#The Aslume is calling me

[themagicfolf]

Brought to you by r/BatmanArkhams patent pending AslumePills™️ I present The Man Mobile!

[ironfoot-mothafocka]

Dwarrowtober: Friendship (and Memory)

Gaelan uncovered the scrap of parchment and took a peek. Immediately, the dwarf’s hand slammed down on top of his, his dark eyes flashing dangerously. “No!” he hissed defiantly. “You remember!” Gaelan sighed and shook his head. “I don’t,” he moaned. The formation of the word was on the tip of his tongue, like a caged bird waiting to be freed. He vaguely knew that the root of it was A-S-M — the root for welcome in the Ugzarakian dialect of Khuzdul, which the dwarves of that region called kishki. He squinted hard into his friend’s face, willing there to be a hint. There wasn’t any. As close as they were, Vadlik was an unrelenting teacher. “Asklum? Aslum?” he tried. A smile twitched the corner of Vadlik’s mouth. “As-klum,” he corrected. “Klum,” he repeated, putting emphasis on the last syllable of the word. “Asklum,” Gaelan diligently said, now with the stress in the right place. “Gathering.” Gaelan massaged his temples, breathing in deeply. They had been at it for an hour and already his brain felt was though it had been pressed through a laundry mangle. “We stop,” Vadlik said gently. “You better, maybe.” Gaelan smiled. ‘Maybe’ was a word that Vadlik had only just learned, and he had grown accustomed to saying it as often as he could to practise it. Are you hungry? Maybe. How are you feeling? Good, maybe. Am I at least getting better at kishki? Maybe yes, maybe no. “And you’re maybe getting better at Westron,” Gaelan replied in standard Khuzdul, the kind that every dwarf knew and that was spoken by those of the Western and Central Houses of dwarves. Getting even mildly conversational in it had been a task, but it was nowhere near as mind-bending as its north-eastern dialect. Vadlik grinned proudly and puffed up his chest, tucking a heavy Stiffbeard braid behind his ear. “I think, yes. I practise by market. Dalishmen talk to me — no… no many Stiffbeards here,” he said, his broad smile revealing a row of capped silver teeth. His Westron was still halting and uncertain, but Vadlik had soon swiftly overcome his embarrassment at not understanding the Men living around Erebor by settling into the common Stiffbeard mindset of simply not caring about what anyone thought. If the race of dwarves were a proud and resilient people, those who lived in the small enclave of Ugzarak were the toughest of the whole, hardy bunch.

—

It was here that he would die. Already, Gaelan could feel himself slipping slowly into sleep, the ice-encrusted cave floor feeling like the softest, warmest feather pillow. He was far too hot and he cast the covers from his body, but the covers that he cast away was the thick, fur-lined cloak covering his mail. Oh well, he didn’t need it. He was still stuffy and his skin felt like it was prickling with fire. Perhaps he should remove his mail, his gloves, his boots, his trousers? Then surely this damned heat would leave him. Through half-lidded eyes, the young soldier watched the blizzard stream down outside the cave-mouth. Numbly, he wondered how in the world it could be so warm when outside it was so cold. It was just that he’d found a good cave to tuck himself in for the night. A miracle, really.

Gaelan raised his head slightly — he had seen a figure coming towards him through the flurry of white flecks that rippled in front of his eyes like a waterfall. With a jolt of understanding, he realised that it was his commander, Beregar! Beregar! The last time he had seen him, he had been laying face-down in the snow, frozen solid. But of course he had gotten up again and found this cave, and he was leading a troop of men behind him — everyone was still alive. “Beregar!” he called out happily, too weak to raise a hand but his thin, dry lips stretched in a relieved smile. His commander’s expression was serious, and in his hand he clutched a burning torch. His furs and shining helmet were slick from snow and his wiry, black beard had frozen into solid icicles. But he was on his feet, with food and water and fire. How long had it been since he’d eaten? They’d feast here together, all of them, before making their way out of this damnable snowy wasteland.

—

Vadlik grimaced. “Like water — pazkha,” he spat. Gaelan laughed. He at least knew pazkha, which was a favourite of the snow-mammoth hunter — shit. “Then put more salt in it like you always do,” he ribbed in Westron, handing the dwarf the salt cellar and watching the Stiffbeard pour a liberal amount in. Vadlik chewed disappointedly. Gaelan knew what he was missing. The thick, nourishing muta bird broth; rich, salty, creamy and fatty, favoured by those hailing from Ushkar, the hunting outpost at the tip of the northernmost mountain, the North of Norths. It was that broth, and the hands that had made it, which had saved Gaelan’s life when every other member of his scouting party had become trapped in the network of hills and glaciers that covered the edge of the world. It had been a mission doomed for failure from the start, though Gaelan had learned to box up the anger and resentment associated with being the sole survivor. Not now, he kept telling himself. I’ll deal with it another time. Vadlik looked up, his eyes sparkling at his friend. Somehow, the Stiffbeard always knew when one of his moods was descending on him. “What is… soup? Saying in kishki,” the hunter challenged him. Gaelan’s kishki vocabulary consisted mainly of food-based words, since most of their study sessions had been accompanied by meals. “Kalak,” Gaelan replied. Everything in Khuzdul, in kishki, could be linked back to something else. Kalak was related to their word for fire, for nourishment, for life.

—

“How long has he been asleep?” Vadlik pressed his hand to the strange warrior’s forehead. His skin at least felt less like the hard ground on which he had been lying for an unknown amount of time, and his breathing was deeper. Layered in mammoth skin blankets, with a fire blazing softly behind him, he would hopefully live to see the dawn. “A few hours,” he said. He cast an eye over the bodies which had led him to the man, now piled in the snow — he was the only one who had lived. They had been found in a long trail spanning miles and miles, and how this lone soldier had got up to the cave had been a mystery even to the dwarves of Ushkar. He’d had some fight in him, but that fight had been about to run out by the time Vadlik had found him. Beregar, he had called him. He wondered which one of his dead companions Beregar was. “And what will we do with him?” Vadlik looked up, surprised at the challenge. He noted the suspicion in the eyes of his fellow hunter, and understood his reasoning. But this man was harmless. What could he do against him — he who now had nothing? “We’ll keep him, of course. You never know,” Vadlik said with a grin, “we could teach him to hunt mammoth.”

[luisaaronopez]

In a corrupted town called AsLum, a teenage girl named Aki, was walking through the seemingly empty streets. She goes there in her spare time, she often visits a certain part of the city where thugs, cutthroats and con men roam. As Aki walked into an alley, she was cornered by four thugs. The one with a cap spoke "What's a girl like ya doin on our side of town!" Aki just gave him a dirty look. Then the thug with shades spoke in rhymes. "You girl you better go, cause coming here is a no no!" Aki looked at the thug with shades and mocked "You've been reading a childs book about green food haven't you?" Then the short thug mocked "Aww, look who's being sassy?" Aki then looked at the short thug and said "So what?" Then a thug with spikey hair spoke "If ya don't leave, we'll have to get rough with ya!" Then Aki says in a chilling tone "Then hit me with your best shot." The four guys paused. Aki began taunting them "I knew it. You guys don't have the GUTS to harm me. Who knew a couple of criminals like you guys had a soft spot for women." Then the short one shouted "SHUT UP!" then he lounged at Aki with a knife. Aki jabbed him in the jaw and he flew into the trash can. Then the other three attacked. Aki fought like four people. As all the thugs are on the ground. Before she left, Aki looks back and says "One more thing." Aki threw scissors between the thug with shades and the thug with spikey hair. "YOU, shave off that beard and YOU, get a haircut! You both look like deformed monkeys!"