The Amazing Adventures of Grandad Gimbleglow and his Tit.
Posted: Mon Jun 04, 2018 12:00 am
Nothing makes sense these days, I think I'm going mad I tell myself but sometimes it all becomes drastically clear. What a waste of time it all was, yet is anything really a waste?
Sometimes I remember enough to know I forgot something very important and sometimes I know I'm right but just don't know what about.
It all started long ago when Gillion Darkendrath, the closest thing to a father I ever had brought me to this accursed city, the city of doors. Gillion or 'Sir' as I always called him was a Necromancer. I spent a lot of my younger years cleaning off bones and polishing the dried blood out of brass bowls. I really wasn't fond of it at all but Necromancy really is one of those kinds of magic you love or hate. The problem with it is, the animations, as Gillion used to call them, were dead. Always we were surrounded by them doing his work but empty their eyes were, empty and soulless.
Gillian knew it wasn't for me and open minded enough he was to allow me to play and experiment and my earliest fond memories of magic were being allowed to play around with the size of things. I loved changing the size of things, how increadibly fun. Sometimes I would enlarge a pair of my underpants and put them in his drawer whilst he was sleeping. He'd wake up in the morning and put them on and some time during breakfast they would suddenly shrink back to the normal size. Oh the look in his eyes and how he'd go nuts! But only for a moment before he managed to pull them off and had to sit down half naked and drink one of his heart calming potions.
He wasn't one for laughing but I knew he had a sense of humour under that hard, cold and cruel visage.
The last I saw him was a terrible day. We had been working hard for many cycles building the tower for his Masters back home. They were very grumpy people and used to send us big crates of soil to put down in the foundations. Apparently if you build a tower on your soil from home it makes the tower like your home. I never understood that much but those Red Wizards had all kinds of rules and ideas that made no sense to me.
Where was I, oh yes, the permits. Apparently he needed permits for building and permits for importing land to build on and permits for the undead workers because they weren't living workers earning a wage which could be taxed bla bla bla. Permits and rules. I really couldn't keep up with it all and neither it seemed could Gillion.
They came and tried to tell him the tower had to come down and that didn't go down well. All I remember was the battle and the explosions and all the skeletons fighting the men in red armour. I remember a wall breaking and seeing the rooftops far below. Gillion launching fireballs from a wand down to the streets below and.... and then the back of his bald head, the tattoos slowly disappearing as he turned grey... turned to stone. Luckily for me I was able to make myself very small and jumped down the toilet, down down down all the way I went until I woke up some time later floating in a lake in Undersigil. That was not fun I tell you but the old Sea Captain down there, a skellington captain of a ghost ship was an associate of Gillion and he told me he'd be keeping the boat full of bodies Gillion had paid for in exchange for sending me back safely up to topside.
It was hard growing up in the shit hole end of this apathetic city with no one to look after me but I knew a magic trick or two and soon got a job as a shoe shine boy. "The one who makes the shoes fit better," people used to ask for me as.
I looked at the old ruins of that tower and figured it as a dangerous business this magic malarky. Best stick to what I know and make peoples shoes fit. Nearly 60 years I've been making shoes, making shoes fit. Nobody knows who I am, nobody cares, nobody would notice if I was gone. What a waste, what was the point of it all so here I lie, Barmy they say.
I don't know how long I've been lying here listening to that bloody woman wailing in the next room, I don't know how long I've been staring at the ceiling, having my arse wiped by some poor berk but it dawns on me now, somebody cared, somebody picked me up when I was down and kept me going and that's what it's all about.
Some days I can hear the kids from the hive outside. They come to play in the gardens outside the gatehouse. I remember now being that young, being so carefree and full of hope. All those years ahead of me, a tome full of spells and a master who let me write my own path and what did I do with it. I wasted my time.
They say the time least wasted is the time we waste enjoying ourselves.
That's what the waste was, not enjoying myself, not enjoying time but wasting it on everything else.
Well I guess that now ...it's time.
Sometimes I remember enough to know I forgot something very important and sometimes I know I'm right but just don't know what about.
It all started long ago when Gillion Darkendrath, the closest thing to a father I ever had brought me to this accursed city, the city of doors. Gillion or 'Sir' as I always called him was a Necromancer. I spent a lot of my younger years cleaning off bones and polishing the dried blood out of brass bowls. I really wasn't fond of it at all but Necromancy really is one of those kinds of magic you love or hate. The problem with it is, the animations, as Gillion used to call them, were dead. Always we were surrounded by them doing his work but empty their eyes were, empty and soulless.
Gillian knew it wasn't for me and open minded enough he was to allow me to play and experiment and my earliest fond memories of magic were being allowed to play around with the size of things. I loved changing the size of things, how increadibly fun. Sometimes I would enlarge a pair of my underpants and put them in his drawer whilst he was sleeping. He'd wake up in the morning and put them on and some time during breakfast they would suddenly shrink back to the normal size. Oh the look in his eyes and how he'd go nuts! But only for a moment before he managed to pull them off and had to sit down half naked and drink one of his heart calming potions.
He wasn't one for laughing but I knew he had a sense of humour under that hard, cold and cruel visage.
The last I saw him was a terrible day. We had been working hard for many cycles building the tower for his Masters back home. They were very grumpy people and used to send us big crates of soil to put down in the foundations. Apparently if you build a tower on your soil from home it makes the tower like your home. I never understood that much but those Red Wizards had all kinds of rules and ideas that made no sense to me.
Where was I, oh yes, the permits. Apparently he needed permits for building and permits for importing land to build on and permits for the undead workers because they weren't living workers earning a wage which could be taxed bla bla bla. Permits and rules. I really couldn't keep up with it all and neither it seemed could Gillion.
They came and tried to tell him the tower had to come down and that didn't go down well. All I remember was the battle and the explosions and all the skeletons fighting the men in red armour. I remember a wall breaking and seeing the rooftops far below. Gillion launching fireballs from a wand down to the streets below and.... and then the back of his bald head, the tattoos slowly disappearing as he turned grey... turned to stone. Luckily for me I was able to make myself very small and jumped down the toilet, down down down all the way I went until I woke up some time later floating in a lake in Undersigil. That was not fun I tell you but the old Sea Captain down there, a skellington captain of a ghost ship was an associate of Gillion and he told me he'd be keeping the boat full of bodies Gillion had paid for in exchange for sending me back safely up to topside.
It was hard growing up in the shit hole end of this apathetic city with no one to look after me but I knew a magic trick or two and soon got a job as a shoe shine boy. "The one who makes the shoes fit better," people used to ask for me as.
I looked at the old ruins of that tower and figured it as a dangerous business this magic malarky. Best stick to what I know and make peoples shoes fit. Nearly 60 years I've been making shoes, making shoes fit. Nobody knows who I am, nobody cares, nobody would notice if I was gone. What a waste, what was the point of it all so here I lie, Barmy they say.
I don't know how long I've been lying here listening to that bloody woman wailing in the next room, I don't know how long I've been staring at the ceiling, having my arse wiped by some poor berk but it dawns on me now, somebody cared, somebody picked me up when I was down and kept me going and that's what it's all about.
Some days I can hear the kids from the hive outside. They come to play in the gardens outside the gatehouse. I remember now being that young, being so carefree and full of hope. All those years ahead of me, a tome full of spells and a master who let me write my own path and what did I do with it. I wasted my time.
They say the time least wasted is the time we waste enjoying ourselves.
That's what the waste was, not enjoying myself, not enjoying time but wasting it on everything else.
Well I guess that now ...it's time.