Welcome, everyone! This is my latest return to blogging, starting fresh with a new adventure of my character and original avatar, the Evil Possum!
The land can be called a desert, but it is if anything even more barren. It lies between a range of low mountains and a plateau in the medium distance, all the same deep yet dull red. In between is a mainly level lowland, heavily crisscrossed by river channels, deeper ravines and any number of outcroppings, with an occasional oddly angled column of rock rising like a non-Euclidean obelisk of an alien god-king. Throughout, the bare rock boasts more vegetation than the bleached and sandy soil, mostly thorny shrubs and cacti with occasional skeletal tree. Yet, here and there, for those who might look with care, animal life reveals itself: a scuttling scorpion, a darting lizard, a brazen snake, a furtive quail, and overhead, a drifting vulture.
Through the midst of it all runs what can be called a road, if only because it runs uphill too often to be a purely natural feature. Only one traveler is to be seen, following the slender ribbon of hardpacked dirt in the nearly perfect likeness of a VW Beetle about two-thirds of a meter long. Barely a puff of dust is left behind as it swings back and forth on a tightly wound uphill path to a lesser tableland. Ahead lies a cluster of crudely built adobe houses that could just qualify as a town, built on the right scale for creatures a little over a foot tall.
As the Beetle approached the settlement, an obstacle suddenly blocked the way, a gigantic piece of cactus ribbing laid with clearly considerable effort. Its mass and oversized tires could have allowed it to roll over the obstacle, but the driver chose tact and backed up to a building he had just passed, a haphazard wood structure that looked more like an outhouse than a functional building. As the vehicle pulled to a stop, the driver finally emerged: a creature 18 inches tall but proportioned like an 8-foot linebacker, with a massively muscled left arm and a hook in place of a right hand. A mane of dark fur bristled on a high forehead, and thin lips peeled back on a short, tapered snout, revealing saw-edged teeth that a biologist would have recognized as akin to a possum. And indeed the creature was not unlike a possum, to the same degree that a man is not unlike a monkey.
As the creature approached, a curtain rustled behind a slit of a window. “I am called No-Hands, El Diablo Sin Mano Derecho, the Unconquered King,” he called out in a nasal but commanding voice. “I am a great warrior, and I have come from far away because it was told the people of this place have asked for my help against a dangerous foe that none have seen and lived. I will fight for those whose need is great enough pay my price: a tenth of your wealth, however great or small.” As he spoke, his hand slipped toward a 4 mm revolver holstered inside his snakeskin vest. He eased back at the sound of a door opening and closing at the rear of the building. He circled around and found a small pot of indifferently stamped silver coins, with a yellowed, rolled-up chart on top.
He glanced at the chart, and shook his head. “If I am to aid you, I must have information,” No-Hands said impatiently. “The reports that reached me spoke of 3 men found killed by an unknown man or beast, and many more who vanished without a trace in the wastes, including a child. I need to speak to at least one who can show me the places where the dead were found, and the known or likely routes of those who did not return.” He made a pointed glance down at the pot of silver. “And I do not collect payment before my work is done.”
After a moment of silence, there was a rustle of movement, and something was tossed through a half-open window. No-Hands caught it in midair. It proved to be a dogeared journal, tied shut with twine, with many notes, drawings and additional charts sticking out. It was clear from the encrusted dirt that it had been buried and dug up again. “I see,” he said. His lips peeled back, but he made no sound as he went back to his car.
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