Ceramic DM Match-Up 1-3: Drose25 vs. Berandor
This is a period horror set around the turn of the previous century. The pictures actually worked well with characters for another piece I’m developing. Some language may come across as discriminatory but keep in mind it’s the characters of the period talking, not me. : ) Also, I have butchered history, geography, and God knows what else as well as thrown in a few pop culture references for fun. Oh yeah, since the pictures are referred to throughout the piece, only the most significant use is noted with links.
The Ziggurat of Ghiyath al-Din
Parker Basden gazed in awe, the wind whipping his brassy blonde hair gently as the motorcar approached the airfield. The zeppelins hung almost magically in the air, tethered to the ground by cords that looked like mere strings as the silvery beasts swayed peacefully in the breeze. Of course, he’d seen pictures of such things in the newspaper back home in San Francisco, but to actually behold one in person almost required suspension of disbelief. That must be the way to travel, Parker thought as the driver continued their approach. No doubt it would beat the hell out of the laborious train ride to the east coast and the week at sea that it had taken for him to arrive in Europe. The trip had been worth it, though, to flee San Francisco. Parker shuddered as he thought of the city, and that relic sent for him to examine.
The driver pulled in through well-guarded gates as uniformed policemen kept the small crowds of spectators under control. Apparently even the locals remained bewitched by the magic of the zeppelins. Floating in the air like giant circus balloons they captivated the imagination, inspired the heart, and instilled a longing in the soul for those doomed to remain earthbound.
The motorcar slowed as they reached the tarmac and wound its way through long, shifting zeppelin shadows. Parker could see their destination now, a silvery envelope of hydrogen with an ornate, calligraphic “G” emblazoned on its side. It matched the one painted on the doors of the motorcar.
He smiled. He should have expected nothing less from the flamboyant Baron von Gaertrinken. For as long as Parker had known the man pomp and spectacle had been the Baron’s trademarks. The driver stopped as they reached a small gathering of people on the tarmac and opened the door for Parker before retrieving his trunk and bags. A crew of workmen was busy manhandling a set of steel stairs into place up ahead so the zeppelin could be boarded. The gondola hanging beneath its silver skin seemed almost tiny in comparison though Parker had no doubt the gondola itself was the size of generous yacht. Appropriately, two vast wooden propellers hung out from either side at the rear.
“Parker, darling! How delightful to find you here!” A woman’s voice with a dignified English accent called out to him. He spotted a gloved hand waving above a few idle crewmen who soon parted to reveal a properly skirted young lady not much older than he was.
“Lady Clara, what a pleasant surprise,” Parker replied as he stepped forward to greet the woman. Dr. Clara Alastair-Smythe was a renowned archeologist from a long line of renowned archeologists. Parker had no doubt that fully half the antiquities of ancient Egypt were stashed away across her family’s estates. “Did the Baron summon you as well?”
“Oh he did, isn’t it exciting? Another one of his cryptic telegrams! I simply cannot wait until we’re onboard to find out more.” Another man stepped out from behind the crew and paused near Clara. “You know Max, don’t you dear?” Clara asked as she introduced the newcomer somewhat hesitantly.
Parker smiled a faux smile, devoid of any warmth or sincerity. “Of course, how are you Max?” Max Williams was an American, like himself, but his reputation preceded him. Max was a hired gun, nothing more, nothing less. Swarthy and built, a five o’clock shadow darkened his cheeks and it was only a quarter of noon. Max could be summed up on the back of two postage stamps and was about as nourishing as the glue on the back thereof. His wallet had long since replaced his conscious and the higher calling to which he answered was the highest bidder.
“Parker, buddy,” Max smiled a broad grin as he clapped Parker on the back. The scent of cheap whiskey lingered in the air as he spoke. “How ya been? Got out of Amazon okay I see.”
Max had been hired to wrangle the guides for an expedition Parker had been on just the year past. Unfortunately he bailed when their team ran into a competing expedition with better finances days out in the jungle. Max took the bulk of their guides with him and he had done so with a smile.
Parker smiled demurely in response but said nothing. The stairs had been brought into position and he took Clara’s elbow.
“Shall we?” he asked as the portal on the gondola opened for boarding.
“Oh yes, let’s. I’m positively dying to get onboard,” Clara replied with excitement dripping from her voice.
The interior was grandiose by even the most decadent of standards. A sprawling center floor was surrounded by an elevated observation deck and private rooms could be seen towards the back. Groups of upholstered chairs meshed with round tables dressed in neat white linen tablecloths and luxuriant potted palms towered upward to unleash their green fronds. A white-jacketed steward was waiting for them as they entered.
“Dr. Basden, Lady Alastair-Smythe,” the smart-sounding steward greeted them. “Do come this way, the Baron’s been expecting you.”
They followed the steward up a small flight of stairs to the observation deck that ringed the exterior wall of the gondola and then on to an elongated table already set for lunch. A rather heavy-set man stood as they approached. Baron von Gaertrinken was plump, but not rotund, and ruddy-faced though not obscenely red and porcine as some of his kin were wont to be. He was dressed in a starched white seersucker suit while a matching white hat topped the oiled hair upon his head. His characteristic handlebar mustache wriggled as his mouth opened in a broad smile and he motioned for them to sit.
“Lady Clara, Parker, it is so wonderful to see you again.” His eyes glittered with excitement. “We’re about to journey to a most fascinating discovery of mine.”
Parker sat opposite one of the giant plate glass windows, amazed at the view. “Well Baron,” he began, “I must say Clara and I are always delighted to receive your telegrams, even if they never give us any clue as to what to expect.”
“This is possibly my most significant find,” the older man continued. “Discovered under the shifting sands of Africa.”
“Africa!” Lady Clara interrupted. “Oh how exciting! A trip to the dark continent—do tell us more.”
“Yes, Africa,” the Baron continued. “Or Chuk, to be precise. A small country nestled next to Chad where I have uncovered the Ziggurat of Ghiyath al-Din. Years of research and months of excavations have finally paid off! I wanted you two to be the first to witness my discovery.”
“Ghiyath al-Din,” Parker mused, “I don’t recall hearing that name.”
“It’s a name largely unknown in the west,” explained the Baron as a legion of white-jacketed waiters began to bring the first course of lunch. Parker gasped slightly as the view outside the window started to recede. They were off!
“Ghiyath al-Din was a powerful warlord who ruled a vast expanse of ancient Africa,” the Baron explained. “His kingdom stretched from sand to sea and legend has it he became mighty enough to threaten even the gods themselves. In fact,” the Baron leaned in to the table and lowered his voice to a mere hush, “I have my suspicions that the Ziggurat of Ghiyath al-Din is actually the biblical Tower of Babel!”
It was Clara’s turn to gasp while Parker’s jaw merely dropped. “Surely not,” she exclaimed. “The Tower of Babel in a country overrun with dark-skinned heathens!”
“Wait until you see it to pass judgment, my dear Clara,” the Baron replied. “Just wait. But I digress. According to legend, Ghiyath al-Din climbed his ziggurat once it was complete and issued a challenge to the gods. He demanded ascension to godhood himself and gave the gods until his wedding night to reply.” The Baron took a hearty sip of wine before continuing. “You see, the ziggurat he built was to be a wedding present to his bride. She was apparently a woman of great beauty whom Ghiyath al-Din loved more dearly than anything in his realm and he guarded her jealously. So jealously, in fact, legend has it her face was never seen, hidden behind a white mask of ivory.”
The Baron paused to sample the smoked salmon a steward had placed before him moments before. He continued, still chewing. “After the ziggurat was complete, Ghiyath al-Din ordered an enormous festival and wedding celebration. Thousands of guests attended and legend tell us tens of thousands of slaves labored day and night to pamper them with luxury. The celebration ended with the marriage of Ghiyath al-Din to his ivory bride and they retired into their chambers in the ziggurat for the night.”
“Here is where things get sketchy,” the Baron addressed Parker. “I was hoping you could help with some of the translations. As far as we can tell, legend holds that the gods took his bride from Ghiyath al-Din that night in punishment for his insolence. A great sandstorm followed and entombed Ghiyath al-Din in his ziggurat for eternity. At least,” the Baron grinned, “for eternity up until now!”
“What a fascinating story,” Clara chimed in. “Do you think any of it is actually true?”
“We shall see, we shall see,” the Baron replied. “But we’ve spent months excavating it from underneath the sand.”
Lunch continued with lively conversation that eventually segued into dinner and died off as the evening drew to a close. With the promise that they would arrive at their destination in the morning, the Baron bid them all good night and the ever-present, ever-polite stewards escorted them to their rooms. The morning came all too fast, the night’s sleep luxuriant and relaxing as the gentle bob and sway of the zeppelin enhanced the goose-down mattresses.
Parker gawked as he walked along the observation deck, staring out the windows at the completely foreign terrain below. Overnight they had gone from cool and temperate to arid and dry. Sandy expanses with scarce green scrub churned underneath. He met the Baron, Clara, and unfortunately Max at the table for breakfast.
“Good morning,” he said politely to all as he sat and was greeted in return.
“Gentlemen, and lady,” the Baron announced halfway through the meal. “I would like for you to look out the windows here shortly. Do you see that speck up ahead? In a few minutes you shall see the Ziggurat of Ghiyath al-Din in all its glory.”
Indeed, as the minutes passed the speck grew larger until finally a towering circular structure loomed in the windows.
[Picture 2] Parker looked puzzled.
“Aren’t ziggurats supposed to be pyramidical in shape?” he asked.
“Details, details, my boy. Square, round, does it matter?”
The devil’s in the details, Parker thought to himself but he knew better than to challenge the Baron. The zeppelin was soon tethered and by the time breakfast was done everything had been made ready for them to depart. Several motorcars were waiting to take them to a hotel and by lunch they had been properly squared away and were waiting in the lobby for the Baron to come down.
“Are you ready,” his booming voice announced the Baron’s descent down the staircase, “to visit the great ziggurat?” He’d changed into the traditional expedition khaki and his face could barely contain his smile. With a wave of his hand they were off, out to the motorcars and shortly to the base of the towering ziggurat.
Parker stood in the grainy sand and gazed upward at the monumental structure while Max flicked a spent cigarette into the sand and ground it in with the toe of his boots. Workers still continued to traverse up and down the spiraling steps carrying baskets of sand and debris.
“Looks like them Shaka fellas knew how to build,” Max commented to no one in particular. The heat had sweat pouring from everyone only from Max it smelled like Kentucky sour mash.
The walls lining the stairs were littered with engravings, a curious cross between hieroglyphic and script that Parker endeavored to decipher. By the time they neared the top of the ziggurat, he’d followed most of the legend as the Baron had related it earlier. As they approached the columned rotunda that topped the structure, however, and the end of the legend was transcribed, Parker’s own translation began to differ. He followed the story’s script until it ended, across the stone door they all now stood before.
“So, what do you think Parker my boy?” the Baron asked.
“Well, it’s an awfully savage and imprecise language,” Parker began. “It speaks of Ghiyath al-Din’s threat to the gods, of his celebration and wedding, and of the taking of his bride and her ascent to the heavens. But it’s very unclear here,” he pointed down a string of script engraved in the stone. “It could be read that the gods stole the life of his bride after they consummated their marriage. Or,” his nose turned up, “while they consummated their marriage, or worse yet, before the marriage was consummated but it’s clear the marriage was consummated before the gods entombed him.”
“The script refers to his bride as the Ivory Guardian of Dreams, or Dancing White Protector of Dreams, it’s not particularly clear. But it seems she attained some form of the godhood that Ghiyath al-Din had demanded for himself. And there’s a curse, naturally. There on the door,” he pointed to some of the last few segments of script carved deeper than the others. “It promises the bride of Ghiyath al-Din, the Ivory Guardian, will destroy any who dare desecrate the tomb of her husband.”
“Well,” the Baron chuckled, “it’s a good thing none of us are superstitious.
Clara smiled as well. “Those pharaohs loved to curse their pyramid tombs as well…but none of our mummies have ever come to life.”
Max merely inhaled another cigarette before pulling a silver flask from his hip pocket and taking a swig. The Baron stepped up to the door and pressed inward on it, finally leaning against it with the full weight of his husky frame. It slid only slightly, sending wisps of sandy dust into the air.
“Max, would you mind?” The Baron asked, stepping aside.
Max grinned. This was what he was paid to do. He replaced the flask in his hip pocket and planted a booted foot against the door with a forceful kick. It swung open with the eerie groan of stone grating against stone. Max stepped inside and gasped before he could light the electric torch. The air inside was freezing and a white cloud formed in front of his face as he exhaled. Max turned around towards the Baron, who had taken a step inside, and the others.
Clara turned deathly pale as she saw Max’s eyes widen to saucers. “What?” she mumbled as Max opened his mouth.
Max was looking past his three companions, to the white-masked woman hanging effortlessly behind them. She was speaking but the others didn’t seem to hear. The words burned in his ears and Max tried to raise his hands to clasp over them but they started to slow and stopped. He tried to scream but his throat seemed suddenly rigid and full. Nothing came out. His mouth was filled with a bitter, metallic taste as though he had bit his tongue yet he had felt no pain. He tried to turn his head but it refused to budge. His eyes moved for a moment longer and then froze as he caught sight of his hands suspended in the air before him. They were no longer flesh.
[Picture 1]
Clara let forth a chilling scream as Max transformed into a metallic skeleton before their eyes. The Baron bolted past both Clara and Max as he rushed madly down the stairs. Parker was dumbfounded. It was only when Clara grabbed his arm and pulled him that he began his own flight.
They piled into the motorcar without a word, the Baron breathing heavily and loudly enough to be heard over the roar of the racing engine. The hotel was forgotten, their trunks and cases abandoned as they hurtled across sandy roads toward the tethered zeppelin. No one spoke, sure of what they saw but bewildered by what it had meant.
The Baron barked orders as they re-boarded the zeppelin, surprised stewards and crewmen began scurrying about to prepare for a hasty departure. Within minutes the airship was free and making haste towards home. The Baron disappeared into his quarters and Clara and Parker separated without a word into their rooms.
Parker paced his room for hours, ignoring the meal the steward brought but downing the vodka on the bureau liberally. As the evening wore on he laid on the bed, staring at the fan above with its palm-shaped blades that rotated slowly in circles. Despite the vodka he couldn’t fall asleep, the image of a metallic Max still burning on his retina. Desperate for sleep, Max pulled a dropper bottle from the bureau and squeezed out several drops of a dark, foul smelling liquid into a shot of vodka. Valerian root. Hopefully it would bring peace for the night. He stripped and crawled into the bed, watching the fan slowly turn until the drug took hold. Sleep came quietly.
Parker stirred restlessly under the weight of the comforter atop his naked body. His feet moved on their own in his sleep, seeking out the cool, crisp places hiding at the edges of the bed while his chest heaved softly. His mind languished in sleep, plagued by nightmares from which he couldn’t awaken. The valerian root he’d taken to ease the night still gripped his body, the sleep agent still coursing through his blood with every beat of his heart. Though his mind tried to break free of sleep’s heavy grasp it couldn’t quite pierce the dark veil hanging over it. For the moment he was trapped.
Parker could see the waters of the bay back home sparkling under the golden-orange glow of the setting sun. Rays of brisk light twinkled from each dappled wave cap and glimmered as though reflected by floating jewels. It was peaceful here, sitting on the rocky shore as the waves lapped up in calm, orderly procession. Tufts of dune grass grew ruggedly here and there, wherever it was able to eke out a foothold in the rocky terrain. The gray boulder he sat on was warm to the touch, still radiating the heat of the sun it had collected during the day.
He continued to watch as the sun went down, admiring the beautiful sight painted before him. He’d always enjoyed coming to this spot in the evenings. His eyes wandered around the rocky shore, the breeze brushing up against his cheeks as his head turned. He had been alone when he got here but now two figures were slowly approaching him from down the shore. One was slightly taller than the other but that was all he could distinguish from here. The sun was setting behind them, rendering the pair nothing but black silhouettes against a fiery backdrop.
There was little light left playing on the water. The bay had gone from a sparkling mirror to a dark, greenish-black pool. Parker sniffed, the wind had picked up noticeably and the once-rhythmic waves had become choppy and violent. He could make out the figures now, barely, in the dim light. They were Max and the Baron. Though the sun had now set and no longer blinded him as he looked their way, the darkness had fallen between him and the two walkers where it hung like a graphite fog, blurring reality with dripping shadows.
It took his mind a minute to fully register the presence of the pair, Max had been ripped from the world so violently just this morning. But this was a dream and somehow the logic worked. They were there, on the beach, perhaps a hundred yards away now. Parker stood up to greet them, paying no heed to his nakedness or the impossibility of Max’s presence.
“Max? Baron?” he called out hesitantly to the approaching figures.
The two silhouettes waved back. Parker wasn’t sure what to expect as they approached. He didn’t hear the rippling of the water at first. Or, if he did, it didn’t register in his mind. His two approaching companions held his attention. It was only Max’s scream that caused his gaze to move back to the water.
An upwelling churned and writhed about twenty feet from the shore. Frothing white rings of foamy water rippled out from a boiling epicenter as a pale steam rose into the blackness. It was back again, Parker knew instantly. It was too familiar now, almost like a member of the family. The cousin one never wanted to invite because he enjoyed terrorizing your pets. It was the dark dread that never relented — the forboding that haunted his sleep off and on since that fateful day in San Francisco.
Parker tried to run toward Max and the Baron but his legs wouldn’t move. He could see dark twisted tentacles rise above the churning water, dripping some dark liquid that was definitely not water. Even in this poor light it was easy to tell, it dripped like syrup, like thick chocolate that absorbed the light instead of reflecting it back.
The Baron and Max began to run towards him, he could see their legs racing as they tried to make their way across the waterfront. Only the beach seemed to get longer and longer as they ran, sand and gravel spinning under their feet. They were making no headway, every step the two took found the rocky shoreline that much longer, that much darker. Though there was no light left out now at all, Parker could see the horror on their faces clearly. Or did he just remember it from earlier?
The beast in the water continued to rise. The churning circle was now fifteen feet across and a hulking, tentacled brute stood halfway out of the water. It had no name. Parker could think of nothing real or mythical that even closely resembled the horror rising from the deep. It was huge. It was evil. It was hungry. He wanted to wake up desperately, so desperately, but his mind couldn’t seem to sway the hand of sleep.
Parker let out a scream that went nowhere as the first tentacle snaked out towards Max and wrapped its suckered arm around the young man’s frame. Max was screaming at the top of his lungs, his frame wriggling desperately in the brute’s grasp. It wasn’t really his words that Parker heard; it was the sound of terror burning into his mind. The burning ember that marked a cigarette fell into the darkness.
Parker tried again to run towards the Baron. This time his legs moved slightly but they betrayed him. He fell onto the rocks below. They had gone cold and he was shocked by their icy touch on his flesh. The fall gashed his leg, tearing open a strip of flesh that ran the length of his thigh. He watched the blood pour out in disbelief as heard more screams down the beach, this time from the Baron.
He looked up to see the Baron’s plump form carried over the water by another tentacled arm. His screams disappeared as he did, enveloped by the mass in the water. For a moment his hat floated on the surface briefly before disappearing downward with a violent jerk. The Baron’s face had the same look on it that Max’s did. It was disbelief mixed with dread, washed over by sorrow, ground by grief. And it was burned into Parker’s mind as well.
Then as suddenly as it had started, it ended. The creature disappeared beneath the churning surface, taking his silent companions with it. Parker still couldn’t move though he watched his skin grow paler and paler as his blood continued to pour from the wound in his side. It grew very silent and dreadfully still. The chilling wind stopped blowing though the cold remained and Parker could no longer hear the sound of the waves on the shore.
His heart stopped, blood pausing in his veins. He felt a breath of hot air on the back of his neck. His muscles tensed involuntarily in response as the acrid smell of sulphur and rotting flesh wafted forward to his nose. Parker felt his stomach drop.
He knew that stench. He had encountered it once before in the dark and he steeled his mind for the inevitable confrontation. Something behind him growled. At least a growl was the closest thing he could think of to describe the sound it made. It was low, guttural, and it shook the very marrow within his bones. The sound made his soul crave tearing itself free of his flesh and soaring away quickly.
Parker drew in a long, slow breath. The sulphurous air stung the back of his throat and his lungs burned. He turned around slowly to face the thing at his neck. His heart started to pound against his chest once more, thumping harder and harder as if to break free from his chest and save itself. Parker screamed instinctively as he came face to face with the beast.
Beast. The word felt funny. He knew what the fiend before him was. Every man would know instinctively when confronted with this. It was red, a dark red whose color bore a strong resemblance to dried blood — dreadfully matte, unquestionably not shiny in the least. It seemed to suck the very light into its scabby, reptilian skin as it rolled one lazy yellow eye towards him. Parker met its gaze.
Its head was huge, thrice the size of an elephant’s head and it was attached to a much smaller body. Parker would have called it humanoid in shape if it hadn’t been for all the writhing lumps and cavities that deformed its skin. He could see the serrated tips of the beast’s incisors as they hung down past its closed mouth and he trembled. He was face to face with evil and he was as naked as a newborn child. His hand went up to his neck, groping for a cross that was not there. He almost swore the beast grinned back at him.
Why did he insist on referring to it as a beast? Parker knew what it was. He didn’t know why it was there. The monster’s mouth suddenly flared open and a loud bellowing roar flew out, blowing Parker backward on the rocks. He screamed again. The monster advanced toward him, its mouth open and its fangs dripping a yellowish ichor that sizzled as it hit the rocks below.
He tried to move backward but his trembling body didn’t respond. His mind was disconnected in terror. The beast grew closer and closer, toying with him as it took each lumbering step. He felt the humid warmth of the creature’s mouth surround his naked body, teeth scraping his flesh as a jaw scooped under him. He was still screaming, his mind trying to reject what was happening.
He heard laughter from outside. It was a giggling, feminine laughter that bubbled over him and suddenly he fell to the rocks, the devouring beast gone as though it had never been. A snaky tentacle loomed over him and dropped something at his foot. It was the Baron. And suddenly, he was gone. Parker looked about bewildered but the rocks were barren and vacant and the sea had gone glassy and calm. Something hit his foot again but he saw nothing. Then he felt the sensation while looking at his foot. Still there was nothing.
Suddenly it was over. His eyes flew open and he found himself sitting upright in bed, still screaming, chest heaving rapidly. His mind had finally managed to overcome the valerian root still in his system though it took him a second before he could muster enough control over his body to stop screaming. He could feel his heart racing faster than he could ever recall. Short of breath he felt as though he were being strangled. His heart was beating too fast. He tried to control the short and rapid breaths, slowing them down into deep and calm inhalations. Then he screamed again as he felt another thump against his foot. It was a snake.
Parker looked up directly into the eyes of the Baron. The man had stumbled through the woven wicker door of his bedroom. The Baron’s eyes were aghast in horror and, Parker blinked to be sure, his mouth was stretched open wide by writhing, snarling snakes that were spewing from his chest. The Baron made a retching, gagging sound as he grasped vainly at the slithering reptiles, trying to pull them from his throat.
[Picture 3] He fell to his knees, still struggling, and then fell face down on the bed at Parker’s feet.
Parker froze. Behind the Baron a masked woman stood in white.
[Picture 4] The bride of Ghiyath al-Din, the Ivory Guardian of Dreams. She opened her mouth as if to speak, the movement of her lips barely perceptible behind the mask. The snakes from the Baron’s mouth snarled and leapt toward Parker but they stopped suddenly in mid-air. The woman had raised a finger toward her nose, as if she were shushing him. She was smiling behind that mask, Parker knew it though he could not see. The woman cocked her head slightly as if she read his mind then turned and disappeared.
Sweat dripped down his brow onto the comforter in front of him. Parker raised a weak hand up and wiped it across his forehead. Clara stumbled in. “Mummies,” she said weakly before spying the Baron’s corpse.
