The Tale of Skalzi

This story was entered in a contest posted over at John Scalzi’s blog Whatever.  The winner will get published in an electronic chapbook with entries from John Scalzi, Wil Wheaton, Patrick Rothfuss and Catherynne Valente with proceeds going to help the Lupus Alliance of America.  I have to say this was a fun little piece of fanfic to write and though the odds are long, I’m glad I got the chance.  I hope you enjoy reading this and please, please, please consider a donation to the Lupus Alliance of America and/or purchase the chapbook when it comes out.  Details will be updated here when I hear more.

UPDATED!  Winners of the contest have been announced and they are (drumroll) Bernadette Durbin with “Bedtime Story” and Scott Mattes with “Vintarini’s Peak”.  As mentioned in the post, they will be published with the above luminaries in a chapbook.  Publication date of the chapbook should be available soon for your purchase.  Congratulations again!

An orc is an ugly creature and a wandering orc a blight upon the
landscape.  As either some elaborate prank or a bizarre
misunderstanding, I was green, an orc and hopelessly lost.  Not only
directionally off course, but confused about how I had become this
hideous creature and how I was whisked away from the comfort of a
pillow-top bed to be cast down on cold stone near the base of a dark,
rumbling mountain.  If I caught the son of a bitch who did this to me,
I just happened to have an axe that needed a new home up their glory
hole.  There was no time to dwell on the whys of my presence as the
landscape shivered beneath my feet, urging me toward a protective
cove.

The mountain top fractured before the ensuing Vulcanian eruption,
the explosion deafening for a split moment before the body felt the
roaring peal.  After the initial violence, the volcano spewed forth a
billowing shaft of ash into the heavens, blanketing the sun, the world
beneath visible as a darkened haze.  Lapilli began to hail down, an
almost benign tic-toc percussion of sediment falling back to the
ground.  Lava oozed from the mouth, running down the mountainside in
rivulets, nesting in what was once a quiet vale.  The terrain before
me clawed apart from below into a maw belching gloomy vapor while
magma bubbled over like a witches’ cauldron.  Besides myself, anything
alive which existed here was now gone, either vacated before the
volcano shattered or destroyed when its onslaught pummeled the nearby
terrain.  The air itself tasted metallic, pungent and dense, and the
wind punished the lungs that dared to breathe it.

It was far removed from home where the gentle tickle of Coke Zero
pleasantly interrupted sending video game zombies to a grizzly end or
listening to the steady clack of the keyboard while writing.  The
reality was that this was not home and I was not myself.  My only
solace now lie in the shield in my right hand and the awkward heft of
an axe in my left.  I found no consolation in the extra brawn I seemed
to have gained, though being adorned in classic orc attire suited the
new beefy me.

I had no options but to keep putting more distance between me and
the broken ground.  I trudged onward, scaling the side of a small
ridge and finding purchase on a slab of stone.  Thankfully I was
equipped in sturdy leather boots and armor held smartly together with
iron bands and rivets to protect my skin from the climb.  My ear began
to twitch every few minutes as an odd sound rang through the air.
Occasionally, it would be a dull thwack much like someone with a wet
fleece blanket hitting the back of a leather couch.  Other times it
would be a thunderous mew.  Its call was ominous and haunting, and I
felt like I was the target of a predator circling overhead.  I scanned
the sky on occasion to see what was up there but couldn’t discern
anything aside from the massive shaft of dark ash churning in the air.

“Scalzi!”

The voice sounded familiar and distant.  I kept scanning between
the columns of ash and smoke for the man behind it.

“SCALZI, you magnificent bastard!”

From the edge of an ash plume, an avian shadow banked from the
clouds and descended, diving towards me.  As it swooped closer, I
recognized the haunting mew crying forth from what can only be
described as a unicorn pegasus kitty, its claws reaching down toward
my exposed back, simultaneously appearing as if it wanted to rip the
flesh from my bones while playfully posing in wait for a clever
caption.  Mounted on the back of the uni-pega-kitty was the majestic
form of Wil Wheaton.

It was Wil, and yet it was not quite the Wil I knew.  Like myself,
he was more powerful, possessing not only six-pack abs but also
athletic arms and legs.  The new musculature turned his previously
lithe neck to hearty strands of pure tissue and tendon.  He wore his
clown-face sweater stretched to the very limits, but had no shoes.
His right hand held the reigns of the uni-pega-kitty and the other
hefted an impressive gold-tipped spear.

His mount swept down and shrieked over my head, missing my exposed
scalp by inches.  The Franken-kitty landed on all four paws and turned
to look at me with feigned innocence.  Wil dismounted, flourishing his
spear in his left hand, collecting himself and then striding over to
where I stood.

“Wil!” I cried.  ”What the hell?”  He stared back with a curiously
innocent look.

“You will never believe this,” he said.  ”That guy, the one we
were hanging out with after the Con in the bar…the one we thought
had a fake bake orange tan and those cheesy aviator sunglasses.
Remember?”

I did, vaguely at least.  Wil nodded to me, a certain excitement
crept into his body.

“Dude, he was an alien.  The tan was not a tan, he’s actually
orange.  And I talked to him all night.”

“That doesn’t explain anything, man,” I said.

“No, no.  Listen,” Wil said as he looked around the area.  ”He did
this.  He said something about fungible molecular structure, alien
playgrounds, matter composition.  I couldn’t follow all of it, but the
alien did this, made this.  Everything you see now, he conjured it
from God knows where.  Whatever this is, I don’t care because it’s
awesome.  It’s like a little rec room with you, me, a couple other
people.  I told him about the Internet, and geekdom and from that, he
created this place.”

“One choked with ashes and an active volcano?”

“Ah, it’s not that bad.  You just haven’t seen that much of it.
Man, I wish you could fly because if you get above these clouds of
ash, Cory Doctorow is hanging out in a some super-mecha-balloon,
living like fucking Zeus.”

“And you got the clown shirt?”

“That slipped out.  Still it’s fun, I mean, look at me!”

“I am.  Why are you…I mean, why do you look like a guy who just
stepped off of Venice Beach?”

“Simple.  I was just telling a story and by that time I had a
couple of beers.  I said that I was an INTERNET GOD.”

“With the clown shirt?”

“Small price to pay.”

“And being barefoot?  And the daisy dukes you seem to be wearing?”

“You’re just jealous.  I’m jealous of me right now.”

“Why am I even here?” I said.

“Oh, yeah.”  Wil smirked and looked around the air as if looking
for a way out.  ”We talked about you, too.  I told him about your
books.  Not much about them, but something.  Said that it was about
green guys.”

“An orc?  When have I written about an orc?” I asked as I tried to
wave my axe menacingly but instead looked more like I was working on a
wrist strengthening exercise.

“We didn’t talk that much about your books.  Just said it had
burly green guys.  Then I think I may have gone on a tangent and
started to talk about my old D&D days.”

“I’m an orc because you gave your alien friend a half-assed
synopsis of Old Man’s War?”

He shrugged.  ”Maybe?  Oh, you’re going to facepalm, aren’t you?”

“Fine.  Whatever, I just want to go home.  How do we do that?”

Wil shuffled his way back to the preening uni-pega-kitty.  ”Yeah,
about that.  No clue.”

“Wil,” I started after him.

“Don’t worry.  Things will work out, trust me,” he said as he
remounted.  ”One last thing though.  You’ve seen the t-shirt I have of
me?  The multiple-me shirt?  Well, there’s more than one of Wil
Wheaton out here…and I think he might be evil.”

Before I could stop him, with a flick of the harness and a manly
cry from his throat, the uni-pega-kitty launched from its haunches
into the sky.  Taking a mighty swipe at the air with its wings, the
beast ascended again.  Wil was enjoying himself looking much like a
drunken frat boy riding a mechanical bull on rodeo night.  His
bellowing whoop echoed off the walls of the scorched valley.  What was
left was only the cackling laughter of my friend as the uni-pega-kitty
pitched into another ashen cloud and disappeared from sight.

A scream from over my shoulder took me by surprise as I found the
sinister Wil plunging toward me.  I felt the orc rage build as the
wicked Wil readied his spear, rallied his fiendish mount to dive
towards me.  As I gripped my axe tightly and readied my shield, I
pledged that I, Skalzi the Mighty would not fall without a glorious
battle.  A palpable wrath swelled, I could taste blood on the breath,
battle boiled in my veins.  My will to fight burst forth, choking any
passive thoughts.  Skalzi would not die without a fight!  To the
death, my heinous friend. To the death!