Possible Hero by Sean Heslin

Author:Sean Heslin [Heslin, Sean]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2020-06-23T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter 32

“When life imitates art, run.”

- The Regretable Ron Underwood, in front of a crowd, who were all dressed in costume to imitate some of his 'juicier' artworks, 3949 C.M.

Rancha and company were on average, extremely uneasy.

They had been shown to a guest quarters for what should have been a pleasant nights sleep, except the palace/castle’s current state of architecture had become somewhat and very disturbingly squishy. The floor was slick and spongy, the walls were green and sticky, the ceiling was lit with bioluminescent strips and there were tentacles everywhere. They swayed and undulated, doing little tasks about the place, like tidying the corridors and removing cobwebs. The metal carriage that roamed the halls had been converted into a retching green and red slime-ridden thing that glooped and shwooped like a giant slug only much, much faster. There was a hollow cavity somewhere in the middle where the passengers sat while it moved with no immediately obvious steering force. Along the corridors, doors resembled enormous sphincters, widening and contracting as one approached, with a wet cracking sound.

The group had made a camp in the centre of their designated lodgings, as far away from the fittings and the walls as possible. Perci had been stood stock still for some time, trying not to get the tentacles’ attention - they had helpfully relieved him of his pack as he had entered; in shock, he chopped off a few wiggly bits with his sword, so they relieved him of that as well. The beds were definitely not fit for description; they practically reared up in anticipation of being slept upon. Oddly, Pib seemed quite at home and was bouncing on said beds which seemed happy for the attention. The other three were seasoned adventurers so they were merely very, very uneasy.

Somehow, they managed to go to sleep in the living room, except for Rancha who quietly chatted to Perci, that man having developed acute insomnia again.

“Enjoying it so far?” he asked with a salesman’s smile that did not quite reach his eyes.

“For a given value of ‘enjoy’? Yes. For any other value, no. When do we get to kill monsters and save damsels and the like? And sleep... anywhere not here?”

Rancha shrugged expressively. “To be honest, the worst of the beasts went extinct about a hundred years or two before either of us were born. Oh, sure, there are still a few nasties out in the wilderness, but nothing quite like the stories any more. The world is getting tamer by the day. Well, less diverse anyway. I fear for the global ecosystem.”

“Eh?”

“Less monsters equal world not good.”

“What? How can you spout such nonsense? The world is surely better off with being able to sleep safely in their beds at night, without fear of being carried away by ravenous hellfiends?”

“Yes, and the demons agreed to stoppit quite some time ago, you really don’t know your history do you? There was a treaty. Look it up. No, I am talking about the fragile balance of nature.

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