The Southlander : Part 1
The Gathering
by Mr Badger
A story of a man lost in time. Throughout the ages he has been hunted and
hunts his own kind. They are ever living and can heal wounds that are fatal
to ordinary men. Each battle reduces their numbers until the final survivor
wins the 'Fries.' The time is the present and Mr Badger is the Southlander.
Mr Badger looked across the bridge at the distant city. His trench coat
stirred in the breeze like a snake charmer wrapped in linen. The night was
silent except for the noise a sword makes when drawn from its sheath. "You
should have never come Southlander. Now you will have to die like a
squealing pig on my steel spit," whispered a figure from behind Mr Badger.
"That sounds......painful," replied Mr Badger as he spun around.
The figure nodded then proceeded to draw his sword once more for no clearly
apparent reason. Maybe he just likes the sound it makes? "Nothing personal
Southlander but you will have to die if I'm to collect the 'Fries.' Draw and
let us finish this like men." As the defender Mr Badger was allowed by the
Rules to pick the topic of the rant.
The two fenced off against one another. The mysterious stranger was armed
with a late model sports Katana while Mr Badger sported an ancient Egyptian
spade with assorted accessories. "I say we talk weapons," said Mr Badger
with a grin. The stranger's eyes narrowed as he thought, then opened the battle.
"What's with this spade? A real man would have a Katana as they are an
exotic looking weapon." Recited the stranger.
Mr Badger smiled as the clumsiness of the opening line revealed his opponent
wasn't prepared for this battle of tongues. "A spade is a wonderful thing.
Not only can it be used upon a barbecue but also as an attractive wall
hanging. Why, I may even use it to dig your grave once this battle has
finished."
The stranger blinked as the logic of the argument started to take ahold. He
was new at this game and wasn't comfortable with taking one such a master as Mr
Badger. "But a sword has an edge that can cut a hair in two. The spade is a
clumsy and visually unpleasing device."
Mr Badger swung the spade with a huge grin as the uneven battle leant even
further toward his direction. The two weapons clanged against one another
with a flash of sparks. From the background a passing vehicle filled the air
with a Queen song for an understandable reason. "I'm not sure about you my
friend but it is not a common occurrence my being threatened by a hair. In
fact even if it were a common occurrence I would look more toward a comb or
a pair of scissors than a sword. Are you such a person to be so afraid of
pillow hair that you sleep armed with cold steel?" Asked Mr Badger as he
swung the spade.
The stranger looked up with a frown as the argument left him grasping at the
words that were so far above his head. The spade contacted him on the back
of the head. With a mouthed "Gah!" the stranger collapsed. Mr Badger smiled
as the defeated opponent lay at his feet. After going through his wallet for
change Mr Badger took a step back as arcs of energy leapt from the
unconscious body to his own towering form. "There can be only fun!" Cried Mr
Badger.
The energy caused alley cats to be sterilised and tapes in nearby
cars to transform into "Queen's Greatest Hits." The energy crawled across the ground like a New Zealander coming home
from the pub late at night. It crackled and snapped at the air as if it were
angry with the world as a whole. With a final blue tinge of exhaustion it
impacted with the standing form of Mr Badger. Mr Badger screamed with fury
as his skin burned. Squatting with pain he flapped his arms with a few grunt
noises as the full force of the 'Quackening' took him as it's own. As the
pyrotechnics finished Mr Badger stood once more with increased strength in
his body. As Mr Badger walked away the stranger got up rubbing his head
wondering where the hell all those fireworks came from? In the distance
there was a glint of light....
Hieronymous put down the binoculars. "So another has fallen to the Badger of
the Night," whispered Hieronymous. "Many of them are here. It must be near
the time." Hieronymous turned toward his companion, Anneke. "Follow him and
make sure he doesn't know you're there." Anneke nodded and walked off to her
car.
Hieronymous and Anneke were part of an organisation known as the
Botchers. The Botchers were dedicated to the following of those who were
unmarked by time. Called the Immorals these people lived to fight one and
other in search of something known as the 'Fries.' The Botchers were all
ghouls, as such they lived from the blood of the Immorals. Without them they
would die as surely as any other. With the Immoral blood they could live
throughout the centuries as do the Immorals themselves. No one shall reach
the 'Fries' else the Botchers would all perish.
The airports were filled with the night time arrivals of the Immorals. This
was the time of the Gathering, where all shall meet on the rebuttal of the
Rant. There they shall fight till there is but a single Immoral to claim
the 'Fries.' The customs officials were confused as there queues were filled
with people wearing great coats and leather jackets. A particularly straight
backed individual walked past with a nod. "I bet that bastard has a bloody
big sharp metal thing up his leather jacket," muttered the customs official.
"I bet he thinks we can't see it just sitting there. If he was smart he'd be
wearing a great coat like all the others so we'd hardly notice the great big
bulge of a sword underneath it."
Mr Badger walked into the 'Pissed Newt' Tavern. The Rules stated most
clearly that no fighting could occur on holy ground. The most holy of places
to the Immorals were pubs and Taverns. What did you expect? Mr Badger sat
down at a conveniently unoccupied table. As he ordered a beer his mind
turned to memories of the past. A time when he still walked the earth as a
mortal and not an Immoral. A Queen song played from the jukebox.
Mr Badger checked his rifle before he went on the patrol. As the officer he
was responsible for navigation of his patrol. His head still pounded from
the alcohol abuse he suffered at his own hand the night before so his
reading skills were right up there with his tap dancing ability at that
moment. That and his legs seemed to be on a fight of independence at the
moment. As the patrol left the compound Mr Badger looked at an officer
reclining at the gate. The officer was wearing a trench coat with a very
large sword hidden inexpertly underneath it. As their eyes met Mr Badger was
sure they'd meet again.
"Closing time you sleepy bugger," muttered the bar maid as she shook Mr
Badger. "Wake up, you piss head, and go away before I close the door on you."
Mr Badger refocussed and looked around. His flash back had lasted too long
and now the Tavern was shutting for the night. "Shit I hate that when it
happens," muttered Mr Badger as he left the bar.
Handel W Care watched the occupied form of Mr Badger from a car across the
street. The Badger and him were old friends from long ago. It was Handel who
had educated Badger in the arts of being an Immoral during troubled times.
The time
of the Gathering had come so the two were destined to met up once more.
Handel got out of the car after turning the stereo on. The faint melody of a
Queen song whispered into the air as he walked across to the side of the road.
Mr Badger heard footsteps behind him, without the sound of breathing.
Whirling around Handel was confronted with the sight of Mr Badger holding a
spade. "You cheating bastard! You didn't even draw that!" Accused Handel. Mr
Badger looked at his mentor and Handel looked into the eyes of his student.
"Try to hug me and I'll smack you one," growled Mr Badger.
Years past in ancient New Zealand (the 70's) Handel watched as his student
ran up and down a mountain with a large rock over his head. "Wonder how long
it'll take the stupid git to realise I'm just playing with him?" Muttered
Handel to no-one in particular. "It's not enough to survive Southlander, you
must survive!" Shouted Handel to Mr Badger. "Do you feel the energy? Do you
feel alive? Do you feel the urge to talk like Donald Duck? That's the
Quackening working through you. Using that we are stronger, better, they can
rebuild us. Sorry, lost my train of thought there. You must learn to fight
Southlander else all is lost," ranted Handel as he took a swig of his Rum.
More of them arrived by the hour. Some by sea, most by air and even some by
carrier pigeon. More and more Malkavians answered the call. A decision must
be made. A victor must be found. The Fries must be won. But by whom?
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Part 2: The Quackening
