13 years in the making

A Brief History of RON

As told by Max Griff, transcribed by Creed Malay

What? You like it? Well, thanks, friend. It's called a fedora. Yeah, just like a trilby, only different. So, out of towner, eh? Don't look so surprised - this is a small place, and an observant man soon gets to know all the faces... The names Griff, friend, Max Griff - Private Eye. You? Uh-huh. Pleased to meet you. So what do you make of Scids, huh? Hah! Damned right. So what is it brings you to Reality? Oh really? Want to find out about things? So let me guess - you've heard about the zombie mayor, the killer chicken and our resident Lazarus-impersonating magic-boy, and you got yourself all curious, huh? Well, if you got yourself questions, then I'm the man to ask. Just you get me another beer, so's that I don't get too dry to talk, and I'll give you the full skinny...


Now, a lot of the strangeness in this town can be traced straight back to one boy - Davy Jones. What? No, different fellah. This boy, well I guess you could say he know's more than is healthy for one of his years, and you'd be right. Witchcraft, necromancy, Voodoo, feng-shui - he's tried them all. Now, don't get me wrong - he's a nice enough kid, but magic.. well, it's not the sort of thing to be trucked with, right?

Davy doesn't think this. Now, one time Davy and his girlfriend, Elandra, decide to have a go at resurrecting the dead - life from the grave, a fresh start for all. They set up the old magic circle arrangement around the grave of one Michael Gower, chant out the chants, and BINGO! out Gower pops. Scare you? didn't mean it. Spilled your drink a little, there. Davy was hoping for a full "restored to life" restoration job, but he got the scabbiest dog in the undead kennel - a zombie. The zombie-Gower rushes off, hungry for brains and other such skull-goo, with Davy in hot pursuit, but he soon loses it in the town. Sad to say, Gower's thirst for the thinking-stuff was soon realised - he found and devoured Bill Crosby's brains. A terrible loss for the world of light entertainment. Davy knew he'd have to stop Gower's rampage, and soon. He look's in his book of spells, and find's out how to restore his soul. It's a fairly simple spell, and Davy's an enterprising young man, so he's soon got all the things he needs together. He twitches his nose, or whatever the hell it is he does, makes the magic happen, and PANG! - sorry - Gower stops his blood feast, and regains his senses and personality. He's standing on the lawn of one Baron Wolfgang. Now, the Baron is pretty renowned, locally. He dresses up like some Victorian fop, and lives up in an old mansion on the edge of town. Some say he's a crazy, some say he's a queer, but me, I know the truth. He owns half the town, and he's a what we used to call a button man. What? A hitman, friend, and don't make me say it again. Wall's have ears, and shadows hide knives, you understand? But, anyway, when the Gower "regains" himself, he's standing on Wolfgang's lawn, and the Baron ain't best pleased. He does his best to chase him, but where a zombie wants to stand, there it stands, let me tell you. And that's where Gower stood, for a good three weeks. Crazy, huh? Ah, get me another beer and I'll tell you more - it gets crazier.


Well, friend, now's when the story get's really strange, so feel free to put on your coat and walk away right now, if that's what'd suit you. No? Good for you. You might just learn something.

Well, jst a day or so after the zombie incident, the night was dark, the moon was full, and Baron Wolfgang was leaning out of an upstairs window of the apartment block, a rifle in his hand and a single bullet in his breast pocket. Yeah, that's right just one bullet. The Baron never carries more than one - it's tradition, or something. The baron was up there waiting for young master Jones to walk by. He was gonna shoot him. Nearly did too. Why? Because some talking red football from another planet paid him too! Don't ask stupid questions. Anyway, when Davy came by, Wolfgang took his shot at him and missed, and - hey! you might have seen it comin' but does that give you the right to act like a @#%$ smart-ass? No! Okay, I'm clam. No, it's fine, George, we're just talking.

So. The Baron misses, and his stray round pegs this chicken, Fred. How'd I know his name? Best not to ask, friend. Fred's brother swore revenge against the Baron, and hatched a plan to murder the Barons brother. Tit for tat, eye for an eye, you understand?

Personally, I admire the chickens cajones, although you better not tell anyone I said that. The chicken managed to get himself a pistol, and tailed the Baron back to his manse. Once inside... well, I guess you know what hapens when a slug of lead travelling at incredible speeds can do to a thin shell of bone, don't you?

Now, no-one's quite sure why the baron never took another pop at Davy, but my guess is the alien-football had already paid in advance and left. The baron dind't see the point of doing work he'd already been paid for, so he just let davy go... Or, could be he was caught up in the all-consuming grief of having his brother murdered by poultry. It's an evens bet.


Well, I'm afraid it's back to the chicken again now, friend. I feel we'll both need a drop of the hard stuff to get us through this one, right? Sure. Hey, George! Two whisky's over here. My friends paying. So, the Baron, mean as he is, is a little cautious about taking the chicken down himself, and, lest we forget, he's a Gentleman. No drive-by's for one of his caliber - for him it's a bullet form the belfry or nothing. He goes to the law, the local sherriff... and there, friend, is a man you do not want to meet. I've tangled with him a few times, and tangoed with him once - none of them experiences I'd like to relive. He's a stunted, twisted little fellah, real dark gleam in his eye, not a drop of good in him. Course, he probably says the same about me. Anyway, the sheriff arms himself with an arrest warrant, and goes and slaps the cuffs on the offending chicken - around its neck, I assume - and drags it off to the courthouse. This little chicky, though, he wasn't going down easy. He still had the piece on him, and whips it out and gives the sherriff one right in the knee-cap. Hah! Blew his leg clean off, so I've heard...wish I coulda been there...
The chicken escapes, lies low for a while, then starts strutting 'round town like he owns the place. And, in a way, he did - sheriff's too @#%$ scared to touch him, and no-one wants to be outgunned by a McNugget, so most folk just kept their distance...


Well, I guess It's time I told you a little more about prince Yahtzee. He's a million, some say billionaire, lives way out in the sea someplace, and he's got a squid for a head. Yeah, a squid, you heard me. The store in the town square - you probably saw it coming in here - is part of his empire - there's a shop like that in most every town in the country. One time, he has his servant, Tom, come into town to check the store out, and Tom, he talks to the Old Crazy Bum, and to the Barman, and puts an arse on a dustbin. So far, so pointless, but then, Tom goes and glues the door of the grain silo shut. Why? Who knows? Plot of Prince Yahtzee, if you ask me....

To Be Continued...