The Monkey Barn Mythos Project (Part 1)

People, we have a total treat for you, starting today. A few weeks ago I emailed the Monkey Barn gang and asked them to come up with a Monkey Barn Mythos. In other words, how on Earth did the Barn come to exist, and how did these fine people come to exist in it. What is the Why a Barn, and not, say, a palace, underground bunker, or tour bus? And why oh why a Monkey?

Over the next few days we are going to get installments of The Monkey Barn Mythos. Today's installment comes from Sea Hag. I hope you enjoy.

THE MONKEY BARN MYTHOS (PART 1)

It was a dark and stormy night.

Which was why I was in a bar.

True, a pirate's life is exactly not known for its luxuries, and is so fraught with peril from the wicked seas and the reach of Her Majesty's cannon that any sensible woman will jump at the chance for a proper pint and a warm bed for the night. And so, here I was at my favorite hideout The World's End waiting for much milder weather to cradle the Caribbean again.

I was not the only rogue on hand that night; the bar was crowded and cheerful, and the liquor flowed sweet and golden while the blind piano player churned out gaudy drinking songs. Rowdy games of Flip and Trump Card buzzed at the periphery of the room, and deft prostitutes orbited the winners, sliding sticky fingers into pockets. Fights broke out, hearts were broken, teeth and fingers were lost, and by my twelfth drink of the night I was humming tunelessly and ready for sleep.

My room was pitch black. Inky storm clouds had blotted out any sliver of moonlight that might have found a way through the soot-streaked window, so when I finally managed to stumble upstairs and unlock the stout door to my sleeping chamber I stood crookedly, waiting for my eyes to adjust.

In the darkness, my other senses became sharper. And that's when I smelled something oddly familiar.

It was the heady smell of rain and moss, honey and musk, and, ever so faintly, cardamom and orange peel. I hadn't encountered it in a long time, not since my first successful raiding party over a dozen years ago. It was the scent of a special tea from a small colony in the Americas, and only one person in the entire world made this particular blend. He had been my first captive, and my first love. I whispered his secret bed-name into the blackness.

I woke up sometime later in chains with a throbbing headache.

I was on a ship, below decks with about thirty or so captives. Most were awake and talked anxiously amongst themselves, while others fought seasickness or painful concussions quietly. I nodded to my neighbor, a small, savory river midget with a dislocated shoulder. He grunted in acknowledgement while his eyes flicked over the corners of the room, looking for escape. Unless he wanted a quick trip to a wide, briny grave, his search was going to be quite fruitless as we were obviously far out to sea. The best plan was to reserve my energy for what awaited us, and with that in mind and the lull of the familiar ocean beneath me, I closed my eyes and slept.

Several days later, we approached land, and we captives were trotted out onto the bleached sand of a tiny island. A swarthy buccaneer looked us over, then lead us to a dungeon inside a large pink castle that overlooked the marina. That night, the guard came and selected a lithe blond from the group, then an hour later a sobbing, stooped old man, then an hour after that a buxom redhead.

It was sunrise when they came for me.

I was lead down a pink marble hall to a huge domed chamber lined with piles of plunder: treasure chests, gems, tapestries, and fine silverwork. In the middle of this room, seated on a pile of colorful woven carpets and silk pillows was my old lover. He was shaved bald, his powerful arms banded with heavy golden bracelets, his beard was long and luxurious, fanning out over a powerful, muscular chest. I was overcome by the odd feeling that I knew him intimately and yet not at all; I remembered that he favored sweet mangoes and cantaloupes, could play the harp and was a terrible swimmer, and yet I had no idea how he came to be here upon this island with scores of guards and ships and fortunes at his disposal. What had happened to the sweet, blue-eyed tea seller I left ashore years and years ago?

He leaned back on one elbow, to take in my disheveled body. "Well," he said, thumbing a huge carnelian ring on his left hand.

"Well, indeed."

"I trust my men treated you gently."

I scowled, shaking my manacled hands at him. "You know exactly how I was treated. Are you going to let me know what is going on here?"

He chuckled. "You were always so impatient."

I felt my scalp crawl with anger, and I clenched my fists. The guards grabbed me as I started to leap towards him and shoved me down on my knees at his feet, where I noticed at he had silver and gold rings on each of his toes. He laughed again, and bent to take my chin in one huge palm.

"I missed you."

I flinched back, but his strong fingers held my jaw still. "I will tell you what I want from you, but you must behave. Understand?"

I could feel my molars grind together in frustration, but I kept my tongue still.

"I've been busy since you left me, my dear Sea Hag. I've been building my empire. And what I want from you is your allegiance."

I remained silent.

"You will be rewarded graciously, of course, for your efforts."

"What efforts might those be?"

"I will return you to your ship, and you will continue doing your usual pillaging and looting. I will require a percent of it for my own, of course. I also want you to take captives for me and fly the banner of The Hyperion Nation."

"Who is Hyperion?"

"Me, of course."

"But your name is-"

"I stopped going by that a long time ago, sweet one, and it would do you good to forget it. I also have need for you as part of my council."

"Now I know you're not serious."

"But I am. You have a certain...stubbornness that I admire."

"What if I refuse?"

He motioned to one of the guards, and he pulled a vicious two-handed long sword from his back. "You meet your maker, I'm afraid. But please, I need you. Don't get yourself killed for the sake of pride."

I sighed. "I certainly never thought I'd meet you again like this."

He laughed, and pulled me to my feet. The guards removed my shackles, and Hyperion held me close to his chest, and once again I could smell that faint, sweet, musky scent of tea on his skin. I surprised myself by hugging him back. "I missed you, too."

"Welcome to the Monkey Barn," he said.