Bats Kicked My Ass - Part 5…
In which our plucky hero makes his final pissy preparations and heads out to defeat the scourge of Crock…
RECAP: What’s that you say folks? What was the bastarding delay? Well, apologies for that, I’ve had a spot of viral mither and that’s had me rendered incapable and able to do nowt but read and moan and lie down for the last couple of weeks. I did get through some great books tho.
Anyhoo… last time, we visited Crock’s Village Hall, where it soon became apparent that the Farmer’s Ale had waylaid all of the most capable menfolk in the village, making space for the more hopeful-than-mighty Kris Pitchfork to step in and take on those bloody vampires and avenge the death of poor young Winnifred, so he can finally show the village what he’s made of and maybe even catch the attention of King Arthur and the lads.
Upon leaving the hall, we follow the sweet sweet tang of ammonia mixed with the scent of dandelion into a shaded part of the outskirts of the forest surrounding Crock where our hero is kneeling in front of what to us looks like a mere pile of stones, though to him, that stone pile clearly means a heck of a lot…
Kris knelt in front of the stone pile that served as the only acknowledgment of the passing of his dear mother, his Trusty Stick planted in the ground before him, his forehead gently resting upon it.
“Hey there Mammy… it looks as if the wheel of life has turned my way. Finally I can show the village what I am really made of, just like you used to tell me. I’ll be the fine figure of a man you told me I could grow up to be. I’ll bloody have these vampires on a stake Mammy, just you wait and see.”
Kris’ tears thickly dotted the ground beneath him. “I don’t half miss you Mammy. It’s been hard to manage since you’ve been gone.”
Kris shook his head firmly from side to side, his face crumpling as he tried to shift the memory of his mothers final moments, trying as hard as he could to shake the recall of how his simple, everyday life was one day transformed in an instant. One moment there he was, playing about with his kite, running as fast as he could across the field, feeling the pull of the twine behind him, feeling the wind catch in the sails of the kite, then feeling the kite then finally catch and raise into the air, excitement coursing through him as he turned to shout ‘Mammy, look!”, only to be slapped by the shock of noticing his beloved mother lying on the ground, shaking in a manner he’d never seen any being shake before. He ran over, stunned to notice his mothers pale skin, her breaths shallowing away to nothing, then hearing the sound of what seemed to be a wounded animal, only to then notice it was coming from his own mouth.
Though she was never coming back, from that day, Kris felt that his Mammy’s belief in him would always carry him through. Her kind words always shining through to him in the toughest of moments. The rays of her love poking through the dark clouds of his everyday existence.
He would finally do her proud, regardless of what it took.
*****
That evening, the remains of the village gathered round, torches aloft, ready to see Kris off and away on his quest. Lord Barry stood on the lip of the crowd, Lady Barrie next to him, resplendent in her black funeral garb, still mourning the poor girl who’s short life Kris was off and away to avenge.
“Dear Kris,” Barry solemnly intoned. “We gather here on this blackest of evenings, to consider in as many ways as we can consider and pray in all the ways we can pray, for the fate of you, at this rare moment with you happening to be the strongest of our kin, here and now ready to defeat the greatest of evils which has swept upon our fair village of Crock, the most simple and beautiful of villages in the land of Albion. We have gathered our finest of offerings, for which to aid you on your way. I shall commence in the giving of these said things, with this here amulet, gifted to me by the most honourable mystic Yooray Gellay, in the hope this brings you some semblance of hope in these, the darkest of our times.”
Barry held the amulet out on his shaking, aged hands. It was a sparking piece of chain, as fine as twine, on which a small, bent spoon dangled.
“I take this with grace, my lord” said Kris as he bowed his head before the Lord.
“I’ll let you ‘ave a wee flagon of this to be helping you bring up some courage when you might be lacking in it” said Farmer Gilfoyle as he stepped forward, holding out a small clay bottle. “It’s a new concoction I’m trying out. Knockums Arse is what I’ve named it, in honour of what it’ll do to a feller if he swigs too much of it.”
“The honour is mine” said Kris, as he placed the bottle in his pouch.
“In the hope you one day get to utilise it” spoke The Scribe, handing a small piece of parchment to Kris, upon which he had delicately and prettily written - “SHOULD YE RETURN WITH TALES OF DEEDS HEROIC, THIS ENTITLES YOU TO A FULL SCRIBING OF SAID DEEDS AT NO COST TO WHAT’S LEFT OF YOU. Signed, The Scribe”
“Many thanks dear Scribe” said Kris, nodding his head as he carefully rolled up the parchment.
“Now…” mumbled the butcher as he stepped forward, holding out his cupped hands, “these, my lad, are the very essences of a bulls power, and will give you plenty extra strength should ye require it” Kris glanced at the shrivelled globs of flesh in the Butchers hands, each glob seemingly wrapped in its own pouch of thin skin. Kris reached a hand out and tentatively grabbed them.
“Erm….. thank you” Kris mumbled, truly unsure of how to react. “Pray hope I have the strength without”
“Ahem…” Lord Barry cleared his throat. “So now, with none more haste or ramblings or delays of this quest, we bid you farewell, young Kris of the family Pitchfork. May the warmth and love of Crock swell your breast as you head to vanquish an evil unlike any our village has seen, before the times that befalls on this day. I speak on behalf of all when I say I wish you the tidings of the Lord Jeebus Christ and the constant and eternal love of Elsie, the Divine Mother.”
Kris bowed his head before the Lord, turned and shuffled his way away from the village, his oversized armour clanking with each tentative step he took, a low and uncertain murmur meandering from the village as he staggered away.
*****
The Vampires sat upon the branches of a tree at the edge of the small forest that nestled up to the west side of the village. Mike swayed back and forth as the breeze swayed the branches, holding an ornate golden goblet, filled with what was left of the young wenches blood. The blood of the wench was making him more than a bit tipsy, infused as it was with a good few flagons of the farmers finest. Mike hadn’t ever been one for the ale, the biggest vice he’d indulged in before his existence as a blood sucking hellion had been a few too many slices of bread so temptingly delicious as it was when it was warm and fresh from the oven, usually accompanied by the warmest of smiles from his dear Glenda.
A cute flapping gently announced the return of Valhari, the branch bowing a ways as she shifted forms to sit upon the bough.
“Sooooooooo. “Eeeeet would apppear that the Fooooool is on hisssss wayyyy, to try to destroy us, and take our very souls….”
“Mmmmmm my beloved” replied Calihari “tonight we will happily dine on the blood of the idiot, so little chance there isssssss of himmmmm vanquishing anything other than his pride”
‘MWAHAHAHAHAHAHA!!!,” chuckled Valhari and Calihari in tandem.
“Do Vampires ever get to eat any cake?,” enquired Mike.
*****
Kris clinked his way through the forest, his torch held fumblingly in front of him, providing a gentle light which did little to compensate for the restricted view he managed to garner from the oversized helmet. Kris was doing all he could to keep himself brave, muttering words of encouragement to himself as he scanned all about for the bats.
“I am a Knight of the realm of King Arthur in waiting. I will defeat this great evil… I am a Knight of the realm…..” the words did little to actually soothe him, but they did allow for some brilliant scenes to play out in his fervent, bubbling mind, which helped him to keep putting one step in front of the other. He would never be truly ready for such a fight, but he remembered a piece of wisdom once imparted to him by the mighty Lord Graevey.
“It’s rare that you have the courage before you set off on a quest” the brave Knight had said. “You kind of pick it up as you go along. Each step gains you a bit of extra bravery as you go along the way”
“Yes,” Kris mumbled to himself as he stumbled through the forest. “Every step…”
Kris was stopped in his tracks by the most unusual sound he thought he had ever heard. There, all about him was what he could only describe as a chittering, accompanied by what he believed he had heard to be a flapping, which appeared to be coloured by a kind of chuckling.
It was time. They were here. Kris steadily pulled his Trusty Stick from his waistband. Time to finally prove to all that he was capable of greatness.