Posts Tagged ‘sci fi’
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For centuries dragons have been such a target of prejudice that it has driven the poor creatures to the point of near extinction. The few that survived the era of brave knights in search of fame, or the groundless accusations of spurned “damsels in distress,” have attempted to integrate into the mainstream of society by utilizing the one historical skill at which they excel.
The flame which originates from the belly of a dragon, can only be extinguished by the dragon who breathed it into life. This preternatural blaze will also consume all other natural fires that exist within its close proximity. The combination of these effects make dragons the perfect firefighter. A single torch, lit with dragon fire, when properly tossed, can extinguish a veritable conflagration with ease.
As natural as they are in the firehouse, unfortunately, they are not very good sportsmen. Those few firehouses that can find, and employ dragons often stock checkerboards in reserve, because dragons are just as likely to turn the playing surface to ash, then to admit defeat in the traditional fireman avocation.
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The Daughter of the Tiberian Mining Consortium’s Chief Executive wore a belt of earthen clods tied around her midsection. She smelled of damp burlap and manure. Her face and hair were caked with mud. Dark crescent rings of black soot lay underneath her manicured fingernails. Around her neck, a cage of composed earth crawled with worms, which twisted and flickered against her skin. It was shopping day.
As she walked through the narrow ally with its polished chrome byways and stainless steel awnings, she would occasionally stop and lift a bolt of cloth, or piece of fruit. Her inspections left fingerprints of grime that attracted the attention of elated merchants who followed behind her; marking the now semi-precious items at double their normal cost.
Her hips swayed from side to side as she wandered, creating a veritable cloud of sparkling dust that hung over her; an aura of opulence laced with sunshine.
This ostentatious display of wealth was mirrored to lesser degrees by many in the street markets of this little world; Except the very poor of course, who were conspicuously clean in their antiseptic indigence.
Tendrils of smoke, and steam rose from the mechanical beast like fingers grasping for life. The inventor’s daughter climbed the ladder, pulled out a wrench, and twisted her weight against a bolt. A dull, ominous, echoing groan reverberated within.
“What is it?” I asked, while taking a cautionary step backwards.
“He is everything that every man in my life has not been.” She responded coldly. “He is sober, strong in body, gentle in spirit, wise enough to remain silent, and dangerous enough to keep a girl interested.”
She then paused for a moment, as if remembering something important. “Most of all,” She continued, “unlike all other men; he’s infinitely, and deservedly fixable.”
There is no physical terror that is equal to the medical treatment dispensed by the Crenshaw Arachnid.
A highly intelligent, peaceful, sentient being, the giant grub-like creature in endowed with scalpel-sharp claws, and rows of razor teeth that drip with an organic disinfecting pain killer. It also possesses an abnormal appetite for disease.
When presented with a patient, the Crenshaw Arachnid will drag its bulbous translucent bulk over the body, slice open the flesh, eat infection, mend bones, repair muscle, and darn sinew. When it is finished it will use silk from chin spinners, to sew the cavity closed with meticulous precision.
Recovery time for the physical treatments are atypically short. However, since the Crenshaw Arachnid finds all anesthesia toxic to their own physical systems, operations must be performed with the patient fully conscious. Because of this, several weeks of post operative care is required for the treatment of persistent screaming nightmares.
