The Journeyman. A diary of an occult resolution assistant.........Sunday

01:20

I dreamt I was sailing in an old leaky boat with the waves lapping at my side and the cool briny air gently flowing over my body as I slept.  It must have been night as it was dark, there were no stars, just a frequent set of comets leaving yellow trails across the night, as regular as lane markers on a road.......a the smell started to go bad, a strong rotten fish smell, punching through my nose and deep into my brain.  I tossed, rocking the boat; fish started to float on on the surface of the calm ocean, rotting and breaking up as soon as they broke through the water into the air.  My heaven was turning sour and i thrashed more widely trying to get up from my position and find the oars to escape the locatillty.

My eyes opened.  I gasped and went as cold as the arctic sea.  I was on a hospital trolley, being wheeled down a corridor - the hard florecent striplights above me like the comets of my slumber.  I could not move, from my perifferal vision i could see i was secured in place with ambulance issue straps crossing my chest, abdomen and legs, with two rectangual orange pads either side of my head keeping it in place with two bright orange velcro straps laying on my forehead and across my chin.
  The smell of rotting fish caused me to gag, and then i was suffocating on a cough i could not shake away.  I tried to sit up to open my airway but this was a fruitless exercise and pain rose within in as i struggled to draw in the slightest of breath.  A hand as leathery and wet as an sodden firefighters glove brushed my forehead and a rasping dry voice told me to stay calm.  Darkness rose behind my eyes.  I did not know if i were seeing my last sight, if the oxygen in my body was finally spent or if i were cucuming to a drug or spell. 


Some time later.

The pain in my head was that of a vice crushing a nut.  Behind my eyes was a light so bright I should have been able to see the sand on the moon, if i could have open my eyes.  My throat was dry, too dry to call out for help and my ears were burning hot.
  I thought for a moment i was back home, in my bed with a migraine that would have stopped an elephant; but my back was against something hard and rough, my clothes were pulled tight in places where the fabric was being pulled and gripped like against the bark of a tree when i climbed them as a child.
  I could not hear.  I could not see because of the blinding light behind my closed eyes, but it was the absence of sound that disturbed me the most.  It was not a void of sound, but sound being obstructed from making contact with me.  It was then I realised I had two large hands firmly gripping my head from either side, so hard i could not move it even though i had begun to force my weight to the left and right.  I put my legs into the force and felt the hands slip, as they did i could hear chanting, Latin probably or a language just as old and twiddly, being spoken so harshly it was if a dog had growled the words at the back of its throat.
  I knew who had me, it was clear and the thought in my head was I did not want to die, not here like this; in pain and alone.  My body worked without my thinking and my hand slipped into my pocket, it grabbed the spell sheet and arced around hard and fast and brought the spell sheet and my open palm down in a slap that echoed off the walls.  I was satified to hear a howl of pain and in that moment all pressure was lifted from my body and i rose, spinning around to face my attacker.

  He was sat on the floor, a wooden board covered in chalked runes, geometric shapes and patterns, none of which I knew or could discypher, between his legs.  The marks were smudged where I had laid on them and by my movements.  We were in a store room, one not fequented by many people, if any judging from the smell of wild animal. The room was dark, a half light entered around a dirty brown blind that i suspected was yellow at the start of its life.  The items on the shelves were old, dust covered and from a previous time before disposable NHS tools and equipment.  An array of sample bottles, chemical containers, each with a skull logo or a fish laying on its back in a poluted river - both telling me they would make bad drinking but might work as a weapon if i needed it.  The rest of the room had odds and sods laying around.  Boxes of paper records, typed inventries, a microscope and bakalite radio.
  Ludo was sat, his left had clamped to this head where I had slapped him, the skin there reddening and blistering.  God, I thought, I didn't know holy text had that much power in them - something to remember next time (if there were a next time).
There was a distinctly hairy aspect to Ludo here; gone his orderly coat, in its place a bare chest covered in tattooes depicting images and scenes of demon and humans in chases, battles, torture, and other things too detailed to comment on.  There were horns upon his brow; ringed like a ram and curved from front to back so they so the points were aimed at his ears.  Sharp teeth were displayed at me as he grimaced and swore.

Ludo stood, long legs, with knees too high and ankles halfway between the knee and cloved hoof.  Hair sprouted everywhere, it was brown like a coconut and just as rough, matted with dirt and grime (I hoped not with blood but it was hard to tell).  The whole look reminded me of the body of a dead badger we found by the side of the road as children, but larger and more goat'esque (and grotesque).

  "You Bitch!" It spat, "That hurt like the Father's kiss." 
"Huh?!!" was the best I could reply.  My heart was beating a tempo quicker than any thrash metal band would have been proud to play to and I had no idea how to get out of this.
  My expereinces with the weird and werider in this world usually came with a hand to hold or a book to learn from first.  The most dangerous thing I had to deal with outside of school bullies in my adolecence, was standing up to a parking warden who ticketed me even though I had bought a ticket (and to be honest Parking Wardens definetly count as weirder!)
  Shit, my mind wanders like that at inappropriate times.  Ludo had started pacing towards me, like a cat stepping slowly closer to its prey, waiting for the opportune moment to pounce.  In my pocket i could feel the buldge of the holy water bottle; I carry it in a stoppered vial on a short chain; it looks more ornamental than it should especially as its intended as a weapon, but its not until you need to use it for the first time that you actually think about how a squeeze bottle full of the stuff would be better in an emergency (it could double as a thirst quencher in a fight too).
  My fingers felt for the chain and I pulled the vial out, aiming to replicate the attack i made with the spell sheet.  Ludo jumped then, hands outstretched to attack, I saw his eyes turn from milky yellow cream into red orbs as colour flushed into them like dye miked into moving water.

A strong hand grasped my wrist before I could bring it down and the other push Ludo back so his feet left the ground and he flew the short distance to a wall unit and showered the room in faided records and notes from NHS paitents long gone.
  "I like the attitude kid, " Said a voice.  I turned my head up and saw Xanthic smiling at me, his eyes hidden behind thick sunglasses even here in a dark room. "But please don't hurt my friend there, he's a good chap really."  He smilled a disarming smile like it was a weapon and put his other arm around me.
  "You look starved."  He said. "And I think I owe Ludo a drink at the very least over this.  Shall we go get an energising salad from the cafe at the enterance, or go to one of the fast food places for a lump of grease in a sugerfilled bun?"

Xanthic offered a hand to Ludo who stood, shaking his head like he was trying to get a bee off him and i watched as the redness bled from his eyes.  He looked more human how, less hair (than before but still way more than most humans are comfortable with) and all his joints seemed to be back in the correct anatomical positions.
  The only difference was a red mark in the shape of the glyph for "Peace" blasing on his left temple where I had slapped the speel sheet down.  I thought I could see the glyph for "forgiveness" hlaf hiding under his hair, the two pictograms looking like a kids scribble on his face.
  "Where do you find these remarkable individuals?" Ludo growled as he regained his footing and stood up.
  "Lets get to somewhere......"Xanthic looked around, "More condusive to polite conversation, shall we.  And if they can serve me a bucket of coffee more the better I say."
  We followed Xanthic from the room through a door situated behind me (How could i have not seen this earlier?) myself keeping well out of the way of Ludo who was behind me, so much so I squeezed past Xanthic in the doorway and bumping him into the frame.
  "Sorry Boss."  I said
  "Think nothing of it." He smilled rubbing his hands down his coat smothing out any wrinkles added during the coming together.  I saw something pinky in his pocket.  Normally Xanthic's clothes fit him like a shop manequine, straight up and down with no curve other than the body below them.  But here was a bump, a large bump, somthing sticking out the fabric.  I made a mental not to sneek a peek when the opportunity arose; you never know, the Boss may have brought me some grapes for my stay.

Sadly, later I found out it was not grapes;  But the freshly (if you could use such a word to describe things relating to 'them') removed hand of a zombie.

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