The New Narnia

Chapter 13
Chapter 13: Making His Name

Chapter Description: On the way back to Malacus, Tommy decides to add his own little bit of semi-magical graffiti.

Chapter 13: Making his name. 

It’s astounding

Time is fleeting

Madness

Takes its toll

But listen closely

Not for very much longer

I have to keep control...

BONG! BONG! BONG!

Tom Dean was on his feet before the third chime rang out, with his hand clapped over his mouth so he wouldn’t scream out in surprise (or joy).  This was it!  It was time! He knew it!  Saturday and Sunday had been completely uneventful, with Tom not hearing so much as a peep from the old clock.

But now?  Now it was time.  The digital clock on the coffee table flashed half past eleven. Odd.  Tom thought it would have been just after midnight when he was awakened.  Apparently time wasn’t a factor for the broken clock.  (Heh.)

Tired of waiting, Tom superstitiously recreated Friday night to the best of his memory.  He’d slept on the couch in the same position, just like Friday.  He’d worn the same silk jammies- his one good pair-just like Friday.   

He’d tossed and turned, waiting for the clock to call to him for close to an hour before it occurred to him that sleeping might be a prerequisite of hearing its call.  Too excited with the possibility of returning to that magical world to sleep without some kind of aid, Tom quietly masturbated on the couch thinking of hot women fawning over him as they changed his...clothes….his clothes and breas...stuck their titties in his face.  Just like Friday.

A slight monkey wrench in the works was thrown in on the matter of Tom’s underwear.  He hadn’t been wearing any undies last Friday.  Stubborn superstition (was it even superstitious if it worked) dictated that Tom should have gone commando this night, but that would have meant stripping off the oddly fitting toddler underwear he’d stolen.

A tiny voice in his head; the same one that told him to take them; the same one that had him staring at packages of Pull-Ups in the grocery store; insisted that he shouldn’t.  His own guilty conscience agreed out of practicality.  Tossed underwear was potentially discovered underwear.  And Tom would need an excuse that he just didn’t have handy. 

Instead, Tom had ‘compromised’ with himself and shimmied his pajama bottoms down to his ankles so that only one layer of clothing was surrounding his loins as he revved his own engine.  ‘Compromise’ was an apt word, though not in the context that Tom was imagining it. If he had been outside his own body looking down, he would have been able to see himself mouthing the words: “I’mma big boy, I’mma big boy, I’m big, I’m big, I’m big…” and then start sucking his thumb as he climaxed into his new padded underwear.

Hadn’t he fallen asleep after that?  With his pajama bottoms still around his ankles?  Why were they back around his waist now?  Who-?

BONG! BONG! BONG!

The clock repeated its summons.  As if to hammer the point home, the front panel of the clock creaked open.  Malacus was in need of him, just as much as he needed it.  Time to play the hero.  Screw that!  Time to BE the hero!

Just one slight problem…

He also had to pee. 

Pretending that the old clock had eyes, he held up a finger towards the ruined antique, calling for patience.  When the portal made no reply, Tom shuffled off to the bathroom.  Adventuring through magical lands wasn’t the same on a full bladder.

Tom hurried to the bathroom, leaving the door open as he fumbled for his fly so that he could pee. It was a full five seconds of drunkenly searching for a zipper that didn’t exist.  These were pajama bottoms, not boxers!    Like a preschooler just getting the basics down, he dropped trow and made the same mistake with his underwear.  The training pants forewent the need for a dick hole to make the padding extra absorbent.

Urge rising the eighteen year old practically gave himself rug burn yanking the padded undies down to answer nature’s call. 

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh….”

Sadly, nature wasn’t the only thing calling Tommy.

CREEEEEAK!

The door was closing!  Oh no!  He was about to lose out on adventure number two because he had to go number one!  Skin tingling, Tommy yanked up his training pants and jammies in one swoop and rushed out the bathroom.

The door was closing.  He was being barred entry!  Rejected.  Time slowed down as he sprinted, diving for the closing door, headlong into darkness.  “NNNNNNNNNN-!” He was skidding on rocky floor, a sprinter trying to steal home before the final pitch.  His body was losing composure, trying to roll to break his fall.

The door closed behind him. “OOOOOOOOOOOOOO!” His voice echoing off cavernous interdimensional stone.  Trapped in darkness, but on the other side of the clock.  Picking himself up off the ground Tommy heaved a sigh of relief. 

“Did it,” he said to himself.  

“Iddit….iddit...iddit…” his echo called back.  As the heat from his body died down, Tommy felt himself growing cold...cold and damp, but only in one strategic area.  He’d done it alright. Right in his pants.  In his rush to make the closing door (mystical time waited for no man), he hadn’t finished peeing and accidentally released part of his bladder into his thick toddler underpants.

The complete darkness enveloping him only made the feeling in his underwear that much more obvious.  Biting his bottom lip, he felt through the front of his pajama pants, detecting the slightest squish.  

He’d peed himself.

Again, he patted his crotch, more gingerly this time.  The wetness hadn’t bled through to the front yet.  Good. Just a little pee...a tiny tinkle.  Only a little more than if he’d forgotten to shake.  It wouldn’t do to have Tom the Titan, savior of Malacus running around with wet pants.

One deep breath later, Tom put his hand against the nearest cave wall and trudged forward, much faster than he had that first night.  He knew where he was going this time.  This was a journey, not an exploration.

Quicker than the first time, Tommy found the chamber of glowing algae, the sound of dripping water greeting him.  Self-consciously, he pawed at his crotch, which was beginning to feel cool and clammy.    “It’ll all come out in the pool,” Tommy whispered to himself.  “No one will know.  Not Nox.  Not Leadshoulder.  No one.”

“Un...un...un...un..”

Impatiently, he strode forward to the end of the chamber, towards where he’d find the Mana Pool.  Where was it?  He looked around, his eyes not yet fully adjusted to the bioluminescent algae.  

There!

Just above the exit, the final stretch to a land where he was a god, scraped into the wall was the name: “Charles Watson”.

Tommy stopped.  Charles Watson.  Must’ve been the guy who saved Malacus before Tommy; the reason why Nox and company thought the land outside their clock was called The Land of Men.  He shrugged.  Neat.  

He took a step forward.  

And stopped.

Why should Charles Watson be the only person to leave his mark on this place?  Where was Charles Watson?  Not here!  This wasn’t Charles Watson’s place anymore, it was Tommy’s!

Index finger extended like a chisel, Tommy picked a nearby patch of algae.  Sticky and wet, not unlike other things close to Tommy; though that comparison gave him little comfort.  With slow and deliberate movements, Tommy carved out his name.  Each movement of his finger sent rippling beautiful sparks through the wood as he disturbed it.  

Mesmerizing.  Positively mesmerizing.  It made the simple act of scribbling his name seem all the more magical.  “Thomas Dean” he read out loud.  It felt better, right, to use his formal name. This time the cavern did not echo back.

Tommy waited.  “Well...okay then.”

“En...en...en…en…”

Huh.  Weird.  One deep breath later, Tommy ducked and stepped through the hole.

A moment of blackness.

And then power!

The first time he’d come here, he had almost drowned.  Now he was soaring, gliding through the depths;  each kick propelling him like a shark through the water.  The tiny light of the sun was a target to him and he effortlessly surged upward. 

Less than three seconds later, his lungs were taking in air as he broke the surface.  He wasn’t swimming, he was all but soaring.  He was a dolphin! A dragon! A god!  An olympic diver in reverse, Tom flipped and spun in the air flinging the errant droplets of water off of him in a blur before landing on his feet.

“NICE!” he said.

That wasn’t all that was nice. The air, the very fabric of Malcus’s reality had done more than empower Tommy, but his clothes as well.  Completely dry, his silk pajamas were now hardened Dwarven Steel glowing with both magic and sunlight.

Correction: Not completely dry.

Tommy could still feel a certain dampness in the front of his crotch.  In this form, his mystical armor was all one piece.  He couldn’t just pull open his metal trousers and peek down or feel around now.  It was an all or nothing ordeal.

  He didn’t exactly need to, though.  Tommy could feel it.  The strange cool clamminess around his penis hadn’t reduced at all.  His jammies had metamorphosed into the amazing mythical armor from his last journey.  

His underwear?  That was still nothing more than soiled training pants. Oddly enough, Tommy was okay with that.  No one could see it, he justified. So it didn’t matter.  It would do him good to stay humble here.

“M’lord!” a familiar voice called to him.  “Thank goodness you’ve returned from Earth Realm!”

Tommy turned to the sound of the voice as stout heavy boots trudged toward him.  “Leadshoulder!” he called back.  “Your beard has finished growing in!  Congratulations.”

The dwarf with the face of a (former) bully stretched out across his wide skull finished his approach and took a knee.  “Thank you, m’lord.  Somehow, I knew it would be me to find you.  We’ve been taking shifts the last several days.”

Right.  Right.  This wasn’t a vacation for them, Tommy reminded himself.  The dwarves and centaurs didn’t know that their entire universe was inside a beat up piece of crap.  “Where’s Nox?”

“Captured, m’lord,” the dwarf answered. “Enslaved.  Him and all the other centaurs.”

“Elves?” Tommy asked.

“What else?”

“Any hydragons?”

A grim chuckle came from Leadshoulder’s lips.  “I believe you throttled them into extinction, m’lord.”

“Then what?”

The dwarf’s eyes went downcast.  “The elves have a new queen, m’lord.  A dark sorceress who bleeds dark magic.”

Tommy held up his hand. He had a strange feeling about this one.  “Enrapturing voice?”

“Aye, m’lord.”

“Curvaceous hips?”

“Aye…”

“The ability to ensorcel any man that she speaks to, capable of driving them to frenzied lusts, or crushing sorrow?”

“M’lord?  How do you-?”

Tommy wasn’t done guessing.  “And does this Queen have a..a…” he stuttered.  What was the word?  “A handmaiden with huge...tracts of land?”

“We call them breasts, m’lord.” 

Tommy waved the dwarf off and Leadshoulder visibly shook, afraid that Tommy might accidentally grace him.   “You know what I mean.  Does the sorceress elf queen have a handmaiden with huge tits?!”

Leadshoulder only gawked and began playing with his beard out of sheer nervous disbelief.  “Does the Land of Men...I mean Earth Realm house such witches for you to know so much?”

“Not quite,” Tommy smirked.  “But close enough.”  Tommy walked over to his fantasy friend and wrapped his arm around the dwarf’s waist.  “Which way is this evil elf queen and her handmaiden.”

“Do you intend to slay her, m’lord?”  The dwarf’s voice had a kind of angry hope behind it.  What had this witch done?

Tommy looked to the dwarf.  “Is it something she did to Nox?”

“Aye,” he replied.  “But I dare not speak of it.  Tis’ shameful for one of his kind.” 

Everything here was so amped up from reality.  Nox equated to Mr. Jordan.  And this evil elf queen was most likely some variation of Amanda Monroe.  In class Amanda had Mr. Jordan wrapped around her finger.  What could be so shameful for a centaur that his friend wouldn’t even speak of it? A terrible idea sunk its way into Tommy’s brain.  “Castrated?”  he asked.  “Or gelded, I guess?”  

“Wha-?”  Now Leadshoulder looked disgusted. “No!  Don’t be ridiculous.  She just rides him around everywhere like a horse.  Puts a saddle on him and rides it sideways.   Keeps his hands tied behind his back and a bridle in his mouth.”  His lip curled in disgust.  “A sad sight to see a half man, half horse reduced to just a horse.  Do you intend to throttle her or not?”

A blush rose to Tommy’s sheeks, but not from fury.  A heat rose in his loins and his wet underwear pressed against him just a little tighter.  This was a rare opportunity he had here.  First Josh and Trevor.  Now Amanda and Cameron.  Trevor was a dwarf, Josh had been an Elf.  Dwarves good.  Elves bad.  But did they have to be?   Not every evil needed to be slain outright.  

And as fun as it was to pretty much disintegrate a pointy eared, purple blooded Josh Hamlin, doing the same to two girls that he had a crush on just wasn’t in the same ballpark.  Wrong sport altogether, infact.  No.  A different tact was needed here.

“Not exactly,” Tommy said.  “Which way to this evil elf queen?”

“You go to her now?”

“Only if you’ll tell me.”

“North by Northeast, m’looooooooooo-”

Tommy didn’t even wait for Leadshoulder to finish his sentence.  The moment he had a direction, he leapt into the air doing miles at a single bound, and carrying his poor stout friend along with him attached at the hip.

“Beggin’ your pardon, m’lord!” the dwarf screamed to be heard over the rushing air.  “But we’re falling!”

“Aye,” Tommy said, adopting the speech patterns of his adopted world.  “But we’ll land safely before we go up again.”

“Would it please you, m’lord if you drop me,”  the dwarf stopped himself.   Leadshoulder was tugging at his beard with his free hand.  “I mean put me down safely before your next titanic leap?”

Tommy giggled.  “Fine.  Sure thing buddy.  Sure thing.”

Darn it felt good to be back!