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The Vessel Is Not A Joke

By Drake Hopeman

You'd think the spotlight on the stage would keep one from worrying about the performance of a lifetime. Well, the performance, like so many before them, to be the one that sparks a career again. At least that was the hope held for many years now. Gelvin let his concentration on the balancing act under that hot incandescent light detour his mind from the nagging thought. The gray-fleeced sheep performer, clad in his white floppy harlequin outfit, balanced on a glossy red ball that he had performed this juggling act on for the 45 years as a Fantasa-renown clown. The costume had become cumbersome with his loss of weight, but the floppiness added to the faded red fringe around the cuffs and pant legs. He dyed his head fluff, or what was left, red to add to the large red nose he wore on his muzzle.

The act he performed that night had gotten praises from leaders, social halls, and occasionally drunken parties involving brave soldiers on the battlefield. The only difference is he now was juggling much lighter and safer objects, such as the fake fish bowl with the broken toy fish inside, than knives and a flaming torch. His hooves had arthritis that crippled his grip unless he took enough pain killers. He was flying high tonight though. The hall was packed to see him perform. He was also flying high on the slight overdose of goblin grade aspirins, which made his act feel all the more epic. The old clown needed this night. He needed this high to forget his failures; the reason he now played here tonight.

His concentration felt keen; hawk like. The objects soaring in unison were almost hypnotic. He was forgetting that he was playing for one of the sleaziest bars in town. The Bloated Hog was a stone building with wooden beams that stood tall in all the corners of the vast room with large wood arches extending across to support the high ceiling. The owner originally thought having such a high ceiling was ridiculous until all manner of orc, yeti, and "giant" inhabitants started occasionally coming in for a drink. (Keep in mind the giants who come to the bar were giant in terms of being within ten to almost twenty five feet tall. The other giants of Fantasta would never fit inside, but could definitely pull the roof of the pub.) Chandeliers provided just enough light with the Illumi-bulbs' crystal power to cast light on the scattered tables on the main floor and second floor balcony. The main bar on the far right of the bar had its own light source to give more light for the bartender, while keeping the rest of the patrons in the low glow. Probably a good thing that the light kept Gelvin from seeing the humorless looks of some of the folks, who would rather be drinking, gambling, and fighting than watching an old sheep in overly baggy clothing toss household items around. The front tables had all manner of Elf, Dwarf, Goblin, and any other creatures a human would claim was from a fairy tale glaring in a bored stupor. Some gnolls near the front doors kept cackling and clamoring in their native tongue and occasionally saying an English word here and there. Across from them, a chunky goblin covered in spots was trying to palm a card in his poker game against an automaton, which looked like it was held together with scrap cans and was also using a cheat program. Others sitting around the bar could have cared less about the performance, mostly making sure the crow bartender kept busy.

For those still keeping their eyes on Gelvin, they were about to witness the one part of the act that always floored audiences; the toss of fools. This ending was taught to him from one of the best clowns of all time and he kept the tradition going all his career. This would floor those drunks and it would be a nice payday and a meal, or so his mind told him. His hooves, despite his age, sped up on the smooth circus ball as he started tossing higher and higher. The circle of objects turning into an oval of high proportions. Even with his bad sight he could judge the distance and angle from the light, shadows, and the blurs he knew were his instruments of entertainment.

It was time.

With almost heaving tosses straight into the air, he lobbed each object high as he moved from far stage right to left. Each object going straight up into its own invisible column past the vision of the audience and into the stage rafters. The momentum and rhythm was impeccable. The patrons actually paused in anticipation of the end result. With a swift turn, the old sheep was ready to retrieve starting from stage left. As he sped on that red sphere, the tea cup came falling down. His right hoof caught it with zest as he got it tinto juggling rotation. The plate was next with a five second-ish time frame to catch. The plate was caught and put into rotation. The glossed over eyes of the audience kept attention as now the vase, a cardboard cigar box, and a picture of the town's recent mayor (which he drew stink lines on as a joke, and no one cared) were in the rotation. He had two more objects to go. Gelvin already felt the victory coming. The audience was in anticipation. His left hoof got caught on the baggy cuff of his pants.

In a quick transitional fall, he saw those beautiful stage lights of hope go dark. Pain hit his muzzle as he hit the wooden stage floor, while the sound of jeering laughters and breaking props seemed to echo in his ears. He tried hard to pick himself up from the fall but the landing dazed him. The crowd was starting to change their laughter to jeers of "get off the stage you old fart!"

"Jerry..." He tried to yell, lifting his head up as a trickle of blood came from his nose. He took a deep breath as he felt a beer bottle wizz past his head. "JEEEERRY!" He cried. There now was the start of an object storm containing bottles, rocks, and anything the crowd could find to get the old man off stage. The sheep couldn't see much other than the glowing eyes of the crowd from the light, like angry cats in a pissy fit. While the crowd was mostly horrible shots, the objects that did manage to hit him would knock Gelvin off balance as he tried to shield himself with an arm.

WIth the whizzing whirring sound of gears, a tiny, somewhat dull robot with rubber wheels traveled almost unbalanced to his master. The automatrons round body, which was made from an old small moonshine still, made the wood base the wheels were attached to creak with its movement across the beaten stage floor. A yellow crystal poking out from the wooden base occasionally sparked lightly to power the little helper.

"Yes, Gelvin" the robot said in a monotone voice.

"Close curtain!" Gelvine swung his guarding arm wildly towards the curtains.

"Yes." Jerry responded as a small hatch opened on the top of Jerry's head, or what would be a head using the placement of his lightbulb eyes as distinguishing detail. Rising slowly from the metal creation's head was a small pistol. As the audience Turned their assault on the metal savior, Jerry fired a warning shot into the crowd. The crowd got the message pretty fast and began ducking and running. Jerry fired one more time to make his point, before aiming toward one of the control ropes for the curtains. A third shot and the curtains flowed down toward the stage. Gelvin at this point had rolled himself into a sitting position among the broken glass and trash. Jerry turned to his master, concealing the still smoking firearm.

"Was that really Necessary?" ask Gelvin as he used the robot's body to pull himself up.

"Yes." replied the bot.

"Of course you'd say that. You always say that."

"Yes" Replied the yes-bot. Gelvin rolled his eyes as he regained balance on his two hooves. He sighed as he and Jerry began to walk off stage. Behind them, the sound of angry footsteps closed in.

"What the hell was that you old goat?!" a small, yet portly goblin was hastily making his way toward the duo. "You were supposed to entertain, not scare my customers!"

"I'm sorry..." Gelvin lowered his head as he took out a handkerchief and pressed it to his nose. "Jerry, tends to overdo things a little."

"THAT PILE OF METAL CRAP WINGED MY COUSIN!"

"Yes." Replied jerry. The Goblin glared at it with a sneer.

"Look, Mr. Grozelli." Gelvin started to respond but the Goblin had enough.

"No! Ya' done! I don't care how much that hoser Frankie told me you were a classic act. You ain't spit on my bathroom walls. Get the hell out!"

Mr. Grozelli's final frustrations rang through Gelvin's thoughts as he and Jerry slowly made their way through the leaf covered forest floor of The Woods, a massive forest that was the protective thicket he called home. They were already fifteen minutes from the Bloated Hog and the more distance from that site failure the better. He had left his props back at the bar, and honestly could have cared less right now. Clumsily walking through the leaves in his squeaky clown shoes, Gelvin's baggy clown pants made it hard to walk sometimes. He should have gotten those damn things hemmed when he used to have enough money to do tailoring. There's a lot of things he should have done before all of this. Truth is he knew his folly was not taking time to invest in his retirement from show business. When he was at his peak, he would party, spend cash, and bang any piece of tail that wanted it. Then, when reality struck, he thought he could wise up and make it all back doing what he loved. Who knew his talents were a dying art? Certainly not him. Now, he was broke and walking in the dark with a robot that agreed to everything.

"Why do I bother, Jerry?" The sheep's head looked down as he was trying to watch for branches. "You and I both know I can't keep up in this world. Bards get more fame and ass than I do. What am I saying? Those things aren't important anymore..." He kept silent for a short several seconds. "No wonder I can't settle down, retire, or even just take care of myself... I got too close to the sun, friend... too damn close to the sun..."

"Yes," The robot replied as it too was carefully traversing the leafy floor, which was a little hard with smooth wheels. "However, might I be bold to give my opinion."

"Sure." replied Gelvin.

"Yes... You fucked up." The sheep stopped and turned around sharply, glaring at the bot as it continued. "That doesn't mean you still couldn't turn things around. It doesn't help if you keep... What is that word... Bitching... About your problems? It might be worth admitting you're already at risk of hitting your true rock bottom and taking the risk of re-evaluating your life... But that is me." Gelvin sighed as he took in the words, turning around to continue the trek to the closest town, which happened to be the river port of Ottinville.

"You do have a point. What's wrong with taking a bit more risk? I've always wondered what it would be like to have a regular schmo's job anyway." He took a small breath as he looked around, thinking. His mind tickled that thought of trying to settle into a better career. He still had a thought on his mind.

"Jerry... Are we still on the path?"

"We diverted from the path ten minutes ago. You were so in thought I did not want to disturb you." The robot answered, causing Gelvin to pause again. He clenched his hoof in steady rage before going into a screaming tantrum in Bleatish, an old world language used by equine folk. To the trained English ear, it was a combination of bleats and strange words. If you were equine, his language was a barrage of swear words, slurs, and, for whatever reason, insults to everyones' Mothers. He stomped and jumped in a hysterical rage that was accented by his comedic shoes. Those squealing squeaks went unnoticed until Galvin ran out of verbal momentum.

"THAT'S NOT FUNNY!!" He screamed horsley as he began taking the left shoe off in a huff. The shoe didn't slide easy, causing him to swear under his breath until it finally came off. He stumbled slightly, but as he caught his balance had enough momentum to chuck the damn thing into the darkness. It made an impactful squeak onto the forest floor and bounced a few more times across the leaves. Now to the right shoe, he jammed his hoof tips into the back and was able to slide the shoes off much better than the last one.

"I'M TIRED OF BEING A DAMN JOKE!" He pitched the right shoe perfectly into the darkness. Though it was hard to see, that shoe had the perfect spiral as it glided through a large thicket of unruly brush. Gelvin stood waiting to hear the final squeak of the shoe. This would be the sound of his official retirement from show business.

The shoe made an echoing squeak, like it was pitched down a long hallway. Another squeak, further sounding this time, echoed again. Then, another fainter squeak. This audible event puzzled Gelvin as he looked at the two glowing bulb eyes of his metal counterpart. He was sure Jerry was just as puzzled despite not being able to express emotion. Walking up to the brush, Gelvin started parting the foliage with a hoof. Peering behind, he saw nothing but empty space. 'What a peculiar place for a cave' would have been his thought if he literally didn't say "What the hell?" in a soft voice. Taking his other hoof, he began trying to rip down the brush, a combination of live foliage, dead limbs, and vines. Gelvin might have been an old sheep, but he still had some heft left in his old muscles. Finally, a wide enough opening was made for him and Jerry to enter through.

"Alright, Jerry..." Gelvin said while resting his hands on his hips for a rest. "Let's go."

The sound of Jerry's metal head hatch sliding open could be heard as a soft light rose from it. Attached to his grabbing arm was a kerosene lantern swaying slightly as it rose from the bot's body.

"Yes." The bot answered, Gelvin's brow lowered annoyingly.

"Where was that when I needed it?" He asked miffed.

"You never asked." Replied the bot.

"You make a good point."

"Yes." Jerry agreed. Gelvin should have known that his robot friend's response would be a given, but he still was annoyed. Still, his curiosity was stronger as he started slowly walking into the cave. Jerry wheeled as close as he could to his master. Gelvin made sure not to try and walk too fast, mostly to not fall. The lamp light was just enough to light the way that Gelvin could just make out the walls of the cave. The floor looked somewhat damp as they followed it to a descending set of stairs. Gelvin took his steps down carefully while Jerry used his small hydraulics on his wheels to help him navigate the travel down.

"I know what you're going to say, Jerry, but I have a feeling we weren't the first to be here." Gelvin kept a hoof on the wall of the cave as he spoke.

"Yes." Jerry responded. "I don't think we should be here, Gelvin." The old sheep was surprised by the reply.

"I thought you would be curious too."

"Curious? No. I cannot express that necessarily. Concern through the use of logic. Yes." respond the bot.

"Logic," Gelvin chuckled. "Is that what you used back at the bar?"

"I never said my logic was good, just that it gets results." Gelvin laughed, his voice echoing through the staircase as they continued.

The walk down was a long curve that seemed to take a few minutes. Glevin didn't really pay attention to time, just only making sure that he didn't slip and fall. The last thing he wanted to be remembered for is being a skeleton at the bottom of a strange cave. Luckily the lamp light showed the end of the staircase. As they entered the large room, Gelvin wished the lamp light was brighter. The room, from what the light could make out, looked almost grand, like it was carved by royalty, or a cult. (Cult was the second guess Galvin had and really hoped that wasn't the case.) Gelvins hoof steps and Jerry's wheels echoed through the vast room. The strange part of this whole experience wasn't that they were in an unbelievably large room that seemed impervious to light, but that Gelvin still couldn't find his shoe. He thought the logical place would have been at the foot of the stairs. Damned thing probably had more bounce than he thought. They were pretty old and the rubber was designed to add bounce to his steps on solid floors. Still, where the hell was it?

The duo kept moving forward in the dark, following the floor by what light the lamp could muster until they came upon decorative tile. Peering ahead, the forms of statues could be seen. Jerry lifted the lamp as forward as he could, but the lamp kept hitting Glevins arm. Reluctantly, Gelvin took the lamp from the robot and continued forward toward the closest statue. Raising the lamp closer to the shadowy mass, he could make out the stone figure of a robed human. The face was grimacing with a large mustache, almost like it was screaming. The figures' arms were outstretched to its sides, at least one was. The right arm had been broken off for some reason. Maybe it was old age, but if so where was the arm now? Looking to his left, Gelvin saw another statue. As he walked closer, he noticed it was the same statue, only with no left arm. Turning still he realized the tiled area was a circle of statues. All of them of the same human, but all missing a piece of itself; no left leg... no right leg... no head with a hole where the heart should be...

Shit, it's a cult, thought Gelvin.

Then, a glimmer of metal caught the lamp light and his eye. It came from the statue without a head, almost like it was part of a symbol. Gelvin walked closer as Jerry still looked on. As the figure became more clearer in the dark, he noticed that the figure had a plaque with gold lettering on it. Below that was... His shoe? That wasn't there before, or at least he thought. Leaning down to pick it up, the old sheep grunted from his old bones. He stood back up, holding the lamp which made the light shine brightly from the full set of text on the plaque. It almost looked as if someone had just whipped the dust off the lettering for as shiny as the gold looked. Gelving was too taken by the glare and the words to process how weird this felt.

TO THE ONE WHO BRINGS THE VESSEL.

THE WEALTH,

THE GLORY,

THE WORLD.

ONLY THROUGH

The last word seemed covered in grime.

Gelvin read the words softly, his eyes widening in surprise. Could this be a hidden treasure? Was he lucky enough to find a hidden legendary stash of some kind?

"Jerry, I think this might be a tomb, or a treasure vault." His voice echoed to the robot. "I think today might be our lucky day.

"Yes," replied Jerry in his monotone voice. The bot inched a bit to the tiled part of the floor. Jerry's body language, if you could call it that, wasn't the usual. It was almost cautious.

"Yes, indeed." Said the entertainer as he set the lamp down on the tile floor. He began to take his baggy sleeve and wipe whatever he thought was on the lettering off. "We just need to clean this part off and maybe we'll see where this vessel is." The sheep started rubbing vigorously, but the surface seemed smooth and clean. Maybe he wasn't rubbing hard enough.

EEEEIIIIIIIGHAAAAAAAH!!!

The scream of a banshee was what you could have described Gelvins' pained scream as a metal spike pierced through his hoof. The excruciating pain shot through the vast nerves in his hoof; his blood pouring out and trickling to the floor. He tried to pull his hoof away, but somehow the damned thing was stuck in between the bones, like it had little barbs all around it. The Lamp provided little light on the ground, making Gelvin all the more scared of what else could happen. Jerry called Gelvins' name in his monotone voice. The bot started to hurry to his master. A purple flash pushed Jerry backwards, almost toppling him over. Thank God for his top heaviness, Jerry was able to keep his balance. Gelvin was now trying to force his hoof off the spike. He didn't care about the pain anymore. He was scared too shitless for that. Suddenly, he felt the spike retract. He screamed louder in pain, feeling the barbed spikes scraping through his bones. The poor sheep fell to the ground, holding his bleeding hoof to his chest. Strangely, a purple light was shining toward him. At first he ignored it, but looked up to see in horror to see the last word was revealed.

BLOOD

Gelvin did his best to make a crawl towards Jerry, unaware that he was already trapped. Tears rolled down his fleece covered cheeks as he cursed under his breath in terror. He kept his eyes ahead as the room started to gain light from the purple glowing eyes of all the statues. He had really fucked up this time. Gelvin never imagined that he would end up in a worse situation than the time he owed money to loan sharks. He began regretting every decision he ever made as the room grew brighter, unaware that the headless statue's chest was glowing a bright purple. A black fog started swirling around the bright light that seemed to pulse like a heartbeat.

The Lord was returning.

"J- Jerry..." Gelvin said in a quivering voice, hoof out stretched in desperation before he released a shrill, crackling cry of excruciating pain. A dark purple beam of light pierced through Gelvins heart, like a spear. Black smoke swirled around him as he tried to grasp the beam in natural desperation to survive. His body started lifting from the floor as the beam of dark light angled towards the ceiling. The pain increasing now, Gelvin's screams now gasps of fear and of air as the black smoke seemed to start filling the space inside the circle of statues. Lightning started flickering from the tiny strands of smoke, eventually licking at the fleece of the poor entertainer.

"YES... YES... YES..." The poor robot said loudly in his monotone voice that was not in praise, agreement, or excitement, but what pure terror his artificial intelligence could comprehend and allow. Jerry witnessed the fearful gaze of his master one last time before the smoke and lightning seemed to swallow him alive.

In a flash, the room was in a blinding light as the deed was now done.

ERROR! ELECTRONIC DISRUPTION DETECTED!

VIDEO AND SENSOR RELAYS INTERRUPTED!

REBOOT IN PROGRESS!!

Jerry was temporarily paralyzed. Without being able to see, except the messages from his internal monitors, he waited for the systems to reboot. The poor bots' AI only allowed him to experience as much emotion as it would allow, which was programmed to be at a level that only allowed him to understand what emotion was to be processed, but not to feel it. This was a greedy way to make him a controlled yes bot with a small conscious and minimal emotion. It might have been for the best for his robot mind. Then again, it might have proven better if his protocols would have allowed him to leave his master's physical body and go for help.

SYSTEMS READY TO GO ONLINE.

LOADING PROTOCOLS.

45 OF 46 ONLINE.

PROCESSING SITUATION FOR PROTOCOL 46.

MUST HAVE PHYSICAL VISUAL OF MASTER.

SYSTEMS ONLINE.

PLEASE CONFIRM STATUS OF MASTER.

Jerry's bulb eyes lit back up, his cylindrical head turning left and right to make out anything in the darkness and smoke. He couldn't find the lamp. Gelvin seemed to be gone, but then again the cave was now pitch black. Then, as if the black smoke had been ignited to glow a bright purple, light filled the room. Jerry could make out the stone walls covered in strange runes, which also seemed to glow now. The statues had disappeared somehow. Jerry didn't try to process that as he was more concerned about the figure standing in the middle of the room.

The short, stout figure stood upright in dirty white, baggy clowns' clothes. One red shoe was melted to the floor next to the figure. His hoof was healed from the spike stab, though blood still stained the chest of the costume. The gentle old sheeps' face seemed neutral as his eyes stopped glowing a dark purple hue. It was Gelvin, but that was all the bot could process.

"Jerry..." The old sheep said in his feeble voice, yet seemed to be a different tone and vocal than usual. Almost as if another voice was overlapping his own.

"Gelvin, are you ok?" questioned Jerry.

"Never better, old friend," Grinned Gelvin. "I think it's time to hit the road again."

"Yes," the bot's response was in a questioning nature, but his tone would never spell it. He just saw his master go through hell, and now he wants to travel instead of rest? His AI was working the logic.

"Yes, Jerry. Because the show must go on. And we got one hell of a show to put on." Gelvin's pace was faster than usual. The old sheep had never walked that fast in years. Did the experience do something to his master, the bot wondered. "Oh, we are about to rock the kingdoms! AND I SHALL BE LORD!" The new Gelvin clenched a fist in anger and revenge. His return would never be seen until it was too late. Jerry appreciated, in his AI mind, Galvins new enthusiasm but his mind was processing the situation now. Only his AI would solve his questioning.

Processing visuals and interactions.

Master has changed. Master actions in question. Incident questionable.

Action: Keep observing masters actions, but continue to help achieve prime objective.

Protocol 46 active: Bot must continue to obey master unless the following is met.

44

Prime factor for protocol termination: Masters actions prove to the controlled AI:

1. they are a threat to others

2. Masters actions go against the prime objective.

Both prime factors must be met for Protocol 46 to be void and the bot to resume as an independent mind, unless controls on the AI are changed by the original programmer or bot itself.

Prime objective: To change the world through Gelvin's talents. Gelvin must be successful in whatever they do, by whatever means necessary.This is Gelvin's exact order.

Jerry had to agree. There was no threat to anyone or the Prime Objective. This was Gelvin physically, and to question his new gusto was not needed anymore. This was the logic brought to him by the original creator and he could not independently disagree. Gelvin still seemed on point with the prime objective. To Jerry, he could not distinguish this new attitude as an entirely new being, who was about to remind the kingdoms of The Great War. Galvins' new soul was ready to take its new body to Gaildriksburgh, the kingdom of the humans and the home to the bastards that made him. He would make that kingdom his again, and the rest would feed his armies soon.

Lord Drastic would continue what the kingdoms thwarted. The kingdoms would burn again.