Claud Blackwing


The first thing I was really aware of was soreness in my translucent wings and a throbbing across my body. I shook my head which made a jet-black fuzz which I could only assume was my hair dance across my blurry, pain-stricken vision. My wings reacted to the violent shakings from my neck and I convulsed violently, becoming aware of a strong, grimy grip on my tiny, pale leg.

            The room could’ve been nice if I wasn’t viewing it the wrong way round: I imagined a quaint country tavern with a luscious barmaid replacing the pile of filthy ale bottles and a friendly buzz of warm, hearty boozers drinking merrily amongst the deep brown, polished wood of the furniture rather than the deathly pale silence whistling through the dusty, cobwebbed chestnut.

The rough voice attached to the green, grubby arm bellowed outwards, deafening me and probably everyone else, “Bozz, Bozz!”  Although I suspected that wasn’t it's real name the hunched lump didn’t bother to peel his green head from the suspiciously sticky wood of the tavern bench; he simply grunted a half-arsed "Mrh?"                   "I'z done cort me one o'dowse shynee flyin' t'ingees!" He continued regardless; I'd tried my best for most of my life to not be shiny - it's a difficult task for a fairy. Bozz raised his head quickly as if alerted, "Shiny t'ingee?" It asked with a tone of menacing intrigue,"Yea'! Y'know! Da won's wid da sparkly dust 'n' da wingz!" Shrieked the ugly, green thing toward Bozz. Bozz looked intrigued. I watched as it raised it's dirty, green, brutish head from the table which produced a cringe-worthy "Chlrrrp" noise as what I suppose was his face peeled itself from the combination of ale, Ork blood and various other bodily fluids you'd not like to find stuck to a table's surface. Bozz staggered forward slowly and clumsily, reminding me of a Zombie from Deadwood or The Outer-Hem Swamps, "Gizzit Gromp!" The green thing demanded with a drunken flailing gesture towards my captor's hand, "But Bozz..." moaned Gromp looking pained at the ideal of losing his new "pet", and eerily that gave me a bizarre sensation of comfort because although I’d not seen “Gromp” I’d seen Bozz and I didn’t fancy my chances with him.

That was when the filthy thing dropped my hopes like a vase full of flowers in a toddler’s arms, "Buh I wanna squash 'im!" Gromp smiled a toothy... well more tusky than toothy but nevertheless it grinned a revolting yellow grin: His tusks were stained with ale and I was certain I could see faded crimson dance down the yellow enamel like a macabre flash of lightning as I realised perhaps my captor was the worse of the two.

The End

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