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The Kandron Affair - Part the Nineteenth.


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#1 Guest_TheBeastlordJohnny_*

Posted 25 December 2003 - 12:55 AM

Hullo comrades!

And now, Part the Nineteenth approaches. Finally the party get out the bloody Horde Fortress, I hated writing that bit. So bloody boring. Thankfully I’ve come up with a rather, erm, burlesque, way to liven up what would be Chapter II of the game. Heh. But this Part is mainly for laughs.

Yet more profuse apologies to Blue, but the next segment of the Goldoran Epic is not complete. Sorry.

Incidentally, tree-fecking was a method of training for warriors-to-be in ancient Sparta. Steven Pressfield has an excellent account of such an activity, and other Spartan warrior training methods, in his novel “Gates of Fire”. But anyhow… enjoy!

Chapter 19 – Burying the Hatchet

The remaining four of us woke with the dawn, and left the gatehouse. It was another clear yet icy cold day here at the Horde Fortress, and the bodies of the many goblins we had slaughtered earlier lay littered about the courtyard. And so it was we stood at the entrance to the keep, working out a plan to enter and clean it out successfully.

“We should attack head on like weal men, wathew than wegwessing to a weaw attack!” Oberron said. “Fow Towm, and honouw!” he said and extracted his Freudian greatsword. “CHAAAAAWWWGE!” he yelled and ran towards the entrance of the fortress, his sword over his head.

“I can’t bear to look,” remarked Shayla. This was apt; Oberron had forgotten to open the doors to the keep and so bounced off them and landed in a heap. But the redoubtable paladin was not fazed; he simply got back to his feet, yelled out something along the lines of “Dishonouwable swine! You shall be stwuck down fow that!” and charged again, attempting to hack the iron-bound gate to splinters.

Darik was next to chip in. “No Oberron, you can’t sword a gate. You oughta use a MAN’s weapon like an AXE!” With this he hefted his mighty weapon and set about the gate with it, succeeding in chipping bits off it, but not getting anywhere, even when he used both ends of his armament. Myself and Shayla sighed in exasperation, then she added her voice to the general melée.

“Really,” she said. “I should have expected this from you muscle-brained louts. I think the answer here lies in a… a woman’s touch.”

“Hur hur,” gibed Darik as if on cue. “Well, darling, you’ll have to join the queue to touch me…” he went on. Shayla said nothing but slapped him across the face while Oberron looked on with a smug face.

“Oh yes…” said Darik. “Smack me up you bitch!” he went on. Shayla grimaced, having been offended by this, but then regained control.

“Darik,” she said in her trademark poisoned-honey voice. “You know how the Church of Torm says you should turn the other cheek?”

Oberron beamed at the mention of his religion, and Darik responded in the affirmative.

“This is why,” said Shayla, and slapped him again across the face, sending Darik falling to the floor.

“Oh, I get it!” he said. “Turn the other cheek… hur hur… if you’re game I am darling…” He then attempted to wink salaciously and lowered his trousers and bent over. Thus turning two further cheeks. It was not a pretty sight. In fact, I am still not sure as to whether the tremendous smell which followed Darik like a jealous lover originated from his mouth or his posterior; one being no cleaner and the other no filthier. Shayla, fearing her hand may rot off if she carried out her threat thus, vacated the area until Darik had re-dressed himself.

“But anyhow,” Shayla continued. “I think you’re meant to open the door like this…” And with that she grasped the large handle on the door and turned it about seventy-five degrees before pushing the door inwards. The door swung open. Darik and Oberron looked cheated and we all trooped inside.

The antechamber was manned by a single Orcish guard who looked incredibly old. He slumped in a chair and slept, waking only when we had stormed into the room.

“What do you want?” he grunted excruciatingly slowly. “I was having my nap!”

“Erm, could you bugger off please?” I asked him. “We want to enter the fortress.”

“Enter the fortress, son?” he said. “We can’t be having that! In my day, we had to pass all sorts of tests before they’d let you out the courtyard. I remember they lined us all up in front of this tree, give us shields, and tell us to push the tree over by sheer brute force. We was real men in those days, son! Tree-fecking, they called it, and we would grunt, and we would shove, and we would feck that tree until the sun went down, and until the sun came up and went down again, and the chieftains would come out and tell us about how we’d still not felled such a pathetic little sapling… Aye, those were the days…” he sighed, his voice drifting off.

“Didn’t do you much good though, did it?” grunted Darik. “You still didn’t manage to do any squirrels inadvertently, hur hur…”

“Don’t be bloody impertinent, lad!” the old orc said. “I was fighting for Tribe and Alliance when you were still in short trousers!” And with that he pointed towards Shayla, who corrected him.

“Erm, I’m a lady. I have never worn trousers, I prefer to have a wholesome breeze around my odds and ends, thank you.” At this comment, Darik made another attempt to get a blimp up her robe, sniggering all the time.

“Wholesome breeze, lass?” guffawed the aged orc. “That reminds me of the time…” He lapsed off into another rambling story, the upshot of which was basically that we were ungrateful striplings who ought to be taken over our fathers’ knees and given a good thrashing and similar, and how in HIS day they had to do it standing in a vat of porridge…

Oberron was first to wake after that.

“WIGHT!” he said, getting out his sword. “Don’t think you can outwit the Fowces of Wighteousness by mere distwaction! Ah ha! CHAAAARGE!” he continued, and attempted to skewer the aged orc, who did not flinch and was thus impaled. His dying words were something on the lines of, “Young people these days, I don’t know… no manners…”

“Justice pwevails again!” said Oberron, looking extremely pleased with himself, and so we all went through the door the other side of the antechamber…

Inside a huge, towering bugbear was in conversation with a blue half-dragon of some description, the half-dragon’s voice rather feminine-sounding as well. This sounded rather interesting, so, motioning the rest of the team to shut up, I snook forwards to have a listen. Something about a temple, and a blockade, and I distinctly heard the phrase, “…failures in your sector. GET TO IT!” And with that there was a flash of arcane energy and the half-dragon vanished.

“Bloody hell…” grunted the bugbear, and stomped the ground in a fit of rage. “EVERYTHING I DO, there’s always another PROBLEM round the bloody CORNER! Rrrrgghh…” it growled. “then there’s that bloody drow elf that’s been causing me grief, took out Torak and Agent Scrik all in one…”

I smiled at this. Word was getting around.

“Argh, buggrit. I need to go tap a kidney.” And with that the bugbear shuffled out of my view.”

“Okay people,” I whispered to the rest of the team. “We can go in now.” And we all snook in, the tomblike silence broken only by Darik’s sudden windbreak.

“YOU AGAIN!” grunted a familiar voice from behind me as a heavily muscled Orcish arm snaked round my neck and lifted me off the floor. “You think you clever, but no you’re not! Now you must deal with me!”

Shayla put her hands on her hips and adopted a superior expression. “Torak?! But I thought we slit your throat and ordered the rest of the clan to disembowel themselves with their own hands?”

“Hahahahahahahahaha!” laughed this particular over-the-top orc. “I am not Torak, fool surfacer! I am his twin brother! Borak! AND YOU WILL BE DESTROYED!!!!”

With this his arm tightened around my throat, inexorably, and I was unable to reach anything remotely lethal at all, and my breath was slowly becoming thinner and thinner…

“Heheheheheheh…” guffawed Borak brother of Torak. “Honour will be satisfied, and there’s NOTHING YOU CAN DO! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! TORAK IS AVENGED!”

“Avenge this, badgerfeck,” came a familiar darthiir voice from behind.

“OOOWWWWWW!!!!” said Borak as he received the ultimate haemorrhoid cure.

I dropped back to my feet, and noticed Talyn standing there looking very pleased with himself, toting his longbow, and standing over the corpse of Borak, who had an arrow projecting from his colon.

“Talyn,” I said in a dangerously quiet voice. “I thought you walked out on us.”

Talyn raised an eyebrow and replied. “I did, but they caught me an’ feckin’ locked me the feck up in a feckin’ cage. And that cowshite wankweasel wa’ doing all sorts of unmentionable things ter me! So I t’ought, Feck that! And I escaped, and here I am now.”

“And evil-doews are thwawted again,” added Oberron.

I motioned Talyn to step over to one side with me. He did so, but was wary, expecting a trap.

“Talyn…” I began. “I’m sorry.”

He raised his other eyebrow. This was expected.

“Maybe I shouldn’t have shovelled you around like that,” I conceded.

“Dat’s roight. But then again, I suppose it was a bit feckin’ oyt of order fer me ter blow it outa proportion.”

“Ah well,” I mused, and then turned to the rest of the team. “I feel like kicking arse and playing poker to win, so why not audience?”

“Oh yes!” chorused the team.

“Oh no!” chorused Oberron. “Pokew is immowal and base, and I will have no part in it.”

I sighed. “Okay, I feel like kicking arse, so why not audience? Playing poker to win is, of course, optional.”

Darik stalled it out this time. “And have you poked her yet?” he said, motioning towards Shayla. “You two, sharing tents… don’t take an Elminster to work that one out now does it? Hur hur hur…”

“Darik?” Shayla addressed him in her patent sugar-laced-with-strychnine voice. “Shut your piehole or I’ll shut it for you.”


We searched high and low inside the fortress and found our elusive bugbear in the middle of a large room, brandishing a colossal morning star.

“Arghh… it’s that dark elf again who killed Torak… I figure I’ve got to murder you now,” he said, and then changed his voice from one of sheer apathy and distaste to one which all but said that we were going to get very hurt. “PREPARE TO DIE, DROW SCUM!!” he yelled, and charged with his morning star.

“NOBODY CALLS ME SCUM!!” I yelled, and charged with my twin blades.

“EVIL DOING SCUM!!” Oberron yelled, and charged with his Freudian greatsword.

“RAPIST SCUM!!” yelled Shayla, cast a Decastave spell, and charged.

“ORC-BUGGERING SCUM!! (actually, that’s a bit hypocritical, hur hur…)” yelled Darik and charged with his five foot war axe.

“YE KNOW WHY THEY CALL YE BUGBEARS? ‘COS YER MAMMY WAS A BORIN’ BEETLE, AND YER DA WAS A GRIZZLY! DAT’S WHY YER A BUGBEAR AND THUS SCUM!!” Talyn yelled, and extracted a wickedly sharp scimitar before charging.

The next thing we all knew was that we were all lying in heaps on the floor where we had all bounced off each other. I was first to my feet, followed by the bugbear. “I AM GUTHMA AND I AM INVINCIBLE!!!!” he screamed to the heavens and the hells. “Once I was 98-pound weakling, but now look at me! Pecs of iron! Thighs of steel! I will kick sand in your girl friend and steal your face!”

“Shouldn’t dat be the other way roynd?” enquired Talyn.

“You awe a stinking knave!” yelled Oberron. “You come to steal away my due! I will stwike you down and Towm will bless me fow it!”

“I CAN CRUSH A MAN’S SKULL IN MY FIST!” Guthma bragged.

“And I can open beer bottles with my lips!” taunted Shayla. Darik muttered something in reply about how he hoped she meant the facial ones.

“I HAVE NEVER BEEN KILLED IN SINGLE COMBAT!” Guthma went on.

“Neither have any of us,” I shot back at him.

“HUGE BARBARIAN CHAMPIONS FALL AT MY FEET WHEN THEY SEE ME COMING!”

“Even BEFORE dey smell yer breath?” inquired Talyn, raising an eyebrow.

“I HAVE HAD MY OWN MEN IMPALED FOR SUCH INSOLENCE!!! RAAAARRGGHHH!!”

“No wonder your horde all waddles so, hur hur hur…” Darik guffawed, and charged toward and set about Guthma, trying to chop his legs off while Guthma tried to squash Darik with his huge morning star.

Meanwhile, Shayla cast her favourite spell, Levitation, and began to pelt Guthma with all sorts of stuff, while Oberron and Talyn stood guard at the doorway lest reinforcements arrive. I went round behind Guthma and leapt onto his back. The shock caused him to flail around with his morning star, smacking me wholesomely in the thigh, and a crunch told me I probably wouldn’t be walking straight for several weeks. I decided which of my legs was still functional and hooked the toe of my boot round between his legs and socked him full in the groin with the adamantite toe cap.

“A LOW BLOW! DISHONOUR!” yelled Guthma as he doubled up in pain. I then found the soft meaty flesh just inside his collarbone, and drove both my blades into that area, skewering all manner of internal organs, and sending the softly steaming miasma of fresh carrion up into the air. As he crashed to the ground, Shayla descended from her levitation spell.

“Impressive,” she commented.

“Thanks,” I said as I grimaced in pain from my broken thigh bone.

“Now dat,” Talyn remarked, “was stylish.”

“A worthy act!” said Oberron. “But what a pity Dawik isn’t hewe to shawe it with us.”

“I am!” came a filthy-sounding voice from beneath Guthma’s corpse. Struggling out, covered in bugbear-fur and blood and muck, Darik appeared. “For Moradin’s sake, Kandron, couldn’t you have got him to fall in some other direction? I’m far too important to be sat on by a bugbear!”

I tried to support myself on my busted leg, failed, and collapsed.

“Sorry people, but you’ll have to carry me back to Targos.” I informed them.


It was two weeks later that we dragged back into Targos to report our success, with Ennelia and Braston in tow. We were given an effusive hero’s welcome, with showers of confetti, cheering, and offers of sexual favours which I considered briefly but then thoughts of Olaria clouded my mind and so I refused them. Besides, those offering weren’t exactly nice looking anyhow. Lord Ulbrec Croesus Trimalchio Dinnsmore presented us with a sack of 5,000 gold pieces, which we split between us, and I was taken into the clerics’ tent at the Palisade until my leg had reset. This was very generous of the Targosites, even if they did treat me like I was suffering and in the wars all the time, when all I wanted to do was to get up and carry on.

Sooner or later, Ulbrec approached me and asked me if I wanted to do another job for him.

“Erm, no thank you.” I replied. “But if you could direct me to the nearest entry to the Underdark I’d be very much obliged.”

“Actually, Devore,” he carried on, “the contract you signed contains this clause here which allows us to keep you in our employ for an additional four weeks after having finished your work, and should you refuse this additional period you would be waiving all rights to your payment and it would be refundable in full. And I don’t think that’d be so conducive, what with that nice shiny new chainmail you have on there…” I had bought this to replace my old one, which was worn out beyond belief. The new set was apparently enchanted, yet was a disappointingly bland chrome-silver colour. “Your job,” he continued, “is to travel to Kuldahar in Oswald Fiddlebender’s airship, where Iselore, the Archdruid, will have further work for you. Good luck, Devore,” he said, and swept out.

I sighed in resignation at this.


Four weeks later my leg was completely healed and fully functional, and it was at that moment that we said our goodbyes to Targos once and for all. Not that I wanted to see the pissant little burg again, I hated it enormously. And so we boarded the extremely dodgy airship belonging to Oswald Fiddlebender, a gnomish alchemist of advancing years, set off towards Kuldahar. It was surprisingly warm at thirty thousand feet inside the ship, and so I was able to laze in a hammock and watch the clouds go by as we sailed onwards.


Thus ends Part the Nineteenth. I do hope you approve of it. Coming next – A late night double feature picture show…

Oh, and before I forget – Have A Very Merry Politically Correct Non-Religious Midwinter Festival!

#2 Guest_argan_*

Posted 25 December 2003 - 01:12 AM

As usual, hilarious :wink:

#3 Guest_TheBeastlordJohnny_*

Posted 28 December 2003 - 10:26 PM

As usual, hilarious :cry:


Glad you think so. Pity that almost nobody else appreciated it.

But thank you anyhow.

#4 Guest_VigaHrolf_*

Posted 29 December 2003 - 11:34 PM

BeastlordJohnny,

I poked my head in this thread at a comrade's recommendation. And I'm glad I did. This stuff is precious. Especially the archer's rather pointed commentary in regards to Borak and the fight with the bugbear. Great stuff.

Now I'm going to have to go find the rest of it and read it. Blast. :wink:

VH

#5 Guest_MorningGlory_*

Posted 30 December 2003 - 03:40 AM

BLJohnny,

I chuckled all the way through... Witty, bright, and perceptive humor, er, humour.. :wink: An enjoyable read start to finish, and forgive the tardiness in the comment -- as one of the new kids on the block I am still playing 'catch-up' with current offerings and haven't had a chance to 'flip' back and enjoy your story to date. But I will, I promise!

MG

#6 Weyoun

Posted 30 December 2003 - 03:39 PM

“Really,” she said. “I should have expected this from you muscle-brained louts. I think the answer here lies in a… a woman’s touch.”


LOL! Well said. :)

“What do you want?” he grunted excruciatingly slowly. “I was having my nap!”


“Erm, could you bugger off please?” I asked him. “We want to enter the fortress.”


LOL! Not eloquent, but it's to the point. :twisted:

“Heheheheheheh…” guffawed Borak brother of Torak. “Honour will be satisfied, and there’s NOTHING YOU CAN DO! HAHAHAHAHAHAHA! TORAK IS AVENGED!”


Laska : Somebody kill that guy, please. :twisted:

“And evil-doews are thwawted again,” added Oberron.


*snicker*

“Arghh… it’s that dark elf again who killed Torak… I figure I’ve got to murder you now,” he said, and then changed his voice from one of sheer apathy and distaste to one which all but said that we were going to get very hurt. “PREPARE TO DIE, DROW SCUM!!” he yelled, and charged with his morning star.


“NOBODY CALLS ME SCUM!!” I yelled, and charged with my twin blades.


Go for it! :twisted:

“I CAN CRUSH A MAN’S SKULL IN MY FIST!” Guthma bragged.


Ah! But can you crush a man's fist with your skull? That's a real effort. :oops:

“I am!” came a filthy-sounding voice from beneath Guthma’s corpse. Struggling out, covered in bugbear-fur and blood and muck, Darik appeared. “For Moradin’s sake, Kandron, couldn’t you have got him to fall in some other direction? I’m far too important to be sat on by a bugbear!”


I tried to support myself on my busted leg, failed, and collapsed.


“Sorry people, but you’ll have to carry me back to Targos.” I informed them.


D'oh! :wink:

Thus ends Part the Nineteenth. I do hope you approve of it. Coming next – A late night double feature picture show…


Oh, and before I forget – Have A Very Merry Politically Correct Non-Religious Midwinter Festival!


LOL! Great story,
---Weyoun
TnT Enhanced Edition: http://www.fanfictio...rds-and-Tempers

---
Sith Warrior - Master, I can sense your anger.

Darth Baras - A blind, comotose lobotomy-patient could sense my anger!

---

"The New Age? It's just the old age stuck in a microwave oven for fifteen seconds" - James Randi

#7 Guest_TheBeastlordJohnny_*

Posted 31 December 2003 - 05:13 PM

BeastlordJohnny,

I poked my head in this thread at a comrade's recommendation. And I'm glad I did. This stuff is precious. Especially the archer's rather pointed commentary in regards to Borak and the fight with the bugbear. Great stuff.

Now I'm going to have to go find the rest of it and read it. Blast.

VH


Oh, don't worry. I think I have all that previous chapters stored on my hard disk (with the exception of 13, which somehow got lost.) If you want them, e-mail me at DEATHTOSPAMMERSJonsstock@aol.com (remove the DEATHTOSPAMMERS bit first, mind.)

But thank you anyhow.

#8 Guest_TheBeastlordJohnny_*

Posted 31 December 2003 - 05:18 PM

[quote]BLJohnny,

I chuckled all the way through... Witty, bright, and perceptive humor, er, humour.. An enjoyable read start to finish, and forgive the tardiness in the comment -- as one of the new kids on the block I am still playing 'catch-up' with current offerings and haven't had a chance to 'flip' back and enjoy your story to date. But I will, I promise!

MG[/quote]

Glad you think so. I only come on here occasionally, to comment on one or two stories, post this, and post the Goldoran Epic (sorry yet again to those who are beginning to brandish sharp items upon seeing that the next chunk of it still is not posted!)

And thank you for commentary anyhow![/quote]

#9 Guest_TheBeastlordJohnny_*

Posted 31 December 2003 - 05:25 PM

LOL! Well said.


Of course.

LOL! Not eloquent, but it's to the point.


Yes, it is to the point... a very sharp point! Heh.

Laska : Somebody kill that guy, please.


Kandron: I did. Would you like me to arrange for him to be reanimated so
I can kill him again?

Ah! But can you crush a man's fist with your skull? That's a real effort.


OH I got plenty o' nuttin',
Nuttin's plenty fer me,
I got my head,
Got some beer,
Got some enemies.
Folks wi' plenty o' nuttin',
They got a skull made o' lead.
In case someone who nuts em,
Cracks an 'ole in their 'ead.

LOL! Great story,
---Weyoun


Glad you think so, and thank you v. much.




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