The Fellowship of the Spam

[jrhume]

Fellowship of the Spam

The Secret Council

Mike, the Great Admin, sent out a call to all the folk frequenting the hidden vale of Army.CA.  Alas, only those from the ramshackle tent village known as The Mess answered his summons.  Mike despaired of his purpose, for those lay-about clowns only showed up because the meeting would be followed by free beer, lots of spicy food and a horde of scantily-clad dancing girls.

Che, the dwarf lout, banged his empty cup and bellowed, â Å“More beer!  Where's the food?â ?

DanJanou, the Elder, stood forth in his stained robes.  â Å“There will be beer and food in plenty.  But first we must discuss this matter of the Spam.â ?

Grumbling, the horde took their seat about a raggedy-assed table.  On a chipped platter thereon lay a steaming pile of Spam.â ?

â Å“Looks like horse hockey to me,â ? mumbled Bossi, the Runtland gardener who had crashed the meeting looking for short, stout women.

â Å“The resemblance is intentional,â ? said Franko, a willowy elf-lord.  â Å“A casual server might be convinced it was horse manure and let it pass unchallenged.â ?

â Å“Uh . . . sure.â ?  Bossi edged away from the too-pretty elf.  â Å“Thanks.â ?

Monk, the other runt who traveled with Bossi, but who was -- honest to God -- not involved with him, stood on his chair.  â Å“On instructions from DanJanou, I brought this Spam to The Mess.  In my own land it seemed harmless, hanging about with sheep and cattle dung.â ?

â Å“Yes,â ? said DanJanou.  â Å“The Great Enemy lost this Spam in antiquity.  Where it has been in the long years between the fall of Ignorance and this day is unknown.  Yet it ended up in Runtland and our Enemy, growing now in strength and cunning, is seeking it far and wide.â ?

Another Runt named Slim belched.  â Å“So what?  Let him have the sodding Spam.â ?

â Å“We cannot!â ? cried Fusilier, the ragged Mountie.  â Å“If Spam falls into the Enemy's hands, we are all lost!  Bedlam shall haunt us down the years.  Mindless drivel will spew from every digital device.  Our networks will be devoid of order.â ?

Lance, a black-clad wastrel from North Blog, sneered.  â Å“Yours is a foolish fear, Fusilier.  In order to defeat the Enemy, we need this weapon.â ?  He touched the Spam and yelped, drawing back a bleeding finger.  â Å“Dangerous it is, but more danger to Infanteer than to us.â ?

A shadow fell over the gathering.  â Å“Name him not!â ? whined DanJanou.  â Å“Even his handle has the power of darkness!â ?

â Å“Oops, sorry,â ? mumbled Padraig, a fourth Runtland type.  â Å“I must have bumped the switch.â ?  He turned the lights back on.  â Å“Sorry.â ?

Mike raised his arms.  â Å“Quiet!  I say quiet!â ?  He glared at the assembly of goofs and drunks.  â Å“Why are so many Runts here?  I only invited Monk.â ?

â Å“You'll have to forgive them,â ? said DanJanou.  â Å“Runts are irresistibly drawn to strong spirits and free food.  I should have warned you.â ?

â Å“No matter,â ? said the Great Admin.  â Å“We'll just send out for more pizza.  Of greater importance is the question of the Spam.  What must we do with it?â ?

â Å“Use it!â ? insisted Lance.  â Å“Slather it on like peanut butter at an orgy!  Then we can approach his Hideous Hideout with assurance and even a bit of style.  His ports will be clogged, his bandwidth wiped out!  Use it!â ?

â Å“We cannot!â ? screeched Fusilier.  â Å“The Spam must be taken to Mount WorldWideWeb and be cast back into the randomness from which it sprang.  I shall join with those who take up this quest.â ?  He waved a dirty white piece of plastic.  â Å“Behold the mouse that was broken!â ?  Turning the device upside down, he showed the hole in the bottom.  â Å“The ball has been destroyed.â ?

â Å“That's not the only thing lacking balls,â ? murmured Bossi.

â Å“It's an infrared mouse!â ? cried Lance.

â Å“Nay, it is not,â ? said Fusilier.  He drew a small round ball from his pocket.  â Å“We have new parts.  The Mouse That Was Broken will be reforged!â ?

â Å“Well, la-ti-da,â ? said Monk.  â Å“But who will carry the Spam?  It's heavy.  I packed the stinking pile from Runtland to here and I shan't carry it a step further.â ?

â Å“But you must,â ? said Mike.  â Å“Your nostrils have already been obliterated by the smell.  Cast not this burden on another poor soul.â ?

â Å“I'll help, Mr. Monk,â ? said Bossi.  â Å“I've struck out with all the Runt women.  Perhaps if we travel the wide world I'll find a suitable short, stocky woman.â ?

Monk, being a Runt of little willpower, agreed to carry the Spam.  He nudged Bossi.  â Å“Who knows?  Your stocky lady might have a friend.â ?

Padraig and Slim leaped from their seats.  â Å“Oh!  Oh!â ? they cried.  â Å“Take us!â ?

DanJanou waved the over-eager lads back from the deadly pile of Spam.  â Å“You may accompany the Fellowship.  It's always good to have cannon fodder along.â ?

â Å“You speak of a Fellowship,â ? said Mike.  â Å“Is such a thing determined then?â ?

â Å“Yes.  The Mouse That Was Broken will be reforged.  Such a thing is a portent of greatness, like a black cat falling off a ladder.  So Fusilier will go along with Monk and the other Runts.  Che and Franko are willing to go, in order that dwarves and elves will be in on the slaughter and looting at the Hideous Hideout.  I shall go.  I mind me a certain elf maid of easy virtue in the forest along the way.  So that is eight.â ?

â Å“Yet,â ? said Mike.  â Å“The Enemy has nine Routers.  We should have nine in our group.â ?

â Å“Why?â ? asked Monk.  â Å“Is there a magic in the symmetry?â ?

â Å“Well . . .â ? Mike's lower lip trembled.  â Å“Can't we have nine . . . please?â ?

â Å“I'll go,â ? said Lance.  â Å“I'll go though I think the Spam is a weapon for our own use and that to destroy it is folly.â ?  He held up a rolled Visual Basic script.  â Å“Never let it be said that the men of the North Blog shrank from hardship or corrupt commands.  I pledge myself to the quest.â ?

â Å“I love long journeys with manly men,â ? sighed Franko, â Å“but I suppose this lot will do.â ?

â Å“It's settled then,â ? said Mike.  â Å“The Fellowship of the Spam will leave in the morning.â ?  He raised his arms high.  â Å“The beer is on me!â ?


The Wireless Waste

Virtual Overlord Muskrat peered into the depths of his Magic Monitor.  â Å“I can't see a thing!â ?

â Å“Here, m'Lord.â ?  Chief Toady Dragoon rapped the monitor.  â Å“You really need to upgrade, sire.â ?

â Å“To hell with that!  When we get control of the Spam I'll frag Infanteer and send his bits and bytes down to the Sea of Random Data.  Then I'll have his stuff.  It's got to be better than mine.â ?

â Å“An intriguing prospect, m'Lord.  Can you see anything?â ?

Muskrat caressed his lucky trackball.  â Å“That's better, but not much.  Hellions can't send back very detailed pictures.  Tell me again why we're using them instead of a neat low-orbit satellite.â ?

â Å“They work cheap, m'Lord.  And they accept Feedback Fortress scrip.  The satellite dealers only go for dollars or yen.â ?

â Å“Dang!  Won't they take gold?â ?

â Å“Not since you fobbed off that batch of dragon gold to them, sire.  One brush with reality and the gold pieces turned back into lead.â ?

â Å“Well -- who was to know the dragon had pilfered the hoard of an alchemist?â ?

â Å“Who indeed, sire.  Nevertheless, we're stuck with hellions for the time being.â ?

â Å“Right.â ?  Muskrat tapped the display.  â Å“Looks like DanJanou is taking his tour group across the Wireless Waste toward the Tunnels of Topology.  He must like getting clients slaughtered.â ?

â Å“Perhaps, m'Lord.â ?  Dragoon hesitated.  â Å“On the other hand, he might be trying to sneak the Spam down to the Hideous Hideout.â ?

â Å“But . . . does he have the Spam with him?  And if he does, why would he take it there?â ?

Dragoon shrugged.  â Å“We have to assume he has it.  Could he want to join with Infanteer?â ?

â Å“That's possible.  But, why take that rabble with him?  Infanteer hasn't any use for elves and dwarves and snotty ex-programmers.â ?  Muskrat paused.  â Å“Well, maybe the elf.â ?

â Å“Sacrifices?  Perhaps the Spam needs blood.â ?

â Å“That may be it, Dragoon.â ?  Muskrat paced over to a window.  â Å“Keep your spies on the prowl.  If DanJanou is heading to link up to Infanteer, we need to stop him.â ?  He shivered and wrapped himself in a robe.  â Å“Why can't we put any glass in these damned windows!â ?

â Å“Union rules, m'Lord.â ?

Muskrat headed for the lift.  â Å“I'm going down to the dungeons and gouge out a few eyes.  At least there's a fire down there!â ?

Once the Boss was gone, Dragoon lit a cigar and clapped his hands.  Pop!  A hellion stepped out of a cloud of smoke.

â Å“O'Leary!  Must you use that foul smelling smoke?â ? griped Dragoon.

â Å“Low bid, y'know.â ?  The hellion hopped up on a desk and took one of the Boss's cigars for himself.  He lit it using a flame from his right thumb.  â Å“What's up?â ?

â Å“You need to keep an eye on DanJanou and company,â ? said Dragoon.

â Å“We're already doing that.â ?

â Å“A closer eye.  We need to know where they're going.â ?

â Å“That's easy,â ? said O'Leary.  â Å“He's leading them to the Tunnels of Topology.  Once inside, the Viral Orcs will slaughter and eat the lot.  End of story.â ?

â Å“But if DanJanou gets through the Tunnels he could strike out across the river and join up with your old pal Infanteer.  We don't want that.â ?

â Å“Infanteer's no friend of mine!â ? spat O'Leary.  â Å“He's burned out a lot of good hellions in his time.â ?  He paused and took a drag off his cigar.  â Å“What makes you think that fool DanJanou is going to link up with Infanteer?â ?

â Å“What else could it be?  If he meant to come here, he wouldn't be heading for the Tunnels.â ?

â Å“True.â ?  O'Leary cackled.  â Å“You don't suppose they mean to destroy it, do you?â ?

Dragoon and O'Leary roared with laughter.  Soon enough the Chief Toady left to attend to various and sundry evil tasks and O'Leary vanished in his usual puff of vile-smelling smoke.

*****

Bossi had about had enough of the Fellowship.  From the very start, things went bad.  Not only did DanJanou insist they walk all the way to the Tunnels of Topology, but they had to carry heavy packs and sleep in the open.  It was Admin Mike's fault, decided Bossi.  He was too cheap to charter a bus for the trip.  â Å“Walk, walk, walk,â ? he mumbled.  â Å“And walk some more.â ?

â Å“What was that?â ?  Monk looked back at Bossi.  â Å“Aren't you happy in your work?â ?

â Å“Oh I'm delirious.  Just delirious.  I think my feet have worn down to my ankles.â ?

An offer of a Ugandan business deal slithered out of Monk's pack and dropped to the ground.  It sizzled for a moment, then vanished, leaving only the tired smell of corruption.  â Å“You're leaking bits of Spam,â ? said Bossi.  â Å“Is the whole stinking pile going to disappear?â ?

â Å“Afraid not,â ? said Fusilier, moving up beside Bossi.  â Å“The diabolical thing regenerates.â ?

â Å“Blast!â ? swore Bossi.  â Å“I was hoping it would dribble away and we could go home.â ?

Fusilier laughed.  â Å“I thought you were looking for a stout woman?:

Bossi swung his arm around the horizon.  â Å“You see any women?  Short or tall?  Do you smell a hint of perfume?  I mean other than that stuff Franko uses.â ?

The Mountie shook his head.  â Å“We won't be seeing any women this side of the False Forest.â ?

â Å“What sort of females live there?â ?

â Å“Elf women.  Tall, slender, mostly blondes,â ? said Fusilier.  He held his hands before his chest.  â Å“But stacked -- y'know.â ?

â Å“Well, that's something.  No short ones, eh?â ?

â Å“None.â ?

DanJanou dropped back to walk with them.  â Å“It's too soon to be thinking of women, Bossi.  We have to get through the Tunnels first.â ?

Bossi sighed.  â Å“You're always full of good news, DanJanou.  Are the tunnels hard to enter?â ?

â Å“No, not hard to enter.  Hard to get out of.â ?

â Å“Like marriage,â ? said Fusilier, with a grim look.  â Å“Getting out could cost you your life.â ?

â Å“I've never been married,â ? said Bossi.

â Å“You've never been dead, either,â ? observed Monk.

â Å“It would be nice to have a little fun before either thing,â ? mumbled Bossi.

â Å“I offered you some fun,â ? whispered Franko.  The elf minced up beside Bossi.  â Å“You weren't interested.  Have you changed your mind?â ?

Bossi felt his face grow hot.  â Å“Um . . . no.  I didn't mean fun as in this minute -- or even fun in camp tonight.  I -- uh, we -- as DanJanou said -- we have to get through the Tunnels.â ?

â Å“Of course.â ?  Franko dropped back to his rear guard position, pointy ears adroop. 

Che walked point, along with Lance.  Slim and Padraig capered about somewhat behind them, followed by the others.

Lance glanced back at the two silly Runts and shook his head.  â Å“The first dragon we run into will snap those two up like salted nuts.â ?

â Å“Dragons?â ? Che scanned the horizon.  â Å“Do those beasties still frequent the Waste?â ?

â Å“Of course.  That's why it's the Wireless Waste in the first place.  Dragons can't abide wire.â ?

â Å“Why?  Superstition?â ?

â Å“No man knows for sure.  They don't like to discuss it.  Some suspect that young male dragons once got into the habit of binding females with telephone wire -- to assure compliance and protect themselves from their partner's teeth and claws.  Others claim the binding was done by both sexes -- for mutually gratuitous purposes.  At some point, the Dragon Elders clamped down and banned all kinds of wire from the Waste.â ?

â Å“Dwarves,â ? sniffed Che, â Å“have no strange practices of the like.â ?

Lance laughed.  â Å“The bards tell us dwarves are budded from cankers in the rock.â ?

â Å“A flagrant misstatement of fact, I assure you.â ?

After several minutes of silence, Lance murmured, â Å“Other tales say that dwarf women look much like dwarf men, including their beards.  They say dwarves refuse to speak on the subject.â ?

Che refused to speak.

*****

The dragon, a medium-sized one, flew over their camp that evening.  It circled once, then came in for a landing.  In the still air its approach was perfect, wings spread wide, flaring as it neared the ground.  Unfortunately, one extended claw hooked a low-lying shrub. 

â Å“Look out!â ? yelled Fusilier.

The dragon lurched to one side and almost plowed through the camp fire.  With a raucous squawk, the beast flapped and floundered into a stand of prickle-berry trees.

â Å“Keep your weapons down,â ? warned DanJanou.  â Å“Likely it means no harm.â ?

â Å“Right,â ? muttered Slim.  â Å“No harm except to a tasty Runt.â ?  He glanced at DanJanou.  â Å“Cannon fodder, indeed.  Dragon fodder, more like.â ?

Padraig nodded and dragged Slim back behind the others.  â Å“We need some armor, cousin.  No sense being soft-shelled treats for various beasties.â ?

â Å“I mistrust that DanJanou,â ? said Slim.  â Å“This dragon may not require us for dinner, but I think our leader expects us to serve in that capacity eventually.â ?

Padraig chuckled.  â Å“Your imagination runs riot at times.  The quest is dangerous to us all.  What makes you think DanJanou has plans to offer us as a meal to some chance-met creature?â ?

â Å“Check your pack,â ? muttered Slim.  â Å“Someone packed a value-sized box of instant gravy in mine.  If it wasn't DanJanou I'm a Viral Orc.  I'll bet he did the same with yours.â ?

Padraig blanched and ran to his pack.  He ripped it open and rummaged through the contents.  A moment later, he returned, sighing with relief.  â Å“No gravy mix.  Just this.â ?  He held up a plain woven sack.  â Å“Dried veggies to eat on the trail.â ?

Slim shook his head.  â Å“Is your head stuffed with cotton?  Dried veggies?  Or stew mix?â ?


â Å“Who's in charge?â ? boomed the dragon, having extricated itself from the prickle-berry trees.

â Å“I am,â ? said DanJanou, easing forward a fraction of an inch.  â Å“DanJanou is my name.  You may have heard of me.â ?

â Å“Indeed I have,â ? snorted the dragon.  â Å“I was told to keep a claw on my money pouch when in your presence.  What are you doing on the Waste?â ?

â Å“We are on a quest,â ? said Fusilier, stepping to the fore.  In his country he was known for being too forward and for speaking out of turn.

â Å“A quest?  We dragons don't like quests.  Too often the questing party intends to stab or slash an innocent dragon as part of his or her endeavor.â ?

â Å“Too true,â ? said DanJanou, pushing Fusilier to one side.  â Å“In my callow youth, I was once a party to such a thing.  But, no more!  We are mere travelers, sir.  Our destination is yet to be determined, but we intend passing the Tunnels of Topology.â ?

The dragon's red and green scales flashed, then faded.  â Å“The Tunnels?  If you enter there you will indeed pass -- your remnants shall pass through the gut of a Viral Orc -- or worse.â ?

â Å“I knew it!â ? hissed Bossi.  â Å“I knew we'd come to a bad end.â ?

DanJanou shushed the perky Runt.  Turning back to the dragon, he nodded in agreement.  â Å“I am well aware of the dangers, sir.  May we have your name?â ?

â Å“Call me Dorosh.  My true name I'll keep to myself, thank you very much.â ?

DanJanou bowed.  â Å“Dorosh.  An excellent handle.  We have no provisions for a dragon or I'd offer you supper.â ?

Dorosh's laughter was like two rocks tumbling in a barrel.  â Å“I see ample provender,â ? he said, eyeing the Runts.  â Å“However, I supped on the wing this evening.â ?  His gaze bent back to the Elder.  â Å“I caught and ate a half-dozen Dark Data Packets.â ?

â Å“Dark Data Packets!â ? exclaimed Fusilier.  â Å“Those only come from . . ."  He shuddered as if caught in an icy draft.  ". . . the Hideous Hideout.â ?

â Å“Yes,â ? agreed DanJanou.  â Å“They serve he who we do not name.â ?

â Å“I thought that might interest you,â ? said Dorosh.  â Å“Why would the maker of the Black Code be concerned with your movements?â ?

â Å“It has to do with our quest,â ? said DanJanou.  He shrugged.  â Å“I cannot be more specific.â ?

Again the dragon laughed.  â Å“Of course you can't.  What good are quests without confidential information, two-part passwords, secret handshakes and a certain amount of skulking about?â ?

â Å“You have the right of it,â ? admitted Fusilier.  â Å“Except you forgot the occasional dallying with large breasted females.â ?

â Å“Dragon ladies don't have those,â ? said Dorosh.  â Å“But I apologize for the omission.  Quests would pale in popularity were it not for the delectable women involved.â ?

â Å“What women?â ? snarled Bossi.  â Å“An evening with a squatty wench would square my account.â ?

Whatever the other members of the Fellowship may have thought about wenches in general or particular went unvoiced.  Dorosh turned suddenly and sniffed.  â Å“Viral Orcs, or I'm a lizard!â ?

â Å“Gather your gear,â ? snapped Lance.  He looked up at Dorosh.  â Å“How far to the West Portal?â ?

â Å“Not above ten miles.  Can you run that far?â ?

â Å“We'll have to,â ? said Fusilier.  â Å“It's that or grace an orc stew pot by morning.â ?

The dragon spread his wings.  â Å“I'll check out the competition.  Maybe snap up a few for tomorrow's breakfast.â ?

â Å“Gag me with a spoon!â ? exclaimed Lance.  â Å“You eat those things?â ?

â Å“They're not bad,â ? said Dorosh.  â Å“Thin slices -- that's the secret.  And salt.  Lots of salt and beer.â ?  He sprinted downslope, flapping his great wings.  Twice, he stalled and crashed before managing to stay airborne.

â Å“Can he do us any good?â ? asked Slim.

â Å“Maybe,â ? said DanJanou.  â Å“If nothing else, he may crash.  Viral Orcs like nothing better than raw dragon for dinner.â ?


(to be continued)

 

[Scratch_043]

...too...long,   eyes....bleeding   :'(

funny tho

 

[Goober]

Well gag me with a spoon! Great read! Looking forward to the rest.

 

[Fishbone Jones]

This has the makings of a Monty Python or Mel Brooks send up! Keep it coming. ;D

 

[Shec]

I'm at least 2,   or is it 3?,   generations of ration packs removed from that particular delicacy but reading this piece brought back memories of the Luncheon Meat served in the RP-4s.   Especially Menu 3 which was like drawing the nine of hearts.   Can I take it the cuisine hasn't changed all that much?

BTW, this same tantalizing dish is called "Loof" in the IDF.   And the troops rave about it as much as Canucks do.  

 

[jrhume]

The Tunnels of Topology

Dorosh managed to slow the Viral Orcs and the Fellowship made haste.  Though the creatures could be heard howling in the distance, the group reached West Portal without encountering any resistance.  They crossed a paved road which paralleled the tall cliff and gathered before the great iron door, glancing nervously along their back trail.

â Å“I don't know whether to hope we get inside or that we don't,â ? muttered Slim.

The cries of hunting Viral Orcs drifted across the stony plain stretching out into the darkness.  â Å“Inside, I think,â ? said Padraig.  â Å“Those things will be on us in a few minutes.â ?

DanJanou stood in front of the door, stooping to examine scrawled graffiti.

â Å“Does the writing have any clues to opening the door?â ? asked Lance.

â Å“No,â ? said DanJanou.  He flashed a ghost of a grin.  â Å“Someone named Grelk is reputed to have had sex with every orc under the mountain.  The text does not specify Grelk's gender.â ?

â Å“I didn't know orcs had females,â ? said Bossi.

Padraig snorted and giggled.  â Å“There's your squatty lady, Bossi!â ?  He and Slim sagged to the ground, choking with laughter.

Fusilier booted the two Runts into order.  â Å“Look sharp!  Viral orcs may be upon us any time!â ?

Franko leaped on top of a broken column and stood listening.  The others fell silent.  â Å“Hsst!â ? he whispered.  â Å“A beast approaches!â ?  A distant rumble filled the air.

Che panicked.  He stepped up to the door and struck it three times with his axe.  â Å“Let us in!â ? he shrieked as the ringing died away.

â Å“Now you've done it,â ? squeaked Bossi.  â Å“Called every orc in forty miles.â ?

A small port opened in the door.  â Å“No panhandling!  Buzz off before I calls an officer!â ?  All the Fellowship drew back.  Curious looks were exchanged.  The voice didn't sound like an orc.

â Å“I'll handle this,â ? murmured DanJanou, elbowing Che aside.  â Å“Ah -- door warden -- we're travelers.  Innocent travelers, heading for the Sea of Random Data.  Vacationing, as it were.â ?

Bloodshot eyes peered from within.  â Å“Travelers?  Vacationing?â ?  Now they could hear vicious cackling.  â Å“You lot look as innocent as my sister, the finest whore up on Level Six.â ?

â Å“Be that as it may,â ? said DanJanou.  â Å“We seek passage -- safe passage to the East Portal.â ?

â Å“Bit off the beaten track for the Random Sea, ain't you?â ?

â Å“We're taking the scenic route,â ? snapped Fusilier.  â Å“Are we going to stand here all night?â ?

â Å“If I says you stand outside, you bloody well -- ah, half a moment.â ?  Muffled whispering issued from the port.

â Å“I think we should haul our tails out of here!â ? hissed Monk.

â Å“I don't know . . .â ?  DanJanou glanced at Fusilier, who avoided his unspoken question and stared off into space, whistling through his teeth.  Mounties don't get paid for making decisions nor are they expected to think much.  They're just supposed to look pretty in their red outfits.

â Å“I've never heard orcs talk like that,â ? said Lance.  â Å“Rumors have come south of some sort of vast conglomerate taking control of the Tunnels.â ?  He frowned.  â Å“But all those tales came to us by way of the False Forest and you know how those woodland elves lie.â ?

â Å“Hey!â ?  Franko hopped down.  â Å“The elves of the False Forest are renowned for storytelling, but the rest of us are generally reliable.  As it happens, I've heard similar tales about the tunnels.â ?

â Å“Well . . .â ?  DanJanou sighed.  â Å“Why didn't either of you say anything about it?â ?

Franko made one of those 'helpless elf' gestures.  Lance kicked a loose pebble and said, â Å“Aw, shucks.  I don't know nothing about no bus-i-ness deals.  Us North Bloggers can't tell a short sale of stock from a beverage buyout.â ?

â Å“Leveraged buyout,â ? said Che.  Before anyone had a chance to question the dwarf as to his business credentials, a double-decker bus rolled to a stop about fifty feet from the doorway. 

â Å“Blast!â ? said the voice at the port hole.  â Å“I forgot about the late bus.â ?  The door swung wide, pushed by two uniformed attendants of obvious orc descent.  â Å“Best stand aside, gents," said the larger of the two.  "This lot will trample you into the cobbles.â ?

Orcs, tall, slender orcs in gray business suits thundered off the bus.  Each bore a brown leather briefcase (Monk shuddered to think where the leather might have come from).  Their shoes were deep brown.  Only in the matter of ties was there any evidence of individuality.  Yellow, green, bright red, orange with blue slashes -- a rainbow of ties flashed by as the herd thundered through the doorway.  None of the orcs said a word or so much as bared a fang.  With a sigh of released brakes, the bus rumbled away.

â Å“Come on in,â ? said the smaller door warden.  â Å“I was only having a spot of fun earlier.â ?

DanJanou drew himself up to his full five foot, four.  â Å“Perhaps your dereliction of duty can remain unmentioned -- provided you furnish us with directions to the East Portal.â ?

â Å“Of course.  Beyond the far wall, just through those arches, your honor.  There lies the train terminal.â ?  The warden glanced at his wrist chronometer.  â Å“The late train will leave in about an hour.  You'll have plenty of time to refresh yourselves and take a bite to eat.â ?

â Å“Ah . . . ah, of course,â ? replied DanJanou.  Not knowing what else to do, he started across the atrium as directed.  The others, also clueless, followed along.

Franko lagged behind.  He handed the large warden a silver coin.  â Å“You're a big fellow.  Any more at home like you?â ?

â Å“No.  My sister's gone for a prostitute and my two brothers are both investment bankers.â ?

â Å“Ah.â ?  Franko patted the orc.  â Å“Too bad.â ?

â Å“Yeah.â ?  The orc wiped at his eyes.  â Å“Me Mum was plum dashed when those two went wrong.â ?

*****

â Å“I don't understand any of this,â ? muttered Fusilier.  The Fellowship had gathered in a corner nook surrounded by potted palms.  â Å“What happened to the Viral Orcs?  These characters don't really look like the fearsome monsters I've heard about all my life.â ?

â Å“Those we eluded outside are the old style orcs,â ? said Lance.  â Å“The rumors are making sense, now that I've seen this lot.â ?  He swept an arm around, indicating the orcs gathered in small groups around the train station.  â Å“These are called Yorcs.  Yuppie Orcs, although I don't know the meaning of Yuppie.â ?

â Å“Not a bad looking bunch,â ? said Franko.  â Å“As orcs go, anyway.â ?

â Å“You would notice that, wouldn't you!â ? snarled Bossi.

DanJanou waved the perky Runt to silence.  â Å“All appear a bit rough, but considerably smoothed off compared to your average orc.  It must be business school that does that to them.â ?

â Å“Look!â ?  Lance pointed to a trio of yorcs moving toward them along the platform.

â Å“Mercy!â ? hissed Fusilier.

There strutted the first female yorcs the poor lads had seen.  And what females!  Tall, taller than any of the Fellowship, with their dark hair cut short and wild, the three boasted jangling earrings and their fingers flashed with rings.  Their clothing resembled something between armor and slick designer gowns, all slashed and clinging.  They were, of course, professionals.

No one made a sound as they swung by.  The crude, beastly form familiar to generations of orc fighters was present only in the angles and planes of their bodies.  Each glanced at the huddled strangers and dismissed them as too soft, too weak for their games.

Fusilier nudged Bossi.  â Å“Not your stocky, short ideal, eh?â ?

For once unable to speak, Bossi only nodded and hung his head.  Padraig stared after the females, a black pit yawning in his very soul.  He knew those terrible, beautiful creatures would haunt his dreams and gnaw at his self respect for the balance of his days.  He gulped.  â Å“I'm hungry.  Can we get something to eat?â ?

They were all starved.  Fusilier walked around the corner and returned with a frowning woman with bleached blonde hair and a harassed look.  The name, Goldberry, was stenciled above her left pocket.  She eyed the assembled Fellowship with obvious distaste.  â Å“There's menus on the tables.  What'll you have?â ?

She soon brought their orders, along with water, coffee and even chocolate milk for the Runts.  DanJanou sipped his coffee and watched her as she went back to the kitchen.  â Å“I know that lady from somewhere, but I can't remember where or when.â ?

â Å“I have the same feeling,â ? said Fusilier.  â Å“I wonder how she got here?â ?

A train tooted into the station, putting a stop to useless speculation.  The engineer hopped out of a cloud of steam and headed for the café.  â Å“Where's my Goldberry,â ? he sang, jumping and spinning about.  â Å“Where's the River Daughter?â ?

â Å“Don't River Daughter me, you old fart!â ?  The waitress met him at the edge of the platform.

â Å“Come, my lady,â ? sang the engineer.  â Å“Dance with old Tom.  He's been riding the rails!â ?

â Å“That better be the only thing you've been riding.â ?  Goldberry handed him a lunch box and a covered cup of coffee.  â Å“Now get back to work.â ?

Tom hopped about in his big yellow boots.  â Å“But, Goldberry!  Tom's been down to the mines and back again.  He hasn't seen his lady for a brace of days.â ?  He winked at the lads.

She was having none of his nonsense.  â Å“Back to work!  I know what you want, you randy old devil!  I'll see you on the return trip.â ?  With that, she vanished back into the kitchen.

â Å“Ah, sweet River Daughter,â ? crooned Tom.  The door slammed.  He shrugged and moved off with dragging steps.  â Å“Just like her mother -- the old barrow wight.â ?

â Å“That's our train,â ? said DanJanou.  â Å“Finish your grub.  It's a long ways to the East Portal.â ?

â Å“What will we find there?â ? sniveled Monk.  â Å“I'm tired of adventures and this blasted Spam is getting heavier by the mile.â ?

â Å“No it's not,â ? said Franko.  â Å“Slim and Padraig have been slipping stuff from their packs to yours.â ?

The two miscreants stood mute, heads hanging.  They didn't feel guilty or anything like that; hanging one's head is standard procedure when caught red-handed.

â Å“It wasn't much,â ? mumbled Padraig.  â Å“Just a couple of mail shirts and the spanners.â ?


Incident at the East Portal

At East Portal train depot, they discovered that the actual exit from the Tunnels was a mile or so further on.  Old Tom, the engineer, assured them it was an easy walk.

â Å“It's a good straight road,â ? he said.  â Å“Wide iron bridges over the chasms along the way.  None of those old dwarf-built narrow stone arches.  Those blasted things were prone to crack and crumble at the oddest times.  There is one toll bridge.  The toll is one copper each.â ?

So it was that the Fellowship neared the end of their passage of the Tunnels of Topology after a rail journey of less than one day.  They were still a bit nervous about traveling through the dreaded orc domain.  Most secretly agreed with Bossi when he characterized the yorcs as 'bloodthirsty killers with the sharp edges filed off'.  Old prejudices die hard.

Variations in yorc appearance became evident during the train ride.  While taller and more finished looking than their verminous ancestors, yorcs were a hard faced lot.  Suits and ties gave way to more ordinary work clothes.  The train passed through dozens of short tunnels connecting huge, echoing galleries carved from the ancient rock and illuminated by light filtering down from openings high above.  Electric lamps drove back the shadows in tunnels and other dark places.  â Å“All this digging and carving is dwarf work,â ? said Che.  â Å“The yorcs must have added the lights.  My ancestors preferred torches.â ?

Most caverns were empty.  Some were strewn with broken rock.  But even those were marked with well-used roadways and paths.  A few of the larger galleries contained small businesses of all sorts, mostly in open stalls, roofs being not necessary.  Clearly, the yorcs were a busy crew.

East of the depot the Fellowship encountered a goodly number of yorcs, singly and in small groups.  Most paid little attention to the motley group of travelers. 

â Å“I get the distinct impression that outsiders are not an unusual sight to these chaps,â ? said Lance.

Fusilier nodded.  â Å“There were a few humans in some of the shops we saw from the train.â ?

â Å“I noticed that,â ? said DanJanou.  â Å“The whole situation beggars the imagination.â ?

Bossi shuddered.  â Å“My imagination ain't beggared.  Every time we pass one of the blighters the skin between my shoulder blades crawls.â ?

â Å“We'll soon be out of it,â ? said DanJanou.  â Å“That's the last chasm coming up.  You can see the Portal itself beyond.â ?

â Å“I see the bridge, but there's no toll booth,â ? said Lance.  â Å“Tom mentioned one.  If this is the last bridge, it has to be here.â ?

They were forty or fifty paces short of the bridge when Slim elbowed Padraig and pointed toward a pile of boulders lying beside the road.  â Å“I'll beat you to the top of them rocks!â ?  The two sprinted forward yipping like Viral Orcs.

Padraig tripped his cousin and leaped onto one of the larger of the black boulders.  In a trice he hopped off.  â Å“It's hot!  And it moved!â ?

Now the others could see heated air rising from the stones.  As DanJanou raised his staff to warn the two Runts away, the pile of rocks stood up.  Padraig fell flat and crawled back toward the others.  Slim lay in a heap, sniveling.

The creature stood fifteen feet in height.  Black was it's skin, with a texture similar to mountain granite.  It stood before the bridge holding a gigantic hammer.  This it pounded in one massive fist.  Boom!  Boom!  The cavern rang with the sound, which echoed back, strangely altered.  Doom!  Doom!

DanJanou spread his arms and drove back against the others.  â Å“A Balrog!  Back, I say, back!â ?

The Balrog smote a large boulder, splitting it asunder.  â Å“Thou shall not pass!â ? it thundered.  Red flame burst from its gaping mouth.

â Å“No problem,â ? quavered DanJanou.  â Å“We were just sightseeing -- wandering about.  We'll be off now.â ?  To the others he hissed, â Å“Move it!  Move it!  Run away!  Run away!â ?

Fusilier dragged the Elder to a halt.  â Å“Destroy that thing, DanJanou!  You're a wizard.  Blast him into little jagged bits with your staff!â ?

â Å“This staff?â ?  DanJanou cast it away.  â Å“It's just a piece of wood I'd taken a liking to.â ?

â Å“Fight the beast!â ? implored Lance.  â Å“We'll help!â ?

â Å“Are you crazy?  Look at that thing!  He'll grind me to paste!â ?  DanJanou sagged in Fusilier's grasp.  â Å“What could you do anyway?  What could any of us do?â ?

â Å“A good point.â ?  Lance eyed the Balrog, which stood unmoving in front of the bridge.  â Å“I planned on offering moral support while you dealt with him.â ?

The hammer rose and fell.  Boom!  Boom!  Back came the echoes.  Doom!  Doom!  The entire Fellowship collapsed into a quivering heap.

â Å“Thou shall not pass,â ? repeated the Balrog, although in less resounding tones.  â Å“Thou shall not pass unless thou pay the toll.â ?

â Å“The toll?â ?  Franko climbed reluctantly out of the pile.  â Å“He speaks of a toll.â ?

â Å“A copper each,â ? said the Balrog.  â Å“Hard currency only.  None of that Fortress scrip.â ?

DanJanou crawled out of the heap, retrieved his staff and dusted off his robes.  â Å“You could have announced that from the start, sir Balrog.â ?

â Å“I find a dramatized request to be more effective,â ? replied the brute.

It was the work of a few minutes to pay the toll and get the group moving again.  The Balrog stood to one side and watched them go, humorous tongues of flames playing about his head.

Franko was last across the bridge.  The Balrog stopped him with a gesture and rumbled, â Å“Do you know there are hellions spying on your party?â ?

â Å“Hellions?â ?  Franko gaped about.  He saw nothing.

â Å“You can't see them, but I'm surprised your wizard hadn't noticed the sneaking little sods.â ?

â Å“Me too.  I'll ask him about them.â ?

â Å“The bleeders are up to no good, that's sure.â ?  The Balrog sat down beside the road.  â Å“In the pay of Feedback Fortress, I'll warrant.â ?

*****

Once outside, the Fellowship found a shaded corner of the East Portal Plaza and tried to regain their composure and decide what to do next.  Failing to attain composure, they settled for a fattening snack.  Street vendors sold all sorts of goodies on the Plaza.  Che even found one peddling nut cakes laced with blasting powder, a favorite of dwarves.

Monk took a fancy to a plain gold ring on display in a nearby stall, but the proprietor wouldn't accept his money.  â Å“Don't hold with foreign coinage,â ? muttered the squinty-eyed yorc.  He bit the coin, examined it with a magnifying glass and bounced it in his palm before tossing it back.  â Å“Never heard of no Runtland, neither.  Off with ye!â ?

â Å“They may be more civilized than their Viral cousins,â ? lamented Monk.  â Å“But their manners are not much improved.â ?

â Å“You don't need no ring, Mr. Monk,â ? said Bossi.  â Å“Them things is nothing but trouble.â ?

Franko had been napping under a nearby tree.  Now he awoke.  â Å“Speaking of trouble.â ? He told the Fellowship of the Balrog's words concerning hellions.

Fusilier frowned and turned to DanJanou.  â Å“Why didn't you know about these spies?  Somewhere along the way I got the impression you were a first rate wizard.â ?

DanJanou sniffed.  â Å“I AM a first rate wizard!â ?  His voice dropped to a mumble.  â Å“That's one step above neophyte.â ?  He coughed.  â Å“Detecting hellions and demi-demons is part of the instruction for second rate.â ?

â Å“Well that's just dandy,â ? huffed Lance.  â Å“And this is the chap we're depending on for advice as to how to deal with the Spam?â ?

â Å“Don't get any funny ideas, Lance,â ? growled Bossi.  â Å“You ain't getting the Spam.â ?

â Å“Says who?  Who'd keep me from it if I was of a mind to bash Monk over the head and take it!â ?  Lance seemed to loom over the others.  An audible thud announced a deadly silence.

â Å“Heh-heh.  Not me,â ? said Bossi.  He eased over behind Fusilier.  â Å“But I think old Fusilier or Che might have a thing or two to say about it.â ?

â Å“Oh, yeah?â ?

â Å“Yeah!â ?

Fusilier cleared his throat.  â Å“Um -- that thud had nothing to do with deadly silences.  I think an invisible footpad just clotted Monk and is trying to make off with the Spam.â ?

Confusion!  Shouted orders!  Shrieks of terror!  A squeal of pain!

Monk lay dazed.  His pack hung askew, one strap cut.  Something blundered through the tree branches overhead, cursing in a strange tongue.  DanJanou stood over Monk holding a broken staff.  He glared at Lance and Bossi.  â Å“A bloody hellion nearly made off with the Spam while you two were comparing pee-pees!â ?

Lance scuffed his boots on the cobbles and said nothing.  Bossi frowned.  â Å“Pee-pees?â ?  Franko whispered in his ear.  His face glowed red.  â Å“Oh.â ?

DanJanou eyed Fusilier.  â Å“An invisible footpad?  Did they teach you that at Mountie school?â ?

Fusilier shrugged.  â Å“At least I got through school.  How did you know it was a hellion?â ? 

â Å“Footpads ain't invisible on this plane of existence,â ? said DanJanou, â Å“and we knew hellions was about.  Thanks to Franko -- and the Balrog.â ?

Bossi glared at Franko.  â Å“He was probably making a pass the that Mr. Balrog.  That's why the critter told him about the hellions.  Just to keep him off.â ?

â Å“Did not,â ? muttered Franko, but his heart wasn't in it.

â Å“I don't care how he found out,â ? said DanJanou.  â Å“I'm just glad he did.â ?  He shaded his eyes and gazed down into the valley to the north.  â Å“Let's go.  We can camp under the trees tonight.â ?

â Å“In the False Forest?â ? asked Lance.  He was clearly uncomfortable with the idea.  â Å“Must we?â ?

â Å“I've seen enough of yorcs.â ?  DanJanou shrugged.  â Å“The False Forest is safe, by all accounts.  I need to cut a new staff.  And there are elf women there.  Ask Fusilier about them.â ?

Thus did the Fellowship begin the next stage of their journey.  DanJanou led the way.  Fusilier walked along with the others, telling bawdy tales about the lusty elf ladies of False Forest.  Franko, of course, brought up the rear.  He wasn't interesting in Fusilier's stories -- some of which were even true.


(tbc)

 

[brin11]

LOL, I'm still wrapping my head around Franko as a willowy elf!!  ;D

 

[Sh0rtbUs]

wow... old Guy, you clearly have far too much time on your hands  ;D ;D

 

[Scratch_043]

I have to admit, when I first read the title of this thread, I thought it refered to the cheap, indestructable meat substitute, uughhh!!! (Damn you Insomnia, making me forget that this forum is actually on the computer, and the rest of you aren't really sitting around my kitchen table, digging in to a "seaming pile of SPAM")   :boring:

 

[Slim]

â Å“The resemblance is intentional,â ? said Franko, a willowy elf-lord.  â Å“A casual server might be convinced it was horse manure and let it pass unchallenged.â ?

Obviously you've never met Franko... ;D

Slim

 

[jrhume]

Into the False Forest

Dragoon didn't want to go up, but as Chief Toady he had no choice.  Boss Muskrat was at the very tippy-top of the tallest tower in Feedback Fortress for his weekly blast-o-flame practice session.  He would want to hear O'Leary's news without delay.

Dragoon was afraid of heights.  The tippy-top had a flat platform with sturdy guardrails and a pair of soaring uprights Muskrat called horns.  Everyone else thought the things looked like half moons and referred to Muskrat's tower (but not out loud) as Outhouse Prime.  Dragoon managed his vertigo by keeping his eyes fixed on the platform floor.  His real problem lay with the uniform mandated for Chief Toadies.  It was a toga, cut just above the knees, not a comfortable garment to wear on place where it was always windy.  Besides, Dragoon's knees were outsized knobs, serving only to emphasize his spindly legs.  He gritted his teeth and began climbing the last flight of stairs spiraling up to the tippy-top.

Muskrat, as usual for blast-o-flame practice, wore leathers, complete with helmet and goggles.  He bore a black tube about a yard in length.  A net bag half full of sad-eyed sprites swung from his shoulder.  As Dragoon reached the platform, Muskrat pulled a struggling sprite from the bag and fitted it into the rear of the tube.  He then swung the tube to his right shoulder, stepped to the guard rail and aimed at something on the ground.  â Å“Clear!â ? he shouted, followed by the magic phrase, â Å“Gopher guts!â ?.  Flames shot from the back of the tube and the sprite rocketed from the other end.

Dragoon eased to the center of the platform, eyes on his feet.  An explosion echoed up from below.  â Å“Hah!â ? exclaimed Muskrat.  â Å“That made them jump!â ?

â Å“Who jumped, m'lord?â ? asked Dragoon.

Muskrat started.  â Å“I wish you wouldn't sneak up on me like that!â ?  He glanced over the rail.  â Å“Orcs.  One of the punishment squads.  I put that round right in the middle of them.â ?  He leaned the tube aside and lit a cigar.  â Å“What's up?â ?

â Å“O'Leary brought news.â ?  One of the sprites stuck out its tongue and wagged it at the Chief Toady.  Another waved a fist with middle finger erect.  Dragoon coughed.  â Å“Bad news, sire.â ?

â Å“Why is it always bad news!â ?  Muskrat slumped down on a box marked 'Ammo'.  "Just once I'd like to hear that I've won the lottery or that my blood test came back negative.â ?

â Å“The hellions followed DanJanou's party through the Tunnels of Topology, sire.  But they report several things that disturb me.â ?  Muskrat said nothing.  Dragoon went on.  â Å“Apparently, Viral orcs no longer live in the Tunnels.  The place seems to be a thriving hub of industry run by creatures called yorcs.  O'Leary thinks they are orc descendents and reports them to be tall, not too ugly and ambitious.â ?

â Å“Ambitious, eh?â ?  Muskrat sighed.  â Å“I was ambitious once.  Now look at me -- bent on dominating the world.  Well, they'll have to wait their turn.  What's the other bad news?â ?

â Å“Well -- just that DanJanou and party came through unscathed and in good time.  And I think they've figured out that the hellions are tracking them.â ?

Muskrat knocked the ash off his cigar.  â Å“They were bound to tumble to that eventually.  Where are they now?â ?

â Å“Evidently they've gone into the False Forest.â ?

â Å“Okay.  I guess we better do something about them.â ?  Muskrat opened the ammo box and tossed the bag of sprites inside.  â Å“I'll come down.  Have someone come up and feed the sprites.  Send the usual crew out to police up the ones I fired.  Have those clowns whipped if they dawdle too much.  Last week they took so long three sprites recovered and escaped.â ?

â Å“Aye, sire.  Shall I call out one of the UpChuck commando squads?â ?

Muskrat laughed and rubbed his hands together.  â Å“Oh -- wouldn't that be grand?â ?  He shook his head.  â Å“No.  Too soon.  I don't want old Infanteer catching sight of my special orcs.â ?

Dragoon allowed himself a single chuckle.  One had to be careful of Muskrat's mood swings.  â Å“I quite agree, sire,â ? he said, as if there was the slightest chance he might disagree.  â Å“Adding turnips to the orc batch mix was an inspired bit of magic!  Quite beyond Infanteer, I'm sure, but if he finds out about the UpChucks he might start his own experiments.  Who knows what sort of creatures he might manufacture?â ?

â Å“Exactly,â ? said Muskrat.  He wondered if Dragoon knew he'd accidentally knocked a platter of turnips into the orc vat.  If he did, he had the decency -- and good sense -- not to mention it.

â Å“Who will we send to take out DanJanou, m'lord?â ?

â Å“Send that mercenary we hired last month -- what was his name?  The one with the eye patch and a weakness for booze.â ?

â Å“We have at least three like that, sire.  But I think you mean Gunnar, the albino.â ?

â Å“Yeah!  That's the one.  How could I forget he was an albino?â ?

Dragoon decided not to point out that the Overlord was befuddled with drink at the time of his meeting with Gunnar.  â Å“Who shall I send with him, sire?â ?

â Å“Give him a squad of cavalry.  Make sure they're scum of the earth sort, with no conscience and bad attitudes.â ?

â Å“Right, m'lord.  Army.CA types.  We have a few of those about.â ?

â Å“Send 'em today.  I think most of them are in prison, so they won't be hard to find.â ?

â Å“True, sire.  Um . . . there may be one or two under sentence of death.â ?

â Å“Grant them a delay.  If they survive, I'll consider a pardon.â ?

â Å“Right you are, m'lord.  A most generous offer.â ?

*****

â Å“It's mutiny, that's what it is!â ?  DanJanou was livid.  â Å“I'll have you all drawn and quartered!â ?

â Å“Um . . .â ? Fusilier nudged the raving Elder.  â Å“They're all volunteers.  Not subject to discipline.â ?

â Å“Not subject to . . .â ?  DanJanou glared around at the assembled Fellowship.  Words failed him.

Fusilier decided to try his hand at leadership.  â Å“Look, lads.  I'm as upset as the rest of you at the lack of -- ah, lack of female companionship, but . . .â ?  He ducked a half-rotted rat carcass.

â Å“What happened to all those elf women of easy virtue?â ? asked Bossi.  He held his hands in front of his chest and mimicked Fusilier's falsetto voice.  â Å“The ones with boobs out to here.â ?

â Å“Yeah!â ? exclaimed Slim and Padraig.

â Å“We was to get a rest and sleep in real beds for a change,â ? whined Monk.  He motioned toward the trees lining the hill above.  The remains of comfortable elf houses dangled from limbs.  All sorts of trash littered the ground below.  Orcs had been at everything they'd found so far.  â Å“My feet hurt and I'm sick of this whole adventure.â ?

â Å“Yeah,â ? sniveled Slim and Padraig.

Franko and Che walked out of the trees and into camp.

â Å“Find anything?â ? asked Lance.

Che leaned on his axe.  â Å“Every elf settlement is torn to shreds, just like this one.â ?

â Å“The elves left at least a year ago,â ? added Franko.  He had an angry look about him -- like his tights were pinching.

â Å“Orcs have fouled and destroyed everything,â ? said Che.  â Å“We spoke to an eagle down by the river.  He says the elves all went West.  Over the Sea of Random Data.â ?

â Å“An eagle?â ? snorted DanJanou.  â Å“What would one of those fish-eaters know?â ?

â Å“He knew you,â ? said Che.  â Å“Said he'd seen you here -- just before the virus hit.â ?

DanJanou paled.  â Å“A virus?  What virus?â ?

Che shuffled nervously.  â Å“Well . . .â ?

â Å“A social disease virus!â ? snapped Franko.  Padraig and Slim giggled.

â Å“Um . . .â ?  Fusilier shuffled from foot to foot.  â Å“I was here a bit after you were . . .â ?

DanJanou stood mute. 

For no good reason Monk caught the nervous shuffles.  â Å“So why did the elves cross the Sea?â ?

â Å“To get to the other side!â ? brayed Slim, elbowing Padraig.  Fusilier took that opportunity to step away from DanJanou and kick the two Runts into a semblance of order.  He then slunk back in the shadows, examining his conscience and his recent intimate social encounters.

â Å“They left to find a cure for the virus,â ? snarled Franko.  He glared at DanJanou, then Fusilier, nearly crossing his eyes permanently in the process.

â Å“That might work,â ? mused DanJanou.  He assumed a completely innocent demeanor, as if Fusilier had to have been the responsible party.  â Å“Linux Island has a completely different system than we do here.  Sort of an organized anarchy.â ?

Bossi got to his feet.  â Å“No sense hanging about.  Which way do we go from here?â ?

â Å“South!â ? exclaimed Lance.  â Å“South to North Blog castle!  We can rest and refresh there.â ?  He grinned at Bossi.  â Å“Some Blog ladies are on the short side.â ?

â Å“One question,â ? ventured Monk.  â Å“Why is it called North Blog if it's in the south?â ?

â Å“It's traditional,â ? said Lance.  â Å“When my ancestors came south and conquered the lands along the river, they kept the old northern name for their castle.â ?

â Å“Came south and conquered?â ? sneered DanJanou.  He figured a good browbeating of Lance would help distract attention from the disaster of a False Forest empty of women.  â Å“Skulked south!  Driven south into empty lands, more like!â ?

The blood drained from Lance's face.  â Å“How did you . . ?  I mean, I thought we had destroyed all those records.â ?  He recovered a bit.  â Å“Well, it's all one.  Who cares about old lies anyway?â ?

â Å“Indeed.â ?  DanJanou picked up his own pack.  â Å“We'll head for the river.  Tomorrow will be soon enough to figure out where we should go next.â ?

â Å“It's bloody obvious,â ? muttered Bossi.  â Å“We dump the Spam and trot our silly butts back home.â ?

â Å“Quiet!â ? ordered DanJanou.  â Å“We'll have none of that defeatist talk.â ?

Monk groaned and dragged his pack into position, in the process dribbling two solicitations for a product guaranteed to increase the size of certain anatomical equipment.  Franko giggled.  Slim and Padraig tried to write down the company address, but both messages melted away before they had a chance.

Thoroughly discouraged, the Fellowship trudged down the trail leading to the river.

DanJanou bethought himself of a certain witch queen he'd dallied with just prior to his last visit to False Forest.  â Å“She said the condition had cleared up.  Would she lie?â ?  He resolved to make use of certain curative spells and potions at the first opportunity.


Inn of the Skulking Spy

DanJanou rounded a bend in the trail and stopped.  Che blundered into him and fell sprawling.  â Å“Quiet!â ? hissed DanJanou.

â Å“I've broke me bleeding head,â ? moaned Che.

Fusilier halted the others and went forward with caution.  â Å“What's the holdup?â ?

â Å“There's a house or something of that sort down by the river,â ? said DanJanou.  â Å“Right beside the bridge.  It wasn't here the last time I came this way.â ?

â Å“It's new to me as well,â ? said Fusilier, craning to get a better look.  â Å“Funny that Franko didn't report it.  He's supposed to be scouting ahead.â ?

â Å“Maybe he got himself killed.â ?  DanJanou didn't sound particularly upset at the prospect.

â Å“Could be.â ?  Fusilier couldn't manage much concern either.

Che struggled to his feet.  He stared at the building.  â Å“What is it?  Did Infan -- uh, the Great Enemy build it to house his underlings?â ?

â Å“It doesn't look much like a guard shack or barracks,â ? said Fusilier.

Lance wandered up to the gaggle.  â Å“One grenade would get you all."  He gazed down at the mysterious building.  â Å“Looks like a tavern to me.â ?

â Å“That would explain this,â ? said Fusilier, pointing to a crude sign on the opposite side of the road.  There was no text, merely a black-painted outline of a crouching person clad in what appeared to be an overcoat and slouch hat. 

â Å“What could it mean?â ? asked Che.

DanJanou nudged the dwarf forward.  â Å“Go down and find out.  We'll back you up.â ?

â Å“Sure you will!  From about as far back as you can get!â ?

â Å“Is that any way to show good team spirit?â ? chided DanJanou.  â Å“Think of the example you're setting for the young Runts.â ?

â Å“All right -- all right.  I'll go.â ?  Che started down the trail, axe at the ready.

â Å“He'll be all right,â ? said Fusilier.  â Å“No one wants to mess with a dwarf.â ?

DanJanou snickered.  â Å“Including another dwarf.â ?  Fusilier and Lance brayed with laughter.  It was impolite and a bad example, but they didn't care.

Che disappeared around the corner of the building.  In a few minutes he walked back into view.  Franko was with him.  They both waved, indicating that the Fellowship should come down.

Lance had the right of it, or nearly so.  The rough structure was not a tavern, but an inn.  The Inn of the Skulking Spy.  A larger, more detailed version of the roadside sign hung above the door, creaking as it swung in the gentle evening breeze.  The proprietor was one of those new-fangled yorcs, down from the mountain and anxious to make his fortune by supplying rooms, food and liquid refreshment to travelers.  A couple of professional ladies provided various creature comforts upstairs.

â Å“First drink is on the house,â ? proclaimed the owner/bartender.  That brought the Fellowship crashing to the rough plank bar.  â Å“Beer all around,â ? said Fusilier.  â Å“Light beer for yon Runts.â ?

â Å“Hey!â ? objected Padraig.  â Å“I want heavy beer!â ?  No one paid any attention.

â Å“White wine for me,â ? murmured Franko.  The barkeep patted the elf's hand.  â Å“Of course, dearie.â ?

A sign above the bar proclaimed prices for everything from ale to baths to personal services.  Lance struggled through the lists, lips moving as he read.  He nodded at last and sipped his beer.  â Å“I like this place,â ? he announced.  â Å“Prices for all wants laid out clear.  No haggling.  It seems a civilized method of doing business.â ?

â Å“True,â ? said DanJanou.  â Å“Although it takes the fun out of your shopping experience.â ?

Bossi walked out on the front porch and eyed the river bridge.  It was constructed with massive stone approaches.  The decking and frame were of stout timbers.  Two stone piers set in the river provided further support.  It was the longest bridge Bossi had ever seen.  He said as much to Monk when that worthy came out and joined him.

â Å“I shouldn't wonder,â ? said Monk.  â Å“How many bridges have you seen?  Two?  Three?â ?

â Å“Not above three, I think.  What does that have to do with anything?â ?

â Å“Nothing.  Shall we walk down to the bridge and see what the river looks like?â ?

â Å“Yeah.â ?  Bossi grinned.  â Å“I always wanted to pee in a real river.  Those brooks back home are so small they turn dull yellow whenever a bloke wets in them.â ?

â Å“Well let's go right out on the center span then.  Might as well do it up right.â ?  Laughing, the two Runts descended to the bridge.

*****

Corporal Inch, the ugly, yellow-faced half-orc tapped Gunnar's shoulder.  â Å“There's two lads heading out onto the bridge.â ?

Gunnar shaded his eyes and stared down at the bridge.  â Å“Those aren't boys, they're Runts.â ?

â Å“Look like tads to me,â ? objected Inch with his usual cheek.

â Å“Well, they ain't.â ?  Gunnar walked back to where hellion O'Leary lay on a stump, snoozing.

The hellion sat up as he approached.  â Å“I heard you and old yellow-face.  If it's Runts, there should ought to be four of the blighters.â ?

â Å“The others are likely inside.  They must have gone in just as we rode up.â ?

O'Leary lit a cigar.  â Å“Good thing you stopped to observe instead of riding right in.  You must have done this sort of thing before.â ?  He handed the albino a cigar.

â Å“Right.â ?  Gunnar's tone was one of dismissal.  He didn't wish to discuss old business.

Inch joined them.  â Å“Whatcha gonna do, Gunnar-me-lad?  Sit here and blow smoke with our little fruit bat pal?â ?

Gunnar's dagger flashed under Inch's chin.  The point sank into the orc's scrofulous neck.  â Å“You call me 'sir',â ? said Gunnar, without raising his voice even a single octave.

â Å“Y-yethir -- yethir,â ? mumbled Inch, trying not to move his jaw.  O'Leary laughed and blew smoke in his face.  â Å“Yethir.â ?  The dagger disappeared.

â Å“Get mounted,â ? snarled Gunnar.  Inch stumbled backwards a few steps, then whirled and ran for his horse.  Gunnar turned toward the other two men, standing in the shadows.  â Å“Mount up!â ?  â Å“Yessir!â ? they chorused and leaped to obey.

â Å“You are familiar with these little tricks,â ? observed O'Leary.  He did the flaming thumb trick and lit Gunnar's cigar.

The albino nodded.  â Å“There was a time . . .â ?  Scenes flashed and faded.  The old duke handing him his first sword.  His teacher, the battle scarred hunchback, Petulus, slamming him with a staff and cursing him for a whoreson lickspittle.  Mom, good old Mom, beating him with a set of fireplace tongs because he left part of his gruel uneaten.  And, of course, Euphora, the lovely daughter of Duke Farkus.  He often dreamt of her and how she stomped with one dainty foot every time she swore he would never, ever, never be allowed to touch her THERE.  The happy images fell away.  â Å“It was a long time ago.â ?

"The Spam's down there," said the hellion.  "But I can't tell which one is carrying it."

"Probably that lunk from North Blog.  Or maybe DanJanou himself."  Gunnar shrugged.

O'Leary's beady red eyes glowed in the dusk.  â Å“It doesn't matter.  Muskrat wants them all killed.  Just be sure not to damage the Spam.  He was very clear on that point.  If we don't get the Spam we better go hire on with Infanteer.â ?

â Å“Yeah.  That's what I figured.  Does the Great Enemy pay on time?  Are there benefits?â ?

â Å“He pays scale plus overtime and automatic severance if his Evil Empire gets zapped.  Even a Dire Monster like him can't cross the unions and expect to live.  I don't know about benefits.  Hellions don't get any.â ?

Gunnar pulled on his gloves.  â Å“Me and the boys will hit the inn and scatter them.  Then we'll try to bag the one with the Spam.â ?

â Å“How come you only have the three men?  I thought you started with a dozen or so.â ?

â Å“The rest deserted the first night out.â ?  Gunnar shrugged.  â Å“Just as well.  None of them had the gonads for close-in fighting anyway.â ?

â Å“I know Inch,â ? said O'Leary.  â Å“He's a psycho, but useful in the clinches.  Wes I've seen a time or two.  Kinda green ain't he?â ?

â Å“It's his diet.  Makes his skin that color.  Some sort of religious thing.â ?

â Å“Religion!  Man, that's a drag.  What about that other guy?  I ain't heard him say two words.â ?

â Å“I dunno.  We call him Heyu.  He does what he's told.  That's good enough.â ?

O'Leary stubbed out his cigar and tucked the remnant away for later.  â Å“It's getting dark.  You better do your thing.  I'll wait here.  If everything goes right, I'll zip back to the Fortress and give old Muskrat the good news.â ?

Gunnar swung into the saddle.  â Å“Thanks for the cigar.â ?

*****

Bossi leaned on the bridge railing and stared down into the water.  â Å“What lives in the river?â ?

Monk laughed.  â Å“Fish, I guess.  Fiber snakes.  They say you can see those flashing at night.â ?

â Å“What about monsters?  My Mum used to say deep water is full of spiny monsters.â ?

â Å“It's true.  A scientific fact.  I read it in a scroll somewhere.â ?

â Å“I wish I could read,â ? mumbled Bossi.

â Å“Ah, reading isn't a big deal.â ?  Monk shifted the heavy pack.  â Å“Sometimes it's a pain.  You learn things it would be better not to know.  Like Visual Basic.â ?

â Å“I hate code.â ?  Bossi could hear Monk's fatigue.  â Å“Can't you put that damn pack down?â ?

â Å“I take it off at night.  Use it for a pillow.â ?  Monk looked away.  â Å“It's hard to explain.  The thing snuggles up to me as I walk.  It whispers strange words.  I get uncomfortable without it.â ?

â Å“But it gets so heavy!  I've seen you struggle with it!â ?

Hoarse shouting erupted from the inn.  Both Runts were startled to see how dark it had become.  More noises.  A heavy clack-clack echoed across the water.

â Å“Trackballs and mice or I'm an elf!â ? hissed Monk.  â Å“Someone has attacked the inn.â ?

Bossi had a clear flash of reality.  It was so unexpected he couldn't speak, almost like a religious epiphany.  He grabbed Monk.  â Å“The attackers are looking for you -- looking for the Spam!â ?

Monk tried to pull free.  â Å“How can you know that?  Let's go!  We have to help our friends!â ?

â Å“No!â ? roared Bossi.  He started dragging Monk toward the opposite bank.  â Å“It's the Spam!  We have to get it away from them!â ?  His eyes blazed with a cold blue light.

â Å“Well, okay.â ?  Monk trotted along with his friend.  He glanced back.  Dark shapes moved around the inn.  Panting, the two Runts made their way off the bridge and into the forest beyond.  They left the road and climbed through a thin stand of trees.

Bossi halted on top of the ridge.  â Å“I don't see no pursuit, Mr. Monk.  What do we do now?â ?

â Å“We keep going.  Mount WorldWideWeb is to the east.  Sooner or later we'd have gone this way anyhow.  The fight at the inn just made it happen quicker.â ?

â Å“All we have is what's in our packs,â ? said Bossi.  â Å“Will it be enough?â ?

â Å“It will have to be, Bossi.â ?  Monk gazed at his friend with a certain trepidation.  â Å“Your eyes have gone back to normal, did you know that?â ?

â Å“Eyes?  What do you mean?â ?

â Å“They flashed blue.  Back on the bridge.  It was very frightening.â ?  Monk paused and turned away.  â Å“And very attractive.â ?

â Å“Aw, shucks.â ?  Bossi kicked at a tussock of grass.  â Å“You really think so?â ?

â Å“By the Black Code!â ? exclaimed Monk.  â Å“We should move while the moon is up.â ?

Bossi jumped as if struck.  â Å“Of course!  Let's be on our way.  Over hill and dale.  That's the manly thing to do.â ?  He strode off along the ridge, chanting.  â Å“Hup-two-three-four!  Who's that girl all dressed in red!  How about those Cowboys?â ?


(tbc)

 

[Fishbone Jones]

Keep 'er comin' Old Guy, it's getting interesting.

 

[Danjanou]

..er.... ummm..... words fail me.  :-[

I kind of liked it when I had the bit non singing parts. Ah well fleeting is fame so might as well enjoy it well I can.

Actually Jim I love it, Keep her coming

 

[jrhume]

Disaster and Defect

The attack went wrong right from the start.  Inch, in a fit of battle madness, attempted to ride his horse through the front door of the inn.  His head was hard enough to splinter the frame but the wall timbers were made of sterner stuff.  The horse wandered inside, where it got in the way of all that followed.  Inch lay in the doorway, out for the duration.

By the time Heyu and Wes got inside, their quarry had taken cover behind the bar and opened up with a volley of mice.  Wes went down hard, feet tangled in a mouse cord.  Heyu took a glancing blow to the head and dashed for cover behind an overturned table.  Gunnar knelt beside the slumbering Inch and tried to assess the situation. 

One of the Runts was tugging at the horse's reins, trying to lead the frightened animal toward a side door.  â Å“Come on horsie.  Good horsie.  Come on.â ? 

A dwarf stormed around the end of the bar, axe upraised, shouting something suitably heroic in dwarvish.  He tripped on a barstool and slammed to the floor.  His axe flew across the room and stuck quivering in a timber frame.  Gunnar cursed under his breath.  It was time to get out.  He called through the door.  â Å“Wes!  Heyu!  Back on out of there.  I'll cover you!â ?

In quick succession, he winged three track balls at the display of bottles behind the bar.  One shattered a mirror and the other two smashed bottles.  Someone howled in rage.  Gunnar snickered.  The bartender, no doubt.

His two confederates dashed out the door, suffering no more than a stinging rebuke in the process.  Wes dashed for the horses.  Heyu took up a position on the other side of the door.  He pointed at the comatose half-orc.  Gunnar shook his head.  â Å“Leave him.  Let the other side deal with the body or prisoner, as the case may be.â ?  He waved Heyu toward the horses.

A few minutes later they drew rein back where they started.  Gunnar swung down beside O'Leary's stump.  â Å“No go.  There were too many of them.â ?

â Å“Doesn't matter.â ?  The hellion pointed across the river.  â Å“The Spam has already gone east, into Infanteer's realm.â ?

Gunnar sighed.  â Å“Of course it did.  The two we saw on the bridge had it?â ?  O'Leary nodded.

â Å“Holy Syntax!â ? exclaimed Wes.  â Å“Infanteer will snap them up like bits of bad code.â ?

â Å“Maybe not.  Neither he nor Muskrat seemed to know where it was.  Like they was blind to it or something equally unlikely.â ?  O'Leary stood up gazed down toward the inn.  â Å“Let's wait and see what the rest of that lot do.  If they follow the two with the Spam we might as well head for the Hideous Hideout and take up with Infanteer.  He'd be glad to know about the Spam.â ?

â Å“True,â ? said Gunnar.  â Å“You don't sound as if you want to work for the Great Enemy.â ?

O'Leary laughed.  â Å“Well, I'd rather be a bigshot with Muskrat than a number on the duty roster with Infanteer.  Big outfits like that are evil and rotten in a sort of uncaring way, y'know?â ?

Wes and Heyu sat down on a handy log.  â Å“We didn't do so good, did we boss?â ? muttered Wes.

â Å“Not so's you'd notice.â ?  Gunnar cadged a light from O'Leary.  He got a kick out of watching his thumb flare up.  â Å“Now we wait.  They have the next move.â ?

Heyu shifted a trifle and produced a tremendous fart.  It was his only comment.

*****

DanJanou stood in the doorway of the inn, watching the hillside.  Fusilier joined him.  â Å“We didn't do so good, did we boss?â ?

â Å“Not so's you'd notice.â ?  DanJanou nodded toward the top of the hill.  â Å“They took off that way.â ?

â Å“Will they be back?â ?

â Å“How should I know?  There were only three of them.â ?  He nudged the still-slumbering Inch.  â Å“Not counting this lummox.â ?

Fusilier dragged the ugly half-orc out of the doorway so Slim could lead the horse outside.  The others were busy retrieving mice and setting the furniture to rights.  Lance stepped outside.  â Å“Have you seen Monk or Bossi?  They're not inside.â ?

DanJanou paled and turned toward the river.  â Å“They were headed out on the bridge when I last saw them!  Did the raiders snatch them up?â ?

Fusilier dashed his broad-brimmed hat to the ground.  â Å“Blog of the Code!  They've been taken!â ?

â Å“Wait,â ? said DanJanou, â Å“wait a minute.  I'm almost certain the riders didn't have them.â ?  He glared up the hill.  â Å“Almost certain.â ?

â Å“Well that sucks!â ? snarled Lance.  â Å“Now what do we do?â ?

Slim hopped back up onto the porch and kicked the yellow-faced orc, just because it was safe to do so.  â Å“I tied the horse with ours.  D'ya think this blighter has scrambled his brains?â ?

DanJanou shrugged.  â Å“He's an orc -- or mostly orc.  How would we know?  And who cares?â ?

â Å“Not me.  Where's Monk?â ?

â Å“Across the river,â ? said Fusilier.  â Å“He and Bossi decamped during the melee.â ?

â Å“Well . . .â ?  Slim tried to put on a vicious look, but had to settle for mild apoplexy.  â Å“Why aren't we going after them?â ?

â Å“That's what we were discussing,â ? sneered Lance.  Being at least an inch taller than any of the Runts, he had trouble taking them seriously.  â Å“I, for one, intend to return to North Blog and take up the struggle against Virtual Overlord Muskrat.  Monk is on his own.â ?

â Å“He's not!â ? objected Slim.  â Å“Bossi is with him.â ?

â Å“Like I said -- he's on his own.â ?  Lance's cruel laughter drove Slim inside.

â Å“That was mean,â ? said Fusilier.  â Å“I wish I'd thought of it.â ?

â Å“Enough of this idle chit-chat and verbal abuse,â ? snapped DanJanou.  â Å“I've given it several seconds of thought and I think we should go with Lance.â ?  He stared out across the river.  â Å“Monk took off without so much as a kiss-my-butt.  The Black Code take him!â ?

â Å“The Black Code take him!â ? echoed Fusilier.  â Å“Besides, there may be wenches in North Blog.â ?  They pushed their way inside to tell the others.  No sooner had the three vacated the porch than Inch opened his eyes.

â Å“Black Code yerself,â ? he muttered.  â Å“I'll just roll off the porch, get my horse and go to warn Muskrat.â ?  Inch talked to himself a lot, especially when complex planning was involved.

The rolling off the porch idea got off to a bad start because he was lying very close to the edge, resulting in a sudden drop followed by a short period of blackout.  Nonetheless, he did eventually manage to locate his horse and ride away without being noticed.


â Å“Blast!â ? exclaimed Fusilier a few minutes later.  â Å“That yellow-faced lout got away.â ?

â Å“No matter,â ? said Lance.  â Å“He was ugly and an impediment.â ?

Fusilier frowned and mounted his horse.  He hated it when Lance used big words like that.  The half-orc's sexual preferences were of no interest to him.

The two Runts hung back.  â Å“I still think we ought to go after Monk,â ? said Padraig.

â Å“Okay,â ? said DanJanou.  â Å“Take your horses and go.  Straight across the bridge and into the wilds of Hideous Hideout.  That land crawls with orcs and men twisted from eating snippets of the Black Code.â ?  He smiled down on the two Runts.  â Å“I'm sure you'll have no trouble.â ?

â Å“On the other hand,â ? said Slim, pushing his cousin toward the horses, â Å“Monk wouldn't have gone off like that if he wanted company.  One ought not barge in where one isn't wanted.â ?

Franko appeared at the doorway with the yorc proprietor beaming over his shoulder.  â Å“I decided to stay here.  Fencil has offered me a share of the profits and a room of my own, upstairs.â ?  He sniffed.  â Å“I'm tired of chasing over hill and under dale with no possibility of a warm fire and a cup of wine at the end of the day.â ?

Fusilier tried to think of an appropriate remark.  Lance coughed.  DanJanou worked to keep his face straight.  Slim and Padraig giggled.

â Å“Hmmph.â ?  Franko slammed the door.

There was a moment of silence.  Then the door creaked open and Che stepped out.  â Å“Blighter nearly smashed my hand.  What was his hurry?â ?

â Å“Never mind!â ? snarled DanJanou.  â Å“We've wasted enough time.  Let's go.â ?

*****

â Å“There they go,â ? said Wes.  â Å“They're taking the south road.â ?

Gunnar glanced at Inch.  â Å“The sods are going off and leave their companions to fend for themselves in Infanteer's lands.  Did you hear anything?  Where are they going?â ?

Inch rubbed at his sore head.  â Å“I was still woozy, but I think they said they was going to North Blog and fight against the Boss.â ?

â Å“There's our third choice,â ? said Gunnar, glancing over at O'Leary.  â Å“We can go south and join with the North Bloggers.â ?

â Å“That'd be funny,â ? said Wes.  â Å“We'd end up killing the same smelly orcs we've been training.â ?  He glanced at Inch.  â Å“No offense.â ?

â Å“Huh?â ?

O'Leary drummed his heels on the stump.  â Å“But will the Bloggers win?â ?

â Å“Muskrat's neck is in the noose,â ? said Gunnar.  â Å“It's obvious.â ?

Inch was puzzled.  â Å“I ain't never seen the Boss wearing no noose.â ?

The others ignored him.  â Å“He's the number two bad guy,â ? said O'Leary.  â Å“They always wind up without the broad and dead, to boot.â ?

Now Wes was confused.  â Å“What broad?  Where?â ?

â Å“It was a figure of speech,â ? said Gunnar.  â Å“But O'Leary's right.  Just because Muskrat's still walking around doesn't mean he ain't already dead.â ?

Inch frowned.  â Å“It don't?â ?

Wes sighed.  â Å“I wish I had a broad.â ?  Heyu nodded in agreement, but said nothing.


Castle Awful

Arch-fiend Recce trotted down the hallway, armor clanking at every step.  The sounds echoed and re-echoed from the marble and tiled surfaces of the passage.  Lurid curses dripped from his lips.  He must make it to the dining hall before his master, Evil Overlord Infanteer.  Latecomers often became food for dire beasts Infanteer kept chained below stairs.

Recce slowed to catch his breath and to minimize the noise.  His armor was thin parade stuff, including a heroic tin breastplate, but his cavernous chest and scrawny frame failed to fill the spaces within by a considerable margin.  And even parade armor is heavy.  It was padded, which made wearing it something between a trip to a sauna and being barbequed.  He sweated and stank and clanked at every step.

At length, he arrived and found himself on time -- or at least ahead of Infanteer, which was all that mattered.  The major domo ushered him to his seat just as cymbals crashed at the other end of the massive hall.  Trumpets blew a fanfare.  A bull-voiced Guard captain announced the arrival of his lord and master.

â Å“Conqueror of the Hideous Hideout, Master of the Dark Code, Keeper of the Black Flame of Bal Sogoth, Hero of the Porcelain Throne, Redeemer of All Coupons, I give you Infanteer, Supreme Evil Overlord and Authorized Retailer!â ?

Infanteer swept in as the echoes died away.  Silence.  His gaze swung back and forth, seeking those who might giggle, smirk or fall asleep as he thump, squeak, thumped his way to the table.  Conqueror though he might be, he was horribly sensitive about having to use a walker.

No guests were present and his soldiers and servants were used to venting their laughter in the relative safety of their privies.  Wooden faces abounded in the hall.

The massive table was set for two.  Infanteer, of course, sat at the head.  Protocol required that Arch-fiend Recce be placed at the opposite end, but since their topics for discussion tended to the Secret! Top Secret! and Cut Out Your Tongue Secret! material, Recce was seated at his master's right hand.

They broke bread and munched on chips and Hideous Ranch dip, reputed to contain distilled essence of spirit, captured as hope and all illusion fled victims of Infanteer's torturers.  The Evil Overlord belched and motioned for more beer.  A naked wench poured for them both.  Infanteer grinned at Recce.  â Å“It's good to be the Overlord.â ?

His Arch-fiend laughed and nodded, on cue.  Descent from plain flunky to Arch-fiend requires more than simply giving up one's self respect, spine and loose change -- it is necessary to have an exquisite sense of timing and a flawless appreciation for a lunatic's state of mind.  No better practitioner of the toady's art could be found than the Arch-fiend Recce.

â Å“What news from our spies?â ? asked Infanteer.

Recce considered his answer.  On the one hand, it was dangerous to keep the Overlord in the dark about anything, whereas, on the other hand, he frequently managed to destroy operations with ill-considered meddling.  â Å“This Fellowship we heard about has broken up, Master.â ?

â Å“Ah, good.  Did we ever find out what they were about?â ?

â Å“Not certainly.  Your old pal Muskrat sent troops to attack them.  The survivors are heading for North Blog, so they must be intending to take sides with those rabble against Muskrat.â ?

â Å“How nice.â ?  Infanteer dipped a live cricket in chocolate and knocked it back with a slug of beer.  â Å“Is it likely they'll wipe each other out and spare me the trouble?â ?

â Å“It's possible, Master.  Muskrat has those overgrown orcs he's so proud of.  They might manage to defeat the Bloggers in open battle.â ?

â Å“Yes.â ?  Infanteer glanced around.  â Å“Be careful when you talk of those special orcs.  We're not supposed to know about them.  The walls have ears, you know.â ?

Both men snorted and snickered.  The intelligence coup that brought them word of Muskrat's orc enhancement program really did involve planting ears on the walls of Feedback Fortress.  That intelligence source had succumbed to rampant ear infections within a month, so now they were back to the old observe and report, break-in and steal, bribe and suborn methods.

â Å“Any word on the Spam?â ?  Infanteer became almost reverent as he asked.

â Å“We've tracked it to a place called Runtland, Master.  I have agents on the scent.â ?

â Å“Yes.  'On the scent'.  That's apt.  It smells not unlike horse dung mixed with corpse dew.â ?

â Å“So I've heard.  Shouldn't be hard to find.â ?

â Å“Keep me informed.â ?  Infanteer rose and eased into his walker.  He beckoned the serving wench.  â Å“Come along, dear.  I'll need a little help with something in my room.â ?  The guards in the hall roared with laughter -- on cue.

It was all for show, of course.  Once in thrall to the Dark Side, Infanteer had lost his appetite for pleasures of the flesh.  Recce thought of the expense and scowled.  He could equip a whole squadron of cavalry for the money it cost to keep the Supreme Despot's wenches quiet.  It would never do for their solders to know the nubile maidens read the Overlord to sleep.

Sub-sub-fiend Earl peeked from behind a curtain.  Seeing the Overlord had departed, he trudged over to the table.  This week he was carrying an egg, a demi-basilisk egg.  He was to keep the egg warm until it hatched.  Upon hatching the demi-basilisk would devour Earl's moral qualms, enabling him to work toward the next step in his training.  Privately, Recce was sure the monster would starve to death shortly after hatching. 

Trembling, Earl bowed.  â Å“Permission to speak, Most High Fiend Recce?â ?

â Å“I've told you a million times!â ? snapped Recce.  â Å“Just call me sir.  Save the exaggerated butt-kissing for the big Boss.â ?  He relaxed and even smiled a trifle.  â Å“Just ordinary fake adulation and spineless groveling will do fine.â ?

â Å“Yes, sir!â ?  At Recce's polite gesture, Earl huddled in a chair, cradling the egg.  â Å“I scouted the western marches, sir.  As you ordered.â ?

â Å“Well -- did you accomplish anything?  Other than raiding hen coops?â ?

Earl hung his head.  He hadn't expected word of his foraging to reach the Castle at all, much less beat him back.  â Å“I spotted two strangers deep in the forest, sir.  Couldn't get a good look at them.  They was leaping about and singing old marching songs.  I tried to keep up, but, what with the egg and all, they left me behind.â ?

â Å“Old marching songs?  Where were they headed?â ?

â Å“Nasty marching songs, sir.â ?  The sub-sub-fiend's face lost some of its rigidity, becoming at the very least a caricature of humanity.  â Å“Like I once sung back in the Legion, sir.  Songs about wars and killing and rape and loot and -- and that sodding Jody.â ?  Earl snarled.

â Å“I've heard of the fellow.  Where did these two strangers go?â ?

â Å“Couldn't tell, sir.  They wandered left and right and round about.  I think they was lost.â ?

Recce pondered the situation for a second or so.  â Å“Don't worry about it.â ?  He tapped Earl's egg.  â Å“After your little pal hatches I'll send you out on another scouting mission.  Maybe you can find them again.  If you do, you can eat one and bring the other to me.â ?

â Å“Oh!  Oh!  Sir!  Do you think I'll pass the demi-basilisk test then?â ?

â Å“I'm sure of it.â ?  Recce waved the smelly little terror away.  â Å“You've all the markings of a very successful fiend.â ?

Earl drew himself up to his full four foot height (in heels, of course) and strode proudly from the hall, being careful of the egg.


(tbc)

 

[QORvanweert]

This is absolutely wonderful... please continue....

 

[Sh0rtbUs]

Recce slowed to catch his breath and to minimize the noise.  His armor was thin parade stuff, including a heroic tin breastplate, but his cavernous chest and scrawny frame failed to fill the spaces within by a considerable margin

Gold....That mental picture just keeps making me laugh

 

[jrhume]

North Blog

Lance proudly led the remnants of the Fellowship along the road leading to that famous fortress, North Blog.  He halted atop a small rise some 500 yards short of the gate.  â Å“There it is, my friends.  Home and hearth await.  From here you can see the whole place.â ?

â Å“But . . .â ?  Slim glanced at Fusilier.  The ex-Mountie sat staring off into space, whistling.  Not taking the hint, the Runt plowed ahead.  â Å“It's nothing but a moderate sized stone pile with all sorts of scrubby shacks built into the heap.â ?

DanJanou rode forward, raising a hand to still Lance's sullen retort.  â Å“Pardon the lad.  He's not been told the history of North Blog.â ?

Somewhat mollified, Lance launched into an explanation.  â Å“For the unenlightened among us, it must be told that my ancestors raised not one but no less than three fortresses on this spot.  And that's not counting a multitude of rebuilds.â ?

The irrepressible Padraig muttered, â Å“Had a bit of trouble mixing mortar, eh, Lance?â ?

Fusilier chuckled and shook his head.  â Å“Earthquakes.â ?

Che took a hand.  â Å“Dwarves told them not to build here.  It's directly on a fault line.  But would they listen?  No.  Three times no.â ?

â Å“Anyway . . .â ?  Lance's voice rose several octaves.  â Å“It was finally decided that we'd be better off building our homes amongst the tumbled stones.â ?  He pointed toward the mass of rock and wood.  â Å“There is an outer wall, though its course is higgle-piggle, due to the random nature of the stone fall from the quakes.  Other walls were built inside, creating a good sized maze.â ?

â Å“Maze is an understatement,â ? said DanJanou.  â Å“People often get lost so thoroughly they never find their way home.  The law requires that any wandering person must be taken in, fed and clothed by whoever they wind up with.â ?

â Å“I'll say!â ? exclaimed Lance, now over his annoyance at Slim's unfortunate remark.  â Å“I myself was raised in eleven different households.â ?

Padraig laughed aloud.  â Å“I can see it now.  A few months with our boy Lance and the entire family decamps and goes elsewhere.â ?

Lance clamped his mouth shut and refused to give any more tour guide information, which made the others happy, although they tried to appear very much distraught at his silence.  Padraig, in trying to make amends, even asked to be introduced to Lance's family members, 'assuming you can recognize any of the blighters'.

Slim wondered where they might expect to spend the night.  'Just anywhere?'  Thus, the group arrived at the gate with Lance in a towering rage and the others laughing like ninnies.  The guards let them in without challenge, correctly deducing that they were not orcs.

Inside the gate a tumble of stone lay to the right and a tavern to the left.  Seasoned travelers now, the Fellowship turned as if in formation and drew up before the tavern.  Lance offered no opinion on the establishment, The Blunt Bodkin.  His expression could curdle milk.

To one stepping in from bright day, the tavern appeared dark.  The group halted inside the door to let their eyes adjust.  A small fire burned in a fireplace.  In a nearby corner an old gent in waistcoat and top hat sat smoking a long-stemmed ivory pipe.  He rose and stepped forward as if to greet them.  His eyes were bright and piercing.  Touching Fusilier's arm he announced, â Å“Call me Ishmael.  Be ye whalers?â ?

A man wearing an apron trotted over.  â Å“Ishy!  Shoo now!  Shoo!â ?  He guided the old madman back to his chair, then returned to the group.  â Å“I'm Bodkin.  Never you mind old Ishy.  Years ago he came back from a fishing trip talking nonsense.  Hasn't been right since.â ?

â Å“An odd fixation,â ? said DanJanou.  â Å“Is he ever violent?â ?

â Å“No, never.  Usually he asks men in a bunch, like yourselves, if they're whalers.  A man by himself is asked if his name is Queequeg.â ?

Che stared at the old man in the corner.  â Å“Maybe he's lost someone.â ?

â Å“He's lost his wits,â ? said Slim, with a mean laugh.

â Å“Could be,â ? replied Che.  â Å“You'd know about that, wouldn't you?â ?

Slim stood, hand on chin, pondering, while the others drifted to the bar.

A beer to wet the dust and a good meal under their belts put everyone in a better mood.  â Å“Well,â ? said Bodkin, drawing up a chair, â Å“what business brings you gents to Blog?â ?

â Å“We're trying to prevent the end of the world as we know it,â ? said DanJanou.  Bodkin nodded and swallowed some beer.  He waited for more.

â Å“Um . . .â ?  DanJanou frowned.  â Å“Have you any information about Feedback Fortress and Muskrat, the Virtual Overlord?â ?

â Å“Sure.  Muskrat stops in when he travels by here on his way down to the sea.  Tightwad.  Always buys cheap then complains of the quality and never leaves a tip.â ?

â Å“Sounds like Muskrat,â ? said Fusilier.  â Å“But, Bodkin, have you never heard of his plans to take over the world with his supercharged orcs?â ?

Bodkin chuckled.  â Å“Every time he comes through he tells a tale somewhat like that.  We just nod and ask for details.â ?  He rubbed his chin.  â Å“I imagine I've heard all of his plans four or five times over by now.â ?

Lance was incredulous.  â Å“And none of that bothers you?  I came back with this lot to help ward off Muskrat!  And Infanteer!  The Great Enemy has similar designs.â ?

â Å“I remember you.â ?  Bodkin eyed Lance with tolerant amusement.  â Å“You're Lance, that kid who kept losing families.  I always wondered what happened to you.  No -- that's a lie.  Sorry.  I haven't thought of you for years.â ?  The landlord peered around the table.  â Å“Looks like you've fallen into bad company, if you'll pardon the observation.â ?

Lance dropped back into his blue funk.  Fusilier cleared his throat.  â Å“So -- you're not worried about Muskrat and his invasion plans?â ?

Bodkin's manner changed of a sudden.  He palmed a glittering shield and flashed it so all at the table could see it.  â Å“Now see here, lads, I'm Chief of Blog Security!â ? he hissed.  â Å“We've known all about old Muskrat and his devious designs on our fair city for years beyond count.  You don't live next to a madman for long before you take measures to ensure your safety, that's sure.â ?

â Å“What plans?â ? asked DanJanou.  â Å“What measures?â ?

The Security Chief's voice took on a softer tone.  â Å“What?  I should expose our own secrets to any traveling minstrels as happens along?â ?  He put the shield away.  â Å“We have the situation in hand.  If you wish, I can send you to meet with our military commander.  He might like to have a few extra seasoned fighters like yourselves on hand for the final kill.â ?

â Å“Seasoned?â ? blurted Slim.  His laugh was bitter.  â Å“Me and Padraig have never been seasoned!  None of the maids in Runtland would let us touch them there.â ?

Bodkin managed to keep a straight face.  He coughed and caught DanJanou's eye.  â Å“In the morning I'll give you directions to one of our outposts.  The soldiers there can put you in contact with our commander.  Now then, let's see to your rooms.  You must be tired to the bone.â ?

Having led the Fellowship upstairs to waiting baths and beds, Bodkin sent a helper to stable and feed their horses.  That done, he sauntered over to the fireplace and stood warming his hands.

Ishmael leaned forward.  â Å“I heard that bit about living next to a madman.  Laid it on a bit thick, didn't you?â ?

'Bodkin' paled, but managed to reply without whining, â Å“Sorry, m'lord.  I had to make sure they bought it.  Ah -- will our lot be able to handle them?â ?

'Ishmael' snorted.  â Å“My UpChucks will eat them alive.â ?

â Å“I thought the plan was to kill them, leave their bodies to rot for a time and fling the bits and pieces into Blog to frighten and nauseate the locals.â ?

â Å“Hmm.  Yes.  But letting the lads eat them might be better for morale.â ?

'Bodkin' rubbed his hands together.  â Å“It would indeed, m'lord.  An excellent plan.â ?

â Å“I've always liked this madman/tavern owner shtick.  Next time, though, I want to wear the apron.  'Ishmael' sank back in his chair.  â Å“Until tomorrow then.â ?

Dismissed, 'Bodkin' went back behind the bar and began washing glasses.  In a moment, the demented old gent got up and headed for the door.

â Å“Good night, Mr. Ishmael.â ?


Wandering Loose

â Å“Pardon me for saying so, Mr. Monk, but we're running through our rations too fast.â ?

â Å“What?  How can that be?  We've cut back to a bare six meals a day.â ?

â Å“I know, sir.â ?  Bossi sighed.  â Å“How many days has it been?â ?

Monk looked up and shrugged.  They hadn't seen the sun for a long time.  â Å“Two, maybe three.â ?

â Å“When will we find Mount WorldWideWeb?  And how do we destroy the Spam, sir?â ?

â Å“All these bloody technical questions!  How should I know?  There were maps back at The Mess.  Didn't you look at them?â ?

â Å“Well -- no.  I assumed some other bright spark would always be along to do the navigation and clean pots -- that sort of thing.â ?

â Å“Me too.â ?  Monk kicked at a nearby tuft of grass.  â Å“I get nauseous looking at maps.  And I hope there will be instructions posted at the mountain.  You know -- Too Destroy the Spam, Insert Here.  Something along that line would be peachy.â ?

Bossi stood up and stretched.  â Å“We'll find it, sir.  It must be the tallest mountain around, don't you think?  I'll bet it's that big mother over that way.â ?  He pointed at a sullen gray mountain just visible across several lower ridges.  â Å“Looks a good way off.â ?

â Å“Code take me, I hope that's not it!â ? moaned Monk.  â Å“At the rate we've been going it will take us a month or three to get there.â ?

â Å“No it won't, sir.â ?

â Å“It won't?  Do you know of a railroad line to the mountain?  Or is there a road?â ?

â Å“None of those, I'm afraid, sir.  But it won't take us no three months or even one.â ?

â Å“Why, pray tell?  Enlighten me, 'o Bossi, seer of the Hideous Hideout!â ?

Bossi shouldered his pack and shrugged.  â Å“Because we'll be out of food in a week and dead the week after.  No way it will take a month.â ?


(tbc)

 

[jrhume]

Ambush!

They started the morning with breakfast.  Che noticed 'that old Ishmael gent' was absent.

â Å“He comes in around lunch time,â ? explained Bodkin.

Bodkin led the Fellowship, or rather, what remained of it, out the gate early the following morning.  â Å“It's a short ride,â ? he explained, pointing off to the north.  â Å“Less than an hour.â ?

It was a cool morning with a solid high overcast.  Bodkin whistled a cheery tune as they rode along.  Lance trailed the others, sunk in his little island of misery.  His homecoming had turned into a disaster.  He had skipped breakfast and ridden into the maze only to find that he couldn't discover anything familiar.  That in itself was not unusual, Blog being built and rebuilt as earthquake and circumstance directed.  At one corner he ran across a couple at breakfast on their veranda.  They looked at him with undisguised dismay, leaped to their feet and vanished inside.  One of his families?  He wasn't certain.

Slim trotted up closer to the tavern keeper.  â Å“What's that tune, eh, Bodkin?  It's a catchy bit.â ?

â Å“Ah -- well.  I don't know as I've ever known what it is.  Just picked it up somewhere.â ?

Padraig and Slim began following Bodkin's lead, attempting to imitate his whistling.  They made a sad botch of it.  Drawn from his self-pitying funk by their wretched, off-key attempts, Lance really listened to the tune.  It sounded familiar and foreboding somehow, yet he couldn't place it.  His attention was diverted for several minutes as Bodkin led them off the main road and up a path that wound over a low ridge.  The other side of the ridge gave way to an open valley covered with coarse grass and scattered clumps of brush.  Another tree-clad ridge lay beyond the meadow.  It was as they rode out into the meadow that Lance remembered where he had heard that tune whistled before.

â Å“DanJanou!â ? he called and spurred to catch up with the others.  Bodkin kept going, straight across the valley toward a large tent set in the trees on the opposite side.  DanJanou stopped and turned sideways to wait for Lance.  The others broke up as they rode around the Elder and wandered out onto the grass.

â Å“What now?â ? asked DanJanou.  â Å“We're almost there.  Can't it wait?â ?

Lance reined up close.  â Å“I just remembered where I've heard that tune Bodkin has been whistling on the way.â ?

â Å“Well, pardon me for not being impressed!â ? snarled DanJanou.  He dragged at his reins.

â Å“No!  Wait!â ?  Lance grabbed the other horse's bridle, forcing it to remain still.  â Å“The guards at Feedback Fortress whistle that little ditty when they march around the grounds relieving the watch!  I was sent to spy on the castle several times when I was a lad.â ?  He gulped.  â Å“I think some of my families wished for me to be captured there.â ?

DanJanou glanced around.  A sickly pallor crept over his face.  â Å“Then -- this is a trap.â ?

â Å“I wish I'd paid more attention earlier!â ?

â Å“Too late for that, I'm afraid.â ?  DanJanou swung his horse around.  â Å“Which way should we go?  Are you familiar with this valley?â ?

â Å“I think so.  The best way out would be to the right.  This meadow leads down to a stream and beyond that the ridgeline is lower, easier to cross.â ?

â Å“Right.  Well, lets . . .â ?  DanJanou's voice trailed away as he looked across the valley.  A double line of large, heavily armed orcs on horseback trotted out of the trees.

â Å“By the Code!â ? moaned Lance.  He turned in his saddle.  â Å“There's a dozen or so coming down the trail behind us!â ?

The Fellowship bunched up near a hillock in the center of the meadow.  Fusilier pointed up the valley.  â Å“What have we ridden into, DanJanou?  There's another twenty or so of the sods!â ?

â Å“It's a trap!â ? hissed DanJanou.  He glanced down the valley, in the direction Lance said was the best way to escape.  A disciplined troop of cavalry rode into position there.  â Å“An ambush!  We'll have to run for it!â ?

â Å“Which way?â ? asked Che.  â Å“They've got us boxed in!â ?

The ringing tones of a trumpet echoed down the valley.  A huge orc walked out of the tent, mounted a black horse and rode toward them.  Lance swallowed the lump in his throat.  â Å“We've long known that Muskrat was breeding large orcs, but that thing is twice normal size!â ? 

â Å“He's a big one all right,â ? agreed Fusilier.  â Å“Looks like a parley.  Where's Bodkin?â ?

â Å“Bodkin led us into this mess!â ? snarled Lance.  â Å“Tavern keeper Bodkin, if that's his name, works for Muskrat and Feedback Fortress.  If we surrender, we'll be rotting in Muskrat's dungeons before nightfall.â ?

â Å“Well, not rotting,â ? said Fusilier, unable to resist the impulse toward objectivity.  â Å“They'll torture us for a week or so before killing us painfully.  Then we'll start to rot.â ?

Slim and Padraig whined in chorus.  â Å“T-torture?â ?

The big orc stopped a good hundred yards short of their position an drew his sword, a gleaming four-foot man killer.  He stood up in his stirrups and held the sword aloft.  A low growl rumbled from hundreds of orc throats.  DanJanou coughed.  â Å“No parley.  They're going to attack.â ?

Che dismounted and hefted his axe.  â Å“I'm no good on horse back.â ?

Fusilier drew a mouse and began swinging it by the cord.  â Å“Long distance weapons first, lads, then draw steel!â ?

Slim drew a stubby blade.  â Å“All Padraig and I have are these daggers.â ?

â Å“They're not really daggers,â ? said DanJanou, overcome, like Fusilier, with a ridiculous desire for objective accuracy.  â Å“They're fancy steak knives.  Mike gave those to you Runts because real weapons were too big and you were too liable to hurt yourselves on them.â ?

Lance swung his sack of trackballs within easy reach and loosened his sword in it's sheath.  â Å“I doubt any orc you manage to kill will know the difference, Slim.  Nor is anyone ever likely to need such details so they can sing about the Fellowship's last stand.â ?

The orc leader swung his sword tip down.  On all sides, orcs roared their battle songs and lunged to the attack.

â Å“This is it, friends,â ? said DanJanou.  â Å“I wish I had something manly and compelling to say.â ?

â Å“I wish I wasn't here,â ? muttered Fusilier.  â Å“Is that compelling enough?â ?

â Å“A common desire in these circumstances, I'm sure.â ?  DanJanou drew his own sword.

The shouting hordes burst clear of the trees before and behind the sad little group.  Those in the valley dressed their lines and rode forward at a walk.  Their job was to see that there was no escape.  Every orc in the Muskrat's force surged forward as the last of the clouds cleared away.

â Å“The sun!â ? shouted Dragoon, from his position in the shadows beneath the trees.  He turned to Muskrat.  â Å“Will sunlight hurt the UpChucks?  You tested them in all conditions, right?â ?

â Å“Sun light?â ?  Muskrat went even paler than his usual parchment white.  â Å“Sun light?â ?

Vicious roars turned in an instant to strident shrieks.  The sun broke free and filled the valley with light.  Orcs burned, flared and tumbled screaming in the grass.  Horses, scorched by their riders, ran helter-skelter across the field.  Flames erupted and died away.  Hundreds of lumps lay on the grass, smoldering.  A slight smell of turnips lingered in the air.

For the Fellowship the turnabout was shocking.  They were not going to die.  A great wave of relief mixed with stupefying surprise washed over them.

DanJanou calmed his skittish horse.  He looked over at Lance.  â Å“What just happened?â ?

Disbelief shone from Lance's face.  He shrugged.  â Å“You're the wizard.  You tell me.â ?

Che held his own horse quiet and surveyed the scene with wonder.  â Å“Muskrat outdid himself.â ?

â Å“I'll say,â ? agreed Fusilier.  â Å“Bred a super race of orcs all right.  Super sensitive to the sun.â ?

â Å“That's it,â ? said DanJanou, putting up his sword.  â Å“I'll bet he neglected to test them in daylight.  He was trying to keep their existence a complete secret, so he worked them only at night.â ?

Lance still couldn't believe what he'd seen.  â Å“Most orcs can stand some light.  This -- this horror isn't merely that sensitivity increased two times.  It's a hundred-fold.  The way they burned . . .â ?

â Å“Well, I'm happy with the result,â ? observed Fusilier, tucking his weapon away.  â Å“Muskrat's foolish little error is just dandy with me.â ?

â Å“Can we check the bodies for souvenirs?â ? asked Slim.  â Å“I'll bet they'll sell well in Blog.â ?

â Å“I'm more interested in finding our old pal Bodkin,â ? snarled Lance.

â Å“Right on!â ? said Fusilier.  â Å“I'll bet he's skulking around that tent across the way.â ?

â Å“If I were you, I'd be more interested in Feedback Fortress than in empty revenge.â ?  The speaker rode out of the timber on the trail they'd taken into the valley.  Two other men rode at his back.  He stopped a short distance away and bowed in the saddle.  â Å“Gunnar is my name.  Until a few minutes ago I hadn't decided whether to continue in the employ of Muskrat or not.  We,â ? he indicated his two followers, â Å“had considered joining your lot at North Blog.â ?  The albino laughed.  â Å“Our other option was to take service with the Great Enemy.â ?

DanJanou rode forward a few steps.  â Å“You spoke of Feedback Fortress.  Have you elected to stay with Muskrat?â ?

â Å“No.  The Virtual Overlord is finished.â ?  Gunnar glanced around at the blackened corpses.  â Å“He blew everything he had on his precious UpChucks.  There's not a single armed man left in the Fortress.  Just a few menials.  Does that suggest anything?â ?

â Å“With the Fortress in our hands,â ? mused Fusilier, â Å“the Bloggers and all others opposed to the Great Enemy will be made safer and stronger.â ?

â Å“True,â ? admitted Gunnar.  â Å“But possession will also give us control of trade routes, various of Muskrat's commercial enterprises and the small harem he kept for the men in his employ.â ?

Lance laughed.  â Å“Power, wealth and doxies!  I'm with you!â ?

Slim nudged Padraig.  â Å“What's a doxie?â ?

Padraig frowned.  â Å“A treat, I think.  You gets one if you're a good lad.â ?

The Fellowship, now restored to nine members, paused only to gather a few spare horses.  They rode out of the valley and headed for Feedback Fortress.  The grisly remains were left to the carrion birds and whatever else might like a revolting, but filling meal.


Reality Bites

Monk and Bossi walked side-by-side on the dirt road.  It ran more or less directly toward Mount WorldWideWeb, still quite distant in the morning haze.  They had been on the road since the day before and had yet to encounter any other Runt, orc or human.

The road swung around low mounds crowned with dead trees.  On either hand lay a plain covered with grass and clumps of brush -- all of it dried and yellow.  The road appeared to be leading toward a notch in a long, low ridge.  As to what lay beyond that, they couldn't guess, although both had lurid dreams about it. 

In some of his nightmares, Monk spent hours moving heavy objects only to have them crash back down to where they started.  Other times were spent listening to interminable voices whispering secrets for restoring virility, shilling products intended to enhance various physical attributes or extolling the virtues of elaborate methods of generating vast wealth.  The worst dreams involved intimate relations with an endless parade of heavy women.  He got little rest.

Bossi had more lurid fantasies, most of which revolved around food.  Some dreams, the really scary ones, placed him in a moonlit grotto with a short, stout woman.  Always, as she tore open her shift and moved toward him, he awoke, sweating.  His dream self, as his waking self, had no idea what to do with such a situation.  He slept more than Monk, but began to lose weight.

â Å“Shall we rest a moment, Mr. Monk?â ?  Bossi indicated a mound several steps from the road.  Monk had been staggering a bit for the last mile or so.

â Å“I think not, Bossi.  If I stop I may never be able to get up again.â ?

Bossi sighed.  â Å“This can't continue, sir.  We ain't even close to the mountain yet and already you're near the end of your tether.â ?

â Å“It doesn't matter.  Somehow we'll make it.â ? 

At that moment, Bossi leaped from the roadway, caught in the grip of enormous talons.  He let out a screech.  Monk hung in the grasp of identical claws not three feet away.  Wind tore at their hair.  The ground fell away.  Bossi lost his breakfast.

â Å“Hah!â ? A voice like thunder exulted.  â Å“Caught you unawares, eh?  What a lunch I'll have!â ?

The voice sounded familiar.  Bossi caught sight of a long neck leading forward to heavy jaws.  Huge wings stroked up and down on either side.  â Å“Dorosh?â ? he called.

â Å“Blast!  How do you know me?â ?  The great head turned.  One yellow eye rested on the Runts.

â Å“We've met before,â ? said Monk.  He wriggled in the constricting claws.  â Å“On the Wireless Waste.  We were with DanJanou and the Fellowship.â ?

â Å“I remember,â ? said Dorosh.  His tone was not one of hail-fellow-well-met.

â Å“Are you g-going to e-eat us?â ? stammered Bossi.

â Å“That was my intent,â ? admitted Dorosh.  â Å“I looked forward to a decent meal for the first time since I feasted on those Viral orcs what was harrying your party.  Not that eating an orc is ever very satisfying, you know, but it was a good feed despite that.â ?

Monk noted the change in Dorosh's demeanor.  â Å“Dare I hope that you aren't going to eat us?â ?

â Å“Can't.  It's against the rules to eat any sentient creature I've been formally introduced to.  You are sentient beings aren't you.â ?

Now, Bossi was fairly certain 'sentient' was something you scraped off your feet before going in to supper.  Monk, however, immediately grasped that the only safe answer was, â Å“Yes!â ?

â Å“But, I don't think we were formally . . .â ?  Bossi closed his foolish mouth.

Once again Monk's wits worked fairly well.  â Å“Mr. Dorosh, may I present Bossi, a gardener of some repute in Runtland.  And I am, Monk, an adventurer and Spam bearer.â ?

Dorosh flew on in silence for a minute or so.  â Å“Got me there, didn't you?  In truth, I had only begun to wonder if we'd been introduced back in the Waste.â ?  He chuckled.  â Å“Since I can't eat you, where would you like to be set down?â ?

Bossi glanced down.  They were beyond the ridge he and Monk had been walking toward.  A fort or town lay below.  â Å“Anyplace not in the reach of the Great Enemy and his thugs.â ?

â Å“No!â ? exclaimed Monk.  â Å“Take us to Mount WorldWideWeb.  We have an errand there.â ?

The dragon laughed again.  â Å“Why were you heading deeper into the Hideous Hideout if Mount Triple W was your destination?  It's over my right shoulder and not more than ten miles off.â ?

Monk twisted so he could look in that direction.  â Å“Which one?  I see several plain brown peaks.â ?

Dorosh banked to the right.  â Å“It's the one with the flat top.  You'll see as we get closer.â ?

â Å“We figured it would be the biggest mountain around,â ? said Monk.

â Å“A reasonable assumption, but untrue,â ? said Dorosh.  â Å“Mount WorldWideWeb is the source of his power to disrupt and dismay.  What is your errand there?â ?

â Å“I . . .â ?  Monk hesitated.  â Å“Are you an ally of the Great Enemy?  Or are you on the side of Truth, Justice and the American Way?â ?

â Å“Well -- as to that, I'm on no one's side.  Except my own, I suppose.â ?  Dorosh let the concept of 'side' percolate along his cool and scarce brain cells.  â Å“I am opposed to the Great Enemy, or at least I am not one of his drinking buddies.  He manufactures orcs and other bad tasting things which drive out more delectable creatures.  On balance, I am not his friend.  For example, he never invites me or any of my relatives to wine-tasting parties or demolition derbies.â ?

â Å“Then I suppose you should know that I bear the Spam,â ? announced Monk.

â Å“You said that earlier.  What does it mean, to 'bear the Spam'.  Is that like 'giving birth' or is it more like baiting bears with this Spam stuff?â ?

Monk thought for a moment.  â Å“I've baited no bears nor given birth to anything, much less Spam.  I'm just a porter, I suppose.â ?

â Å“We was to take the Spam to Mount WorldWideWeb and destroy it,â ? added Bossi.  The whole conversation had long since left him wandering clueless.  He figured it was time to get things back on track.

â Å“We are descending to a landing on Mount Triple W,â ? said Dorosh.  â Å“Will this destruction take much time?  If not, I'll give you a lift back across the river.â ?

â Å“Now you have me,â ? said Monk.  â Å“We assume there will be competent parties on hand to see to the destruction or, at the least, a set of directions carved into stone.  Something like that.â ?

â Å“There are two individuals standing on top of the mountain,â ? announced Dorosh.  â Å“Who they are and what their standing with the Great Enemy might be is open to question.â ?

Monk shivered.  â Å“Take us down, if you will, Dorosh.â ?  He felt a strange reluctance to get any nearer to the Mountain, which seemed the surest indication that he must land.  It was fuzzy thinking, but all he could come up with.

â Å“This will be tricky,â ? said Dorosh.  â Å“I'll flare just above the surface and let you lads drop.  With any luck you won't be killed.â ?

â Å“Wait!â ? screamed Bossi.  But it was too late.  Dorosh swooped down, cupped his great wings and beat them in a manner designed to bring him to a hover over the little plateau.  Alas, his skills had not improved.  He released the Runts, stalled and crashed.

Monk struck something that went, â Å“Oof!â ?  He and his cushion tumbled into the dirt.  Bossi hit nothing but dirt.  Dorosh plowed into the only tree on the summit, snapping it off.  He rolled to a stop at the edge of the plateau.

â Å“Gah!â ? Bossi spat out mud and a couple of teeth.  No, on closer inspection the light colored objects were small rocks, not teeth.  He rolled over and took inventory.  So far, he lived and nothing major seemed broken.  Monk walked over and helped him to his feet.

â Å“You look to have landed better than me,â ? said Bossi, wiping at his face.

â Å“Not my fault.â ?  Monk pointed to a small figure still sprawled in the dirt.  â Å“I landed on him.â ?

Dorosh waddled over.  â Å“Sorry lads.  I misjudged the wind direction or something.â ?  He stretched and groaned.  â Å“Nearly went off the edge myself.â ?

â Å“Thrice welcome, friends,â ? said a small voice.  They turned to face the speaker.  The thing was small, shorter than a dwarf and even uglier, if their limited exposure to dwarves was any guide.  â Å“We have no refreshments, I'm afraid.  The Mount draws few visitors.  None, in fact, except for the Great Enemy.â ?  There followed a string of sounds that could only be curses.

â Å“What are you?â ? asked Bossi.  His mother had been very neglectful of teaching him manners.

â Å“We are gnomes,â ? said the gnome.  â Å“My name is Finagle and this is Onslow.â ?  He nudged the still form of the gnome designated as Onslow.  There was no response.

â Å“I bear the Spam,â ? said Monk.  He made a slight bow.  If there was a proper ceremony involved with handing over the Spam, he didn't know it and, besides, his back hurt.

â Å“You bear the Anti-Spam,â ? said Finagle.  â Å“This mountain spews Spam.â ?

â Å“I don't understand,â ? said Monk.

Finagle heaved a sigh.  â Å“We created the Spam during a scientific project.  Infanteer worked for us.  He was of the Dark Side, but we didn't know it.â ?  Finagle sat down on his partner.  â Å“In order to control Spam we created Anti-Spam.â ?  Seeing their blank faces, he went on.  â Å“It's sort of Spam only with an opposite charge.  It makes Spam neutral, inoffensive, harmless.â ?

Monk caught a glimmer.  â Å“And Infanteer stole it -- the Anti-Spam.â ?

â Å“Exactly.  He then managed to lose it in some manner.  And our mountain has been spewing Spam ever since.â ?  Finagle stood up.  â Å“With the Anti-Spam in place, we can neutralize the mountain and then shut it down for good.â ?

Bossi blinked.  He rubbed at his chin.  â Å“Well -- does that mean we just hand over the Spam and we're all done?â ?

â Å“That's right.â ?  Finagle smiled.  â Å“I'm amazed that a Runt of your intellect followed that logic.â ?

Grinning with delight, Bossi shuffled his feet.  â Å“Aw, shucks.â ?

Monk felt dizzy.  He moved to drop the pack containing the Anti-Spam.  It seemed to cling to his back.  Blasts of ad copy shrieked in the air.  Images of couples doing strange things filled his vision.  Offers of vast Nigerian wealth pushed at him.  He staggered and went to his knees.

Finagle produced a knife, slashed the pack straps and peeled the thing from Monk's back.  The Runt moaned once and collapsed.

Bossi knelt by Monk.  â Å“Will he be all right?  Why is he out cold?â ?

Finagle walked to a round orifice in the middle of the plateau and dropped the pack into it.  A heavy silence fell over the mountain.  The gnome came back and helped Monk to his feet.  â Å“He'll be fine,â ? said Finagle.  â Å“Give him a good meal and a couple of stiff belts.  A night or two with a woman will help.â ?

â Å“Come on,â ? said Dorosh.  â Å“I don't like the feel of this place.  Put him up on my back, between the rows of spikes.â ?  The two got Monk up where Dorosh indicated and lashed him in place. 

Finagle hopped to the ground.  â Å“Don't worry about your friend.  He may become a hopeless drunk, but he saved the world.  Always remember that!â ?

The launch was uneventful, probably because all Dorosh had to do was spread his wings and step off the edge of the cliff.  Once stabilized, he glanced back at Bossi.  â Å“Where to now?â ?

â Å“Back to the river bridge, I suppose.  We can pick up the trail of our friends there.â ?

They were perhaps two miles from the mountain when the plateau fell in.  The rest of the peak followed, folding slowly in on itself.  Dust and smoke billowed.  A dull rumbling filled the air for a long, long time.  Though it wasn't visible for many days, a low heap of smashed rock lay in place of Mount WorldWideWeb.  The locals called it Gnome Dome, but no one ever knew why.

Well to the north, at the core of Hideous Hideout, a similar event occurred, albeit with less noise and tumult.  Infanteer's vast castle wavered and went out, like a torch thrown into water.  His hordes of orcs became drifts of dust on the wind.  There was not much noise.  Reality sighed and went back to normal.

Arch-fiend Recce found himself knee-deep in a stream.  His parade armor was gone.  He felt a strange draining.  In seconds his powers were gone.  Shivering, clad only in a long cotton dressing gown, he floundered to shore.

He crawled out of the water and looked up.  Horror froze his heart.  Two demons stood on the bluff above the stream.  Infanteer dangled between them.  One demon, a yellow-faced, spindly creature with blunt fangs and a sly aspect, waved a scroll under Infanteer's nose.  â Å“Here's the contract.  Null and void.  Null.  And.  Void.â ?  The demon laughed, not unlike the creaking of a rusty gate.  â Å“Down you go Mr. Great Enemy!â ?  It cackled and vanished, leaving a choking cloud of bile-colored smoke behind.

The other demon was built on a grander scale.  Heavily muscled and sporting powerful fangs, it held Infanteer lightly.  â Å“Don't tense up, sir.  The trip down won't be so bad if you stay loose.â ?

Infanteer caught sight of his long-time Toady.  He managed a small lift of one hand and a weak grin.  â Å“See you in the funny papers, lad.â ?

The demon took the ex-Overlord's gray form under one arm and began to sink out of sight.  â Å“Move on,â ? he rumbled, eyeing Recce.  â Å“Move along.  There's nothing to see here.â ?

Recce moved along.

He remembered signing his own agreement, although the exact terms eluded his memory.  Would the demons be on his trail?  Was he to be dragged into the Underworld and made to pay for his failure?  He stumbled along a dirt road, blind and deaf to all save fear.  Then, as he crouched by a stream, drinking from cupped hands, another memory surfaced.

Laughter filled the air.  He climbed back to the road and stepped out with new confidence.  The agreement was no problem.  Recce snickered as he walked.  Oh, he'd signed the agreement, all right.  Definitely.

But he'd signed Muskrat's name.


End
:boring:

 

[Guardian]

Hilarious. Can't wait for more....

 

[jrhume]

I'm not sure if everyone who might be interested has seen this.  I'll bump it once, just to make sure.