Panache and the Great Hunt for the Acryli-Beast

[pdcorlis]

Have you not been reading the story? I AM THE QUEEN OF THE NORTH POLE! Now where is my sceptre and royal rubber chicken?

I knew the howling wind, tretcherous ice and blinding snow had Grant in a bad state - but i never understood just how bad until right now...

Be afraid, be very afraid!

[McFarkus]

I shall have my Acryli-Beast sporran even if it costs all of my loyal peasant subjects!

Will it be a full-mask Acryli-Beast sporran?

[Alan H]

Woe is me, I have gotten behind on the development of the plot. The woodwinnist, charming lass that she is, adds a certain allemonde con vanilla to the plot.

I wonder if Panache has her telephone number....pondering... perhaps she has, in addition to her Boehm-system, a sewing machine...

[Coemgen]

BAD DOG! That's genuine Canadian Beaver!!!

[Panache]

Panache and the Great Hunt for the Acryli-Beast

A Victorian Tale of Horror told in Chapters

Chapter 24

Here at this strange place at the very ends of the Earth where the veils between our world and others are paper thin, woe to those who tempt the Fates. Whether we hapless mortals call them the Parcae, Moirae, Norns, or the Weird Sisters, they are not to be challenged or dared. After uttering those foolish words, suddenly the decrepit Wizard of BC’s words came back to me…

“just a few obscure remarks about the beast swooping down on unsuccessful hunters and ripping them limb from limb”.

“One could extrapolate from this that the Greater Acryli-beast is also a rodent though much fiercer than it’s lesser brethren”

The hideous realization came upon me like a thunderbolt and all pretense of bravado drained from my spirit. Even before the creature’s Sciuromorphic skull first appeared from the mouth of it’s lair, I knew what manner of creature the great Acryli-Beast was.

The thing I had traveled so far and long to hunt was a Giant Flying squirrel!

The Acryli-Beast fixed the huge dark orbs of it eyes on me with a look of ultimate malevolence and let forth another screeching roar. It fully emerged from the cave of ice and I gasped, for the muscular creature was more than 20 feet long from its ravening maw to the tip of its long tail. The great expanse of its shimmering white fur was of breathtaking beauty though its soul raged with savage fury. With a single bound the Acryli-Beast leaped into the raging storm and spread it’s patagium, or skin flap to ride the wind’s torrid currents. It circled high over head and with another nerve shattering roar dived straight at me. I raised my great rifle and took aim.

The culmination of many months of hard work and planning had brought me to this single moment. There are times in our lives where everything that we are and strive to be become is focused in a single instant. It is at these crucial junctures we must believe in ourselves, for it is this faith more than any skill and training that will carry the day. It is in such moments that we mortal men are able to transcend our own limitations to become heroes.

This was not such a moment.

I fired both barrels and missed.

The only reason I was not torn to shreds by the Acyli-Beast’s long dagger like claws and mouth full of razor sharp teeth was the enormous force of the elephant gun. The recoil of the weapon knocked me backward to the icy floor several feet out of its reach. It landed directly where I had stood and sprang at me. With no time to reload my rifle I grabbed the stock with two hands and swung the barrels at the top of the beast’s head with all the strength I could muster. Though stoutly built, the elephant gun shattered at the impact. The blow seemed to cause the creature no permanent damage, but it did stun the monster momentarily. I quickly scrambled down to another ledge below looking for a means of escape from the vicious giant rodent. I spied a small entrance or tunnel in the ice some three feet in diameter. Having no time to review any other options I dived into the icy passage. Behind me the Acryli-Beast bellowed its horrible, sanity blasting cry and gave pursuit. I drew a small pocket torch and began to crawl forward as quickly as I could. The narrow confines of the tunnel slowed the creature some as I frantically made my way forward. I couldn’t afford to stop and gauge its progress but its roar told me that it was still close behind. The tunnel branched out and became part of a great maze of passageways and caves. My flight through this labyrinth of ice was made without rhyme or reason save a desperate primal need to escape this great predator. After many harried twists and turns I came to a opening to the mountain’s exterior. Daring to look behind I saw that I had lost the monster for the time being, though its hideous screeching roar echoed throughout the tunnels of ice.

The ledge was a small one and unfortunately isolated on a sheer cliff of smooth ice. Outside the blizzard still raged. I was exhausted from my narrow escape from the giant white flying squirrel and the day’s climb. I knew my only chance of survival was rescue by the Saltire. Standing on the ledge I drew a dull gray metal flare gun from my jacket’s pocket. Aiming high I fired the red flashing signal into the sky. I withdrew back into the icy cavern which at least afforded some shelter from the howling wind. I waited and with naught else to do took my journal from my sporran and began to write.

***

This is one story I may not get to file in person, so I'll have to talk fast - because it's after me.

Are those my words or someone else’s? I can’t image wearing such an unpleasant straw hat with a kilt. With the terrible cold enveloping my brain it’s difficult to discern fact from fiction. Personally I’d prefer fiction because I am aware enough to note I am still sitting in a small icy cave looking out into a snowstorm. My broken rifle sits at my feet and I can’t decide if the roaring I’m hearing is the wind or the beast. I sent up a flare ten minutes ago according to my watch, though to my befuddled senses it feels much longer. I have to accept that either Todd or David saw it or they didn’t. There stands a very reasonable chance they might have turned the Saltire about to look for ensigns BEEDEE, Mender, and Splash. Though it would be a miracle if they are still alive. If so it’s then just a simple matter of whether I freeze to death or am eaten by the monster. Oh goody.

It’s moments like these, moments of dire circumstances that a gentlemen should find himself looking for the deeper meaning . Perhaps it is natural that with the threat of imminent death, a man should take stock of his life. He should try to see his final moments as part of the totality of his existence. That is what one SHOULD do. Sadly in this I have failed and as I scribble this, perhaps last, journal entry I find myself desperately searching for someone else to blame for my situation…

Mr. Jim B. would be the obvious choice. If it hadn’t been for his sporran I would never had found by self in the middle of the Artic Circle. I find him unsatisfactory, after all it was my envy rather than his pride…but wait I am trying to avoid personal responsibility here. Vincenzo? No, I think that’s another fictional character. Mr. Ashton? No, had I heeded the Wizard of British Columbia’s words I shouldn’t have found myself in this predicament. Wait…

I hear a droning noise! The Saltire is close by. But the roaring is nearer as well. I have to step out of the cave now if I wish any hopes of rescue. I will either continue this aboard the ship or this will stand as my last words. Forgoing any sense of my own hubris and without any time left, I will lay the blame squarely on Iolaus and his cursed mane of curly locks…







To Be Continued

[McMurdo]

Wonderful stuff Jamie. Cant wait for the rest.

[Splash_4]

Just when I think you can't drag it out any more, you come up with a giant flying squirrel. Man, where do you come up with this stuff?

[Coemgen]

[Arlen]

Did it look like this, but furry?

[starbkjrus]

A flying squirell. Somehow I should have guessed that.

Well done.....keep going.