Fiction Spawning of Bob - The Great War Against Chaos - Book 1 Finished

I blame Pesky Dwarfs and their insufferable engineers. e.g.

"We need to span this chasm and those tree trunks will never do..."​

 

Truly, you have a dizzying intellect.

 

Chapter 15.

Warlord Dayivv elected to take the road north while the night lasted. Bob and Joe trudged disconsolately in the midst of the heavily armoured storm vermin swarm. The pack thinned out a little as the road began to wind up into some sparsely forested rocky hills. Joe thought the nearest rat was far enough away that he have a private conversation with his disguised spawn-brother.

"Brother Elwood..."

"Quiet! You mustn't call me that any more. Call me... Cheech Head-Stoner. You can be Chong Grass-Nibbler. We must blend in with ratmen now."

"So far, Brother Cheech, blending in has got us into a world of trouble and pain."

The storm vermin around them suddenly stopped with their ears pricked. The road had taken them into a narrow defile and the rats began to sniff the air and look around uncertainly.

The Warlord chirped a command, and the sakven formed into a defensive block, bristling with rusty halberds. The two warp mutants huddled to the side of the canyon.

"That doesn't-not sound like thunder.” Bob noted.

"Yes it does." Joe looked confused.

"That’s what I squeak-said."

“Queakish is a stupid language. Ow!”

The rumbling grew louder and louder, and there were sinister background sounds of whoops and shrill cries. Then the source of the earth tremor appeared at the top of the defile and revealed itself to be just about the most unwelcome sight that a group of tight packed infantry in a narrow gulch could see. It was a colossal cave squig.

Squigs are one of the reasons that decent folk don't live in caves. Some cave beasts have adapted to their underground existence and lost their eyes. Squigs, in keeping with their contrary nature, broke the rules and lost their forelimbs. This may be because their jaws took over gripping duties, or possibly because any optional appendages were bitten off by other members of the herd, making them a competitive disadvantage.

A typical squig is all traplike jaws, bounding hind legs and little else. If they are disturbed in their dark habitat they bounce and snap until their interlocking teeth close on something. If that something is soft enough that the squig can tear off a chunk, it will do so, then repeat the process. If the something cannot be chomped apart, the squig will remain attached, with its jaws locked. If the something is an armoured knight, this becomes inconvenient for the knight. If the something is a stalagmite, this eventually becomes inconvenient for the squig. The squig's powerful saliva will eventually crumble the rock, but rock dust causes concrete-like constipation, which puts the affected squig in a fouler mood, if that is possible.

Some squigs, such as the example which was caroming down the ravine, grow to titanic proportions. Squigs of all sizes are semi tamed by night goblin tribes. They are notoriously unpredictable, but can be employed as devastating living weapons. The trick is to point them in the general direction of the enemy before striking off their chains.

This monster had been unleashed with only one path open to it, and it bounced between the cliffs on either side like a rubber elephant, all the while snapping jaws the width of a barn door. It did not attack the tight unit of storm vermin so much as it obliterated them. It bounded into their midst crushing many, and crunching its jaws closed on many more, then it was gone. It would continue its random path of destruction until it fell into a river or over a cliff.

In the monster's wake streamed a mob of night goblins, shrieking and ululating as they hurried to finish the squig’s work with short sword and spear.

“Joe! Don't-not come over here!” Bob had found a narrow crack in the ravine wall, just large enough for two warp-mutants-cum-saurus-warriors. They dove into the cleft and pulled an ownerless shield behind them to cover the opening.

Meanwhile, the remaining storm vermin gave a good account of themselves – they were no mere rabble of skaven slaves. They were the proud elite warriors of their race, and barely half of them fled back down the defile. The others struggled to reform their lines before the wave of black robed greenskins broke over them.

Warlord Dayivv remained in command and coolly appraised the battle field. Night goblin archers commanded the heights on either side. They had already pin-cushioned the routing skaven before they could make their escape. The road above swarmed with more of the hooting greenskins. He could not go back, forward or up. The commander's options for making a glorious retreat were somewhat limited. Perhaps to the side?

He spied a low crack in the cliff face covered by a discarded shield. He seized the shield only to find that it was being held firm from the other side.

He rapped his knuckles on the shield. "Open up!" he whispered urgently.

"What do you want?"

"It's me, your warlord! I think the goblins saw me!"

"What?"

"It's Dayivv! Open up!"

There was a long pause.

"Dayivv's not here."

"I’m Dayivv! Let me in!" he shrieked. The skaven line was faltering.

"What is the magic word?"

"Squeeaaaaargheeak!"

A greenskin spear had found its mark in the storm vermin champion's abdomen.

"No. That's not it."

A longer pause.

"Hello? Are you still there? Ow!"

The defile had been taken from the skulking, stinking rats. It now belonged to the skulking, stinking goblins. Unfortunately, the victorious goblin chieftain had heard the voices from the bolt hole.

He hammered on the shield with his weapon.

There was a long pause.

"Dayivv’s not here."

“If youse won’t let us in,” the goblin boss replied, "We-s'll smoke out, you filthy rats."

"No don't, don't! We are crafty, malodorous, back stabbing goblins like you! I'm... Slashnek Tonsil-Tayker and this is... Hartburn Stummik-Ullcer!

"That’s not right, I was called - Ow!"

"Blend in, you idiot!"

“Youse don't sound like usual gobboes,” the boss noted uncertainly.

"Oh. Is dis betta?"

Two unusual night goblins slithered out of the hole, stood up and straightened their soiled robes. They towered over the goblin big boss.

"Youse is bigger than usual gobboes, too." This goblin war-boss was clearly a shrewd one.

"Yes. Umm. That is because the skaven did terrible experiments on us with warpstone. Ow!"

The second unusually large, scaly and blue night goblin viciously poked the first, and paraphrased the explanation.

"Hartburn meens da filfy rats cursed us wif majjik."

"Really," the goblin boss sneered. “How does youse know it was magic?"

Slashnek reared to his full height. "Dey terned me into a newt!” he declared boldly.

After weathering the glare of one hundred and forty-nine sceptical eyes for several seconds he lifted the hem of his filthy cloak.

"See!" he declared as he flourished his short, muscular tail.

"Ooooh!” The whole night goblin tribe were very impressed.

The big boss was incensed. "Youse poor mutated buggers. We'se can't have them fithy rats doing that to gobboes! It makes me want to stick some more rats just to make them squeak!”

"Umm. I believe that... Ow! I fink der waz a few leftover rats in da humie town down dere.” Hartburn was eager to please his new tribe.

"Down dere? Does you mean ‘down there’? Lets stick the barstards! Revenge! Waaagh!"

The goblin boss and his tribe were off. Hartburn and Slashnek were swept along by the howling tide of misplaced green vengeance.




A bare half hour had passed since the skaven chieftain had taken his prizes north. The remaining rat men felt no urgency as they used their whips to subdue the townsfolk. The humans were lined up two by two and bound together for the dark trudge through the skaven tunnels.

One of the townsmen in particular had taken poorly to his future life options, which were narrowed down to being a slave or an entrée.

"The gods have cursed this town,” he snarled, “I curse them a hundred fold in return!"

"Don’t be a fool, Hinternaffe!" one of his neighbours hissed. "Do you want to feel the punishment of the gods?"

"You jest! What could the gods devise which is worse than this?"

At just that moment, and with a terrifying Waaagh! seven score of night goblins burst into the square. At their head was a foam mouthed chieftain who screamed "Revenge!" over and over again.

Those skaven who were not caught in the open made a concerted dive for the sewers. Within seconds the rat men were gone.

"Praise the gods for our salvation!" cried Hinternaffe. This earned him a stinging slap from the nearest goblin.

The other greenskins had been robbed of their vengeance, but were still brimming with animosity. They immediately followed the slapper’s example and starting kicking and beating the helpless population of Glumhof.

Above the fracas a single voice could be heard. "I curse the gods one thousand fold!" it cried.

The goblins had barely had time to warm up before they were disturbed by enraged shouts and chanting coming from the eastern road into the square.

"Not again," moaned Joe. "Quickly, jump into the well!"

"I don't swim...aaah!” Bob found himself being dragged by the collar of his robe.

"It is high time you learnt!"

The two mutated goblins were not missed by their adopted tribe. The greenskins had more pressing matters to attend to.

Imperial Flagellants have some endearing qualities. When they join the order of purity they surrender their lives to the service of merciful Sigmar - thus they have no fear of death. Their main act of worship is to discipline the body - thus they are inured to pain. They spend all day swinging heavy whips - thus they are strong of arm. The whips they wield carry heavy spiked brass orbs at the end of a length of chain – thus they are armed with brutally effective chain maces.

They are also completely and utterly barking mad.

The goblins in the square outnumbered the brothers of purity roughly three to one, but those odds reduced with every swing of a brass comet. In vain the greenskins would hold up their shields or attempt to parry, but the length of the chains exceeded that of a typical goblin’s reach. The orbs would continue their arc around or behind the defence and crunch home regardless.

Brother Maynard led the usual chant, all the while swinging his staff and censor. The twin tailed comet of Sigmar's cleansing described wide circles and goblins were mown down like wheat. Father Clemens also joined the melee, shouting words of encouragement to his sweating sedan chair bearers and lashing out with his own ornate whip.

Those night goblins who could still do so fled back to their foetid burrows in the hills.

"Praise Sigmar!" one of the stunned townsmen exclaimed.

The man he was roped to said, “Hinternaffe, you are a hypocrite,” and gave him a shove with his shoulder.

"Father Clemens!” Young Brother Kaspar hurried over to the old purifier’s sedan chair. "I saw two of the foul ones climb into the well!"

"Brother Kaspar, you are such a tattle tale!” a faint, echoing voice declared.

The old priest raised his bushy eyebrows and climbed down from his chair. He accepted brother Maynard's arm for support and tottered over to the well.

"In merciful Sigmar's name, who is down there?"

"Hartburn and Slash...Ow! If you do that again, I will let you drown."

"Sorry, but...It is brothers Elwood and Jakob, Father. Would you mind letting down a rope?"

Father Clemens eyebrows began to waver. They had been sorely over used in recent weeks, and it seemed they were not up to the strain.

"What in Sigmar's name are you doing down there?"

"We were captured by filthy skaven. And then filthy goblins. Being sullied by their touch, but having conveniently left our flails back at camp, we thought we would just pop down here for an alternative method of cleansing. Have you got that rope yet? Brother Jakob and I can't wait to get up there to cleanse ourselves properly."

"Father Clemens navigated his way through the implausible story. "You poor things. We could toss your flails down to you, if you like, Brother Elwood."

"Perhaps the rope first? There isn't a lot of swinging room down here."

"Yes, the rope then. Brother Kaspar, if you would be so kind?"

Brother Elwood called from the well again. "Thank you, father, but tend also to the needs of the good townspeople. They have been equally defiled by the rough handling of the corrupt ones.”

"Fear not, good brothers. The townsfolk are safe with us. We shall attend to the townsfolks' spiritual needs while you climb out."

Father Clemens turned and gazed benevolently at the bound citizens of Glumhof. "You have suffered greatly my children, and the touch of evil has debased you. But good news! The Order of Purity can remedy that. Brothers, if you please, a good cleansing is in order for these simple folk."

Above the sounds of whip thongs hissing through the air and screams of fear and agony, a single voice could be heard. "Curse you Sigmar!"




It was close to dawn before Father Clemens decided that sufficient amounts of cleansing had been applied and that the grateful citizens could be untied. The last of the townsmen to be freed turned angrily on the two dripping wet novices who had removed his bonds.

"I curse the gods and all the lunatics who serve them."

He emphasized his passion by spitting on the ground.

"That's a bit harsh, don't you think, Brother Jakob? We did just free him!"

"Harsh? HARSH? I didn't expect to be rescued by the Imperial Inquisition!"

Elwood and Joe exchanged a glance and stepped back from the man as if he were about to catch on fire.

There was a sudden rattle of hooves on cobbles and forty crimson robed riders thundered into the square.

"No one expects the Imperial Inquisition!" bellowed their leader. It was Inquisitor Oppenheimer.

He rode over to Father Clemens’ and he interrogated the old monk, without doing the courtesy of dismounting.

"What goes here, flagellant?" the Inquisitor spat the last word like it was a curse.

Father Clemens craned his stiff neck and calmly met the Inquisitor's insolent gaze. "Corruption walked the streets this night, but praise merciful Sigmar, purity has been restored to these grateful children.” He indicated the sobbing townsfolk.

"You may take your band of beggars and go. Preach your fairy-tales to the credulous. It is for the Inquisition to decide who is pure and who has been tainted by Chaos. Be gone!"

The father shrugged his stiff shoulders and returned to his sedan chair and the rest of the brothers fell into step as he was borne away. The last two brothers in line looked back as they left the square.

They were surprised to see a black cat enter the plaza and stretch in the first rays of sunlight. It then approached a townsman and rubbed itself against his legs before casually continuing on its way.

Two inquisitorial thugs seized the man by the arms while another kicked his legs out from under him.

The novices elected not to watch what came next and they hurried to catch up with the order of purity. However they could not help hearing the haunting cry of the man which echoed after them.

"I curse you, Sigmar! I curse all the gods of the Empire and the heathen gods as well! Most of all, I curse you, Tiddles!"

 

But there's no way around that limitation...I can't like it twice either.

 

Now might be a good time to remind people that many of my Reikspiel names can be run through google translate (from English to a certain trademarked, European language)

Because you gave the inspiration, you will always be a Hintern-affe to me, Scalenex.

 

Chapter 16 Altdorf


It was a weary and footsore collection of brothers of purity who trudged through the Nuln gate of Altdorf. Only Father Clemens in his sedan chair seemed to be unaffected by the length of the pilgrimage they had undertaken. Nevertheless, their mood was upbeat. Months of hard slog and sleeping in the elements would be replaced by the relative comfort of the chapter house.

Two of the brothers seemed even more excited than the rest. The novices, Elwood and Jakob, had been chivvying the brothers along all day, even to the extent of volunteering to flog father Clemens' bearers to encourage them.

The happy and enthusiastic state of the monks contrasted markedly with the mood of the Imperial capital. Citizens hurried about their business without making eye contact. Merchants had not only closed early, many had boarded their doors and windows. Units of soldiers tromped dourly from barracks to wall and there was no singing or laughter. An air of apprehension hung over the greatest city of the Empire.

The spectre of war was hard on the heels of the brothers of purity. The pilgrims were the last to enter the city before the gates clanged shut to bar a not one, but two hostile armies that were less than a day away.

The Empire had been torn by civil war since the failed election of Countess Magritta of Marienburg, some three centuries earlier. Other states and alliances of states had put up their own pretenders over the years. As of the day of the brothers’ return there were three powerful noblemen who called themselves ‘Emperor’.

The first was the Elector of Westerland, Count Roland, a direct descendant of Magritta. He had long held sway over the rulers of Nordland and Ostland through his control of sea commerce. When the Grand Duke of Middenheim’s own claim to the Imperial Throne collapsed, the impoverished Middenland nobles were wooed into Roland’s camp. With the troops of four states at his disposal, Count Roland felt the time was right for him to seize the throne by force. His combined army was encamped not far away, to Altdorf’s east.

Naturally, the wily Grand Duke Waldorf of Reikland was not about to step aside and surrender his city. He had long held a claim for the throne of Sigmar by virtue of the Imperial Capital being part of his estate as Elector of Reikland. However, the wardens of the Imperial palace would not support his claim nor any other, until all Electors would select only one between them, and the feuding religious orders accepted the choice.

Even without the authority of throne and hammer, Waldorf had the military support of the Electors of Hochland, Talabecland and Ostermark. His spies had informed him of Roland’s aggressive posture with plenty of time for him to summon his allies to the defence of Altdorf.

The late comer to the party was Graf Stadtler of Stirland. He did not seem to have even a tenuous basis for his claim to the throne. Because he controlled the three southern states with their large rural populations and the city of Nuln, famed for it's artillery foundries, he commanded a military force to be reckoned with. If the battles of the more numerous northern states came to a decisive outcome, he risked being cut off and isolated in the south with no further chance of pressing his claim. Thus Stadtler had rushed his armies, and those of Averland and Wissenland, towards the capital. They had been marching hard for a week, and their forward elements would arrive outside Altdorf during the next day, if not sooner.




The Chapter House of the Order Purity was an austere stone building which huddled at the unfashionable end of the Altdorf’s temple district. Its only decoration was the ever present symbol of Sigmar's cleansing, the twin tailed comet. The dourness of the chapter house contrasted with the bright mood of the brothers, who shook off their weariness and began to shirk their robes as soon as the outer door closed. Only two of the novices maintained their reserve. They loitered near the door with their hoods still lowered.

Young brother Kaspar paused in stripping off his cassock and quizzed the novices, "Brothers, what ails you? It is Thursday night!” He peeled off a large scab of crusted blood from his shoulder blade. "Brother Manfred! Look at this one!"

"Oooh! That's a keeper, Brother Kaspar!" Manfred responded happily.

The novices backed away towards the exit.

"Jake and Elwood, what are you doing?"

"We are getting the band back together," Elwood replied.

"We're on a mission from the gods,” Jakob, further explained.

They opened the door and disappeared into the night.




"How are we going to find the Imperial Zoo? This city is huge.” noted Joe.

Bob shrugged. He had no better plan than searching on foot.

Altdorf was divided into unequal thirds by the confluence of the River Reik and the River Talabec. A network of smaller canals, some no better than open sewers, twisted this way beside and under the narrow streets. The smell of drying fish and the waste of a hundred thousand Imperial privies announced to visitors that they had arrived in Altdorf, the Jewel of the Empire's crown.

The Order of Purity, temple district and the grand houses of greater noble families were huddled as far from the rivers as possible, near the south west wall. Beside them, the vast Imperial Citadel stood at the head of the Heldenhammer Grand Allee. That broad avenue ran from the palace to the Marienburg gate, separating the remainder of the wealthy estates from the squalid residential, industrial and wharf-side areas which tumbled down to the waters’ edge.

Bob and Joe quickly discovered a total lack of zoos, Imperial or otherwise in the area immediately around the chapter house and moved further north. Heldenhammer Grand Allee presented the first major obstacle to the searchers in that the Imperial way was broad and well trafficked. Brigades of state troopers and fast riding couriers passed by at irregular intervals. Eventually the full moon passed behind a cloud and they were able to scurry across like over-sized mutant rats – a skill they had only recently acquired.

The closer the seekers got to the river, the shabbier and more run down the buildings became. Soon there were no others on the streets but for civil guardsmen, Inquisitors and an unlikely number of curfew breakers.

In fact, curfew breaking seemed to be almost a local sport. Cutthroats, black marketeers and common burglars alike seemed to have adopted the informal uniform of hooded cloaks. As Bob and Joe flitted through the infrequent splashes of lantern light, they were frequently jostled by other lurkers and vagrants as they competed for the shelter of the shadows beyond.

The game was almost up when the saurus warriors almost blundered into roving band of Inquisitors. It seemed like every malefactor in the lower city scattered away from the torchlight like cockroaches and attempted to cram with them into the same dark alley.

The crimson cloaks’ night vision was ruined by the flaming torches they bore, and by some convenient miracle they unwittingly stomped straight past the inadequate hiding place. When the Inquisitors turned the corner at the end of the street, all of the cowering sneaks released a simultaneous sigh of relief. Then they shared various nods and shy giggles before continuing on their various nefarious missions.

"Which way now?” Joe whispered.

"This way. We must be close," came the reply.

The pair wound into the wharf district, counting off granaries and warehouses as they went.

"This must be it! You keep a look out.”

"Okay," replied Joe and scanned the street while his partner in crime rapped a staccato rhythm on a warehouse door. "Although this is a funny kind of zoo."

"Zoo?"

A slit opened in the door and a pair of narrowed eyes scanned the street. The peephole slammed shut and the pair heard the sound of a bolt being thrown. When the warehouse door creaked open, it only gaped wide enough to admit the two cloaked shadows.

Joe's eyes were still adjusting to the light when his companion shed his robe. To Joe’s surprize, Bob had somehow transformed into a man who was dressed in rich satins. About his neck he wore the symbol of the heretical turnip – more commonly known as that of Slaanesh, the Chaos God of lust and excess. Graven across the back of his shaven head was a puckered scar in the shape of the eight pointed star of chaos.

"Hello, gang!" he called.

The building was an empty warehouse with a large mezzanine level. Draped on every open surface were chaos cultists engaged in various depraved acts. The foul god, Slaanesh lusts for offerings of sensation. Pleasure, gluttony or pain are all the same to him, as long as the experiences of his worshippers are intense and unnatural.

Hello, Sinnlich,” some of the less occupied cultists responded.

“Any suggestions for a new sensation to explore?” Sinnlich had clearly not put any thought or preparation into his worship for the evening.

From beneath the shadows of his hood, Joe's eyes flicked from depraved scene to depraved scene. It took him a full minute to find his voice in order to express his bafflement. "What is this? Who are you? Why are those ladies doing that? Where is Bob? What is that fellow doing with those carrots in his ears?"

His guide turned and grinned at him with sharpened teeth. "Good idea. Outrage is an emotion I haven’t explored. I might try it next week."

Joe burst back out through the door and into the street where he tumbled through a surprised group of red robed men. He ignored their shouts and ran until he found a quiet place. There he began lashing himself with vigour. He resolved that he would continue doing so until the unholy sights he had seen were scoured from his retinas.




Academician Sünder was a secret priest of Slaanesh and leader of the wharf side coven. He could see one of the junior members of his sect standing in front of him with his lips moving, but he could hear no sound. With a blasphemous oath of annoyance Sünder withdrew two corrupt carrots from his ears.

"What is it, Sinnlich? I am quite busy," he snapped.

“I said, ‘that new fellow was full of questions.’ You see, I wasn’t expecting the Imperial Inquis-“

Sünder silenced him with the carrots again, this time by stabbing them into his abdomen. No doubt Sinnlich's final agony space brought warmth to Slaanesh's black heart, but Sünder was still exasperated. He was discovering that it was far easier to corrupt and recruit fools than sages.

“It is hard to get good cultists these days,” he reflected as he moved on to a pair of bananas. His fruit bowl was full and he anticipated that he had a long night of depraved experimentation ahead of him.




"Where are our friends tonight?” whispered Bob's companion.

"Have you already forgotten? They are in the Imperial zoo.” Bob snapped.

"The zoo again? Why are we going this way, then? The zoo is over near the Marienburg gate."

The two sneaks flitted from shadow to shadow like large, non-conformist moths. When the city walls loomed up like a row of cliffs, they turned back towards the Marienburg gate. Bob began to smell animal dung and rotting vegetation over the reek of the canals. They soon stood in front of the zoo entrance.

The main zoo gate was solidly closed, but slivers of light escaped around the door and shutters of the gatehouse to one side. Bob listened at the door and heard a snatch of conversation.

"The small lizard will do some tricks, but only with the threat of the lash. The big one doesn't do much, but it looks impressive. I'll warrant that if you starve them a few days, they'll beg for food to please your visitors."

Bob felt a hand on his arm. "We should surprise them," his companion suggested.

Bob silently turned the latch. When the bolt was disengaged, he nodded and the pair put their shoulders against the door and barrelled into the room.

Two men were sitting at a rough wooden table with a bottle and a pair of chipped glasses between them. They were surprised but not alarmed by the unexpected arrivals.

One of the men was a slender fellow who wore a crisp blue uniform and cap. "What are you doing?" he asked.

"Hello Zookeeper Bernard. Are you surprised to see us?" Bob's partner pulled back his hood and grinned evilly - he was a man whose lips, ears and eyebrows were pierced with dozens of jagged pieces of metal.

“Of course I am surprised to see you here, Betruger. Thursday night is cult night at the wharf-side warehouse.”

"What?” Betruger cuffed Bob on the back of his hooded head. "You idiot! I was looking forward to beating the zoo animals again, too. No matter, there is still time to head over. Will you join us at the warehouse, Bernard? I've heard some of the turnips are particularly heretical this season."

"Not tonight, sorry. I have some business to attend to with our fellow, Stefan.” The zookeeper indicated his guest, who raised his glass. “Please give my apologies to Sünder and don't forget the big event tomorrow night."

"Do you have any more details about the event?"

"If I did, I wouldn’t be telling." Bernard grinned and paused for effect. "I am the Keeper of Secrets, after all."

Bernard, Betruger and Stefan all erupted into laughter.

Betruger was still chuckling as he waved farewell and started back towards the wharf district with Bob followed mutely in his wake. Bob himself was shocked that even evil chaos worshippers would stoop to the lowest form of wit. It reminded him that he had in no way traded up by exchanging the excessively pierced cultist for his spawn brother.

Just as he resolved to abandon Betruger and return to the zoo by himself, he heard a familiar swish-slap sound coming from a narrow gap between buildings. He lagged behind until his guide turned a corner, then hurried back to investigate.

"Joe?” he called softly.

"Bob? Oh Bob! It was horrible! I may never eat vegetables again!"

"No time for that!” Bob cut him off. "The zoo is this way. Follow me."

He began retracing his steps for the second time, then suddenly hesitated and stopped in his tracks.

"What was that about vegetables?"




Zookeeper Bernard shook the last drops out of the bottle and stood up get another from the side board. As he did so, the zoo gatehouse door swung open for the second time that night. Two hooded and cloaked figures stepped inside.

"For the love of self abuse!” Bernard rolled his eyes. “Thursday. Dock side warehouse. Good-bye!"

The unexpected visitors made no move to depart. One positioned himself near the door, and watched the street, the other stepped into the light of the tallow candles which adorned the mantle. The zookeeper squinted at him and took in the purifier’s whip looped around his waist.

"You are a flagellant, are you? A filthy scrounger. Begone! I have no alms for you!"

The monk remained silent. His comrade finished his inspection of the street, folded his arms and blocked the doorway with his body.

“As you are begging for it…” Stefan the hunter rose to his feet and unfurled the whip he kept on his belt. “… I will give you a taste of something bitter.”

The whip hissed and cracked, striking the nearer purifier on his shoulder. The monk did not flinch. The whip flicked again, this time tearing the coarse fabric and drawing a little blood.

The unimpressed flagellant unhitched his own flail from his waist with exaggerated slowness.

“Mine is better,” he grated.

He made sure that hunter and zookeeper alike saw the thorny barbs woven into the many tails of his whip before he gave them the opportunity to feel them in action. The two villains cowered and scrambled but there was no escape for them as the purifier pursued them around the room and its upturned furnishings.

Eventually the chastiser relented and the two men knelt, wailing for mercy with their shirts cut to bloody ribbons on their backs. He brought the dark shadow of his cowl right to Stefan and Bernard's terrified faces. From his sleeves he shook a pair of savage, reptilian claws which he used to pull back his hood. What was revealed was a thing of nightmare.

The frightful monstrosity was covered in scales from the tip of its snout to its brow, which was covered with a white dome. Cold, implacable eyes pierced the men's souls from deep sockets. The thing's thin lips curled away from rows of fangs in a heart stopping parody of a grin.

"The next time you wish to blight the air with a pun, don't," it murmured to Bernard in a voice so low that the man involuntarily leaned closer in order to make out the words.

The monster nodded towards the door watcher. “It only encourages the scoundrel in the robe.”

The door watcher revealed an equally terrifying face as he pulled back his own hood. “It’s just a habit,” he stated innocently.

The men cringed as the chastiser raised his flail. It wasn’t clear if the next lash was for Bernard, Stefan or the watcher. “Do you see what I mean? Now get out of here.” They needed no further encouragement to flee than the two solid kicks he applied to their rears.




Joe examined the large bunch of keys he had hooked from the zookeeper's belt as he fled through the doorway. "Locks like this could take a while," he noted.

Bob brandished his flail again. “No. Just no.”

 

I hate to do too much solid exposition, but @pendrake might enjoy the first 6 paragraphs or so - setting up the political backdrop of the Imperial Civil War.

The city of Altdorf is an character in the story, too. This is the map I have been working off (although I have conveniently erased the Paravon Gate and moved the Imperial Citadel (Heldenhammer) closer to the Nuln gate. If I could acknowledge the original creator of this map, I would.


http://www.gitzmansgallery.com/maps/Map-City-Altdorf-4-Color.jpg

My Imperial zoo is against the wall just to the right of the Marienburg gate. I imagine the Cult warehouse would be near uberschutten strasse - near the Fishen Market Platz. The dome of Sigmar I moved into the castle complex near the bottom left, doubling the length of the Heldenhammer Grand Allee. I put the temple district to the right of the Nuln Gate.

 

Bob, image is too small for me to enlarge

try re-embedding it, or linking an image from a bigger version online?

 

Let me know if the top or bottom one works - I'll delete the other.

 

Neither image can be opened up for closer inspection. I did find this one online, I think it's the same one?

 

Thanks @Slanputin - that one works now. I also attached the link to the image, for if the embedded doesn't one work.

Now, a word of apology for the puns above - that just sort of happened while I was writing the final draft - the "zooKeeper of Secrets" and "Locks like this could take a while" are actually the amusing - I hope - alternative version of the chapter. I will post the slightly less hilarious real version for comment before I do the final draft.

And now a warning -

I really don't like doing block exposition - I always want to have a witness's point of view of events, but when I am setting the political or historical scene it is difficult to find someone who has an informed or objective point of view who just happens to need to speak about t. - Either no-one in the party would know the facts or everyone in the party would know the facts.

This forces me into 3rd person omniscient point of view which I don't want. (I prefer tight 3rd person even if the PoV jumps around a bit - tight 3rd conveys emotion better IMHO.)

I am rambling back to the warning... If I know I need to block out some exposition, I do it as early as possible. As I write, I discover opportunities to have characters supply the facts - or discover that I don't need them at all. Slanputin may be sad to know that draft 1 actually spelt out what the skaven were running from and what happened to the dwarfs of Zufbar, but in this draft it will be a mystery until Book 2 - because I will have a witness pop up then.

The warning - As I continue going forwards, I will try to put the important exposition onto the lips of characters. If they say something which you already know - don't worry - I will clean it up in the final draft.

 

I thought the Imperial capital moved depending on which Elector Count was crowned Emperor? I suppose you could argue that such a tradition was suspended whilst a civil war was going on.

I'm glad this was the final Blues Brothers pun, it was getting close to getting tired. One would hope they'll enter a Sigmarite Chapel and engage in some excited dancing with the help of Priest James Braun

*que music*

THIS was my favourite pun of the chapter, Bob. I accept no apology for it.


There were a few grammatical/spelling errors in this one. I'd give it a cursory view.

 

Thanks for the feedback.

For the record, that was the only Blues Brothers line. They had been played straight for 3 chapters, in the hope that you would forget about their names. Any tired humour was happening in your head.

Beware an even earlier-set up sleeper gag in the next chapter.

As for Imperial Capitals - you may well be right about the rotating roster. If it offends, I could revert to "Sigmar's Capital / Sigmar's Citadel / Sigmar's Throne" in the next draft.

 

I was probably too aware of the gag set-up as it happened. For the record/posterity/clarification I didn't think it was tired, but that it ran the risk of being so if it extended through many more chapters.

I think Altdorf is fine. It'd be shame to shake everything up given the amount of thought you've put into it - if needs be you could just instill a throw-away line as lip-service about why Altdorf was still considered the capital (throne of the last emperor; seen as a haven by the common folk because of it during such tumultuous times and thus still seen as the capital etc).

 

Chapter 17 The Imperial Zoo


When Bob and Joe opened the inner door of the gatehouse they discovered that the Imperial Zoo was more like an outdoor dungeon than anything else. There was a central cobbled laneway which ran for the length of the zoo, some two hundred yards. Alongside the lane was a deep gutter which was choked with mouldy straw and animal waste. The eye-watering tang of stale urine and excrement rose thickly from the rotting refuse.

Dungeon cells faced inwards on both sides. Each one had a roof and three walls, but the iron grates that faced the lane gave no additional protection from the elements. The largest cells, those on the left side, were built against the towering city wall.

The saurus warriors did not dare call out to their kin for fear of alerting soldiers who were patrolling the parapet above them. Instead they zigzagged from cage to cage as they searched, moving as quickly as possible across the moonlit lane. The animals, being accustomed to abuse, cowered in the deep shadows at the back of their cages, thus the searchers needed to open each cage in turn to identify the occupants.

They developed a routine. Joe would unlock a cage, and Bob would creep in, quietly calling Rychek and Mahtis' names. Sometimes he would receive an answering growl or nicker to show that he had entered the wrong cage. Sometimes he would be able to make out the shapes of the confined beasts. With each fruitless investigation, he would go back to the lane and rejoin his companion, offering useless advice as Joe juggled the oversized bunch of keys.

After dozens of false hopes, they made their way to the second last cage on the left. This was by far the largest they had yet encountered.

"Did you see that?” whispered Bob. "Something large just moved back there. Could it be Mahtis? Hurry up with the keys, Joe."

"I am hurrying.” Joe discarded another incorrect key and looked for one he hadn’t tried yet. “What does the sign on the door say?”

"It doesn't matter what the sign on the door says. Just open it quickly."

Joe found the right key and the iron grate squealed inwards.

Bob hastened inside. "Mahtis? Rychek?" he called softly.

Joe had paused and looked up at the city wall for a moment to make sure that no alarm had been raised when he heard a sudden flurry of movement and a stifled cry from Bob. The cry was echoed by a shout from the battlements. A sentry leaned over the parapet to identify the source of the commotion.

Joe scuttled into the dark cell before he could be seen from above. When his eyes adjusted to the deep darkness within he took in a scene which left him aghast.

"Bob!" he hissed. "Can't you read?"

Joe stabbed his claw at the swinging grate. The attached sign advised, 'Do Not Feed the Gryphon' in large letters.

Bob grunted unintelligibly in reply. At that moment he was pinned under the magnificent Imperial gryphon's front talons and he was struggling to hold its razor sharp beak open with his claws. The hungry beast gave a frustrated screech at the unexpected resistance from its supper. The wall sentry shouted again and tromping boots could be heard, much closer than Joe would have liked.

"We are running out of time, Bob. Keep that thing quiet while I'll check the last cage."

Joe crept back into the moonlight with more optimism than he had felt since the night outside Glumhof. Or at least the early part of the night outside Glumhof. There was only one cell left, after all, therefore surely the end of the long chase was at hand.

He peered between the last set of iron bars, but it was too dark for him to make anything out. Snorting in frustration, he stepped back into the moonlight to find the correct key. It was at that moment that Joe noticed that there was on a banner above the cell. He lifted his arm to trace the letters, and as he did so, the wide sleeve of his cassock fell back and his claw was exposed to the moonlight.

His excitement turned to anger and frustration when he read the words, 'The Terrifying Lizard Lady and her Suckling Infant.'

"Mahrlect, not again!” he hissed.




Rychek silently woke Mahtis and indicated a hooded and robed figure outside their cell. They watched it creep towards the bars and peer inside, but it was too dark for it to make them out. The figure stepped back and lifted one clawed hand and pointed it at the words above the cell, as if it was about to pronounce a dire curse.

"Mahrlect, not again!" it hissed, quickly followed by, “Oww! What the-” as a bucket sized fist bunched around its robe front, clanged its head against the bars and held it there. Another quick pair of hands relieved the cowled nightmare of the keys. The door was open in seconds.

"Mahtis! Toss the thing into the cage. I'll lock it inside."

"Mahtis?” the thing yelped. “Let go! It's me, Joe!"

Mahtis lifted the hooded apparition off its feet and hid his other hand behind his back.

"If you ARE Joe, and NOT what’s-his-name, the Empire God of Death, how many fingers am I holding up behind my back?"

"If you were a normal kroxigor, I would say, 'four or less,' but because you have picked up bad habits from ogres, I will say zero, because you will have made a fist and you are planning to decorate the cobbles with my teeth."

Mahtis gently placed the hooded figure back onto its feet and straightened up its clothing. “Hello, Joe. Why are you wearing a robe?”

Joe batted the kroxigor’s now gentle hands away. “Because I am blending in, like the captain said. Why are you wearing an apron and bonnet?”

Mahtis smoothed his hands down his apron. “Same reason. Where is Bob?”

“In the cage next door.” Joe became aware of a harsh coughing sound from that precise location. “Oh no, now what?”

He darted back to the gryphon cage with Rychek and Mahtis two steps behind. Bob was nowhere to be seen, but the gryphon was crouched in the back corner of its pen, clearly in distress. Its eyes bulged and it clawed impotently at its throat.

"Bad gryphon!” cried Joe. "What have you done with Bob?"

The beast's only response was a weak choking sound. Its swollen tongue lolled from its beak.

Realization dawned.

"Mahtis, it's choking on Bob! Do the thing!"

"What thing?"

"The choking thing! The Heimlich manoeuvre! Hurry!"

"The Heimlich wha - ah. Okay.”

The kroxigor wrapped his mighty arms around the huge beast’s thorax. His muscles knotted like battling pythons as he braced himself, then he squeezed with a rib cracking jerk. The stricken gryphon expelled a gleaming white eggshell and its distress was instantly alleviated. It shook itself like a wet dog and began nonchalantly preening its feathers.

As Mahtis stepped back, Joe rushed forward and slammed his hands and head impotently against monster's flank. "Why, Bob? Why didn't you read the sign?” he sobbed into its sleek feathers. A moment later he lifted his head and cocked one earhole.

"Shhh! I can faintly hear poor dead Bob's spirit speaking to me!"

Mahtis’ eyes popped. “Where is he speaking from?”

“Wait, I’ll ask.” Joe screwed up his eyes and wailed dramatically, "Spirit of Bob! From whence do you call?” He listened anew.

"I hear him again. He says, 'I am calling from the other side.'

"Spirit of Bob, what do you want us, those you have left behind, to do? ... He says, 'move the gryphon, and give me my egg shell back'."

"That would make him the least demanding shade I have ever heard of," remarked Rychek. He did his beast-master whistle, and the gryphon immediately stopped preening and trotted to the skink’s side.

A sorry figure had been pinned against the stone wall by the gryphon’s bulk. It slowly unkinked and counted its limbs. Having reached some threshold number, it rose and gave Joe a smart slap across the snout.

“Joe, you are an idiot. Hello Rychek. Hello Mahtis. Give me that.” Bob took his eggshell out of Mahtis hands and shook off the worst of the gryphon saliva before resettling it on his head. "Is that a ribbon on your head, Rychek. It is sooooo cute.”

“If we can get out of the city before dawn, I can ditch this stupid disguise and restore my dignity. Let us be on our way.”

The sentry on the wall had returned to watching out for external threats, thus the reunited band were able to hurry the length of the laneway unobserved. However, just as it seemed they were to be free at last, fate intervened. They burst through the zoo gate and onto the street directly in the path of a troop of heavily armed soldiers.

"Mahrlect!" groaned Bob.

The commander of the troops strode forward impatiently. “I am he. But who in seven hells are you?”

“Mahrlect? I mean, Captain Mahrlecht! It’s me!”

“I don’t know any flagellants.”

“You don’t recognise us because we are blending in, like you said,” explained MAhtis. “That is Bob, and here is Joe. Rychek and I are disguised as ‘the Terrifying Lizard Lady and Her Suckling Infant’,” declared Mahtis. He lifted his bonnet a fraction of an inch off his head. “Do you recognise me now?”

“Great Heavens! Mahtis? Is it really you?”

“Yes it is Mahtis, and here is finally an end to blending in.” Rychek undid his bow and fumbled at the enormous safety pin securing his diaper.

"Leave your disguise on, Rychek.” Mahrlecht looked over his shoulder at his muttering troops. "The city has accepted the idea of a lizard lady and babe due to your fame in the district, and two odd flagellants…well, that is an oxymoron. However, the sudden appearance of four inhuman warriors on this troubled day would bring your doom. You must continue to blend in.”

“He is right, Rychek.”

“But Mahtis-“ Rychek protested.

Mahrlecht hushed him. “You are to blend in, and that is no way for a child to speak to his mother.”

“What about like this? But Ma-a-ah…“ Rychek channelled all of the whininess of two months of mute incarceration into the extended vowel sound. Even the black clad mercenaries felt like slapping him.

“Much better. Now, you will not be safe on the streets. For your own preservation you must accompany me this day.”

“Where are you taking us?” asked Joe.

"To war, Brother Purifier. To war."

 

EEEEEEEEEEEE!!

 

For their own safety. It's OK.

 

Intro to chapter 18

I did a bunch of expository work about the state of the Empire civil war at the start of chapter 16 - because I wasn't confident I could pull it off in expository dialogue later.

I am now pretty happy with the way I portrayed it in Chapter 18 and would like to drop the whole section from chapter 16.

Comments anyone?