Pascau And The Sorcerer

Pascau returns to the cave where he left his lunch.

Pascau stood dumbfounded at the entrance to the cave. There, where he had left them, were his abandoned curds-on-rye, looking a bit past their prime. But that wasn't what had Pascau stunned.

Huddled in a corner of the cave, fast asleep, was the strangest man Pascau had ever seen. He was wrapped in what appeared to be some sort of quilt, though the thread and weave of the bright blue material were at once extraordinarily fine of texture and extraordinarily plain of pattern - which is to say that it had none, save a row of silvery trim that looked like polished steel, running down its length and under the man's feet. The man's head rested on what looked like a knapsack, but again this was made of extraordinarily fine material for such a thing, but in a muted green. Arranged about him was a strange collection of objects made of varying proportions of shining metal and a variously-coloured substance which might be some form of ceramic? One of these had petals of heavy wire, a head of metal punctured with dozens of small holes and a blue metal base with what looked like writing or arcane symbols and a picture of a flame painted perfectly on its sides.

The man stirred and Pascau took a step back, preparing to run. But the man just gave a soft grunt and settled back into lightly-snoring sleep. The man himself seemed mostly ordinary enough. But his hair stood straight out from his head like a hedgehog, right down to the faded colour at the end of the quills. He also had a hole in his earlobe big enough to put a fat finger through, held open by a rainbow-coloured ring. He had another ring in his nose and a small tattoo in the shape of a five-pointed star next to his eye. At least... that was all Pascau could see. God only knew what strange anatomy the man... or was it a demon... was hiding under its quilt.

No, Pascau decided, not a demon. A man. But surely a warlock, or a sorcerer. He must warn the village - tell the priest. But, he thought, I must have proof or else they will think me mad.

Quaking with fear, Pascau set his eyes upon the metal flower. Slowly he crept toward the sleeping man, his heart thumping harder and faster with every step. By the time he was close enough to reach the thing, he was sure his heart was pounding so loudly that the man must hear it and wake, but he didn't. The moment his fingers closed around the neck of the flower, Pascau turned to sprint out of the cave, but his shaking legs failed him. He lost his footing and stumbled noisily across the rough limestone floor of the cave.

Behind him, the man stirred. Glancing back as he regained his balance and started to run, Pascau's eyes widened in panic as the sorcerer magically parted the quilt along the strip of trim and began to rise, his demon-tattooed arms shrugging the quilt aside as he yelled something incomprehensible - a spell, no doubt - at Pascau. But Pascau was out of the cave now, the demonically hot metal flower clutched firmly in his fist, running in leaps and bounds down the hill toward the village, the church and the protection of Father Jaufret.

* * *

In the mouth of the cave, Trent called after the fleeing shepherd boy, "Dude, come back! You forgot your cheese!" When the boy kept running toward the village, Trent idly scratched his still-fresh Pikachu tattoo, smoothed down his "I <heart> Roquefort" singlet and turned to pack up his sleeping bag, leaving the sacred cheese where the boy had left it. He'll come back, Trent thought. He'd better.