell you a quick story. You can choose to believe it, you can choose to discredit it. It's whatever. I simply gotta tell somebody about this. I know this sounds outright crazy, but I met Stem City dictator Blema Von Voldark at the local Gillsway pub.
It was a couple of years ago. Now, me, being an avid fan of some smuggled off-world booze, love hanging around at the bar. This huge dragon lady named Becca owns the place. She's a huge prick, but that's a whole other can of worms I'd rather not get into right now. Just know that she owes me at least two favors. The bar was a real shithole at this time; It got renovated a few months back as of now. But, hey, the whole situation that caused that to be required is not the point of this story.
I'm sitting at the main serving counter. Becca is off cleaning her glasses or whatever she does when I'm not looking. Sudden storm is pattering up against the one remaining window that ain't boarded up in the whole damn rickety town. Place smells like it usually does; Dull but tolerable. My seat is uncomfortable, the half powered light above me is flickering, and I'm already two shots in. Sadly, my parents are coming over tomorrow to have brunch with me so I can't get too hammered. Besides that little detail, a pretty standard night for yours truly.
The bell above the door rings throughout the place. I turn to my right and squint. The sound makes it feel like somebody slammed a bat against my head. This huge lady walks in. She's built like Becca... I'd wager to even say the same height. This stranger has less muscles and more fat than the bartender at the very least. She is wearing this huge brown trenchcoat with a matching sun hat; Her tinted sunglasses make it impossible to tell if she's staring me back.
Realizing I'm looking at her for a smidge too long, my drunk self swivels forward again. Practically knock myself over doing so. I feel the floorboards under me shift as she hoists herself onto the stool next to me. I see her white skinned knuckles knock the wooden counter twice, clearing her throat. My gaze meets her body again and I'm surprised to see a massive stem ram horn curling around from the side of her head.
Nobles. They ain't a sight you see out in Gillsway that often. Of course, that's not counting the occasional tone-deaf businessman who turns heel the minute they realize we'd kick their chests in if our city's very existence didn't hinge on staying peaceful, but that ain't exclusively to this area of the outlands. It disgusts me, honestly. Those white skinned, orange horn havin' snobs think we're the slobs. Guessing they haven't fully realized what they do to Stem City, eh?
"Noble?" I snarkily slur. "Don't you got a... comfortable roof to live under somewhere? Rainy Gillsway ain't a place I'd imagine you fancy.
She chuckles. It's deep and sultry. The corner of my lip pulls up in disgust. I'm not a fan of it.
"It's nice here," She says. "The drinks are nice, the folks are nice..."
I roll my eyes. She must be delusional. Becca comes in from the back room, spotting the massive woman next to me. Flashing an annoyed look for only a moment, the dragonic woman bends down under the counter and pulls out a special drink. It's unlike anything I've ever seen the asshole serve at the dilapidated bar before; A pink sparkle comes off of the blue drink's uniquely shaped ice cubes.
The stranger daintily grabs the glass, tipping her sun hat and speaking before taking a sip, "Thank you, dear."
I huff. Becca usually badgers me to hell and back with payments.
"What are you paying with?" I ask.
"Becca and I have a special arrangement," She responds.
I growl, my shots not sitting well inside of my welling stomach. "You nobles and cheating hard working workers outta their money... You already do enough of that in the damn city. Can't you play fair for once?"
She slyly chuckles under her breath, "After the sort of day I've had, I better not have to pay."
"The fuck does that mean?" I begin feeling a blind fire light in my heart. At this point, I'm raising my voice slightly. The cheap booze I had chugged ten minutes ago is not helping me think well too smartly. "You don't even know half of what we have to do out here to survive. Don't march into our damn land and say that shit, bitch."
For the first time since we started talking, she tilts her head to the side to peer at me. I wasn't going to take this obvious intimidation tactic, strengthening my own piercing glare. After a moment of tension, she grimaced out of frustration. Her bright yellow teeth are bared. I almost wanted to gag from the rage of being looked down upon. My anger really started getting the best of me at this point. From my left-hand side, I grab my lucky knife. Even now, I always keep it on my belt.
Slowly raising it up before dropping it onto the table, I whisper in a hushed voice as to not alert the bartender, "I swear to god, you best stop starin' at me like that or else you ain't going to have any eyes to stare with anymore." The clatter of its special golden blade echoes around the empty bar. Becca is too busy checking something in the back room to care about the noise.
"Oh well. I wouldn't be losing much," She carelessly retorts.
Without a single warning, the large noble woman reaches past me and swipes my lucky dagger off of the counter. It takes me a second to realize I wasn't lobbed in the face, her speed and strength having startled me. By the time my tipsy mind processes what's going on, she's already studying my craftsmanship.
"Fungal Waste purple capped stem handle hardened and perserved by some sort of sap," She speaks aloud, "The blade is made up of Marks gold. How'd you get a hold of this? It's rare to see any proper Marks gold outside of Stem City's own reserves."
I chuckle proudly, smiling at the good childhood memories that are being pulled from the fog, "My father helped me make it when I was a younger kid. He used to work as a supervisor in the BACKBONE's old gold mines before Blema shut them down some years ago. Stashed some for himself back then and didn't have much of a use for it now that the outlands are open."
I stopped myself. The cynical part of my brain finally caught up. "Why do you even care? No, you can't buy it. It's mine."
She flashed a knowingly smile. It made me uneasy. "When was the last time you had to use it?"
I had to really think about it. My liquid mind had some pretty bad brain fog; Can't take much alcohol. "I don't know. I had to get a hive of root worms out from my floorboards a while back. That was four months ago?"
"Any blood spilt with it?"
"Of course not?" I start to ponder. "Why the hell are you even askin' me this junk? You got your fancy VIP drink. Now lap it up, ram."
She lets out a deep exhale before putting the knife down in between the two of us. "What fun is drinking if I don't have a buddy to get hammered with me?"
I squint. At this point, I'm weirded out by her. She seems to be oblivious to my distaste for her at best, not caring about it at worst. Clearing my throat, I knock on the wood and call out for Becca. "Another drink, dragon."
My bottle of cheap rum is dropped in front of me. Before I secure my hold on it, an annoyed Becca pulls it back out of my reach.
"Payment," She whispers behind ground teeth.
My hand slides down to my pocket where I usually keep scraps of goodies for trade. Sadly, it seems like my trading hasn't gone well this week. Fresh out.
"Shit," I mutter.
The large woman clears her throat, speaking to Becca, "He's with me."
Becca practically snarls, giving the stranger a death stare. Something tells me their relationship isn't exactly amicable. Trust me, lady, I get it. Dragon tail is a real drama queen.
The bartender holds her ground, "He can buy it himself, ram."
The noble clicks her tongue and shoves her abnormally large hands into her trenchcoat's pocket. Five Marks gold ingots hit the table. I was flabbergasted that a noble was just allowed to carry raw Marks on her like that, but I had been out of touch with Stem City for such a long time that I assumed that some law must've been passed allowing it recently. Becca is taken aback for a moment before quickly snatching the rare material into her hands.
"I don't feel bad about not being able to give you change, you know," Becca says as she slides the drink towards me from the opposite end of the counter.
"We both know that I wouldn't want it," The stranger replies back in an equally nasty tone.
No way I'm complaining about this development. I'm more than ecstatic for the free drink, chugging it as soon as I can get the cap off. I see the stem ram facing me as I do so with a dumb grin on her face. An impressive twenty seconds go by before I slam the mostly empty bottle onto the wood in front of me. A loud burp erupts out from my gullet. It felt amazing, let me tell you.
The next few hours become nothing but a blur, I'll admit. This huge woman keeps buying me drinks with what seemed like an infinite supply of raw Marks. We chat about all sorts of things; I'm pretty sure I gave her my life story there. Wouldn't be the first time I've pulled that stunt. She only seemed to loosen up more and more, breaking out into laughing fits as she chugged her own exotic drinks.
At some point she paid to play with the dartboard that Becca had hanging on the wall. I sucked at it, even hitting the wood walls with one of the darts at some point. However, she was practically hitting every bullseye. I was amazed. We were both getting wasted but it seemed like her hand-eye coordination had not suffered one bit. I remember myself wondering how good she was when she wasn't in eight drinks.
What a marvelous night it was; I'm surprised I remember it as vividly as I do considering how drunk I had been getting.
Now, listen, this is the part where it starts sounding like a sick and narcissistic jerk's fantasy. I'm telling the truth and only the truth.
Don't know how or when it started, but pretty sure she started to come onto me at some point later in the night. I was drunk out of my mind so we got pretty touchy-feely in the shady parts of the bar. That lady was thick in all the right ways, I swear. Becca was seriously pissed off for the last hour we were both there, coming over to us multiple times and telling us that she would not tolerate anything like this in her establishment.
Looking back on the whole situation, I'm surprised that nobody came in to have a drink. It was a perfect night to drink your sorrows away.
At some point, she turns to me and asks with a slightly slurred tone, "Want to head back to my place, sugar-plum? Promise I won't eat ya." She did a cute little hand motion like she's some ravenous monster. I chuckle at the absurdity of seeing a fully grown woman act like that, especially one where my bias tells me she should be uptight and focused on nothing but money. I really, really wanted to come with her. I really should've, frankly.. Dad would've been proud of me for scoring somebody so high up on the social totem pole.
"I-I should really get home," I slur. "Cleaning. Need to c-clean for family visit tomorrow."
She sighs but doesn't put up a fight. "I see. Family is important, you know..." Don't know why, but in my drunk state, my previously noble hating mind had built an appreciation for this one; My intoxicated self fancied her quite a lot. ...Honestly, My only slightly tipsy self telling this story quite fancies that woman still.
"For you, dearie." Two small ingots of Marks gold onto the table are dropped onto the table.
The noble woman stands up from our dark corner, the unstable bar floor squeaking under her weight, and heads for the front door. I frowned. It was hard to let her go. That night was still one of the most fun I've had in a long, long time. It was so amazing being in our own little isolated wonderland that I hadn't even gotten her name. The noble lady waved to Becca and yelled something I don't particularly remember.
Now, right before she walks outside the door, she turns to me and flashes a beautiful smile. A few hours ago, I probably would've seen that as threatening. Oh, how a night of alcohol can change someone.
She lowers down her tinted shades, revealing a mess of bloody stitching going across her face where her eyes should be.
"Wink," A sultry voice flutters throughout the empty bar.
And, just like that, the bar's bell rings and she vanishes into the pouring storm outside. My shaking body tell me that I just saw an illusion. I seriously thought I was that fucked up. Becca soon escorted my barely conscious ass out, unable to deal with my mere presence any longer. I stumble my way through Gillsway's storm, thoughts of that wonderful woman permeating my mind. I eventually end up home, collapsing on my squeaky bed before I can get even an inch of cleaning done. The morning leaves me no room to ponder on the strange encounter last night as I rush around and prepare.
Cleaning took up a majority of my morning; No time to even recollect what happened the night before. It was only after I wished my family farewell that day's noon that I got to sit down on my makeshift couch in my broken down house to really process the blissful experience from last night. And, while I'm sitting there, the dots start to connect in my head. I hadn't recognized her due to her big coat, hat, and glasses staining most of my memories. However, the huge body, the stitched face, the magenta hair...
Yeah. I am almost certain that it was Blema Von Voldark. Dictator of Stem City. She sat next to me. She bought me drinks. She thought I was cute enough to want to bring home.
I head down to Becca's bar every single other evening in some fruitless search for her. It's been years.
I've tried to talk to Becca about it, seeing if she's ever come back, and all I get back is different forms of "For both of our sakes, and my sanity, we shouldn't talk about that night so openly."
Man. What a fool I was. What a fool I am.