This is a story that was written in 30 minutes sometime in the summer of 2012, based off of a joke I made with thedude3445 somewhere around that time, that I (lightly) revised 30 minutes ago to make it readable. I give you…
Hatchet and Sord
It is a warm summer day in the Massachusetts colony, during the year of 1744. A small child, naught older than the tender age of 2, is playing just outside a small puritan settlement. On this fateful day, his village is attacked by a tribe of Native Americans known as the Wafanoken. His entire town is ravaged by the Wafanoken assailers, he being the only survivor. As is customary for the Wafanoken in times of war, the boy is taken in by the tribe. To mark his induction into the Wafanoken, the left 1/3 of his head is scalped. This child, his Christian name now long lost, is crowned Skrillex.
* * *
Now, in the year of 1762, not far after the one called Skrillex’s now forgotten day of birth, the white child is a member of the Wafanoken. He is different than his native brothers only in complexion. He is no outsider, he is truly one with the spirit of the bass.
The Wafanoken have lived a relatively peaceful existence with the people of the Old World, but this recent act of aggression by the white man may be just the thing that ends this tenuous peace. The white men of a nearby settlement, on the holy day of the Vernal equinox, the first day of the year in the Wafanoken calendar, stole the spirit animal of the tribe. This spirit animal, a largemouth bass by the name of Bangrang, was the lifeblood of the Wafanoken.
Without its presence, the medicine men of the tribe have not the ancestral guidance to heal the sick. The warriors have not the inner fire of the spirits to lead them into battle. The chief has not the power to lead the tribe through the harsh summers and chilling winters. The nice sprites have not appeared to ward off the scary monsters of the forest. The Wafanoken tribe is dying.
The burden of retrieving the spirit is now up to Skrillex, a Wafanoken Ruffneck skilled in many forms of combat and tracking, He walks to the longhouse of his adopted family. The young tribesman bids farewell to the woman he has always thought his mother.
“I must go, but worry not for me; I will return Bangrang to the ancestral pool and save our tribe. With the guidance of the ancestors, I shall not fail,” Skrillex says to his mother, tears welling in their eyes.
“It is not only that I worry for your safety, my son, it is that I know I cannot go on should you leave this plane and move on to the next. And now,” the frail woman chokes out past her tears. “There is something that I feel that I must tell you before you go, if the spirits decree that you do not return. You are not a…”
Skrillex puts his finger to the woman’s lips. “I know, mother,” the young man spoke softly. ”Say not what you are about to say, as I have know the truth for many a year. I do not view myself as one of those so called men, but as a Wafanoken. I may have been born to the white man, but the spirit of the bass flows through my veins just as it flows through yours.
“Now, I must go. I do not care if my search takes me to the peak of the farthest mountain, to its very summit. I will return only after my mission is complete or die trying…or possibly die trying to return to tell you I completed my mission, but hopefully the first one.”
On this note he leaves his life, family, and tribesmen behind in that serene village of his youth. Journeying into the great unknown, Skrillex knows not of the unknown dangers that await him in this mysterious world that he knows very little about.
* * *
Skrillex had been trekking for many days through the dense wilderness that cradled his tribe’s ancestral homeland. He trekked and trekked and trekked until he could trek no longer and then he trekked for a little longer until he died, except he didn’t actually die, he was just really, really tired.
After regaining his strength, Skrillex stumbled upon the English settlement of Compton, a small but well fortified fort, with towering wooden palisades at least 6 feet tall. He wrapped himself in his ancestral cloak, imbibing him with the spirit of the chameleon and giving him the power of invisibility. He then donned his ancestral gloves and called upon the spirit of the squirrel to give him the ability to climb the wooden walls of Compton’s great walls, which he promptly did.
When he was over the wall, he snuck towards the smallish pool near the eastern edge of the town. Inside this pool he spotted Bangrang, the ancestral spirit fish of his ancestors. Though he had completed his mission to secure the location of the spirit animal, he had no way of getting it through the heavily fortified settlement without somebody flipping the fuck out after seeing a giant fish float by. He knew then what he had to do…he must take Bangrang by force. Skrillex got straight outta there and returned to his home.
* * *
Skrillex returned to his village empty handed, much to the dismay of his tribe. He confronted the chief with the valuable information he had obtained.
“Chief Walking Bass, I think you know what I am suggesting with this information,” Skrillex stated as he laid the smackdown on Chief Walking Bass. “We must go to war with the white man if we are to preserve the honor of our ancestors!”
“Yes, young Skrillex. I am aware of this fact, but I am not sure if violence is the correct course of action. Do we really need to wage war on these people when diplomacy is still an option?” The chief retorted.
“I think we all realize that war isn’t always the ideal choice, but what these people did is inexcusable! Why’d they have to walk all up in here and take our fish?!” Skrillex retorted in an even more retorterous retort.
“Yes young one,” the chief said. ”While we must find a way to punish the white man for this most heinous of crimes, we must ask the people before we act-”
“The time to act is now!” Skrillex proclaimed in a resounding retort. “I see now that you are too incompetent to make this decision, so we must resolve this in the only feasible way…a rap battle.”
“So be it,” stated the chief, knowing a rap battle was obviously the only plausible solution to their dilemma.
* * *
The chief and Skrillex went out several miles away from the village to the Sacred Glade of the Dove, the traditional site of all of the Wafanoken tribe’s rap battles. The chief, currently undefeated in the rap arena, went second, as is tradition, allowing Skrillex to be the first to lay down his dope-ass rhymes.
One two three four
It’s Skrillz on the mic ready to rock this bitch ‘round
Gonna lay down my rhymes, turn your world upside down
we need to be lenient on these crackas?
I say fuck that shit
it’s time tha lay the smackdown
we aint gonna be their bitch
You seem to think that democracy is the only way
You can cram it, sucka, it’s time to make them pay!
Chief Walking Bass is now at the mic
I will use the spirit of the bear to show you that I’m right
I am going to lay down the spirit of the eagle on your face
And then I will also lay down the spirit of the buffalo
And then lay down the spirit of the crow
And the spirit of the lemur
And many other spirits too
Ain’t nothing you can say that will make the sitch’ change
We gotta take the fight to whitey or we aint gonna have our fish on any day
Let’s go back, lay it down, finish what they started
If you put up with their shit then you are probably not very intelligent
The forest lay in tatters in the wake of this fierce battle of flow, rhythm, and rhyme. For miles around, the only things that were left in the wake of this war of rap where a few smoldering trees and the man known as Skrillex. The battle had been won.
* * *
Skrillex stood on the plain of battle, his army 1000 men strong, ready to lay waste to the village of Compton. He prepared to give an inspiring speech that was in no way like Braveheart.
“I see a whole army of my countrymen here in defiance of tyranny. You have come to fight as free men, and free men you are. What would you do without freedom? Will you fight? Aye, fight and you may die. Run and you’ll live — at least a while. And dying in your beds many years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days, from this day to that, for one chance, just one chance to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our fish, but they’ll never take our freedom!”
A thunderous roar was let out by his brothers in arms, inspired by his completely original speech that was in no way like the speech from Braveheart.
A terrible battle ensued and many people were killed. Just Skrillex and the Leaderguy of the white guys had not died. At the pond they stood, surrounded by a sea of their dead comrades and brothers. Leaderguy stood in the pond, holding Bangrang above the water with a knife held up to its tender belly.
“One more step and the fish gets it!” Leaderguy exclaimed. “I will gut this trout!”
“You do not know what you are doing. Drop the bass,” Skrillex said, calmly.
“Don’t take another step!” Leaderdude pushed his knife closer to Bangrang’s stomach.
“I will warn you once more. Drop the bass,” Skrillex said, reaching behind his back.
“What the hell are yo-“ Leaderguy let out a cry of pain as Skrillex threw a tomahawk into his leg. Bangarang crashed through the surface of the pond. Leaderguy had dropped the bass so hard. The fish that he was dropping, the bass, was dropped so hard. What a sick drop it was, that bass drop he just did. Wow.
“You should’ve just dropped the bass,” Skrillex said to Leaderguy as he writhed in pain,
“Wh-wh-wh-who are you?!” Leaderguy managed to push out in his dying breath.
The warrior took his hatchet out of Leaderguy’s leg and raised it above his head, “My name is Skrillex!”