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

Discussion in 'Fluff and Stories' started by spawning of Bob, Feb 20, 2015.

  1. Scalenex
    Slann

    Scalenex Keeper of the Indexes Staff Member

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    Chapter Four is very strong. Well-polished and paced. A lot of little tweaks made the finished piece of four much better than the rough draft.

    Chapter Five is good (You made Scalenex less of a jerk than before :) ) but there are a few minor things

     
  2. spawning of Bob
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    spawning of Bob Well-Known Member

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    Thank you Scalenex. Your suggestions will be assessed and then either ignored or acted upon.

    As for
    There are a number of possibilities:

    Who the heck can tell anyway. Gender confused lizards abound in real life anyway (I own at least one. Wesley and Buttercup (blue tongue lizards) have shown no signs of True Love. Lizardpersons have even less need for gender than regular lizards.
    or
    I thought it was funny at the time.
    or
    I am following a strict quota as per L-O's Inclusiveness policy which states 25% of all lizards must be gender confused.
    or
    This kind of thing probably happens more often than you would probably expect.
    or
    I am setting something up and you will need to be patient.
    or
    Most of the above.
     
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  3. spawning of Bob
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    spawning of Bob Well-Known Member

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    Chapter 7. The Parting

    The order of march was somewhat changed for the remaining weeks of travel across the Dark Lands. Bessie strode proudly in what appeared to be a position of honour near the head of the caravan. In reality, the band of lizards had simply been moved to place them within easy range of thirty Tilean crossbows as crude kind of insurance against betrayal.

    The other caravan guards' roles had been completely usurped by the Dyslexian warriors. Occasionally the traders would pass by the chameleon scouts' handiwork in the form of a cluster of orcs or a savage beast lying still, feathered with darts. Sometimes the saurus and kroxigor cohorts would ghost away, only to return several hours later with bloodied weapons and grisly trophies.

    The situation was satisfactory to all concerned with the exception of the Ungol outriders. They had been left without a function, but yet their level of stress had increased. The mischievous chameleons would often sneak up on them in broad daylight and frighten the Mahrlect out of their horses.

    Priest Caneghem and Scribe Scalenex usually walked together. Scalenex was eager to hear the tale of the False Moon War and to learn of the disposition of the ogre kingdoms which loomed to the east of Dyslexia's new dominion. Caneghem was thirsty for information about the time of Scalenex's first life, before the gods fled the earth.

    Bob and Joe alternated between riding on Bessie or plodding nearby, all the while arguing about nothing.

    Captain Mahrlecht hovered near the front of the column, all the better to observe his new ally. It took a week, but eventually his composure cracked. He reined in his horse and blocked Scalenex's path.

    "I tire of being mocked, Scribe. Why is it that you hide a grin every time my name is spoken? Do I amuse you?"

    Scalenex cocked his head and looked the mercenary up and down, "You do realise that your name is the rude word, don't you?"

    "Of course I know it is a rude word," Mahrlecht snapped. "I have borne it for thirty-five years. But why should a byword in the common tongue be so funny to you, lizardman?"

    "It is a rude word in the lizardman tongue as well," observed Bob.

    Joe added, "Ogres. Ogres use it too."

    "Just because my name is a swear word doesn't mean-"

    "You don't understand, Captain Mahr... captain." Scalenex explained. "Your name isn't a swear word. It is the swear word, given by the gods themselves. That is why the term, or local variations are found in every language."

    "Given by the gods?" the captain spluttered.

    "Yes," said Priest Caneghem. "It was the last recorded word used by the Old Ones. The histories show that they used it when the polar gates collapsed and Chaos flooded the world."

    Scalenex rubbed one ear hole. "I can vouch for the fact that they pronounced it with great vehemence."

    Caneghem nodded, "You can find it chiselled all over our temple cities by young skinks who had nothing better to do at the time."

    "As you would find it daubed on alley walls in Nuln or any other city of the Empire," the captain grumbled.

    "Offensive graffiti is bad enough," Scalenex sighed, "but on the walls of Dyslexia, it is usually misspelled."



    Captain Mahrlecht was scarcely mollified, but there was little he could do about his amusing name. After another otherwise uneventful week had passed, the caravaneers could finally see the World's Edge Mountains looming above the haze. An obvious cleft marked Peak Pass, just north of the Drakenmoor.

    Another evening council was held, but this time no fires were set because the nearby foothills held a notorious goblin lair. The topic of discussion was the safety or otherwise of Peak Pass.

    Wolf Priest Heimlich's rumbling voice was heard. "The pass will be clear. The goblins raid far to the north in spring and summer.” In the chill gloom, little of the priest of Ulric's face could be discerned apart from his glittering eyes. "They slay wolf packs and take the cubs, training them with much cruelty to bear riders."

    There was a rumble, as of distant thunder, or perhaps an avalanche among the peaks.

    The captain considered this counsel. "These are unusual times. The goblins may have changed the colour of their skin, for all I know. We should not proceed until the pass has been carefully scouted."

    At his elbow, Caneghem and Scalenex shared a grin.

    "The forward clutch of chameleon skinks would have entered the pass this noon," declared Scalenex. "They will return and report before dawn."

    "Who named you captain, scribe. I would be privy to the orders given to your troops."

    "And who pulled your name out of a privy, captain? I will order my troops as I see fit."

    "Listen to them bickering," Bob whispered in Joe's ear hole. "It's so immature."



    Before dawn and true to Scalenex's word, one of the near-invisible chameleons ghosted back to camp and startled everyone with his hissing whisper.

    "You cannot use the Peak Pass. A battle rages, above and below ground. Rat men swarm from the north, and hooded night goblins strive to hold them back. The rats have breeders and young among them, and their troops are in disarray. It looks less like a Skaven raid and more like they are fleeing, en masse. The goblins fight under several different totems, with no obvious command structure."

    Scalenex bowed. "I thank you, Pfft of the Silent Assassins. May your scent never be traced back to you."

    Pfft responded with his company motto; "Silent but Deadly."

    Bob came to a startling realisation. "It's been you all along?” he exclaimed, "I've been blaming the wolf man!"

    "What of dwarfs?” Captain Mahrlecht ignored this disturbing revelation. "The maniacs of Slayer Keep would scarcely stay out of a battle on their doorstep."

    "Of dwarfs there was no sign."

    The captain shook his head. "Then our path is chosen for us. We must pay the toll and pass through the mines and Dwarf Hold of Zhufbar. Joe, bring to me your dwarf friend."

    "Inebric the Trader?" Joe stammered, "I don't think he is my friend, really. More of an acquaintance. I hope."

    "Nonsense. He owes you a life debt. I'm sure you will find that he turns out to be more than just a friend."

    The captain turned away from the discomfited Saurus Warrior and bawled to any within earshot, "Break camp."



    The caravan spent the next few days toiling south, skirting the Desolation of Drakenmoor and seeking an opening to the mines of Zhufbar in the Rib Peaks.

    It was the turn of Inebric the Trader, on his donkey cart, to ride in honour at the head of the column as it snaked into the foothills. It was he who needed to identify the hidden entrance of the mines, and to serve as a broker in negotiating passage. Even though he was distant kin to the dwarfs of Zhufbar, he could be trusted to seek the best rate. Blood may be thicker than water, but gold trumps both in the eyes of a tight fisted dwarf.

    The mine entrance was hidden, but dwarf eyes penetrated its secrets. Inebric touched the concealed runes and a hidden entrance slid open, big enough to swallow the whole caravan.

    At the sight of the yawning maw, Bessie shied. No cajoling would see her enter.

    "Do not fret, Rychek." Caneghem put a claw on the beast master's arm. "She can stay with me. A mine is no place for a bastiladon."

    "Priest Caneghem, what do you mean 'stay with you'? You urgently wanted to take your star charts back to Lustria."

    "Scalenex has urged me to remain. They have need of a priest in Dyslexia, and I will be able to study the histories carved into the pyramid there. When my analysis is complete, the charts will be of vastly greater value to the astromancers of Lustria."

    "Let us wait until your work is done, that we may escort you. The captain will release us from his service-"

    "No, Rychek. My work may take years. The Dyslexians will no doubt be happy to protect me when I return to Lustria. In the troubled times which are now looming, your place is with your Lustrian kin. They will have need of every spear that can be mustered."

    Caneghem explained his intent to stay behind to the rest of the lizard band. He and Rychek clasped forearms. With Joe he exchanged shy shoulder punches and made jokes. He kept a wary distance away from Mahtis, who had to settle for a cheery wave in lieu of a more affectionate and possibly injurious farewell. Bob, he took aside.

    "Fortune smiles on you and those around you. Keep your brothers close. Also, hear this: great and terrible times are ahead, but the outcome balances on a knife edge. Beware that friend and foe alike can wear masks, and look for the ally unexpected. The stars do not lie."

    "The stars may not lie, but they seem to speak from both sides of their mouths."

    "If I were to say, 'may the Old Ones guide you in the path of the Great Plan,' would you be happier?"

    "I would be happiest with 'see you later.' "

    "Until next time, then."

    Caneghem and Bob bowed awkwardly, cracking their heads together with a hollow sound. The priest was still rubbing his head as he disappeared into the haze of the Dark Lands with Bessie, Scalenex and the doughty fighters of Dyslexia.
     
    Last edited: May 24, 2015
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  4. Scalenex
    Slann

    Scalenex Keeper of the Indexes Staff Member

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    Never heard that expression. I thought people stored water in flasks, bottles, bladders, or tanks.

    Scalenex is whatever he wants to be.

    Never heard that expression. I thought people stored water in flasks, bottles, bladders, or tanks.

    Scalenex is whatever he wants to be.

    Wherever did you come up with that brilliant and subtle name?


    [
     
  5. Slanputin
    Carnasaur

    Slanputin Well-Known Member

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    Bye bye, Canegham :(

    I half expected him to plummet down a chasm just before they exited the mines in a gruelling battle with an ancient daemon recently awakened.

    On another note, Canegham was in a rush back to deliver the star charts to Lustria - the knowledge offered at Dyslexia is surely tempting, but shouldn't his acquired knowledge continue its journey? He was in a rush for a reason, and I find his meandering off to find more knowledge undermines it?

    As for the use of mahrlect above, I agree to the extent about it being a 'Lizardmen-only' curse but I found its origin hilarious. Similarly with Pfft :p he won me over very quickly.

    I'm a little impatient to see the story continue. Why were the Skaven fleeing? How long before they reach the Empire? Does the presence of Pfft foreshadow the use of chemical weapons (farts + blowpipes = ?)?
     
    Last edited: Jun 4, 2015
  6. spawning of Bob
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    spawning of Bob Well-Known Member

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    For sure. Strength 10 hits in rear arc.
     
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  7. spawning of Bob
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    Chapter 8. The Silent Halls

    Captain Mahrlecht adjusted his troop disposition once again. On the plateau of the Dark Lands a threat could appear from any point of the compass, but even a fast moving raid could be detected and countered by the Ungol outriders before it threatened the traders.

    In the maze of tunnels and galleries that made up the Mines of Zhufbar, a foe could be around the next corner, or hidden in a side tunnel. There was no use for the fleetness and range of the Ungols, which was just as well because they had formed a superstitious and uncharacteristically nervous huddle in the middle of the caravan as soon as they had passed underground.

    Instead, the Tilean light infantry took up the scouting role and crept ahead of the van with their crossbows ready. Any side passages or shafts they discovered were treated as potential sources of danger and the Flanderian heavies formed a wall of steel at each one until the caravan had passed safely by. Their diligence was seemingly not required. The mines were empty.

    The Captain kept the lizard band with his command group where he could keep them lizards on a much shorter rein after the subterfuge in the Dark Lands. The only time he let them out of his sight was if he needed to send one of them on a specific errand. As Rychek returned from the forward scouts the captain assessed that the sun would be setting over the world above.

    "You, Joe. Go forward to our guide. Ask him to find us a chamber we can make secure. It is time to rest."

    "Why must I go? Why not send Hymie?" the saurus warrior indicated one of the apprehensive Ungols who jumped at the sound of his own name.

    "Hymie?"

    "His father's name is Hymie," explained Joe.

    "I know his father's name is Hymie, you idiot. I am not sending Hymie because I am sending you. Now go!"

    Rychek hovered near the captain's elbow as Joe reluctantly complied.

    "What is wrong with your riders, captain," he asked. "Their ponies are fine, but they do not ride."

    Mahrlecht glanced back at his once proud elite cavalry, who were indeed limping on blistered feet and leading their mounts. The greasy yellow light of their tallow lanterns seemed to accentuate the care lines on each weather beaten Ungol face.

    "They fear falling from their saddles and sustaining a fatal injury."

    "Fall off? They boast than they cannot be removed from horseback alive. Why did they begin to fear as soon as we came underground?"

    "The Ungols hold the open sky as their god. They believe that if they die where the sky cannot see them, their souls will wander and never find rest in the afterlife."

    Rychek considered this. "What do you believe will happen to your soul after you die, captain?"

    The captain shook his head impatiently. "I am not interested in metaphysics. What have you to report other than superstitious Ungols?"

    "This tunnel extends for another mile then the path skirts a deep chasm. Our guide says that we are still three days from the gates of the dwarf hold."

    "Ah, Inebric the Guide." Mahrlecht snorted. "The dwarf of many titles. Let no one say that he does not have uses. What does he have to say about the abandonment of this mine?"




    In contrast to the generally muted spirits of the rest of the caravan, Inebric the Trader was positively cheerful. This undwarflike demeanor was fuelled by the alignment of a number circumstances, the first being that he had solid rock on all sides to bolster his sense of security and identity.

    In addition, he had been convinced that he had been promoted to a position of honour at the head of the column for no extra charge. The captain had actually moved him up for purely pragmatic reasons. The dwarf had a vague idea of the route through the mines and was needed as a guide. Also, he would be on hand to vouch for the caravan when they came into contact with the dwarfs of Zhufbar.

    Both of these facts had been cited to the dwarf to explain his enhanced status, but if Inebric had lifted his eyes further than the rim of his tankard he would have noticed that his immediate neighbours on the journey were the same as they had been in the Dark Lands.

    The positions of the caravaneers had simply been reversed, with the juicy and expendable lizard's tail now in front. Underground, the greatest risks were stumbling onto an unstable floor, a trap or an ambush. The least threat was from behind because the captain had directed his troops to form their own rolling ambush as they went.

    The principle reason for Inebric's light spirit was contained in great quantity in his mule cart. After the incident at the fireside he had sought out the skink known as T'quila. The maker of the cactus water turned out to be a terrible businessman, particularly after matching the dwarf ounce for ounce as they checked the quality of a number of flasks. Inebric could not even remember what goods he had fraudulently promised in return for a mule cart load of flasks, but that wasn't important. What was important was that the skink wouldn't be able to remember either.

    "Excuse me."

    Inebric squinted over the side and saw a blurry lizard. He squinted harder and the image resolved to be an anxious looking Joe.

    "Lass! Climb aboard" Inebric wobbled to one side of the cart and made room for his second favourite lizard.

    Joe climbed up and cringed on his own side. "I'm not a-"

    "I've broached a new cask of ale to celebrate the...Well, just to celebrate, and ye've arrived just in time to watch me drink it." He raised his tankard and glugged enthusiastically.

    "The captain asks if you could find a place for the night's encampment."

    "Oh aye! There is a gallery two miles yonder." He sloshed his tankard in a vaguely forward direction. "That will suit."

    The dwarfed continued to slurp loudly until Joe interrupted with a question.

    "There are no miners. Did the mine run out of ore?"

    Inebric gazed blearily about. "No, lass. The mine is still full of ore. Can ye not smell it?"

    Joe sniffed deeply and regretted it, "I am only getting hints of something that smells like a beer drenched carpet. Where are the miners then? Were they chased away?"

    "No. The miners didn't flee. They have squared everything away, neater than my underwear drawer."

    "Why did they leave then?"

    "Maybe they ran out of ale. Oh, look at ye, lass." the dwarf pulled another, very small tankard out of the hull of his cart and wiped it carefully with his beard. "Do ye fancy a draught?"

    Joe shuddered and climbed off the cart and watched it creak away into the gloom. As he stood there, the cart belonging to the silk merchant, Signor Marcio rumbled close by.

    "Don't believe him!" the trader hissed. "Dwarfs don't wear underwear!"

    Joe volunteered to scout far ahead for the next three successive days.




    The dwarf had an uncanny sense of direction underground, but his role was all but superfluous. All ways converged on the Dwarf Hold of Zhufbar. At length the lizard band and the captain's command company found themselves standing before a toll booth with a flimsy orange and white barrier. No tithe master was apparent.

    "Hail the Watch!” Captain Mahrlecht called repeatedly, with no reply but echoes. He looked at his tipsy guide for a suggestion.

    Inebric reeled forwards.

    "This will gain their attention," he took a deep breath and shouted, "Gold!"

    No response. The dwarf looked a little concerned.

    "They must be laying low. I'll try again." he gathered his breath once more. "Free Beer!"

    Nothing.

    The dwarf trader looked shaken. "They must be dead!"

    Mahtis stepped over and lifted the barrier with one claw. There was no hail of lead to answer his trespass, so he continued to the tunnel's end with the others in tow. Further passage was blocked by a massive iron door which was inlayed with geometric patterns of what appeared to be silver. There was a keyhole which looked as if it would accept a key of about six feet long. Otherwise, there was no handle and no doorbell.

    Inebric staggered to the door and touched it lightly with one hand. Nothing happened. Nothing continued to happen for quite some time.

    Mahtis peered over the top of the small crowd that had gathered behind the befuddled Alcohlric.

    "How do we open it?"

    "We cannot open it, lad," the dwarf snapped, "Unless ye have a rune hammer upon ye."

    "Like the one I have been conveniently carrying around for the past year?" Mahtis brandished his pride and joy.

    "Aye, that should do. Bring it up."

    Inebric handled the heavy treasure respectfully. "A rune hammer of Karak Andstick, I'll wager. The master rune has worn off, but it is worth a try.

    The hammer was taller than himself, but, after a steadying draft from his tankard, and another for luck. And another for ancestors, the stout dwarf had no trouble fitting it into the keyhole.

    Before turning the outsize key he faced the captain and his troops and gave some words of caution.

    "Harken! If ye encounter the dwarfs of Zhufbar ye'll best treat them with respect. They will be hasty to form a grudge and tardy to forgive. If instead they've abandoned and sealed the hold, ye must go with care. Keep to the main way. If ye see a door, it will be a trap. If ye don't see a door, it will be a secret door, and it will be a trap. If ye don't see your legs, ye didn't listen to my warning."

    The dwarf easily turned the enormous key with two fingers. The well oiled and precise mechanism released hidden counterweights and the gate slid noiselessly into a dark void above.

    Mahtis gaped upwards. "How do I get my hammer back?"

    Inebric grabbed the lizardman's scaly arm and pulled him down so he could whisper in his earhole. "I'll get ye a new one, if ye'll put in a word for me with a lass."

    He released the confused kroxigor and slipped beneath the arch, testing each foot step warily. He tiptoed further into the gloom, following what appeared to be a random weaving path.

    All of a sudden he fell from view, with a loud clunk.

    Could this be the first trap?

    The dwarf bobbed into view again.

    "Don't ye worry! Don't ye worry! I didn't spill a drop!"

    He continued to weave drunkenly into the silent hold.




    The only sounds to penetrate the tomblike stillness of Zhufbar were ones made by the members of the caravan themselves. Two days passed as they traversed the hold without any sign of living dwarf. There were no bodies, no signs of battle, just empty halls.

    Inebric the Trader and Guide became progressively more concerned for the dwarfs of Zhufbar, and needed to console himself with drink. By the time the vanguard reached the inside of the western gate, he was so consoled that he could barely stand.

    A stone had been erected beside the gate, in which was chiselled a brief note in Khazalid runes. Light was thrown upon it and the dwarf was propped up to read it.

    "Do the runes tell where the dwarfs went?" Joe demanded.

    "Keep your hair on, lass...” Inebric squinted at the lizardman and noted the absence of hair for the first time. He consoled himself again and traced his stubby fingers over the raised lines of the angular writing. "That's a relief," he said.*

    "What? What happened?"

    "I can tell that although they left in haste, they are planning to return."

    "Where did they go?"

    "It doesn't say where. It just says, 'If ye be reading these runes, please put the milk bottles out'."




    The gate of the hold could be opened from inside without a key. The first members of the caravan to pass outside were the Ungols, and the last was Inebric himself who ensured that the gate was secured behind him.

    If the Ungols had hoped to gaze at the blue sky, they were surely disappointed. It was still afternoon, but the sky looked like lead, drearier even than the Dark Lands.

    No one was there to witness the appearance of the caravan except for one small boy who was watching a flock of goats. He took one look at the pale men who emerged and ran down the road piping, "The hold is open! The hold is open!"

    A neat human town had grown in the valley below the hold, thriving on the commerce that flowed through the gates. As they approached it, the travellers noted that the town was intact and populated, but quiet. The markets were largely empty, and the taverns seemed like they would be barely able to muster a squabble, let alone a regulation brawl.

    In the town square a delegation of town elders waited. One hailed the captain.

    "Greetings travelers, you are welcome to visit our town in peace. Please avail yourselves of refreshment and lodging."

    The grey beards seemed almost overly full of deference to the dusty and smelly caravaneers.

    "Hail the elders." Captain Mahrlecht replied as he dismounted, "What news of the dwarfs of Zhufbar?"

    The old men muttered among themselves. At length the spokesman replied.

    "We had hoped you would have tidings to give for you came from within, good sir. The dwarfs have not shown themselves this last month. But we can discuss such things as these strange days over a hot meal. The hour is late and it is best to be indoors before nightfall in these parts. Let our ostlers look to your beasts, and you to your own comfort. I am Lothar, elder of this town, and I invite you to enjoy that which humble Sylvania has to offer."

    Bom bom BAAAA!

    * Get it?
     
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  8. Scalenex
    Slann

    Scalenex Keeper of the Indexes Staff Member

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    I am disappointed. The hammer has more character and holds my interest better than Inebric. I'm sad the hammer is left behind and Inebric was not. His implied desire to sleep with a Saurus warrior makes a bad scene much worse.

    I'm not sure what the spoilers are alluding to. To be brutally honest, you have seven good chapters so far and you have chapter eight.
     
  9. Slanputin
    Carnasaur

    Slanputin Well-Known Member

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    Ohhh, is Inebric partially blind or similar? His running fingers over the runes suggested it could be Dwarven braille.... hence his "confusion" about Joe, and Inebric's squinting making him notice Joe's hairlessness? Or was it a sly reference to him relieving himself? Or did I not get it?

    I don't have any great qualms about the dwarf if I'm honest, although I don't really like his use of "ye". If I read it as "Yeh" then it fits better with my own reading of his accent (he's a Yorkshireman btw). I didn't mind his lusting after a Saurus, it was humorous and I'm all for free love etc

    Also, Rein = reign? Perhaps another Americanism. I fear Scalenex has corrupted you, Bob.

    I liked the atmosphere built whilst they traversed the mines, but I'm glad they've finally left the Dark Lands. Now they're in the Empire I feel like things are going to start escalating...
     
  10. spawning of Bob
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    spawning of Bob Well-Known Member

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    You are but babes in the dark forest of Spawning of Bob puns. Relief
     
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  11. Slanputin
    Carnasaur

    Slanputin Well-Known Member

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    Midway on our Bob’s journey, I found myself
    In dark woods, the right puns lost.


    The other other relief. I was somewhat close..
     
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  12. spawning of Bob
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    spawning of Bob Well-Known Member

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    accidental double post. I will use this as a bookmark for future sneering.

    Oh, and,

    Reins are for horses and lizards. Reigns are for dodgy Russian mystics. Yours will be short.
     
    Last edited: Jun 30, 2015
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  13. Slanputin
    Carnasaur

    Slanputin Well-Known Member

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    Ah, you are right. I shall rein my use of reign lest I be rained on by your sneering.
     
  14. spawning of Bob
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    spawning of Bob Well-Known Member

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    Is that like Rudolph the Red Nosed Reinsneer?
     
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  15. spawning of Bob
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    Chapter 9. Another Parting

    Captain Mahrlecht beckoned to Heimlich. "Look to the... beasts..." he pointed to the four lizardmen. "Ensure they settle... quietly." He kept his eyes fixed on the wolf priest's until he was sure the message had been received.

    Heimlich nodded understanding even as he held up a hand to quell Rychek's inevitable questions.

    "Come, beasts."

    As they began to follow he noticed that, other than the hammerless Mahtis, they still had weapons in their hands.

    Heimlich groaned. "Enough games. Drop the sticks. Drop them! Good boys."

    The bemused lizardmen lowered their weapons. "Come along to the stables, we don't want you fouling the square."

    Heimlich jogged away, and the unarmed lizards had to trot to catch up. At the back of the first row of buildings which faced the square, the man pulled them into a dim alley.

    "Mahrlect!” he hissed, "We should have planned for this. Now that you have been seen, we will need to keep up this charade!"

    "What is going o-"

    At great risk to his fingers, Heimlich clapped his hand over Rychek's open mouth.

    "Quietly! You must now this about the Empire, and particularly Sylvania; witchcraft, heresy and magic have been banned by Imperial decree and there are rewards for exposing witches and heretics. There is also an army of fanatical witch hunters, known as the Imperial Inquisition, who burn so many folk at the stake that you would believe there is a shortage of firewood."

    "What has that to do with us? We are not wizards," Bob protested.

    "Maybe not, but nothing shouts 'witchcraft' quite so loudly as a talking animal. From now on, until the captain says otherwise, you are to play at any role you are allotted. You will spend tonight in the stable with the horses and I will tend you myself to keep the ostlers away."

    "But what about the caravan troops and traders? They accepted us readily."

    "They have traveled outside the Empire. If any of them once believed the world was orderly and easily explained, they had that delusion dispelled within their first day beyond these borders. Most imperial citizens have never traveled and believe that everything that is new or different should be avoided, chased away or slain outright."

    "And these Inquisitors, are they so awful?"

    "Avoid mention of them. I have no doubt that you will see just how awful they are on the morrow."




    Early the next morning, a reduced caravan formed because some traders chose to linger in the town. Others were organising themselves to travel south to sell their wares.

    Among those who were settling their debts and making their farewells to Captain Mahrlecht was Inebric the Trader. Wherever he may have originally planned to go, he was now bound south to Karaz a Karak, the hold of High King Alriksson. The Sylvanian townsfolk could shed no light on the fate of the dwarfs of Zhufbar, and Inebric's new mission was to report the mystery to the over-king of the dwarfs. Before he turned his mule cart south he seized Joe by the claws.

    "Fare thee well, lass. I'll not forget ye."

    He departed with many a backward look.

    Lothar, the town elder raised his eyebrows. "The dwarf speaks thus to a beast?"

    Heimlich kept his face carefully neutral.

    "The journey was long."




    As the wolf priest had promised, evidence of the Inquisition's brutality was soon apparent. The road north was lined with gallows, gibbet cages and breaking wheels which were festooned with bodies in various stages of decay.

    Heimlich slapped his thigh and whistled. The lizardmen were now used to this indignity and scampered to the side of his horse, as if begging for treats.

    "Do you think that the Inquisitors are awful now?" he spat on the ground.

    "These bodies. They were all witches?" Rychek was less surprised by the brutality than he was by the scope of the chaos insurgency.

    "If only. These were the innocent. Confessed witches are burned. The local definition of witch is 'accused person who would rather confess and die quickly than be slowly tortured to death'."

    "Dog priest! Do you talk to lizard beasts also?" Captain Mahrlecht cantered up and positioned himself at the priest of Ulrik's side. "You will be the talk of the district, if you don't take care!" In a quieter voice, he added, "The local population are far enough away not to hear, but they are not blind. They will observe that you are speaking to yourself and will conclude that you are a madman, which would be fair. Or they will decide that you are speaking to these fine beasts and conclude that you are a daemoniac, which would be fatal. Keep moving and be more discreet."

    Indeed, some of the farm labourers in the fields on either side of the road had stopped their tasks and were watching the wolf priest and his pets go by with undisguised interest. Rychek was apparently immune to the captain's advice and continued his onslaught of questions.

    "So if the inquisition rules Sylvania." Rychek pointed at a brooding structure which was nestled against a tombstone like peak above the road. Its five irregular towers gave the impression of a skeletal hand thrusting out of the soil. "Does that castle belong to them?"

    "By all means speak softly, Rychek." Mahrlecht spoke through the clenched teeth of a smile. "Only please refrain from pointing. You are a dumb beast."

    "Is it the Inquisition's castle, though?"

    The captain leaned over towards Heimlich, but his words were for the skink. "You could pass for a child with your inquisitiveness. The Inquisition does not have any authority to rule, only to root out heresy, which they do with excessive zeal. In these far flung provinces, the local authority is usually some anonymous minor noble who is married to his cousin and talks to his horse."

    There was little novelty in seeing two men converse, and the labourers turned their pitchforks back to their work.

    Bob peered around to make sure the coast was clear. "That sounds like Bretonnians," he noted quietly.

    Mahrlecht laughed as if Heimlich had made some quip. "You are well schooled for a lizard."

    Bob shrugged. "Traders talk."

    "I don't doubt it, but if I had been describing a Bretonnian noble I would have said, 'married to his horse and at war with his cousin'. Now, in the case of this castle, which is named Drakenhof, I actually do know about the owner. His family is so famously inbred that each new count is said to be the exact image of their father in looks and eccentricity. He is the Count Vlad von Carstein, and his family motto, 'Blood Runs True,' has become a joke even among the high society in Altdorf."

    "Between mad rulers, the witch hunters and this miserable weather, it sounds to me like Sylvania is cursed." Bob observed.

    The captain looked thoughtfully at the leaden sky. "I hadn't realized it before, but it has always been overcast when I have passed through Sylvania. Anyway, blood thirsty killers masquerading as righteous men and sunless skies have nothing to do with the greatest curse in this region. There is a wasting illness which is common here. Many men, children and beasts alike become pale and gradually waste away."

    "Is that why there are so many burial grounds?" Bob waved a claw at the fourth one they had passed that morning.

    Mahrlecht scowled. "Have you ever experienced necromancy?"

    Bob sniffed his armpit furtively. "Why do you ask?"

    "There actually is something dark Sylvania which warrants the Inquisition's interest. It is said that the dead walk. These grave yards are the Gardens of Morr, god of the righteous dead. It is said only Morr can grant body and soul rest beyond the reach of dark powers. You see his image there." The captain indicated a statue on a stone plinth, watching over its garden of tombs and mausoleums. The grim figure was shrouded from head to foot and in its skeletal hands it held a scythe.

    "Death is universal. Morr has devotees throughout the Empire, but in Sylvania, most of the common folk cleave to him and the Inquisition also has its tightest grip here. The reason for both is that the walking corpse of a loved one tends to sharpen ones focus on one's own mortality and the perils of the world unseen."

    "I thought you were not interested in religion." Rychek observed.

    Mahrlecht laughed as if at another of Heimlich's imaginary jests. "Nor am I interested in silk underwear, yet here I see Signor Marcio. To survive in this world one must know a little of everything, even if only to know which end of the serpent has fangs. Now, for some happy news; we shall soon enter the Dead Wood. Within its bounds we will cross the River Stir and leave the delights of Sylvania behind us. Beyond lies Ostermark, with its Eerie Downs and Bleak Moors. By comparison the Dark Lands will seem welcoming."

    Rychek's happy demeanour vanished. He stepped in front of the two human's horses and made them stop sharply. "If the caravan is heading north, it does us no good. Our home is away to the west and over the ocean. We should go west."

    The other members of the lizard band formed up behind the skink and waited for a response. The captain looked around at the fields and farmsteads they would need to pass and rated their chances of not being chased by pitchfork wielding peasants within the next half hour as being somewhere very close to nil. Their chances of surviving the attentions of the ravenous inhabitants of the Moot to the west of Sylvania, were even lower.

    Mahrlecht spurred his horse forward and it shouldered through the lizard band. Just for show he launched a very poorly aimed kick at Rychek's head.

    "Control your beasts or put a muzzle on them, priest!" he drawled to Heimlich as he trotted ahead.

    The lizards may not have been satisfied with the response but they could only trail behind until the road finally left the tilled land and entered the bleak woods. The captain was waiting behind the screen of trees with an exasperated expression on his face.

    "Rychek, you and your kin were a boon in the Dark Lands. However, if you do not yet understand that you must blend in to pass unnoticed through the Empire, then it will be better for all if you make your own way."

    "So you will release us from your orders?"

    "You never followed my orders anyway. The only reason I didn't set you loose earlier is that you cannot safely go west from here. Even if you passed through the rest of Sylvania undetected, the Moot is closed to travel, and for good reason."

    Rychek drew breath to enliven another question, but the captain continued before it came out.

    "Come at least as far north as the River Stir. Once across you will be able to go on your way in the relative safety of The Great Forest."

    "That sounds more like it," Bob reflected, "after so long in mountains, steppes and tunnels it will be a relief to journey in forest again. Will it be just like home? Carnivorous plants? Poisonous fungi? Mosquitoes that can exsanguinate a horse?"

    The captain grimaced. It seemed nothing could sap the groundless optimism of a lizard. "None of those, with luck, but you should be wary nonetheless. The Great Forest is also named Taal's Forest after the god of nature, but the woods are not a place of order. Beastmen and greenskins are common, and other creatures, fair and foul, inhabit the vales and hollows. You can choose that path and hope to remain concealed. Or you can choose to present your scaly blue arses to every peasant who possesses a pitchfork between here and Bretonnia."

    The lizardmen withdrew and formed a little huddle which involved no small amount of quiet bickering. Eventually Bob presented the consensus.

    "We will keep the caravan safe for a little longer."




    The head waters of the River Stir were easily crossed the following day. On the other side, the Captain Mahrlecht unrolled a map and pointed out features of note.

    "The River Stir flows east through forest for nigh on five hundred miles, before being joined by the River Reik. There are towns on the rivers, but you can slip around those. The Imperial capital, Altdorf is north of the confluence, and my home, Nuln, lies south. Both are major cities and you will not be able to pass through either undetected. Stay to the woods where you can. The Empire ends at the Grey Mountains and Bretonnia lies beyond and from there you must choose your own path."

    Rychek extended a claw and indicated a much closer feature on the map. "Who lives in this city beside the river? It is very close."

    The captain curled his lip in distaste. "No one lives there. It is the dead city of Mordheim. It is said that the gods destroyed it with a comet three centuries ago, as if gods would do such a thing."

    Rychek peered closer at the city's illustration on the map. There was indeed a tiny depiction of a twin tailed comet above the image of the town. "Has it not been resettled?"

    "There is imagined to be some magic residue from the comet. The city is regularly contested by treasure seekers and beast men and the like but no one lives there. Do not linger in the ruins."

    There was nothing left to be said. The lizards shouldered their weapons and turned to leave.

    "Wait! I will give you a last word of warning. If you must cross open land, strive to blend in. If you are discovered, sniff each other's arses or something. Let no one see or hear you speak: a talking beast is either a daemon or a witch's familiar bound for the Inquisition's fire. If you hold your tongues you may be lucky enough to become a novelty chained in the Imperial Zoo."

    As the others moved away Bob put his mouth close to the man's ear. "And I have a last word of warning for you too, captain. Tonight it is the full moon again." He inclined his head meaningfully towards Wolf Priest Heimlich. "Do not sleep."




    The lizard band moved quietly through the thicket and brake of the forest, keeping the reassuring sound of the river to their left. The other forest sounds were more concerning to them. With visibility reduce to fifty feet at best, the jungle natives were used to trusting their other senses to warn them of danger. However, the Old World forest was filled with the distraction of many unfamiliar sounds, ranging from singing bird to grunting badger. They ended each day's travel with nerves a-jangle because they had to assume that all new sounds presaged danger and which did not. It was far more relaxing back at home where if one heard a carnosaur roaring nearby, there was no ambiguity.

    The forest became thornier and less healthy as they approached the ruins of Mordheim, and they could smell something foul on the air before they even came to the smashed outer wall. The band laid low under a thicket and considered their next move.

    "Wait here," whispered Rychek. "I will scout ahead."

    He wormed his way through a breach in the wall and returned from a completely different angle half an hour later.

    His report was not good. "The smell is of bloated human corpses in the sun. I couldn't see any wounds on them so they may have succumbed to poison or plague. Many skaven scuttle through the shadows wearing filthy robes."

    Joe wrinkled his nose in distaste. "Rat men in robes. No doubt they are the same kind of plague monks as those who fled Lustria after the rise of mighty Sotek. We should cut them down."

    Bob was a little less warlike. "Or could we sneak through?"

    Rychek shook his head. "We can do neither. There are too many of them. We should cross the river and pass by on the south bank."

    The lizards withdrew from the city outskirts and backtracked to the river's edge a quarter mile upstream.

    "It looks deep.” Bob poked his spear in the swift, cold waters. Although spring had almost given way to early summer, the river was still fed by snow melt from the World's Edge.

    "It is deep. Stop wasting time," urged Rychek.

    "But I don't swim," declared Bob.

    "I only dog-paddle," added Joe.

    Not for the first time, Rychek wondered how the saurus warriors had ever escaped their spawning pool. "Mahtis, fetch a log, if you please. As large as you like."

    The kroxigor lumbered away. A loud crack, following by the shrieking of terrified birds preceded his return with a mature beech tree. "Will this do?"
    He held the tree steady in the shallows as Bob and Joe clambered aboard. Rychek dove in and resurfaced beside them.

    "I wish we had thought of this earlier. We could have floated all the way to the Great Ocean by now!"

    Bob looked green, either in seasickness or terror. "For the love of Tlazcotl, don't even joke about it. Just get me across so I can forget this suicidal idea ever occurred to you!"

    Joe didn't say anything. He was practicing holding his breath.

    Rychek and Mahtis pushed their primitive raft out into the main current with powerful strokes. The flow swept them downstream quickly, which suited their purpose because they were beyond the ruined piers of the Mordheim bridge before any villainous eyes could spy them.

    The fates deserted them soon after that. As they got close to the far bank, Bob clambered higher on a side bough to avoid the chill waters and unbalanced the log. As it rolled, Joe was tossed overboard and Rychek was dragged under by a branch.

    "Mahrlect!" Mahtis cursed and released the log. With one arm he scooped the wailing Bob out of the branches and with the other caught Joe as he floundered past. Using strokes of his powerful tail he reached the shore and hurled the pair onto a gravel bank.

    "Rychek! Rychek!” Joe had recovered his wits enough to shout as the tree skimmed around a bend of the river and out of view.

    "He will be okay. Just follow the river downstream and find us." Mahtis plunged back into the torrent in pursuit of his spawn brother.

    For some time, Bob and Joe could do little other than lay on the strand to catch their breath after their unwelcome bath.
     
  16. Slanputin
    Carnasaur

    Slanputin Well-Known Member

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    A lot of things happened in this chapter. I was expecting a sojourn involving Vampires or even a guest appearance from a certain silver-hammering inquisitor. Instead it was more of a montage. I would say it felt rushed but that is in the nature of a montage. I did enjoy the toure de force of eastern Imperial landmarks, and I definitely felt the departure of their steppes companions. Did enjoy a few of the jokes too - Inebric's departure especially.


    WSD? I had a hard time imagining LM so willingly give up their weapons. Not a major stumbling block in any means however, especially given their more...naive nature :p

    I can't help but think a LM would see the irony in an ape-like mammalian calling them a talking animal.

    Braken? Or is this a new ecological term for me?

    This was cute.

    I like how the group split up in the end, it reminded me of Disney's 'Homeward Bound' and is the perfect excuse for shenanigans.
     
  17. spawning of Bob
    Skar-Veteran

    spawning of Bob Well-Known Member

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    I need no excuse for Shenanigans, and how they split up at the end makes me think more of "Milo and Otis"

    For the record, that 10 chapters was self imposed agony to write and rewrite and rewrite again. Almost all of the game pieces are now in place but I had to do it in a geographical and time sequence AND pepper in the set ups for future events without making them stick out obviously. In fact, I could just about start the story from here, but a bunch of future events would just happen conveniently with no explanation of why. Because of my early efforts they will, instead, just happen conveniently with a flimsy explanation of why.

    Many thanks to Scalenex who helped me with 1st draft about 4 months ago. Aside from the usual straight shooting advice I am used to, the thing that I took to heart most was him saying, "The first 3rd was ok, but I couldn't put the rest down."

    Strap yourselves in and hold on for, "The Fourth Emperor - the Other Two Thirds"

    I make it "Emperor x 2.67"

    Any math-hammer heads out there are welcome to correct me.
     
    Paradoxical Pacifism likes this.
  18. spawning of Bob
    Skar-Veteran

    spawning of Bob Well-Known Member

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    Chapter 10. The Freaks


    After it rounded the bend, the River Stir dropped into a rocky defile and rushed ever more swiftly. Mahtis sped along, driven by his churning tail as well the current. Soon the two saurus warriors were left far behind.

    When the river finally emerged from the cliffs and widened Mahtis found his tree lapping in the shallows. His spawn-brother was sunning himself on a sandbank.

    "Where are the others?” asked Rychek.

    "On this side, but a long way upstream. I told them to follow us on foot. Should we wait for them?"

    "Best if we go back to meet them, Mahtis. See here.” Rychek pointed out some tracks in the sand. Each had five toe prints with long claw marks and a definite heel. They were broader even than Mahtis' reptilian pads. "A very large animal is hereabouts, and I presume that we have all conveniently lost our weapons. Again."

    Mahtis looked at his empty hands. "Don't blame me. The dwarf took mine."

    "The dwarf took yours? There is a reason we used to chain weapons to your wrists, Mahtis."

    The pair toiled back up the scarp, keeping near to the sound of the rushing river below. The bracken was thick, so a small clearing was a welcome respite from the scratchy vegetation. Mahtis was about to step out of the brush when Rychek held up a cautionary claw.

    "There is something not... natural here. Let me go first."

    His concern was well founded. Halfway across the clearing he stepped into a hidden loop of rope and a trap was sprung. The snare tightened and jerked him into the air.

    "What the- "

    Rychek found himself at eye level with his spawn brother, although he was now upside down.

    Mahtis boggled at him as he swung to and fro. "Do you want me to get you down?"

    There was an icy silence.

    "That's a yes, then?"

    Mahtis padded forwards two paces, only to plunge through a flimsy ceiling of woven sticks covered with leaves.

    Mahtis called from the bottom of a deep pit, "Would this be a mahrlect moment?"

    The pit trap had been tuned to collapse for prey much heavier than a man, thus Rychek had crossed it without incident and Mahtis fell through the roof. The pit itself was bell shaped and even the powerful kroxigor was unable to clamber out unaided.

    "What do we do now, Rychek?"

    "We wait!" Rychek snapped. "How far back were Bob and Joe?"




    As it happened, rescue came far sooner and was far less welcome than expected. The hunters who had set the trap came back to check them that late afternoon. Even inverted, Rychek had enough presence of mind to whisper a warning to Mahtis.

    "Remember what the captain said! They mustn't know that we can speak!"

    If the four hunters were surprised when they saw the suspended skink, then they were astounded when they saw the kroxigor in their pit. Astounded and uneasy.

    "They ain't bears and they ain't natural, Karl. Devils of dark magic, I'll warrant. We should burn them with fire."

    "You are a superstitious old fool, Jens. They are just dumb animals. We should poke them with sticks."

    "No, Karl. Burn them with fire."

    "Poke them with sticks."

    "Burn them with fire!"

    "Poke them with sticks!"

    A third hunter intervened before the pair came to blows. "Jens, Karl! Let me suggest a compromise. Let us poke them with burning sticks. What do you say, Stefan?"

    The last hunter finally spoke. "It's getting late and we don't want to be in the woods at night, even for sport. Dieter, rope and cage them. We'll decide their fate on the morrow."

    Rychek hissed and snapped and slashed the air with his claws, but the hunters were expert at taking wild prey. They quickly looped ropes around his neck and limbs. Within seconds of being cut down, he had a heavy sack thrust over his head and his wrists and ankles tied. He was at the hunters' mercy.




    Rychek spent a dark and miserable night lying in his sack on a cold, hard surface. He could hear Mahtis' regular breathing nearby, but could not risk calling out to him. It was not until he could see glint of morning light through the hessian that he heard Stefan address his cronies again. "Let us have a look at our 'bears'."

    The sack was pulled off Rychek's head and the sun dazzled him. It took a minute for his eyes to adjust and then he saw he was in a large iron cage atop a wagon. Hunched in another corner was Mahtis himself, with iron shackles on his wrists and ankles. The kroxigor's mouth was bound shut, and he had a blood encrusted wound on his head, but otherwise he seemed hale. Mahtis' eyes showed relief when he saw that Rychek was unharmed.

    "Like I says, Karl. They ain't natural."

    The lizardmen gradually put names, faces and voices together. Jens was the eldest by forty years or more, and seemingly the least accommodating. "Stoke the fire!" he demanded. "Burn the... the things!"

    "I don't even know what the things are." This was Stefan. "I took them for trolls in the twilight." The leader of the hunter was a squat and solid fellow with a long sleeved leather jerkin cinched at the waist with a wide belt. On one hip he had a sheathed knife and a coiled whip on the other. He very deliberately drew the long blade and held it in front of Rychek's yellow eyes.

    Thus prompted, the skink had no difficulty acting the part of the beast. He hissed and snapped his jaws again but he could do no more than that because he was bound at the wrists and ankles. Mahtis' response to the threat was even more dramatic. He hurled himself against his chains, threatening to flip the cage off the side of the wagon.

    Stefan nodded and two of the hunters pulled tight a pair of ropes which had been loose around Rychek's neck. He was pinned face first to the bars, close enough to smell that the hunter chief hadn't bathed in a long time.

    As Stefan sawed through Rychek's bonds with the knife the skink glared at him murderously. Once his limbs were free, the neck ropes slackened and Rychek bounded to Mahtis' side and stood ready to protect him.

    "Whatever they are, that cute little one is obviously a baby," noted Dieter. "Look at its adorable big eyes!"

    Rychek's eyes had been bulging with impotent rage. Now they threatened to pop out of his head with indignation. All of a sudden the whole cart began to rattle and jerk. Skink and hunters traced the violent shuddering back to Mahtis, who appeared to be having a fit. Only Rychek realized that the kroxigor was attempting to suppress laughter.

    "If that is a baby, then that must be the mother," Karl observed astutely.

    Mahtis immediately stopped rocking. A sound like, "Mmmmffer?” escaped his muzzled jaws.

    "Now the little one is shaking. It ain't natural!"

    Indeed, Rychek had clamped his claws around his muzzle and was himself quaking with clandestine mirth.

    Dieter squinted through the bars of the cage and mused. "They're not the bears we came for, but I fancy the big one would fetch a fair price in Anaheim. It should put up a good fight in the pits."

    "We don't even know what it is, much less if it is good for sport.” Stefan scratched his grizzled chin. "I've a notion that we would get a better price at the Imperial Zoo of Altdorf. And we can charge folk for a peep make some extra coin as we travel. It's settled, then; Altdorf."

    With the creatures' fate decided, Stefan issued instructions.

    "The nearest big town is Vonhoff. Dieter, you know your letters. Saddle up and ride ahead with Karl and find a seamstress. I'll write a list of what we need from her. Then go to every tavern and market and spruik, 'Come and see the terrifying scaly beast and its cub.' Show them some scars and spin some tales. Jens and I will meet you outside the town three days hence."

    He unhitched the whip from his belt. "That gives me time to see if these brutes can be taught a few tricks."




    When Stefan became bored of forcing the pair to stand on their hind legs and beg, he hitched the wagon to his horse and whipped it instead. Over the next few days, Stefan was quick to use his whip if either lizard showed aggression toward him. Old Jens avoided proximity with the 'blue devils' and the cart bumped along the rough lanes of North Stirland.

    When they were unobserved, Mahtis tested his muscles against his shackles, and against the frame of the cage. They were heavy, well made and did not give at all. Satisfied that he could not secure their escape by strength of arm, he resigned himself to a period of incarceration.

    Rychek patrolled the bars in a foul temper, but he himself could contribute no more to their liberty than could the kroxigor.

    When the appointed day came, Karl and Dieter met the others outside the rustic town of Vonhoff. They had with them the seamstress' handiwork, which Stefan inspected approvingly.

    "Tomorrow, my lovelies..." Stefan had a greedy smile on his face as he addressed his prisoners, "...you will look the part indeed!"




    The wagon received considerable interest as it rolled into the town square the following noon. It was market day, and the trappers had been free with harrowing tales of the beasts' capture. A large crowd gathered as Stefan drew his long suffering horse to a halt.

    A banner, embroidered with the words 'The Terrifying Lizard Lady and Her Suckling Infant' was strung between poles which had been lashed to either end of the wagon. The cage itself was covered, and the canvas was tied down so tightly that not even a glimpse was available for free.

    "Come, good folk!” Stefan roared, "Prepare yourselves to be astounded and repelled! These lizards are the seventeenth and eighteenth wonders of the civilized world! As soon as you fill Master Jens' hat, good folk, you shall see the most awful and terrifying beasts alive!"

    Jens muttered and peeled his lice-infested beaver hat from his wispy head. His mood grew lighter as the hat grew heavier with clinking copper coins. When Stefan decided that rapt anticipation was starting to turn to suspicion of fakery, he undid the ties on the tarpaulin.

    "Remember, good folk, that these beasts are wild, not trained in any way. Only these iron bars and chains can hold back their savagery. Their jaws snap trees like twigs, and their tails lash with the force of battering rams."

    He swept off the covering with a flourish.

    The townsfolk gasped. There was a period of hushed awe.

    "Mistah!" a small boy, no more than six years old, broke the silence. "Mistah! Why is the Lizard Lady wearing a flowery bonnet and apron?"

    The Lizard Lady's eyes flashed with defiance as she strained against her bonds and roared.

    "Why lad, because she was captured in the act of preparing a meal of... inquisitive youngsters!"

    The crowd oohed.

    "And Mistah, why is the baby wearing a diaper?"

    The smaller lizard crouched sullenly at its mother's feet. It had a large pink ribbon looped under its chin and tied into a puffy bow on top of its scaly head. From the look of strain on its face, it seemed that it was filling its crudely pinned diaper at exactly that moment.

    "Yes, well. Did I not mention that they are not trained in any way?"

    The townsfolk murmured affirmatively.

    "Yes, good folk." Stefan attempted to ignore the probing youngster. "They are wild and they are fierce!” "Four men were killed dragging them from their cave in the wild wood!"

    The crowd began to murmur again, this time with a tinge of scepticism.

    "Mistah! Why did that man say he wrestled and tied them all by himself?"

    The child was pointing at Karl, who shrugged guiltily when Stefan turned his baleful eyes on him.

    "Well, young master, umm... that is to say..."

    The boy continued his interrogation, "... and why did he..." he pointed at Dieter, "... say he lured them into a trap with a trail of breadcrumbs?"

    "Ah...Ha ha ha... Yes, good lad... I... I wasn't expecting the Imperial Inquisition, you know..."

    At that moment three figures clad in crimson robes and broad brimmed hats pushed to the front of the throng.

    "No one expects the Imperial Inquisition!" the leader of the trio snapped as he stomped up and thrust his over long nose up into Stefan's face.

    The members of the crowd suddenly found that they had other business. All except the small boy.

    "These... things." the Inquisitor hissed menacingly. "Prove to me they are not murderous abominations of chaos. If you cannot do so, I will have need to test YOU for signs of corruption."

    In the opportunity afforded by this distraction, the boy approached the cage to get a closer look. "The baby is so cute!"

    "Come back from there, lad!" In his mind's eye, Stefan could see his income stream going up in a puff of smoke, and his own broken body decorating a gibbet. His warning was too late.

    As quick as a striking snake, the Lizard Babe snatched the child into the air by his jerkin and held him against the bars. The boy's throat was a fraction of an inch away from needle sharp teeth.

    "Look at its adorable big eyes! It is sooooo cute!"

    The creature screwed up its eyes like it was in pain and closed its jaws with an audible snap. From between its clenched teeth it produced a muttering snarl which sounded almost like words, and then it gently lowered the child to the ground. Having relinquished the child, it skulked to the back of the cage.

    The child skipped to his mother. "Can I have one?"

    "No you may not have a baby lizard monster!" The mother grabbed the child's collar and bustled him away.

    The Inquisitor likewise grabbed Stefan's jerkin and pulled him nearer. "Do you own a cat?" He hissed.

    "What?"

    "Do you own a cat?" the witch hunter's eyes drilled into Stefan's own.

    Stefan shook his head vigorously. "No, I-"

    "Then get those beasts out of here. Know that if they show any sign of corruption or magic, they shall burn. And you will be used for their tinder."

    Stefan nodded tersely and summoned his troop to pack up and leave. He wished to put as many miles as possible between himself and the beak nosed Inquisitor by nightfall.
     
  19. Slanputin
    Carnasaur

    Slanputin Well-Known Member

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    HA. Good one.

    Shall I fetch the.....comfy chair?
     
  20. spawning of Bob
    Skar-Veteran

    spawning of Bob Well-Known Member

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    Weren't the soft cushions enough for you? Hmm, you are made of harder stuff!
     
    Paradoxical Pacifism likes this.

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