#trevor is so funny to me hes just jumping all the time in duels | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

noir-obenio · 5 years ago

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"Best Care, Fair Share"

a MASH AU: ROTG × HTTYD [I am a bit skeptical about writing and publishing this. I already have a whole plot for this, I'm just publishing this first chapter to see what you peeps think. Criticism is very much welcome] WARNING: Some graphic depictions of violence Characters involved (in this excerpt): Captain Hiccup "Fury" Haddock Captain Jack "Frost" Moore Major Heather Weisling Colonel Thuggory "Meathead" Phillips Major Gorman "Grim" Gormless Corporal Finley "Fishlegs" Ingerman Corporal Trevor "Tuffnut" Thorston Captain Samuel "Sandy" Hoffmann **future chapters will involve a LOT more of the characters though**

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Pungent—the only word to describe it. The air stinks (probably because of the humidity), the smoke stinks (artillery fighters use too much powder and chemicals), the people stinks (they reek too much of dried blood and grime), the muck stinks (you wouldn’t know if someone shitted in here), the blood stinks (so stale, it gets everywhere)—this crummy war stinks (you don’t need a description for this).

Bullets can be heard from any point. Turn around and one of them might just hit. March ahead and suddenly, there’s death greeting halfway. It’s raining harshly, but there’s no thick mud around the boots, no sound of the titter totter of the raindrops, just traces of dust, dry soil and dripping blood—there’s the realization, this rain can never end. The raining of bullets, of shells, grenades—every explosive on the arsenal had been fired but still, it will never stop—all that was left was screaming.

All of it, I heard while patching up wounds in the operating room. When you’re four miles from the front, it’s not impossible to miss such heavy sounds and feel the small tremors in the earth. Dust gets in my eyes and I have to persist, even in the prickling pain, just to get my patient through. Four miles away is not enough distance to ignore the explosions—the war keeps going on and on, taking the next chance and the next to damage the other. If we could only take a day to close our eyes, not hear the explosions ripping everything apart, forget the war, even for a while and stay in that lucid dream forever, but the shelling was too powerful, even for all our dreams combined.

About several miles up from the ground, there was a deafening grumble of a million sounds pouring through. Every meter per second felt indifferent from a looping infinite number of time. Behind him, artillery fighters from both sides still duel. Below him, soldiers are advancing, carrying their rifles pointed up and helmets down. Smoke shielded their vision, apparently, a shell had just hit the ground. Multiple soldiers must’ve died but there was no time to inspect it for himself. It wasn’t safe to land in the middle of the trench and check on the soldiers there—he had orders. Orders that he has to obey—besides, there were already a handful of casualties aboard with him and it was only him who is unscathed. Passing through the smoke, it was already clear of soldiers. The trenches are left emptied, apart from the dead soldiers, and remnants of the war were very evident, very cold. The chopper pierced through the cold wind. It was winter but there wasn’t much snow—it melted already. The heat of the war was unbearable, even in the strongest snowstorms. The mud became too thick, too hard to pass through. Almost zero visibility on the ground because of the thick smog, but that wasn’t much of a challenge than winning the battle. Through the glass, he can see the shells firing away from the small hills and then he mumbles a little prayer, hopefully it hits something else and not him. The pilot turns a little over the right, the fog became a bit lighter and snow was much thick from the mountaintops. The pilot checked on the casualties aboard his chopper and felt relieved that there was still some slight movement. They were wrapped around in a lot of layers, shielding them from the winter weather, while the pilot had to endure the cold, piercing wind by himself. He headed straight into the mountain range just ahead and he huffed a breath of relief. It all looks much familiar now to him, and he felt much safer now that he was inside.

The chopper glided along the mountain range cautiously, his engine humming, out of the tension—finally. The sound of the bombings were getting fainter, but it didn’t mean they were out of earshot. From the pilot’s peripheral vision, he could see another chopper flying in a distance, going about the same direction he is. The pilot carefully goes around the mountain.

Finally, after a few minutes of flying still, from a distance, he could spot a landing pad—the landing pad of where he needs to go, and the pilot set gears to land.

There is a camp ahead, and he could see the tiny people rushing out. The commotion in the camp was something similar in the battlefield—like they were gearing up to start their own battle. The pilot slowly landed his chopper down the makeshift landing pad, a patch of elevated ground in the base of the mountain. Before long, the chopper was surrounded by jeeps and medical staff ducking and running towards it. The corpsmen unbuckled the casualties from the cots and carefully lifted them off and brought them over to the jeeps. The pilot released another breath, finally, he made it safely back without any trouble. He watched as the nurses crowded over the patients he brought in, and two doctors kneeling at the hood of the jeeps, undergoing triage. The jeep pulls away and drives back to camp slowly, carefully minding the patients, the doctors, the nurses and corpsmen assisting. It was up to the doctors now, his thoughts before pulling up again.

The jeeps made it back to the camp with no harm done. One of the doctors immediately jumped out of the hood of the jeep and watched as the corpsmen carefully lifted the patient off the jeep and into the ward. He yells out some instructions, an IV and a unit of plasma—he was a usual case. The doctor runs, towards the compound, which were filled with casualties in stretchers, awaiting triage. Later, another ambulance just arrived and the corpsmen pulled the doors open, retrieving the casualties inside and placing them down the ground with the other casualties awaiting triage. Another doctor inspects them, shouting instructions amidst the loud commotion in the camp. The corpsmen took another patient away and into the pre-op ward. The nurses follow along, helping them prepare these patients for surgery. The doctors hop along the casualties, tagging them and giving out instructions. The commotion around the camp remained bustling, especially with the newest arrival of a bus, full of casualties. One of the doctors flipped open the doors and entered, inspecting all the patients inside. A nurse soon followed.

When the doctor ducked down and inspected the next patient, he sucked in a breath and felt his stomach curl—the kid was dead. The nurse knew the look in the doctor’s eyes and bent over the window, calling out for the chaplain. By the time, the chaplain had arrived inside the bus, the doctor was almost done with the casualties inside—a lot of which are on a level two priority. The chaplain blessed the dead soldier with a prayer, a sad look in his eyes. The boy was too young.

The doctor suppressed the distraught inside him and finished doing triage on the wounded and the corpsmen cleared the bus of the casualties, bringing them in over at the ward. Some of the patients were already hooked up on an IV, while the others are being cleaned of their wounds and the blood that scattered over their body. The doctors suited into their scrubs and their masks were securely tied in their heads, their hands, brought up and suited in surgical gloves. They entered the operating room and found themselves a table where nurses and corpsmen were waiting. They can hear one of the doctors attempting on a joke—it was funny, but none really had time to manage even a chuckle.

The first wave of casualties flow inside the operating room. There was pressure, there was tension so thick, the scalpel wouldn’t have been enough to cut through it. They weren’t supposed to take so long on these operations. It was just “get the patient safe and stable, out of critical condition and move on”. It wasn’t their duty to perform such perfect surgery—not like what it was supposed to be. Over two hours passed before the next patients were brought in and the next and the next, until they stopped counting the hours, the number of patients and how much gloves and sponges, full of blood, were scattered on the floor. It didn’t dawn on them—(they weren’t even aware of the sunset) the windows were filled with thick fog and outside, light didn’t even shine—how long they were occupied inside.

There was a comforting thought though, that their patients transitioned and became much more conscious and didn’t need too much treatment. They knew that they were almost finished. Thank the gods.

Hours past, the clerk, largely built but very rickety, came rushing into the operating room, looking troubled and afraid. He went over to one of the tables and breathed a few deep breaths before he announced the news—and possibly get stabbed multiple times later—“Um… Colonel… everyone… c-choppers are coming—new casualties are coming in any minute!” he announced.

There was booing, grumbling, cursing and sponges filled with blood were thrown at him instead, “It’s not my fault the war keeps bringing us casualties—blame the Revolts!” he cried out before he ran outside the operating room.

“Damnit! We’ll never get outta here!”

“Put a clamp on it, Frost!” one of the nurses said.

“Would you stop calling me Frost?” he grumbled.

One of the doctors hurriedly finished bandaging his patient’s shoulder before he stripped off his gloves and his gown, “I’m going to go perform triage—anyone with me?” he asked.

“I’ll go with you” answered Frost before finishing the suture he made.

The surgeon removed his gloves and gown and exited the operating room. Entering the pre-op ward, they found a few more patients left, resting uncomfortably in the cots, enduring the pain they have accumulated. A young corporal and a nurse were watching them, checking their vital signs and making them much comfortable as possible. The two doctors grabbed some thick coats, slipped them on and went outside, the cold winter wind slapping them awake.

“Do you remember how long were we inside the operating room, Fury?” Frost, the lanky, brunette man, asked.

“I don’t even remember the last time I even breathed” answered Fury, the other lanky, brunette man.

“Attention, all available personnel—new wounded are coming in the compound, I repeat, new wounded are coming in the compound” the PA announced.

Medical personnel rushed out the ward and met with the doctors outside. The distant roar of the engines was heard, and jeeps and an ambulance were seen from a distance. From the sky, the chopper was closing in and landing. At least, it’s only one chopper. The corpsmen carried the casualties off the ambulance and Fury met with them and inspected the wincing and writhing patient, “I’m afraid this one needs to be treated ahead of the remaining patients” he said, “Start an IV and ten milligrams of morphine and a few units of plasma, he needs to be in a table, stat!”

The patient was taken into the ward. Fury climbed inside the ambulance and found another patient inside, the same state as the patient before. He repeated his instructions to the corpsmen on standby outside the ambulance. He exited the ambulance and rushed towards the other casualties. About half of them were already dying and dead while the other half still had a shot in life. A little later, he noticed the chaplain running out of the ward and rushing towards the dying men. Meanwhile, Frost was up on a jeep, going up the landing pad and meeting with the casualties on the chopper. Fury spared him a glance before he entered inside the pre-op ward and got rid of the coats. The last of the patients that were brought in yesterday were gone and in the operating room—which was a relief. The new casualties were many, but much lesser than the number of yesterday’s casualties. Good grief. Fury proceeded to scrub up and a nurse assisted him in putting on the gloves, the surgical gown and helped him reattach his mask. He entered the operating room once more and a wounded patient was already laid on the table.

Fury looked into the wound, which was off the pressure bandage. A corpsman took it off and threw it somewhere else and forgotten immediately. Fury winced, seeing how deep the wound was. His guts were almost sprawled out of abdomen, but Fury wasn’t as much disturbed. He had seen a few hundred of these before, he was just left to wonder what the kid had to go through to sustain this kind of injury. He turned to the nurse beside him, “Clamp and suction” he instructed the nurse.

The nurse grabbed the suction tube and placed it on the wounded abdomen, then, she grabbed the clamp from the table with her free hand, “Clamp” the nurse responded, putting the instrument on the doctor’s hands.

“How many out there, Fury?”

“About twenty of them, Thug” he answered, “Scissors”

Later on, Frost came bursting inside the operating room, in full scrub. A patient was brought inside, hooked up and nurses have prepped him for surgery. Frost stepped up as the corpsmen immediately pulled away from the table and exited the room. He looked at the nurse across him, clearly horrified of the sight in front of her.

“I don’t know what the heck happened to this guy, he’s got shrapnel wounds all over his thoracic cavity” Frost hurriedly said, “Raise this kid’s morphine to twelve milligrams—!"

“Pressure: 80 over 60”

“Give me some O negative blood!” Frost called, “Start an IV with a bore needle—c’mon!”

“If you’re gonna need some assistance, just call for anyone of us” one of the doctors said.

Tension loomed over the operating room again, apart from the clatter of surgical instruments and the mumbles of the doctors, there was a nerve-wrecking silence. It had been an hour already, many of the wounded treated in the operating room have been brought to post-op. A sergeant entered from the post-op ward and approached the colonel with a hesitant look on his face, “Colonel, I’m afraid we have insufficient space in post-op for the remaining patients” he said.

The colonel turned to look at the sergeant, “There’s no more room?”

“We have already moved a lot of spare cots inside and post-op is already flooding with patients, we couldn’t accommodate anymore”

“Get one of the tents from the supply room, set it up beside post-op, and you can put those who have light injuries inside” the colonel answered, turning back to the patient he was almost finished operating, “Suture”.

The sergeant responded and ran back to the post-op ward to do what the colonel tasked. After finishing patching up the patient, he raised his head and spotted a staff by the doors and called out for him, “You, corporal by the doors! Go check out how many are still in pre-op” he ordered.

The corporal pointed at himself, unsure of the colonel’s orders, “Yes!” the colonel called.

The corporal pointed at the door behind him and the colonel replied with another exasperated “yes”.

The young man entered outside the operating room and counted the people still in the pre-op ward, awaiting treatment. The corporal entered back inside the operating room, “About six more people, colonel” he announced.

Everyone in the room cheered. The colonel smiled, but it went unnoticed behind the large mask, “Okay, corporal—?"

“Corporal Thorston, Colonel!” he proudly answered.

“Thorston, bring in another patient”

Corporal Thorston nodded and rushed back into pre-op and came back with another corpsman and a patient between them. The patient was brought into the table and a nurse came by, holding up a couple of x-ray scans towards the bright light. The surgeon took a second to glance at his medical staff and nodded. The colonel studied the scans carefully before he got started. A nurse took over and prepped the patient for surgery, placing an IV on him and hooking him up on a unit of blood.

Over the other tables, another doctor had called in for the next patient and replaced his gloves with a new pair. Another doctor from another table was suturing his patient. Fury was still head deep in surgery, taking out shrapnel from the patient’s wounded backside. Another surgeon was retrieving a shrapnel from the patient’s abdomen. Frost was still operating on the same soldier he came in with and he was looking very much frustrated already.

“Frost, his pressure’s 60 over 40 and his pulse is 50 and I’m afraid is fading fast”

“Hey, Fury—I need your help over here” called Frost, “Start another IV, quick!”

“I’m sorry, I’m really busy here, I can’t leave this guy” Fury replied, apologetic.

“I’m available” called another doctor, walking over Frost’s table.

“Hey, Gorm” Frost greeted sweetly with an unnoticed smile.

“Knock it off, Frost” his rugged voice boomed.

“Yeesh, still as stony as ever” Frost grumbled, “You know, you should be the one called Frost, not me—you’re so cold”

Gorm ignored Frost and checked on the patient, “What do you need, kid?” he asked.

“I need you to help me with that retractor—I need to get his ribs apart” Frost replied, “I need to swoop in and find any shrapnel left in his chest. I’m afraid it’ll pierce the heart and this guy is lost”

Gorm adjusted the retractor and the ribs opened wider for a bit so that Frost could see inside the chest cavity, but blood flooded the chest cavity, “Suction, quick! I think I saw a small shrapnel near the spleen” Frost called.

The nurse quickly grabbed the tube and hovered it above the pool of blood. The chest cleared a little and Frost could see the chest cavity again, “Okay… lap sponge” he requested.

The nurse handed him the sponge. Frost dabbed the chest clean and threw the sponge away before he asked for a clamp. The surgeon was quiet, carefully pulling the tissue apart to reveal a much better view of the spleen, then he asked for a wheaty retractor which Gorm helped place. The shrapnel was very little, almost unnoticeable, but reflected enough light for it to be noticed. Frost swept it up with a pair of forceps and disposed of it in a tray. Frost gave out a relieved sigh as he placed the instrument on another tray of used instruments. Frost’s bright cerulean eyes shifted up and found Gorm giving a nod. His eyes turned up and found the colonel standing behind Gorm. He also gave out a nod and the side of his eyes crinkled—probably smiling, Frost thought.

“His pressure’s still low”

Frost hunched down again, ignoring the pain his back was giving him. He had been hunching down at this soldier for a couple of hours, his back was already crying and the rest of his body felt stiff. He could use a little rest, but it’s not going to happen anytime soon, especially with this soldier giving him a hard time.

“Goddammit, can’t this kid give me a break?” Frost grumbled underneath his breath, “I need a clamp”

After being handed a clamp, he went in again on the patient’s chest, trying to open some places where the shrapnel could have pierced. He was rushing now, going over the places he had already checked before to see if there were any strays he missed. That couldn’t have been possible though, but he kept checking. Gorm was willing to help him go over the chest again.

“Okay, I got the aorta” Gorm said.

“I need a retractor” Frost ordered.

“Nurse! Suction” Gorm called.

“I got no pressure”

Frost felt his heart skip a beat. He felt the life suck out of his own body, but he kept on, working around the clock mechanically fast—if there is still any chance to save this guy. He’d take it.

“Father!” one of the nurses called.

“No, no—I won’t give up on this guy—not now, after he gave me such a hard time” Frost argued, still going over the patient’s chest.

Suddenly, he felt a hand on his shoulder, trying to pry him away gently. He didn’t need to turn to know it was Fury behind him, “Don’t” Frost warned and Fury backed off.

One of the two nurses looked over at the priest with a desolate look, her face was a little sweaty, after all the pressure and tension in the operating room. Her tired, green eyes pleaded at the priest, looking down and meeting his eyes. The priest nodded and turned towards the table, fixing a cross with his hand and silently began to whisper a prayer for the poor, dying soldier.

“Father!” Frost scolded, catching glimpse of the priest praying, “Nurse—give me a knife! C’mon, I said give me a knife!”

But neither of the two nurses were respondent. They looked grim and sad, instead. The soldier’s fate was sealed—he was already dead and there was nothing anyone of them could do for him. The nurses had accepted that fate, but Frost still wasn’t giving up and grabbed the knife himself. He started working on the patient again. The priest had already finished praying, Gorm had already stepped away from the table, leaving Frost to work all alone.

“Frost” Gorm called, “The man’s gone”

“Frost” the colonel finally steps in, “There’s nothing you could do for him now”’

His hand was shaking. The knife hung dangerously too loose from his hand and could fall at any moment. One of the nurses gently approached him and took away the knife from his hand, settled it down at the table and slipped away from the table, taking her sorrow with her. Frost took a few strides away backwards and watched as Gorm started to close up the patient. He didn’t move, his breaths were very deep and slow, his eyes were wide open, staring at the dead soldier in front of him. I could’ve saved him. Frost repeats it in his head like a mantra, it was before he was startled back to reality by a hand dropping on his shoulder, “Jack” the voice called.

Frost blinked and turned over to Fury who had an austere look on his eyes. His emerald eyes and dark auburn eyebrows were crinkled and furrowed together, telling him to pull it together. The man’s hand left his shoulder and back to his side, “I’m sorry—I really am” he says, much gently.

“We’re doctors and it’s our job to save every life we could—but sometimes, we forget the last word of that sentence—could” said the colonel, “It’s war. Men will die, Frost, and not everyone we get our hands on could even escape that”

The colonel left the operating room, pulling out his gloves and gown on the way. The operating room was now mostly empty. Most of the staff were already outside, cleaning up and getting dressed back in their fatigues. Those left inside were some corpsmen and nurses in charge of cleaning the operating room. Sponges and bandages filled with blood were everywhere, almost filling the floor. Surgical equipment were sprawled on the tables, filled with grime and blood. Used IVs and plasma containers, all in a pile under the tables. Everyone could agree it was the epitome of hell.

Gorm had finished fixing the dead soldier and the corpsmen took him away. A nurse had started to clear the table off the instruments and clean the blood that splattered on it. The instruments, each being gathered and undergone sterilization. Everything was being cleaned as fast as the sleep-deprived staff could. It had been a painful seventeen-hour surgery. Give me a break already, grumbled each one of them.

Fury grabbed Frost and they walked out of the room, taking off their gowns and scrubs and putting on their worn-out fatigues and boots. Frost was quiet the entire time and Fury didn’t attempt to make conversation. Gorm didn’t lift his lip either and went out of the ward whilst slipping on his thick coat. Fury and Frost were the only ones left inside and the silence was deafening.

“So, ugh… do-do you wanna grab a little something at the mess tent?” Fury croaked.

“Eh… I don’t see why not” Frost replied, shrugging nonchalantly; his tone like his usual, cheery self.

Fury stood up, went over the laundry baskets and threw his scrubs in. Frost followed and they both grabbed their coats and stepped outside the ward.

Once again, they felt the cold winter wind slapped their faces, smacking them awake. Fury stretched his arms and yawned offhandedly, showing off his fatigue for all the war to see, “I could sleep for days!” Fury bawled out.

Frost managed a light chuckle, “I’m too tired to make a joke” he muttered with a small smile plastered on his face.

“Captains!” called out a feminine voice.

They both turned to the source and found a tall, raven-haired woman dressed tidily with a clean, but worn-out olive coat, her fatigue tucked in seamlessly, fastened with her garrison belt under and her boots tied securely. She had her hair in a loose braid from her tight bun earlier in the operating room. Her emerald eyes were gleaming with authority but with a hidden gloom and tiredness. She walked with her hands in her pockets, taking careful strides because of the muddy floor and the ice, “I just want to say you’re work in the O.R. today was commendable” she said.

“Oh, Heather—our beautiful goddess with hair like silk and voice of an angel” Frost coaxed.

“That’s major to you, Captain” Heather rebuked.

“Our beautiful major goddess with hair like silk and voice of an angel, I had a great time with the assistance of your hands today” Jack coaxed again.

The major rolled her eyes and went towards another direction, towards her tent. Frost pouted, looking dejected as he followed the major with his eyes as she walked away. Fury just laughed at Frost’s rejection, tears almost trickling down from his eyes. He just needs a laugh every once in a while.

“Someday, Fury, I tell you—you’re gonna wind up pining for a woman and she’s gonna reject you in lightning speed” Frost threatened, resuming his walk.

His walk was a bit relaxed now, Fury picked up on it right away. He was glad that his friend was reverting back to his usual self. The men had known each other since they arrived at the MASH unit. The jeep ride going there was very miserable, but each other’s company made it very bearable, at least. Their friendship has kept both of them sane for most of the time and with every minute of every day spent with each other, they would have known the other like a medical textbook. Fury followed his friend, catching up on his strides to walk alongside Frost.

“At least, I won’t be as disgusting in flirting as you are” Fury commented.

“You don’t even know how to flirt to girls”

“Let me tell you—I’m a genius at flirting! I’m a master” Frost boasted, “If flirting was a major, I’d have a Ph.D for it right about now”

“And how come you haven’t landed with one girl in this camp yet?” Fury countered.

Frost stopped to turn to look at Fury. They are just outside the mess tent now. They both could hear the clattering of forks, knives and trays and the faint chatter of the people inside. “Hiccup, Hiccup, Hiccup, my dear little boy… they don’t know how to respond to such genius, such magnificent, such graceful philandering I can muster” Frost responded with a playful smirk.

Fury opened the door to the mess tent and shoved Frost inside, “Eat. Your mind’s too bushed to think straight”

“No, I’m telling you—I’m a flirting professional slash genius”

At the end of the day, after I had dealt with the fire and the rain, did I find a little solace at the 6079. We had found solace in each other. We were family, that was something I have always been happy of. We shared the pain, the bits of happiness, the fear, the laughs, and the tears.

It was with the right companions did I managed to survive all throughout the war.

- fin.

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mdid-thething · 7 years ago

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Netflix’s Castlevania

The last few days I have been seeing gif sets and a few text posts about Netflix’s relatively new animated series Castlevania, based on the Konami videogame series of the same name. I rather like the series because of the side scrolling map exploration with vampire themes, so I told myself that I should give the show a try. I am rather glad that I did. The first four episodes are enjoyable and have given me enough to anticipate the future episodes. Then you realize that the “first four episodes” are actually the entire season. Ellis, please look at Leverage to see how to write season finales when you don’t know if there’s going to be a follow up season.

The plot of Castlevania centers on Trevor Belmont and his fight against Dracula’s horde of demons that is ravaging the country of Wallachia in the 1470’s. He allies with Sypha, a scholar and magician, and Adrian Alucard Tepes, the half-human son of Dracula, and they take the fight to Dracula himself. If you’ve played the Castlevania games and/or are familiar with the early entries of the series, you’re probably thinking that this sounds incredibly similar to Castlevania III: Dracula’s Curse. You’d be right. The Netflix series is an adaptation of that game, but takes stylistic cues from later games such as Castlevania: Symphony of Night.

The rest of the review is below the cut for length and potential spoilers, though I do have to wonder if events that happen in episode one count as spoilers…

Even if I had no previous knowledge of the writer on this series, I would have known the moment Trevor Belmont started speaking that Warren Ellis was the head writer. I like Warren Ellis, I really do. However, he only really knows how to write one sort of hero: a down on their luck person who strides the line between hero and anti-hero and deals with the temptation to be much, much worse, but overcomes the darkness inside them to act on their better natures. You could trade Trevor for Excalibur’s Pete Wisdom, for Planetary’s Elijah Snow, for pretty much any character in his run on The Authority. Yes, yes, yes, you can tell me all day about the differences between all of these characters, but their core personalities are the same “Ellis hero” model. I don’t note this as a bad thing, but as a stylistic thing that is emblematic to all of Ellis’ work that I have encountered.

Unfortunately, what has happened between when Ellis broke out Pete Wisdom back in the 90’s and now is that there has been a deluge of characters that have been built in the same anti-heroic trope, but without adding nuance or criticism to that trope. There is a point where you go “this person is just mean” because the “anti” part of the character so eclipses the “hero” side to make the title “anti-hero” meaningless. As such, I found Trevor, forgive the phrasing, whip smart, very funny (“God shits in my dinner once again” I think I woke the neighbors with my cackle), and boring. I am tired of seeing yet another mean/sarcastic anti-hero forced into the role of a hero against his very best efforts.

Perhaps a thing that Ellis could delve into in future seasons is building up how Trevor and Dracula are foils of each other. Trevor’s back-story is told in bits and pieces when he explains at various times how his family was excommunicated by the Church, exiled from Wallachia, and his home burned to the ground, implying that the rest of his family burned with it. The clearest telling of it is in a few seconds of the opening credits in episode one. He deals with his grief by becoming self destructive, and claiming that the injustice done to his family could be done because good people didn’t stand up for them when they could and should have. This sounds very similar to Dracula, who lost what he loved most because of the Church, and claimed that there should have been people to protest the death of an innocent woman. The difference is that Dracula’s grief and rage are directed in outward destruction.

In terms of female characters in general, Sypha is a breath of fresh air. Her design very clearly places her in the world and as a member of her people, the Speakers, rather than going the lazy route of putting her in a sexualized costume. In personality, she is a headstrong woman who has been given a lot of leeway because of her great magical ability. I have some trepidation about her place in the overall plot in the episodes to come, should Castlevania get a second season, because her personality and appearance are very similar to Lisa Tepes of Lupo, and that might mean that there’s a kidnapping plot for her in the future. Or, at least, that Dracula will have some sort of conversation with her about how similar she looks to his late wife and considers sparing her because of that.

As cool as she is, and as eager as I am to see more of her, it is a bit bothersome that Sypha shows off her best magical work when she is doing so at Trevor’s direction. When she was on her own, there’s nothing to show for her magical abilities, as seen when Trevor rescued her after being turned to stone. This is especially noticeable when we see her using her magic, and she needs little more than a gesture to control and create fire, ice, and wind.

For the Speakers as a group, it is really cool to see that they are based off of the Roma, being an oppressed, distrusted, minority group who typically travel in caravan trains. Additionally, it’s great to see that there are background characters who are not white or white passing. But that leads us into a problem. The Elder and Sypha, who are the audience’s main representatives for the Speakers, are pale, leading to an unsettling implication of pale = good. I know that there are white-passing Roma, but the majority of people who are of Roma descent have dark hair and skin. Sypha would be equally as beautiful, headstrong, and intelligent if she had dark hair and skin as she does in her current design.

The writing for Castlevania, overall, is enjoyable and engaging, but this review wouldn’t have much more to talk about if I just left it at that. Despite how I summarized the plot of Castlevania earlier, the series doesn’t introduce Trevor until the final two minutes of the first episode after a far too long joke segment about goat fucking and the consequences there of. Episode one is dedicated to the back-story of Dracula and his human wife, Lisa Tepes of Lupo. In general, it is a good episode. It establishes Dracula’s motivations and makes a great setting piece for this fictionalized version of Wallachia.

There are several things that can be taken issue with, however. Such as that this back-story is the content of the first episode. Granted, given that the season only has four episodes, it does make sense why this choice was made. However, it still feels like something that should have been aired much later in the series, such as after the protagonists meet Dracula face to face for the first time or as part of an episode where Adrian explains the origins of himself and the demonic horde. At that later time, the series could capitalize on lines such as “No one has ever seen Dracula before” and on how Trevor and Dracula are foils of each other. The current early placement of the episode makes it seem like Dracula should have been the primary protagonist who was pushed over the edge, with a plot of his resistant, clawing path back from that fall. But that is not the series that we have.

The second issue is Lisa Tepes of Lupo. Take her out of the context of the series, and she is a great character. She is a scientist who wishes to help people using the most cutting edge medical knowledge and technology she can get her hands on. She is brave, convincing Dracula to teach her his science and correcting his bad manners to his face. She is forgiving and compassionate, even while being executed, pleading that her husband not take revenge on the people that found her guilty of witchcraft and burned her at the stake. She deserved so much more screen time than she got, and I desperately want to know more about her.

Now lets put her back in context. Lisa is a classic example of the Women in Refrigerators trope. Her purpose in the plot is to die. Dracula then feels sad and takes his feelings out on the whole of humanity. I am so goddamned tired of female characters who are created only so her death can motivate a man.

The series’ third writing issue is the afore mentioned goat fucking joke. It goes on too long and is distasteful. You just wish for it to be over so the plot can move on its merry bloodstained way, because the only thing you’re gaining from the exchange is a dick and shovel joke. Given that they only had four twenty-three minute episodes in the entire season, they should have economized the time they had to focus on the main plot.

The final episode contains the last two major writing issues. One is the duel that wasn’t. I don’t know if I actually like it. On the one hand, it is similar to the scene in Raiders of the Lost Arc where Indiana Jones shoots his opponent after the he goes though an impressive display of dexterity and sword skill. It’s an unexpected conclusion to that scene, but remains enclosed with the two people that it is focusing on. In Castlevania, it’s Trevor who is giving the impressive build up, but an outsider jumps the gun and kills the priest. The tension is broken in an awkward unresolved way, even as the scene itself was resolved. It’s an odd unsatisfied feeling, though I think Ellis was trying to go for black comedy.

The final issue is the death of the Bishop. I’m not arguing with his fate. He absolutely deserved to be disemboweled by demons for what he did. What I don’t like is that he dies without Dracula or Adrian being able to have a direct hand in it. It feels like Ellis completed that arc too early. Both Dracula and Adrian have their emotional arcs, as tied to Lisa, left uncompleted because they do not know that it was this bishop that was the driving force behind her death. And really how shitty is it that Adrian was sleeping for a year right under the man that had a direct hand in the murder of his mother?

In short, I recommend that people do watch Netflix’s Castlevania series. Its witty and engaging, and they really ought to have more episodes to it’s name because the four given are not enough. While I have issues with some of the writing choices and what I think and hope are going to be future choices, they aren’t going to stop me from watching more.

#tv show review #Castlevania #netflix's castlevania #Trevor Belmont #sypha belnades #Alucard #adrian alucard tepes #spoilers #ink in a bottle

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dcreed013 · 7 years ago

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Chapter 3: The Grimoire

Ellie woke that morning to the sound of a bird calling directly above her. She stared at the ring of early morning sky for awhile, disoriented. Then yesterday’s events began to replay and slowly sank back into her, and her stomach felt heavier as she recalled that she was still a ways from home.

She turned her head and glanced over to her right to spot her new companion, Chevias. He was still asleep, his back to her and his tail lying twisted in the dirt like a huge snake. The tail twitched occasionally and Ellie was once again amazed and slightly alarmed at how bizarrely quite Chevias was. Thanks to her father and older brothers, she had been under the impression that all men’s snoring sounded like wild animal growls or saws going thorough wood. But Chevias’ snore was so quiet and soft that it was almost indistinguishable from the rustling of the leaves in the trees above her. She was half convinced he wasn’t actually sleeping, but his lack of response when she softly called his name proved he was.

Ellie got the distinct feeling that walking over to him and shaking him awake would result in her being smacked across the clearing , so instead she sat up and tossed a rock near him. It clacked loudly on another rock near his head, and the witch bolted upright with a startled and sleepy mumble. He came to his senses with amazing speed, considering Ellie had spent about five minutes groggily staring at the sky, and looked over at her.

“Oh right…morning.”

“Good morning….”

Chevias yawned loudly and started stretching, reminding Ellie of the old cats in Flatrend. Ellie tried to get up and was met with a sharp pain in her back and aches in her legs. Chevias noticed her rubbing at her back, “Stiff back? Sleeping on the ground’ll do that. Try twisting and popping it, like this.” He demonstrated and Ellie copied him, flinching in horror as her back made a series of loud popping sounds. However, it did help the pain, and Ellie was able to stand up and look around.

The fire pit in the middle was now just ashes, the smell of smoke still hanging in the air. She looked down at herself and found that the bright yellow of her dress was getting dull with dirt. ‘Just as well,’ she supposed, ‘it was annoyingly bright anyway.’

Chevias was nice enough to let Ellie have some of the water from his waterskin, though it was made of some hard metal and he called it a canteen. She shared some of her bread and cheese the old woman had given her for breakfast, and the two made their way back to the main road to continue their trip.

This walk was much like the yesterdays, though there was less terrified silence on Ellie’s part. They talked for most of the way, but this time Ellie found that Chevias was less willing to talk about himself, to her annoyance and frustration. Ellie was extremely curious about witches, but whenever Ellie asked him a question about him or witches, he would either flip it around to ask about her or smoothly change the subject.

“So, what’s your family like?”

“Oh, what you’d expect. What about yours?”

The chat had been going on in this fashion for a while and at this point, Ellie was quite annoyed with his suddenly suspicious behavior. She put her hands on her hips and huffed, “Alright, why are you acting strange? You were so chatty yesterday, and now you’re dodging my questions!”

He looked a little caught off guard by Ellie’s directness, “What? I’m not dodging.”

“Yes you are!”

He sighed and paused for a moment, thinking about something, before replying. “Ok, look Ellie. The fact of the matter is, part of my job includes keeping my mouth closed about it. Apparently, the higher ups aren’t comfortable with people knowing a lot about witches, so they tell us that the most important part is to keep quiet and not cause any scenes. An annoyingly big part of our training is keeping up conversations while being what they call ‘diplomatic’.” He put that last word in air quotes.

“What they really mean is that they don’t want non-witches in witch business, so they train us to shut our yaps about it.”

Ellie was incredulous about this, “But what about that big story yesterday?”

“I’m allowed to tell people what I’m doing, not why I’m doing it. Plus, you were jumping at shadows yesterday. Let’s just say there’s a big, long list of subjects that are a no-no, ok?”

“Talking about your family is a no-no?”

He raised an eyebrow at her, but stayed silent.

“Right, no-no. Well then, can you just tell me if you’re not allowed to talk about a subject instead of jumping over it? This is all sounding really suspicious.”

He sighed again, sounding exasperated, “Yeah, I know it does. I’ve told my boss a big part of why people don’t like witches is how shady we’re told to act. But she just-” he cut himself off.

“…No-no?”

“Yup, yeah, that was a no-no. Say, why don’t you tell me about your family now, before I start running my mouth again?”

So Ellie talked about her family for a long while. She talked about Wormwood farm’s history, about the dragon scale roof, and about town. She found that talking about her life was a far more productive course of conversation than Chevias’. It seemed every time she ventured to ask about his personal life, he had to shut her down for it being against the rules.

Ellie couldn’t fathom why his ‘higher ups’ were against him talking about his parents or school, or even about where he lives on the occasions he’s not traveling. She didn’t know how they would know if he did talk about them, but when she voiced this question, he just shook his head again. It was quite frustrating, so instead of trying to pry information out of him, she buried her curiosity and tried to focus on chatting about the other kids in town and how big a deal the adult made of the school teacher’s alleged affair with the butcher.

“I’m actually not really sure what an ‘affair’ is, but it must be something really terrible for the adults to almost kick them out of town over it. Do know what it is Chevias?”

He had seemed to be amused by the small town gossip, but Ellie was surprised by how loud he laughed at that question. His laugh was sharp and barking, and surprisingly shrill compared to his normal voice. He quickly reigned himself in and chuckled, “That’s something for your parents to tell you, not me. So, did they get kicked out?”

As a matter a fact, they hadn’t. Ellie hadn’t been there to hear it, but apparently there had been a big commotion in the square one afternoon while she was helping her brothers fix the henhouse roof. After that incident, the townspeople stopped pestering the teacher as much and instead focused on the teenage son of a merchant who lived in town. She relayed this to Chevias.

�� “Why’d they do that?”

Ellie shrugged, “I kept hearing different stories. Harriet Row told me that he made a mess of the statue in the middle of town, but Eddy Warthren said he’d harassed a lady and had a fight with her husband. Then Sarah Trout said he’d set off some kind of explosion, Trevor Grove said he won a duel to the death in the square, and Patrick Morton said that he’d let a bunch of wild cat’s loose on a fish merchant! By the time I heard about it, there were a thousand different stories!”

“You couldn’t just ask someone who was there?”

Ellie threw up her hands, “You think I didn’t try that? Every time I asked someone who supposedly saw it, they’d just brush me off and say ‘never mind all that’!”

Ellie was surprised she could talk about her town so much. She had always been under the impression that Flatrend was a boring place where not much of note happened. But every time she thought she’d exhausted a thread of conversation, she remembered another funny or odd thing that happened. She had also been worried that Chevias would quickly get bored of the silly nonsense and stop paying attention to it, but she found that either he was genuinely interested in the goings on of a small town, or he was just an excellent listener. Anyone else she knew would’ve tuned out long ago.

As she recounted the tale of when a horde of the town’s troublemaking kids had plucked a bunch her family’s chickens so they could tar and feather the statue in town square, Chevias stopped walking abruptly and interrupted.

“Hey, we’re almost there.”

She stopped next to him, “Almost where? I don’t see the town.”

Indeed, it had been several hours, but they were still far from town. Chevias pointed over to the right side of the road, “This is the turn off for where I’m going. It’s a bit of a detour, but there’s a way to get to Tyman from there to.” He paused a bit, “This way might even be safer than the main road.”

He started heading for the edge of the forest before looking back at her, “Last chance to change your mind. Are you coming or not?”

“I’m coming, I’m coming!”

Ellie dashed after him and followed him off the road. Unlike the path to the clearing, which had been completely hidden aside from the scratches of Witch-Speak on the trees, this path was marked by nothing more than a thin deer trail. Ellie had a bit of trouble pushing through the thick brush, but Chevias seemed to know the path down to each step to take.

“So where are we going?”

“To a small, unnamed lake. It shouldn’t be far. I was told it was about a ten minute walk from the road.”

“You were told? You mean you’ve never been there before?!”

“No, not to this place specifically. Don’t worry, I know where I’m going. I don’t get lost.”

His confidence made Ellie want to believe him, but she wasn’t entirely certain anyone could keep they’re bearings in the forest like this. If it wasn’t for the barely-there deer trail, she wouldn’t have known if they were going straight or in circles.

After a few minutes of walking deeper into the forest, doubt started to creep up from the recesses of her mind. The darkness of the foliage and the stiff air were causing her mind to swing back to the anxiety that had been waiting to resurface. ‘Idiot,’ a voice told her, ‘you’re an idiot! You should’ve waved goodbye to him back on the road and made your merry way to Tyman. But nooo, you decided to put your faith in a witch! You let one of the most notoriously untrustworthy creatures in all of creation lead you off the road and to Thia knows where!’

‘Chevias has been nothing but nice and helpful,’ Ellie argued with the voice. ‘Yes he’s a little suspicious, but if he’s not allowed to talk about things, then I should respect that. Besides, he didn’t force me to follow him! I had every opportunity to go on without him!’

‘Then why didn’t you?!’

Ellie wrestled with her doubt for a long time, not even noticing that she was making a very troubled face that Chevias could clearly see. He didn’t try to snap her out of it though. If anything, he found the fact that everything she thought showed on her face rather funny.

So he didn’t bother her fight with her inner turmoil until they finally reached the lake. He had to reach out and grab her shoulder to keep her from walking right into it.

“Ah!” The feeling of his hand brought her back to reality quickly.

“Watch out. It’s a steep drop down.”

So it was. Ellie looked around at the strange lake. If you could call it a lake, that is. It was almost perfectly round, and about ten feet in diameter. The water in it was a murky green from algae and lily pads, and the bottom of it was completely obscured so you couldn’t tell how deep it was. It had less of a bank than a steep drop into the dark water. It had no sign of a creek or stream running through it. It looked more like a man-made pond than something you’d find in the middle of a forest. “Chevias, you said we were going to a lake. This doesn’t look like a lake.”

He scratched his head, a little puzzled, “Yeah, it does. Errol told me it was a lake, so I thought it’d be bigger.” He started digging through his bag and mumbled, “Though I suppose it is a lake for someone his size.”

“What?”

“Anyways, this is defiantly it. Look here.” He walked over to and crouched beside a rock that was sitting besides the pond. Ellie joined him to see that the rock had some now familiar looking scratches. Below the scratches and taking up the majority of the rock was peculiar handprint with only four digits; the thumb and three fingers.

“What’s this?”

“The entrance.”

Chevias finally pulled what he’d been looking for out of his bag. It was a slim book with a silvery, metallic-looking cover. Ellie looked at it with wide eyes. “What’s that?”

He smiled, “This is a grimoire. Can’t tell you more than that though. Sorry.”

Ellie pouted as he opened the book to reveal…blank pages. The pages of the book were a little odd, but she couldn’t quite figure out what it was about them that was strange. She raised her brow, “It’s blank.”

“Yup.”

Chevias ran his finger down the center of the book and, to Ellie’s shock and amazement, the book lit up with bright green lettering. She gasped as the green light crisscrossed into Witch-Speak across the pages. Then, as she watched, Chevias gave the book a command. He only said one word, and she would bet it was in Witch-Speak because she’d never heard anything like it.

“What are you doing?”

“Can’t tell.”

She huffed, “So you can do whatever this is right in front of my face, but you can’t tell me what it is?”

“Yeah, that’s how it works.”

“That’s stupid. These are stupid rules.”

“They are, but I still have to follow them. Now pipe down.”

She didn’t know what it was he told the book to do, but the characters on the book pages flashed and changed, settling into a single line of letters. Chevias tapped those letters with his finger and then the pages once again filled up with Witch-Speak. Chevias gave another command and the letters flashed and changed once more. This time he took the time to read what was on the page instead of poking at it.

“Ok…ok, simple enough. Easy.”

He reached over to the stone and placed his hand over the print, pressing his pinky and ring finger together so they’d fit into the groove made for one. After settling it into the indent, he glanced back over at Ellie, “Stand back, ok?”

She obeyed and hopped away from him as he looked back at the book and read aloud from it. He rattled off a string of Witch-Speak that sent a chill up Ellie’s spine. From the snippets he’d said, she could gather that Witch-Speak was a language mostly comprised of hard constantan sounds and lots of ‘sh’ noises. It wasn’t a pretty sounding language, like Runic or Hedeshoi. It was slithering and clicking, harsh and sharp, like the lettering that matched it.

As the last syllable left Chevias’ tongue, the scratching above the hand print started to glow the same green as the grimoire, and the ground trembled a bit as the sound of rushing water filled Ellie’s ears. She looked back at the pond to see that the murky water was draining from the pond at a startling rate, disappearing within a few minutes.

Ellie peered into the now empty hole in the ground, astounded, as Chevias stood up. She saw that the muddy water had been concealing the fact that the pond was quite deep; a little deeper than Chevias was tall. “Well, that’ll do. Come on.”

She gaped at him, “Come? Come where?”

Then he hopped down in the hole and landed without slipping on the slimy pond scum and vegetation that had sunk to the bottom. He turned back to her and held out his arms, “Come on down, I’ll catch you.”

The look on her face told him what she thought of that.

“Don’t worry, I won’t drop you. Unless you’d rather try to come down yourself.”

Ellie was always a little frightened by heights, as her father can attest from when he tried to put her on his shoulders. Although the drop wasn’t terribly high, it was still a little under six feet. Ellie was a rather small for her age, and she only came up to about the bottom of Chevias’ ribcage. She looked for another option but found that the walls of the pond were made of a smooth stone; it was defiantly manmade. With no way to climb down, she sighed and steeled herself.

She dropped off the edge and quickly landed in Chevias’ arms, who barely dipped down under her weight. She didn’t know if she should be surprised by how strong his arms felt considering how skinny he was, or not at all considering she watched him drag a bear off the road.

Either way, he set her down on her feet quickly. “Alright, start kinda shifting all the debris around. There should be a hatch door on the floor.”

It wasn’t one minute before Ellie tripped over it. She would’ve landed with her face in the algae if Chevias hadn’t lashed his tail out and caught her by the waist with it. His tail was as thin and flexible as a length of rope and just as solid and steady under her weight as his arms. She was genuinely creeped out by it, only able to remember a picture of a snake squeezing the life out of its prey she’d once seen in a book, but sputtered a thank you as he uncoiled it from her and walked closer to see the door.

He crouched down and wiped the debris off it, revealing a metal door with no visible handle, knob, or hinges. Instead, there was only another one of those strange handprints on the center of it within a circle of Witch-Speak. Chevias opened like he drained the pond; he put his hand on it and read a line from the grimoire. This time, it wasn’t as responsive. The letters flickered a bit, as though trying to obey him, but having trouble doing so.

“Come on you piece of….” He muttered and banged on the hatch. The lights blinked on and stayed steady as a soft whirring noise sounded, and the door swung up and opened by itself. It revealed a hole going down with ladder rungs protruding from one side. Ellie peered down and could see that there was a landing not too far down that lead to a narrow corridor that sloped down into darkness.

“What in Thia’s name IS all this?”

Chevias was already starting to climb down the ladder rungs, “It’s an old bunker. Two-hundred years or so ago we built hidden bunkers like this to house soldiers for the war. They’re scattered around, but most of them have been forgotten. Records of this one were only recently dug up.”

Ellie started down the ladder after him, “I’ve never heard of anything like this!”

“I’d be surprised if you did. I didn’t think there was any this far west, but I guess they managed to scrap this one together right before the tables turned.”

“Wait, is it ok for me to be here?” As she asked this, Ellie reached the bottom of the ladder and stepped onto the landing, squinting into the darkness to see what looked like entryways lining the walls of the hallway.

Chevias nodded, “Yeah, it should be fine. It’s not like it’s a secret that places like this exist. There’s one over in Ovanhagen that’s been converted into a kind of museum.”

Chevias reached over to the wall beside him and firmly placed his hand on some kind of panel, and then the dark gloom of the bunker was alleviated by a red glow from the rooms lining the halls that spilled through the doorways. The whirring noise sounded again and Ellie looked back up to see that the trapdoor was closing on its own. As it shut, there was a faint but strange sound that a little like wheezing that was followed by the muffled sound of running water. Now that the door was closed, the pond was refilling.

Chevias started walking down the path and Ellie hesitated a moment before following him. The corridor was just wide enough for two adults to walk abreast, and was oddly sloping downwards, but the rooms were level, as Ellie saw when she passed the nearest one. The rooms were huge and filled with dusty looking beds. The bedding was mostly tattered cloths and what looked like rolled up clothes for pillows. The red light shone from a huge plate in the ceiling, strangely bright and vivid and cast deep shadows across this gloomy, forgotten place.

Each door had scratching of Witch-Speak above them that also glowed that menacing red. She wasn’t entirely certain, but Ellie could guess that they denoted what kind of room was below them. As they descended, they passed one set of what she assumed were barracks after another, until finally the hall leveled out. Ellie had no idea how deep underground they were, but the mere thought of it was about to give her a bout of claustrophobia.

To combat the panic that was welling up in her chest, she started talking again. “Chevias, why are the lights red here?” She had expected her voice to echo, but the echo she got was far louder and creepier than what she expected. Her voice reverberated for a full minute before finally dissipating.

“Red light is easy on the eyes. If someone stumbled in here at night, they wouldn’t be totally blinded by it.”

“Oh…well, umm…can you tell me what happened here?”

Chevias glanced at her before quickly looking away, his face hard as the stone around them. “I know rural towns don’t have the best schools, but I know they teach you that much.”

Ellie gulped and cowered at his sharp tone, falling a few steps behind him, “Sorry.”

“Ellie, for future reference, NEVER bring that up around a witch. Some are a lot more sensitive about it than others.”

“I’m sorry…I really don’t know exactly what happened though. They’ve taught me about the Great War and before, but they always skip what came after. Whenever I ask about it, the adults tell me that it’s something complicated and that they’ll tell me when I’m older.” She wrung her hands nervously, trying to keep her voice from trembling, “…It must have been something really bad though…I can tell.”

Chevias sighed, “I guess that makes sense. You’re still a kid after all….” He stopped and turned to her suddenly, startling her. “Listen, when they do teach you about it, they’re probably gonna tell you a lot of…” he trailed off, looking for the right wording. “Well…just keep in mind that every story has two sides, ok?”

Ellie wasn’t quite sure what he meant by that, but nodded anyway. She guessed it would make sense when she was older. As much as that notion annoyed her, right now she just wanted this uncomfortable conversation to end. Asking about the time after the Great War had clearly been a mistake; the stale air in this bunker was almost suffocating with tension and Ellie was wishing she’d kept her mouth shut.

Chevias spun around and started down the hall again, “Sorry if I scared you. Come on, we’re almost there.”

She didn’t bother asking where exactly ‘there’ was, but followed him silently. The idea that maybe she should’ve parted ways with him back on the road flittered through her mind again, and not for the last time.

It was about another five minutes of awkward and silent walking before they finally reached something other than barracks. The right side of the hallway suddenly gave way to a gigantic room and the left side was adorned with the only actual door they’d seen down here. The door was wooden and had a glass window at the top of it, but it was oddly opaque and dappled looking. Both had more glowing Witch-Speak to their sides, and the giant room was lit by another plate of crimson, this one enormous. It was full of tables and chairs, with what looked like in the gloom long counters towards the back.

Chevias spoke up, “That must’ve been the cafeteria. And that’s the main office. Come on, we’re going to the-“

A long, loud grumbling sound interrupted him and Ellie grabbed at her stomach, her face heating up.

Chevias was clearly trying his best not to laugh in her face, “Pfft…yeah, it is about noon, isn’t it? We can sit down and eat first.”

He walked over to the table nearest to the entrance and pulled out a chair. He frowned at the tabletop and swept his arm over it, sending a cascade of dust flying to the ground.

Ellie delicately walked over, looking cautiously around the room. As hungry as she was, the idea of eating in this tomb was intimidating. The idea of the shadows leaping at her didn’t seem so silly here, and she wondered how the soldiers that were once quarted here could stand it. Even so, she forced herself to sit at the still somewhat dusty table across from Chevias and pulled the last of her bread and cheese out of her basket. “The lady only gave me enough for myself, so there’s not much left….”

“That’s ok. I’ve got…” he rooted around in his bag, “…jerky!” He pulled a small bag filled with sticks of dried meat out. Combining that with the bread and cheese made for a decent meal, and Ellie stuffed down all she could get.

“Take it easy Ellie. We’ll be in Tyman by tonight and we can get dinner at an inn, ok?”

She swallowed her last bite of bread, “Speaking of which, what will we do about food for the way to Flatrend?”

“I’ll spot you a bag in town so you can carry some things-”

“I-!”

“Don’t argue. We’ll buy some provisions the morning after we get there. We’ll spend the next night to rest and head out the next morning. If we can get someone to give us a ride, we’ll do that. But we have to be prepared if no one wants to. Then we’ll make our way and I’ll hunt for dinner most nights. Sound like a plan?”

“It does…I suppose….” Ellie wasn’t too happy about having to spend an extra night in Tyman, but she supposed it was necessary for the long walk ahead of them.

“…Wait Chevias, you’re going to pay for all this? Do you even have the money?” Ellie recalled his story about being stranded in Weshan because his employers gave him the bare minimum, so how could he have enough to pay for all this?

At first she expected him to say that he wasn’t allowed to tell her, but he responded with, “You remember that I had a run in with goblins last night? Well,” he pulled a very fat and bloodstained coin purse out of his bag, looking a bit smug. “This should cover it.”

It was the fattest bag of coins she’d ever seen, and she was a bit impressed that a band of goblins managed to get a hold of that much. “Yeah, that should work. But can I ask you something I’ve always wondered? What do goblins need with money anyway? I always hear about how they steal things and raid towns, but I’ve never heard about one actually using the money they steal.”

Chevias shrugged, “I don’t know, I’ve wondered the same thing myself. They’re not smart enough to use it for anything and no one would sell to a goblin even if they tried bartering. Maybe they’re just dumb.”

He laughed and pocketed the purse again, “On the bright side, if I’m ever strapped for cash I can just find some goblins. Even a little group of them is bound to have some money on them, and they’re not hard to find.”

True enough, but the way she was sure Chevias took the money from them made Ellie pity goblins, even if just a bit. He gave the impression that he didn’t care for goblins enough to give them a chance to run, and she was glad she wasn’t in their position.

‘Not that that’s my business. I’ve never actually met any goblins, but I’ve heard they’re nasty creatures. He’s probably doing the kingdom a big favor by getting rid of them.’

Chevias tucked away the rest of the jerky and stood from his chair, “Alright, let’s get moving. The sooner we’re out of here the better.” Ellie couldn’t have agreed with that statement more and stood up with him. They reentered the hallway and Chevias walked over to the door he had earlier identified as an office. He put his hand on the panel next to the door that was much like the one that turned on the lights.

The panel flashed red and gave five long, annoying sounding beeps, then did nothing.

Chevias growled, “Uggghhh…” Then he grumbled something in Witch-Speak that Ellie was ninety percent certain was a swear.

“What’s wrong?”

“It’s only supposed to open for authorized personnel. Stand back, I’m going to bust it open.”

She jumped a few feet away, “How?”

He hesitated with his hand on the door, “…Ok, I’m gonna do something, but freak out, ok? It’s totally normal and I’m not going to hurt you.”

Ellie wasn’t sure what to say to that. She was sure that he was about to open the door the same way he killed the bear, the goblins, and skinned last night’s dinner. Last night she had been scared of him enough to not want to know, but now her curiosity far outweighed that. So she nodded, “Ok, I won’t.”

“Alright. Just stay back; I don’t want any glass hitting you.”

Ellie stared at him intently, waiting for him to do something odd. She waited a moment and nothing seemed to happen. He just stood there, his shoulders and tail stiff as he expected her to start screaming. She flicked her eyes down and up, then down again as she finally saw what had changed.

What had been Chevias’ oddly pale, but otherwise perfectly normal hands had been replaced. Now they were pitch black, and each finger had been replaced by a long, sharp looking claw. Ellie’s breath hitched and a squeak escaped her throat.

“It’s ok!” Chevias held up his new hands, “This is just something I can do! Please don’t scream, the echoes in here are bad enough at normal volume!”

Ellie let out her breath and forced herself to suck in one after another to prevent a scream, “Ok, I’m alright. W-what exactly is that?”

He waved his hand and Ellie could swear she heard the faintest sound of splitting air as the knife-like claws swept through the air. “They’re my hands.”

“I can see that, but happened to them?!”

“It’s just something I can do. It’s as normal for me as being able to walk is to you.”

“Can…can all witches do that? I’ve never heard that witches could do that.”

Chevias sighed and put his hands on his hips, rolling his eyes.

“You can’t tell me? Fine…just-just open the door already. I want to get out of here.”

“Alright,” he turned around to face the door, “you know, you took that better than a lot of people have. Once time a grown man ran away from me screaming after I saved his life and a kid your age fainted. You’re pretty level headed for your age.”

“Thank you...?”

Chevias reared his clawed hands back, “Shade your eyes, you don’t want any splinters flying in them.” Then he started to hack through the thick wooden door, his claws slicing through it like it was made of butter. Ellie had seen her dad chop fire wood before and not even the sharpest, most well made axe money could buy would cut through solid wood as cleanly and easily as those claws. In fact, chopping and cutting weren’t the right words for it; the claws were gliding right through it, so sharp that the wood wasn’t resisting them at all. Ellie could only stare wide eyed and wonder just what all those blades could cut through.

Chevias finished cutting a large hole out of the middle of the door, and stepped back to look at it, “Yup, that outta do it.”

Ellie watched as his hands shifted back to their normal, human shape. They shrunk the slightest bit, as though that form had made them swell up a bit, and the claws receded until they were the normal, blunt and human shape and length. Then the blackness that coated his skin like ink pulled back and disappeared beneath the cuff of his shirt. All this happened in just about two seconds; if Ellie had blinked, she’d have missed it. It was also, like the rest of anything Chevias does, an eerily quiet process. Perhaps you would expect such a drastic change to be accompanied by the sound of clicking or crunching bones, or a sandpapery, slithering noise as the inky blackness crawled onto his skin, but it was completely silent. It was no wonder Ellie hadn’t noticed anything at first.

Chevias went through the hole into the dark office. Ellie waited until another crimson light flickered on, bathing the room in that eerie glow before following him, being careful not to scratch herself on the wood.

The office was sparse and messy; it looked like it had been ransacked. The desk had been overturned and flung across the room, the book shelves had been cleared of anything that was once on them, and a tall cabinet with four drawers had been yanked out and emptied. Despite the mess, there wasn’t a single scrap of paper strewn about.

“There’s nothing here.”

“They must’ve cleaned it out before leaving. Come on, see if you can find a metal plate. It’ll be long and rectangular, with some Witch-Speak on it.”

It didn’t take long to find. It had been stuffed behind one of the open drawers of the cabinet, obviously hidden.

Chevias picked it up, appeared to read the Witch-Speak for a moment, before turning to the back wall of the office. It was unadorned except for a slightly indented portion of the wall. Ellie would’ve missed it entirely, but Chevias seemed to have known it would be there.

He walked over and placed the panel into the indent. The Witch-Speak flashed, this time the same light green as Chevias’ grimoire. Then the wall behind it opened up and slid to the side.

It was high up, so Ellie had to stand on her toes to properly see what was inside. She was a little disappointed. The wall had opened up to reveal what looked like a safe. Ellie had been expecting a safe to contain jewels, or valuable information. The contents of this safe were mostly…junk. There were several items in it, most of them made out of what looked like copper, steel, and another bluish metal that Ellie didn’t recognize. They looked like tinker-toys, or pieces of a clock tower…Ellie wasn’t sure how to describe them.

Chevias ignored the large pieces of metal and pushed them out of the way until he found a box. The box was somewhat small and covered in very dusty velvet. He pulled it out and opened it.

The box contained a necklace. Now, a necklace was closer to what Ellie imagined belonged in a safe, but this necklace hardly looked valuable enough to stow away. It looked like a piece of junk that was laced onto a string. It was a flat, irregularly shaped piece of metal that was silvery-blue in color (at least Ellie supposed it was, as it was currently bathed in the red light). It had a strange pattern and was otherwise un-noteworthy.

“You came all the way down here for this? Who would want this?”

Chevias shrugged, “Who knows, I’m just an errand boy. Come on, let’s go.” He turned around and started heading for the door.

Ellie glanced back at the still open vault, “Aren’t you going to close it?”

“No point. Even if someone found this place, those things aren’t valuable anymore.” Naturally he didn’t explain why these items were useless, or what their original use was. He just exited through the hole and didn’t look back. Ellie scrambled after him.

Instead of heading back the way they came, Chevias lead her further into the bunker, finding that the floor began to slope up again and that the rooms on this side were a bit different from the ones on the other.

Several appeared to be armories filled with dusty, ancient looking weapons. None of them looked fancy or particularly valuable. Another room was a sprawling one filled with empty shelves. Ellie wasn’t sure if this had been a larder or a library, but she supposed that it didn’t make much sense for an army to carry a library around with them. They passed another particularly large room that looked like an infirmary with beds surrounded by tattered curtains, trays with abandoned medicine, and shelves of old bandages. Even in the crimson light Ellie could see that most of the beds were covered in bloodstains.

They passed several rooms that were identical to the ones above and several more that Ellie couldn’t fathom the purpose of, like rooms filled with large bird cages and rooms with nothing at all.

They walked and walked and walked for what seemed to Ellie like an eternity in this dreariness until the hall finally came to an end.

Instead of a ladder and a trapdoor, like the other end of the bunker, this end was a door. A big, heavy looking metal door. Chevias opened this one just like he did the trapdoor and it swung open at his command. Ellie looked through the door to see that it was surrounded by dead leaves and debris and that there was a steep and narrow set of stairs going up for awhile. At the top of the stairs, the first natural light she’d seen in hours spilled in from a hole just big enough for an adult to squeeze through.

Chevias climbed the stairs and, with his lithe form, slipped through the hole as easily as a rabbit. He turned around, “Come on, you’re almost there!”

Ellie clambered up after him and grabbed his hand through the hole. He pulled and picked her right up out of it. Ellie gratefully breathed in the fresh air as Chevias set her down. She was so thrilled to be at ground level again that she barely noticed the way the setting sun stung her eyes.

Chevias shaded his eyes and looked around, “Alright! Tyman should be about a half hour’s walk from here. We should be able to make it by nightfall.”

Ellie squinted and looked at her surroundings. The hole that lead to the hidden bunker was nestled between the roots of a large tree, hidden well from all but bunnies and squirrels. The tree wasn’t especially odd looking, except that it was surrounded by the same kind of stone markers that had surrounded the clearing last night. She supposed that anybody who didn’t know what they were would easily overlook these signs, and that one of them must point the way to Tyman.

“Come on Ellie, we wanna get there before it gets too dark!”

“Coming!”

Ellie glanced back at the hole, so dark and innocuous you’d never guess what was down there just by looking, before following Chevias as he stepped over one of the stone markers.

#mystery #adventure #fantasy #AWitch'sTail #tapas #tapastic #tapasbook

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