[Humour] The Adventures of the A-Team - Story 3?? Aussie posters help please!
Inez Hull
First Post
IX: The ‘Paff’ Incident
The firestorm died, and so too had at least one member of the mighty A-Team. But with all the orcs destroyed and Mango returned, quest’s end was in sight...
“Well”, said Wilson calmly stroking his beard. “That sorted them out!”
The remaining members of the party, all showing signs of fiery immolation, turned in mutual disbelief. All that is, except for Shana who leapt at the mage’ s neck screaming.
“Look what you’ve done to my lovely golden hair, you bastard!” Her tresses lay scorched and shrivelled on the floor.
“What,” gurgled Wilson. “Bald’s in isn’t it? Looks nice!”
Virgil stared vacantly at the ceiling, making odd sounds, “Whoooooshhha.” His head looking like a currant encased in the still unstained, unmarked shining plate mail.
“Well, he did say ‘Fire’!" gagged Wilson defensively.
“Fire bows”, snarled Shana, “fire arrows, fire anything but not bloody fire FIRE.” With each “fire” her voice raised in pitch and she punctuated her points by rattling Wilson’s neck and banging his head against the still smoking wall.
“Oh”, said Wilson sheepishly, “everyone is entitled to one little mistake, aren’t they?”
“Mistake! Look what you’ve done to my hair...,”
A groan came from Virgil in the corner. “...and the rest of the group”, she added, putting Wilson down.
The dishevelled mage re-arranged himself and surveyed the carnage. “Must admit, though, I sorted the orc problem out.”
“I’ll sort you out...,” Shana yelled but was interrupted by the appearance of what looked like the stump of a charred leg waving in front of her face.
“Think this belongs to him?” asked Zeek dolefully. Shana stared stunned. "What? Who?” asked Wilson.
“Do you think this is a bit of him? Looks familiar don’t you think?” Zeek repeated.
All three examined the hairless stump. “What are you talking about, you blithering fool?” Shana had lost her grip.
“Spud”, continued Zeek.
“Where is he?” Shana asked, not daring to contemplate the import of the shortness of the offending limb.
“Yeah”, answered Zeek. “Funny really, isn’t it, that Spud should go like that... roasted.”
A loud cry from the shattered exit door announced the return of Mango the Magnificent to the group, smoke rising from blistered armour. “Gimme healing!” Mango sounded upset.
“Certainly, my prodigal son”, beamed Zeek. “But first re-affirm your faith in the bountiful Shannafria.”
Mango staggered to his feet, the burnt bindings on his armour giving way, the metal plates falling off with a loud clatter. Mango looked very unhappy.
“Now,” began Zeek, happily waving his dove’s feather holy symbol. “Repeat after me... Shannafria is the Nicest, Shanna ...AAAARGGH!”
Mango seized the initiative and Zeek’s unmentionables. Mango suddenly felt and looked a lot happier. Zeek’ s feather began to work a little more frantically. “Fine,” he squeaked.
“Obviously a true believer. There you are, all healed.”
Mango sighed blissfully as the healing magic took effect, then scowled as it halted, far short of his full capacity. “That all?” he growled. “I’m only half full.”
Zeek shrugged and smiled. “Sorry, that’s all for today. Only so many hours a man can pray, you know. Ask Virgil.”
From the corner came the sounds of someone definitely enjoying himself. Virgil had his face to the wall, away from the group, head tipped back, his hands busy in front of him, cooing to himself. The rest of the group looked away in disgust. “The joys of Lawful Goodness”, griped Shana.
“Virgil laying hands on himself again”, said Wilson. “He could at least share it around.” said Mango.
“No thanks!” said Shana as Virgil turned around, smiling.
A thunderous voice arose from above, the Keeper....
Your healing session is cut short as more orcs pour into the room, led by a really big orc. Not just any orc. An impressive orc. An orc with bulging muscles, gaudy robes, skulls and nasty paraphernalia dangling from ropes of twined human hair. An orc with attitude...
“Oh, sh#t, that’s all we need”, moaned Wilson, “an orc with description.”
“Who’s running this fiasco?” whined Mango. “How come the major encounter turns up when I’ve got no armour on?”
The impressive orc thrust forward the maiden captive, Rowena. “‘Here, ya can ‘ave ‘er!” he growled.
Confused silence. Wilson coughed nervously. “Pardon?”
“Take ‘Er, I said. Fireballs in a room dis size. You’re loonies. Look at the mess,” said the impressive orc.
“Must be some sort of trap,” muttered Mango. “Too easy.”
“This is wrong”, announced Virgil. “You take her back, get in that sacrifice room, we’ll give you a couple of minutes to set up. Then we’ll rush in and rescue the maid properly.”
“Wot?” asked the orc.
“What,” squeaked Rowena
“What,” asked Shana and Wilson in complete disbelief.
“Yeah,” confirmed Mango, pulling his Mighty Mitts of Mauling back on. “Sounds good to me.”
“Gives us time for a quick bite to eat,” agreed Zeek.
“Yer all mad,” pronounced the orc as he turned to leave.
At this point, the poor confused girl, decided to take her safety into her own hands and ran for the nearest exit.
“After them, Team,” yelled Virgil, charging after the retreating orcs.
“Grab her,” yelled Wilson, “or we’ll be here all night.”
Mango stretched out what was meant to be a gentle hand to guide Rowena to safety, but the augmented power of the Mighty Mitts overstated the gesture somewhat.
PAFF!
Crack! The sound of the fair maid’s neck snapping brought the entire room to silence.
“Whoops,” said Mango, biting his lip. “Forgot about the +5 on these gloves.”
“Whoops?” said Shana staring in disbelief. “Whoops! Is that all you’ve got to say for yourself?”
“Accidents, you know, err, happen. What were the conditions on that reward, anyway...?” asked Mango.
Wilson turned to the ceiling. His hands formed into the mystical ‘T’ symbol pleading for a time-out. “Been a bit of an accident down here. Do you think we could run through this bit again, please?”
The entire dungeon trembled, and the air froze as a bespectacled visage glowered down at the party. Then an enormous block of roof plaster fell from the ceiling smothering the A-Team’s plaintive stream of apologies with a deadening finality.
“Who’s got the blank character sheets?” came a disembodied voice from abstract darkness.
“Coffee, anyone?”
THE END.....
.....of the first story - more to come.
The firestorm died, and so too had at least one member of the mighty A-Team. But with all the orcs destroyed and Mango returned, quest’s end was in sight...
“Well”, said Wilson calmly stroking his beard. “That sorted them out!”
The remaining members of the party, all showing signs of fiery immolation, turned in mutual disbelief. All that is, except for Shana who leapt at the mage’ s neck screaming.
“Look what you’ve done to my lovely golden hair, you bastard!” Her tresses lay scorched and shrivelled on the floor.
“What,” gurgled Wilson. “Bald’s in isn’t it? Looks nice!”
Virgil stared vacantly at the ceiling, making odd sounds, “Whoooooshhha.” His head looking like a currant encased in the still unstained, unmarked shining plate mail.
“Well, he did say ‘Fire’!" gagged Wilson defensively.
“Fire bows”, snarled Shana, “fire arrows, fire anything but not bloody fire FIRE.” With each “fire” her voice raised in pitch and she punctuated her points by rattling Wilson’s neck and banging his head against the still smoking wall.
“Oh”, said Wilson sheepishly, “everyone is entitled to one little mistake, aren’t they?”
“Mistake! Look what you’ve done to my hair...,”
A groan came from Virgil in the corner. “...and the rest of the group”, she added, putting Wilson down.
The dishevelled mage re-arranged himself and surveyed the carnage. “Must admit, though, I sorted the orc problem out.”
“I’ll sort you out...,” Shana yelled but was interrupted by the appearance of what looked like the stump of a charred leg waving in front of her face.
“Think this belongs to him?” asked Zeek dolefully. Shana stared stunned. "What? Who?” asked Wilson.
“Do you think this is a bit of him? Looks familiar don’t you think?” Zeek repeated.
All three examined the hairless stump. “What are you talking about, you blithering fool?” Shana had lost her grip.
“Spud”, continued Zeek.
“Where is he?” Shana asked, not daring to contemplate the import of the shortness of the offending limb.
“Yeah”, answered Zeek. “Funny really, isn’t it, that Spud should go like that... roasted.”
A loud cry from the shattered exit door announced the return of Mango the Magnificent to the group, smoke rising from blistered armour. “Gimme healing!” Mango sounded upset.
“Certainly, my prodigal son”, beamed Zeek. “But first re-affirm your faith in the bountiful Shannafria.”
Mango staggered to his feet, the burnt bindings on his armour giving way, the metal plates falling off with a loud clatter. Mango looked very unhappy.
“Now,” began Zeek, happily waving his dove’s feather holy symbol. “Repeat after me... Shannafria is the Nicest, Shanna ...AAAARGGH!”
Mango seized the initiative and Zeek’s unmentionables. Mango suddenly felt and looked a lot happier. Zeek’ s feather began to work a little more frantically. “Fine,” he squeaked.
“Obviously a true believer. There you are, all healed.”
Mango sighed blissfully as the healing magic took effect, then scowled as it halted, far short of his full capacity. “That all?” he growled. “I’m only half full.”
Zeek shrugged and smiled. “Sorry, that’s all for today. Only so many hours a man can pray, you know. Ask Virgil.”
From the corner came the sounds of someone definitely enjoying himself. Virgil had his face to the wall, away from the group, head tipped back, his hands busy in front of him, cooing to himself. The rest of the group looked away in disgust. “The joys of Lawful Goodness”, griped Shana.
“Virgil laying hands on himself again”, said Wilson. “He could at least share it around.” said Mango.
“No thanks!” said Shana as Virgil turned around, smiling.
A thunderous voice arose from above, the Keeper....
Your healing session is cut short as more orcs pour into the room, led by a really big orc. Not just any orc. An impressive orc. An orc with bulging muscles, gaudy robes, skulls and nasty paraphernalia dangling from ropes of twined human hair. An orc with attitude...
“Oh, sh#t, that’s all we need”, moaned Wilson, “an orc with description.”
“Who’s running this fiasco?” whined Mango. “How come the major encounter turns up when I’ve got no armour on?”
The impressive orc thrust forward the maiden captive, Rowena. “‘Here, ya can ‘ave ‘er!” he growled.
Confused silence. Wilson coughed nervously. “Pardon?”
“Take ‘Er, I said. Fireballs in a room dis size. You’re loonies. Look at the mess,” said the impressive orc.
“Must be some sort of trap,” muttered Mango. “Too easy.”
“This is wrong”, announced Virgil. “You take her back, get in that sacrifice room, we’ll give you a couple of minutes to set up. Then we’ll rush in and rescue the maid properly.”
“Wot?” asked the orc.
“What,” squeaked Rowena
“What,” asked Shana and Wilson in complete disbelief.
“Yeah,” confirmed Mango, pulling his Mighty Mitts of Mauling back on. “Sounds good to me.”
“Gives us time for a quick bite to eat,” agreed Zeek.
“Yer all mad,” pronounced the orc as he turned to leave.
At this point, the poor confused girl, decided to take her safety into her own hands and ran for the nearest exit.
“After them, Team,” yelled Virgil, charging after the retreating orcs.
“Grab her,” yelled Wilson, “or we’ll be here all night.”
Mango stretched out what was meant to be a gentle hand to guide Rowena to safety, but the augmented power of the Mighty Mitts overstated the gesture somewhat.
PAFF!
Crack! The sound of the fair maid’s neck snapping brought the entire room to silence.
“Whoops,” said Mango, biting his lip. “Forgot about the +5 on these gloves.”
“Whoops?” said Shana staring in disbelief. “Whoops! Is that all you’ve got to say for yourself?”
“Accidents, you know, err, happen. What were the conditions on that reward, anyway...?” asked Mango.
Wilson turned to the ceiling. His hands formed into the mystical ‘T’ symbol pleading for a time-out. “Been a bit of an accident down here. Do you think we could run through this bit again, please?”
The entire dungeon trembled, and the air froze as a bespectacled visage glowered down at the party. Then an enormous block of roof plaster fell from the ceiling smothering the A-Team’s plaintive stream of apologies with a deadening finality.
“Who’s got the blank character sheets?” came a disembodied voice from abstract darkness.
“Coffee, anyone?”
THE END.....
.....of the first story - more to come.
Last edited:
Buddha the DM
Explorer
That ending was classic. Can't wait to see more.
Inez Hull
First Post
Caraxus' Revenge
I: A Change of Cliche
Picture a teahouse; genteel atmosphere, chequered table cloths, matching cruet sets and well-mannered guests all being quietly and efficiently attended to by polite waiters each of whom have a small apron at their waist, a silver serving platter balanced on their left hand and a large white napkin draped across their forearm. Sounds lovely doesn’t it? A million miles from your dank, rat-infested dungeon, crawling with murderous orcs and blood spattered adventurers.
Hmm. What have we here? The table by the window; isn’t that Abel Zeek, the chubby cleric? Why is he looking so glum when seated in an eatery? And there is the lovely Shana, her pretty brow furrowed in frown. And lastly, Virgil seated at the table, still in his full plate armour.
Wonder what’s up?
“Two Orange Pekoes and a Lemon Scented over here, thanks!” Shana ordered in the drinks from a smiling waiter.
“Nice here isn’t it?” Virgil sighed contentedly and looked slowly around the bustling tables. “Different from our usual entrance amidst the murky chaos of some disreputable drinking den.” He paused to watch a pair of snappily dressed ogre-magi struggle to keep their little fingers correctly raised as they daintily sipped large cups of Imperial Blend. “Which raises the obvious question; why?”
Shana smiled knowingly as the waiter returned carrying a tray balanced high with fine china and steaming pots of tea.
“Just put them next to the foot,” Shana said pointing to a clear spot on the tabletop.
The waiter arched an eyebrow at the charcoaled remnant and retreated quickly into the cafe’s depths.
“Oooh,” gushed Virgil surveying the tray. “Little chocolate fortune cookies as well. I like them.”
“Quite,” said Shana, pertly. “In answer to your question, we’ve been heavily criticised lately for being derivative. You know, always starting in a rowdy tavern, where, after a rollicking but thoroughly enjoyable brawl, a complete stranger appears out of the blue and offers us vast sums of cash to complete a perilous adventure.”
“So,” said Virgil scooping a large dollop of double cream into his cup and taking an exceptionally large cookie, “there’ s another way?”
Shana nodded and sipped her tea. “Yup. We start in a pleasantly disarming little cafe, where nothing out of the ordinary would ever happen...,”
“....where, doubtless after a rollicking but thoroughly enjoyable brawl, a complete stranger will appear out of the blue and offer us vast sums to complete a perilous adventure,” ventured Virgil.
“Where,” corrected Shana, “we will ease ourselves decorously into the next adventure without all that macho claptrap and begin with a little intelligent role-playing.”
“Oh,” said Virgil doubtfully. “Great fun.”
“Are you sure that’s not enough?” asked a rather dejected Zeek suddenly coming out of his reverie. “I distinctly remember getting Shana resurrected from a single strand of hair from her...”
Shana coughed, almost choking on a sip of tea.
“...hairbrush.” Zeek finished.
“Yes,” lectured Shana. “But that’s not the problem.” The ranger picked up the burnt foot and thrust it into Zeek’ s face. “How many toes has that foot got?”
“Three,” answered Zeek brightly.
“And how many did Spud have?” Shana went on.
“Three, no six! Maybe four, who knows?”
Shana glared at the squirming lump of lard. “Five, Zeek. You know and I know he had five like everyone else.”
“Could have lost a few in the blast,” Abel Zeek sulked.
“Possibly, but then how do you explain those?” she asked pointing at the great hooked claws on the toes.
“Personal hygiene was never a high priority for Spud. They just need a little trimming!”
“They’re claws, you imbecile! Admit it, you’ve brought back the wrong foot!” she shouted and swept the offending article into Zeek’s lap. Some of the other clients in the cafe sent disapproving looks at the A-Team table.
Shana lowered her voice again, took another sip of tea and said; “Hopefully the boys’ll get enough money from our employer to hire a new thief.”
Virgil whistled softly and looked very busy with his fortune cookie at the word ‘thief’.
“We could go back and get Spud,” chirped Zeek. He was using the foot to scratch a point in the small of his back.
Shana frowned, “The A-Team NEVER goes back!”
Virgil looked up from attempting to unravel his cookie. “Yet we do owe it to our little comrade; after all, he was a fully paid up member with all the usual rights of recovery and restoration.”
Zeek smiled enthusiastically. “Yeah, and he always brought along those yummy cheesy biscuits.”
Shana reluctantly nodded in agreement. “We’ll put it to the rest of the Team when they get back...,”
Just then the swinging door’s to the cafe flew open with a loud clatter, causing the ogre-magi to look up from their plates of spaghetti with distinct disfavour, as in sauntered Mango resplendent in his death’s-head armour and a very flushed face, followed by Wilson smiling like the cat who has swallowed the cream-soaked mouse.
“Damnit, Shana!” bellowed Mango, somewhat unsettling the cafe’ s carefully created ambience. “We’ve looked in every two-bit tavern, bar, gin joint and brothel in this stinking town! What are you doing hiding in this...,” Mango looked around groping desperately for lost words. “This hellhole!”
“Cafe,” soothed Shana. “And keep your voice down.” She looked at the group of frowning waiter’s gathering near the entrance to the kitchen.
The newcomers slumped around the table. “What’ s this?” Mango asked as he grabbed a teapot and proceeded to pour its scalding contents down his unsuspecting throat. “YEOW!” he screamed. “Non-alcoholic!”
“Never mind that, how did you get on?” Shana asked, trying to calm things down before proceedings took their inevitable turn for the worse.
Mango looked at Wilson, who looked at the ceiling. “Nice ceiling rose don’t you think?”
“Well,” asked Shana, “did you get the money?”
“You tell her,” said Wilson, nudging Mango in the ribs.
“No you, you’re the clever one,” retorted Mango as he emptied the flowers out of the vase on the table and drank the water to cool his burning throat.
“You’re the leader!” Wilson demurred whilst scoffing a handful of the fortune cookies.
“TELL ME!” shrieked an infuriated Shana.
The cafe fell silent as every occupant turned to stare at the adventuring group. A waiter glided across and put his finger to his lips and hushed them. Shana whipped back a loose strand of hair behind her elongated elven ear and smiled her best placatory smile. The waiter backed away and people returned to their subdued conversations, shaking their heads at the total lack of moral fibre in the adventurer of today.
“OK,” began Wilson. “Well we explained to that merchant fellow about the terribly sad loss of his beloved daughter, who fell by the evil hands of those savage orcs just as we were about to execute a most amazing rescue...,”
Virgil coughed and chose to fiddle furiously with the stubborn wrapper of his fortune cookie rather than listen to any more of this sanitised version of true events.
“...and he cried. We cried. He cried some more. We asked for the money. He refused. We cried. We begged. He refused again. We hit him. He cried. We hit him again. He coughed up the gold and a few teeth. We thanked him and left.”
“Excellent. Enough cash for new gear?” asked Shana.
“Or to get Spud resurrected when we find him?” suggested Abel Zeek looking up from his food.
“As I was saying,” Wilson continued. ‘We set out to find you guys when, um, ” Wilson paused thoughtfully. “Whilst looking for a shop that sells rope, grapnel, iron spikes etcetera, we somehow found ourselves in Enrik’ s Extraneous Emporium and...,”
Shana turned an unflattering shade of red. “A magic shop! Spit it out, what did you buy?”
“Seeing as you asked.” Wilson rummaged amongst the linings of his voluminous robe and triumphantly pulled out a tiny enamelled cube.
“Just what we need, more dice,” said Shana scornfully.
“Dice! Dice! This, my dear, is no mere toy. This is Bugby’s Banal Bungalow!”
The A-Team leaned over the table to get a closer look, they were collectively unimpressed.
Wilson tried to salvage the situation. “With a single word of command, which is...,”
The group leaned forward again, attentively this time.
“...known only to me...,” said Wilson putting the item back beneath his robe.
The group leaned back.
“...Bugby’s Banal Bungalow will expand, transform and transmogrify into a fully-detached two-by-one, complete with, wait for it, a fully-enclosed horseport!” Wilson waited for the applause and following adulation. The group remained silent.
“Which does what?” asked Shana carefully.
“Just think of it! No more roughing it! Warm baths of an evening. Lounge chairs, beds, toilets!” Wilson beamed.
“Battlements? Towers? Defensible positions?” asked Virgil.
“Well no,” admitted the mage, “but it does come complete with child-proof locks to all external windows!”
“And you spent all our money on that?” Shana scowled.
“Hah!” Wilson looked hurt. “Do you think me so selfish!”
The A-Team merely stared back.
“Well I didn’t.”
Shana looked relieved. “Well at least that’s something.”
“Mango drank the rest,” Wilson finished.
Mango burped apologetically. Shana leapt to her feet. “I don’t believe you two! What are we going to do about new gear? Look at the state of my leathers.”
“The tattered look is quite becoming on you, Shana. Shows off your 18 charisma to a tee,” smirked Wilson.
“Shut up! And what are we going to do without a thief?” Shana was getting really worked up.
“Ah ah!” said Mango. “I’ve fixed that one. Met a few old mates who offered to rent us one part-time until we get Spud back on his foot..., feet. One’s going to be delivered.”
“Rent? That does it,” huffed an indignant Virgil. “No team to which I belong will operate with a rented, um, mercantile agent. We’ll have to go get Spud back.”
“Fine by me,” said Mango. “But we’ll use this one till then, agreed?” The group nodded
“One thing though,” asked Shana, “delivered? What do you mean by...,”
Suddenly the cafe’s plate glass window exploded as a large sack filled with a frantically wriggling object flew through it.
“...delivered.”
Once again, a heavy silence fell over the room, a cook carrying a heavy rolling pin appeared from the kitchen.
“Ladies and gentlemen, our latest mercantile agent,” Mango swept through an impossible bow in his armour as out of the smelly sack popped an ever smellier, dishevelled looking head. The cafe fell into pandemonium.
The head’s hair, which completely covered most of its face was coarse and matted with grime. Through the thief s snub, porcine nose ran a large gold ring which seemed to glint rather evilly. Beady, blood-red eyes locked onto the A-Team.
“Greetings, dudes. Dankwart, at your service!”
“Good grief,” Wilson looked dejected. “A half-orc!”
“Nope!” huffed Virgil. “I refuse to adventure with one of them! Its, its undignified.” He folded his arms with what he hoped was an air of finality. Behind him a group of agitated waiters were discoursing somewhat loudly with the cook.
“A half-orc! Me, not just any half-orc!” the thief adopted a look of extreme hurt. “Me Dankwart.”
The head waiter flitted over waving his arms at Mango, shouting something about broken windows and please leave. Mango slowly expanded out of his seat. “I’ll handle this.”
Shana’ s head spun frantically. Things were rapidly getting out of hand. “No, Mango. we’re going now.”
Mango, however, ignored her, pulling on his Mighty Mitts of Mauling with a grim look in his eye.
Meanwhile, the half-orc spoke. “I am THE Dankwart! It was I who single-handedly scaled the Tower of Zorick, to gain the Fire Gem of the Zills.”
“Wait a minute,” said Wilson deftly ducking under the projectile body of the cafe’s head waiter. “Weren’t you single-handed because the entire party died in that one?”
“Mango, N000!” shrieked Shana leaping onto Mango’s back in a vain attempt to stop him shoving the head of a very unhappy looking waiter into a tea pot.
“And it was I who removed the Eye of the Greater Bilge Beast from under it’s very nose!” Dankwart boasted.
“Two paladins and a squad of gnomes died in that one, Abel Zeek observed. Virgil, still struggling with his fortune cookie growled.
“NO! Not another window!” screamed Shana just a little too late to prevent another staff member rather hurriedly leaving the premises and entering the street outside amidst a loud tinkle of shattering glass.
“And that’s not to mention the winning of the Lost Treasure of the Sierra Mudry!” Dankwart blew out his chest.
Wilson’s eyes narrowed. “My brother died there. I think we’d better watch this one.
“DONE IT!”
They all turned to look at Virgil who was using the head of an unconscious waiter to crack open his fortune cookie at last.
"Look, a poem."
“Don’t read it,” yelled Shana over Mango’s head, her arms wrapped around the lug’s thick neck where she was being whirled about almost horizontally as Mango attempted the double hammer throw, a waiter in each super-powered hand.
“It’ll be a stupid unfathomable clue that’ll make us go on to another...,
“One Host to Attend, One Life to Feed, One Name to Summon,” Virgil read aloud.
“...quest.”
“Too late,” grumbled Wilson.
Mango tossed both whirling waiters simultaneously with a mighty throw sending them crashing across the table of the two ogre-magi, splashing tomato sauce all over the imperious pair. The cafe went very quiet. The angry ogre-magi looked up over the tangle of broken crockery and waiters, and sighted on the A-Team.
“Whoops,” suggested Mango. “Might be time to leave.”
The air in the cafe chilled, began to crackle and turn blue. The A-Team grabbed their gear, Abel Zeek stuffing extra cookies into his pockets, and bolted out the back.
Shana was still clinging to Mango’s neck, sobbing with frustration. “Just once!” she cried. “Just once I’d like us to leave by the front door!”
I: A Change of Cliche
Picture a teahouse; genteel atmosphere, chequered table cloths, matching cruet sets and well-mannered guests all being quietly and efficiently attended to by polite waiters each of whom have a small apron at their waist, a silver serving platter balanced on their left hand and a large white napkin draped across their forearm. Sounds lovely doesn’t it? A million miles from your dank, rat-infested dungeon, crawling with murderous orcs and blood spattered adventurers.
Hmm. What have we here? The table by the window; isn’t that Abel Zeek, the chubby cleric? Why is he looking so glum when seated in an eatery? And there is the lovely Shana, her pretty brow furrowed in frown. And lastly, Virgil seated at the table, still in his full plate armour.
Wonder what’s up?
“Two Orange Pekoes and a Lemon Scented over here, thanks!” Shana ordered in the drinks from a smiling waiter.
“Nice here isn’t it?” Virgil sighed contentedly and looked slowly around the bustling tables. “Different from our usual entrance amidst the murky chaos of some disreputable drinking den.” He paused to watch a pair of snappily dressed ogre-magi struggle to keep their little fingers correctly raised as they daintily sipped large cups of Imperial Blend. “Which raises the obvious question; why?”
Shana smiled knowingly as the waiter returned carrying a tray balanced high with fine china and steaming pots of tea.
“Just put them next to the foot,” Shana said pointing to a clear spot on the tabletop.
The waiter arched an eyebrow at the charcoaled remnant and retreated quickly into the cafe’s depths.
“Oooh,” gushed Virgil surveying the tray. “Little chocolate fortune cookies as well. I like them.”
“Quite,” said Shana, pertly. “In answer to your question, we’ve been heavily criticised lately for being derivative. You know, always starting in a rowdy tavern, where, after a rollicking but thoroughly enjoyable brawl, a complete stranger appears out of the blue and offers us vast sums of cash to complete a perilous adventure.”
“So,” said Virgil scooping a large dollop of double cream into his cup and taking an exceptionally large cookie, “there’ s another way?”
Shana nodded and sipped her tea. “Yup. We start in a pleasantly disarming little cafe, where nothing out of the ordinary would ever happen...,”
“....where, doubtless after a rollicking but thoroughly enjoyable brawl, a complete stranger will appear out of the blue and offer us vast sums to complete a perilous adventure,” ventured Virgil.
“Where,” corrected Shana, “we will ease ourselves decorously into the next adventure without all that macho claptrap and begin with a little intelligent role-playing.”
“Oh,” said Virgil doubtfully. “Great fun.”
“Are you sure that’s not enough?” asked a rather dejected Zeek suddenly coming out of his reverie. “I distinctly remember getting Shana resurrected from a single strand of hair from her...”
Shana coughed, almost choking on a sip of tea.
“...hairbrush.” Zeek finished.
“Yes,” lectured Shana. “But that’s not the problem.” The ranger picked up the burnt foot and thrust it into Zeek’ s face. “How many toes has that foot got?”
“Three,” answered Zeek brightly.
“And how many did Spud have?” Shana went on.
“Three, no six! Maybe four, who knows?”
Shana glared at the squirming lump of lard. “Five, Zeek. You know and I know he had five like everyone else.”
“Could have lost a few in the blast,” Abel Zeek sulked.
“Possibly, but then how do you explain those?” she asked pointing at the great hooked claws on the toes.
“Personal hygiene was never a high priority for Spud. They just need a little trimming!”
“They’re claws, you imbecile! Admit it, you’ve brought back the wrong foot!” she shouted and swept the offending article into Zeek’s lap. Some of the other clients in the cafe sent disapproving looks at the A-Team table.
Shana lowered her voice again, took another sip of tea and said; “Hopefully the boys’ll get enough money from our employer to hire a new thief.”
Virgil whistled softly and looked very busy with his fortune cookie at the word ‘thief’.
“We could go back and get Spud,” chirped Zeek. He was using the foot to scratch a point in the small of his back.
Shana frowned, “The A-Team NEVER goes back!”
Virgil looked up from attempting to unravel his cookie. “Yet we do owe it to our little comrade; after all, he was a fully paid up member with all the usual rights of recovery and restoration.”
Zeek smiled enthusiastically. “Yeah, and he always brought along those yummy cheesy biscuits.”
Shana reluctantly nodded in agreement. “We’ll put it to the rest of the Team when they get back...,”
Just then the swinging door’s to the cafe flew open with a loud clatter, causing the ogre-magi to look up from their plates of spaghetti with distinct disfavour, as in sauntered Mango resplendent in his death’s-head armour and a very flushed face, followed by Wilson smiling like the cat who has swallowed the cream-soaked mouse.
“Damnit, Shana!” bellowed Mango, somewhat unsettling the cafe’ s carefully created ambience. “We’ve looked in every two-bit tavern, bar, gin joint and brothel in this stinking town! What are you doing hiding in this...,” Mango looked around groping desperately for lost words. “This hellhole!”
“Cafe,” soothed Shana. “And keep your voice down.” She looked at the group of frowning waiter’s gathering near the entrance to the kitchen.
The newcomers slumped around the table. “What’ s this?” Mango asked as he grabbed a teapot and proceeded to pour its scalding contents down his unsuspecting throat. “YEOW!” he screamed. “Non-alcoholic!”
“Never mind that, how did you get on?” Shana asked, trying to calm things down before proceedings took their inevitable turn for the worse.
Mango looked at Wilson, who looked at the ceiling. “Nice ceiling rose don’t you think?”
“Well,” asked Shana, “did you get the money?”
“You tell her,” said Wilson, nudging Mango in the ribs.
“No you, you’re the clever one,” retorted Mango as he emptied the flowers out of the vase on the table and drank the water to cool his burning throat.
“You’re the leader!” Wilson demurred whilst scoffing a handful of the fortune cookies.
“TELL ME!” shrieked an infuriated Shana.
The cafe fell silent as every occupant turned to stare at the adventuring group. A waiter glided across and put his finger to his lips and hushed them. Shana whipped back a loose strand of hair behind her elongated elven ear and smiled her best placatory smile. The waiter backed away and people returned to their subdued conversations, shaking their heads at the total lack of moral fibre in the adventurer of today.
“OK,” began Wilson. “Well we explained to that merchant fellow about the terribly sad loss of his beloved daughter, who fell by the evil hands of those savage orcs just as we were about to execute a most amazing rescue...,”
Virgil coughed and chose to fiddle furiously with the stubborn wrapper of his fortune cookie rather than listen to any more of this sanitised version of true events.
“...and he cried. We cried. He cried some more. We asked for the money. He refused. We cried. We begged. He refused again. We hit him. He cried. We hit him again. He coughed up the gold and a few teeth. We thanked him and left.”
“Excellent. Enough cash for new gear?” asked Shana.
“Or to get Spud resurrected when we find him?” suggested Abel Zeek looking up from his food.
“As I was saying,” Wilson continued. ‘We set out to find you guys when, um, ” Wilson paused thoughtfully. “Whilst looking for a shop that sells rope, grapnel, iron spikes etcetera, we somehow found ourselves in Enrik’ s Extraneous Emporium and...,”
Shana turned an unflattering shade of red. “A magic shop! Spit it out, what did you buy?”
“Seeing as you asked.” Wilson rummaged amongst the linings of his voluminous robe and triumphantly pulled out a tiny enamelled cube.
“Just what we need, more dice,” said Shana scornfully.
“Dice! Dice! This, my dear, is no mere toy. This is Bugby’s Banal Bungalow!”
The A-Team leaned over the table to get a closer look, they were collectively unimpressed.
Wilson tried to salvage the situation. “With a single word of command, which is...,”
The group leaned forward again, attentively this time.
“...known only to me...,” said Wilson putting the item back beneath his robe.
The group leaned back.
“...Bugby’s Banal Bungalow will expand, transform and transmogrify into a fully-detached two-by-one, complete with, wait for it, a fully-enclosed horseport!” Wilson waited for the applause and following adulation. The group remained silent.
“Which does what?” asked Shana carefully.
“Just think of it! No more roughing it! Warm baths of an evening. Lounge chairs, beds, toilets!” Wilson beamed.
“Battlements? Towers? Defensible positions?” asked Virgil.
“Well no,” admitted the mage, “but it does come complete with child-proof locks to all external windows!”
“And you spent all our money on that?” Shana scowled.
“Hah!” Wilson looked hurt. “Do you think me so selfish!”
The A-Team merely stared back.
“Well I didn’t.”
Shana looked relieved. “Well at least that’s something.”
“Mango drank the rest,” Wilson finished.
Mango burped apologetically. Shana leapt to her feet. “I don’t believe you two! What are we going to do about new gear? Look at the state of my leathers.”
“The tattered look is quite becoming on you, Shana. Shows off your 18 charisma to a tee,” smirked Wilson.
“Shut up! And what are we going to do without a thief?” Shana was getting really worked up.
“Ah ah!” said Mango. “I’ve fixed that one. Met a few old mates who offered to rent us one part-time until we get Spud back on his foot..., feet. One’s going to be delivered.”
“Rent? That does it,” huffed an indignant Virgil. “No team to which I belong will operate with a rented, um, mercantile agent. We’ll have to go get Spud back.”
“Fine by me,” said Mango. “But we’ll use this one till then, agreed?” The group nodded
“One thing though,” asked Shana, “delivered? What do you mean by...,”
Suddenly the cafe’s plate glass window exploded as a large sack filled with a frantically wriggling object flew through it.
“...delivered.”
Once again, a heavy silence fell over the room, a cook carrying a heavy rolling pin appeared from the kitchen.
“Ladies and gentlemen, our latest mercantile agent,” Mango swept through an impossible bow in his armour as out of the smelly sack popped an ever smellier, dishevelled looking head. The cafe fell into pandemonium.
The head’s hair, which completely covered most of its face was coarse and matted with grime. Through the thief s snub, porcine nose ran a large gold ring which seemed to glint rather evilly. Beady, blood-red eyes locked onto the A-Team.
“Greetings, dudes. Dankwart, at your service!”
“Good grief,” Wilson looked dejected. “A half-orc!”
“Nope!” huffed Virgil. “I refuse to adventure with one of them! Its, its undignified.” He folded his arms with what he hoped was an air of finality. Behind him a group of agitated waiters were discoursing somewhat loudly with the cook.
“A half-orc! Me, not just any half-orc!” the thief adopted a look of extreme hurt. “Me Dankwart.”
The head waiter flitted over waving his arms at Mango, shouting something about broken windows and please leave. Mango slowly expanded out of his seat. “I’ll handle this.”
Shana’ s head spun frantically. Things were rapidly getting out of hand. “No, Mango. we’re going now.”
Mango, however, ignored her, pulling on his Mighty Mitts of Mauling with a grim look in his eye.
Meanwhile, the half-orc spoke. “I am THE Dankwart! It was I who single-handedly scaled the Tower of Zorick, to gain the Fire Gem of the Zills.”
“Wait a minute,” said Wilson deftly ducking under the projectile body of the cafe’s head waiter. “Weren’t you single-handed because the entire party died in that one?”
“Mango, N000!” shrieked Shana leaping onto Mango’s back in a vain attempt to stop him shoving the head of a very unhappy looking waiter into a tea pot.
“And it was I who removed the Eye of the Greater Bilge Beast from under it’s very nose!” Dankwart boasted.
“Two paladins and a squad of gnomes died in that one, Abel Zeek observed. Virgil, still struggling with his fortune cookie growled.
“NO! Not another window!” screamed Shana just a little too late to prevent another staff member rather hurriedly leaving the premises and entering the street outside amidst a loud tinkle of shattering glass.
“And that’s not to mention the winning of the Lost Treasure of the Sierra Mudry!” Dankwart blew out his chest.
Wilson’s eyes narrowed. “My brother died there. I think we’d better watch this one.
“DONE IT!”
They all turned to look at Virgil who was using the head of an unconscious waiter to crack open his fortune cookie at last.
"Look, a poem."
“Don’t read it,” yelled Shana over Mango’s head, her arms wrapped around the lug’s thick neck where she was being whirled about almost horizontally as Mango attempted the double hammer throw, a waiter in each super-powered hand.
“It’ll be a stupid unfathomable clue that’ll make us go on to another...,
“One Host to Attend, One Life to Feed, One Name to Summon,” Virgil read aloud.
“...quest.”
“Too late,” grumbled Wilson.
Mango tossed both whirling waiters simultaneously with a mighty throw sending them crashing across the table of the two ogre-magi, splashing tomato sauce all over the imperious pair. The cafe went very quiet. The angry ogre-magi looked up over the tangle of broken crockery and waiters, and sighted on the A-Team.
“Whoops,” suggested Mango. “Might be time to leave.”
The air in the cafe chilled, began to crackle and turn blue. The A-Team grabbed their gear, Abel Zeek stuffing extra cookies into his pockets, and bolted out the back.
Shana was still clinging to Mango’s neck, sobbing with frustration. “Just once!” she cried. “Just once I’d like us to leave by the front door!”
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Broccli_Head
Explorer
What great inspiration!
Inez Hull
First Post
II: A Disgraced Demon
In the pleasant shadow of a spreading chestnut tree, in a wide meadow blessed by the last rays of a balmy spring day a sullen shape huddled back from the Disneyesque landscape, grumpily watching as the sun set with a blaze of glory behind a distant range of picture postcard mountains. In the tree, above the creature’s head, roosting birds cooed at the day’s end, their happy warbling mingling with the babbling of a little brook that meandered by the misshapen creature’s gnarled feet. A playful otter splashed out of the crystal waters, lolloped over those same feet and headed back to the water. The beast howled indignation and clumsily kicked out at the otter; the sudden ferocity of the kick shook loose two smaller ugly shapes from the dark being's knobby shoulders. They screeched in pain as their feet touched the spongy turf
“Hurt, hurt, hurt,” squealed one of the imps.
“Please let us back up, master,” pleaded the second hopping painfully from one foot to the other.
“When are we gonna leave this hateful place?” wheedled the first imp.
“Me know,” the second imp smirked. “Never. We is banished forever!”
The great-eared beast roared and swatted the two imps with a mighty blow, burying them to their necks in the ground. They screeched as if scorched by hot coals, then bounded out, scrabbling up over each other to avoid the turf.
“Damned imps! Silence! Your whining causes me more pain than all this place’s blasted wholesomeness!”
“But it hurts us so,” pleaded the first imp.
“That’s because you’re a nasty, spiteful little creature and this land of our banishment is meant to drive us to the edge of insanity!” the beast roared.
Somewhere above them, a nightingale welcomed the rising moon with its delightful song. The dark trio held their hands to their ears and groaned.
“But it not our fault no-one’s frightened of you anymore, whined the imps.
“Frightened.” the beast boomed. “I’ll give you frightened!” he roared, pausing only to brush a pair of playful squirrels who were depositing chestnuts inside his flaring trunk.
“Harrumph. I’ve had a word in the Bespectacled One’s ear. Already dark, and needlessly convoluted plots are being set in motion. Soon minions will call for me, then we shall depart this place and visit terrible revenge on those incompetent swines that doomed us to this misery. I’ll frighten them!!!”
Caraxus bellowed impotently as a bambi fawn gently nuzzled against his leg.
In the pleasant shadow of a spreading chestnut tree, in a wide meadow blessed by the last rays of a balmy spring day a sullen shape huddled back from the Disneyesque landscape, grumpily watching as the sun set with a blaze of glory behind a distant range of picture postcard mountains. In the tree, above the creature’s head, roosting birds cooed at the day’s end, their happy warbling mingling with the babbling of a little brook that meandered by the misshapen creature’s gnarled feet. A playful otter splashed out of the crystal waters, lolloped over those same feet and headed back to the water. The beast howled indignation and clumsily kicked out at the otter; the sudden ferocity of the kick shook loose two smaller ugly shapes from the dark being's knobby shoulders. They screeched in pain as their feet touched the spongy turf
“Hurt, hurt, hurt,” squealed one of the imps.
“Please let us back up, master,” pleaded the second hopping painfully from one foot to the other.
“When are we gonna leave this hateful place?” wheedled the first imp.
“Me know,” the second imp smirked. “Never. We is banished forever!”
The great-eared beast roared and swatted the two imps with a mighty blow, burying them to their necks in the ground. They screeched as if scorched by hot coals, then bounded out, scrabbling up over each other to avoid the turf.
“Damned imps! Silence! Your whining causes me more pain than all this place’s blasted wholesomeness!”
“But it hurts us so,” pleaded the first imp.
“That’s because you’re a nasty, spiteful little creature and this land of our banishment is meant to drive us to the edge of insanity!” the beast roared.
Somewhere above them, a nightingale welcomed the rising moon with its delightful song. The dark trio held their hands to their ears and groaned.
“But it not our fault no-one’s frightened of you anymore, whined the imps.
“Frightened.” the beast boomed. “I’ll give you frightened!” he roared, pausing only to brush a pair of playful squirrels who were depositing chestnuts inside his flaring trunk.
“Harrumph. I’ve had a word in the Bespectacled One’s ear. Already dark, and needlessly convoluted plots are being set in motion. Soon minions will call for me, then we shall depart this place and visit terrible revenge on those incompetent swines that doomed us to this misery. I’ll frighten them!!!”
Caraxus bellowed impotently as a bambi fawn gently nuzzled against his leg.
Inez Hull
First Post
III: The Secret Door
After departing town in rather a hurry, the A-Team travelled back down the road towards the orcish stronghold. Around them the entire multiverse spiralled, the horizon miraculously keeping up with their walking pace; but then, it was all laid on for their convenience, after all.
“Quest,” said Virgil in a satisfied voice. “I love the smell of quests in the morning, smells like..., experience points.”
Wilson turned to Virgil in disgust. “Will you shut up. I don’t think it was a quest anyway, more like a dire warning.”
“Oh, that is comforting,” said Mango sarcastically.
“Pipe down all of you. It doesn’t really matter anyway, none of you will remember what it said when the time comes,” Shana prophesied.
“Well here we are,” Dankwart announced as the party crested the rise to look down at the familiar silhouette of the decaying palisade surrounding a squat ivy-clutched tower.
A sombre voice sounded from above, “Night falls.”
“This is gonna be a disaster,” Wilson moaned. “Never go back, First Law of the A-Team.”
“I thought it was ‘When in doubt, do nothing’ ," said Zeek.
“No, ‘Always turn left’ ," said Virgil.
Mango drew his sword with a flourish. “Let’s get on with it. A hacking and a slashing we will go!”
“Mango’s right...,” said Wilson.
“I am?” responded a confused Mango.
Wilson continued, “...this place will be a pushover, we’ll just go down the secret stairway at the back missing all the monster restocks, grab Spud and be home in time for a bacon sandwich for brekkie.”
“Mmm,” said Zeek, “sounds delicious!”
“In and out before the Chucker of Polygons knows what hit him,” nodded Shana. “Great!”
“That’s not gas spore tennis, He’ll be miffed,” warned Virgil looking to the heavens.
“No problem. Let’s have a gander at the map, Zeek,” said Mango.
“Are you sure about this plan,” Zeek asked.
“Zeek, the map!” they cried.
Reluctantly, the cleric took a sticky looking bundle out of his backpack, removed a leftover piece of cake and handed the crumpled paper to Mango. The party gathered around to study the parchment. Apart from some jam stains, all it contained was a large X, and a straight line running out of the X.
“What’s that?” asked Shana, pointing to a vague squiggle.
“It’s the map,” replied Zeek.
“A bit sparse on detail, ain’t it?” observed Mango.
“Well, I was a bit busy, looking for secret doors and stuff,” Zeek explained to his disbelieving comrades.
“What does it mean?” asked Wilson.
“That’s the entrance, and that’s the first corridor, and err, that’s a bit of chocolate eclair,” Zeek interpreted his scrawls.
“Right then,” said Wilson clapping his hands together in workmanlike fashion, “In through the out-door it is. Off you go, Dankwart, find it.”
Dankwart’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure this is al’right?”
“Perfectly,” Wilson cooed.
Dankwart wandered off to a promising pile of boulders not too far from the palisade walls. “Over here!” he called.
The party ambled over and looked impressed as Dankwart stood back from a doorway in the rocks, revealing a narrow, dark, stair leading down into the bowels of the earth.
Virgil fiddled with his codpiece.
“Are you laying on hands again?” asked Shana.
“No, girding my loins,” responded Virgil, a trifle miffed. “Light the torches, and I shall lead the way.
Virgil strode down onto the stairway with the rest of the party following behind.
At the rear of the party, Shana turned to Wilson and said with worried look on her face, “Didn’t take Dankthing long to find the secret entrance, did it?”
“No,” said Wilson jauntily. “I told you he was good.”
After departing town in rather a hurry, the A-Team travelled back down the road towards the orcish stronghold. Around them the entire multiverse spiralled, the horizon miraculously keeping up with their walking pace; but then, it was all laid on for their convenience, after all.
“Quest,” said Virgil in a satisfied voice. “I love the smell of quests in the morning, smells like..., experience points.”
Wilson turned to Virgil in disgust. “Will you shut up. I don’t think it was a quest anyway, more like a dire warning.”
“Oh, that is comforting,” said Mango sarcastically.
“Pipe down all of you. It doesn’t really matter anyway, none of you will remember what it said when the time comes,” Shana prophesied.
“Well here we are,” Dankwart announced as the party crested the rise to look down at the familiar silhouette of the decaying palisade surrounding a squat ivy-clutched tower.
A sombre voice sounded from above, “Night falls.”
“This is gonna be a disaster,” Wilson moaned. “Never go back, First Law of the A-Team.”
“I thought it was ‘When in doubt, do nothing’ ," said Zeek.
“No, ‘Always turn left’ ," said Virgil.
Mango drew his sword with a flourish. “Let’s get on with it. A hacking and a slashing we will go!”
“Mango’s right...,” said Wilson.
“I am?” responded a confused Mango.
Wilson continued, “...this place will be a pushover, we’ll just go down the secret stairway at the back missing all the monster restocks, grab Spud and be home in time for a bacon sandwich for brekkie.”
“Mmm,” said Zeek, “sounds delicious!”
“In and out before the Chucker of Polygons knows what hit him,” nodded Shana. “Great!”
“That’s not gas spore tennis, He’ll be miffed,” warned Virgil looking to the heavens.
“No problem. Let’s have a gander at the map, Zeek,” said Mango.
“Are you sure about this plan,” Zeek asked.
“Zeek, the map!” they cried.
Reluctantly, the cleric took a sticky looking bundle out of his backpack, removed a leftover piece of cake and handed the crumpled paper to Mango. The party gathered around to study the parchment. Apart from some jam stains, all it contained was a large X, and a straight line running out of the X.
“What’s that?” asked Shana, pointing to a vague squiggle.
“It’s the map,” replied Zeek.
“A bit sparse on detail, ain’t it?” observed Mango.
“Well, I was a bit busy, looking for secret doors and stuff,” Zeek explained to his disbelieving comrades.
“What does it mean?” asked Wilson.
“That’s the entrance, and that’s the first corridor, and err, that’s a bit of chocolate eclair,” Zeek interpreted his scrawls.
“Right then,” said Wilson clapping his hands together in workmanlike fashion, “In through the out-door it is. Off you go, Dankwart, find it.”
Dankwart’s brow furrowed. “Are you sure this is al’right?”
“Perfectly,” Wilson cooed.
Dankwart wandered off to a promising pile of boulders not too far from the palisade walls. “Over here!” he called.
The party ambled over and looked impressed as Dankwart stood back from a doorway in the rocks, revealing a narrow, dark, stair leading down into the bowels of the earth.
Virgil fiddled with his codpiece.
“Are you laying on hands again?” asked Shana.
“No, girding my loins,” responded Virgil, a trifle miffed. “Light the torches, and I shall lead the way.
Virgil strode down onto the stairway with the rest of the party following behind.
At the rear of the party, Shana turned to Wilson and said with worried look on her face, “Didn’t take Dankthing long to find the secret entrance, did it?”
“No,” said Wilson jauntily. “I told you he was good.”
Inez Hull
First Post
IV: The Welcoming Committee
Deep within the dark, underground labyrinth in an orcish barracks room, Shaman Ragnurk is conducting a snap inspection of his Honour Guard. These grunts with bad breath and worse dining habits are some of the biggest, meanest orcs ever to eat raw elves for breakfast. Shaman Ragnurk kicked the orc in front of him then turned to spit on Squelbum his mistrusted Lieutenant.
“You all make me sick!” Ragnurk growled, then barfed all down of one of his orc guards to emphasise his point.
“Squelbum, if that bastard doesn’t bring those lily-livered top-wonders, I’ll, I’ll...,” he delivered a swift backhander to his astonished Lieutenant.
“But Shaman Ragnurk, what if they don’t have It? There is not much time left to summon the Beast Who Will Rise Up and Randomly Slay Without Mercy!” squealed a querulous Squelbum.
Ragnurk fell upon his unfortunate lieutenant, raining down blows with huge mailed fists to punctuate his fury. “Who asked you to speak plot developments?” Ragnurk raged.
Squelbum attempted to squeak a reply through shattered tusks but Ragnurk grabbed him by the throat and began to squeeze with sensitive New Age claws the size of zucchinis. “That, my boy, was what is known as a rhetorikal question!”
“Shaman Ragnurk, sir!” a large orc yelled. “Beg to report lily-livered top-worlders that look remarkably like those who stole the most revered artifact are coming this way, sir!”
Ragnurk dropped Squelbum. “Well I’ll be a goblin’s uncle, so it is.” A rare smile creased his odious face. “For once, that dragon-dropping of a half-brother got it right.”
The A-Team clattered to an abrupt halt at the barracks’ open doorway and peered in at the grotesque figures within.
“Orcs!’ hissed Mango.
“Recognise them, Dankwart?” asked Shana.
Dankwart peered into the room. “Yup, them’s orcs al’right.” Dankwart then retreated to the back of the group.
“That was useful,” shrugged Virgil.
“Normally they attack in a frenzied rabble. We’ll just stand in this doorway and take ‘em one at a time,” Mango commanded.
The orcs, with amazing discipline, formed up into orderly ranks across the room with Ragnurk looming behind.
“Pretty unsporting lot,” Virgil commented.
Ragnurk stepped forward and spoke out loudly, “Azgutrk noblid weffleham.”
Mango looked over his shoulder, “Anyone speak Orcish?” The group all responded at once;
“Goblin and Elven,” replied Shana. “Ogre, Treant, and Mongrelman,” replied Wilson. “Green Dragon,” piped up Zeek, “all twelve dialects.” “Lawful Pompous,” replied Virgil.
“Good, means we can’t understand a word they say. We’ll just have to waste ‘em!” said Mango.
“I have the solution!” Wilson chipped in. “Comprehend Languages spell.” The mage began weaving his hands in intricate patterns as he stepped in front of Mango. Slowly, the rest of the group filed into the barracks room.
“Greetings orcs,” Wilson called out in an exaggerated accent. “We come in peace.”
The A-Team waited for a reaction. All except Abel Zeek were hanging on the orc’s next word; the cleric, however, was busily flicking through a large tome, a smile forming.
Ragnurk raised his right hand in the universal sign of peace.
“I don’t believe it,” Shana whispered in awe, “Something we tried actually worked!”
Wilson, his face flushed with success continued, “We come to trade this foot,” he held out the charred relic, “for any remnant of the one we call Spud.”
Ragnurk scratched his chin with a cruel looking claw. Squelbum was hopping excitedly from one foot to the other. “They have It!” he whispered hoarsely.
“Must be a trap,” said the shaman uncertainly. “No one in their right mind would trade one of the multiverse’s ten greatest artifacts for a potato!”
Wilson turned to the group to translate what he’d overheard, “They’re weakening.”
At this point Zeek’s face lit up and he held forth the tome triumphantly in Wilson’s face.
“Just as I thought!” cried Zeek. “It doesn’t work. Only clerics can cast Comprehend Languages, so there!”
“Bring us the object and we’ll give you what you want,” Ragnurk finally announced.
The A-Team turned to Wilson. “What’d he say?”
Wilson glowered at the beaming Zeek. “I don’t know,” he said darkly, his fingers flexing angrily.
“Serve’s you right,” said Zeek grabbing the foot and waddling past Wilson towards the orcs. “I’ll deal with this.”
“We gotum foot to swapum for bitum of Spudum,” Zeek babbled to an increasingly bewildered Ragnurk.
“I’ll fry his fat!” Wilson exploded and raised his hands.
“Wilson, NO!” Shana screamed, “My hair has only just grown back!”
The A-Team leapt on Wilson in a panic. After a wild jumble of arms and legs, Virgil, Mango and Shana finally got to their feet with a shaking Wilson slowly calming down.
They looked around. “Where’s Zeek?” asked Virgil.
Zeek and the orcs were gone. Dankwart smiled secretly.
Deep within the dark, underground labyrinth in an orcish barracks room, Shaman Ragnurk is conducting a snap inspection of his Honour Guard. These grunts with bad breath and worse dining habits are some of the biggest, meanest orcs ever to eat raw elves for breakfast. Shaman Ragnurk kicked the orc in front of him then turned to spit on Squelbum his mistrusted Lieutenant.
“You all make me sick!” Ragnurk growled, then barfed all down of one of his orc guards to emphasise his point.
“Squelbum, if that bastard doesn’t bring those lily-livered top-wonders, I’ll, I’ll...,” he delivered a swift backhander to his astonished Lieutenant.
“But Shaman Ragnurk, what if they don’t have It? There is not much time left to summon the Beast Who Will Rise Up and Randomly Slay Without Mercy!” squealed a querulous Squelbum.
Ragnurk fell upon his unfortunate lieutenant, raining down blows with huge mailed fists to punctuate his fury. “Who asked you to speak plot developments?” Ragnurk raged.
Squelbum attempted to squeak a reply through shattered tusks but Ragnurk grabbed him by the throat and began to squeeze with sensitive New Age claws the size of zucchinis. “That, my boy, was what is known as a rhetorikal question!”
“Shaman Ragnurk, sir!” a large orc yelled. “Beg to report lily-livered top-worlders that look remarkably like those who stole the most revered artifact are coming this way, sir!”
Ragnurk dropped Squelbum. “Well I’ll be a goblin’s uncle, so it is.” A rare smile creased his odious face. “For once, that dragon-dropping of a half-brother got it right.”
The A-Team clattered to an abrupt halt at the barracks’ open doorway and peered in at the grotesque figures within.
“Orcs!’ hissed Mango.
“Recognise them, Dankwart?” asked Shana.
Dankwart peered into the room. “Yup, them’s orcs al’right.” Dankwart then retreated to the back of the group.
“That was useful,” shrugged Virgil.
“Normally they attack in a frenzied rabble. We’ll just stand in this doorway and take ‘em one at a time,” Mango commanded.
The orcs, with amazing discipline, formed up into orderly ranks across the room with Ragnurk looming behind.
“Pretty unsporting lot,” Virgil commented.
Ragnurk stepped forward and spoke out loudly, “Azgutrk noblid weffleham.”
Mango looked over his shoulder, “Anyone speak Orcish?” The group all responded at once;
“Goblin and Elven,” replied Shana. “Ogre, Treant, and Mongrelman,” replied Wilson. “Green Dragon,” piped up Zeek, “all twelve dialects.” “Lawful Pompous,” replied Virgil.
“Good, means we can’t understand a word they say. We’ll just have to waste ‘em!” said Mango.
“I have the solution!” Wilson chipped in. “Comprehend Languages spell.” The mage began weaving his hands in intricate patterns as he stepped in front of Mango. Slowly, the rest of the group filed into the barracks room.
“Greetings orcs,” Wilson called out in an exaggerated accent. “We come in peace.”
The A-Team waited for a reaction. All except Abel Zeek were hanging on the orc’s next word; the cleric, however, was busily flicking through a large tome, a smile forming.
Ragnurk raised his right hand in the universal sign of peace.
“I don’t believe it,” Shana whispered in awe, “Something we tried actually worked!”
Wilson, his face flushed with success continued, “We come to trade this foot,” he held out the charred relic, “for any remnant of the one we call Spud.”
Ragnurk scratched his chin with a cruel looking claw. Squelbum was hopping excitedly from one foot to the other. “They have It!” he whispered hoarsely.
“Must be a trap,” said the shaman uncertainly. “No one in their right mind would trade one of the multiverse’s ten greatest artifacts for a potato!”
Wilson turned to the group to translate what he’d overheard, “They’re weakening.”
At this point Zeek’s face lit up and he held forth the tome triumphantly in Wilson’s face.
“Just as I thought!” cried Zeek. “It doesn’t work. Only clerics can cast Comprehend Languages, so there!”
“Bring us the object and we’ll give you what you want,” Ragnurk finally announced.
The A-Team turned to Wilson. “What’d he say?”
Wilson glowered at the beaming Zeek. “I don’t know,” he said darkly, his fingers flexing angrily.
“Serve’s you right,” said Zeek grabbing the foot and waddling past Wilson towards the orcs. “I’ll deal with this.”
“We gotum foot to swapum for bitum of Spudum,” Zeek babbled to an increasingly bewildered Ragnurk.
“I’ll fry his fat!” Wilson exploded and raised his hands.
“Wilson, NO!” Shana screamed, “My hair has only just grown back!”
The A-Team leapt on Wilson in a panic. After a wild jumble of arms and legs, Virgil, Mango and Shana finally got to their feet with a shaking Wilson slowly calming down.
They looked around. “Where’s Zeek?” asked Virgil.
Zeek and the orcs were gone. Dankwart smiled secretly.
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