His mind was racing, racing, racing, and he could swear he heard distant hoofbeats coming from within the walls of his rotting chest, accompanied by a distinct and fast "thwup-thwup-thwup" helicopter sound.
His ancient flesh was peeling in various places, and turning a slightly green color.
 |
| Like a fine aged cheese |
"Aging perfectly," he thought, "just like a nice cheese."
The mushy substance squishing about in his skull was trying to identify the reason his chest had been pounding, and like an ancient sailing ship groaning up to speed, his brain was finally making some connections.
He had been hard at work on a custom new scythe with a new style grip, inlaid with the teeth of his last seven victims, when he had gotten frustrated, and booted up the ancient Windows PC on his uncomfortable iron desk.
"Damned Windows..." he thought, as he quietly resented how he had to sub-lease his equipment from Hell. It was well known that running a Windows machine is the closest thing to Hell a being can actually comprehend without turning their brains to low-functioning cheese-food-product.
As he navigated the unholy portal into the Undernet, he passed a flickering image of stunning beauty. It was a dark painting, in tones of brown and muted greens......ancient trees surrounding a dirt road, and in the distance, in striking contrast -- the flowing crimson hair of a maiden fair, in a sheer white dress, and a cloak of some indeterminate color.
Squinting through his rheumy eyes, he peered closer...what was it about this image?
Stepping back to take in the entirety of the painting, he noticed her hair stirring in the breeze.
"Well, that makes sense," he thought to himself, shaking his head quickly, as if to clear the illusion from his eyes.
"Help me!" called a small distant voice, and The Craw spun around rapidly, looking for the source of the sound.
Seeing no-one, he peered closely at the painting again, and noticed that the woman appeared to be walking toward him, beckoning to him. Her eyes darkened with concentration as she yelled again, "HEEEEEELP ME!!!"
The Craw, unused to seeing such apparitions, and especially apparitions of such exquisite beauty, gasped as his lower jaw promptly disconnected from the rest of his skull, and fell to the tile floor, where it lay in stunned silence.
"Hmmm..." thought The Craw, before becoming increasingly alarmed at the way his lower jaw just laid there on the ground.
"Ummm...a little help?" asked his jaw, but since it was laying there on the floor, it pretty much sounded like "uuunggg, a wi el?""Curious...." thought The Craw, picking up his jaw and trying to wedge it firmly back in place. He hoped it would stay put, but it was just as likely to fall off again as not -- the maiden was gorgeous, and he seemed particularly affected by her. Not to mention the distinct lack of tendons connecting the jaw to anything.
"Help meeeeee! I am soooooo bored!!!" yelled the figure in the painting, and the Craw turned his attention back to the beauty. Her hand beckoned him, and The Craw's ancient brain sputtered and choked itself to life and he began to comprehend. The girl perhaps required some form of assistance, or perhaps a handout...he wasn't sure.
Mustering up his concentration, The Craw squeezed his mind tight, and attempted to project himself into the painting, where he figured he might be able to provide some sort of comfort to the distressed beauty.
Her hair shook in delicious slow-motion as he watched, and concentrated. Momentarily distracted by the curve of her perfect hips, his brain utterly ceased functioning for several seconds, and this brief moment was all that was needed to become one with the painting.
The world swam, and light bent sideways, creating ripples of space-time around him, and The Craw rose up from the brown earth beside the road......deep in the painting's background. He paused a moment, savoring the delicious whirling sensation, then sighed with an ancient groan of effort, and stood, bathed in sepia light, and walked toward the maiden.
"Dude, what took you so friggin long?" asked the maiden boldly, obviously unaware of the importance with which The Craw was regarded in certain unholy social circles.
"I am The Craw!" he proclaimed, a bit stiffly, extending a bony hand.
"Creepy............but.......nice cloak," said the girl, shaking the bony fingers, and grimacing slightly as a small piece of flesh dislodged itself from The Craw's right index finger and took up residence in her palm.
"I am Sarah, Nymph of Fire," she said, wiping her hand on her cloak, which appeared to be a sort of muted fig color with green piping, but now with a slight fleshy stain on it, "and I am so utterly bored right now that I could scream!"
"Hmmmmm," pondered The Craw, his mind racing with ideas that were not exactly chaste.
"NO, I'm not doing THAT!!!" she yelled, and The Craw froze instantly, his vision stuck on freeze-frame, like a blurry polaroid of some sort of pagan love-ritual.
"Um...I wasn't thinkin' anything!" he protested, before he realized that he was, after all, an all-important deity of the Underworld, and he'd better act a lot cooler than that. This girl was obviously able to read minds, and that made her dangerous.
Thinking that he'd better prepare himself for some form of mental altercation with this nymph, he searched the deep pockets of his tattered black cloak, for something with which to defend himself. Down he reached...past the pair of white mice, down past the broken swiss army scythe he carried for emergencies, down past the bulging bag of toasted badger spleens (new! Terriyaki flavored!) and felt his bony claw come to rest on something...what was it?
 |
| A Fine Satchel of Bagweed |
"Oooohhh, Bagweed!" she exclaimed, "my favorite!"
"Drats," thought The Craw, as he saw his advantage disappearing quickly.
He handed her the pipe, and paused, searching for his custom flaming coffin lighter. It was sure to impress, but....where WAS that thing?
"Let me get that," she said and casually flicked her thumbnail, producing a small flame from the tip of her thumb.
"Wow, talented girl," thought The Craw with grudging admiration. He regarded her quickly as she raised the pipe to her lips, noting the sensual way she smiled as she inhaled.
Her head leaned back, her eyes half-closed, and she passed the pipe to The Craw, who almost spilled the contents, since his gaze was still firmly locked on her face. With an effort, he broke his gaze and quickly took a deep hit from the pipe. He could feel the green smoke passing through his rotting insides, and filling his ancient lungs with the heady flavors of cherry and leather, and his eyes closed for a moment, preparing themselves for the vast imagery that rapidly approached.
"Ohhhhhhhh, my god, look at that," she said, peering at him closely, but with a slight look of shock.
The Craw would have made an inquiry into the meaning of her phrase, had it not been for the image that greeted his opened eyes. There before him, in a shape slightly resembling the nymph, was a vision of multi-colored light, streaming endlessly from the center of her being, and flowing outward in fans of color, which bled together and mixed into new never-before known colors, such as Mattross, Ephemia, and near the edges, stunning Versunscion. Around the edges, there blinked a million crystalline lights, shimmering like galaxies, and he felt a warmth flow over his carcass, lighting him from the inside.
There was a slightly painful stretching sensation in his face, and he touched his face lightly, as if to identify the cause. Something told him he was smiling, but to the casual observer, it probably looked more like a grimace, as he wasn't accustomed to that particular facial expression. Didn't serve well in his reaping duties at all.
He peered closer, but the radiant heat from this fire nymph kept him slightly at bay. It was the most beautiful apparition, and he thought to himself, "Craw, either this is the finest Bagweed you have ever encountered, or the soul of this nymph is the most pure essence of radiant beauty he had ever seen. Or both.
Meanwhile, back at the nymph, Sarah continued to mutter phrases, such as, "Woooowww," and "huh....interesting" as she peered deeply into the essence of The Craw.
"What do you see?" he asked, somewhat curious about his own essence, after seeing her amazing inner light.
"Welllllllllllll..." she began, "I'm not entirely sure here, but you appear to be a large purple velvet bat."
"Really?" asked The Craw, somewhat taken aback.
"Yes, but its the oddest thing," she continued, "I can see a deep red light emanating from inside you, and it looks like your heart is about three times the size it should be. Do, you, like, have high blood pressure or something?"
The Craw confessed he had no idea, and this was bad news indeed. Reapers are not known for having large hearts, and it may help explain why he was so behind in his reaping quota lately. Perhaps his heart was not small and black and hard enough, as it should be, for a reaper.
"Ummmm...I'm a velvet bat?"
"It appears so, and a sort of cute bat too, but you're fading now, a bit....back to your normal cloaked self."
The Craw could detect the lights starting to fade around Sarah, as the bagweed began to wear off, and this was probably a good thing, as the author wasn't sure how to describe it any better, at this time.
"You were.......ummmmm........very beautiful" said the Craw, blushing a deep green color in his haggard face.
"I was?" she asked, innocently enough that he believed that she may have been surprised.
"I saw lights" said The Craw, unable to come up with as good a description as the author, and quietly resenting the author for it.
"I get that sometimes," she said, and took his bony claw in her hand. "So reaper-boy, with the big heart and velvet wings, what are we going to do now? I've been stuck in this painting forever, and you are just the man, err...uh...I mean....reaper, to take me away from this place. I've never really hung out with a reaper before, but you seem OK. Just don't try any funny stuff, mister."
The Craw was confused, as he wasn't really thinking anything funny, but still seemed to have this painful facial stretching going on. And frankly, it hurt a lot, and he seemed unable to stop. Maybe it was because she smelled of lavender and rosemary, with a dash of liquid smoke, and undertones of blackberry and cinnamon. Either way, it was distracting, in a way that he was not used to.
"He is so crushing on me," she thought to herself, as she hooked her arm through his, and turned to look at him, a mess of tangly hair, all starry-eyed and probably slightly retarded. "Yep," she thought.
Continue to Part II >>
