Fiction SoB-The Legions of Los'tmabo'tl-FINISHED AT LAST (1st draft)

Re: Spawning of Bob - The Legions of Los'tmabo'tl new Ch6 -

Bob, you've confirmed what I've suspected all along. The Elite Guard of Texustria should be Black and Orange, not Blue and Orange.

 

Re: Spawning of Bob - The Legions of Los'tmabo'tl new Ch6 -

I thought this was really funny..... They I started actually pronouncing the names.... <.<



Bob?

Your funny...

 

Re: Spawning of Bob - The Legions of Los'tmabo'tl new Ch6 -

Great stuff! Thanks for the laughs! Tastes like Chicken indeed - that one took me a while to get

 

Re: Spawning of Bob - The Legions of Los'tmabo'tl new Ch6 -

The names are some of the most humoros parts! At least Bob's names are original though.

 

Re: Spawning of Bob - The Legions of Los'tmabo'tl new Ch6 -

Brilliant stuff Bob.

 

Re: Spawning of Bob - The Legions of Los'tmabo'tl new Ch6 -

Enjoyed the exposition tone of the Spawning of Bob chapter, with still the Bob humor slipped in. Loving the Austrulustria fluff. And yes, the names are fantastic as others have said!

 

Re: Spawning of Bob - The Legions of Los'tmabo'tl new Ch6 -

No, that's Bretonnians. We've had this discussion before, remember?

http://www.lustria-online.com/threads/spawning-of-bob-army-lists-and-troop-types.10655/

I hope I can fit some Brets in.

 

Re: Spawning of Bob - The Legions of Los'tmabo'tl new Ch8 pa

Chapter 8 is full of mystery. What was the source of the squeaking sound? Why were some character names so familiar? And what's with those bees?

Will secrets be revealed in chapter 9?

Not if I can justify building more suspense!

 

Re: Spawning of Bob - The Legions of Los'tmabo'tl new Ch8 pa

Chapter 9. Pitched battles! Magic! Temple Guard! Gratuitous sledging of Kiwis! Its got it all!

Only one more chapter to go before the one I'm really looking forward to!

 

Re: Spawning of Bob - The Legions of Los'tmabo'tl new Ch9 pa

Brilliant! This just keeps getting better and better! I need popcorn! It's a good thing I wasn't drinking anything while reading this Bob. The Hacka would have ruined by keyboard and everything around it.


In other news, I've been reduced to a skink.... Oh well, at least I wasn't attending the Slann!

 

Re: Spawning of Bob - The Legions of Los'tmabo'tl new Ch9 pa

Whaaattttt?! Must. Not. Take. The. Bait. Still, I do love cheese: I live a few miles away from a cheese factory. If we're going for exports, is there tea distribution too? I can see a Slann sipping on a good cuppa as it plans out its day.

Loving the Ogre names, Thunderloin especially made me giggle, as well as the geographical 'lustria references!

Hats off to you Bob, after my breif hiatus I'm glad I've revisited the forum!

 

Re: Spawning of Bob - The Legions of Los'tmabo'tl new Ch9 pa

10. Pursuit

First there was nothing but an eternity of cold darkness. Then a clear golden light. With the light came warmth, and with the warmth, awareness. With awareness came a sensation which at first seemed remote, but became more and more urgent and proximate. The sensation was a sound. A stricken, keening wail. As Bob became more aware he realized that the sound had words. The sound had meaning.

"Waaa aaaa aaaaah! Brain Freeze! Brain Freeze! Waaaaah!"

Bob snapped to full alertness. With his vision restored he could perceive that the sound was coming from Joe who was kneeling clutching his head. The scene was bathed in golden light, but Bob could not determine its source. Bob found that he had a voice.

"Shut up, Joe." Bob considered the words he had spoken. They were good words. He tried them again, louder. "Shut up, Joe!"

The wail subsided to a whimper.

"All back to normal!" reassured a deep rumbling voice. An enormous, four fingered hand reached down and set Joe on his wobbly feet. Bob shielded his lidless eyes. Joe's giant benefactor was bedecked with all manner of gold ornamentation from crest to scaly feet. Every facet reflected flashes of light which were brighter than the noon day sun.

"Mahtis?" Bob enquired.

The kroxigor's massive face split into a toothy grin. "Bob is okay too!"

"Great! I'll just....give me a second...."

Bob tried to turn to see the other speaker but he was blinded again by the light streaming from that direction. Moments later the radiance faded to a warm glow which Bob saw emanated from a weird contraption which was strapped to the rocklike hide of a towering bastiladon.

"Good girl, Bessie!" Rychek clambered down and gave the armoured dinosaur a scratch between its head and thoracic plates. The beast snuffled in pleasure and nuzzled the little skink affectionately, knocking him flying.

"What is happening?"

(place keeper for exposition about the geomantic web and why it was cold - I'll spread all the facts over several chapters if possible)


"The Legions of Los'tmabo'tl are frozen. Everything is covered in ice for a league in every direction."

"Why aren't you and Mahtis frozen too?" Joe asked.

The kroxigor beamed at Bessie, "Bessie found us. Good girl!" The monster whiffled at the sound of her name.

"Bessie slipped her halter in the monster pits and found us. She likes Mahtis because he gives her treats when the beast master isn't watching. She had the solar engine on her back and it thawed us out."

"The what?" blurted Bob.

"Climb up and see. Steady Bessie!" Rychek led the pair of saurus up for a tour of Bessie's enormous back. Secured to her back was a series of obsinite rails surmounted by adamant wood decking. The howdah was not strapped about her girth. Rather, the rails were lashed with metal bands which ran through tunnels which had been carved through her rocky back plates with hammer and chisel.

At the centre of the platform was the Solar Engine. Its sturdy frame was plated in gold. Icons representing the Old One, Chotec, covered the stanchions at each corner. The superstructure was comprised of four glistening triangular mirrors. Closer inspection revealed no blemish or flaw upon the polished white metal despite the fact that this device of the Old Ones had existed for at least the eight thousand years.

The centre piece of the apparatus was a cube of some opaque material. The forward surface emitted a warm yellow glow. The other 5 planes were dim. It was held in place by five metal claws.

Below the front most reflector was a crystal lens which was fitted into a rotating gimbal. This allowed the lens to be pivoted around any axis to focus wherever the operator willed. On the rear panel was the imprint of a curious hand with five fingers. "When you put your hand there, the square glows brighter and hotter. The curved crystal catches the glow and throws it." Rychek flicked his hand to indicate the direction. "That's how we warmed you up."

Bob carefully tallied his own digits, then got Joe to check his calculations. "That's weird. What use is five fingers?"

Joe considered. "If you had five, you could grip your weapon with the usual four, and use the centre one for signaling."

(image of Joe flipping the bird)

Bob scoffed, "Don't be stupid. Four fingers is better."

"Five fingers!"
"Four!"
"Five!"
"Four!"
"Five!"
"Four!"

"Shut up both of you! We need to chase the ogres!"

"Wha-ogres?"

"The ogres have kidnapped Taisteslaikch'ken. We weren't fully thawed when they dragged his palanquin out of the city."

"He's old enough to look after himself," sniggered Joe. He was remembering the Slann's nine thousandth birthday celebration last solar cycle, which he and Bob had ruined by polarizing the entire city in a catastrophic "savoury versus sweet" party food debate.

"He can't. He's sleeping." Mahtis intoned.

"We must rescue him!" Rychek implored.

"We are on picket duty. We are meant to stop enemies getting in. These ones are clearly going out. Someone else's problem I'm afraid"

"They are taking him away! We need to get after them."

"I'm sorry, I agree with Bob here..." Joe began.

"So you agree with me. Four fingers is better!" Bob smirked.

Joe signaled to him with an imaginary middle finger and continued, "....we cannot abandon our post. Again." He rubbed his scaly backside, the memory of the most recent kick he had received from his N.C.O. brought tears to his lidless eyes.

"So there is no way that I can convince you to give chase? They are abducting our general, you know." Rychek had a devious smile on his face.

"No, sorry. Under no circumstance will we abandon our standing orders." Bob rested his hand weapon on his shoulder and turned away.

"They are fleeing with our Slann," Rychek murmured.

Bob stiffened. "What?"

Mahtis brayed with rage, "They flee?"

"We must pursue!" Joe screeched and sprinted into the jungle brandishing his spear, closely followed by Bob and the mighty Mahtis.

Rychek allowed himself a self indulgent smirk. "Come on, Bessie." He led the lumbering beast in their wake.

(image)

On the after deck of his vessel, Welhung Thunderloin muttered an obscenity and picked a feathered sting from his nose. It was a parting gift from the accursed Lustrian bees. They had renewed their attack on the tyrant as soon as the ogre band had moved out of the zone of ice surrounding the temple city. The harassment had continued for the entire trek through the jungle, and ceased only when he had escaped to the safety of his ship.

Unseen by all, within the fringe of the jungle, D’an, the most skillful of Lustrian chameleon skinks muttered an obscenity and placed another poisoned dart into his blow pipe. The previous one had been a parting gift to the accursed ogre barbarian. He had renewed his attack on the tyrant as soon as the ogre band had moved out of the zone of ice surrounding the temple city. The harassment had continued for the entire trek through the jungle, and ceased only when the warm blooded brute had escaped to the safety of his ship.

An unfortunate juvenile terradon flapped lazily overhead. There was a high pitched buzz and the saurian emitted a startled croak and then fell dead from the sky. D’an cursed again. There was no problem with his legendary marksmanship, nor with the jungle poisons he had lovingly concocted. The boorish oaf must have developed immunity to poison from his enforced diet of venomous jungle reptiles.

D’an broke his blow pipe over his knee and faded into the mottled shade. His once trusted weapon had betrayed him. If he was to protect his beloved homeland he would need to change his doctrine of warfare. He would learn from his foes and adapt. In the future there would be no failure, or mercy. With a gleam of murderous hate in his eyes, he brandished a pair of bamboo sticks and vanished back into the jungle.

(image)

“ ‘oist sail! Ship oars you ‘orrible lumps of porridge!” After the torment of the gloomy jungle, Welhung could feel the life flowing back into him now that his feet were firmly planted on his beloved ship. The operation to refloat the Maw’s Jaws had been performed with practiced ease. She had been rowed out beyond the lee of the cape to find a South East breeze. Once the billowing sails were reefed into their most efficient shape the ship heeled well to port and she gathered way with the setting sun to her stern.

“Oi! Rodekhil! Lash down the frog on the after deck. I don’ want ‘im sliding all over the deck in a swell”

“Aye aye, Boss!” Rhodekhil waved a hand in reply.

“Wha’ ? Wha’ in Lunch’s name is tha’?!”

Rhodekhil started in surprise and looked at his clenched fist. In it was grasped something that resembled a limp blue lettuce leaf, except for the baleful golden eyes which glared back at him.

Welhung prodded it with a meaty finger, and recoiled when arms and legs twitched fitfully. With a glimmer of recognition he said, “that’s one of them skinky priest things from the temple. Why’d the ‘ell is it ‘ere?”

“Oh, yaa, right,” Rodekhil remembered. “Well, when you said, “Get the Chef outta my way” I thoughts to me self, since we’d eaten Cookie, maybe a new Chef would come in ‘ andy!”

“Maw give Buttered Scones! I said, “Get the chaff outta my way,” you melon!” Welhung leaned in to inspect the lizardman. He was so close that the smell of his rancid breath made the little priest’s stomach churn. “ ‘Ave you been carryin’ ‘im ‘alfway across Lustria?”

Rodekhil nodded.

The tyrant locked Caneghem’s flashing eyes. “ ‘E’d better be able to cook…..”

(image)

The headlong pursuit of the predatory fighters did not last long. The further the trio strayed from the warmth of the solar engine, the slower they became. One by one they were overhauled by the plodding bastiladon and sheepishly climbed onto the howdah.

It took no special skill to track the ogre party. They had crushed a wide avenue through the forest understory with their ironbound boots and iron hooped wheels. Here and there would be a cracked bone with the marrow sucked out, or a scrap of grey fur, but no sign of the fate of the slann could be found. The ogres had at least two days lead, but Bessie could continue her inexorable pace day and night, pausing only to crunch up the large tasty flowers which were scattered in the gloom.

The heroes passed the time discussing the finer points of the tactical disposition and effectiveness of the many units deployed by the Armies of Lustria.

“Razordons!”
“Salamanders!”
“Razordons!”
“Salamanders!”
“Razordons!”
“Salamanders!”
“Razordons!”
“Salamanders!”

“Shut up you two ! Don’t make me come back there!”

(image)

In the late afternoon of the sixth day, Bessie burst through the curtain of trees and stood upon a wide strand which had an abandoned fortified camp. Off shore they heard the boom of sails filling with wind and saw a squat and ugly barge slide towards the horizon. The Slann was slipping out of their reach.

Upon the howdah Bob howled in impotent rage and flung his hand weapon towards the retreating vessel. This was a token gesture considering the range and his total lack of ballistic skill. Rychek and Joe cursed and swore. Beneath them, Bessie absorbed the ill temper of her riders and became agitated and pugnacious.

Only Mahtis kept his composure. He began to remove the golden bracelets, torques and other adornments which he was wearing. “Swim time!”

Joe looked at him suspiciously, “I don’t swim.”

“I only dog paddle,” Bob pantomimed an ineffectual stroke with his hands.

“How did you get out of the spawning pool?” Rychek wondered aloud. “Anyway, Bessie is not aquatic. There is nothing we can do.”

“Rats!” blurted Bob.

Bessie thudded her club-like tail on the ground as if to add her opinion to the conversation.

(image)

Clan Catarrh was ascendant. Soon it would reach its zenith and eclipse even the great Clan Skryre in terms of power and warp token wealth. Its warlord would have a permanent place on the secretive Council of Thirteen, not as first among equals, but as supreme Lord of all Rat-kind. He would be envied, feared and worshipped in equal measure.
This was the kind of irrational belief that most people would be put away for long,long time for having. But Pickit Raw was not most people. He had wisely abandoned his plans for the conquest of Lustria, but he did not want to slink back to the Skaven haunts of the Old World without a single victory.

To this end he led his few faithful remaining rats from their shallow tunnel beneath the sand. The beast and her crew had their attention fixed out to sea. In a few more seconds he would plunge the warpstone Sword of Barrenness through the neck of the lizard-ogre-thing.

He had learnt from bitter experience that appearing in front of his enemies put them at an unfair advantage. Far better to have a fair fight with he and his cutthroats approaching from the rear. Much safer this way.

Suddenly one of the proposed victims shouted, “Rats!”

“Wee ee are reevea ee eeled! Fle…..” Pickit was cut off in the middle of his warning by a bony lump the size of a cart horse which was propelled like a thunderous bludgeon by six tons of agitated bastiladon.

(image)

First there was nothing but darkness. Then a clear golden light. With the light came awareness. With awareness came a sensation which at first seemed remote, but became more and more urgent and proximate. The sensation was a sound. A stricken, keening wail. As Bob became more aware he realized that the sound had words. The sound had meaning.

"Waaa aaaa aaaaah! My tail! My tail! Waaaaah!"

Bob snapped to full alertness. He was in an echoing tunnel which was illuminated by a beam of light which shone like a lance from the back of a massive beast. The tunnel sloped away as far as the light would carry. Bob found that he had a voice.

"Shut up, Joe." Bob considered the words he had spoken. They were good words. He tried them again, louder. "Shut up, Joe!"

The wail subsided to a whimper.

"All back to normal!" reassured a deep rumbling voice. An enormous, four fingered hand reached down and set Joe on his wobbly feet.

"Mahtis?" Bob enquired. “What just happened?”

The kroxigor's massive face split into a toothy grin. "Bob is okay too!"

“The roof of this tunnel collapsed when Bessie thumped her tail,” Rychek explained. “We can’t get back up, but the tunnel goes the same way as the ship. It must come out somewhere. We can still rescue Taisteslaikch’ken!”

“I can’t rescue anyone. I’ve dropped my hand weapon.” Bob moaned

Joe sniggered at him.

“Why not use this one?” Mahtis picked up an odd looking sword from beside a moist pile of rags.

“That will have to do! Now climb on!” Rychek was already scrambling back onto the howdah. Bessie grumbled impatiently as the others resumed their places on he back. When they were safely aboard she continued her dogged march.

“You know Joe, just before the tunnel collapse, there was a squeaking sound.”
“No there wasn’t.”
“Yes, there was.”
“Wasn’t!”
“Was!”
“Wasn’t!”
“Was!”



Next Chapter - The Dark Fleet

 

Re: Spawning of Bob - The Legions of Los'tmabo'tl - new Ch10

"They flee?"
"We must pursue!"

Bob, you are going to cause serious injury to my person if you keep making laugh so hard. I quite nearly fell out of my chair this time.

 

Re: Spawning of Bob - The Legions of Los'tmabo'tl - new Ch10

I'm enjoying it Bob. Keep it up.

 

Re: Spawning of Bob - The Legions of Los'tmabo'tl - new Ch10

amazing. I'm looking forward to the next installment already!

 

Re: Spawning of Bob - The Legions of Los'tmabo'tl - new Ch10

Oh my Old One! The fleeing bit almost made me fall out of my chair, you're a genius Bob!

 

Re: Spawning of Bob - The Legions of Los'tmabo'tl - new Ch10

Excellent, funny and well written. Names are brilliant, those and some of the comedic elements put me in mind of Asterix. I eagerly await the next post.

 

Re: Spawning of Bob - The Legions of Los'tmabo'tl - new Ch10

11. The Dark Fleet

The hulking vessel, the Maw's Jaws, reflected much of the nature of her crew. She was ugly, brutal and broad of beam. In lieu of the traditional battering ram, upon her blunt prow she sported a figure head in the form of gigantic hinged iron jaws. The jaws were not solely for decoration. Through the action of levers and pulleys they could be clamped shut to crush or hold fast other vessels.

Upon her raised forecastle and stern decks were enormous harpoon launchers, made after the basic plan of an elven bolt thrower, but many times larger. These ballistae could hurl cruelly barbed harpoons trailing coils of heavy rope at her prey, be that prey cetacean, leviathan or maritime. From her main deck, which was the size of a town square, jutted three masts which towered like the old men of the forest that they once were. Each mast sported a massive main spar from which hung square rigged canvas sails.

If the Maw's Jaws were to become becalmed, treble rows of hatches on her flanks would spring open and the crew would extend her oars. There was space on the rowing decks for six gnoblars or galley slaves to each oar. If greater speed were needed, or toward the end of a voyage when slaves were scarce and ogre bellies full, the ogres themselves would man the sweeps. Their powerful strokes gave the ship a speed and maneuverability that belied her ungainly appearance.

As with the ogres, the belly of the beast was the main focus. Her cavernous hold had easily swallowed the entire ogre expedition and its tack, but still it hungered for more booty. In its day this monster had devoured fleets of Tilean trade vessels and still had appetite left to consume entire coastal towns on her way back to port.

The deck was dotted with hatches which led to the lower decks. Beside the high deck rails were racks of grapnels, landing hooks, boarding axes and other tools of high seas predation. Gnoblar riggers swarmed aloft. Here they were safe from any impatient cuffs of discipline which might threaten to maim them. Ogre sailors performed their duties with feet solidly planted on the deck. The remaining warriors of the expeditionary force continued their usual peacetime occupations of gambling, boasting and brawling below decks.

The ship's master stood on the aft deck with his meaty hands clenched on the great ships wheel. He glowered at the two members of the crew who did not fit in. There was the frog snoozing on his floating throne lashed to the rail beside the ships wheel. After the trek through the jungle and now some days of sea voyage it was clear that the Slann was not going to wake. Even if he did, he could hardly escape. He had originally been secured below decks, but whenever anyone walked above him on the upper decks they felt ..... funny. The firebelly and company butcher, who both had mage sight, could see four columns of magical energy sprouting from the Slann, penetrating the decks and then arching upwards and away, back towards Lustria.

If the Old Ones had gazed back at the earth to examine their geomantic web, they would have seen a regular, netlike pattern of arching bands of power covering the whole Southern Continent. Regular, except for one bright node of power which was sailing North and East trailing behind it four strands of the web which still connected it to its erstwhile neighbours in the centre of Lustria.

The ogre fire wizard was still miserable. This close to a node of the geomantic web, every whisper of the winds of magic was snatched away before he could channel any power for his own use. The Butcher, master of the lore of the Great Maw was not affected in this way because his power was bartered from the earth. However he could not stand in proximity of the pulsating frog for long, because it made his tummy feel funny, even worse than the full of the Chaos Moon. Wellhung had concluded that it was best to stow the frog above decks so that he and his crew would not stray into the strange aura and suffer some ill effect.

Imagine a blanket stretched flat and taut. Into the centre toss a lead weight which causes the area around it to sag. If a handful of pebbles are scattered on the blanket, an invisible force will cause the pebbles to tumble towards the centre. This was similar to the effect of carrying a node of the geomantic web across the ocean. Every monstrous or magical beast which called the seven seas home was inevitably drawn from the surrounding depths.

Some were familiar to, and feared by, mariners of all the world's oceans. Many tentacled craken, sea serpents and enormous leviathans were in this category. Others had risen from such great depths that they had never before been seen, let alone named. One enormous fish came from such benighted trenches that it had no need for eyes. On its blubbery lips it sported large tendrils with which it would feel its way around its world in the same way as a cat uses its whiskers. Another fish had a glowing lure with which it would entice its prey
to its vast, trap-like mouth. There were eels which spat lightning and crustaceans with claws that could sever limbs with ease. The one thing that these monsters had in common was that they all tasted delicious.

The other misfit aboard was the Chef. The entire crew now treated him with superstitious awe. His first miracle was performed almost immediately after Rodekhil placed him down on the deck. The little lizard felt the rocking motion of the ship and turned from blue to green before the astonished eyes of the crew. His next act of occultism was to run to the rail of the ship and make an offering to his gods.

Ogres, of course, worship the Great Maw. The Maw came into existence after the impact of an asteroid of warpstone to the East of the Mountains of Mourn. When the showers of rock and magma had subsided at the site of the impact, the earth had sprouted a fang lined mouth many hundreds of leagues across. The ancient ogre peoples were worshippers of earth power and had some mastery of earth magic. Those that were not slain by the asteroid impact, or consumed by the gaping mouth, naturally feared and worshipped this new manifestation of the earth god.

It is a common misconception that the Great Maw is a thing of Chaos. It is, rather, the earth's instinctive means of self defense against the warpstone mountain which had struck it. An infected splinter under the skin will cause pus to form, and the foreign matter will fester to the surface to eventually be expelled from the body. The earth does not have this capacity. Its nature is to devour rather than to expel. Dead bodies buried in the earth will eventually be consumed by the soil. Even the mighty forests of the Amaxon or old world are growing barely faster than they are being ingested by the earth beneath.

In response to the warpstone comet, the earth had created from within itself the Great Maw to devour and destroy the foreign matter. Unfortunately, the asteroid was composed of elements so alien that they could not be digested. The Maw continued to express its nature by rapacious consumption but the weird monolith sat uneasily and indigestibly in its gullet.

There is no word for vomit in the ogre dialect. Like the Great Maw they consume and consume and give nothing back. The ritual performed by the skink chef at the rail was amazing to the crew. That the offering came from the contents of his stomach was as symbolic to the ogres as other races would find giving "from the bottom of the heart."

It was not strange to the Ogres that the lizardman's gods would be at the bottom of the sea. Their own means of worship was to throw sacrifices of food into stake lined pits. The Great Maw would show its acceptance by absorbing the gifts into the soil. By the next day nothing would remain of the offerings.

Chef Caneghem performed the ritual without fail after every meal he ate, even if this had followed a long period of fasting. This level of devotion alone would have impressed the ogres, but what followed was incontrovertible proof that the chef had earned his god's favour. No sooner would the offering strike the surface of the water than a gigantic monster of the deep would surface to throw itself at the ship. The astonished ogres would arm themselves with grapnels and landing hooks and drag the hapless beast aboard, where it would be butchered on the spot.

The first such creature was a thirty foot long blue scaled fish with yellow fins. This species was new to the ogres and they debated what might be the best way to prepare the creature to eat. Eventually, Rodekhil suggested, "We should ask the chef, 'e oughtta know!"

When they were finally able to pry Caneghem away from the rail he moaned, "You can cut it thin, wrap it in rice and seaweed and eat it raw for all I care! Oh no......Spewshi!" Then he was back leaning over the rail.

"Wha' did 'e say?"

"Dunno. I think it was "Sushi" "

The gnoblar kitchen hands were directed to follow the chef's instructions and a tasty new dish was created. In much the same way, many other culinary classics, such as Craken Morrrrrrnay and Sea Serpent Gumboh-oh-oh-hurk, were invented. The new chef may have been a little abrupt, but no one would deny that he was a culinary genius.

The little green chef did not set foot in the galley because the smell of food being prepared instantly put him in a worshipful frame of mind and he would scurry to the rail to make another offering. Instead, a troop of besotted gnoblar kitchen hands would follow him about the boat clutching the tools of their trade and hanging on his every word.

Welhung grimaced from his post at the wheel. His crew were becoming as sleek as silk and as fat as butter. They would touch their brows in respect whenever they passed their "lucky" chef. It was all wrong. They should have been boorish and disrespectful. Were they going soft? He growled an oath at the slann whose only reply was to maintain the same beatific smile he had kept fixed upon his sleeping face for the last month.

The slann also presented a conundrum. He was meant to be a meal to satisfy Welhung's wife Hellun's extravagant craving. The tyrant was not sure that this would be possible. Rodekhil Offaleater had had an attack of the munchies on one long night watch and resolved to "just 'ave one bite." A week later the glutton's teeth were still tingling from the flash of light and magical power which had flared from the mystic aura which wrapped the frog like a second skin. Welhung feared that even the trip hammers and crucibles of the kitchens of the ogre court would be inadequate to tenderize meat this tough.

(image)

Four weeks after the battle of the temple city, two moons set sail into the sea of the heavens, one wholesome and white, the other a baleful green. The green eye made Welhung's stomach churn. He left the wheel in the charge of his lieutenant Rodekhil Offaleater and strode to the aft rail to spit. There he squinted toward the setting sun and shielded his eyes.

"Man the 'arpoons!" he suddenly bellowed.

"Oh, really Boss? I don' fink I can fit another sea monster in..."

The tyrant captain stabbed a stubby finger at the setting sun. On the horizon were the silhouettes of a multitude of triangular sails jutting upwards like rows of shark teeth.

"Sweeps out! Crew to the oars! Bellower, call tempo double quick!"

By the following morning it was clear that the Maw's Jaws could not outpace the dark fleet which ringed the western horizon behind her. Even with the entire ogre force bending their backs and heaving on oars close to splintering under the strain she would be overhauled by the next moonrise.

Welhung shook his head. The fleet was clearly of Naggarothii origin. "Ship oars! Save your strength and look to your weapons!" He would rather rest his rowers and face his foes sooner than exhaust the ogres in a futile race. "Argsplat!" he addressed his trusted Irongut captain, "Get the lead belchers. Wait, where the 'ell's your 'and?"

Argsplat was sporting a shiny bladed hook where his right hand should have been. This was the work of the ship's smith. In addition he had two elegantly turned wooden legs, fashioned by the ships carpenter and a jaunty eyepatch. He looked somewhere between "pirate-y" and "over stuffed furniture-y."

Argsplat squinted at the hook. "I was 'aving a bet with the lads about how 'igh a shark could jump outta the water if you 'eld a piece of meat. I lost. You want me to get the lead belchers?"

Welhung nodded in disbelief. Argsplat saluted crisply with the hook and lopped off his fleshy right ear which fell to the deck with a splat. "Argh!" grunted the iron gut and he spun on his wooden heel to relayed his leader's orders to the ogre party's marksmen.

Welhung had sent many individual Druchii ships into the inky darkness in the past. At the first sign of a black sail the captain would order sheets slackened until the ship wallowed slower than a mud bound rhinox. His crew he would order below decks where they would cram to one side, listing the vessel close to the point of foundering.

The sleek Dark Elf wolf ship would approach the lowered beam and rake the exposed main deck with crossbow bolts. One they were confident that resistance would be feeble, the Druchii would hurl grapnels and lash their boat to the beam of the seemingly crippled ogre ship as the crew of corsairs would swarm aboard.

At this moment the ogres would boil up from below decks and the Maw's Jaws would right itself. This would either tip the bound wolf ship onto its side or lift it clear of the water. The doomed boarders would find no escape that way, and nor would captives survive to be sold as slaves at the next port. The surprise tactic would be spoiled if the secret were revealed. The ogres have a saying, "Jellied tongues tell no tales. And they taste delightful!"

The flotilla which was closing around Welhung's ship like a wolf's jaws was composed of scores of low sloops. The traditional tactics would not work against these numbers. Nor would efforts to ram or employ the iron toothed figure head. The wolf ships would be far too nimble. The only sensible course of action would be to use the Maw's Jaws' elevated deck as a fire platform for the ogre lead belchers. If the Druchii were denied access to the hulk's deck, they would not be able to bring their superior numbers and martial prowess to bear.

At around the middle watch of the afternoon the Dark Elf ships were harrassing the ogre vessel like a pack of wild sabretusks might harry an isolated rhinox. Individual sloops would slice in for a close pass, release a hail of crossbow bolts and dart back out of range. This posed no great threat to the ogres protected by the high gunwales, but it precluded the gnoblar riggers from venturing aloft to maintain the sails and tack. The Lead Belchers in their turn would loose thunder from their cannons, but little of the flying lead and scrap would find its mark on the nimble wolf ships.

The Druchii raids would come from any quarter at any time, and the ogre artillery men found themselves running from starboard to port and from stem to stern in responce to each threat. Finally, as the lead belchers crowded the prow to impotently blast at another taunting boat the Dark elves attacked their real target. Another raider swept in under the aft deck and released a storm of "Y" tipped quarrels which severed the ropes which connected the great rudder to the captain's wheel above. Furthermore, the Druchii hurled two ring tailed harpoons which embedded securely, one in the rudder and one in the port hull. The single loop of rope was pulled tight and secured such that the ogre ship's rudder was bound hard to the port side. The Maw's Jaws swung her ponderous nose to port until she was side on to the South Westerly wind. Her sails fluttered like the wings of a stricken moth, and she was dead in the water.

The devious Dark Elven captain and his crew who were tucked under the after deck did not celebrate their victory for long. Not for nothing is this part of a ship called the "Poop Deck." The Lead belchers may not have been able to bring their weapons to bear, but several tons of refuse from cess tanks and bilges pouring from the outlets under the aft deck can sink a ship as surely as black powder and lead.

The ogre hulk could not flee and the Dark Elf fighters could not approach close enough to board. The stalemate continued for some hours until, close to dusk, the black hearted Nagarothii prince who commanded the dark fleet chose to act.

He was a despot among despots, second only to the Druchii overlord, Malekith, in malevolence and infamy. He had terrorised all the oceans of the world and his cruelty was legend. He wore about his shoulders the Sea Dragon Cloak and about his neck the dark magic Pendant of Khaeleth. Together these sorcerous items made him the Unkillable Dreadlord.

His name was Chuck-Norrith.

When he tired of the game of cat and mouse he turned his flagship to approach the Maw's Jaws bow on. The predictable ogres fired a fusillade of scrap metal his way. This caused some messy casualties on his vessel but any shrapnel which struck him ricocheted in a brilliant shower of black sparks as the ward of dark magic emanating from the pendant deflected them harmlessly away.

Once his ship had drifted close enough for boarding grapnels to be hurled he raised his arms and muttered an incantation. From his outstretched hands, waves of coruscating black light poured forth and flooded the ogre's deck.

By the time the murk had cleared and the ogres on the main deck had their vision restored, they were confronted by the sight of Dark Elf corsairs perched on their forward deck and rails with repeating crossbows and vicious hook bladed halberds at the ready. The battle for the deck had begun.

A single ogre would easily crush a dark elven opponent, although he may later succumb to his wounds. In open terrain, where the Druchii could move freely and fight in groups, their superior speed, initiative and skill at arms would eventually prevail over the clumsy ogres. This was doubly the case where the Dark elves were supported by marksmen, such as the crossbowmen who had now occupied the forecastle. The ogres were pushed inexorably back until only pockets remained around the hatches and clustered under the after deck.

The rest of the dark elven sloops had lashed their vessels to their flagship in a great raft which swarmed with more of the cruel brigands. Finally, Chuck-Norrith himself stepped aboard the Maw's Jaws..

"What ith the thituation, thailor?" he demanded of a Naggarothii fighter.

"We have thecured.... sorry, secured the main deck. The Lizardman Sorceror is on the after deck."

The Dreadlord glowered at his subordinate. "Thee to it that the ogre tholdierth are thafely imprithoned below deckth."

At this moment a mighty ogre maneater burst from a hatch on the deck and hurtled towards the dreadlord. With an ear shattering howl he brought his two handed meat axe down upon Chuck-Norrith's head. There was a sun-burst of black light and the axe splintered into a thousand fragments. The ogre hero stared dumbly at the elven prince who had plunged his hand into the brute's chest and now cradled the ogre's mighty heart in his spidery fingers.

"you thilly, thilly thauthage," the dreadlord intoned as he stopped the ogre's heart with a flash of dark magic. The maneater slumped lifelessly to the deck as Chuck-Norrith withdrew his bloody hand.

The Dark Elven prince picked his way along the gore smeared deck until he was confronted by a knot of heavily armoured defenders who were making a stand below the after deck. "Thubmit or thuffer the conthequenthes!" he called.

"Wha'?" an exceptionally ugly and mishapen ogre raised a hook as if cupping it to a missing ear.

"Thubmit or thuffer the conthequenthes!" the Dreadlord repeated, a little louder.

"Wha'?" the ogre captain reiterated.

"Other ear," suggested another of the ogre troopers.

"Aww, righ'." The ugly ogre cleared his throat and cupped his other hand to his last remaining ear, "Wha'?"

"Thurrender!" screamed Chuck-Norrith.

"Thurr...Wha'?" replied the puzzled ogre.

Chuck-Norrith howled with frustration and thrust out a clenched fist. With a thingle thortherous thyllable of thummoning he releathed..... (oops, that should be single sorserous syllable of summoning. Thorry) he released a hammer stroke of dark force which smashed the ogre troop through the bulkhead which stood behind them. The Dark Lord mounted the stair to the after deck only to be confronted by a gaggle of gnoblars armed with frypans, rolling pins and the like. He scattered them with a dismissive gesture and barely noted a small green figure slither under the ship's wheel. He only had eyes for the cascades of magical energy streaming through a slann mage priest who was slumbering by the starboard rail.

"Elf! Eat this!" A mighty ogre was crouched behind a ballista of generous proportions. As he shouted he unleashed a massive iron harpoon. The projectile deflected off the dreadlord's shimmering black ward and zinged away to stick, quivering into the lashing which secured the main spar to the centre mast.

Chuck-Norrith absently smote the ogre tyrant with a bludgeon of dark force, knocking him senseless against the aft rail. The Dreadlord's only concern was his prize. He reached to touch the torrent of power pouring from the geomantic web only to be barred by a shower of silver sparks. He pressed his hand longer against the column of magic and was showered with sparks again. There was a tooth jarring sound like a blade being scraped on glass. "What ith thith?" he howled in frustration.

"Your pendant," a weak voice rasped from beneath the ship's wheel.

"Thpeak, thkink!" the elf commanded the puny green reptile.

"The dark magic. It won't mix with the geomantic power. They are like oil and water. Your ward... You must remove your pendant!" Caneghem gasped.

"Yeth, of courthe! Then I will potheth thith power!" Chuck-Norrith tore the Pendant of Khaeleth from his neck and cast it carelessly on the deck. With a wordless shriek of triumph he plunged both hands into the shimmering aura of power surrounding the slann. As he let the strands of raw power run through his fingers he imagined all that he would achieve, all that he would become. With a thought he would extinguish the life of every ogre on this vessel. With the tiniest gesture he would plunge hated Ulthuan back under the waves. Upon his triumphal return to Naggaroth, his Druchii would depose Malekith and raise him up to be their dark god. From thence his dominion would spread over the whole world.

"Mwah ha ha ha ha ha!" he howled with gee, "Mwah ha ha Clang!....."

Chuck-Norrith's eyes rolled back in their sockets and he slumped slowly to the deck to reveal Caneghem behind him with an ogre frypan clutched in both hands like a great weapon. The utensil was still reverberating like a dinner gong. At the same moment the quivering harpoon severed the last fibres which lashed the main spar to the mast. The mainsail fluttered down to smother the deck like a heavy blanket.

The speed and skill at arms with which the Druchii corsairs had been besting the ogres was neutralized. Their marksmen could find no targets, their halberds snagged in the rime stiffened sailcloth and their feet tangled in the loose lines and rigging on the deck. The advantage shifted to proponents of brute force and hammering fists. For most of the elven boarders, the blanketing sail became their death shroud.

The ogres soon regained control of their deck. With the benefit of their elevated position they could pound the rafted dark elf vessels with shot while remaining impervious to the renewed hail of quarrels from below. Now it was the ogres turn to fling their grapnels into the rigging of the sloops to prevent any breaking away. The battle was essentially over when the ogres finally wrestled one of their heavy iron blaster cannons onto the deck and gleefully punched holes into every last wolf ship with fusillades of cannonballs.

On the after deck Rodekhil Offaleater removed the frypan from Caneghem's vibrating fingers. " 'E's our lucky chef, awlright!" The ogre clapped the skink on the back and sent him sprawling to his knees. "Come on lads! Let's 'ave some appreciation for our lucky chef!"

Caneghem could predict what would happen next as the ogres formed a long queue to take it in turns heaping their praise and affection on him. He spied an object glimmering blackly on the deck and hurriedly put on the Pendant of Khaeleth before his admirers could congratulate him senseless.

One by one the crew slapped him on the back, or playfully boxed his... where his ears should be. The Unkillable Skinklord smiled serenely as each crushing blow was deflected in an incandescent shower of black sparks.

Next Chapter: The Citadel

Edit 8/9/13, skinks don't have ears (do you hear me Scalenex?), Enhanced Thilliness, chopsticks removed for safety purposes.

 

Re: Spawning of Bob - The Legions of Los'tmabo'tl - Ch11 vs

It's a really good thing I didn't get to read this all in one sitting Bob. I might have had a heart attack from all of the laughter! Chuck-Norrith and the Skink Lord is awesome! Argsplat's slowly diminishing body is great as well. Keep up the good work!