Lafayette
Man of Artistic Fingers
Here is a rewrite of "Is It Pornographic?" after I read the comments, suggestions, and questions. I hope it is more coherent. Please let me know.Chapter 23
The Bigger They Are …
Beyond the fiery barrier came a howling, causing trees to tremble, birds to fly, and squirrels and other furries to flee in countless directions. In his mindless madness, he plowed through the chest high flickering flames and fumes ripping and hurling branches randomly around him. His black oily hair singed, emitting burnt and pungent odors. Smoke assaulted and stung his eyes. He snorted, he sniffed, he bellowed, but he kept coming.
“I don’t believe it,” gasped Lieutenant Fangorn. “He’s still standing.”
“Archers, let fly!” yelled Reeshard.
At his order, hundreds of arrows from the rangers flew. A few missed, yet many found their mark embedding in the chest, the torso, and the legs. The graggon kept snorting and drawing nigh in a slow and steady pace, slapping arrows away and pulling others out from its body.
“What do we do now, lieutenant?” yelled one soldier.
“Damn it!” bellowed Lieutenant Fangorn. “Platoon! Spears and swords. Charge!”
The air reeked from the stench of gore. The ground became soaked with large puddles of flowing blood. The platoon stumbled and fell with crush heads and chests from hurled boulders. Those that weren’t crushed fell from deep gashes from poisoned claws. The cacophony of the graggon was met by wails and cries from the wounded and dying soldiers writhing on the ground in indefinable agony.
Lieutenant Fangorn cried, “Platoon retreat!”
As the troops withdrew, the rangers targeted the graggon with more arrows.
“Aim for his eyes,” bellowed Reeshard.
The green-clad rangers obeyed with a flurry of arrows. However, the missiles were met and destroyed in mid-air by purple beams of light emanating from the giant graggon. Still enraged, the graggon continued hurling rocks and boulders.
“What does it take to stop him?” cried Lieutenant Fangorn.
“This,” grimaced John Planter, swinging his ax. With no other words, he charged at the towering graggon.
“No John,” yelled Reeshard. “He’ll slash you to pieces.”
John proved he was well aware of the monster’s razor like claws. Compared to John, the graggon’s movements were slow. John bobbed and weaved, restraining his swings and only swinging his ax when he could find an exposed calf or shin.
“Come un ye big ugly,” taunted John. “I wanna feed ya bones ta some dragon. He give me a horde of gold fer ya lousy skin.”
“What is he trying to do? asked Lieutenant Fangorn. “Get himself killed?”
“Yeah, what in hell is he trying to do?” added Lieutenant Bernard.
Reeshard laughed, “Mi ami, is trying something very, very nasty. We can help by distracting Big Ugly. Men, fire your arrows past the graggon’s head. Don’t waste arrows attempting to hit him.”
The rangers complied with a barrage of arrows flying by out of the graggon’s reach. The distraction infuriated the graggon as his swings and purple beams became feral and inaccurate. John silently moved in closer. The graggon reared his head and arms higher as he did so, his stance widen. John now stood under the stance and, finding his target, he swung his sharpened ax high. Blood gushed. The graggon screamed and stumbled. Moving with the graggon as it stumbled, John again swung his blood dripping ax upward even harder. The graggon, the snorter, the sniffer wailed and fell backwards, clutching his monsterhood.
In its trashing, it almost rolled on John. John saw all the wild movements and evaded them.
Finally, standing a respectful distance away from the fallen and writhing graggon, John looked on, breathing hard.
Reeshard came up to him grinning a devil’s grin, patting him on his sweating back and chuckle, “Well, he won’t be making any more babies.”
