Oh man life is getting busy right now, and I love it! Call me a bit of a workaholic but if I'm not doing something I will go crazy. When I'm not at work a lot of my time is spent with outside organizations, such as two running clubs, and a Toastmasters branch down here. I even took up the leadership role as Vice President of Public Relations which is going to be fun! Now on to the blog.
As you know we are on a new format now, something I'm really excited about. So as my debut story upon this new format is a sequel to Swamp Eyes, a side story within the greater story I'm working on outside of this blog known as Project Fields. This edition she is arriving at Hetrago, a misogynistic civilization located within the valley.This is why happens when you piss off a demi-goddess who wonders upon your civilization.
“Hetrago, the land of the riches,” she says as she walks into the valley, the stone wall encasing the city is still a few miles west of her. “Hetrago, the only place upon this godforsaken wasteland who have some sense of civility, except for the misogyny. Fuckin’ fuckbags.” She speaks to the dry air as if she were delivering a sermon; the only life sentient enough to pick up on her speech lied within a guard post a few meters upwards on the valley slope. She is uninvited here, like everywhere else upon this world. What were they going to do? Tell a demi-god she couldn’t stay a few nights? That would be like telling Zeus he could no longer throw lightning because it was a ‘danger’ to the Earth, or more so like begging God to never unleash the great flood. You can’t argue with nature. A small squadron of guards advances from the outpost, a routine inspection of travelers. A routine until they notice how her hair dances in the wind like the wildfire fed with the spirits of the damned; and her stare bright as emeralds gleaming beneath a supernova.
That is when they stop, and draw their rifles. The commanding officer readies his handheld transceiver, along with his .75.
The air is filled with the soft humming static of the transceiver, a comforting white noise in the silence of death. The occasional panting is heard as tiny red misquotes take turns tangoing across her torso moving at the rhythm of their hearts. A glare of a sniper strobes across her line of sight as if to add flare to the light show. They’re trying to scare her, she finds it cute.
Before any of the guards say anything she scrambles across her memory banks to recall which nickname she collected here, it’s been a while, a seventy-five years long while. Is it Malicious Mallory? Nah, they’re smarter than that. The Risin’ Demon? Hmm, maybe. Or -
“Necrosia, what is your business here?” A the commanding officer speaks up, his fingers more tense around the transceiver than his pistol. His face is aged both by time and the sun, given his age he must have been just a boy the last time she came by.
“Necrosia, I love it!” She says with the grace of a hyena. “How could I forget a beautiful name? Say it again!”
They say nothing, the older guard retreats a step back. The static on the transceiver dissipates.
“You,” she says pointing to a younger guard, probably no older than thirty and no less than a year on the force based on the fairness of his skin, “what do the people call me here?”
“Ne- Ne - Necrosia,” he says withdrawing his gun away from her. Such terror in his voice, she finds it adorable. This must be his first time he has been intimated by somebody without an extra limb between their legs.
“Again!” She says her hands rais into the air like a conductor.
“Necorsia.”
“I can’t hear you.”
“NECROSIA,” she can almost hear him shit his pants this time, her name is the fucking brown note to these people. Adding more to the irony of the situation this young guard is nearly the prefect solider based on appearance. His is clean shaven, his shoulders wide like a brick wall, chest accentuated by the armor she bets his pecks could withstand the blow of a .22 easily, and whatever muscles his body couldn’t fit within his torso extended to his neck. His body was ideal for both picking up any woman he chose in Hetrago, and beating them into submission if they didn’t do a simple chore like cooking or sucking his dick. And yet here he was panicking before a hundred-and-thirty-two pound girl. She finds it arousing.
She soaks in the moment like a sponge, then calls out to the crowd.
“Now all of you!”
“NECROSIA,” they obey like all god-fearing church choirs should.
“Ahhh, I like the sound of that, way better than Swamp Eyes. Now you were going to say something child?” She locks eyes with the commander.
At first he says nothing, he wants to go back home to his mommy whom she may or may not have spared on her last visit, she feels it in the air and by the way he hugs the transceiver. Either way she would be dead by now given his age. Finally he speaks up.
“W-what brings you to Hetrago, Necrosia?”
“Oh you know,” she says her green eyes locked upon his browns irises, “I’m sure your legends say something about me being a roving beast of the wildlands who comes here every so often to wreck terror upon your precious society, maybe because it will get your wives and children to behave, or maybe because that’s the way things are. Both of which I feel flattered you think of me that way, but I assure you, you can withdraw your weapons. I am not here for death and destruction, honestly I’ve become quite bored of it.”
She pauses waiting for them to respect her wish, and none obey.
“You call yourself soliders? You can’t even take a fucking command, go ahead open fire upon me, I’m pretty sure your friends in Gel did ohhh so much with killing off Swamp Eyes. I’m sure you heard the stories. If not here’s an abridged version: they didn’t! I was going to spare them, afterall they were oh so kind to let me have a few drinks, but they should of stopped me after my first bar. You know me and alcohol.”
The guards silently consult each other then lay their weapons. A sniper is still focused upon her, she decides to let them have their false safety. She gives the young guard her signature wink test after he lays his arms down, he only flinches a little. She gives him a C+.
“So what do you come here for?” The commander speaks again for the squad.
“Business, mostly.” She says then catches the young guard’s eyes with hers and waves, “And maybe a little bit of pleasure.” He looks towards both sides like he was trying to avoid an awkward wave when one waves at somebody nears them, always leading to an awkward returned wave. His legs almost give when he realizes the truth.
“Now tell me, commander?”
“Collenwhealth,” the old guard says.
“Mister Collenwhealth,” she speaks flamboyantly. “Would you kindly please escorte a woman my stature to the city gates? I hear you have Rickshaws for women such as myself who simply cannot walk on their own for just a few feet, I don’t think my thin and weak legs can handle a few more miles upon my journey.”
“Why would I ever-”
“I’m helpless can’t you see?” Nacrosia’s legs begin to tremble. “I need a big strong man to protect me, as your culture says clearly within its doctrine, ‘A woman is incapable of going anywhere by herself outside of her master’s property, due to her weaker physique and valuable ability to produce heirs.’ Now how my uterus affects my ability maneuver on my own I don’t understand, but I didn’t write the doctrine. I just believe in respecting other culture’s customs.
“Now fetch me a rickshaw please, my legs are about to give-way under my empty womb’s weight.”
Collenwhealth points at one of his men then the outpost. The guard begins to leave when Necrosia interrupts. “No, not him. I want you.” She says pointing at the young guard. Like a fly being swatted at he dashes away towards the outpost, his rifle thudding on the soil stirring a cloud of burnt orange dust behind his pace. She watches him the entire way, not to make sure he obeys her, she knows he will, but to admire his rear.
“Yep,” she says to no one but herself, “just a little bit of pleasure.”
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