18 Feb 2015
Fleshmeat
The gnoblars emerged from the trees, scuttling over the rocks in their usual higgledy piggledy manner. Habbdok did not bother to count them as he could see there were still plenty left for his purposes, which was all that mattered to him. Most men who saw his servants laughed. One captain in the Princes described them as comical. Knowing them - their nastiness, their unpleasant goblin stench, their foul ways (and it takes considerable talent to seem foul to an ogre) Habbdok could not see what the man had meant. Annoying, yes. Too small and skinny for both their arms and armour, yes. Funny, no, not in the slightest.
As they clattered to a halt, Habbdok squinted, flicking his eyes from one to another in search of any he could expect to get some sense from. The closest to him was so out of breath he did not look as if he could speak if he tried. All his own fault, of course, for he had a triple-layered helm tilting to one side on his head and an ill-fitting iron breastplate, all made heavier by several, dangling lengths of chain with no apparent purpose. His cheeks were puffed, and he all but dragged a battered and most likely blunted iron axe with both hands, his back and legs bent from the strain.
There was a clutch of four gnoblars off to one side, even more misshapen and bent than the puffing one, but they simply stared at him as if they were expecting him to speak. Habbdok could feel the usual surge of furious impatience already building, his head throbbing beneath his skull plate, as he wondered yet again at their stupidity. They were here to report to him, yet they seemed to expect him to report to them!
Still they stared.
Just as he was tempted to stick the razor-sharp tip of his hunting bolt through the panting pie-hole of the foremost gnoblar, he caught sight of a little runt with ridiculously over-large horns adorning his noddle-pot, and not a single tooth to line his raggedy maw. That was one he recognised, and one who had proved capable of something approaching intelligence in the past. Horny was the name Habbdok had given him before.
Indeed, the gnoblar took the cue, and pointed towards the forest canopy. Mighty Hunter, lord of gristle and bone, wes been over there an all round an back agin, he said.
Very nice, snarled Habbdok. Stretching your legs and aving a breath of fresh, eh?
Horny grinned to reveal swollen, bloody red gums. An looking, ocourse. A lot o looking.
So heres a thought for you, said Habbdok. Why not tell me what you saw before I get so angry youll never have a chance to tell again? Dyou see the the denizens, or not?
The gnoblars grin changed to a rather more fixed affair, almost imperceptibly. Habbdok certainly noticed no difference, having never been of a mind to look for such subtleties in runts like this.
No denizens. Nuffink. If theys there, then theys slippery an sneaky, leavin not so much as a bent leaf behind.
Habbdok pondered this. If there was no-one there, then why was the army going the long way around? Mangler had changed his mind, never saying why. But it had been obvious he had first planned to go through the forest, which is why his change of plans had been noticed. Most of the lads seemed to think it was because what little they might find in the forest would not make up for the effort of finding it. One or two had suggested, though never within earshot of Mangler or any of his lieutenants, that Mangler was afraid of the trees and what they contained, conjuring thoughts of bark-skinned, monstrous demons and invisible foes planting arrows in your eyes, just like in the old stories of the forest. Habbdok had given this latter suggestion little credence, yet still wondered why they couldnt go a little deeper, if only to find some bigger cuts of fleshmeat for the supper pots, or maybe some flesh of the sweetest kind. And if the trees were thinning, as they seemed indeed to be, surely it would save time to go along a forest path which went the right direction than continue this circumambulation?
Then again, there could be so many other reasons for their route, including the quite likely possibility that Mangler simply intended to enjoy some good looting off to the side as they made their way. Having a destination in mind was one thing, but there were many reasons to take ones time getting there. None of the lads were complaining about taking the easy route: the rootless route; the flat ease of the old road instead of the tangled briars of the ancient forest. Just a pity that the wild animals Habbdok would dearly love to hunt were so unlikely to favour the same route, nor were the Sylvan folk the sort to traverse such an open road. He had never tasted their flesh, but he had heard more than one report that it was a delicacy beyond compare.
While Habbdok the Hunter did his thinking, two of the gnoblars were sharing their own thoughts.
Hell ave us running back in any moment, said Frokit Anglegrinch, both hands clutching the shaft of his bill-hook as if he might fall without it. Look at em. Everyone else gets to walk .. Id go so far as to say amble while we has to scamper never-ending hither and thither through a tangle of thorns.
His companion, Pooshin Cotchwallop, twisted his frowning mouth to ever lower depths, his chin thrusting more prominently between the sagging lips. If one took into account his protruding eyes and his potato nose, the sum of the parts made for one ugly whole, neatly framed by his chainmail hood. Mind you, Frokit was no looker either.
Pooshin looked beyond the Ogre hunter at the marching column on the road.
Some aint even doing that, Frokit, he said, watching the huge, grey beast carrying the scraplauncher and its numerous gnoblar crew, but sit all comfy-like as their beast does the work beneath their idle arses.
I hope they get splinters in their backsides, Frokit spat through his teeth, and that all the jolting gives their joints the jip.
Habbdok had at last come to a decision, so, clearing his throat loudly enough to make the beast of burden behind him grunt
he gave his orders: Youre all going back in, and this time youll look properly, or Ill have your eyes in a bowl for a tasty treat while supper roasts. Everyone knows what lives in these woods, and if you cant find them youre not looking hard enough. Do something naughty and get their attention. I know youre good at running away. See if you cant get someone to chase you. And if you cant net them, bring them my way and Ill stick a stick through em.
Behind him the column continued its journey, Mangler the Mercilesss Mercenaries, flags a-fluttering overhead while their iron shod boots ground the road to dust.
The gnoblars emerged from the trees, scuttling over the rocks in their usual higgledy piggledy manner. Habbdok did not bother to count them as he could see there were still plenty left for his purposes, which was all that mattered to him. Most men who saw his servants laughed. One captain in the Princes described them as comical. Knowing them - their nastiness, their unpleasant goblin stench, their foul ways (and it takes considerable talent to seem foul to an ogre) Habbdok could not see what the man had meant. Annoying, yes. Too small and skinny for both their arms and armour, yes. Funny, no, not in the slightest.
As they clattered to a halt, Habbdok squinted, flicking his eyes from one to another in search of any he could expect to get some sense from. The closest to him was so out of breath he did not look as if he could speak if he tried. All his own fault, of course, for he had a triple-layered helm tilting to one side on his head and an ill-fitting iron breastplate, all made heavier by several, dangling lengths of chain with no apparent purpose. His cheeks were puffed, and he all but dragged a battered and most likely blunted iron axe with both hands, his back and legs bent from the strain.
There was a clutch of four gnoblars off to one side, even more misshapen and bent than the puffing one, but they simply stared at him as if they were expecting him to speak. Habbdok could feel the usual surge of furious impatience already building, his head throbbing beneath his skull plate, as he wondered yet again at their stupidity. They were here to report to him, yet they seemed to expect him to report to them!
Still they stared.
Just as he was tempted to stick the razor-sharp tip of his hunting bolt through the panting pie-hole of the foremost gnoblar, he caught sight of a little runt with ridiculously over-large horns adorning his noddle-pot, and not a single tooth to line his raggedy maw. That was one he recognised, and one who had proved capable of something approaching intelligence in the past. Horny was the name Habbdok had given him before.
Indeed, the gnoblar took the cue, and pointed towards the forest canopy. Mighty Hunter, lord of gristle and bone, wes been over there an all round an back agin, he said.
Very nice, snarled Habbdok. Stretching your legs and aving a breath of fresh, eh?
Horny grinned to reveal swollen, bloody red gums. An looking, ocourse. A lot o looking.
So heres a thought for you, said Habbdok. Why not tell me what you saw before I get so angry youll never have a chance to tell again? Dyou see the the denizens, or not?
The gnoblars grin changed to a rather more fixed affair, almost imperceptibly. Habbdok certainly noticed no difference, having never been of a mind to look for such subtleties in runts like this.
No denizens. Nuffink. If theys there, then theys slippery an sneaky, leavin not so much as a bent leaf behind.
Habbdok pondered this. If there was no-one there, then why was the army going the long way around? Mangler had changed his mind, never saying why. But it had been obvious he had first planned to go through the forest, which is why his change of plans had been noticed. Most of the lads seemed to think it was because what little they might find in the forest would not make up for the effort of finding it. One or two had suggested, though never within earshot of Mangler or any of his lieutenants, that Mangler was afraid of the trees and what they contained, conjuring thoughts of bark-skinned, monstrous demons and invisible foes planting arrows in your eyes, just like in the old stories of the forest. Habbdok had given this latter suggestion little credence, yet still wondered why they couldnt go a little deeper, if only to find some bigger cuts of fleshmeat for the supper pots, or maybe some flesh of the sweetest kind. And if the trees were thinning, as they seemed indeed to be, surely it would save time to go along a forest path which went the right direction than continue this circumambulation?
Then again, there could be so many other reasons for their route, including the quite likely possibility that Mangler simply intended to enjoy some good looting off to the side as they made their way. Having a destination in mind was one thing, but there were many reasons to take ones time getting there. None of the lads were complaining about taking the easy route: the rootless route; the flat ease of the old road instead of the tangled briars of the ancient forest. Just a pity that the wild animals Habbdok would dearly love to hunt were so unlikely to favour the same route, nor were the Sylvan folk the sort to traverse such an open road. He had never tasted their flesh, but he had heard more than one report that it was a delicacy beyond compare.
While Habbdok the Hunter did his thinking, two of the gnoblars were sharing their own thoughts.
Hell ave us running back in any moment, said Frokit Anglegrinch, both hands clutching the shaft of his bill-hook as if he might fall without it. Look at em. Everyone else gets to walk .. Id go so far as to say amble while we has to scamper never-ending hither and thither through a tangle of thorns.
His companion, Pooshin Cotchwallop, twisted his frowning mouth to ever lower depths, his chin thrusting more prominently between the sagging lips. If one took into account his protruding eyes and his potato nose, the sum of the parts made for one ugly whole, neatly framed by his chainmail hood. Mind you, Frokit was no looker either.
Pooshin looked beyond the Ogre hunter at the marching column on the road.
Some aint even doing that, Frokit, he said, watching the huge, grey beast carrying the scraplauncher and its numerous gnoblar crew, but sit all comfy-like as their beast does the work beneath their idle arses.
I hope they get splinters in their backsides, Frokit spat through his teeth, and that all the jolting gives their joints the jip.
Habbdok had at last come to a decision, so, clearing his throat loudly enough to make the beast of burden behind him grunt
he gave his orders: Youre all going back in, and this time youll look properly, or Ill have your eyes in a bowl for a tasty treat while supper roasts. Everyone knows what lives in these woods, and if you cant find them youre not looking hard enough. Do something naughty and get their attention. I know youre good at running away. See if you cant get someone to chase you. And if you cant net them, bring them my way and Ill stick a stick through em.
Behind him the column continued its journey, Mangler the Mercilesss Mercenaries, flags a-fluttering overhead while their iron shod boots ground the road to dust.