Known World

The Ogre Emissary

(26-Jul-06)

"Bookem" : Bookem Danno (Jamie), Human Funken Wagnall Priest
"Lon" : Lon Gon (Jeff Clendon), Half-Elf Thief
"Stanley" : Stanley Doff (Ian Luxton), Human Psi, ESP
"Opera" : Opera Winifrey (Shane Barr), Human Priest, 21
"Zippo" : Zip O'Lighter (Matt Carr), Human Hob TF

The party tended to their wounds. It did not look good: Poor Fiona dead, Zippo zonked and Bookem zonked.

"Looks like we better head back to camp," muttered Private Stule. "Fat lot of reconnoitring we can do now. You fuckers are next to useless. And two lizardmen got away. They'll return with extras, you mark my words. I'll try to hide the tracks."

Zippo was placed in a make-shift stretcher. Being a heavy chap and with all his armour and heavy sword, he needed four on the stretcher just to be carried: Stanley, Lon, Randy and Opera. Private Stule was strong enough to carry the feather-weight Bookem in a fireman's lift.

However, most of the day passed peacefully, and there was no sign of pursuit.

"Strange that," muttered Stule. "You lot aren't exactly quiet, and hidin' yer tracks is slow business. Why have we not been overtaken?"

As if to answer his cheerful comments, there was suddenly the sounds of battle off in the distance: the clash of metal on metal, grunting cries and angry yells.

"Best we leave them to themselves," he muttered wryly.

Camp was made and night fell. It was a peaceful night.

In the morning, the weary crew limped on, still stretchering Zippo. Stule still lugging Bookem.

Suddenly, there was crashing. Noisy splashing through the swamp.

Stule snapped "Four! In a hurry!" and dumped Bookem's body onto a nearby tuffet.

The rest of the party, scattered and hid, leaving Zippo and his stretcher, teetering on some magrove roots.

Four lizardmen came rushing past. They did not even slow in their sprint, as they raced past the party. One was wounded.

Randy moaned: "Whatever is chasing them must be nasty..."

Sure enough, louder footfalls, heavy, further apart, were approaching. The pools of still water rippled as the ground shook. It was nearing: closer, closer, closer.

A hideous figure, nine feet tall at least, lumbered in to the group. A huge ugly head, no neck, a mighty barrel of a body rippling with muscle, huge arms as thick as Zippo's thigh, enormous tree trunk legs, and huge booted feet the size of a small boat. It was wearing a huge suit of studded leather, and carrying an enormous club.

Bookem looked up from his tuffet and whimpered "That is an ogre."

"Raaarrrghh ARgghh Trowewllls!!" the hideous creature bellowed.

The party whimpered and quailed. Opera cast a fitful Command spell at it. Nothing happened.

The ogre strode over to fat Stanley and picked him up bodily.

"Roche! Rush! Garrison! You garrison! Enema!" it roared into his face.

Stanley squealed like a girl and wet himself

Bookem cleared his phlegmy throat, and shouted (as loud as someone zonked can shout). He used a strange grunting language. The ogre spun around, hurled Stanley over his shoulder to crash into the swamp like a ragdoll, strode over to Bookem and picked him up by his FW lapels.

"So you can speak Ogrish?" the ogre said in Ogrish, his huge face close to Bookem's. Bookem got a face blast of the rotting fish, greasy meat, and something long-dead.

"I learn-it temple-Funken-Wagnall. My-training," replied Bookem, sickly.

"Well, you speak Ogrish better than I can speak Common," the ogre said.

"As-you-like-it-spoon bender-in-soup?" asked Bookem.

The ogre blinked stupidly. Then said in Ogrish, condascendingly: "Remember, man-scholar, Ogrish is an agglutinative language with tonal components on the bound morphemes. Recall your affixes, and get the tone right, then the rest should fall in to place naturally. You may struggle on the vocabulary, but the syntax and semantics should not throw you."

From the others' points of view, it seemed as if the ogre was holding Bookem and screaming an almost continuous roar into his face (the ogre word for "agglutinative" was particularly loud). It was quite frightening to see. Bookem, in his turn, would reply in little squeaks and cries, and rasping wheezy grunts - then fits of coughing.

"Many-apologies O rancid-one," choked Bookem. "But please-be-careful-spoon. I-sorely-dead-and-buried."

The ogre delicately placed Bookem back on to his tuffet. Then began to narrate. Bookem translated each phrase to the party.

"My name is Grunter Elf-bug... yeah, it is that ... Elf-buggerer. (That is his surname.) I am a superior-tactical-operations-planner-spokesman ..uh.. 'emissary' of the mighty ogre clan the Rift Fuckers ...no... Huggers.. that's it, the Rift Huggers. I have come to meet up with you two-leg-sloppy-excrement ..um no.. diarrhoea .. oh yes... ogre word for 'human', and you tight-arse-wooden-knot-holes ... that's 'elves', and you cross-bred-sons-of-whores ... I think that is 'half-elves' and you iron-boned-retards ..uh.. 'dwarfs'. and you insatiable-lust-buckets-whores ... dunno what that is. We must talk... long and slowly... loquatiously, using our tongues ... our superior tongues ... enunciating every word ... every superior word ... in a clear and distinct ... manner so that there is no understanding ... no misunderstanding. I need to speak with your superior spiritual clan chieftain. We Rift Huggers have a problem... a big problem... no... a huge huge gigantic ... (bloody Ogrish hyperbole)... a really really big problem with some... shadows-on-legs."

Then there was a small animated exchange of conversation between Grunter and Bookem.

"Creeping-black shadows-on-legs," continued Bookem translating the roars. "They ripped out the living-throats in a magnificent-shower-of-blood-guts-and-entrails of my brothers ... my clan-brothers and my clan-sisters and my clan-uncles and my clan-aunts .and my superior.. ..uh... lots of my clan.

"And we need an urgent and immediate high-colonic... um... enema ..?"

Bookem interrupted Grunter and there was a long exchange of words — roars and grunts.

Suddenly, the ogre bellowed in rage, picked Bookem up and threw him bodily out into the swamp.

Opera rushed over to tend him. He'd been knocked unconscious, so she administered a Cure.

Bookem looked at her sheepishly and wheezed "Uh... I asked if he wanted an enema. Evidently that was not the intent of the high colonic."

Grunter bellowed at the party in Common "Garrison! We go garrison! Now!"

Stule picked up Bookem again, and the party continued on their way through the swamp. And with an ogre escort, they were completely undisturbed. They made their way to Camp Hickford, and arrived later that afternoon.

To avoid the confrontation that would likely occur should an ogre appear at the gates of the camp, the party approached first and warned the Militia of Grunter's arrival. Lieutenant Thwouse was very interested, and camp mage Nargo had the spell Comprehend Languages so he could converse with Grunter. The party limped back to their tents, and the zonked Bookem and Zippo were hospitalized in Hickford's Sioxante Neuf temple to rest and recuperate.

The next day, Zippo and Bookem were right as rain.

Priestess Cruella connived to get Bookem alone in the temple, and she attempted another seduction of him. And this time his resolve was not so strong; she had him on the altar. A massive brownie point for her and Sioxante Neuf:
Sioxante Neuf
Funken Wagnall