Wrath of the Volcano God Part Four

 

 

WRATH OF THE VOLCANO GOD

A Pulp Adventure

Part Four

The Kazooli warriors burst from the underbrush.  They whooped and hollered as they closed in on the outsiders, brandishing spears.  Their eyes burned with a primitive hatred as they corralled the members of the expedition into a loose huddle surrounded by the business-end of sharpened stone spearheads.

With cries of surprise, our heroes banded together, instinctively seeking the safety of numbers.  They stood back-to-back, keeping fearful watch on the surrounding warriors.

"What do we do now?" Sarah asked in a trembling voice.

"We should fight our way out of this!" Bethany announced, her hand reaching for her knife.

"You trying to get us all killed?" the pilot barked.

"Purdy sure I ain't got enough bullets to get us out of this," Wayne lamented.

Lewis raised his hands to show the natives he held no weapon.  He offered a smile and announced, "We come in peace!"

A murmur rolled through the throng of warriors.  Some prodded at the prisoners with their spears.

"I don't think that did much for us," Wayne said.

"I've got a nasty feeling that the people from the boat gave them a bad first impression of outsiders," Lewis said. 

The leader of the band of warriors, a brave and brawny individual named Nyfu, crept forward.  With knees bent he advanced one wary step, then another tilting his head and torso one way, then another in a manner reminiscent o a wild bird.  He reached out with one tentative finger and prodded Bethany's sleeve.  She grumbled and recoiled at his touch, but could not retreat.

As if emboldened by her response, Nyfu straightened, poked her again. 

"Hey, knock it off, pal!" she barked at him.

Nyfu commented to his warriors and they erupted with a brief burst of laughter.  With a hearty guffaw, he slapped her on the shoulder, threw her off balance.

"I said cut it out!" she growled as she leaned in and pushed him back.

"No, don't!" Ethan yelled, but it was too late.

The laughter of the natives instantly died.  Nyfu turned to her with a ugly grimace, made some short declaration in his native tongue, which he punctuated by slapping the upstart girl across the face.  Blood trickled from the corner of her lip as she turned back to regard him with a venomous gaze.

"Bethany," Lewis said in the calmest voice he could muster, "just calm..."

A sneer curled her lip as she leaned in and struck his ugly mug with a left hook.  Surprised by the strike, he was spun about, but caught himself from falling.  Nonetheless, he had been struck, and by a female.  His fellow warriors burst out in laughter once again, this time at his expense.

Nyfu drew himself to his full height and addressed his fellows with angry words.  In his rhetoric, he turned and glared at Bethany with a burning hatred in his eyes.  His followers jostled their spears as though in preparation, then Nyfu concluded his speech by thrusting forward an accusing digit toward the members of the expedition.

This sudden movement startled young Sarah Turnbull.  She jumped, and in doing so, her finger flipped the switch on her camera.  Her bulb flashed, and inspired a sudden wave of panic in the surrounding warriors.

They jumped back with wide eyes, and called out with oaths, curses, and other cries of alarm.  Their muscles tensed and their spears jostled again, this time trembling with anxious energy.

"This could be our chance!" Lewis shouted.  Suddenly his pistol was drawn and thunder-cracks filled the clearing as three bullets were shot into the sky. 

The natives' panic increased.  Many of them bolted for the safe shadows of the jungle while others danced in place unsure whether to run, attack, or cower upon the ground.

"Run!" Lewis commanded as he herded his group out of the glade. 

With no further prompting, the small group burst through the evaporating throng of natives and charged into the jungle.  They stomped their way through the underbrush, dodging trees and vines, forging their own path where the jungle floor offered the least resistance.  The alarmed cries of the natives fell further behind them, but then transformed into yells of anger, and grew louder again in pursuit.

They ran for their lives, for even the jungle itself was against them.  Sarah was running at full speed, following her fellows, when she ran afoul of a bulbous tree root.  She collapsed to the verdant floor and her camera rolled away from her hands.

Suddenly the cowboy was beside her, pulling her to her feet.  "Can't stop now, missy!" he said as he urged her forward to follow the others.

"My camera!" she cried a she paused to pluck it from the grassy ground.

Then a horrendous crack sounded off to one side.  A heartbeat later, a heavy tree trunk came crashing down through the foliage to block their path.

"Shi-nola!" Wayne swore.  Sarah gasped as she straightened up, the Kodak back in her hands.  They were flabbergasted only for a moment, but it was a moment too long.  Before they knew it, they were surrounded once again by Kazoolis, their spears at the ready.

Their capture was obvious and inarguable.  There was nothing left to do but accept it and raise their hands.  After a moment, the Kazoolis corralled them through the jungle by prodding them with spears.  There was no way of knowing where they were being taken.

*  *  *

Lewis Clark ran through the jungle, realized he no longer heard the natives.  He paused by a tall tree, pulled off his fedora, dragged one forearm across his forehead.  Bethany Gale and Ethan Clapsaddle stopped beside him and gasped for breath.

Lewis frowned at the pair, then back at the jungle.  "What happened to Sarah, and Wayne?"

"I don't know," Bethany replied.

"They were right..." the pilot panted, "...behind us!"

A Kazooli spear hit a tree and trembled with the impact.  The three of them looked sharply up at the spear, then at the jungle behind them.

"We'll have to double-back for them later!  Move!" Lewis said as he started them back on their run.

They continued on through another hundred yard of thick jungle undergrowth before emerging into another clearing.  This one was on the edge of a wide ravine, spanned by an ancient bridge of wood and vines.  Here, they screeched to a stop as two figures turned and raised their pistols.

"Clark!" Carlsbad exclaimed as he steadied his revolver.  "I thought you died on the boat!  And Miss Gale, you're looking much better than you did last time we met!"

"Everard, there's bigger problems on this island than the ones between you and us!" Lewis told him.  As if to emphasize his point, a native spear embedded itself in the ground at a low angle. 

All eyes turned toward the jungle to search for oncoming natives.  Carlsbad seized the moment, grabbed Bethany's arm and pulled her in front of him.  The muzzle of his revolver jabbed into her ribs.  "My dear, I think you'll provide suitable cover for me as we cross the bridge," he cooed into her ear as he drew her back toward the ancient construction.  "Igor!  Be sure to wait until we're well across.  I doubt this sorry structure can handle much weight." 

His hulking brute nodded in reply and Carlsbad dragged Bethany beyond the lip of the ravine.  They cross the creaking planks despite the groans of the vines that stretched beneath their weight.  A few long but nerve-wracking minutes later, Carlsbad set foot on the far lip of the ravine and called for his servant to follow. 

Kazooli spears shot out of the jungle.  Most of these also jabbed into the rough turf, but a few overshot the edge, and fell to the verdant floor far below the bridge.  In a rush of panic, Ethan charged for the rickety bridge only to slapped to the ground by Igor's half-hearted backhand.  Igor stepped upon the first planks of the bridge, steadied himself by clutching the handrails of twisted vines.  One board snapped and fell beneath his heavy girth, but he continued on, apparently unperturbed. 

He was nearly halfway across when the natives emerged from the jungle.  With ululating war cries they charged toward the two men that still stood before the bridge.  There was only one escape route and that was the bridge itself. 

Ethan scurried for it, then ducked as Igor raised his pistol and fired.  The bullet screamed past him and struck one of the onrushing natives.  Lewis set his jaw, frowned at the pilot and barked, "Come on!" then led his friend onto the swaying bridge. 

Igor watched them with a grimace.  He holstered the pistol and replaced it with a long machete.  He raised the blade high overhead, then glanced at Lewis and Ethan, as though he expected them to stop. 

Lewis continued on.   A board creaked as he passed over it, but there was too much yelling to notice.  It snapped when Ethan tried to step on it.  The pilot pulled himself up and though shaken, continued on with no other choice. 

Igor brought his machete down upon the handrail and the vine snapped.  The handrail fell away, forcing the other ropes that composed the bridge to handle the tension and the weight without its help.  The redistribution of weight caused new stress and added wear that the aged bridge could not withstand.  A vine snapped between Lewis and Ethan, than another snap sounded between Lewis and Igor.  The bridge snapped in two, Lewis found himself hugging the floorboards for dear life as the bridge fell and slammed into the far wall of the ravine.  Above him, Igor likewise clung the ruined bridge. 

Ethan Clapsaddle was not so lucky.  The bridge tore itself apart beneath his feet and suddenly he was unsupported in midair.  He fell, screaming, into the depth of the ravine, and was swallowed up by the leafy canopy of palm trees far below.  

Lewis called out for his friend, stared with horror at the green blanket below him, but saw no sign of him.  Then a rock slammed against the ravine wall, bringing him back to the moment at hand.  The Kazoolis stood at the far lip chucking rocks and spears in an attempt to strike the two men clinging to the fallen bridge. 

Lewis reached over his head, pulled himself up the footboards as though they were the rungs of a ladder.  Looking up, he saw that Igor was doing the same.  Igor reached the top after a few minutes, then drew his machete once more. 

Two quick chops and the bridge slipped down the cliff face.  

"Good work, Igor!" Carlsbad praised him.  He shook Bethany's arm in a right grip.  "I'm tempted to send you after him, Miss Gale.  However, you might prove a useful distraction if those natives should find us again.  Come along!"  With that, he pulled her into the jungle, and Igor followed. 

Meanwhile, Lewis clung to the ravine wall like a fly.  He noticed that he was only a few short yards away from a convenient cave and he inched his way across the cliff wall despite a steady barrage of rocks and spears that rained down around him.  Finally, he stretched one foot around an outcropping and felt the cave floor.  He climbed into the cave, and peered into the valley below. 

There was still no sign of Ethan Clapsaddle.  But as he stared through the foliage, Lewis was sure he spied a running river.  He wondered if Clap could've survived if he landed in the river.  Then he asked himself, "Was there a splash?" 

In the excitement of the moment, there was no way to be sure.  A rock bounced off his shoulder and he screamed with pain.  "Sorry Clap," he said to the valley at the bottom of the ravine, then turned and retreated into the cave. 

*  *  * 

Bethany struggled in Carlsbad's grip as they trudged through the jungle. 

With a groan, Carlsbad shoved her into Igor's beefy arms.  "You may as well accept it, you're coming with us!" 

"You don't even know where you're going!" Bethany taunted as she tried to kick him. 

Carlsbad glared at her through narrowed eyes.  He pulled the map from one pocket and consulted it.  He looked around, but this part of the jungle was indistinguishable from other parts they had already traveled through.  But not far away was the roar of a waterfall, which coincided with one marked on the map. 

"To the contrary, my dear," Carlsbad purred smugly, "I do believe I know exactly where..." 

Before he could finish, the angry beast burst from the undergrowth:  five-hundred pounds of raw muscle and sharp teeth wrapped up in a coat of orange, black, and white...

To Be Continued...

Smart Heroes vs Strong Heroes

 Hail and well met, you Terrifically Avid Subscribers!

I don't know about you, but I like Heroic Heroes having hard times while horrible things happen...  I like death-defying daredevils who dare to do their daring-do despite indomitable doom!  I like plucky protagonists who make a practice of protecting princesses from preposterous perils and disreputable profligates!

I like good, old-fashioned, two-fisted, blood pumping, awe-inspiring, swashbuckling, fun-to-read, fun-to-watch, escapist adventure fiction. 

Of course, an adventure needs a Hero, and speaking in wide generalities, there seem to be two types:  Smart Heroes and Strong Heroes.  

As a member of the audience (the reader, the watcher), I must admit that I enjoy the Smart Hero.  He or she is usually the smartest person in the room, and they know it.  They are often unsurprised by twists throughout the story, and know all the details of everything involved in the story.  The first two characters that fit in this trope who immediately spring to mind are Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Who... by some strange coincidence, both are English creations.

And they have several similarities.  They are both kind of pompous, require sidekicks that we--the audience--can better identify with (and also so the Smart Hero can explain things to Us by talking to Them).  They often seem to resent having to do all that explanation in a "how can you be so dense" tone of voice.  Also, they are to some degree socially awkward, being unable to properly relate with people of such lesser intellect, to the point that they are condescending, off-putting, and often tedious to be around.  

But they can solve puzzles and riddles in mere seconds once they have collected all the pertinent information relating to it.  They rarely resort to distasteful physical confrontation, although they may have a sidekick for that sort of thing.  Instead, they usually overcome the villain with superior intellect, outmaneuvering and overcoming their fiendish plan.  Sometimes these manipulations cause the villain's death, but sometimes the villain--thoroughly outsmarted and humiliated--merely concedes defeat.

On the flip side, we have the Strong Hero.  The Strong Hero may or may not be smart, but more importantly the Strong Hero has physical endurance and stamina, capable of devastating fight scenes with multiple opponents.  Typically, the cliche that comes to mind is a barrel-chested barbarian or streetwise brawler.  

This type of hero takes a lickin' but keeps on tickin'!  Too dumb to know when he's beaten, he just keeps going, like a stubborn juggernaut.  Not all members of this trope are dumb, Conan, for instance, is actually quite learned in the stories.  So was Tarzan.  

Smart or not, the Strong Hero usually overcomes a problem by hitting it until it stops moving.  Any "clever" maneuvers or circumstances that occur for this Hero are not planned out, but usually the development of dumb luck.

I recall reading somewhere (but I don't remember where, so please don't ask) that Robert E. Howard himself once said that he preferred to write Strong Heroes instead of Smart Heroes.  His reasoning was that for the Smart Hero to come up with some incredibly clever plan, the writer had to come up with it, too.  Whereas the Strong Hero was easier to write, because he just hits the problem until it stops moving.  

I'm paraphrasing of course.

I've written both types of Heroes, and while I do enjoy both types, I have to agree that the Strong ones are easier to write!  I try to have heroes that are a little bit of both, and sometimes it even works.

Which kind of heroes to do prefer?  Leave a comment below to share with everyone!  We're all looking for to it!  I guess that's all for now, but we'll be back later to talk about something else, and don't forget there's a new, exciting chapter coming up on the next Serial Saturday!  Don't miss it!

Until then, I wish you all...

Good Adventuring!
Timothy A. Sayell

Wrath of the Volcano God Part Three

 

 

WRATH OF THE VOLCANO GOD

A Pulp Adventure

Part Three

"Then you two had better get off this boat, and fast!" Lewis told them as he struggled to break free of the ropes.

The pilot snorted.  "Not without you, buddy-boy!  Grab him!"  Ethan grabbed the ropes encircling Lewis' shoulders as Wayne grabbed the prone man's legs.  They ran for the gangplank.  Halfway down it, the dynamite exploded.  The main deck shattered, shot into the air like a volcanic explosion.  The gangplank lifted up under their feet and launched them onto the sandy beach.

Debris from the ship rained down into the water and along the beach.  Jigsaw pieces of deck or walls.  A cabin door.  A twisted length of the ship's railing.  Boxes from the hold, a lantern, a prybar and other tools.  The ship itself sunk lower in the water, no doubt the hold blew itself wide open somewhere below the water line.  The ship finally settled on the ocean floor at an angle, the prow of the ship sat higher than the stern.  A bit the foredeck, the main cabin, and dirty smokestack were all that jutted up from the water.  Just like that, the Josephine's Joy was no more.

Sarah stood from where she lay Bethany, sitting up against a rock.  She looked over the aftermath with despondent eyes, for she saw no sign of their three companions.

The gangplank landed with one end on a boulder that jutted up from the sand near the water's edge, the other dropped into the loose white sand.  One side jerked, then rose like a door on a hinge.  It slid off the boulder, which now held the gangplank propped up on one edge.  The three men emerged from beneath it.

"Thank Heavens you're alive!" she exclaimed as she rushed to them.  "Are you all right?"

Lewis took a quick stock of the situation.  "Yes, I think so.  How about you, Wayne?"

Wayne's ashen face told them that he was shaken.  Nevertheless, he picked himself up and slapped his Stetson onto his head as he said, "Had worse falls gettin' bucked offa broncos!"

"Clap?  You all right?" Lewis asked.

Ethan patted down his jacket, finally pulled out a pack of cigarettes.  "I'm still working on that 'alive' part.  I mean, my whole life flashed before my eyes!" He put a smoke in his mouth, lit it, took a long drag.  "You never paid me back for the Red Robin, by the way."

Lewis laughed.

Then the water beyond the whore began to churn.  It swirled and roiled.  In a few short moments it came to a bubble as though it had come to a rolling boil.  Large objects moved beneath the bubbling water, as though some undercurrent pushed them up toward the beach.  The first one emerged from the sea, it seemed to the shallow dome of a reddish-gray rock.  More clustered up to the edge of the beach, remaining submerged in the oncoming surf, at least for the moment.

Next to one of these rocks, a crab's claw reached up and out of the broiling surf.  It was of a monstrous proportion, easily two feet in length.  The pincers clacked twice, it may have been nothing more than a morning stretch, but it seemed like a signal as the rocks chose that moment to climb out of the water.

They were giant crabs, some as large as four feet across their barnacled shells.  Each one armed with a massive pair of claws that could crack a person's head wide open. 

Sarah screamed, ran back to pull Bethany to her feet.  Shouting exclamations of their own, Ethan and Wayne pulled Lewis to his feet.  Then they each grabbed the coil of rope and pulled it over his head.   Wayne let go of the rope, but some habit made Ethan pull the coiled rope over one arm and onto his shoulder without even realizing it.

The white sands were swarming with the monstrous crabs, one came upon a few boards from the ship's deck that were sticking up out of the sand.  With a single clack of its claw, it snapped the boards in twain.

"Run!" Lewis ordered, and the three men bolted inland.

Bethany, still weakened from the poison, was pulled to her feet by the younger woman.  Sarah wrapped one arm around Bethany's waist, pulled one of Bethany's arms over her shoulders and urged across the sandy beach.

Wayne paused, plucked a twisted piece of railing from the ground and chucked it at the oncoming horde.  It bounced off one crab's shell, rolled off another, but did nothing to slow their advance.  Lewis grabbed what appeared to be a stairway plank and threw it into the throng with similar result. 

The crabs had advanced upon their flank, cut off their path to the ravine-path they had followed to the beach.  They turned, and continued toward the cliff wall.  The humans ran at full speed, and gained a lengthy lead as the crabs scuttled forward at a slow but menacing gait.  As the distance lessened between them and the cliff face, they saw it was riddled with caves.  The lowest one was perhaps fifteen feet above the sand, and out-of-reach from their armored pursuers.

They were nearly out of the field of fallen debris when Lewis pulled a curved metal rod from the sand.  He cocked his arm to catapult it when he suddenly realized that it was a large three-pronged hook. 

The crabs marched on, clicking their pincers in their mad chase.  Sarah cried out as Bethany stumbled and nearly pulled them both to the ground.

"Clap!"  The pilot turned to him and Lewis tossed him the hook.  "Tie this to the rope so we can get up to one of those caves!"  Ethan caught it, nodded.  Lewis ran over and picked up Bethany fro where she fell.  He instructed Sarah to continue of, then followed carrying the crumpled woman in his arms once again.

Moments later they made it to the rocky wall and stood below one of the lower caves.  Lewis propped Bethany against the cliff as Ethan hastily tied the grappling hook to one end of the rope.  Wayne pulled out his six-guns and fired at the oncoming horde as Ethan whirled the hook up toward the cave above.

Wayne's bullets bounced off their heavy shells or cause a small burst of sand as buried itself in the beach at their feet.  Either way, that crab would pause, sometimes take a step back, and cause a minor logjam in their advance. It was only a momentary reprieve, then they would continue with their ominous charge.

The hook crashed into the sand.  Undaunted, or just desperate, Ethan tried again.  The hook clanged against the rock face and hurtled down a second time. 

"Dagnabbit!" Wayne cried, "You can't throw a rope to save your life!"  He slammed his revolvers into their holsters and took the rope away from the pilot.  He swung the hook in a circle, then launched it skyward.  It caught onto the cave mouth and stayed put.

Wayne pulled his guns out and resumed firing, which seemed to slow the onrushing crustacean mob, if only a little.  Lewis slipped his pack from his shoulders and handed it to Ethan.

"Take this, and get up there so you can help Miss Turnbull," Lewis instructed.

"What about her?" Ethan asked, pointing at Bethany Gale.

"I'll get her," Lewis said as he leaned over and pulled a large knife from Bethany's belt.  "Now get up there!"

Without argument, Ethan pulled the spare pack onto his shoulder where the rope had been moments before.  He grabbed the rope in both fists and walked up the rock wall to the cave. 

Lewis cut a few feet of rope from the bottom, then waved Sarah toward the rope.  "You're next!"

"But how..." the girl began.

Wayne fired off another round.  "No time to argue, just get!"

Though plagued by dissatisfaction and worry, Sarah climbed up the rope.  As she neared the cave, Ethan leaned out, grabbed her, helped her climb in.

As Sarah climbed, Lewis used his newly cut length of rope to tie Bethany's wrists together.  He pulled the girl to her feet, turned his back to her, then pulled her tied hands over his head.  Lewis took the rope in his hands and said, "Don't wait too long!"

"I weren't plannin' to," Wayne told him.

With a nod, Lewis hoisted himself up to the cave.  Below him, the crabs closed in on Wayne Johnson.  He leveled his pistol at one oncoming beast and pulled the trigger.  He was rewarded with a disappointing click and remembered the shots he had used on the ship.  He holstered that revolver, grabbed hold of the rope as one crab charged up to him.  He turned his pistol at it, squeezed the trigger.

The revolver barked a thunderclap and shattered the heavy shell between the crab's two eyestalks.  The monster trembled, then it's spidery legs collapsed beneath the dead weight of the body.

Wayne shoved the gun into it's holster, grabbed the rope and was instantly pulled off the white sand of the beach.  His friends pulled him into the cliffside cave and looked down at the monster-sized crabs clacking their claws in anger below.

They rested for a while near the cave mouth, nibbled at their provisions, sipped from their canteens, reloaded their guns, wiped their brows and caught their breath.  The stoic crabs stood stubborn guard below them, clicking and clacking their pincers with a promise of savage pain.

Ethan pulled the stub from his mouth and flicked it at the mob below.  "Looks like they ain't going anywhere anytime soon."

"That's all right.  We all got up here in one piece and we can follow this cavern," Lewis announced.  "If we're lucky, we'll find another way out."

Sarah stared down at the crustacean swarm.  "Do...do you think they got Dr. Carlsbad and his man?" The worry in her voice was genuine.

"I hope so," Bethany spat.  "Serve him right."

"What a horrible thing to say about another human being!" Sarah exclaimed, aghast.

Lewis grabbed the young woman in a firm embrace.  "If I know Everard, he got away from the crabs all right.  And that means he'll still be after the Heart of Tiki-Taki.  We've got to get to the Temple first if we're going to stop him."  He shot a furtive glance as the giant crabs below.  "You should take a couple of pictures of them," he told the girl.  "For posterity's sake.  That's what your father sent us to do, isn't it?"

"Yes it is," she agreed, and readied her camera.

Lewis turned to the rest of his crew.  "Dig out your flashlights, we're heading out!"

Sarah estimated the daylight, determined there was no need for the flash.  She aimed her Kodak, and took the picture.

*  *  *

The cavern was long and twisted.  It climbed, it dipped, it doubled back.  They found off-shoots that turned out to be dead-ends, and others that branched off in different directions.  Lewis led the expedition through the dark and winding caverns, and even Bethany Gale followed under her own power, although she steadied herself with one hand on the rocky wall.  After an hour of wandering through the labyrinthine tunnels, Lewis turned a corner, entering a large cave.  His light flittered across the uneven floor, across the far wall and over the crude images of a primitive mural.

"Hello!" he let loose a jovial cry, "And what's this?"

They stepped into the wider cavern and Sarah gasped with delight.  She rushed to the mural, giddy with glee.  "Some sort of pictographs!"  She smiled as she looked them over, wiped away dust and cobwebs.  "Substantial proof that a primitive civilization once lived here on Tiaganu Island!"

"I thought we already knew that?" Ethan asked as he looked over the weird symbols.

"It was only supposition then!" Sarah exclaimed as she pulled out the camera and the flash.  "Even second-hand stories and journal entries are still just stories, not actual proof!  That's what..."

"What Professor Sunnybrook always said!" Lewis recollected happy memories.  Sarah aimed the camera, held up her flash and released a burst of light with the click of a button.

"Well that's really swell," Bethany grumbled, "But I thought we were here to prove there was a Cult of the Volcano God, maybe even a Temple to Tiki-Taki?  Does this stone-age graffiti give you any clues about that?"

Lewis rubbed his chin and studied the mural as Sarah took more photographs.  Finally, he was forced to shrug in defeat.  "I don't know.  I can't read this stuff."

"What do you mean you can't read it?" Bethany exploded.  "What are we supposed to do now?"

The pilot stepped between them, waving for cooler heads.  "Hey!  This is not a problem!  How hard could it be to decipher?  Here, I'll read it!"

"You?" Bethany snorted in disbelief.

"Sure, why not?  It's just a petrified comic book!  Let's see now..."  He frowned at the symbols on the wall and stroked his chin.  After a moment he snapped his fingers and cried, "Aha!  I got it!  It's easy!"  He stepped up to the wall and pointed at various vignettes as he narrated:  "See...these stick figure guys, they lived in some kind of a spider web until one day they came upon a river of catsup.  They were so pleased by this that while this sheep dog was sleeping on its back, they held a party where this guy apparently did jumping jacks.  They knew the party was done when there was nothing left of the bonfire but a pile of burned sticks, the fire was dead--as signified by the skull--but the sticks were still smoking, see?  So then, they sat down on some giant, rotten bananas and looked at the other islands to see where to hold the next party!  See?  Piece of cake!"

Lewis hid his growing grin behind one hand while Bethany and Wayne stared with faces contorted by confusion.

"That has got to be the stupidest thing I've ever heard in my life!" Bethany shouted.

"Hey, at least I tried!" Ethan barked back.

Sarah snapped another photograph and said, "And I really don't think you were too far off."

"How so?" Wayne asked.

Her eyes flitted across the mural bemusedly.  "Well, I think I can translate it."

"You can?" her fellows chorused, almost in unison.

"Well, I haven't been attending Munsey University for nothing!" she told them.  "Professor Sunnybrook and Dr. Drummond are very knowledgeable about primitive cultures, and even Dr. Carlsbad taught an excellent course...before he was disbarred, of course..."

"What does it say?" Bethany interrupted.

"Oh!  Well..."  Sarah pointed to each set of cave drawings as she explained them, just as the pilot had done.  "It appears that the Kazoolis used to live here, in fact they probably originated here on Tiaganu.  They lived in these caves--not a spiderweb--until they were evicted by some magma that bubbled up from the volcano.  Naturally, they sought to appease Tiki-Taki, the Volcano God.  So they made sacrifices of what appear to be goats and also of people.  They did this before the home or temple of Tiki-Taki; a skull-shaped cave in the smoking volcano.  It does not say whether or not this stopped the volcano from rumbling.  But the Kazooli natives took their canoes to live on other islands, but return annually to offer sacrifices to Tiki-Taki, probably in the hopes of placating him so he won't demolish the whole island chain.  At least..."  She hung her head and shuffled her feet.  "...that's my interpretation."

"Sounds like a good summary to me!" Lewis exclaimed.

Wayne found another cave painting a little further down the cave wall.  "What about this one?"

Bethany was surprised that she recognized it at once.  "That's a map of the island!"

Lewis pulled out the one Bethany had handed him on the plane.  He compared the two and declared, "She's right!"

"But look at this!" she pointed at different features on the cave painting.  "Giant carvings of heads...totems...a ravine...distinctive rock formations...this one's chock full of landmarks!"

"Maybe we should get us a copy like that," Wayne suggested.

"I'll take a photograph!" Sarah volunteered.  She stepped forward and clicked the shutter, the flash released a blinding burst of light.

"That'll be great once we get back to civilization and you can develop the film," Bethany told her.  "But it doesn't do us any good right here, right now."

 "Not a problem," Lewis said as he shrugged off his pack.  He dug through his supplies and came up with a small journal.  He flipped through the pages and a folded document fell out.  He snatched it from the floor, slipped it between two pages deep in the book.  Then he found a blank page and pulled out a pencil.  He consulted the cave painting as he scribbled a copy into his book.  "Ok, got it.  We'd better get moving."

They resumed their venture through the winding caves and before long, were rewarded with daylight.  They emerged from the side of a rocky plateau and found luscious foliage all around them.  The wind blew here, and carried with it the songs of birds and the call of monkeys.  Lewis pulled a compass from his pocket, consulted it, then pointed and said, "It's this way." 

After marching for the better part of an hour, they came upon a glade centered around a stone pillar crudely carved into an ugly, leering visage.  Three smaller stones surrounded it in a triangular formation, each baring mysterious carvings. 

Our heroes gawked at the stone for a moment.  They approached for a closer look at the head and the perimeter markers.  Suddenly, Bethany's sharp eyes turned toward the surrounding jungle, but only Lewis seemed to notice.  Sarah reached for her Kodak, and Lewis withdrew his journal.  He pulled on the folded document so it stuck out from the pages, handed the book to the pilot. 

"Get me rubbings of these marker stones, would ya, Clap?"

"Yeah, sure, Lew," Ethan replied, and took the book.

Lewis stepped beside Bethany as the others investigated the landmark.  "What is it?"

She shook her head in slow uncertainty.  "I got the feeling we're being watched."

Lewis listened, but no birdsong nor monkey chatter.  There was a faint breeze, but not so strong as the sound of rustling leaves just beyond the jungle's edge.  A twig snapped somewhere behind him.  A bush shook, but only for a moment.

It could have been his imagination, he hoped it was.  Another heartbeat passed, and then they knew for sure...

To Be Continued...

A Brilliant Idea!

 Howdy you Tempestuously Avid Spectators!

Got a question for ya:  Are you a writer?  If so, where do you get your ideas?  ...Ok, I got two questions for ya.  Do you get people ask you that?  THREE!  I got three questions for ya!  Bet ya didn't expect that!  Because NO ONE expects the Spanish Inquisition!  Hey, if you're gonna steal, might as well steal from the best, right?  Four!  I got four questions...ah, never mind.

One of the most common questions writer-types get asked is "How do you get your ideas?"  It doesn't seem to matter whether you write short stories, novels, comic books, sitcoms, plays, movies, or RPG adventures...chances are you've been asked this at least once.  I know I have.  This has spawned this little essay which I like to call:

A BRILLIANT IDEA!

(That's What I Need, A Brilliant Idea!)

Well, I don't know about you, but I can't get away from ideas!  

I get ideas from the books I read, the shows and movies I watch, the games I play...the list goes on and on.

Sometimes, I'll watch a movie and wonder how the story would be different if the hero had made the OTHER choice a half-hour in (or an hour, or whatever).  Suddenly, it's a different story.  

Or, I wonder how the story would be different if the main guy was this OTHER character from this other story.  

Sometimes you get silly fan-boy fantasies like...what if Fafhrd and Grey Mouser met Elric?  Or...what if Conan was let loose on Middle Earth?  Or...what if you put James Bond and Jason Bourne (hey!  They have the same initials!) in the same story?  Would they be working together, or on opposing sides?

Sometimes you get an idea for a situation, not a whole story.  Sometimes you just get an idea for a character, or at least the start of an idea for a character.  Like I said when I was talking about Mutant World, I saw the pictures of those characters and used that as the starting point of who they were and what they were about.

I get a lot of ideas from different RPG supplements.  But then, that's what they are for.  Little adventure scenarios, weird and sometimes cursed magic items, mysterious locations, the barest seeds to spark an inspiration and grow your own adventure.  And they can be re-used and re-interpreted in different ways, even different genres!

Check it out:

A runaway princess learned the secret to undoing the terrible secret power of the evil wizard-king.

This could totally be the premise of a thrilling sword-n-sorcery tale starring Conan, or a sprawling high fantasy epic like Lord of the Rings.  Then again, it could be the set-up for Star Wars.

Sometimes you're forced to be creative.  Some time back in...I guess the 90's, TSR published a gameworld for the Dungeons and Dragons game...the boxed set was titled "Red Steel".  The short version (and probably not the fairest description) is that it was D&D in the wild west.  The land was suffering from a curse (three, if ya want to get technical) that get everyone magic powers...or mutations depending of your POV.  

This sword-n-sorcery in the wild west premise intrigued me...to this day I'm not sure why (I was never really into westerns).  But suddenly I wanted to write a fantasy/western.  Due to copyright reasons, I couldn't use their geography, so I made my own world by doing a sort of alternate-history thing.  I came up with a town called Sovereign, in the Nevada territory, and I came up with a witch named Persephone Bliss to explore it.  It came out pretty well, I think, and it did receive some positive responses from slush readers, but positive enough to make a sale.  Now, the first and (so far) only story, Persephone Bliss and the Journal of Emerson Thrarn, is currently available only in The Adventure Sampler, a free gift given to those who sign up for my mailing list.

So where do you get ideas from?  EVERYWHERE!  The media you consume, the experiences you've had, the places you visit...  Everything and anything can spark a flash of inspiration, and usually pounce upon you when you least expect it.  The best you can do is try to figure out which ones are the Good Ones and try to put them together into a reasonably passable and enjoyable story.  

It ain't always easy.  But that's the goal, and I'd better get back to it or these stories will never get done!

Until then, I wish you all...

Good Adventuring!
Timothy A. Sayell