INTRODUCTION.
A long time ago in a galaxy about two months away at light speed....
Dribede Dagnabbit was an Ick who had dreams, real big dreams. He was living in a time of great change within the Ick Empire with the first colonisation of a new planet just being given the go-ahead by the Emperor. People were saying an Ick of quick wits and possessing good luck could go far in this new world. His people were starting to reach out into space and those who led the way would become heroes. Dribede embraced this new dawn with excitement, and aimed to rise above his mundane station. All his life he had been known as the thick brother of the local fruit farmer, but this was his chance to become a famous hero. Dribede had spent his entire life in his elder brother’s shadow, but not for much longer. He would show everyone he was the one with a future. Dreams did sometimes come true, yet not always in the way that people wanted them to. His brother had got the brains in the family and by suddenly dropping dead earlier that evening, some would say he got the luck too.
Dribede lay in his bed. He had woken with a start and now wondered how three very strange figures had just walked through a solid wall and into his room. The first one was dressed in strange furs and wearing an even stranger helmet with horns attached to each side, and he sounded upset.
“It wasn’t my fault, he just panicked when he saw you and ran onto my sword. There was nothing that I could do to stop him.”
The second figure, who wore something like a monk’s habit, waved his hand dismissively. “Trobjorn, you never take responsibility for your actions. It’s just a good job he has a brother who can stand in for him or you would be in big trouble.”
All three then stopped talking and stared at Dribede, who lay on the bed looking confused. It was then that the third figure spoke, a woman of strange looks. She wore a bright colourful dress that seemed to float and swirl around even though there was no wind to make it move. She stared at Dribede, who hadn’t moved since they entered the room, and didn't even try to hide the look of disappointment at what she saw before her.
“He doesn’t look much like a prophet that’s going to foretell the destruction of his people to me, brother. Who would ever take him seriously?”
“Give him a wonky eye and some warts,” put in Trobjorn helpfully, “and make him dribble and eat his shoe. That’s how a good prophet should always behave. People then know they’re real and not faking it to get the table scraps before the hounds.”
“Excuse me,” put in Dribede nervously. “Why are you talking about destroying my people? And how did you walk through that wall to get in here?”
All three stopped talking and looked at him, then at each other, before the one who looked like a monk spoke.
“He can see us. Fate, I thought you were making us invisible after what happened earlier?”
“I thought you were doing the invisible trick. It was your idea to hide us this time so Trobjorn doesn’t kill anyone else important,” Fate replied, not willing to take the blame for forgetting to make them invisible.
“Not fair. I said it wasn’t my fault and even apologised,” Trobjorn replied sulkily.
“We don’t need to worry about it anyway. You’re going to scramble his brain in a minute so he won’t remember us, and you took Trobjorn’s sword off him,” replied the woman dismissively.
The one in the helmet named Trobjorn nodded in agreement. “Good point Fate, he doesn’t look like an excitable jumping around bloke like his brother. Bit of a poor excuse for an Ick really. You’ll be doing him a favour once you send him doolally with our prophecy.”
“I can hear you all too, you know,” said Dribede nervously, finally moving to sit up.
“Don’t worry, nothing is going to happen for a good few thousand years yet,” the monk said, giving a friendly smile. “You’ll be long dead by then so it won’t make any difference to how long you live. And as for any children, well, let’s face it, that was never going to happen, was it?”
“It’s an epic tale, son,” Trobjorn cut in, quickly changing the subject as Dribede looked crestfallen at Destiny’s opinion of him ever finding a girlfriend. “Full of treachery and betrayal, ending in the last stand of the righteous Odin.”
“It's not Odin, his name is Wickede,” corrected the woman.
This interruption got an angry glance from Trobjorn before he continued. “And the mighty warrior Thor.”
“It’s Blackarachnia not Thor,” the woman corrected again. “Look, let’s just drop off the prophecy and get back to our drinks before one of his mob pinch ‘em.” She continued pointing at Trobjorn who nodded, knowing that stealing drinks was the least of things his men did.
The monk agreed and stepped forward and placed his hand on Dribede’s head. The unfortunate Ick’s body went stiff before slumping back onto the bed drooling and cross-eyed.
“Right, let’s go and get rat-arsed then,” the monk said happily with a grin at his two companions.
As the three figures turned and walked away back through the wall Trobjorn’s voice carried back into the room.
“You forgot to add the warts, and I still think you should let me fight in the final battle, accompanied by a host of Valkyries in skimpy armour.”
“No,” the monk answered. “That isn’t your destiny, but the skimpily armoured shield maidens sound usable.”
“But you could change it so it was my destiny. Come on, I know you make people’s destiny up as you go along. Let’s face it, Destiny is your middle name,” he pressed hopefully.
“No it isn’t, it’s my only name,” Destiny replied.
To be continued.
All images are mine.
