Elsewhere

CHAPTER THE FIRST



I awoke at the sound of a gunshot. I must have fallen asleep against a tree with the strangest, most beautiful purple leaves I've ever seen. I quickly got to my feet and this odd bird thing ran past me. It was the size of a turkey, it was feathered, had a beak, but it had no wings. Perhaps the strangest thing about it was that it ran on four talons instead of just two.



It was hot. The grass lands around me were dry. The grass itself came about ankle high. The next neighbboring trees were spaced far and few between, but no so far out that they only dotted the horizon. The sun hung high in the sky. It must have been noon, or shortly thereafter, although I had no idea which way was west.



A pair of men were rushing towards me. One appeared to be slightly taller than me, dressed in tan. He was a little on the stocky side. The other, was wearing a black suit. Somewhat taller than the first, and slim. As they drew nearer I could tell that the first man was wearing an awful lot of ivory. His belt was made of it, as was his pith helmet, and his boots. I have no idea why anyone would be wearing ivory boots, but at the same time, I have no idea why the other fellow was wearing a black suit in this heat, or why the leaves on the trees were purple, or just what the hell that turkey thing running past me was.



They came to a stop in front in front of me, and I could now tell that the second man was carrying on his back what appeared to be a golfbag, but it was filled with rifles instead of woods or irons.



"I say," started the ivory clad man, "Whatever are you doing sleeping in the middle of a hunting ground?"

"That's what this is?" I asked hesitantly.

"Of course!" The first man started, "It's warple season."

"So that's what that thing was that ran past me, a...uh...werp...warple?" I must have seemed like an idiot, but this man seemed to know all the answers.

The hunter cleared his throat, "Yes, horrible disease carrying things. You're asking a lot of common knowledge questions young man, what's your name?"

I hesitated for a minute, I honestly didn't know, "I'm not exactly sure,"

"You haven't got a name?" The hunter asked, his thick red mustasche blowing in the cool breeze, "Aren't you lucky? You can be anyone you like! As for me, I'm Aldus Valor, Colonel Aldus Valor, world class adventurer and big game hunter, at your service. This fellow behind me is my faithful assistant, Mr. Wentworth."

Wentworth exibited no response, which was something else I had to ask about, "So, he doesn't talk?"

"Of course not! Most big game hunters work in teams. The hunter, and a silent partner, that's how we do things here."

"OK, and where exactly is 'here'?" I asked, feeling more and more foolish which each question that passed my lips.

Valor shot a glance over to his "silent partner," who only shrugged, "Poor lad, doesn't even know his name...This, my dear boy, is the Republic of Everywhere."



This non-answer would have to do for now, as our conversation was interrupted by another voice. It was quite high-pitched and nasal as it called out Valor's name. I spun around on my heels to notice another pair of hunters, these two being most disproportionate to each other. The hunter, I assumed, stood no taller than five feet, and was as skinny as a rail, whereas his assistant towered in at over seven feet tall, and was easily over five hundred pounds. As they got closer I could see that Niles Witherby, as he politely introduced himself to me had a very small, neatly trimmed mustache painted on his upper lip. His assistant, Mr. Brick, had hands the size of stop signs. I tried to pay no attention to their argument as it was none of my business, but from what I can tell, it was over encroachment of hunting grounds.

The argument then seemed to be over talant, "Ha! I laugh at your suggestion, even my grandmother can shoot the beak off a warple at a hundred yards!" was Witherby's answer to an unheard insult from Valor. I could tell from the look on Valor's face that he both acknoledged the challenge and excepted.



It was at precisely this instant that both men's attention turned to a different kind of prey. I could see this miserable creature off in the distance. This poor thing was simply going about it's business completely oblivious to the fact that his fate was sealed.



Valor turned to Wentworth, "Take my warple gun, and hand me my mime rifle."

The two hunters took their stances. Mime's are appearently very difficult to shoot. I was then called upon to flip a coin to see who would have the honor of shooting first, Valor lost. Witherby took a moment's aim, steadied his arm and fired. He missed.

It was then Valor turn to shoot. He took slightly longer to aim, but the bullet went through and through the poor creature's throat. A conical burst of red mist spouted from either side of the mime's neck. A casual observer facing the mime would say that for an instant it looked as though the mime was wearing an oversized novelty bow tie made out of blood. At the same moment the mime's face was blank, yet at the same time presented a look of disbelief. Next blood began to pour from the sides of the mime's neck as if someone held a bottle of wine sideways, and then removed the cork.



Shock and frustration flooded the face of Niles Witherby. He and his partner quietly picked up their belongings and left the area without saying another word.



We, too, decided it was best to leave. On our way to the hunting cabin, Valor explained to me that he and Witherby were once engaged in a Masterfight. Typically a Masterfight is a duel to the death, but it can also be won by throwing your opponant into water. When I asked about this rule, Valor answered me with "I didn't make the rules." Supposedly, losing in this manner is considered to be the most dishonorable. He later went into detail by saying that even if both combatants are incapacitated the Masterfight isn't over, and either one may continue Masterfighting the other at any time they can, because if a Masterfight doesn't end, "It goes on forever."



After about an hour's walk, the hunting cabin was in sight, but our simple quest was far from over. Seven sky sharks began circling the heavens above us.



CHAPTER THE SECOND

It was now late afternoon. The sun's heat was beginning to subside, and the wind was gentle and cool. Riding the higher skies air currents, however, were seven of the most horrible monsters I have ever seen. Sharks with pectoral fins that stretched out into hideous mebranous bat-like wings circled our heads. Their eyes glistened in the sunlight like terrible jewels, and each beat of their wings sounded as if someone quickly jerked the tarp off of a barbecue.



"Steady, son," Valor warned, "These things will eat you." He then handed me one of the rifles from the pack off of his assistant's back, Wentworth took a shotgun for himself. "The first shot will make the others attack, so we'll need to be on guard," Valor's instructions were plainly obvious.



We then stood facing ourwards on the points of an imaginary triangle. Valor and Wentworth took careful aim, and I pretended to do so. The other two men fired, I flinched. Two sky shark corpses fell to the earth with a magnificent thud, the other five scattered, and the real fun began.



The first of the sky sharks to attack attacked Valor. It made it a few yards short of Valor's position and another rifle shot could be heard. The creatures head exploaded in a mess of teeth and blood, and the rest of the carcass fell just short of Valor's feet.

The next attack was on Wentworth. The beast dove from the air and was picked off with as much ease as Valor's, but with somewhat less precision. Half of the sky shark's underside disintegrated into a shower of blood and chunks of things, as the it fell from the sky. The shark cried a low pitched squeal as it was shot again in the face.



The fifth and sixth sharks dove from the air almost in tandem. The first of which came for Wentworth, who was reloading, I was the prize for the second. Mr. Wentworth proved to be worth his grain in gunplay. His weapon was reloaded and fired before any real danger opposed him. The shotgun spray founds its mark and erased the shark's face just as it beat its wings one last time for an extra burst of speed. With his last shell he shot at and hit the seventh shark that was returning to the would-be feast.



I was not so graceful. I watched in terror as the winged monster drew ever closer to my face. As I hid behind the barrel of my weapon, I felt the beast connect with my rifle. I could feel the beast's hot, disgusting breath blowing through my hair as it let out a gutwrenching howl. I opened my eyes just in time to have my entire field of vision obscured by razor sharp teeth. Luckily I was able to skewer the bastard's eye. It beat it's wings in my face and pulled itself and my rifle away from me. It pulled a few feet back and shook the rifle from it's eye, then retreated.



"Never let your aggressor take your weapon, son," The Colonel warned me. Mr. Wentworth walked sown to where the rifle landed and collected. Shaken, I rejoined the group on our way to the cabin.



As we entered, there were several other hunter-assistant teams, a bartender, and some of the strangest artwork I have ever seen. Colonel Valor ordered me a glass of wine, and then began to use the most over-the-top language to recount the attack that took place just a hundred yards away.



CHAPTER THE THIRD

"...And the poor fellow doesn't even know his name!" Colonel Aldus Valor was drunk. The other patrons were hanging on to his every last word. It was a scene of raucous celebration and merriment, that is, until Niles Witherbey and Mr. Brick joined the crowd. Immediately the group fell silent. The two of them approached our table, and Witherby's beady little stare never left Valor's eyes.



Valor addressed the crowd, "I say, have I ever told you all of my exploits at the Temple of the Jujani?" Witherby's face went pale.



"Good old Witherby, here, and I were racing to acquire the legendary silver idol of the Jujani deep in the jungle about three months southwest of here. It was an incredible summer, the thrill of the hunt kept me awake for days at a time. I knew old Witherby was behind me the whole time, safely passing all the traps that I have engaged or deactivated.



"There was a long fountain of oil that circled the idol chamber. once ignited, it lit the entire room. It was a large stone room that glowed almost gold in the fire. Against the back wall were stone steps leading to my prize. As the steps did not stretch against the entire back wall, on either side of them were two deep fountains of water. The left fountain was being filled from a ferocious tiger's head. The other, a lion. I was mere inches from taking the idol for myself when I heard the distinctive nasally voice of one Niles Witherby.



"'Before Arramore, Lasoto, and everyone present, I hereby challenge you, Aldus Valor, to a Masterfight!'



"And as everyone knows, only a coward backs down from a Masterfight. 'I accept your challenge!' I declared back to Witherby, and almost instantly, this tiny little man, withdrew his sword from its sheath and charged at me closing the amount of chamber floor that separated us. Mr. Brick and Mr. Wentworth stood silently by spectating.



"As he drew near to the steps up to the idol, where I was standing mind you, I drew my sabre and connected with his. With a singular kick to the abdomen, I sent our dear Witherby down the stairs and to the cold stone floor of the idol chamber. He landed flat on his back, and his blade flew from his hand. As I launched all two hundred pounds of my frame down to his postition, this tiny little man rolled to his left and reclaimed the blade that fell from his hand as he hit the floor.



"Slashing his sword through the air wildly, like a mad man, I had no other choice but to back to the wall. The trickiest swordsmen I've ever faced were all left-handed. With my back against the wall, Witherby lifted his sword to strike, in defense of my face I raised mine, but surprisingly, he struck my wrist with the pommel of his sword, causing me to drop mine.



"'I shall write my memoirs in your blood,' he mocked. As he lowered his blade seemingly into my skull, my right hand gripped his wrist, and my left his forearm. I then proceded to hurl my would-be murderer into the lion's head fountain shamefully defeating my opponant."



The whole of the cabin remained silent even after Valor finished his tale. At this point I assumed that no one knew of this particular Masterfight, nor did they know that it ended in such a shameful manner.



Niles Witherby's face displayed humiliation and disgust as he turned to leave the cabin. Mr. Brick followed closely behind, but when reached the door, he turned to Valor, ever the charmer, and said, "I shall return to this place and leave with your head in a bag. I already have the bag."