SORCEROUS SIGNALS
Written by Christian Riley / Artwork by Holly Eddy
Oh Shit!





























Are you kidding me? That was my first thought when I spotted him in the stables back behind The
Dancing Troll—our home for the next couple of days. But even before that, it was the smell, of course.
Nothing you'd ever expect lingering amongst horses, it was a different kind of musky odor, both foul and
sweet—If you can imagine that. I was certainly curious, that's for sure, so I followed my nose up to the
barn, grabbed the lantern hung on the wall near the entrance as I walked in, and then, well…there he was.

I've no idea how I hadn't heard him. I guess my mind was so flared up over thoughts of tits and liquor
for the night. Those guys I had been traveling with for all but two years…yeah, they were just guys. And
I'm the thief in the bunch, for crying out loud! But still, I didn't hear this thing, until I was right up on
him, staring in disbelief.

Camped out in the first stall of the stable was a humongous ogre! That's right. As big as six of me, half-
naked with a silly horse blanket strewn across one leg and snoring so loud I felt the vibrations as they
crawled up my legs, was the monster from a nightmare.

Whose idea was this? That was my second thought as I then noticed the horses in the barn were damn
skittish. And for good reason: I saw his battleaxe (if you could call it that) lying next to him in the hay,
under the grasp of his huge paw. Like a little girlfriend for the night. The thing was the size of a small
tree, custom made with a freakish axe-blade on one end, and iron spikes the size of my head randomly
placed along the shaft. A weapon of total destruction, no doubt.

Sometime around then, a fly darted into my gaping mouth, then down into my throat. I started to choke
on that damn bug, making way too much noise, when suddenly…he stirred.

Oh shit! And that was my last thought, as I ran out of the barn, and back to The Dancing Troll, leaving
our horses standing in the mud, scared silly.

~ * ~

The next morning I was bitter. I was really bitter, 'cause I hadn't slept a wink, had a hangover from hell,
and got nothing in the way of female companionship the night before. Just our luck, to pick the one inn
that found it amusing to make accommodations for an ogre. Of course, Dull Humphrey, the proprietor of
that establishment, seemed a little bit bitter himself, I'd noticed. Not a single whore spotted within a mile-
wide radius, and who could blame them, really. So much for gain, opening your doors to a monster.
Turns out the thing wasn't even a drinker. It just ate. Ate a bunch. Ate a whole bunch. And as any
restaurant owner knows, there ain't much profit in the serving of food.

I asked Dull why he hadn't just up and asked the ogre to leave.

"Shit," was his reply.

~ * ~

The leader of our group was a grizzled mercenary who had fought in every major campaign within every
kingdom around. Brohan McKormick was his name, and he was a badass. And not only that, but he was
smart as well. Go figure, huh? He did all the arranging and planning, dividing up of our spoils, called all
the shots. He also knew every lord, gatekeeper, mer…shit, Brohan just knew everybody. And so when he
introduced us to our latest companion for our latest adventure, over our latest plate of scrambled eggs
and sausage (which had my stomach churning already just looking at), we just nodded and said, "Yeah,
yeah, hello," whatever. Our typical routine. But when that guy—our new guy, who went by the name of
Sederick—greeted us with his own meager salutation, followed by his own prompt introduction to his
companion (thus, our new companion as well), by the pointing of his finger to the ogre sitting outside
the window, well…that's when I threw up.

~ * ~

His name was Maurice, believe it or not. Maurice the Ogre. And Maurice was every bit of "nasty" as you
could imagine. It turns out that first night I had smelt him, well…his odor had been diluted from the
other smells of that barn. The hay in that place would've accounted for the "sweet" aroma, 'cause there
was nothing but pure rank which lingered on Maurice. And sometimes, you could see some of that which
stunk on that ogre. Shit pasted down his leg. Drool, buckets of drool, all down his belly. What am I
talking about, you could see it? You couldn't miss it!

There was nothing in the way of hygiene with that guy. But that ain't even the worst of it. Old Maurice
had him a "hobby". That's right. A habit most definitely inherited by the others of his kind, Maurice was
fond of collecting dead...stuff…and pinning them to his garments. Rats and birds. Frogs. Scraps of flesh.
Entrails of...of whatever. They were all there, just hanging off him. Maurice's fantastic jewelry.

~ * ~

"Don't look 'im in the eyes, boys!" That's the first thing Sederick told us, right after I had made my mess
on the floor. Apparently, Sederick bought Maurice when he was just a wee ogre, whenever that would've
been. Bought him off another group of mercs, just like us. Sederick figured the ogre would eventually
grow up to be quite a valuable accomplice in our line of work. No stretch of the imagination there, that's
for sure. And Maurice was much bigger than I had originally figured. Sitting down, he was taller than the
top of a tall man's head on a really tall horse. The next day, when a couple of guys in a wagon asked me
for directions, I told them to turn left when they reached that, "boulder yonder". Had a good laugh over
that one, that's for sure.

Zavian Lavar was our Sorcerer. A persistently jumpy fellow—like the horses from the barn the night
before—he was up and out of his chair, running to the bathroom as soon as Sederick began to ramble
on with the numerous "cautions" we needed to keep in mind when associating with an ogre. Sederick told
us the best thing to do, the attitude which we should convey in order to "maintain proper order and
harmony", was to always be aware there was an ogre in our midst…but also, to just pretend there
wasn't one.

Just pretend that ogre wasn't even there?

I've often wondered if Sederick couldn't have come up with something better than that.

~ * ~

Once Zavian came back from the head, still trembling mind you, that's when Brohan started in with his
customary morning speech. He made a few suggestions about the ogre himself, (as if he actually had
experience with hanging out with one those things), and then went right into the description of our next
assignment: The City of Darkness.

A hundred miles up the coast lied the city of Polk. A trading port located close to a gentle harbor, it had
served as a hub for commerce for hundreds of years, sported a huge population of merchants,
fishermen, even farmers, until all of a sudden, one day, it just went black.

From a distance, in broad daylight, you could see why Polk fell into darkness. A fog resembling a giant
black mushroom hung above the entire city, just above the rim of its walls. The rumor was there was a
cult living in the city, and they had been responsible for the sudden change in "atmosphere". But no one
knew this for sure, seeing how since the first day that place went dark, nobody had gone in, or come out.

Well, that wasn't actually true. Many people—soldiers and mercenaries, for example—had gone into that
place…but none of them had ever been seen, or heard from again. That was a bothersome morning.
Upon hearing this last tidbit of information, Brohan's "afterthought", poor Zavian was up and out of that
room once again, off to the bathroom for another shit.

~ * ~

One down-side of traveling with an ogre: they're slower than a constipated jackass stuck in the mud!
Hours upon hours of our days traveling to that city of darkness were spent waiting for Sederick to round
up Maurice. For good reasons—real good reasons—Maurice was charged with pulling up the rear of our
group. This was nice, in that his stink wouldn't waft down upon us as we rode along. Also, for the more
anxious ones amongst us, such as Zavian, they were spared the constant reminder that a hideous
monster was within head-popping reach of them. But because old Maurice was in the rear, somewhat out
of sight and, more-or-less out of mind, well then…he would wander.

See a bird; Maurice would follow it. Smell some berries; Maurice would go find them. Happen upon a body
of water; Maurice would just stop and stand in it. And of the few times we came across something dead,
oh shit…Maurice would plop down and have him a tasty picnic, followed by a session of garment assembly.

Sometimes it was a treat though, watching Sederick holler and scream at Maurice, even tug and pull him
along at times. That ogre was like a big baby; seemingly deaf half the time, dumb as a box of rocks all
the time. And Sederick would often go ape-shit just trying to get him to move. In the mornings, Maurice
would out-sleep everyone. In fact, he'd still be rattling leaves off the trees with his snoring, long after
the rest of us were on our horses, waiting to go. But I remember one particular morning when Sederick
discovered for himself a real nice treat. A treat which had all of us falling to the ground with laughter.
Maurice was conked out under a giant oak tree fifty yards away from our camp, (the usual courtesy,
since his snoring would keep everyone awake), and I watched as Sederick trudged off to go get him up.
Minutes later, Sederick was yelping and howling, screaming all sorts of foulness that had us thinking he'd
found Maurice dead or something. Maurice certainly wasn't dead…but there was something. Sometime in
the night, Maurice found him a family of skunks. Apparently he captured them all, tore them to pieces
and used their carcasses for a little, pillow.

~ * ~

Upside of traveling with an ogre: you don't get killed by bandits!

On our third night out of town, about a dozen of them came into our camp, real sneaky like. They had
Brohan at the throat with three daggers—somehow they must've known he was our leader—and
requested we all dump our weapons next to the fire.

Then, out of nowhere, Maurice came crashing through a bush. With insane accuracy, he swung that axe
of his and parted two bandit heads before anyone knew what had happened. Everyone froze. And I
mean everyone, except of course for Maurice (and I think Sederick, who I believe I spotted on the
ground near the fire, giggling like a child).

And then, all of a sudden…that ogre screamed.

None of us did a thing, but every one of them bandits took off running, howling for their mamas while
Maurice chased after them. A few minutes later, our ears still ringing from Maurice's battle cry, we fell into
a round of laughter. I've never figured out how Maurice caught on to those bandits, but I'm guessing he
must've smelt them sometime in the night. Everything was about the "smells" with that ogre.

~ * ~

Just as the rumors declared, it looked like a black mushroom had sprouted from the city of Polk. Miles
away, we had seen that darkness as it loomed over the city. Some of it had even spilt over the walls, like
bread dough gone crazy with an abundance of yeast. And the atrocious smell from that place hit us right
about then as well. There's nothing like the aroma of death to send a wizard into the bush for a shit, and
an ogre into a grunting dance upon the road.

We struck camp when we got within a half-mile from those walls, in a clearing which had obviously been
used many times before. No doubt for the same purpose as ours, which was to come up with a plan on
how we were going to take back that city of darkness.

Knowing this was going to be a real dangerous mission, Brohan decided we'd spend the entire next day
getting our shit ready, before we would then head into the city on that night. And boy, was that
following day something else.

What we learned on that day, rather quickly, was that although it was one thing to travel along next to
an ogre…it was something entirely different to just "hang-out" with one of them.

So with that, why don't you take a wild guess as to what you think an ogre does when they get bored.

~ * ~

The insufferableness of Maurice's heavy breathing, his constant moans of pleasure, his deplorable solo-
activities in the bush (which was impossible to miss, and went on for most of the day), became
highlighted by Sederick's continuous assurances the ogre would be highly dependable once we entered
the city. There was little doubt Maurice would be king in a fight; we saw what he did to them bandits
earlier. Also…he was an ogre for crying out loud. And the fact Sederick was still alive after all those years
with his beastly companion, stood as a testament Maurice could at least decipher the difference between
friend and foe. But nevertheless, Sederick just went on and on about the ogre, embarrassed as he was
over the creature's self-frolicking behavior in the bushes yonder.

"Well can't you at least just shut him up?" That was Zavian, who eventually gave up and went for a hike
into the woods, disappearing for the better part of the day.

~ * ~

Thank the heavens for the eventual passage of time. Night rolled around, and we were ready for our
assault upon Polk. I remember it struck us all as being quite strange how Maurice changed once we were
ready to go in. It was like he knew all along what was up. Like he actually was smarter than a box of
rocks; in that once it was time for the mission, all thoughts of making stinky jewelry and whacking off
went out the window. Maurice was ready.

We had never seen him like that before: Calculated look upon his face, and a slow determination with his
gait. He carried his axe over his shoulder, and chewed on a maple branch as we walked up to the walls of
Polk, his eyes gleaming like starlight. I actually started to feel like Zavian; Maurice was so scary looking, I
thought I might've needed to go take a shit. But also, I felt pretty damn good…we had us an ogre.

~ * ~

We looked up into the blackness above, and it was so thick, we couldn't even see the top of the wall.
The plan was to climb up there with a rope, then slink our way along until we reached the castle grounds.
Then from there, wherever. I don't quite remember too much after that though, 'cause shortly after
Maurice flung that huge grappling hook up into the sky, and it then made a heavy clunk sound as it got
hung-up on one of those crenellations, well then…that's when everything just went to shit.

Because he was an ogre, and because none of us knew what in the abyss lurked over the walls of that
city, old Maurice was given the task as "first fighter up". Nothing daunted, Maurice threw his maple
branch to the side, spat into his hands, took hold of that rope and began to climb. He chuckled the
whole way up, with each step onto the side of the wall, and each pull upon the rope releasing a low and
steady vibration, which we felt from the ground where we stood. And where we stood, like idiots, was
right underneath him.

Maurice's body disappeared into that black fog, but not more than a few seconds later, after we heard
what sounded like a brief scuttle followed by two dull thwacks, old Maurice came hurtling back down! We
scattered like mice out of his way, and when the ogre slammed into the dirt, his landing created such a
tremendous quake that several of us actually went tumbling to the ground. But when we came back to
check on him, and we discovered his head had been sliced half-off, and old Maurice was now dead, and
my thoughts at least, went wondering as to what on earth was capable of doing that to an ogre…

"OH SHIT!"

I wasn't the first one who yelled that out, and certainly not the last. Sederick stood over Maurice, bawling
like a little girl, Zavian danced about pleading to Brohan to just forget about this mission, and I, well…I
just simply disappeared into the shadows.

~ * ~

Brohan didn't change his mind after all. He always did like a good challenge. They went up and over those
walls a few hours later, the whole lot of them, after they cursed the surrounding woods for my skulking
ways, declaring me a dead man the minute they found me. I stuck around for several days afterward,
just in case any one of them came trudging out of that city. But of course, none of them did.

Old Maurice must have been gloating up in ogre-heaven, 'cause despite all I had encountered in my life,
his rotting corpse managed to produce the worst stink ever imaginable. Against my own judgment, and
fortitude, I put a torch to that ogre, before I tore out of that place.

All of this I told to Dull Humphrey when I found my way back to The Dancing Troll, a few years later. I
gave the proprietor my tale about traveling with Maurice, the "adventures" we had with him, that dark
city, and of the ogre's sudden and gruesome finale. I even told Mr. Humphrey how Brohan put me in
charge over watching our stuff, while him and everyone else went over those walls, (never to be seen or
heard from again). And regardless of how distraught I had been over the apparent loss of my party, and
despite how horrific the task was; I still managed to dig a real nice grave, and say some real nice words
for old Maurice.

After I finished my sorry tale, Dull stood up from the table, poured a tall glass of whiskey, slammed the
contents of the glass down his gullet in one quick pull, and then looked me square in the eye…

"Shit," was his reply.
Beginning at 5:00 a.m., Chris spends the only available lot of
solitary time he gets in a day feeding his addiction to writing. If
he's lucky, he'll get two hours in before the rest of the world
wakes up, after which he lives a wonderful life as a family man,
and special education teacher. His stories have been accepted at
a number of publishers including The Horror Zine, Short
Story.Me, Bete Noire, The Absent Willow Review, Residential
Aliens, Bards and Sages Quarterly, and Underground Voices. He
can be reached at chakalives@gmail.com.