Death by Cliché by Bob Defendi Page B

the road to hard cider.
    “I’m afraid it’s too late.”
    Lotianna gave him a knowing look that probably had more to do with the night before than current events.
    Omar scowled. “What’s that mean?”
    “It means my nose has given up on the tavern completely.”
    Gorthander barked a laugh and fished a piece of bacon out of his beer, chewing on it absently. Lotianna smiled a smile more knowing (good grief) than humorous. Omar just scowled.
    Oh hell, I wrote the entire last couple chapters and forgot Arithian.
    Arithian came down the stairs just then, and I planned that, honest. He sat at the table, strumming his new, magical mandolin. He sat, and his eyes darted about as if he were hiding something. There he… uh… you know… sat.
    After a time, they rose from the table and moved to the front door. Barmaid Barbie waved at them as they walked across the room, and the tavern owner nodded in their direction. They almost made it outside.
    But an old man in a long, drab-colored robe appeared in the door. The robe was old and tattered. The man’s head was bald and shiny as if he polished it at the bowling alley. His beard hung long and tucked in his belt. It’s said the nose never stops growing. If that’s true, this man was a thousand years old.
    “Here we go,” Damico said.
    He put a hand on Lotianna’s shoulder, and she smiled knowingly (oh dear God).
    “What do you want, old man?” Omar asked.
    “Doom!” the old man shouted.
    You know, that didn’t do it. Read it with more oomph .
    “DOOM!”
    Still, not enough. Picture a crazy old hag pointing and bellowing in a bad fantasy film. Then crank up the volume until your ears bleed.
    “ DOOM! ”
    Come on. Really frighten the dog.
    “ DOOOOOM! ”
    The neighbor’s dog.
    “ DOOOOOOOOM! ”
    That’s the stuff.
    The tavern owner jumped. Barmaid Barbie gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.
    “Prithee, good sir?” Arithian asked.
    “ DOOOOOOOOM! ” the old man shouted again.
    “Is this going to go on a while?” Damico asked.
    “ DOOOOOOOOM! ” the old man bellowed, shaking the rafters.
    “I’m going to sit down,” Damico said.
    Lotianna sat next to him, scooting her chair in close. Omar and Gorthander joined them.
    “Really, grandfather—” Arithian said.
    “ DOOOOOOOOM! ”
    “Oh well,” Arithian said, then took a seat.
    “ DOOOOOOOOM for this bar!” the old man shouted, his voice creaking like the hips of a hundred grandmothers. “ DOOOOOOOOM for these people! DOOOOOOOOM for you all! DOOOOOOOOM for the entire world! DOOOOOOOOM! ”
    “I think I’ve seen this scene in a movie somewhere,” Damico said.
    “Princess Bride?” Lotianna asked.
    “No, that was ‘ Boo !’”
    “The Tick?”
    “‘Spoon!’”
    “Maybe—”
    “ DOOOOOOOOM! ”
    “We better pay attention to him,” Damico said.
    “He is trying!” the old man said. “Yes, he is. He is trying, and he will find it. He will find it unless you stop him. He will find it unless you find it first!”
    “And where is this magical Artifact?” Damico asked, skipping several pages of the script.
    “How do you know it’s a magical Artifact?” Lotianna asked.
    “It’s always a magical Artifact,” Damico said.
    Blame Tolkien.
    “ DOOOOOOOOM! ”
    “Ah Hell, I think I hit his reset button.”
    “ DOOOOOOOOM! for this village! DOOOOOOOOM! for this nation! DOOOOOOOOM! for every living thing! DOOOOOOOOM! ”
    “Who brings us this doom, good sirrah?” Arithian asked.
    “Hraldolf!”
    “Oh, good grief, there’s someone in this world named Hraldolf?” Damico asked.
    “He is the overlord! He rules the world. He rules the world, and now he’s going to destroy it!”
    “Well, of course,” Damico said. “With a name like Hraldolf, he couldn’t have had a very good childhood.”
    “He is seeking it,” the old man wailed, pacing back and forth, wringing his hands. He smelled like a locker room after a marathon on the surface of the sun. “He’s looking and