Thanks all what with Sig thing fixed I feel the need to carry on...
Turn 3.5
Warning dear reader the epistle below has a high broad Yorkshire accent content, for those uninitiated in the mysteries of the Yorkshire dialect then the following may help you along the road.
Warnin eh up reada t' epistle bela 'as eur 'igh broad Yorksha accent content, for those uninitiated int' mysteries o' t' Yorksha accen'tli' then t' followin may 'elp theur along t' ruwad.
This is of course because a vast majority of the Goblinoid races come from Yorkshire- you were all thinking it, I’ve just gone that extra mile and said it.
Dis is o' course 'cos eur vast majority o' t' Goblinoid races belong Yorkshire- theur wor orl thinkin it, I’ve just gone 'a' extreur mile 'n sez it.
Bloody hell- stop that.
Bloody 'ell- gi'o'a 'a'.
Durnn, Goblin Chief, & Top Farter.
Durnn, a face like thunder, creases furrow his Hobgoblin brow, his piggy eyes tight shut, sits on his throne and… What is he doing? Grenl, a third of Durnn’s size, Goblin priestess of Maglubiyet, the Lord of Depths and Darkness, stands close to her chieftain waiting, expectant.
Around the circular chamber other Goblins and Hobgoblins shuffle, avoiding, as best they can, the sight of their chief. Time stretches, nothing moves, except perhaps the spiky bush in a plant pot by the throne- there is no breeze here however.
Eventually…
PPPPPaaaRRRp
Durnn quickly reaches between his legs, scoops and cups quickly catching the fart smell, and just as swiftly stretches out his hollowed hands to Grenl, opens them slightly as Grenl edges her nose into the gap in his hands.
SNNNNIIIFFFFF
Grenl straightens, too quickly, takes a woozy step back to steady herself, still several feet away from the cavernous hole in the chambers floor that stretches down into the dark and unknown depths, a ring of tendril like lianas outline the inky abyss.
Grenl closes her eyes, blinks them open once or twice, all trance-like, then suddenly snaps them open again- stares hard at her master, she has her answer.
“You’ve bin eyting…”
Durnn leans forward.
“Thy favourite- 'uman.”
‘AR ‘AR
Durnn chuckles and nods- she’s good, the priestess, never wrong.
PAAAArP
He lets another one go, clacks his mouth open and shut, tastes the stink in the air- Human, his favourite food.
EEEERRRRRRR
The massive double doors swing open- a Goblin pokes his head into the chamber, it’s Ringpull Fliptop, a lowly guard. He staggers into the room- creeps forward, then sights his chieftain and falls to his knees. He’s out of breath, or else very nervous, taking huge gulps of air.
“Lut, ah av dire news.”
Durnn looks up, notices Ringpull.
“Speyt.”
Ringpull looks around, in search of friends- he finds none.
“T' Dragon… it’s bin teken.”
“WHHHHAAAAAATT?”
Durnn leaps off his throne, the bloodstained chest he uses as a footrest rocks back and forth.
“WWHHHATTT?”
He charges up to Ringpull, grabs him roughly- drags him to his feet and up, face to face, Ringpull’s feet dangle at least two feet from the floor. Ringpull looks left, the never ending darkness of the hole, it would be easy for Durnn to just throw him in.
“It wor teken, adventurers- 'eear int' Citadel, thee tuk t' Dragon- 'eaded off, teur t' Kobahds- 'Amfield… ah think.”
“’A?”
“Thee killed many… menny, many… a alsooarts.”
“'N 'a did theur cum ta kna dis?”
“Ah saw 'em, ah wor 'iding- thee nivva saw uz. 'onest. even t' Elf.”
‘AR ‘AR
Durnn rumbles then settles for a low chuckle, he pivots round, Ringpull now dangles fully over the abyss.
“'A menny?”
“Er… fowa, neya five- thee 'ed eur Kobowd wi' 'em.”
“Wha' did thee skeg li'?”
“Elf wor warrior, ah think, or sneyty, don’t kna which, t' leader- 'e issued orders. 'E 'ed t' dragon on 'is 'ead- it liked 'im. Tincan- warrior, gormless lookin, summa' unda nose, not 'air- li' slug. Anotha tincan, scruffy looking- could be priest, dunnoa why, think. Last, tall wi' pointy noggin, wooar eur frock wi' star 'n moon on, could be lady, neya 'andbag though.”
“'Un Elf- t' others?”
“'Uman- orl o' others. 'Uman.”
Durnn stretches his arm out, right over the black hole, shakes Ringpull violently.
“Truth?”
“'Onest. 'Onest. Swear by Maglab… Magliy… Maglayby… Grenl, swear on priestess. ‘Onest.”
Durnn swings hard around, Ringpull still in hand, drops the terrified Goblin on solid ground, Ringpull quickly struggles to his feet.
“Gerr t' others, we nip on …”
Ringpull goes to skedaddle, Durnn launches out an arm- stops him.
He rises to his full height, looks fierce, and goes all googly-eyed.
SNIFF SNIFF
Durnn looks down at Ringpull, who covers his face with his hands.
“WHOA FARTED?”
Ringpull chances a look, Durnn is inches from his face.
“WHOA-‘AS-FARTED?”
Ringpull gulps.
“Theur av Lut?”
‘AR ‘AR
“Gerr others, nip on. Tahhm ea', favourite- 'Uman. We kill Kobahds tooa, for once 'n for orl. Evatown smash 'Amfield.” Durnn announces.
Ringpull scurries off as Durnn strides back to his throne, motions to Grenl, the Goblin priestess sidles up, all teeth- grinning.
“Lut?”
“'Umans, twoa fert Ahtcast, 'un for me- sem as afowa.”
“'N t' Elf?”
Durnn grins.
“Puddin.”
He stands up quickly, and is off again towards the door, the guards swiftly fall in line.
EEEEERRRRRR
Pushes the huge doors open.
“DUR-UN DUR-UN DUR-UN DUR-UN”
The assembled Goblins chant- ready for war. Durnn waves an arm, signals silence. His warriors obey.
“Cum, we nip on.”
And at a run.
The Goblin women and children congregate to watch the army depart, they ululate their farewell to the warrior braves.
“TEEUR TAHM. TEEUR TAHM. TEEUR TAHM.”
The warriors too fill the air with the sounds of their bloodcurdling screams and shouts.
“DEEE-ARRRR-AY.
We’re Durnn’s republican army.
We’re barmy.
Whereva we gew.
We fear neya foe.
Because we’re Durnn’s republican army.”
The stomp of the Goblin’s boots and the clash of their weapons on their shields echoes back to the women.
They go to destroy.
Next Turn- Who knows? We’re upto date- anything could happen, pray for TPK.
