Author Topic: The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick  (Read 21402 times)

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Offline HappySinner

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Re: The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick
« Reply #25 on: December 23, 2005, 08:23:09 AM »
Raw Brutal Maxixe.

Offline HappySinner

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Re: The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick
« Reply #26 on: December 23, 2005, 10:44:58 AM »
The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick
Part 6.

Swords drawn, the adventurers plunged through the Living Forest. The air was now thick with sound as the forest itself seemed to be the source of the all-pervasive vibration. A sheet of sibilance like the buzzing of a million bees emanated from the gloomy canopy overhead, and a lower humming noise was coming from the trunks as they started to pull deceptively shallow roots out of the earth. The organism that was the Living Forest was awakening, and it was from the innards of this organism that HappySinner and WarNick were trying desperately to escape. They followed the upward slope, slashing at vines and roots that threatened to block their dizzy progress, their breath coming in ragged gasps, their senses dulled by the insidious vibration all around them.

“This thing wants to swallow us whole!” said WarNick, raising his voice above the cacophony. “We’ve woken it up, and now we’re breakfast!”
“It would have felt us long before now, if that were so” replied HappySinner. “It has been summoned by whoever or whatever it is that watches us. Now save your breath for running!”
There was now barely a full arm’s breadth between the pulsating trunks, and the ground was a maze of grabbing roots and tripping vines. The low hum was now the dominant sound, and shook the earth as the escaping men struggled to keep their feet. HappySinner had sheathed his broadsword when the going had gotten too close to use it and now slashed at the encroaching vines with a long dagger. WarNick was close behind, hacking his way through the rampant undergrowth with a steely determination. He had come too far to think of failure now, especially since the Mount of Orms was supposed to be just beyond this forest - or whatever it was.

HappySinner hacked at a festoon of vines that hung in his way and staggered momentarily, using the point of his weapon to push himself upright. Gods! That infernal noise! It made it hard to place one foot after the other, let alone swing a sword.
WarNick had seen his companion stumble, and called out, “Are you alright, Sinner?”
“I’m fine.” HappySinner slashed at another vine. “It can’t be far now.” The slope had grown more acute, and the pair were now struggling uphill with blades swinging. WarNick cut a wedge out of a trunk that had moved within arms reach and was nauseated by the foul-smelling sap that oozed from the wound. He also noted with surprise that there was a change in the vibration emanating from that particular trunk, which pulsated rapidly around the area that had been struck. It had felt his attack, and was recoiling from it! On an impulse, he sheathed his shortsword and swung his pack off his shoulders as he ran, calling ahead to the rangy minstrel, “This thing can feel pain! We can hurt it! How far to go?”
HappySinner stopped and looked back. “I think it’s getting lighter up ahead - I’m hoping it’s daylight, but the trees are almost too close together to get between - Did you say we can hurt it?” He stowed his dagger and drew his broadsword, swinging it against the nearest trunk and taking a head-sized hunk of wood out with the blow. Roots tore from the ground as the trunk shrank upon itself and pulled back from the agonizing attack. A high pitched shriek rent the air, making the two men flinch at the pain in their ears. Fetid sap gushed from the hole in the slimy wood. HappySinner coughed at the stench and turned to his comrade. “If they it can feel a blade, it will feel fire, by... Ah, good lad - you read my mind!”
WarNick had grabbed two of the bundled grass torched from his pack, and was striking his flint and tinder to light them as the minstrel spoke. The first torch flared to life, and the young warrior handed it to Sinner, who now stood armed with flame and sword. WarNick, torch ablaze, joined him.
“Time this glorified topiary got some fire in its belly” Sinner growled, and the two musician warriors turned uphill once again, towards the light, towards safety (they hoped), and towards an enemy they now knew they could make pay for its evil. The trunks had almost closed ranks and the pair fell upon them, with blazing fire and cold steel flashing in the cacophonous gloom.
Raw Brutal Maxixe.

Offline Mago_Haydz

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Re: The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick
« Reply #27 on: December 23, 2005, 06:30:53 PM »
As Im reading this, Im getting more and more into it, and Im beggining to read it faster and more intensely as the story goes on. I understand you're an awesome guitarist, but fuck man, go write a book!
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Offline TnT

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Re: The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick
« Reply #28 on: December 24, 2005, 12:12:53 AM »
I think he is before our eyes!  ;)

Maybe he should publish it.. the sales could pay for the long awaited guitars.
;D

Offline HappySinner

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Re: The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick
« Reply #29 on: December 24, 2005, 01:12:45 AM »
Quote
but fuck man, go write a book!



If I had a dollar for every time I'd been told that... 8)



I could probably afford to buy a book... :-[



A little paperback thingy... :-X
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Offline DuskyBlackcat

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Re: The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick
« Reply #30 on: December 29, 2005, 10:32:28 AM »
Quote
go write a book!


At least give us the next chapter!  ::)
I'm hanging to read it too now.... dammit... hooked!
Nil illegitimo carborundum!

Offline Boginator

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Re: The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick
« Reply #31 on: December 29, 2005, 10:09:13 PM »
Yer stop playin with ur new toys and start writing. Im starting to loose my mind wondering whats going to happen to our heros.

Offline Ormsby_Guitars

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Re: The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick
« Reply #32 on: December 30, 2005, 02:56:45 AM »
i know whats going to happen. He kills all the evilness (PRS/Gibson and Fender players) saves a fair maiden (keyboardist) and gets the magic guitar, plays a song, and all the enslaved minions are free to dance around once more.

Standard Ormsby client daydreaming...

:P:P:P

Offline HappySinner

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Re: The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick
« Reply #33 on: December 30, 2005, 03:51:36 AM »
Standard Ormsby maker daydreaming...
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Offline HappySinner

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Re: The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick
« Reply #34 on: December 30, 2005, 08:27:53 AM »
The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick
Part 7.

The air was filled with the shrieking of tortured trunks and severed branches as HappySinner and WarNick waded into the fray, spilling rancid sap and burning slimy bark as they drove in to the midst of the forest that barred their way forward. The injured trunks recoiled from the onslaught and the unlikely pair of gladiators pressed their advantage, hacking and burning their way through an ever-widening gap in the encroaching forest.
“You’ll not be devouring any son of Giskall D’Rem this day, you sniveling son of a drall goat!” growled WarNick as he sliced through a writhing branch. “To the depths with you!”
HappySinner fought on in grim silence, but had noticed a lightening in the gloom that shrouded the underside of the dense forest canopy. It was hard to tell in the torches’ glare, but the light definitely had a different quality.
“I - think - we’re - almost - through!” he grunted, kicking a dripping piece of trunk off his sap-coated blade. “I’m sure I can see some light ahead - Aah!”
A swinging branch caught the minstrel a glancing blow on his left shoulder, striking with such force that he was knocked to the ground. He retained his grip on his trusty broadsword, but the grass torch he was wielding flew from his grasp and landed in the fork of a quivering trunk directly in front of him. The trunk added its injured screech to the din, and a clump of moist vines fell from above to smother the torch, and writhed in turn as its fleshy leaves turned to ash before the flame was extinguished.
WarNick, who had leapt to his friend’s aid, shouted, “This thing is trying to protect itself, but it’s no match for us! Are you alright?” He helped a shaken but otherwise uninjured HappySinner to his feet.
HappySinner grimaced as he rubbed a bruised shoulder blade. “I’m fine. We’re nearly through now - I can feel it!” He stepped forward to the pulsating trunk that had been burned by his torch and kicked it over. The upper part had been withdrawn into the darkness of the canopy. “You’re right, lad. This thing is powerful, but it never reckoned on fire and steel - let’s move!”
The pair pressed to attack again, clearing trunk branch and vine with their blades. The forest was thinning, and the hideous vibrations were fading into the depths of whatever lay behind them in the gloom. They stopped their battle, realizing that the trunks were no longer trying to close in on them. Ahead lay a brighter glow, silhouetting the trees between the travelers and their freedom from the Living Forest. As they walked forward, WarNick looked back over his shoulder at the dense forest they were leaving. A low hum still vibrated through the ground they walked on, and a hissing could be heard from the maze of foliage above.
“Well, it’s still daylight” said HappySinner, “but let’s see how much we have left. There’s something funny about that mount up there - somehow, I thought it would look closer once we passed the Living Forest.”
The branches and leaves above their heads was becoming sparse, allowing them their first glimpse of sunlight - albeit from a sun obscured by low overhanging clouds. The Mount of Orms was visible as well, but the lanky minstrel-turned-warrior from the North was right - If the Living Forest encircled the mountain at its base, they should be looking straight up at an imposing wall of rock. Instead, the forest was thinning out into what looked like open ground, although the wall of trees had been replaced by a wall of thick, grey fog. A light breeze stirred the dank mist as HappySinner and WarNick cleared the last of the forest and stood peering into the miasma before them. The ground beneath their boots was firm enough, but still had the moist, heavy look of the forest floor. Through the mist floated eerie sounds - a deep slurping sound followed by a dull thud that reverberated for a moment in the thick air before giving way to the sound of something large and sodden dragging over waterlogged earth. HappySinner shuddered and looked at his friend. WarNick was looking into the swirling fog with his sword still drawn, listening intently with fascination and disgust playing across his youthful features. The wall slowly began to dissipate under the persistent pressure of the breeze, swirling around the weary pair and gradually giving them a better view of what lay ahead. HappySinner muttered a low oath and said, “I thought this place was just a fancy of legend - a storyteller’s myth to make the mount look scarier for the children. Gods below, it looks like I was wrong.” He thrust his sword into the ground and sat heavily on a nearby rock, dropping his pack and bow beside him. WarNick found another rock and did the same, silently watching the minstrel now, the sounds temporarily forgotten. “Not good, Sinner?”
“Not good, Nick.”
Raw Brutal Maxixe.

Offline Mago_Haydz

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Re: The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick
« Reply #35 on: January 05, 2006, 12:24:40 AM »
eeeek. Im scared now.....
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Offline HappySinner

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Re: The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick
« Reply #36 on: January 05, 2006, 04:43:19 AM »
The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick
Part 8.

WarNick remained in his attitude of expectancy, waiting for his rangy companion to continue. HappySinner gazed silently into the mist, lost in thought. This place was just a figment of some mother’s overactive imagination he had been sure, but the scene before him bore too many similarities to the stories he’d heard as a child to be mere coincidence. As the mist slowly thinned a marshy flatland was revealed, pock-marked at intervals by what looked to be shallow craters or pits. Ragged weeds - the only plant life to be seen - dotted the grey terrain with dull smudges of green and ochre, giving the land a diseased look.
In the distance could now be seen the darkness at the base of the Mount of Orms, featureless and sombre. Without slope or foothills the mount rose directly out of the ground and almost vertically up, as though forced through the planet’s skin by some huge vindictive hand. The flatland mist merged with the omnipresent low clouds to prevent further observation from his position, but HappySinner had seen all he needed to. He heaved a heavy sigh and turned to look back at the now silent forest, recalling their narrow escape from the heaving mass of slimy wooden flesh. His gaze then returned to the cratered flatland ahead, and he sighed again.
WarNick shifted restlessly on his rocky seat, and cleared his throat. He had expected to be climbing the Mount of Orms, but instead was faced with a quagmire full of holes and weird noises. Sinner knew something about this place, and didn’t look pleased. How bad was it?

Roused from his ruminations by the sound, HappySinner straightened and turned to his youthful partner.
“We may be a way from climbing that wretched mountain yet, but at least I know where we are. This is K’Rul - the land that devours.” As if in acknowledgement, an obscene belching sound issued from the pit nearest the pair. The puff of vapour that accompanied the noise from the bottom of the pit carried the taint of decomposing flesh, causing the men to cough and cover their noses and mouths with their cloaks.
“K’Rul... I’ve never heard of it, but then it must be a Northern legend. We had nothing like that on our side of the Great Range.” WarNick’s voice was muffled by the thick hide of his cloak. “I guess we don’t fall into those holes, for a start.” He uncovered his face and wrinkled his nose against the remaining traces of the foul odour, then started walking cautiously towards the nearest pit, craning his neck to look over the edge and see what lay at the bottom. It seemed at first glance to be a few inches of muddy, rancid water.
“I wouldn’t get too close to that pit, lad” called HappySinner from his seat. “There’s a couple of things about those children’s stories that I...”
The remainder of the sentence was cut off by a startled cry from WarNick, who leaped backwards. The water at the bottom of the pit exploded in a foul spray as a barbed spear of grey flesh shot up and out, falling a hair’s breadth short of piercing the warrior’s stomach. The tenticular limb relaxed its rigid posture and whipped around, searching for its escaped prey. Finding none, it retracted into the water, leaving WarNick standing in mute shock and horror at his near demise. That thing was grotesque, and whatever it was attached to would surely be worse. Slowly he turned to look at HappySinner, who was on his feet, an arrow already in his bow. Sinner relaxed his bowstring and replaced the arrow in his pack, shaking his head and smiling, although his eyes were cold as they lingered on the rim of the pit before focusing on the trembling young warrior.
“There’s a couple of things about those stories” he continued, “that I haven’t mentioned yet. What you were just nearly impaled by, by my reckoning, is the tongue of one of those things.”
“The tongue...” WarNick’s knees appeared to lose some of their strength as he walked unsteadily back to his rock and seated himself heavily. “By the Gods! What sort of... monstrous... would have a... you mean I was nearly eaten by that thing?” He drew his cloak tighter about his shoulders. That breeze seemed to have a chill to it now.
“Again, it’s only by my reckoning, lad” said HappySinner as he seated himself and glanced at a darkening sky. “But you may be the only man in living history to have survived a meeting with one of the nasties that dwell beneath this flatland.”
“I find that cold comfort, Sirrah.” The young warrior was not so easily mollified. “...Nasties?”
“Count yourself lucky, my friend” replied the lanky northerner as he reached into his pack for some food.
“You have survived an encounter with a Filth Slug from the Pits of K’Rul.”
Raw Brutal Maxixe.

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Re: The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick
« Reply #37 on: January 05, 2006, 04:44:58 AM »
Haha, geez HappySinner if instead of Post Count there was Word Count, Nihilist would be left miles behind!  :D

Offline Paigie

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Re: The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick
« Reply #38 on: January 05, 2006, 04:48:15 AM »
Haha - I love this!  ;D
BWB 4, WTCHD 007

Offline Boginator

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Re: The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick
« Reply #39 on: January 05, 2006, 05:09:22 AM »
More dammit more. And dont  leave us waiting days like you did for part 8.

Offline Ormsby_Guitars

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Re: The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick
« Reply #40 on: January 05, 2006, 05:13:35 AM »
hurry up GG, stop recording songs!

Offline HappySinner

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Re: The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick
« Reply #41 on: January 05, 2006, 06:46:14 AM »
Raw Brutal Maxixe.

Offline Boginator

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Re: The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick
« Reply #42 on: January 05, 2006, 06:51:43 AM »
I think Ive figured why GG hasnt been writing. Theres no motivation he has his guitars now he has nothing or little to lust for. So i think a WF mercenary needs to go and take his guitars untill he finishes the story

Offline HappySinner

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Re: The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick
« Reply #43 on: January 05, 2006, 07:10:51 AM »
Raw Brutal Maxixe.

Offline Boginator

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Re: The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick
« Reply #44 on: January 05, 2006, 07:21:54 AM »
Damn u and ur photoshop >:(

Offline HappySinner

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Re: The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick
« Reply #45 on: January 05, 2006, 09:32:09 AM »
 ;D
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Offline nihilist

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Re: The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick
« Reply #46 on: January 05, 2006, 05:46:13 PM »
If there were a word count Catalyst would be leagues ahead of us all.
My hands are choking, my knife is broken.
An orgasm is what I need.
Your blood is spilling, the sight is thrilling.
To cum I need to see you bleed.

Offline HappySinner

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Re: The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick
« Reply #47 on: January 11, 2006, 02:47:22 PM »
The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick
Part 9.

The light was beginning to fade as the adventurers gathered dead wood and dry weeds to start a small fire. At HappySinner’s suggestion, they camped closer to the edge of the Living Forest, away from the Pits of K’Rul and their hideous Filth Slugs. The time for facing that challenge was the morning, when they had all their energy and their wits about them. Near the forest WarNick startled a small, deer-like creature that was quickly dispatched buy one of Sinner’s well-aimed arrows. Judging the animal to be safe for human consumption, the pair built their fire and settled for the night, fresh venison to add to their meager rations.

“So - if these Pits of K’Rul are full of harpoon-tongued Filth Slugs, do we simply fight our way to the other side of the flatland? A slug - even a giant one, by the size of its tongue - can’t be that hard to kill.”
WarNick was feeling much better with a decent meal inside him and some distance between himself and the foul-smelling pits beyond.
“I’ve never heard talk of this place outside of children’s stories, so your guess will be about as good as mine at this point” replied HappySinner, “But I’d say we make our way in a straight line towards the base of the Mount of Orms, and cleave asunder any creature that bars our way, yes.” His eyes glittered in the flickering firelight. “There’s more to the tale about K’Rul... I remember a person - or creature in human form, anyway - in the stories... some sort of sentinel or overseer... of course. The Keeper. The Keeper of the Pits of K’rul.” HappySinner looked across the fire at his companion, who was still enjoying the last of the venison. “We saw no people or demons today. If there is a Keeper, we may encounter him on the morrow.”
WarNick tossed the remains of his meal into the fire. “The Lord of the Slugs, eh?” he chuckled. “What sort of person could live in this intolerable place? It must be one of The Orms’ demonic minions, this Keeper.” He breathed a resigned sigh. “But how do you kill a demon?” Looking towards the flatland, with its fetid pits, now obscured by night, he added; “And where do the slugs come from? Do they live in those holes, waiting for a meal to walk by?”
“From what I remember of the stories, the Filth Slugs actually live in regions under the flatland, and the pits are the way in and out. If the stories are true - and so far, they have been - a Filth Slug can lay in ambush or approach injured prey, impale it with that strange barbed tongue we saw and drag the body down into its pit to feed. In the stories, of course, the prey was always little children who were too curious about things and wandered off where they shouldn’t have.” HappySinner paused, reflecting. “And The Keeper collects all their souls. That’s where he comes in. He collects the souls of the children and delivers them to The Orms. I’m not so sure about that part, though. Even as a kid, the Keeper stuff sounded as if it had been added on afterward by an over imaginative mother trying to scare her child to sleep.” The minstrel looked up at the sky. No stars were visible through the clouds, and the mist was clammy on his face. Tomorrow would indeed be an interesting day. Perhaps even a good day to die, he though to himself with a wry smile.

WarNick had made himself as comfortable as he could by spreading his cloak on the ground and using his pack as a pillow. He was, however, wide awake. Sinner’s doubts about The Keeper did nothing to convince him of its non-existence. “D’you think the slugs will attack us in the night?” he asked. “Maybe the night time is when The Keeper collects his souls.”
“I don’t think we’re in too much danger tonight” said Sinner, shaking his head “I haven’t heard anything moving out there for a while. But we’ll keep the fire lit until dawn. Slugs don’t like fire, just as forests don’t, and we’d best not take any chances. As for The Keeper, he can wait ‘til the morrow before he collects my soul.” He placed a large piece of wood on the fire, watching the flames take hold and lick hungrily around the wood. This place didn’t exist, he had thought. He was wrong. What else had he been wrong about? He took out his broadsword and stuck it in the ground, then put the last of his supply of restorative tea on to boil. He would have the night to think about it.
“We’ll take turns to sleep and keep watch, just in case our next mistake is our last” he said to WarNick. “I’ll wake you when it’s your time.”
“Right, Sinner. Goodnight” Nick composed himself for a light sleep but kept his weapons within easy reach, should trouble strike from the surrounding darkness.
HappySinner seated himself and prepared for the vigil ahead. His gaze fell on his traveling companion, whose breathing was already slow and regular.
A brave lad, that one, thought the minstrel. May he live to tell his own children this story!
Raw Brutal Maxixe.

Offline Boginator

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Re: The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick
« Reply #48 on: January 12, 2006, 11:24:57 AM »
Marvelous stuff keep it coming and dont make me wait longer than a week this time the suspence is killing me.

Offline HappySinner

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Re: The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick
« Reply #49 on: January 15, 2006, 12:26:47 PM »
The Tale of HappySinner and WarNick
Part 10.

As a pale dawn sun struggled to illuminate a steel grey sky, HappySinner and WarNick prepared to meet what would surely be their last challenge before facing the Mount itself. Finishing the remains of their previous meal, they fastened their packs and weapons with due care - there would be no time for going back for dropped items on this part of the journey. Nick tightened his sword belt an extra notch, noting that he had lost condition since their quest had begun. He was far from fading away, but the pair’s travels had been hard on them both. HappySinner was always on the lean side, so the effects of the adventure showed less in his lanky frame than in the deepening of the lines that crossed cheek and brow. Nick watched the rangy northerner as he trussed up the carcass of the flatlands deer and dumped it near the ashes of last night’s fire. He then donned his heavy cloak and came to stand by his traveling companion before looking out over the flatland, still shrouded in morning mist. The nearest of the malodorous pits was barely visible through the haze, and sodden noises of activity floated to their ears from the middle distance.

“We need to know something about these slugs before we get amongst them, so I’m thinking to toss this carcass over near that pit and see what happens. It would be good to get one out of its hole to see what we’re really up against.” HappySinner returned to the carcass and picked it up. It had not been a large beast, and its remains could be thrown to the edge of the pit from a safe distance. At least, what Sinner judged to be a safe distance to keep away from a harpoon-like slug tongue!
The mist was starting to lift and the pit was now in plain view. Sinner swung the carcass around his head and launched it. It was a good throw, the bundle of bones and offal landing two men’s body lengths from the edge of the hole. If there was a slug in that pit, its tongue wouldn’t be long enough to grab the bait - it would have to show itself, thus revealing to the men what sort of adversary they were facing. WarNick joined his friend at his safe vantage point and looked beyond the pit and into the slowly clearing gloom. Large, vague shapes could now be made out through the greasy veil that still shrouded the flatland - formless, heaving lumps of shadow seeming to ooze out of the muddy ground and fade into the fog as it swirled across the pitted landscape.
“I can see things moving out there, but I can’t see anything clearly yet” said the young warrior. “Whatever they are, their silhouettes aren’t any too attractive.” He strained to make out any detail though the curtain of grey. “I’ll feel better when we can see where we’re going, at least!” Not seeing or hearing anything nearby, he skirted the edge of the mist, looking for the next nearest pit. If there was enough distance between the pits, they were less likely to be trapped and surrounded as they made their way across the flatland.
A cry from HappySinner spun Nick on his heel and had him running back their position, every nerve aware and tingling with alarm. As he ran, he could see why. A huge bulk had heaved itself out of the pit and lay on the edge, slimy water running of its leathery back and onto the ground. It had no head as such, but a large toothless mouth gaped at what was definitely the front of the creature. A series of labial slits opened and closed above the mouth, obviously part of the slug’s respiratory system. Apart from those external features, the animal was a heaving mass of grey-green rippling flesh, crawling on its single giant foot like a common garden slug. This slug, to Nick’s horror, was the size of a small cow and possessed a weapon that made it far more than a garden pest. The slug lifted its front section and the elastic mouth gaped open. The tongue, ramrod straight and lightning fast, shot out and impaled the deer carcass as neatly as the thrust of a javelin, the barbs catching the flesh and holding it in a deadly grip. The slug retracted its tongue, dragging the deer easily towards its slavering mouth as it slid its grotesque body backwards into the watery pit from which had lunged.
« Last Edit: January 15, 2006, 12:36:53 PM by HappySinner »
Raw Brutal Maxixe.