The Tale Of The Ibi - A Collaborative Effort

By Crumples and The Masked Lara

In the beginning there was the wily Ibis, so called for his love of the Dolmio Pesto pasta sauce, and the subsequent wily ways in which he tried to obtain it.

The wily Ibis begat the Two Ibi, Wi and Ly.
Wi and Ly roamed the earth, begating here and there many an Ibi, and searching for that most elusive thing - their purpose in the world. Surly we, awash in a sea of possibilities, can empathize with the wandering Ibi and their plight. Ibi were not for eating nor for playing, they did not sing, or dance, they could not sell door to door, nor did they have the ability to ride bicycles thus they could not work as couriers or paper boys, or in fact become olympic cyclists, extreme mountain bikers or world BMX champions.

If only they knew that their sweet, sweet milk was my one and only inspiration, and that for many others like my self, uninspired and desolate, they could have become milky Ibi muses.....perhaps then the following events would not have occurred.

The milky gift of the Ibi was instead discovered by a shifty business man called Hal. Unable to feel the effects of their inspiration, as he had not a romantic or artistic bone in his body, he still realised the profitable potential of the Ibi and he milked them for their juice. The milky discharge was then aged in barrels lined with the feathers of one hundred Ibi virgins. The resulting pungent, rubbery cheese he named after himself, Hal Oumi. The cheese was sweet and the money was made, but at what cost? The Ibi could not survive the vigorous milking and, as quickly as he came, my Ibi muse disappeared, thus depriving me of ever again suckling at his feathery teat of inspiration.

How I wish I could once again make the offering of Dolmio Pesto pasta sauce. Oh, how I long to be reacquainted with his downy bosom, to be filled with and cocooned in my milky reward, to feel the soft caress of his of his hook like beak on my scalp once again. I shall not forget the Ibi, nor shall I stop singing his tale, forever more, wherever I go, I take the Ibi with me.

Part 1.5?

"You must kill him, he knows you too well and you will be useless to us if you cannot out maneuver our enemies. If you are useless, then it will be you that is left as food for the worms!"
A cold chill ran up his spine as she hissed out her words. What she was asking wasn't easy, but if he refused, they would hunt him down for eternity. He regretted that it had come to this. Being asked to hunt down the one man whom he had ever truly been able to call a friend brought a bitter coppery taste in his mouth.
"I shall go and find him."
"Be quick in you task and do not return until you can put his teeth into my hand."
He turned quickly, the folds of his cloak billowing behind him in his haste to be gone from the presence of this spiteful being. The flaps that served as the tent's entrance fell closed and the cold damp air of the night clung to him. What little heat he still held in his slender fame was leached out within moments. He did not shiver, the chilling of his flesh couldn't match the glacial freeze he felt in his heart. He knew what he had to do. Regrets would mean nothing to him if he was dead and he had felt nothing but the touch of death since that wretched woman had come to him three nights ago. Her promises had seemed to good to be true, then she had shown him and by then it was too late.

As he marched across the campsite, he could feel his sword hanging heavily against his leg. A few troops from the watch noticed his passing and saluted but he paid them little attention. Ten minutes later, he came to a small clearing. A single tent stood off to one side and a dim light could be seen within. He had expected nothing less, and was glad that the man inside was still awake. Without saying a word, he pulled aside the canvas and stepped in.
"I've been waiting for you."
The man on the bed had his sword out and resting across his lap. In one hand he still held the cloth that he had been using to clean the grime of battle from it's mirrored surface.
"Then you know why I'm here too I suppose?"
"You've been sent to kill me no doubt?"
"Will you ever be able to let me keep a thought to myself?"
"Not in this lifetime my friend."
The two looked at each other. Everything they had known up till now seemed to have been shattered. A few nights ago, they had been part of the same army, fighting for the same King but now they had been thrust into a different world. They both new their orders to kill each other were final and that if they were to go back, the other would have to die.
"Well then, if you know my mind so well you should be ready."
"I'm as ready as I'll ever be."
"Then let's get this over with. I don't want this to be any more painful than it has to be."
The two walked out of the tent and away from the edge of the camp. A few miles out, they both stopped. Reaching behind two different piles of rocks, they both pulled out small packs.
"You were right, this is going to be painful. I hate having to walk, we should have brought horses."
Pipe shook his head and sighed. With a slight smirk on his face, he looked over at his friend.
"What I'm worried about is how I'm going to manage to put up with your bad jokes for the rest of my damned life."
Xander laughed and threw his pack over his shoulder. Without glancing back, the two started walking towards the nearest town. How anyone had thought that they would have done anything other than what they had was a mystery to them both.

Part 1

The voice was full of rage. Full of righteous fury. Full of vengeance.
'Do you remember?'
He remembered. Centuries had past but he remembered.
Do you remember?
The youngest son, the spare spare.
Do you remember?
The third son, always weaker, always smaller.
Do you remember?
Nothing to inherit, nothing to offer, nothing to gain.
Do you remember?
Oh how he remembered.
The fear, the frustration. The Dreams. Like calls to like.
He remembered the day they met. So similar. He remembered the days that they planned. So elegant.
Oh how he remembered
The reflection in the mirror. Bloodied, broken. The praise of the father to the first. The sneer, the only acknowledgement for him. For the third.
If you beat a dog, you gain a beast. Fearsome. Mindless. A fate that he would not allow. The thought that was not his own. Monster you must be, lest monster you become.
Oh how he remembered
Like calls to like, and together dreams were made flesh. So simple, so elegant. The third became the second. The second became the first. No suspicion. No questions. How simple, how elegant. How vicious.
Do you remember?
He remembered. But that was a long time ago. When he was human. Centuries had past.

A moment had past.
He smiled. Cold. Vicious. Sadistic.
'Monster', the voice that was righteous had turned to dread.
'Monsters we are lest monsters we become. Your little tricks of faith will not aid you Hunter.'
With blinding speed he reach out. A short sharp snap sounded into the night.

Out of the shadows another steped and stood beside him looking down at the body with a smirk.
Like calls to like

'Well Xander, one less pain in the ass. Mind you I do miss having a good challenge like back in the olden days, remember them?'

'Yes, I do.'