The Black Sheriff

[Circa 12th century]

"Give it to me", the Sheriff snarled viciously - his eyes flamed, his hand outstretched.

Robin's men took a step backwards; they always moved together as though they shared in the one thought. They stood tall, appearing defiant.

Robin scanned his features. He did not clearly understand the fearsomeness of this single man's presence.

He, the Black Sheriff, had put to death entire families, taking their lands and livestock, without drawing sword or breath himself. He was known as the Lord of Debt and Death; one who held even the King most fearfully terrorised.

Mortal or Fey? He seemed to be neither. Robin was now feeling the pressure of his will and persistence – and he was tiring of this tedious complaining.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series

Back in the World

There was an ever-so-slight point at the top of Puck's ears that would peak up when he began to be really interested in hearing something.

It would often worry Marley that nothing she seemed to say could get a rise out of him in that way.

But when she came home from Saks to tell him of the unusual young man who had approached her, she could see that his curiosity burned brightly for this information.

At last, Marsden was back in the world, and he was making himself known. His vanity had drawn him out, Puck thought to himself – knowing that this devil relished recognition. He also had the attitude of one who is invincible and fear free.

Puck had wondered to himself, across the ages - if this annoying demon enjoyed his elaborate manipulations erratically or for reason? Did he work to a purpose or a whim? He could not tell.

He preferred to think well of folk, as most won fair regard; but history had taught him that the spirit inhabiting Marc-Marsden-Forsythe was cleverly cruel, and his ambition always chose that road which would take Humanity to the very edge of hardship and ruin.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series

Aptitude Markers

Phoenix Rising was now keeping e-records of every player's results and providing a direct feed of the scores to the internal bureaus of major governments. Statistics were streamed into intricate corporate lists, collated for commercial evaluation also.

Although being just a game, these 'aptitude markers' and 'appetite preferences' were building valuable profiles.

Employment bodies and universities drew from the names from the higher percentiles - secretly.

It was noted that men invested many more hours than women with the games - across every culture. Their appetite for competition and skilful challenge, along with the adrenalin, was more arousing; however, this too was regarded as advantageous professionally and academically, indicating levels of advanced concentration, perseverance, reflex and response, mental agility and decision-making.

This was invaluable information, whilst the lower-end scorers had their names marked for menial work and eventual imprisonment. Health records were kept in case of organ "donation" later down the road.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series

Silver Notes

Twelve small perfume bottles sat in the window of Saks's newest display.

This was a fine day for Marley. Nervina had engineered her scents with Triton (an Elvish horticultural advisor) distilling signature base oils from orchids and mixing extractions from wild flowers so rare, that the world was yet to know them.

The twelve perfumes characterised a complete seasonal year with its range floating between the assorted warm and cold notes - of musky and fresh; creamy and spiced; pure and complex fragrances - all evocative of Nature's sensual expirations.

Marley had named the range 'Silver Notes' and so far both women and men could not get enough of these whisperings of the forest. The reviews raved favourably, saying that they exuded vitality, even from inside the bottle.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series

Call me the "Azlan"

[Circa 12th Century]

The light of the day was tiring and a golden glow came in through the small stone window near where he was sitting - it touched his hands with cheerful promise. He looked over to see the curious luminescence now filling his room. His wonder took him to peer out from the window that he might take in the nourishment of the falling light ... when gazing out upon the lawns his eyes then fell upon a strange creature lying there, looking up at him.

He had no idea what beast this might be. He took it as perhaps a very large dog. Instinctively he snatched a half eaten lamb leg and made fast to the grounds in the hope to get a closer look upon this marvellous creature. Down the steps and outside he found that the animal was even larger than he had first assumed. Its fur was velvety and appeared golden in the setting sun's glamour. It was twice as big as any canine and its face was more feline than hound.

Richard tentatively threw the lamb leg towards the giant cat, who moved not when the greasy mutton fell directly on his magnificent paw.

"What are you strange beasty? Are you real or a being of enchantment? Are you a cat from a giant's world perhaps? What may I call you?" the good King asked carefully.

"You may call me the Azlan" the animal purred back.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series 

Blackmail

King Richard the Lionheart 

The Sheriff of Nottingham strode past the hatchery and into the forecourt of the King's own summerhouse. He walked as an important man does; acutely confident, almost arrogant in step. King Richard suffered his presence with an impeccable grace.

Both chose this informal meeting place to escape the comments and speculations of the court. The Sheriff Marc was not much loved, being understood to be a torturer who enjoyed his work too much, it was commonly thought.

King Richard had a encumbrance owed to this keeper of all debts - it was his silence now bitterly paid for.

Marc had discovered Richard's affiliation with the Fey and was threatening to use this to disadvantage. For all things presumed as involvements with magic brought the punishment of death - so ruled by the justice of the Church - and if discovered, Richard was not immune - he, and his beloved family would perish, merely by the implication.

And so he was burdened under the heavy mantle of the one who wore a suit of blackmail.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series

The Younger Flesh

Marsden waited the twelve months out before Mark was to become of legal age and entitled to collect the finances - he then raised him out of the bed and reanimated him back into life once again.

The plan was executed brilliantly, for on the farm Marsden-Mark could sleep late and wake in the very early hours, giving time to still function in the UK as Marsden who was conscious and then sleeping in the alternate hours. It was this way, over two time zones; he could inhabit two separate bodies, without skipping a beat, so to speak.

That was, of course, until the routine bothered him, and he consolidated back into just the one. It just seemed to make absolute sense - he preferred the younger flesh, and this one was a perfect fit - all things considered.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series

The Perfect Vessel

The ensemble was assembled, and the preamble was a shambles, the constabulary gave the obituary, for the man who was no man...

Mark Forsythe was a man of.... means and excessive good looks. His charm and character were exceeded by his exquisite wit, with which he polished with observations, which made him almost, and very nearly, endearing.

For the past three years he had been the CEO of Phoenix USA and had held the controlling shares for that country. Who better to take over after Marsden's unfortunate passing? He was, of course, also the perfect vessel for Marsden to now inhabit.

This had been no coincidental occurrence as Marsden had prepared the body a few years earlier. He had caused a car accident that had eclipsed the spirit and sent it hurtling out of his young body, far into the spaces beyond.

Marsden was of course, first at the scene, having caused it. He pulled the body from the tangle of metal, and breathed his breath inside the corpse. During the heroic revival Marsden did not give a chance to the poor boy to re-enter; but rather he himself jumped in and took occupancy of his body, blocking the spirit entirely.

This was a rare opportunistic possession indeed.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series

Phoenix Rising

Phoenix Rising had Trojans and back hollows through which its hierarchy monitored their members continuously.

Electronic demons work more efficiently than any human clerks can do - for they do not sleep and their surveillance is keen. The moods of the mortals online were recorded, assessing anxiety spikes throughout the game.

Phoenix worked in the presumption that algorithms of thought could be altered very effectively at those times when emotions peaked - and that thinking was influenced successfully by introducing suggestions during those micro-periods of elevated tension, which came throughout the game.

Subliminal tags would flash at moments of high emotion, and in the space within a single heartbeat, their product preferences would infill an opened mind.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series

The Master of Mishap

Puck was paying the Master Kybosh to work his magic on some thugs he had come across in a small village of Africa. They had been extorting their community and torturing the children.

Puck himself rarely did anything nasty to anyone; he much preferred putting the Kybosh onto them if he thought that their actions were insufferable. Problem was, Kybosh’s influence was only ever transitory – it had a record of things turning back the way they were not very long after his interference.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series 

Grand Master Rufus Kybosh

"For the love of Puck!" Rufus retorted ... 

"Expletives are not, I repeat not, meant for ordinary incantations!"

"What are you going on about?" asked Rybold, a junior assistant dwarf to the Grand Master Rufus Kybosh - who was best known for his grand triple interference in the year 1211 when he managed to create strife across two continents for three consecutive days, when everything and anything kept going horribly wrong.

He was also known for his very bad temper when crossed. Rybold was yet to learn of his wrath, but every assistant before him had ended up in knots.

"Swearing, my boy, releases the power of the spell and draws the life from it prematurely. One must never invoke with a passionate tone, else the drama will repeat directly on oneself."

Rybold had no understanding of what was meant by this, but thought it best to nod accordingly.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series

I give you my Heart

It was raining in Faerieland ... big drops would pop when they bumped onto the ground or impaled against a spiky branch, to then expire a fine mist all around. No actual water came from it; just some refreshing energetic mist that exhaled a living ether.

Brogan went to the door expecting another tray-o'-muffins but instead he found a small parcel with a card attached. There is always great excitement around a parcel - any parcel - no matter how unimpressive its wrapping.

Puck was still finishing his supper and motioned Nervina to attend to it.

Inside the cardboard carton sat a smaller box that was lined with red tissue paper. And inside that box lay a bloodless human heart - still soft, and therefore not recently separated from its once living host. It looked grey and exhausted.

"Marsden" said Nervina, tossing the boxes and contents into the rubbish chute abruptly.

They all knew this to be right for the Fey could see his trace-markers, his living signature, still within it.

"But who actually sent it?" asked Marley repulsed by the sight and thought of it being there, actually with them.

"Marsden" said Nervina.
Goober explained: "Must have been pretty close by, jumping from one body to another like that. Did you read the card?"

Nervina winced. “I forgot to look for a card – hurled it into the garbage just then.” He looked uncomfortable, adding – “the compactor would have turned it to mulch by now.”

"What do you think it might have said?" It was anybody's guess.

"I give you my heart?" said Puck ruefully, "I'm having cheesecake, anyone else?"

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series

The Evening News

Marsden was dead. His body was laying face up staring at a starlit sky. In his hand was a long knife - which by all appearance he had used to repeatedly stick himself with before bleeding out on his patio.

Forensics could not prove that he had inflicted the wounds on himself, were it not for the security camera that had recorded the minutes of him holding the blade and turning its point towards his chest and gashing the flesh until gravity took him.

It did not seem that he was frenzied or depressed - he just did it.

Puck and crew first heard about it happening during the late edition evening news.

"That is so disturbing" Nervina softly said as he passed the salad over to Marley who had got in late.

"Too right it is" said Puck quietly back.


-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series

Twelve Months Late

The door opened and in walked Nervina and Brogan- twelve months late but their timing could not have been better.

Marley had not seen Brogan until this moment and was astounded - she almost thought to herself that he was alive again - he looked so well.

"Brogan!" Marley yelled happily and put both her arms around him in a big theatrical hug. He took a step back, slightly perplexed.

Brogan hardly remembered who she was now, let alone who she might have been to him.

The reason for his vagueness was twofold. Firstly he had no recall because nothing really happened between them, in his lifetime just passed; and secondly, all that led up to his homicide was now blurred, for Puck had helped him to forget everything that occurred during and just after the ordeal.

Marley on the other hand had been torn apart to read those final reports of his forlorn dumping and decayed remains. And so to see him stand beside her looking better than ever was remarkable. He looked so normal - well, almost.

Puck moved forward and embraced the two of them, relieved also to see how well they both fared.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series

Demeaned by Beans

"Beans! You traded me for beans!"

"It wasn't like that... and who told you anyway?" said Puck, now agitated that he was in trouble for doing something right. 

"Who do you think told me? - it was Goober doing the inventory". .. "That's hardly the point! ... beans?" she glared her strongest glare.

Marley felt crushed. It wasn't so much that Marsden was back trying to cause trouble again, her upset chiefly lay in the thought that the tradeoff might have involved bags of gold or something more significant than just beans. She felt demeaned. Demeaned by beans.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series

Solid Food

"Where is the cow now?"

"She's being cared for in India."

"How did that all work out?"

"The Child of the Earth improved - he's now taking some solid food."

"A good sign for the Menkind."

"True, true."


-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series

Daughter from the Future

"All's well" he said gently, kissing her lightly on the cheek.

Marley had been holding Charlene's hand, Puck had taken hold of the other. He bent down and gave her a kiss on her forehead in kind.

A crack of lightning snapped just outside the shed and little Charley slipped her hands from their hold and ran outside into the rain.

"Charley!" Marley called, wanting to go after her.

Puck looked at her dismissively.

"But she's wet and alone."

"The rain can't touch her - she's a spirit - you know that. I will send an elf to watch over her, don't worry."

"It's just that I did not get a chance to help her. I think she mistook me you know, for her mother. I must have reminded her somehow."

"No, there was no mistaking." 

"How do you know?"

"Because one day you will be exactly that - her mother. Today you met our daughter ... from the future."

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series 

Unique to the Lock

All of a sudden the rain came down - not just a few drops here and there - but a sheet of water fell heavily on their heads. Marley scooped up Charlene and made it to the first shelter she could find - the Gardener’s shed.

Inside they could hear the rain pelt down on top of the iron roof, and the ground seemed to be filling fast with water. There was a strong smell of manure and in the half light small machinery glinted. The wind bellowed, the door slammed and with that Marley heard someone pushing from the outside - they were locking it!

She strongly jolted the door and shouted very loudly but whoever had fastened it shut was not responding. Her heart sank for the last of the light had gone and there was no electricity in the shed.

She banged once again on the metal door - hoping that the groundsman would hear her - but it seemed he had turned in for the night, absconding from the storm. No sound returned.

"I will concentrate on Puck and he will come" Marley said to herself assuredly - "I know that if I need him, he will know".

Only moments later the door was rattling and her name was being called.

She was relieved. "Why did you need a key?" she chided.

Puck ignored this question not wanting to alarm her.

Marsden had paid the trolls to find her and confine her. They were at liberty (he had said) to do what they liked, so long as she was not wounded in the mounting. Greville, a long time friend to Puck had forewarned him of this arrangement. Oswald had complied. 

The keys these Trolls make use of are not ordinary fasteners - they render any door impassable and are unique to the lock the spell is placed upon.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series

Charley

She decided to take the child to the local playground to see if she would talk to her there.

Walking up the grassy rise still the child followed on behind.

Marley sat down on a park bench a little distance from the play equipment and the baby girl climbed up and snuggled right beside her. Close up Marley could see just how pretty she was; long lashes, pale blue eyes, framed by caramel colored Shirley Temple curls.

She looked out across the park, the seat was on a small hill and the view of the trees and gardens was quite lovely.

It had grown quiet, strangely quiet for a public place - being the end of the day the usual patrons were now at home eating their dinners and preparing for bed.

Marley could see that she was holding a fluffy white rabbit in one hand and a small book in the other. No words came.

"Do you have a name?" she asked gently. The little girl nodded and then smiled. 

"Can you tell me what it is?"
The little girl shook her head "no".

"May I call you a name of my own then?"

The child moved up yet closer on the seat and put her chubby arms around Marley's neck.

"Charlene! Charley for short (rhymes with Marley she thought) ...how does that sound?"

The child clung tightly and Marley felt a wonderful warmth.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series 

Spirit Child

It had been a fine day earlier, when Marley had been shopping in the card store (the same stationers where she had bought her winning lottery ticket) - (or at least believed she had won it there) - and later went to purchase the store itself with some of the prize money she had received.

Today she was looking for a novelty card to give Puck. It was coming up to their anniversary of a whole year. She was browsing for something with whimsy that they could open together and share a laugh about.

As she stood in front of the card aisle trying to find the perfect sentiment, she reminisced over the times that he had been there for her when she had needed him.

It did not enter her head that he and her had differences at all - it seemed very natural, incredibly natural - almost second nature, for her to be with him.

And as she was standing there, seeing far past the cards with their powerful inscriptions inside, a small child, no older than three, ran up and wrapped her arms around her legs tightly.

She was a 'spirit' child (a ghost of some kind) yet dressed in modern clothing wearing a pink t-shirt with a fairy on the front, very small blue jeans and glittery sneakers with pink Velcro trims.

"She can't have been long gone" Marley first thought pityingly, looking down at the small figure still clutching her thighs.

Marley had grown used to seeing apparitions and otherworldly phenomena. Sharing her life with Puck had given her this vision, which was convenient because she could see now the folk that he would talk to, and he could no longer return to invisibility within the physical world and be unseen by her.

It was a little difficult at first - finding just how crowded every place truly is within the world - with characters of all kinds.

Yes, there had been diversity issues for her and not to mention the uglies that had faces so foul it took moments to get over them.

But once she had got past her own judgements and comparisons Marley found she could flip quite ordinarily from this world into the ethereal and just accept it for what it is. Not only could she see the folk there but now she could hold a conversation with them too.

Marley expected that the child would disappear out of there, for most human spirits very quickly come and go; but instead she followed her from the store into the hairstylist, and the cafe, the grocer, to the refuge where Marley dropped off a dozen bags of groceries - she even followed her into the bathroom in-between.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series

Bags of Beans

Oswald beamed.

He rummaged around in his grimy pocket and pulled out two teeth and a key. He handed over the key.

"You'll find them kept in the shed behind the Piggery. I've got no use for them myself but I will be requiring a reward."

"How so?"

"Well I'm letting them go and facilitating their release so to speak - could have gone elsewhere you know."

Puck looked hard at him and said, "All I've got on me is a bag of twelve beans - quick growing vines - but I guarantee you'll find a use for them for they can reach thirty feet in just under an hour."

"Make it two bags."

"Done! Two bags of six beans each. Just don't go feeding them to your enemies mind, or the Warden will be after you for murder."

"Fer sure" the Troll grumbled, "A shit that Warden is - got no jurisdiction over our kind."

"He does if you misbehave."

Puck turned the key in his hand watching it turn from gold to silver and back into gold again.

He looked up at the furry face still staring at him. "Thank you for your help Sir" he said respectfully. "I did not mean to be abrupt with you earlier. Good luck with your chances, choices and fare!"

The Troll bowed and disappeared.

That was a close one, Puck thought to himself - for moments there he had almost traded away his kindliness too.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series

The Hood

"You do know what rhymes with Puck, don't you?" said the Troll, Oswald, rather smarmily.

"Truck?" glibly replied Puck, who was really over that joke and this Troll.

"Look here friend", the Troll began with an emphasis on the word 'friend', "you wouldn't just happen to be related to them Cappuccino mob by any chance of fate, now would you?"

"Do I look like a dwarf to you?" answered Puck a little curtly - he had desperately needed some silence to collect his thoughts in.

Oswald persisted, "what with your name being Hood and all ... I was only thinking...”

"That was a long time ago Oswald" Puck replied, and then added drily, "and besides, we all wore hoods back then - it was the fashion."

"Style still is today I say,” said the Troll triumphantly, as though he had knitted up the dialogue with reason.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series 

Books were Flying Everywhere

Books were flying everywhere: they came from out of the window above, two storeys up.

"None of these are worthy!" "There is no plot! No finery! No intrigue ... no answer! And the endings are crap!"

Ralph was perplexed, for his grandfather had adored his books and kept the largest library in the suburb.

Thousands of jackets over the years, ordered and catalogued - and now, he was trashing them in some kind of ecstasy of revelation?

The truth of it was that Alfonzo had been losing his sight - his blue eyes were turning to milk - and the books were no longer readable to him. He was fast losing his concentration and his thoughts were a jumble. The same phrases would keep repeating endlessly in his head, making comprehension impossible.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series 

Thought-booster from Paracelsus

"My energy is going - we have to get out of here", Brogan finally confided with some desperation.

Nervina had been trying on some armaments and had found a battle-suit that fitted him just perfectly; it had a great line and the trims went well with his hair.

The two were getting bored with the ever changing landscape they had lived in and had quite forgotten any purpose for being there, whilst at the same time something from home was calling them back.

It was actually someone from home who was calling them to return.

Puck had been given a thought-booster from Paracelsus that could enhance his broadcast when concentrating. It only worked in short bursts, but it was now sending an impulse strong enough to finally get through and stir reasoning in their minds.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series

Bonus Points!

Uplifting music piped melodically in the background, the meadow was spattered with flowering vines and hummingbirds. There was a small arched door hidden in this overrun garden ... it slowly opened.

Four times the size of the actual door came a naked Cyclops with a spear in his hand. He roared and rumbled terribly, stumbling onto the flowering bushes. He heaved his way to the spot where a group of very small children sat playing in the grass.

He speared each one of them through the heart and then peed on their tiny bodies.

"Bonus Points!" a voice called out excitedly.

Brogan peered back in through the door to see who was holding the controls this time. It was a young boy not more than ten years of age sitting beside either an older brother or very young father. They both looked very pleased with themselves. Life was "good".

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series 

A Little Blurry at the Edges

Time went by oh so quickly for Brogan and Nervina in the realm of fantasy gaming - it had seemed like a midsummer night's dream.

And, as with most enchantments, months were perceived as but a day or two, for it is hard to make sense of time where there never comes the night or a sunrise to go by.

It had been months of chasing avatars and watching their battles, one long magnificent parade of costume and pageantry. The scenery had spectacularly changed with constant surprise and there were hidden trophies and rewards almost everywhere. Yes, this was surely the sport of kings - a realm where no one really got hurt yet could obliterate one another on the common.

Brogan had been 'thinning' during this time - his overall appearance was a little blurry at the edges and he had grown semi-transparent right through.

Nervina had become used to this about his friend ... (the word 'weird' is never spoken or thought of by the Fey, as to them there is nothing very strange when you take it as it is).

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series 

You are Never Alone in What you Do

Without explanation the Master pulled from his jacket a pouch of mixed herbs and handed it over emphatically to the grateful Fey, adding then, an enormous hug of hello. He then said telepathically:

"Think now of the good men and women, the Fey and the Angels, that each work for this cause - of all of these dear ones, who with Adepts, Saints and Prophets, support you, and this, our World.

"We will not fail, for Life itself is on our task - and it is only those who have chosen the dark path of Death who must perish by the very forces that they themselves do conjure.

"But for those who pledge themselves to the greater compassion, there are allies true, who stretch back in time to protect them evermore. You are never alone in what you do."

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series

'Cleansing' Tonic from a Small Crystal Bottle

"Robin!" a voice echoed up from beneath, "hold your stride, I am coming up."

A moment later his mentor was standing beside him. He was spritzing his face and arms with a 'cleansing' tonic from a small crystal bottle. He finished by giving a slight spray to Puck's face, which caught him in the eye.

"Refreshing, eh?" he boomed, trying to be heard amidst the screaming.

Then added: "You look terrible my boy - just terrible."
Well it was true that Puck had not cut his hair in some days, and it dangled waist long, curls and all. He had not rested or meditated either, and his face had only just turned ashen.

-Gabriel Brunsdon, Puck in Hell, Azlander Series