In the Lair of the She-Beast (A Cerce Stormbringer Story) Part 2

Part 1

-

Chapter 2

Three days aboard a ship was intimidating, but would at least be comparatively relaxing, Cerce had thought. Her usual fare was days of travel by road, aching legs, tortured feet, chapped arses, and chafed thighs.

Turns out the sea wasn't too much more comfortable. The 'cabin' Red Tom had promised her proved to be a corner of the central hold sequestered off by a curtain hung from a rope, creating a private area just about large enough to curl behind in a makeshift cot while sweaty pirates snored and farted two feet away on the other side of it.

Breakfast was usually cold meat and boiled beans that Cerce ate cheerfully on the deck, looking out at the blue waves with endless wind chapped lips and watery eyes. The Foul Mouth was far beyond sight anymore, and only the vague shadow of the southern coast of Cornubia still visible on the horizon as they traveled east along it. The sky was bright, with patches of sunlight peeking down through the white clouds, and Cerce's skin began to darken slightly as she spent afternoons basking on deck.

Red Tom was occupied completely for the first few hours of every day, surprising Cerce with his activity and the amount of energy at which he threw himself around the ship. The Captain had an eye on everything, and while she'd known Tom a few years, Cerce had never before seen him in his natural habitat.

When the sun was at its apex the crew settled somewhat, and took time to entertain themselves. For the first day or two the crew were standoffish and Cerce found herself excluded. She'd pass time watching the men work, trying to figure out the intricacies of the rigging. Occasionally she'd flick through the little book that Adam had given her when she'd told him she was taking a trip, but had trouble making much sense of the flowery prose. Something about horses and pretty girls in dresses, but Cerce had never been much of a reader.

She'd find moments to chat with Tom and watch the waves go by in the evening, and he reminded her that the crew may be a surly lot, but they were his boys and soon they'd come around. He assured Cerce that though they might have not shown it, they were likely thankful to have a woman on board to spice up the usual scenery a little.

After a couple of days the men of Adamus did indeed warm up a to the presence of the Nadyr. Cerce found herself playing card games with cards so rat eared that the crew knew almost every one from the tears and folds alone. This led to arguments over who'd won a round pretty much every round, with handfuls of coins being tossed back and forth moment by moment. Occasionally something comparatively worthwhile like a shiny apple or a measure of rum was tossed into the winner's pot and everyone would get quiet and pretend to know what they were doing for a round or two. Cerce lost a  bone necklace she'd made in her days on the road, but won a hammered copper ring she'd taken a shine to and, out of jewelry, anted up a show of her tits instead. Cerce had also found an appreciation for the filthy jokes that seemed to make up a lot of the banter during the ship's work hours, and if nothing else, learned a thing or two about the acts a Penryan girl would allegedly perform given the right circumstances. There were the inevitable contests of strength and other manly prowess, and Cerce almost got her shoulder dislocated arm wrestling Ben the Black. Later, some of the crew took turns trying to lift Cerce's halberd, and then it was her turn to giggle as half failed to lift it at all, and the ones that did stumbled around trying to wield it like a toddler with a broadsword.

It was after a game of cards one night, when Cerce was stretching by the bow that Red Tom approached her and handed over a cup of the rich, sweet mead he kept in the cabin.
"Oh, the good stuff is it?" Cerce asked. Taking a sip. It was thick like honey and went immediately to her head.
"Wanted to see how you were coming along. Taking a liking to the sea life, Stormbringer?"
Cerce shrugged, leaning over the deck to peer down into the water. The water this far from shore was darker than Cerce had ever known it to be, a blackness so complete it looked almost solid.
"Still get shivers down my spine sometimes, but it's not too bad. Ship's cosy."
"Isn't she?" Red Tom grinned, clearly a few cups into his mead himself, "Nothing like it really, being out here. I see you been getting on with the lads."
Cerce nodded and smiled,
"Yeah actually, for a bunch of crazed known thieves and murderers, they're pretty good to know."
"Only the best on this ship, greenie."
"So tell me about the Merrow, what do you know?" Cerce asked, sipping from her cup.

Tom drank liberally from his own and blew noisily out of pursed lips.
"Well, I know they aren't usually anywhere near the west, for a start. Come in all shapes and sizes. Most about the size of a man, or smaller. Up north in Dumnonia they say there's huge Merrow, big as ships. Sounds like sailor talk to me though."
"Like Shakka?" Cerce asked, "I heard a lot of stories in the bar."
"The She-Beast of the South? Yeah, she's meant to be big. I know people who say they've seen her. Queen of the Merrow. Mostly rumour though, still. Most of the ones I've seen have usually been out near the east island. You ever been to Exenar?"
Cerce shook her head, her white hair flying in the sea wind.
"This is the furthest I've been from Cornubia, right now."
Tom shrugged, "It's nice out there if you like the heat. Good food. But yeah, they got Merrow all over the waters out there. Locals been fighting with them over patches of coast all along the island for years, way back since the bloody shattering. Adamas been in a couple scraps with them over there, paid work. Always trying to find a way to get rid of them. Even poisoning their own waters to try and drive them out, everything. Probably why the Merrow fight so nasty."
"Who fights nice, Tom? Tell me that." Cerce smiled.
"You know what I mean, you go into a fight ready for a fist in the gut or a nutting, don't you? Merrow, it's claws, teeth, they make weapons out of coral, oof, gets caught up in your guts, shatters to pieces inside you. Proper nasty stuff. Why do you think I dragged you along on this?"
"Because you want to see me locked in a vicious fight to the death with some bare breasted Merrow right?"
"Partially, but mainly because you're bloody nasty yourself in a fight, Stormbringer, and I like that in my friends."
"Thanks Tom, that's sweet of you."

They both finished off the mead that remained in their cups, and Cerce gave Red Tom a nudge.
"Speaking of friends...tell me about Captain Revan. How do you even know him?"
Tom tipped his head back and gave a bark of a laugh. Cerce pushed on.
"I wanna know! How does the most respected guard captain on the south coast get on so well with...well, you! Revan's almost put a rope around my neck about three times, why isn't he firing burning arrows at your ship any time you're in sight?"
Tom clapped Cerce on the shoulder.
"Wib wasn't always such an uptight sod, is why. Before someone rammed that stick right up his arse, Wib Revan was quite the adventurer. Back in the day we were something of a team."
"You and Wib? Side by side?" Cerce asked incredulously.
"And a few others. Barr of the Isles, biggest bastard I ever met, bigger than most orcs. Lady Crayne, finest knight for leagues, blonde hair like sunlight. Couple other comers and goers over the years. We were quite the party back then."
Cerce was shaking her head in disbelief. Tom nodded, his eyes a little lost in the memory.
"There was a lot to do after the war. We needed heroes then. Soldiers gone wild, bands of brigands, rogue orcs who'd ignored the treaty. We chased one or the other across the island for years. Bloody good days, them."
"So what happened?"
"Ah, everyone gets old don't they? Can't live the adventuring life forever. Work slowed down. Wib settled, found his little Elven bride, got himself straight. Barr died from an arrow wound gone bad. Crayne and I rumbled pirates in the Foul Mouth for a few years and...well...one of the ships just looked real good one day. Rest just came with the territory."

Tom looked about his crew, and gave a smile. There was a rustle of commotion going on, and a few of the men had produced instruments.
It wasn't practiced, it seemed to come naturally, reedy whistles placed to chapped lips, a rickety little fiddle, and a plain little drum beat with a calloused hand. It started to echo out over the waters around the ship. Clinging to the rigging by the mizzen, a tall deck hand with long brown hair was the first to raise his voice and start singing.

Now when I was a young man
We lived near the sea strand
And my folks kept a tavern called the Admiral's head
And old salts by the fireside would tell of the sea's wide
The far foreign shores
And the lives that they'd led

After that, it filled the ship. Every voice suddenly raised as one, and Cerce jumped in surprise as Tom joined in at full volume, a song every one of them clearly knew by heart. The ship seemed to swell with it, voices raised, arms swaying.

And it's up and away in the mornin'
O' the tears my poor mother has cried
But the sea it had called me
And you may say I'm balmy
But I went to her just like a bride
And it's up and away in the mornin'

Cerce was smiling, watching the musicians play, the bodies standing upon the deck, swaying in the rigging or emerging out from the cabins below to join in. Tom gave a gesture to them proudly. He leaned in closer to her to speak as his crew continued their song.
"Friends are what you make of them, Cerce. First time I met Ben the Black, we were hunting brigands terrorizing a town. Ben had been burning whole buildings for a handful of coin. He almost put his axe into my head. That big scar on his chest? Wib gave him that. Damn fine with a blade, Wib."
Ben was among those hanging from the rigging, his mouth open wide, roaring along with the rest of the crew.

And it's up and away in the mornin'
And though we may never come home
We'll think of it often
Til' the day that our lead weighted coffins
Get tossed in the foam
And it's up and away in the mornin'

"Where'd you see yourself in another ten summers? Twenty? You and your friends. Shacked up with true love, raising a little one?" Tom asked.
Cerce thought of her group of friends. The little party they'd become. The thief, Adam, the mercenary, Carnaby, the bartender, Jiera. Where they might be headed.
"Maybe, I can see it for one or two of us. Happy ending. Or maybe in the dirt, or disappeared without trace."
Tom gave Cerce another clap on the back.
"You want my advice, be the one who sails off into the seas at the end. Not the one left behind."
Tom finished up his drink and began to walk to his cabin, over his shoulder he said to Cerce as he left.
"Sleep if you can. Not long after dawn we reach the waters where it happened."

Cerce watched the men partying well into the night. Some of the songs she knew, and she joined in whenever she could. Her voice carried across the sea along with the light from the lanterns, making the ship seem a strange little pedestal of brightness in the middle of endless night.

-----------------------------------

Part 3

'Up and Away' lyrics by The Poxy Boggards!

In the Lair of the She-Beast (A Cerce Stormbringer Story) Part 1

Prologue

The night breeze moved across the wide wooden deck, strong enough to add a chill to the air but not to steal the words from Reyes and Obie's mouths as they sat overlooking the passing water.
Obie passed the little flask back to Reyes, and the elderly sailor took another quick sip of the rum before he continued.

"I mean, it all depends where you been in the past really, doesn't it? I got the job 'cause I sailed with old captain Hereford for twenty years, up and down the coast. I knew every port, every customs man, every old inn that welcomes sailors, and I got that job 'cause I'd been part of the rigging crew on the state ship as a young man, doin' the circle past Zenance and back every week. You ask me, when we get back to the Foul Mouth, go talk to the lads up at customs. You make friends there, it'll get you places."

Obie nodded solemnly. 'Decades of back-breaking hard work' hadn't been the advice he'd been hoping for. He scratched his hair, unwashed and matted with weeks of seawater.

"Yeah... I mean, just want to see something new I guess. Always wanted to see the south isles."

Reyes was staring off into the dark seas stretching out before them. Black waves were slapping quietly past the side of the ship, the horizon clear and empty.

"You want adventure, you'd be better off on a pleasure ship, boy. You want to see beautiful sights or do you want to get paid?"

"Well, both; don't I?" Obie shrugged.

"Then you should get yerself on a pirate ship boy," he gave a snarky laugh, "Riches an' the women of the southern islands. You know, I hear one of those islands down there, fruit trees everywhere, an' all the women wear nothin' but as a hat to shade their eyes, all year round."

Obie snorted, not half as outrageous as most of what Reyes had told him though. Obie reached back for the flask. As he turned his gaze out to the sea, a face stared back at him from the water.

Wide eyes, black. Glistening skin. A wave crested over the face, and it was gone.

"Reyes, you...you see that?"

"See what, kid? Beaches of beautiful women? Lots... I once found myself on..."

Obie cut him off, pointing into the sea.

"No, there was a girl, in the sea there."

Reyes nudged him,

"It's been a while, I know, believe you me you get to the point where you'll be able to find a nice pair of tits in the knots in the planks above yer bunk."

Obie stared into the black waves. He wasn't the type to have his eyes play tricks on him.

"Let me guess, big blue eyes like that girl in the bakery shop you're always talking about?"

"No, black eyes, black and horrible."

Reyes went silent. He found his feet and leaned over the deck, peering down into the ocean. His old eyes darted left and right suspiciously.

"Couldn't be, not 'ere. We're too far west."

Obie tugged at the old man's ragged shirt.

"Too far west for what?"

"Never you mind, stay 'ere, keep an eye out. I'm going to knock on the captain. You see anythin' else you scream," Reyes said as he turned and began striding across the deck, "an' I mean you scream like a bloody banshee, you hear?"

"Reyes, what are you doing? Captain'll go radge if you wake him up now; it's not dawn for hours..."

Obie shook his head, watching the old sailor go. He turned the flask in his hand, only a drop left. He tilted the thing back the whole way and felt the last sliver of rum snake down his throat.

When he turned his eyes back to the black seas, the faces were watching him. Black glossy eyes staring back at him, glistening faces, scales, teeth.

He thought he saw three at first, then five, then he couldn't count anymore.

Obie screamed.

Chapter 1

Cerce stood peering out into the gray fog that was sweeping in over the sea. Mornings in the Foul Mouth were always drenched in mist and fog, slowly boiling off throughout the morning as the sun rose drearily behind the perpetual clouds.

She'd arrived at the docks early, and had been watching the many jobs unfolding around the galleon. Adamas wasn't the biggest ship in the bay, but it was well known. Most of the other ships around had probably chased it at some point.

She swallowed, trying to unseat the deep feeling of dread that was gripping onto her guts with tight little claws, and continued what she had been saying.

"I mean I like the sea, don't get me wrong. Grew up in Belerion. Used to sit for hours down by the coast, watching it, when I was little. Just don't much like being at sea. As soon as I can't see the ground beneath my feet. Something about that feeling..."

Cerce gave a roll of her shoulders and cringed.

"Fear of the unknown, greenie," said Red Tom Flint as he came clomping over the gangplank to grab another sack of provisions. His long black hair jingled and glittered with the dozens of assorted coins, bones, and bits of junk woven or matted into it. Tom's white shirt was open to bare a lean, hairy chest and the edges of various tattoos.

He stopped before Cerce, and spread his hands wide, red painted nails miming claws.

"The feeling that, just out of sight, in the inky depths, there's eyes and teeth and gaping, stretching maws waiting for you. Waiting for some unseen horror of the deep to engulf you whole like so much shrimp."

Cerce inclined her head. Her thick white hair was blowing in the sea breeze, and although most of her frame was strapped in leather armor, goosebumps rose on her bare arms.

"Well, yeah. Pretty much. No one likes the idea of getting eaten."

Red Tom gave a smirk and slapped her on the side.

"'Course we don't. That's why every sailor has those fears, and we all get over them. For the most part."

Cerce followed Red Tom up the plank, her heavy halberd resting over her shoulders. Red Tom tossed his hair and looked back at her as he went on.

"When you're actually out there, you mostly forget about the existential dread of the great black unknown when you start dealing with all the other shit. Like dying of thirst, mold, getting sick all the time, losing a hand to a rope burn gone nasty, some nutter castaway leaping aboard in the night to steal your salvage and cut your nuts off while you sleep, you know."

Cerce nodded, "...I guess."

Red Tom's crew were making the final checks before they set sail. A hardy dozen, bare chests and sun ruddied skin to a man. Cerce didn't know any of them personally apart from their Captain.

As she walked, her boots stomping on the gnarled wooden deck, she strode by Red Tom's first mate. Ben the Black was sitting on the deck cross legged. His whole body was practically a knot of muscle, and he whistled to himself as he ran a whetstone over the blade of a little handaxe.
Cerce let her gaze stay on him for a while. Ben bore a freshly shaven head, a ragged blonde beard, and a chest that was a patchwork of scar tissue. From what she'd heard, not so long ago being anywhere near a port would have got Ben a good hanging. Ben looked up suddenly, the whites of his eyes a rheumy yellow, and gave a toothy smile to that set the back of Cerce's neck to tingling.

Red Tom gave her a nudge, and pointed off down the jetty where silver guard armour glistened as a tall figure made his way towards the ship.

"Our charming benefactor arrives." Red Tom yelled, loud enough for Wib Revan to hear as he came to a halt before the ship.

The Captain of the Guard put a hand to his brow to shield his eyes from the emerging sun.

"Captain Flint." Revan acknowledged.

"Red Tom, Wib. It's Red Tom. Going to be joining us on our merry way?"

"Afraid not, Tom, no time for sailing. The Foul Mouth needs me here."

"That is a damn shame, we could always use another one to mop the deck."

Revan didn't smile, but he didn't grimace either. He strode up to the side of the ship and placed his hand upon it.

Looking up, he met the gaze of Red Tom and Cerce.

"I have missed your wit, Tom." Revan said.

"You too Wib, whatever happened to us?"

"I grew up, Tom, and you became a professional pain in my arse."

Red Tom put his hand to his chest,

"I'm glad I still have a special place with you, me old mate."

Revan pulled a rolled up paper from his jacket, and waved it towards the pirate Captain.

"The map you asked our friend to draw. He managed it, but it is a bit shaky."

Red Tom dropped from the ship down to the pontoon, and the whole thing rocked under his weight, nearly sending a deck hand staggering into the drink. Revan didn't so much as wobble.

Red Tom took a glance at the map, squinting up his big brown eyes a moment, before turning the thing on its side and tilting his head the other way.

"You really think it was Merrow done this?" Red Tom asked, "You don't see them out this far. They stick to the eastern islands. I'd bet money it was a ship that put the blades to them. Been a while since we seen the Boneshaker, might be back in business."

"I'm well aware of the proclivities of local pirates, Tom, I chased one in particular for eight years."

"I always could run faster than you, family man. How's the wife by the way?"

"Regardless," said Revan immediately, "the bodies we pulled out of the ship were torn apart. No human did this."

Red Tom folded the map and stashed it somewhere in his spacious trousers.

"Well, that's why they, and by they I mean you, pay us the good money. If it's pirates, we know how to deal with 'em. If it really is a rogue pod of Merrow. Well, we know how to deal with them too."

 "You're my best man on the job, Tom. Don't mess it up."

Red Tom have a chuckle as he climbed back aboard and sent his crew swarming for their posts with a wave of his hand.

"Wib, you of all people should know how hard Red Tom Flint is to kill. And thanks to your far reaching connections, we have the Stormbringer."

Red tom gave Cerce a hearty clap on back that had her grabbing for rigging to steady herself.

"And if all the stories are true she single-handedly smashes mountains in half and blasts lightening from her eyes. Isn't that right?"

Cerce gave a shrug and nodded down to Revan.

"Thanks for this, Wib."

"Captain Revan." The Guard Captain corrected, and gave Cerce the slightest of nods.

"Alright you hairy bastards! Time to get sailing!" Yelled Red Tom, raising an arm in the air. The crew sprang to it.

Red Tom noticed Cerce's clear apprehension, and gave her a nudge.

"Come on Stormbringer. What you worrying about? Worst things happen at sea don't they?"

-

Part 2

This Woman's Work

When they finally came upon it, it didn't look like they had expected.

They'd argued for a moment after the clearing came into view between the trees. Low brick buildings surrounded by simple farmlands, old wooden fences. Maxim, his stocky build crouched into a squat, was the one to voice the opinion first.

"Where are the church grounds? The bell towers? The stained glass? This isn't it. Let's keep moving. Must be further up the hill somewhere."

Maxim's bassy voice carried on the wind, and sheep from the little farm raised their heads to peer off into the forest where the two thieves were crouching.

Li shook his head and gestured to Maxim to keep it down. The wiry little man narrowed his eyes and scanned the arrangement of buildings.

"It's not like that, this isn't a church, it's a convent, a nunnery. They keep it subtle."

Maxim snorted and coughed into his gloved hand. He examined his palm as if to see if anything that came out was worth his attention.

"You said they'd have something worthwhile up here."

"They do. The nuns have to pay for food and things don't they? And gold statues and stuff, right?" "

"Still don't look like no nunnery to me. Looks like dirt poor farmers. You brought us to the wrong place, Li, you turnip."

Li shrugged, squinting for movement among the buildings.

"Has to be it. Here, let's try something."

Li stood, and kicked about the forest floor for a moment.

"What you doin'?" Maxim grunted. Li bent and picked up an egg sized rock from among the pine needles and dirt.

Retrieving his sling from his belt, he placed the stone to it, and in a moment the sling was a blur around his head. Maxim may have been a more hands-on man himself, but he loved watching Li work.

With a neat arc, Li sent the rock flying across the clearing, into the side of a white wooden chicken coop. It gave a great crack that split the afternoon silence, and the screech of worried chickens could be heard clear to the two thieves.

"Now, we see who comes out to check. Five copper callans says they got a habit on and this is the right place."

"You're on."

There came a tinkling, and a glittery silver arrangement of chimes was disturbed as a door opened.

From the back of the building came a small figure. Walking barefoot to the chicken coop, the woman cooed softly to the panicked creatures. Maxim and Li looked at each other, and Maxim spread his hands in apology.

"We didn't shake on it."

The woman was wearing a long and severe black garment. Free of decoration or flair, and no adornment but for a rope tied about her waist. Above her rosy round, cherubic face, her hair was hidden entirely in a white wimple.

Li stood, hooking his thumbs into his leather belt, fingertips just brushing the edges of the daggers held on his thighs. Maxim took a pull at the heavy strap that held his war hammer, making sure it hung just right.

Whistling, the two thieves emerged from the trees and descended towards the monastery.

-

Sister Myer took another look over the months supplies and made a little note in the ledger. She spoke aloud as she walked down the line.

"Four bags, flour. Two crates, melons. One crate, beans."

She stopped and looked towards the door where young Sister Kinn had left to check on the chickens a moment before. The bobcats usually didn't bother them during the day, but Myer knew the novice wasn't afraid to stamp her feet and scare off the predators.

It had been suspiciously quiet for a moment longer than usual when Myer took a glance out one of the room's small windows to see young Sister Kinn standing talking to two men. Myer placed down her ledger and collected her skirts, to move at speed to the door.

The chimes on the door signaled her approach, and the smaller of the two men was already looking in her direction as Sister Myer turned the corner of the building and strode to the hutch. He was leaning over the low wooden fence, and smiling ear to ear.

His big friend, standing behind him and looking more muscle than man, had no clear expression that Myer could identify.

She saw their weapons immediately.

"Hello sirs," Myer said immediately as she reached Kinn's side. The young novice was wringing her hands in that way she did when Mother Atra reprimanded her, Myer gave her a reassuring nod.

"Hello yourself, sister." the little man said. He was a sharp looking young man, all edges and smiles, but Myer could see something awful in his countenance right away, "We were just having a nice little talk with your friend here. You ladies doing alright for yourselves up here eh?"

Sister Kinn gave a flustered nod.

"The good sirs say they're...they're passing travelers," the novice said. Myer nodded to her.

"Indeed, well we're always happy to help those in need here. Needing food or fresh water are you sirs? Maybe directions?" Myer asked, folding her hands in front of her hips.

The big man was peering with narrowed eyes over the convent and seemed to ignore Myer entirely. The smaller man neatly hopped over the fence, faster than Myer expected him to move, and strode with swinging hips towards her.

"Ooh, all sounds pretty good actually. Must have all sorts of supplies, up here in the forest, yeah? Your young friend here was telling us you rely on donations."

Myer nodded and looked to Kinn, who continued to wring her hands. Myer turned back to the man who now stood a few feet from her. He spread his hands, being sure that the multiple shining blades strapped in leather sheaths to his thighs were revealed.

"Well we're just kindly travelers, seeking our way through the forest. If you'd be so kind as to show us to where you keep your little donation box, we'll take it off your hands. You'll soon make it up selling your eggs and blessings and...what is it, needlepoint?"

Myer gave a bow, slowly.

"Of course, good sirs. I believe I understand. We'd be happy to assist," Myer placed a hand on Kinn's wrist, and spoke softly and clearly to her.

"Be a darling and go fetch Sister Thekkla would you?"

Sister Kinn looked confused.

"Surely Mother Atra would be..."

"Sister Thekkla will be able to best assist these good sirs, Sister Kinn." Myer spoke slower, enunciating sharply.

Kinn nodded, and quickly headed off around the building.

-

It was a moment in the quiet before Maxim noticed that the sound of hammering had stopped. There was something in the air, like a chill without a breeze, and he found himself rubbing the back of his neck to calm the little tingling hairs that were standing on end.

It wasn't until he turned to ask Li if he felt something weird that he realized they were being watched from across the yard.

The young nun they'd approached earlier, the round little one with the rosy red cheeks, she was pointing at them and keeping step behind a second figure. Maxim had his eyes on her earlier, that one. So young and pretty, no business being a nun. He could see the curves of her through that depressing robe and knew it was an awful waste.

But Maxim wasn't looking at that pretty one now, as he couldn't take his eyes from the gaze of the second woman who was now crossing the yard towards them. He tried to turn his gaze away, but found he couldn't. Frozen, looking into the staring eyes that were coming closer across the yard.

"Li..." Maxim said. His voice came out a little croaky, "Li what's that?"

Li looked up from his quiet staring match with the older nun, and turned to his friend.

"What's what you big..."

He trailed off as he saw the figure approaching them, now stepping barefoot over the grass a few yards away.

"Oh, hello there." Li said quietly, his eyebrows raised in surprise. As the figure came to a stop just in front of her fellow sister, Li nodded slowly, "Well then. Where the hell did they find you?"

The figure was robed exactly as the other nuns at the convent. Simple blacks and whites, a featureless, slender robe and neat pinned wimple.

White eyes with no colour stared back at Li, chilling eyes that when peered into, appeared to have rectangular pupils that were uncomfortable to meet. Although covered from ankle to throat, it was clear that the woman's flesh was an icy blue. From just above her eyes, below the material of her simple habit, grew two great ridged horns. Black, twisting as they rose to point to the sky.

"Blessings be upon you, good sirs. I'm sister Thekkla. Welcome to our humble convent." The dark blue lips barely moved as she spoke, and her quiet voice had an unexpected, lyrical accent. The voice of the common folk of the valleys. "And to answer your question, the Hell they found me in has no power over me. I see only the kingdom of our almighty God."

The woman called Thekkla neatly folded her hands in front of her slim hips. Her fingers, and indeed her bare toes, were of a sickly purplish hue not dissimilar to frostbitten flesh. Maxim felt a sudden involuntary revulsion in his gut at the idea of being touched by those delicate fingers. He immediately imagined them clammy, cold. Fingers of the dead.

Maxim looked at Li, his broad features blank, unsure of himself. Li gave a shrug, but it didn't escape him that both the other nuns had subtly slipped back, putting Thekkla in front of them.

"My fellow servant of our Lord tells me you kind sirs were seeking to unfairly take donations that we'd received from selfless folk. Surely she's mistaken, and just misheard you fellows. Is that right?" Thekkla said, and smiled. Her teeth were as expected, sharp, wolf-like, but the smile that held them was honest, and encouraging. She nodded, to further enforce her words.

Maxim shifted his weight uncomfortably.

"Li, this ain't right mate...." he said, and immediately Li raised a hand to jab a finger in his direction.

"No! No don't fall for this. This is farce. Look at them!" Li gestured to the three nuns, Thekkla standing impassively before the other two, her expression calm, her shoulders relaxed. Li could see the girlish frame beneath the black robes was not broad, and probably not even a third of Maxim's weight.

Li turned the accusing finger to Thekkla.

"Don't fall for it. They ain't got nothing. They wheel out this freak to try and scare us off. They're hiding something up here and I want it."

Li unlatched the leather holds on his belt, and in a dramatic flourish, produced one of his daggers, turning it over in his hand.

"Now stop playing me for a fool, and show me where the money is. Or I'll cut off your boring bloody dress and see if you got anything that catches my eye under there. Understand?" Li's voice was unwavering. Maxim looked back and forth between his friend and the nun in stunned silence.

Slowly, Thekkla lowered her eyes, and shook her head.

"May the words of my mouth and the dedication of my heart be acceptable in thy sight." She whispered. She gestured with a single fluttering hand for the other women to step back. They did so, immediately and without question.

Her eyes snapped back up to look at Li. The smile had dropped from her features.

"You seek to steal that which is not yours, and now make threats upon the purity of my body. You sir, have no place on holy ground."

Li produced a second knife, turning it effortlessly in his fingers in a practiced display of dexterity.

"You play nice, and we leave, and I don't have to do anything your god don't wanna have to see."

Thekkla calmly gave a tug on the plain silvery rope that bound her slim waist.

"My God sees all suffering there is to see. And I fear no threats. Nor bloodshed nor rape nor murder. There's only so much pain that can go on in the world at any one time." She gestured around them, at the convent. "It is our place, here, to take a little extra onto ourselves, so that other's pain might be lessened."

Thekkla spread her blue hands, her open palms displayed to Li and Maxim, and then slowly curled both into fists.

"My good sirs, you are about to ease the burden of many."

Thekkla's body moved like liquid, launching forward under Li's elbow even as he began to raise it to defend himself. Her slender arm reached out in a neat and accurate jab, slamming him in the gut with a closed fist so hard he was lifted entirely from his feet and deposited on his arse a full five feet away.

Li struggled to find his footing and fell back, heaving to suck in a breath. He gestured wildly at Maxim.

"Fuckin'..." he started, failing to get anything more out. Maxim's eyes were bulging from shock, and he hesitated, dumbfounded for a moment before he got his wits together enough to pull up his war hammer from the sling on his hip.

Before he could even move to the correct position to swing the thing, Thekkla was beside him. Her hip jammed into his groin with her full weight, and he felt her arm slip under his armpit and a great force was suddenly pulling him from his feet.

For a moment Maxim felt weightless, and then he hit the ground like he'd just been tipped off a horse. The upside-down view of the sky, coupled with the pain rushing up from his squashed balls forced a sudden wave of nausea to surge through him, and he gave a groan of pain and discomfort as a foot was placed against his chin.

Maxim tilted his head forward to see Thekkla looming over him, her bare foot held threateningly to his throat.

"Li, she hurt me Li." Maxim managed to croak, wincing in pain.

"I thank you for your charitable donation." Thekkla said.

Catching sight of movement in the corner of her eye, Thekkla snapped her head aside in time to see Li's arm raised and moving, and a blur above his shoulder.

Maxim watched as Li launched the projectile from his sling, and his eyes could barely follow as Thekkla rose into the air as quiet and graceful as a bird, her whole body turning sideways and spinning. The flying stone missed her turning body to crash against the chicken coop with a resounding echo.

Thekkla's robe flared out, and Maxim saw a flash of bare blue flesh as Thekkla spun, something silver was strapped tightly around her bare upper thigh

Thekkla completed her aerial rotation before returning to the ground, her feet coming down on Maxim and making him groan in pain once again as her robe neatly fell back into place. One of her hands landed neatly on the haft of his warhammer.

She dropped to a neat crouch, and immediately launched herself a few strides towards Li with a speed that was startling. Her pale eyes glaring, horns pointing, jutting out as if to gore the man.

Li fell into a crouch to ready his blades, and was met with Thekkla crouched similarly, one of her long legs outstretched, the other tightly coiled beneath her behind. One arm stretched out, the second held behind her back, her whole body still in perfect balance.

Li waved the point of his blade in her direction.

"Alright, you've made a very pretty point. You got a lot of free time up here, clearly. But I'm betting you never looked death in the face." Li asked.

Thekkla met his stare without expression, and calmly replied.

"Suffering does not come from death."

She swung her arm around her body, spinning her shoulders, and let her grip on the warhammer go at full tilt.

The huge weapon shot towards Li, and it didn't take much of his considerable skill to weave aside, twisting his body like a dancer to avoid the projectile. It flew a little too high, and Li watched as it sailed over his shoulder to crash into a tree, taking a chunk of bark off with it.

Li had not found firm footing in time to react when he realized he'd been tricked. Thekkla leaped so silently that all he heard was the rustle of her robe before her knee connected with his chin.

Li crashed to the ground, his blades fallen to the dirt floor of the yard.

Thekkla stood, hands neatly folded in front of her hips. Only the slightly increased depth of her breathing betrayed any suggestion of her actions.

Maxim climbed to his feet with a groan and, cupping his balls in pain, ambled over towards his friend.

"We...we're very sorry to have bothered you ladies, I mean sisters... here today."

"Do please collect your friend." Thekkla said, watching Maxim through lidded eyes.

Maxim bent to pick up the limp body of Li, wondering if his friend's jaw was broken and how he'd explain to Li when he regained consciousness that he'd had his arse kicked by a nun.

"I'll remind the kind sirs that we here depend on the charity and selflessness of strangers," Thekkla said.

Maxim stared at her for a moment, before reaching into the pocket of his jacket.

"Oh...well I um. I got a few copper bits here."

Maxim held out his hand, and Thekkla reached to take the coins. Just for a moment her fingertips brushed his, and all the awful dread came right back. Cold as ice.

"We thank for your generosity, kind sirs. Do please be careful when descending the mountain." The simple smile on her lips was the last thing Maxim saw as he turned, and, holding Li in his arms, began to walk away.

The hair on the back of his neck tingled, and Maxim didn't look back, only trod a little faster, feeling the white eyes of the nun on him every step.

-

Thekkla realized she was smiling, and forced the expression down. She felt the surge of excitement still swelling in her gut, and tried to force it too under control. She'd wanted to hurt them so much more.

She exhaled softly as voices whispered behind her, and Thekkla turned to see her two fellow sisters, and the watchful eyes of Mother Atra looking to her.

"Thank you for you work today Sister Thekkla." Mother Atra said. The wizened old woman's expression as always, perpetually unreadable. "The roof of the barn is progressing well, you can continue the work tomorrow at sunrise after your morning duties.

Thekkla bowed low.

"Yes Mother."

"For now, you have other responsibilities to your order."

"Of course, Mother."

-

Thekkla closed the door of her little room and took in the quiet for the moment.

Nothing lay within but bare walls, a stone cot with no blankets or pillow, and a simple wooden stool.

Thekkla removed her robe and wimple, and placed them upon the stool, folded neatly. She wore only the sharpened metal clasp around her thigh, each silvery link inscribed minutely with the words of her God. Her Holy Symbol. The constant discomfort of its tight grip was subtly reassuring.

Her blue skin chill in the evening light from the tiny window, Thekkla knelt, and removed the switch from below her cot. It was brown leather, firm and simple. Thekkla had made this one herself when her previous one had worn out.

The many scars that crisscrossed her bare back still ached from the morning.

"May the words of my mouth and the dedication of my heart be acceptable in thy sight."

She began.

Movie Review: The Man Who Killed Don Quixote.

It's not often we get a good old fashioned cursed film these days. 

Probably no film of recent decades has had a production nightmare quite like Terry Gilliam's long suffering Don Quixote epic. It's taken the man 25 years to finally bring the Man of La Mancha to the big screen, and certainly if Gilliam were to look back at where he began his masterpiece, it would look quite different than what he somehow ended up with after all that time.

Toby is a young and hopeful American filmmaker touring Spain, seeking the perfect cast for his indie interpretation of Don Quixote. Finding the perfect rustic little Spanish village and choosing his cast from the folk that live there, Toby encounters Javier. An aged cobbler with a distinctive face, perfect for the title role. Javier is no actor, and a hopeless Don Quixote at first, but soon the joy of the role overtakes the man, and brings a taste of success to Toby and his little epic. 

A decade later, Toby is the golden child of big budget high fashion advertising, and shooting his latest commercial in the Spanish countryside. Realizing his proximity to the old shooting ground of his past, he escapes the hectic set in search of some inspiration from his former indie years. The old streets are the same, the people aging or passed away. When he unexpectedly runs into the ancient Javier, Toby discovers that the cobbler has been trapped living the true life of Don Quixote ever since.  

Recognizing his long lost squire 'Sancho' immediately, 'Don Quixote' drags the confused young director into the wilds of rural Spain, seeking monsters to battle, maidens to rescue, and the return of the lost age of Chivalry. Believe it or not, they find it.

While The Man Who Killed Don Quixote may take a while to get to the 'Gilliam-esque' elements of the tale, it's a wild ride when it does get there. The valiant knight and his hapless squire take a twisting road through their adventures, with startling changes in mood and style only a moment away at any turn. Set against an ever changing backdrop of the Spanish countryside, through windmill filled mountains, sleepy hamlets from the 14th century and medieval castles filled with carnival revelers, Don Quixote and young Sancho encounter the best and worst of humanity. The lines between what is real and dream, fantasy and reality, become hard to discern, and our hero's adventure soars through heights of slapstick comedy at one moment, to the depths of deep sadness the next. 

Just as Quixote himself is lost in his world of make believe chivalry, the tale forces us to peer through this lens alongside him. After a while the evil giants and cruel wizards of the dream places of La Mancha are more likable than the detestable individuals in the world of the real. Foreign investors flashing money and dropping slurs around the Spanish locals, womanizing businessmen and philandering wives, all number among the real world monsters, and soon enough even Toby begins to question why he would wish to return. 

Taking the expected weirdness of a Gilliam movie all aside, we are left with two really quite brilliant performances here. There's a multitude of characters crossing the paths of our heroes, but it truly is Quixote and Sancho themselves that absolutely shine. 

Adam Driver gives us a Toby that is so out of his depth in the world of the fearless Don Quixote, with a constant refusal to accept the realities of the impossible situations he is cast into in the role of Sancho Panza. He's the perfect straight man against the endlessly excitable Don Quixote, acting almost as a personified audience reaction at times, and his modern sanchismos are a joy throughout the adventure. 

Our titular hero, the chivalrous holy warrior Don Quixote, is so well portrayed by Gilliam legend Jonathan Pryce, with so much laughter and conviction and genuine love in his every delivery that he is a constant thrill to watch.

I am so in love with this playful, nuanced performance that I could watch Pryce's Don Quixote in ten more films. The labor of love in this sprawling tale is no more clear than in the heart shown by the Man of La Mancha himself. 

The production of The Man Who Killed Don Quixote may indeed have been cursed, but what has arrived is a film that is wide in scope and grand in nature. It has the tenuous grasp on the real that we expect from Terry Gilliam, but is stood on more solid ground than you might at first expect, with touching moments, and perhaps an element of reflection from the mind of filmmaker looking back on what he started with so long ago.

Movie Review: Suspiria.

Suspiria is a difficult movie to critique. 

Among the desaturated streets of post war Berlin, a young woman arrives at her trusted psychologists office, raving of a witches coven, dark forces and of being watched. At the same time, a lost American finds her way into the halls of the highly exclusive Markos school of Dance. 

The elderly psychologist seeks answers in the delusions of his patient, and the young dancer seeks her place in a world she has always felt astray in. Nothing will ever be the same for either of them. 

Suspiria takes its time period and setting very seriously, and I don't think I've ever seen a period film that captured the setting so perfectly. The impeccable costuming and flawless set design of the broken and conflicted city of Berlin create a supremely atmospheric scene, so convincing that it would be easy to mistake it for a genuine 70's film were it not for the crisp HD.

The sweeping zooms and harsh cinematography work in perfect tandem with the films erratic and unpredictable editing. Scenes that do not match, that aren't set in the same place, without even the same subtext, are weaved directly together without managing to stumble the pacing. 

Suspiria can be exhausting to watch. It can be disturbing and sickening. It is intense, with a gripping and passionate heartbeat from start to finish. Slow moments are filled with coiled tension and quiet dread. When it lets loose, Suspiria contains sequences of such absolute uncaged grotesquery that it's authentic fodder for tales of unfortunates passing out in the very movie theater.

Suspiria is built on the shoulders of beautiful performances, with multiple fantastic character performances, especially within the ranks of the school faculty. Tilda Swinton delivers a twistedly nuanced and haunted turn as the stone faced dance instructor Madame Blanc. It is a film of beautiful monsters, and the multi-faceted Tilda is clearly paragon among them.

With a running time creeping over the two and a half hour mark, Suspiria is an investment not to be taken lightly. The intensity doesn't give up until the last dog dies, and it is not a comfortable or playful watch. It is a dark, moody, and uncompromisingly uncomfortable experience. If you have the mettle, Suspiria is a unique horror experience that deserves indulgence.

Live Show: Twin Temple at the Ace Theater

The carving above the doors entering the upper levels of the Theater at Ace Hotel reads 'Forever O Lord Thy Word is Settled in Heaven'.  Within the looming and classically designed downtown theater, angels are to be found in flight on the walls, and the cavernous central theater has something of a cathedral feeling to its design.

It's extremely appropriate, as tonight Twin Temple are inviting those in attendance to take part in one of their unique ritual experiences.

A lot of the crowd aren't familiar with Twin Temple, Alexandra and Zachary. Who, for the last few years have brought their surprising new evolution of classic Doo Wap Surf Rock to Los Angeles venues. Perhaps the crowd aren't sure what they're in for.

When the two figures take the stage, dressed in sharp blacks before a Satanic altar featuring a skull and goblet, the crowd isn't sure how to react at first. Some are disturbed. Alexandra welcomes one and all to the ritual they'll be performing tonight, and is happy to explain a little for the uninitiated. Twin Temple proudly represent Satanism, openly rejecting racism and bigotry, and inviting all to share in their message of love, sex, and indulgence. Their music isn't what you might expect at first glance, and people are looking at one another in surprise.

Live on stage, Twin Temple do not disappoint, with an upbeat backing band featuring a saxophone player and a pair of sultry back up singers, it's quite the spectacle. Zachary is a deft hand with lead guitar, playing the sharp fingered signature style of the genre with echoes of Ramones-style rock influences, and Alexandra's voice is clear and carries the room with or without the aid of a microphone. With wickedly playful lyrics and a mellow crooning that rivals classic Nancy Sinatra, she holds a joyful control of the stage.

Supporting bands don't get a lot of attention. Usually people arrive late and talk through the supporting band to wait for the headliner to come on. Twin Temple, with their theatrical ritual dressing and passionate show, are attention grabbing. Alexandra clearly enjoys talking to the audience, involving and unnerving them equally. This is a performance that simply doesn't fade into the background, it's an experience.

Outside after the show, I heard multiple attendees discussing Twin Temple.

One girl asked her friend, "I really liked them...Am I evil now?"

Another guy I passed was in the middle of trying to explain Satanism to the group he was with, "Oh it's not about like Satan at all...it's more about, like, the perception of it..."

I think that these kind of new questions, these discussions people weren't expecting to have, are exactly what the Twin Temple are eager to coax people into asking each other, and themselves.

Twin Temple are a live show worth seeing. The Devil loves some good tunes. You may learn something about yourself, because the Devil just loves some experimentation. You may even be outraged, and of course, that's what the Devil loves the most.

Movie Review: Deadpool 2

Our first outing following the adventures of the Merc with the Mouth, Wade Wilson AKA Deadpool, trailblazed the world of R-rated superhero films, proving you could do it bigger and better if you do it for adults. From the moment we start Deadpool 2, we are back for more of the same.

Settling down with his girlfriend Vanessa, Wade is living a life split between extreme violence and starting a family. Wade finds that something is lacking in his world, and begins to seek a change of pace, and when a trainee outing with the X-Men leads Wade to encounter an overweight kid with incredible mutant powers and a serious anger control issue, Wade embarks on a journey to discover what it is he's really missing.

It's violent, it's crass, it's bloody, but most importantly, Deadpool 2 is simply funnier than the first one.

The jokes hit harder, the deliveries are perfect, and every character has moments to shine. Wade's signature fourth wall breaking observations are better timed than ever, especially when sharing scenes with the perfectly straight faced Cable, and some well placed unexpected cameos are used to devastatingly hilarious effect.

Where Deadpool's first cinematic outing gave us a hard R rating in almost every way it could, Deadpool 2 takes a touch more subtle approach, believe it or not. There's still a huge amount of violence, but with a few notable exceptions, most of the damage is inflicted upon the indestructible titular merc himself.

Whereas the first Deadpool had heavy sub-genre elements of horror, Deadpool 2 orients itself around family. It's surprising, and it's actually pretty heartfelt at times. What makes the dramatic undercurrents really work is the balance board job that's been pulled off with the writing here. The comedy doesn't get in the way of the emotion, and vice versa. In many places they enhance each other unexpectedly.

One of the flaws in Deadpool's prior film was a near total lack of sub-plots, and a general feel of undeveloped side characters. Everyone took a second fiddle to Wade.
While Wade himself is bigger, more complex, and definitely as lovable as ever here, Deadpool 2 flourishes in the  notion of the team. Old favorites return, bigger and better, and a whole host of new faces make an appearance. There's a lot to love in the new cast, and if you're a fan of the comics, there's some deep cuts here for you that will be well received. X-Force really do get the movie treatment they've always rightfully deserved.

Cable is a character long absent from the big screen, and Brolin has fun with the steely-eyed foil to Wade's wisecracking, although his gun-toting action scenes don't quite hold up against Deadpool's martial arts intensity. With the deadpan delivery of most of the rest of the cast, it's also fun to have a character who speaks as fast and as sharply as Wade, and Zazie Beetz's intense Domino is a witty and immensely likable addition, as well as it being pleasantly surprisingly that she's not introduced as a love interest.

You could accuse Deadpool 2 of a similar pitfall of its predecessor, with no villains that really have the caliber to match that of the heroes. There's a few great confrontation set-pieces, but the bad guys just aren't as enjoyable as they could be.

The whole film has a frenetic pace, and keeps it up through most of the run time. Quicker on the draw and with a clearer act structure than its predecessor, the film travels fast, from a gritty maximum security mutant prison to high speed car chases, from Blind Al's living room to the X-Mansion, the world around Wade and his allies is fleshed out, lived in and lively.

There's more to Deadpool this time around, it's not just his story, it's a whole cast of characters playing their part. It's a lot of fun to enjoy, and it feels a little like we're not done with the story of Wade Wilson just yet.